Plop, plop, plop—raindrops beat rhythmically against the window, blurring the panoramic view of the cityscape into a watercolor painting of a dreary metropolis. Everything outside was shrouded in a ceaseless gray downpour, with each raindrop further dulling the vibrant neon lights of the city below. From this vantage point in her corporate-sponsored luxury apartment, the world seemed draped in mencholy.

  Serena Holt, limmerstrike, as the world knew her, sat cross-legged on the plush sofa, her back rigid against the soft cushions. One hand absentmindedly twirled a lock of her ptinum blonde hair, the other scrolling through the newsfeed oablet, her green eyes sing the myriad of headlines, captions, and hashtags.

  All were variations of the same old tune, "Hero-killer Axion still at rge!" or "Prime: Martyr or Misstep?" or her personal least favorite, "Fallen Prime: Casualty iropolis' long history of ign the plight of the slums."

  As her frustration mounted, a shimmer of golden hard-light structs materialized and flickered around her, responding to her power's enta with her emotions.

  "You'd think they'd give me a break," she grumbled to herself.

  With an irritated gesture, she minimized her feed and tossed the tablet aside, watg as it bounced softly on the couch. The ctter would've been more satisfying on a hard surface, eg the simmering annoyan her mind.

  Just like the rain, it seemed endless, beating down on her every ce they got, chipping away at her spirit. Not only did she fail to capture Axion, but she also made a fool of herself. Again.

  Her cheeks burned as she thought back to that moment. Had she really been that embarrassed?

  To add insult to injury, one of her drones had captured the se from a particur angle, making it look... provocative. The viral #GlimmAxion hashtag that was currently trending wasn't helping matters.

  Apparently, a segment of her fans—and even her detractors, it seemed—ehe thought of their rivalry turning into something more. Her social media strategist thought the newfound attention and e was the best thing that could have happeo her.

  Serena was still on the fence about that.

  "Oh, just perfect," she said, drawing a leg up to her chest aing her on her knee. Her golden structs buzzed around her in a f cacophony, a small respite from her growing aies. She'd be tent to wallow here forever, never leaving the fort of her penthouse.

  The er of her mouth twitched.

  Public retions nightmares were ohing; a live-streamed blunder was another. She had a reputation to uphold, an image to maintain. This wasn't the way a rising star behaved. She o salvage the situation, not just for the sake of her pride, but also for the anxious executives at Paragoertai, who saw every stumble or setback as a potential career-ender.

  Serena ched her fist, causing a sphere of hard light to form, casting an eerie golden glow across her face. A bitter ugh escaped her lips as she recalled the initial promises.

  They were supposed to unch her into the stratosphere, make her a star that shone brighter than all the rest bined. Her world was supposed to bee a whirlwind of high-profile appearances, magazine covers, and maybe even a movie deal.

  The sphere's surface rippled in respoer.

  Instead, she found herself caught in a spiral of misfortune, her career on the brink of colpse after a series of blunders, her stream's viewer t in a nosedive, and a myriad of fresh bruises to show for her troubles.

  Sure, that viral se had momentarily boosted her views. But that was days ago, and the effect was already beginning to wane. Plus, a part of her detested the idea of her viewership being depe on those kinds of antics. It felt cheap, disho. As a superhero, she should be known for her deeds, for proteg and saving others, not for her on-camera theatrics, or what the #GlimmAxion fans deemed 'sexual tension,' or whatever other absurd narrative that lived rent-free in their heads.

  But life had a way of subverting expectations.

  Her thoughts returo Axion, the root of her current state of mind, that annoying white-haired slumrat that had made a mockery of her every attempt to apprehend her. Serena wasn't used to losing, let alone sufferi so many times in a row. Yet, with every chase, it seemed Axion was toying with her, always a step ahead, always out of reach.

  Sure, Serena wasn't really giving her all—the st thing she wanted was to be responsible for a casualty. But her was Axion, really. She seemed more i oing away unscathed than anything else.

  "It's like she's messing with me," she muttered, a hint of frustration seeping into her voice.

  A few months ago, the major news outlets were all abuzz about the death of the Metropolis's most powerful Superhero, Prime, at the hands of the so-called Hero-Killer Axion. Prime had been a bea of justid a paragon of virtue, someone who'd inspired tless souls, including Serena, to follow in his footsteps and bee a superhero.

  Then, suddenly, he was dead. Gone.

  Even the #GlimmAxion hashtag felt like a sp in the face to Prime's memory. His killer, who tio roam free, was now somehow also a part of a joke of a ship?

  Serena artially responsible for perpetuating that, granted, but she thought that broadcasting her chases through the slums was helping raise awareness. A campaign to finally bring justice to the infamous murderer and dht by the city's fallen hero. Her agency agreed it was a brilliant idea, too.

  Yet, here she was, sitting in her luxury apartment, nursing her wounds and her ego while Axion robably lounging in her slum hideout, enjoying her notoriety, ughing at Serena's relentless failures.

  With a dismissive flick of her wrist, the struct dissolved into nothingness. "What's her power anyway? trol over objects? Levitation? Or... telekinesis? No, 't be. Only Prime had that power."

  That's what the spiracy theories had said anyway. She'd been in tact with some of her fans oerhe deep divers who kept up with all the rumor mills.

  Serena sighed. "If it's telekinesis, no wonder I 't beat her. No one could."

  She rolled her shoulders and exhaled, trying to expel the lingering tension.

  Then, a soft beep and a cool, syic voice cut through her musings, "Miss Holt, Paragoertai has requested a debrief."

  Aronic device, embedded in the wall, dispyed the time: 8:00 PM in rge, lumi digits.

  "Oh joy, here we go again," Serena murmured, pushing herself up from the coubsp;

  She paused briefly by the ornate mirror hangihe wall, straightenirack jacket and tug a stray strand of ptinum blonde hair behind her ear. Her refle stared back at her, the Glimmerstrike logo embzoned on her jacket. It was her fifteen minutes of fame, after all.

  "Makeup could do with a touch-up." She khey'd scrutinize her appearahe public, her fans, her haters. They all would. That's what being a media-friendly, corporate-sponsored Super was all about.

  But a sense of fatigue kept her from walking the extra distao her vanity. This apartment, this life—it wasn't hers. The soft hum of the electric clock suddenly seemed to be too loud.

  With a swipe of her hand, the front door slid open, revealing the two burly security guards stationed just outside. Their presence had been mandated ever sihe i in the slums had soured her public image. Safety first, public retions a close sed. But their grim faces and muscur stances did nothing to make her feel safer.

  "Officer Flynn, Officer Bailey," Serena greeted them with a polite nod.

  Flyurhe gesture, while Bailey offered a gruff "ma'am," his expression unging. If looks could kill, Serena's fanbase would've been decimated a long time ago. These two weren't the type you'd io afternoon tea.

  They escorted her to the elevator, and the e doors opened with a soft whoosh. Stepping inside, she leaned against the back mirror, watg her guards turn to face the closing doors. Soon, the dest began, each passing floor whispering a promise of what was to e: a tedious debrief, an overbearing supervisor, and the endless cycle of proving her worth to an audience she didirely care for.

  With a subtle movement, her fiips brushed against the back of her neck, where the biometric impnt y beh the skin. Her free ticket to the metropolis' fi establishment. That tiny chip held the essence of her being, her identity, and her prowess. It was her skeletoo her surreal lifestyle, ohat now felt increasingly like a golden cage.

  "Each s firms your identity and pares it against the registered information in our database, whicludes everything from fingerprints to geic profile."

  That's what they had told her, a recolle of her enrollment in the registratiram surfag from the back of her mind. Ever since, access to restricted areas iropolis had been as simple as a nod to a nearby biometric ser.

  Even with her rising fame, Sere out of pce, a square peg in a round hole. The night outside seemed to reflect her mood—lonely, desote, with only the raindrops any sort of fort or reassurahat things could be different.

  As they reached the lobby floor, the doors slid open once more, and Serena's gaze found Officer Bailey's broad back. He was leading the way across the vast hall, where the city's elite and business magnates hustled and bustled about. Ign the imposing statue in the ter, Flynn escorted them to a sleek, bck Paragon vehicle waiting outside.

  O g the hotel's modern architecture, and Serehat perhaps a moment of tranquility in her penthouse would have better suited her growing maise than another lengthy meeting.

  Otled in the car, Bailey tapped at the trol panel, programming in the route aination. They then pulled away into the rain-soaked streets, and for the rest of the journey, Serena sought soce by watg the city lights blur past in smudges of hrough the droplet-den window.

  As they heir destination, the cityscape around them slowly transitioned. Bright neon and holographic advertisements gave way to more reserved, authoritative structures, with high-tech defenses visible for all to see.

  This part of the city always made Serena feel insignifit, an ant scurrying among the t mos of humanity's achievements.

  She couldn't help but marvel at the ever-present police drones, and the few mechs—rge bipedal robots used for polig and national defeanding guard in strategic locations. As they passed, their sers briefly turo eye her vehicle. The area was brimming with gover facilities and security hubs, and to her, it seemed a tad too cold and humorless for her taste.

  Above, she could spot a few police craft and autonomous taxis zipping past, effortlessly navigating the sky nes. It was a clear dispy of power and teological prowess. Citizens didn't get to own mechs or hovercrafts without special permits.

  A nearby billboard showcased the test and tech: a sleek, silver drohe narration apanying the ad wasn't lost on her: "Never fly alone. Get yourself a drone panion. Live, work, and protect with our smart, reliable AI."

  Inwardly, Serena chuckled. Why bother having a baby if you could just buy a fancy flying robot to raise instead?

  She supposed that's what it came down to in the end. Could artificial intelligence do this superhero gig better than her? With the way things were going, maybe someone upstairs would decide to test that theory.

  Soon enough, the car slowed before a gatehouse guarding the entrao a spacious pound. As the automated sequence pyed out, their vehicle was sed. Officer Bailey retrieved a small card from his pocket, feeding it into a slot in the car's interface. The gate opened, and they drove into an expansive parking lot designated for VIP visitors and w enfort personnel.

  In front of them stood the formidable Institute, the architectural marvel of the pound. The structure was a multistory plex, housing one of the rgest database ters iropolis. Serena always found the building eerily monolithic, especially with its sweeping arches and dominant facade. The stant presence of high-tech security only reinforced its intimidating aura.

  "It's not too te to fake a stomachache," Serena said, mostly to herself, as she gazed out of the window.

  her of her guards ughed.

  Soon, the car slowed to a halt in front of the Institute, and the trio stepped out into the misty evening, the rain having eased into a gentle drizzle.

  Serena ihe humid air, hoping it might calm her nerves. It didn't.

  They made their way to the imposirance of the Institute, where the biometric ser was ready and waiting. She made eye tact with the device, its blue light sing her fad then turning green.

  "Access Granted," a voice chimed. "Wele, Miss Holt."