But then frowned. Hadn’t he been doing that for the last twelve years?
Planning. Always planning. Every scenario, every move. He didn’t need to start from scratch—he just needed to adjust. Fit his plan to the Damage Control System.
Right. He headed straight to his room.
Closet. Old bag.
Nate unzipped it, fingers brushing worn fabric. Rough. Familiar. The diary.
He tucked the bag back in and settled onto the bed.
The diary—no, the Planbook—lay in front of him.
- 2175. Scrawled in bold, across a burned and patched-up cover. His dad’s diary, once. Now his.
Nate ran a thumb over the faded ink. The last time his father used it, everything went up in flames.
Now? Nate used it to bring it all down.
His eyes flicked over the pages.
Heroes. Villains. Association. Monolith. Pictures. Powers. Weaknesses.
He skipped it all. Even his Revenge Plan.
None of that mattered right now.
He flipped to a blank page.
Pen scratched: Plan - Indomitable
First Step: Understand Your Strengths & Weaknesses
- Strength: Damage Control System & Its Use
- Weakness: Lack of Understanding of Said System & Physically Weak, Susceptible to Danger
He had to work on both.
Or rather—if he fixed his weakness, his strength would go up automatically.
Yup.
He nodded.
“Control Center.”
The screen flickered to life.
---- Control Center ----
User: Nathan Morgan
Level: 2 / Rank - F
Profession: Damage Controller
– Resources –
Health: 146 / 170 (2/min)
Stamina: 217 / 260 (4/min)
Mana: 58 / 140 (0.25/min)
– Stats –
Appeal: 14
Endurance: 26
Vigor: 17
Strength: 24
Dexterity: 14
Intelligence: 19
Perception: 19
Mana: 14
– Skills –
Hivemind - 2
Time Stop - 2
Stabilization Sequencer - 2
Magnetic Shift - 2
Death Step - 2
Structural Awareness - 2
Structural Reconstruction - 1
----
“Okay.”
Nate scanned the screen. Top to bottom.
Started writing as he went, analyzing.
Name – Fine. No surprises.
Level – Up a notch. Painfully earned. But sweet.
Rank – Stuck where it was. Wouldn’t budge until around level 10.
Profession – No changes there.
Now, the real stuff.
Resources.
Health. Stamina. Made sense. Built into his body. Tied to Vigor and Endurance.
Recovery rate? Two per minute. Four per minute. Pretty standard.
Mana?
That one was weird.
According to System 101—a book by some washed-up ex-hero—before awakening, once the Framework chose you, your body started adapting.
It formed a Mana Core.
That Core stored mana. Let the system and skills function. But it took years to develop.
Yet here he was. Freshly awakened. System barely a few hours old.
And he already had mana.
His body? No Mana Core. No test ever showed it.
But the screen—and the impossible things he’d done—
They said otherwise.
Was the system letting him use mana directly from the Framework? No storage, just raw access?
Could be. Explained the slower-than-normal recovery rate.
The Damage Control System really was different. Like an express version of the usual one.
Next, Stats.
Something felt off there too.
Eight of them. Same ones the book mentioned. Good.
Human baseline? Always below ten. Also good.
The anomaly? He’d doubled the baseline in just two levels. Some stats had tripled.
Three times stronger than an ordinary guy. In an hour.
Stats weren’t supposed to climb that fast.
The book said they increased by one point per level. Maybe a rare extra point here and there.
But his? 5 to 7 points. Per level.
Right.
Express System.
S-rank Heroes / Villains had stats in the thousands. If he took the normal route? He’d never catch up.
The last thing on the screen—Skills.
Seven of them.
The best-selling book said skills differed by Class.
But Nate didn’t have a class.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
So the book? Useless.
Sigh.
He’d have to figure it out himself.
Which—he already had.
He wrote them down. One by one. To see the full picture.
- Hivemind – Connected to the human physique, allowing him to Feel Emotions and Locate Damage.
- Magnetic Shift – Gave him control over anything metal.
- Structural Awareness – Provided absolute awareness of everything—living, non-living. Every fiber, every fracture, every structural detail laid bare.
- Stabilization Sequencer – Processed the Damage Report from Structural Awareness, generating a precise Stabilization Plan. No guesswork. Just steps to fix.
- Time Stop – Froze time for 30 seconds around the damage site. 500% Power Boost. Allowed him to carry out the Stabilization Plan. Fix the site. A barrier formed, shielding the area from prying eyes. A price? The backlash. Painful as hell.
- Restoration – Not a listed skill. The System itself carried it out once Time Stop ended. Damage undone. Pre-damage state restored. Souls returned. The dead… brought back.
Reality-altering. No wonder this was an Express System.
Then—
- Death Step – Nothing.
- Structural Reconstruction – Nothing.
Nate frowned. The first six had function, purpose. But these two?
Blank.
He hadn’t tested them yet. Ah, right. He had no idea what they actually did.
Could go out and try right now.
But doing that while two of the world’s biggest, most powerful organizations were hunting for him?
Stupid.
This was exactly why he was planning in the first place.
“Well then, how do I figure them out?” Nate muttered.
He thought for a moment.
Even focused on the screen, hoping for a pop-up.
Nothing.
[Structural Reconstruction]—most likely another Damage Control skill. Something to do with rebuilding.
[Death Step], though…
Didn’t sound like it fit Damage Control.
Didn’t pack the punch for an offensive skill, either.
It had death in the name, but… step?
What was that supposed to mean?
Let him walk between the dead? Talk with their souls.
But that’s Necromancy. What did that have to do with Damage Control?
Nate’s fingers tapped against his arm, mind circling the possibilities.
“You could always ask me, you know?” Vega chimed in.
Nate exhaled.
Yeah. He could do that.
But he’d spent most of his life being self-sufficient. Figuring things out on his own.
Always preferred it that way.
So the thought never struck.
Until now—
“Fine.” He sighed. Might as well.
“Tell me—what do [Structural Reconstruction] and [Death Step] do?”
“Sure. They’re skills…” A pause. “You know what? Let me show you.”
Even better.
“Show me.”
“Not like this,” Vega said. “It involves sleeping. Can you do that?”
Her tone was serious.
The words? Not so much.
He blinked. “How does sleeping help me learn a skill?”
“Trust me, Nathan. When you wake up, you’ll know. Among many other things.”
She sounded confident. Certain.
Nate hesitated.
Now that he was thinking clearly, that nagging feeling crept back in—whispering not to trust her.
But so far?
Everything she’d said had worked.
She was on his side.
No harm in trying.
“How does it work, though? Magic?”
“Not magic. There’s no such thing. But it works.”
She didn’t elaborate.
And Nate wasn’t about to waste all night arguing.
So—
He dismissed the screen. Flipped the Planbook shut. Laid it on the desk. Set the AC. Shut the lights. Then slid under the blanket.
Warmth wrapped around him. Comfortable. Safe—for now.
He closed his eyes.
His body sank into the mattress. His mind let go.
For now, planning was done.
One minute. Two…
Sleep crept closer.
Maybe knowing the city would stay quiet tonight helped.
Or maybe exhaustion had finally won.
Didn’t matter.
Sleep took him before he even knew it.
.
.
.
Snap!
Fingers against each other.
Nate’s eyes flew open.
Blinding white light seared into them. He winced, blinking hard. His vision adjusted—slowly.
A ceiling. White. Too white. Definitely not his.
He rubbed his eyes. Still there.
“What?”
He sat up. Looked around. Blinked again. Rubbed harder.
White. Everywhere.
The ceiling. The ground.
Walls…?
No walls.
Just an endless stretch of empty, colorless space.
A void—but too bright.
“Where am I?”
Nate hesitated, then touched the floor. Solid. Felt real enough.
He pushed himself up, turned—
The bed was gone.
He flinched. Heart kicking up a notch.
“What the… fuck?!”
His gaze darted around. Nothing. No one but him.
He swallowed.
Where the hell had he been dropped?
Did the Association get him? Monolith?
How?
And this space—what? Some kind of mass torture cell?
Fuck!
His breath hitched. Knees buckling.
But then—
“Welcome to Sandbox, Nathan.”
Vega’s voice. Calm. Collected.
“A pocket inside your consciousness. A place to test and learn your skills. Without affecting the real world.”
Nate blinked. Looked.
Vast. Empty.
No one but him.
“Oh.” A breath. Realization. Tension eased.
Of course. It made sense.
He’d been freaking out over something that was actually useful.
“God damn it!” He cursed, throwing his hands in the air.
“You could’ve told me.”
Vega’s voice sharpened, amused. “For a guy claiming to be self-sufficient, you sure expect help a lot.”
The sarcasm landed. Nate grimaced.
She was… right.
If only he’d connected the dots instead of letting instinct take over.
A void.
He got here by sleeping.
Because Vega told him to.
Because she brought him here.
Yet another thing she could pull off without his say-so. Great.
But that didn’t excuse her dumping him here blind.
The least she could’ve done? Warn him.
But then—
Wasn’t he supposed to be self-sufficient? Prepared for anything?
Sigh.
Nate let out a breath, rubbing his neck.
“Yeah. I get it.”
A pause. Then, muttered—
“Still would’ve been nice to get a heads-up.”
“Anyway.” Nate exhaled. Focused. Back to business. “The skills. What do they do?”
Silence. A beat.
Like Vega was… clearing her throat.
Then—
“Your plan. Indomitable. It won’t work, Nathan.” Blunt. Flat.
Nate scowled. “What?” That came out of nowhere. “Why not?”
“Say I tell you how those last two skills work. You understand them. You learn them. Will that make you indomitable?”
“No… Once I understand the skills, I'll understand the System. Then I’ll train—”
“Good question.” She cut him off. “Where will you train?”
Nate’s jaw tightened.
“This Sandbox?” Vega continued. “It’s for testing, not growth. And the outside world?” She let the words hang. “Packed with heroes and villains hunting you. The second you show up, they’ll burn half the city just to draw you out.”
Nate opened his mouth to argue. Then shut it. No words came.
Vega didn’t wait.
“You won’t let more lives be lost. So you’ll step in to Damage Control.” Her voice was steady. Certain. “Let’s assume you manage it. But then… backlash hits.”
She let that sink in.
“You’re crippled. Right there. The bugs swarm you. You’re dead.” A pause. Then, almost mocking—“And there goes that revenge.”
Nate’s skin crawled.
Because Vega was right.
His only path to strength—leveling up—was through Damage Control. And those bastards knew it. They’d use it. Set the bait. Spring the trap. So fucking obvious.
Thousands would die. Innocent people. Because of him.
And he’d sit there. Hands tied. Doing nothing.
Because stepping in? That was suicide.
Nate staggered. Breath hitched.
His planning—worthless.
What was the point of understanding the System if he couldn’t use it?
He’d never be strong enough.
This Damage Control System…
Fucking Useless—
“It’s not,” Vega interrupted. Calm. Certain. “Nor is your plan worthless. You just need a different approach.”
Nate perked up. “What approach? How?”
“Cross out the word ‘Weakness’ from your plan.” She said it like it was nothing. “Damage Controllers don’t have that.”
She paused. Then, almost amused—“There. Now your plan works.”
Nate’s mouth hung open. “What?”