The Junction’s elite training facility sprawled like a fortress on the edge of the city, its cold, gray walls towering over the recruits assembled in the central yard. Rows of young men and women stood at attention, their eyes fixed ahead as the sharp bark of commands echoed across the grounds. Each recruit wore a standard-issue uniform, their faces etched with determination, fear, or exhaustion.

  “Focus! Precision! Discipline!” bellowed the instructor, a towering figure in a spotless black uniform. His voice carried the authority of someone who had drilled generations of recruits into heroes. He paced down the line, his sharp gaze piercing through each trainee as if weighing their worth with every step.

  “Pathetic!” he snapped, stopping in front of a trembling recruit whose arms wavered under the weight of a weighted bar. “You call that strength? My grandmother could hold this longer than you! Fix your stance or get out of my yard!”

  The recruit stammered a response but was quickly silenced by the instructor’s glare. He moved on, stopping in front of another trainee whose posture slumped under the strain of the exercise. “Stand up straight! You think villains are going to go easy on you because you’re tired? Look alive, recruit!”

  As he stalked down the line, his scowl finally gave way to something resembling satisfaction. “Dungworthy,” he barked, stopping in front of a tall, lean figure who held the weighted bar effortlessly, his form flawless. “Take a good look, everyone. This is what discipline looks like. This is what strength looks like. If even one of you could show half the promise he does, maybe—just maybe—we’d have a chance of turning you into heroes.”

  The other recruits glanced at Danny with a mix of awe and envy. Danny, standing tall under the instructor’s scrutiny, didn’t so much as flinch. His focus was unshakable, his gaze fixed ahead. To anyone watching, he was the embodiment of perfection, the ideal recruit destined for greatness.

  The instructor nodded approvingly. “Dungworthy, lead the next set of drills. Show them how it’s done.”

  Danny stepped forward without hesitation, his movements precise and confident as he demonstrated the exercise. The recruits mimicked his motions, their stumbles and missteps making his mastery all the more evident. The instructor crossed his arms, watching silently, a rare flicker of pride crossing his stern features.

  The drills ended with a sharp whistle, and the recruits broke formation, the tension dissolving into murmurs of conversation. Several recruits crowded around Danny as he toweled off, some grumbling in frustration, others offering reluctant praise.

  “Show-off,” one recruit muttered under his breath, glaring at Danny’s unshaken composure. Another elbowed him lightly, adding, “At least he makes us look good by association. If he’s the standard, the rest of us are doomed.”

  “Cut it out,” a cheerful voice interjected. A boy with sharp, bright eyes and a mop of dark hair stepped forward, grinning. “You’re just mad because Dungworthy here doesn’t break a sweat while we’re all half-dead.”

  Danny chuckled softly but didn’t respond. The boy clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, man, loosen up. We survived another day. That’s worth celebrating, right?”

  The crowd began to disperse, leaving only Danny and the boy, who leaned casually against a nearby bench. “You know, Danny,” the boy began, his tone quieter now, “what do you think it’ll be like? When we’re out there?”

  Danny paused, his brow furrowing slightly. “Out there?”

  “Yeah,” the boy said, his gaze drifting to the horizon beyond the training yard. “Being heroes. Fighting villains. Saving people. All of it.”

  Danny thought for a moment, his usual confidence giving way to a rare vulnerability. “I guess… I guess I hope we’ll make a difference. That it’ll mean something.”

  The boy’s grin softened into a smile. “We will. You and me, the best of the best. Nothing’s going to come between us, right?”

  Danny nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Right.”

  The memory shifted then, the warmth of camaraderie fading as Danny’s surroundings blurred. The yard dissolved into a haze of indistinct shapes and muffled sounds. He was no longer leading drills or sharing quiet moments with friends; instead, he stood in a sterile white room, his arm extended as a needle pierced his skin. A cold voice droned in the background: “Administering Compound Omega. Subject: Dungworthy, Daniel. Manifestation period estimated at forty-eight hours.”

  The memory fragmented further, flashes of drills, injections, and grueling exercises blending into a chaotic swirl. Voices overlapped, the instructor’s commands merging with the cold clinical tone of the scientists. The praise he’d earned, the promise he’d shown, all twisted into a cacophony of pressure and expectation.

  “Dungworthy! Focus! Discipline! Precision!”

  Danny jolted awake, the words tearing from his throat in a hoarse shout. “Focus! Discipline! Precision!”

  He sat upright in bed, his chest heaving as sweat dripped from his brow. The dim light of his apartment greeted him, a stark contrast to the vivid memories that had just haunted his dreams. His hands trembled as he ran them through his hair, trying to steady his breathing.

  The clock on the wall ticked monotonously, its sound grounding him in the present. Danny swung his legs over the side of the bed and buried his face in his hands. “Just a dream,” he muttered, though the tightness in his chest said otherwise. The echoes of the past refused to let go, their weight heavier than the bar he had so easily lifted in the drills.

  In the silence of his apartment, the memory of the instructor’s voice lingered. You had so much promise, Dungworthy.

  Danny groaned and pushed himself off the bed. The chaos of his apartment greeted him like an old enemy: dirty laundry draped over furniture, empty takeout containers stacked precariously on the counter, and a faint smell of stale coffee lingering in the air. Navigating the mess was an obstacle course in itself.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  He flicked on his old, battered radio, the familiar crackle of static filling the room before a series of upbeat jingles kicked in. “Start your morning right with Pristine Clean Energy Bars! The hero’s choice for peak performance!”

  Danny rolled his eyes as he pulled a crumpled shirt from the couch, giving it a quick sniff before tossing it back into the pile.

  “And don’t forget to sign up for Captain Titan’s Charity Smash-a-Thon this weekend! Register now to compete or spectate as heroes battle it out for a good cause.”

  “Yeah, because nothing says ‘good cause’ like breaking everything in sight,” Danny muttered, pouring himself a cup of lukewarm coffee from yesterday’s pot.

  Another ad blared: “Feeling sluggish? Try SpeedStreak Sneakers! Guaranteed to make you feel like you’re flying, just like your favorite speedster heroes!”

  Danny shuffled into the bathroom, the sound of the ad fading as he splashed water on his face. The cool water did little to erase the exhaustion etched into his features. He leaned on the sink, staring at his reflection in the cracked mirror. For a moment, the echoes of his dream seemed to seep into the room, the weight of his past pressing against his chest.

  The radio continued its chatter as Danny emerged, stepping over a pile of newspapers. “Breaking news: last night’s mysterious incident in Greystone leaves authorities baffled. Officials are currently investigating the unprecedented level of…”

  Danny reached over and turned the radio off, cutting the voice short. He couldn’t deal with it. Not right now. Instead, he grabbed his jacket and stepped toward the door, bracing himself for another day.

  Danny clocked in at the sanitation plant with little fanfare, slipping into the rhythm of his daily tasks. The dull hum of machinery filled the air as he monitored the pumps, ensuring the city’s sewage system ran smoothly. It was monotonous, thankless work, but Danny didn’t mind. It gave him time to think, even if his thoughts often wandered to places he’d rather avoid.

  Halfway through his shift, a coworker approached him, leaning against the doorway of the control room. “Boss wants to see you,” the man said, his tone a mixture of boredom and mild curiosity.

  Danny wiped his hands on his coveralls and made his way to the office. As he approached, he could make out two figures through the fogged pane of glass. His boss, a gruff man with a perpetually furrowed brow, was yelling, his voice muffled but still carrying an edge of frustration.

  “Too many mysterious cleanups! Do you know what this is doing to my budget? It’s eating away my com—” The words cut off abruptly as the other figure in the room turned toward the door. Though their features were obscured by the glass, their gaze seemed to pierce through, chilling Danny to his bones.

  He froze, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. For a moment, he considered turning back, but the sound of his boss’s chair creaking broke the spell. Swallowing hard, Danny stepped forward and knocked on the door. As he hesitantly opened it, his eyes locked with an extraordinarily handsome man seated across from his boss. With perfectly styled hair, a chiseled jaw, and a sharp suit that seemed out of place in the grimy surroundings, the man radiated an aura of effortless elegance. Danny knew at first sight that this stranger wasn’t from around here.

  The air between Danny and the man was silent for only a moment before the man turned to Danny's boss, his voice smooth and deliberate. "I think our business here is done for now. I'll leave you to it," he said, standing up with a practiced grace.

  The man made his way toward the door, his polished shoes barely making a sound on the tile floor. As he passed Danny, he flashed a wry smile, the kind that sent an involuntary chill down Danny's spine, before disappearing into the hallway without another word.

  “Close the door, Dungworthy,” his boss called out sharply, snapping Danny out of his trance. Blinking, Danny realized that he’d been staring at the man’s back, something he hadn’t even noticed he was doing.

  Entering the office, Danny shut the door behind him and stood awkwardly near the edge of the room. His boss leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples with visible frustration.

  “Sit down, Dungworthy,” his boss grumbled, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk. Danny complied, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife.

  “We’ve got a problem,” his boss started, shuffling through a stack of papers on his desk. “You’re being reassigned to the aftermath of the…” He paused, scanning a page before continuing. “‘The Greystone Contagion Incident.’ Next Sunday.”

  Danny’s brow furrowed. “Next Sunday? But I already got approval for time off that weekend.”

  His boss let out a harsh laugh, leaning forward and jabbing a finger at Danny. “Yeah, well, guess what? Things change. There’s a mountain of cleanup work, and we’re short-staffed. You’ll be there, Dungworthy, or you’ll be looking for a new job.”

  Danny opened his mouth to protest, but his boss cut him off. “This isn’t a negotiation. Do you have any idea what the lack of manpower is doing to my budget? If we keep missing out on incidents like this, we’re going to sink! Someone’s gotta handle the aftermath properly, get in and clean the grime like no one else, and for now, that’s you. Understood?”

  Danny hesitated, his mind racing. Reluctantly, he nodded. “Understood.”

  His boss leaned back again, waving him off. “Good. Now get out of here and get back to work.”

  As Danny stood to leave, frustration bubbled under the surface. His weekend plans, something he had been looking forward to for weeks, were now ruined. He muttered under his breath, grumbling about the unfairness of it all as he left the office.

  Danny returned to his workstation, muttering under his breath as he navigated the narrow hallways of the sanitation plant. The whir of machinery filled the air, a familiar white noise that usually helped him focus, but today it felt grating. He threw on his gloves, gripping the console of his station tighter than necessary, the lingering frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.

  His coworker from earlier leaned against the doorframe again, sipping from a battered thermos. “Rough meeting?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Danny grunted. “Just the boss being the boss. Ruined my weekend plans, is all.”

  His coworker chuckled. “Welcome to the club. What was it this time?”

  “Some cleanup project for that incident that happened the other day,” Danny replied, not bothering to hide his irritation.

  “Ah, the big one. Heard the higher-ups are still scratching their heads over that,” the man said, shaking his head. “Must’ve been one hell of a mess.”

  Danny sighed and turned back to his console, dismissing the conversation. As much as he wanted to vent, he didn’t have the energy to deal with the inevitable comments about how he was “perfect for the job” or how his knack for handling the worst messes made him invaluable. He hated those jokes almost as much as he hated the truth behind them.

  The rest of the shift dragged on. Every so often, Danny’s mind wandered back to the stranger in the office. Something about the man’s presence had felt… off, but Danny quickly shoved the thought aside. It wasn’t his business, and he had enough on his plate without adding mysterious strangers to the mix.

  By the time the clock signaled the end of his shift, Danny was drained. He clocked out, exchanged a few nods with coworkers, and headed toward the exit. The evening air hit his face as he stepped outside, a small relief after hours in the stifling plant.

  As he walked home, Danny passed by a billboard featuring Captain Pristine in a dazzling pose, holding a shining mop with the tagline: “Cleaning up crime, one swipe at a time!” Danny snorted, shaking his head. Wish they’d show up to help with the real messes, he thought bitterly.

  Reaching his apartment, Danny unlocked the door and stepped inside, the weight of the day settling on his shoulders. He glanced at the pile of dirty dishes in the sink, the laundry still scattered across the floor. With a groan, he sank onto his couch, rubbing his temples.

  As he flipped on the TV, a news segment caught his attention. The anchor was mid-report: “...and authorities are still investigating the aftermath of the Greystone Contagion Incident. Details remain sparse, but witnesses report seeing significant damage and unusual activity…”

  Danny turned the volume down, not wanting to hear more. He leaned back, staring at the ceiling, his mind a swirl of frustration, exhaustion, and faint unease.