Stanley knew it was just a dream. He knew it was just an old memory, one he couldn't get out of his head. It was a memory he couldn't escape. That day was burned into his mind over six years ago.

All those years ago he had lucked his way into the job that he'd always dreamed of: escorting the President of the United States. It was a job that nobody else tasked with that job thought was very unusual, except for Stanley. They had done it a hundred times, but for him it was a once in a lifetime experience. No one expected an attack, especially with all the security that surrounded the president. It would've been a routine escort job, drive from a press event to the airport. Cops had blocked off the route, so no traffic was going to get in the way. The routine had been practiced a thousand times and every possible scenario was planned for.

But no one had planned for an impossible event that defied all logic. Stanley was in the limousine with the president, who was seated in the middle with guards on both sides of him, when the car got cut clean in half by laser beam. The beam was blue with streaks of purple flowing through it and it cut the car longways melting through two of the guards on sitting next to Stanley. Stanley fell out along with everyone else, he slid across the concrete and his left side was scraped so bad he couldn't get up. The last thing Stanley saw before he flew out of the car was the president's body separating into two halves, each half tumbling out into the road along with the rest of the guards. Stanley had flown into a bush looking at the long empty strip of road surrounded by trees.

A man stood in the middle of the road. He had cut through two of the 3 cars when the last one stopped and Secret Service agents poured out, guns out and already shooting. The man simply lifted his hand and a light beam shot from his palms, melting any bullets that were coming and causing the car behind them to ignite and then explode, killing all the guards near it. Fiery shrapnel flew in every direction, lodging into trees, other cars, and the bodies of the guards. Anyone still alive was cut down by the man's sweeping beams of light.

Out of the flaming wreck of the car a man jumped out. He was indifferent to the fire on him, and the fire actually looked to be attracted to him, swirling away from the wrecked car and seeming to surround him. He pulled his gun out of its holster and fired it as he running at the man with the laser hands. He grazed the man, who fired at the flaming man with the killing light beam. The man on fire ducked and rolled out of the way, still running towards him. The gun quickly ran out of bullets and he threw it to the side. He ran, only about a dozen feet away from light-hands, and with his right hand he clawed at the air and swung his arm like it he was pitching a baseball. A ball of flame from his body shot out like a flame thrower. Stanley could feel the heat from his hiding place in the bush.

The man was ignited immediately and burned as his killing light died. He fell to one knee, screaming in agony, and tried to lift his hands to fire one last beam of light, but fire came down on him as the flaming man extended his hands towards him. Flames shot from his hands like a cyclone, melting the man like a candle. He burned, then soon disintegrated, leaving behind only a pile of ash in the road. The flaming man turned and looked around, searching for any survivors. He spotted Stanley, and his eyes settled on him. He stared, and that was the last thing Stanley remembered before he passed out.

Stanley still woke up screaming at the memory of that day, even six years later. He sat up in his small, uncomfortable bed, drenched in sweat. He took deep, gasping breaths as he tried to calm down. The clock on the nightstand told him it was just three minutes shy of four in the morning. He fell back and laid his head on his pillow.

Just a dream.

As soon as he calmed himself his door opened. Even in the darkness of the room he knew who it was standing in the doorway.

"Get up," was all the man said before he left the room.

Stanley groaned and sat up in his bed. Every muscle in his body was sore from yesterday's training. He was covered in cuts and scrapes that were still healing. He looked at his burned wrist. It was still red and raw from last week. The burn was torturing him, but he wasn't allowed to use painkillers.

Stanley got dressed and left his small room. He walked down the brightly lit hallway. The only noise he could hear was his own footsteps echoing out in the large, empty hall. The tile floors were clean and shiny, reflecting the bright fluorescent lights above. Everything was clean and white.

He took left and right turns down the long hallways, navigating the maze perfectly despite there being no signs on any of the walls. Each hall looked identical to the last, pristine tile floors and clean white walls. In each hall there were a few doors, which housed, some might say imprisoned, other trainees. But Stanley wasn't like them, he wasn't trapped. He definitely couldn't do some of the things they could.

Stanley had spent his whole life standing out. He was discovered to be a genius when he was in middle school, graduating college at only twenty years old, and joined the CIA, where he also quickly mastered all aspects of the job. Stanley had unrivaled intellect compared to his peers, but he lacked experience and wisdom, at least that's what Dylan told him. Dylan was the only other survivor from that day six years ago. The day someone with superpowers murdered the president. Nobody knew about that though. It was quickly covered up, everyone who was involved "disappeared." Including Stanley. A new president was put in place. Facial reconstruction made him indistinguishable from the now dead president, and nobody ever knew the difference.

After that day Stanley was let into the inner circle. The Order. Over the years Dylan told him about The Order and the Powered. He told Stanley about the ancient rock that helped form the Earth, but radiation from that rock mutated some humans with certain DNA. Scientists and philosophers from throughout history believed that the rock was simply a device to help humans evolve, but when humans learned that only some people were granted the rock's gift it began to corrupt them.

Evidence of individuals who had acquired powers could be traced all the way back to the ancient Egyptians, who revered them as gods. A circle of individuals was created, only those with the Power could be trusted with the knowledge of it. That was the start of The Order, founded by the men who built the Egyptian Pyramids. The Order was started to control the Power and keep it contained. Over the thousands of years the Order spread their control across the world.

During the height of the ancient Roman Empire a group of members of the Order left, forming a faction of rebels. They fought the Order in secret, with the conflict causing the fall of the Roman Empire. The secret war spread across the ancient world, trying and failing to destroy the Order. As the center of powers in the world shifted, so did the Order. Every move the Order made the resistance followed after them, preventing the Order from seizing complete control of the world. In 1963, the American president, and one of the few non-powered people to know of the Order, John F. Kennedy was assassinated by an agent of the Order. That was the start of a war that ended with the Chernobyl Incident. Since then the rebels have gone into hiding. The Order now ruled from behind the scenes, unchallenged. Stanley was taken in and trained as one of them. Stanley was trained for a different world now, one that was extraordinary to him and a lifelong struggle for others.

Stanley stopped walking and stood before the large metal door of the combat room. He sighed as he opened the door and walked in. Dylan was standing in the center of a large grey room, the walls were all unpainted cement and the floor was covered in padding. Lights and cameras covered the walls and the ceiling, recording each of the trainees' moves. He watched as two dozen trainees fought and wrestled hand-to-hand with other trainees or guards. The sound of bodies hitting the floor or groans of pain stopped when Stanley entered the room. All eyes moved to him, except for Dylan.

"Any volunteers to be Stanley's sparring partner?" Dylan yelled as he looked around the crowd. Stanley's fellow students seemed to flinch, and everyone avoided looking Dylan in the eyes. Stanley was one of the best fighters the program had ever had. He had beaten each of the other trainees, and was undefeated. Dylan's question remained unanswered, the students trying desperately to avoid being picked. Dylan pointed to man in the crowd.

"Trevor! You're up." Trevor sighed to himself before jogging over to an empty mat. Stanley walked over and joined him.

"Continue!" Dylan yelled to the room, his voice echoing off of the concrete walls. Everyone scrambled back to their mats and resumed their training. Dylan crossed his arms as he patrolled the room, watching the trainers and students spar. Stanley more or less enjoyed this part of training because it was the only part that he felt he really excelled at.

"Whenever you're ready," Trevor said to me. Stanley could see that Trevor was hesitant to start, he was trying to anticipate Stanley's first move. Stanley inched towards him, moving slightly left and right. Trevor grew impatient and lunged with a left hook that was strong enough to knock anyone out. The trainees were taught not to hold back, because they knew that their enemies wouldn't. Stanley quickly ducked the attack and while Trevor's balance was compromised Stanley picked him up by the legs and threw him backwards, flipping him over behind Stanley. Stanley took the advantage and he quickly overwhelmed Trevor with the speed and precision of his punches, each fist hitting its target and weakening Trevor until he was too tired to even try blocking. Stanley finally let up, and Trevor laid still on the mat, his body bruised and bloodied. He let out a weak, barely audible groan. Stanley noticed that the room was silent, all eyes on him and Trevor.

"Stanley!" Dylan yelled as Stanley stood above the unconscious Trevor. "Time's up here, let's go." Dylan turned and walked out of the training room.

Stanley followed quickly, knowing the where Dylan was going, and knowing that he would not enjoy Stanley being late. Dylan and Stanley came to another room. The walls and floor of the room were originally a bright white, but they had been blackened and burned by smoke and fire. The ceiling of the room was stained black and grey by smoke, and the vents that were once shining silver were now dark and charred. In this room Stanley had won no fights. There was no padding in the room because it would catch fire. Dylan stood in the center of the room holding a black bag. He opened the bag and pulled out a padded black suit.

Dylan threw the suit at Stanley, who put it on over his normal workout clothes. Stanley, now dressed in his specialized fireproof suit, walked towards Dylan. The large white door slammed shut behind him and hissed as its hydraulics sealed it. Stanley's heart pounded out of fear. He knew what was about to happen. "Special Equipment Training" as Dylan called it. He still wasn't ready.

A smirk crossed Dylan's face as he cracked his knuckles.

"Whenever you're ready, Stanley."

Stanley charged forward, hoping to catch Dylan off guard. He led with his right fist, aiming for Dylan's face. Dylan anticipated the punch and grabbed Stanley by the wrist and flipped him over. Stanley hit the floor hard. As he lost his breath Dylan, still holding Stanley's right wrist, kneeled down and pinned Stanley's left arm under his combat boot. With his free hand Dylan punched Stanley in the face, pummeling him over and over. Stanley felt the boot on his arm release as Dylan stood up and let go of his other hand.

"How many times are you gonna try that move, Stanley?"

Stanley's pained groan was his only answer. Dylan walked over to the black bag and reached inside it, pulling out what looked like a jet pilot's helmet, painted all black.

"Put it on," He said as he tossed it to Stanley. Stanley, still on the floor, caught it and flipped it around so the goggles faced him. He stared at himself, face bloody, with one black eye.

"What are you waiting for?" Dylan glared at him.

Stanley flipped the helmet around and put it on. He stood and faced Dylan.

"Let's get this over with," Stanley sighed. His voice was altered by the helmet's speaker systems, making it lower pitched and almost robotic. The respirators that filter the air he breathed, amplifying his mechanical breathing slightly.

Dylan smirked again and raised his right arm out to his side. Stanley watched as Dylan's hand suddenly burst into flame, the fire climbing up his arm and stopping at his shoulder. Dylan cocked his arm back like he was preparing to throw a ball. He opened his hand and a ball of fire materialized among the orange flames of the rest of Dylan's hand. Stanley, out of instinct, set his feet apart and prepared for the impact to slam into him.

Dylan's arm shot forward, but stopped halfway through his throw. He raised his finger up to his left ear, touching the wireless earpiece he had. He lowered his flaming hand and listened to the earpiece before pressing a button on it.

"We're on our way," He said into it, then after a moment of listening he corrected himself, "I'm on my way," He extinguished the fire on his arm and began walking over to Stanley.

"Suit off," He said. Stanley took his helmet off and faced him.

"What's going on? Where are we going?" Stanley knew better than to ask, but he was too curious.

"I have a mission. You are going back to your quarters. Now," He said the last word so that its meaning could not be misinterpreted.

Stanley took the fireproof suit off, putting it and the black helmet back in the bag. Dylan walked over and grabbed the bag.

"Go back to your room, Stanley. We'll continue training when I'm back from the mission,"

"What's the mission?" Stanley asked, immediately cursing himself for asking another question.

Dylan turned and punched Stanley in the jaw, sending him straight to the floor. Stanley groaned as he rolled over and got on his hands and knees. As he raised himself up onto one knee Dylan kicked his leg, sending Stanley back onto the floor.

"I warned you about asking questions, Stanley."

Dylan pressed a button on the wall and the door slid open as he left the room. Stanley picked himself up off the floor and leaned against the wall, pulling himself together. As he stepped out of the room he looked down the hallway to his left, where Dylan was turning off into a side hall. Stanley looked to his right, where his quarters were. He knew he should get back to his quarters.

But then again...

His curiosity won over his instincts and he left the training room and turned to the left, following Dylan's path. He stayed far behind so Dylan would not notice him, following each twist and turn Dylan took. Stanley turned along a corridor and came to a dead end. The hallway ended with an open door, which Stanley stepped cautiously through.

He was now in a dark room with rows of computers sitting on desks, all turned off. Ahead of him Dylan stood in front of a huge, wall-mounted monitor that provided the only light in the room. On the screen was the silhouette of a man with short hair and broad shoulders. The man on screen talked to Dylan, but it was too quiet for Stanley to hear what they were discussing. As he creeped closer, hiding himself behind the desks, he began to pick up what they said. The man on the screen had a distorted voice, making it deeper than anyone's normal voice should be.

"-you need to get the asset back here. He's too important for us to let the others take him."

Dylan spoke back, "I'll need a squad of men with me. And we'll need a cover story to tell the public-"

"The public will not hear about anything that happens," The man on the screen interrupted. "You will take the asset silently, and if he resists you will subdue him. If anybody hears about this it could put the vigilantes on our trail,"

"Yes, sir," Dylan looked down at the floor.

"This will be done with no witnesses. You and Graves will each take five men to collect him."

"Graves?" Dylan said, almost nervously. "I don't think he'll be necessary for the operation. I could take Isaac or Stanley or-"

"I'm coming with you, freak. I don't like it anymore than you do," Graves walked out of the shadows and into the light of the monitor. He was tall, taller than Dylan, and his pale skin made him look terrifying to Stanley.

Stanley had never met Graves in person, only seen him in passing. But he had heard stories about him from the other trainees.

Erick spent the whole day at school waiting for it to end, but at the same time dreading what would happen after. But he just wanted to get it over with. The man with the metal hand, Darren he said his name was, told Erick to wait for him after school. Erick sat anxiously the whole day. After class Erick ran towards the exit and waited outside. The weather was actually nice today, with a clear blue sky and a shining sun. Despite that Erick still shivered. He thought about running home, but something deep down in Erick told him to stay. He jumped when Darren came from behind and slapped him on the back with his bear paw of a hand.

"Whats up, Hero?" Darren said lightly, starting to walk away. Erick stood rooted to the ground. He turned back, "Come on, we don't have forever,"

"It's Erick," Erick grumbled as he reluctantly followed Darren. Darren put his hands out in front of him and gestured grandly as he said, "Fine. Erick the Hero."

"Helping an old lady hardly makes me a hero," Erick said.

Erick and Darren walked a few blocks into the city, past coffee shops and shops, slowly making their way down towards the coast of the lake. They walked along the shore as people passed them, going on their daily routines or simply walking and enjoying the weather.

Darren sat down on a bench facing the water and Erick joined him. Erick was the first one to talk.

"So what kind of group is this anyway?"

"It's more like a support group. We all, like you and myself, have… abilities. The ability to do something amazing."

"So you're telling me you have super powers? How are you guys not on the news every day, saving people and-"

"If anyone knew about what we could do," Darren cut Erick off, "They'd hate us, lock us up, and perform experiments on us. These days they hunt us down and kill us like animals." He sighed,

"Listen, Erick," His switch to a serious tone worried Erick. "I don't really know how you managed to survive this long without anyone noticing you, but that doesn't matter now. What matters is that I found you, and that I can trust you. See, you have proven to me twice now that you are the kind of person who is willing to step in to do the right thing. That's something a lot of people don't have these days." Darren pulled out a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and put one is his mouth. "Now, for us to proceed with the next step of initiation I need to hear you tell me that I can trust you."

Before Erick could answer Darren said "Because If I can't trust you, and these rules are not mine so forgive me if this frightens you, If I cant trust you one hundred percent, then I'll have to kill you." He finished with a cloud of smoke.

Darren looked at the surprise and fear on Erick's face as he waited. "Well?"

Erick stuttered then cleared his throat, "You can one hundred percent trust me."

"Good. I've always hated that part, but now we can move on to phase two."

"How many phases are there?"

"Don't worry about how many there are. All you need to focus on is the task at hand."

"And what is that?"

"Confirmation and extraction. I gave a call to a friend of mine who gets approval from higher up and we meet to extract you." Erick nodded.

"While we wait for approval," Darren continued, "Which should be coming any minute I want to ask you some questions."

"Okay," Erick said more tense than before.

"First, what is your power and how well can you control it?" Darren saw the lost look on Erick's face. "Don't worry, most new recruits are around 8 or 9 years old, so they don't have the best answers either. Just try and guess."

"Actually, that's the first time I've used that...whatever it was that happened." Erick said, "I just kinda felt a pull from somewhere inside me and I shouted."

"Okay..." Darren brought the cigarette to his mouth again. "Now what were you feeling when it happened?"

"I felt… scared, but also calm. It felt like someone needed my help." Erick said, getting lost in the memory. "I felt a spark inside of me. Faint, but…"

"Do you think you could do it again?" Darren asked.

"I-I don't know. Maybe." Erick turned his attention towards the water and the people walking and running by. Erick closed his eyes and focused deeply, then from within him he felt the spark, it flickered and faded, but it was there. He opened his eyes and looked at a woman walking alone.

"Stop." Erick said as her eyes went blank and she stopped in place. He felt the flame within him die out and the woman moved, she held her head and glanced at Erick and Darren before she returned to her routine. Whatever Erick felt inside him was gone now.

"So. Mind control," Darren said to himself.

"I guess," Erick said.

Darren's phone vibrated. Darren looked at it while Erick waited impatiently.

"Where do you live?" Darren said as he finished reading the text.

"I live with my mom and her boyfriend." Erick said feeling embarrassed. "I actually live in that building right there," Erick pointed to his tall apartment building nearby.

"What floor?" Darren asked.

"I'm on the 57th." Erick finished.

Darren stood up finished the cigarette in his mouth and crushed it with his foot. "Well, Erick, initiation needs to happen quick, so tonight me and my backup are going to come pick you up. And tell no one where you're going." Erick nodded. "Alright Erick, see you tonight." Darren left Erick on the bench alone. People ran and jogged by, occasionally hitting puddles from recent rain, and Darren disappeared into the crowd. Erick walked home, looking over his shoulder constantly, until he finally walked into the large tower he now called home.

When Erick walked in he heard Morris's voice immediately, "SARAH! The kid's home." he yelled at Erick's mother while he watched TV. Erick went to his room and saw his mother waiting there on his bed, a sad look on her face.

"Mom?" She looked up at him now. She looked like she was daydreaming.

"Come sit." She called to Erick.

"Whats up? Is something wrong?"

"Rick, me and Morris were talking and…well...we think you should start looking for your own place." Erick felt pain as he looked into his mother's eyes. She didn't look him in the eye.

"But I-I"

"Morris agreed to help you look for an apartment."

"I can't believe it I-" Erick was cut off by the sound of the doorbell ringing. His mother got up without saying anything and left the room. Erick sat, confused but relieved. Moving out was something definitely on his list of things to do. His pending adulthood had been on Erick's mind for a while, but as it was approaching fast it had always frightened him. Erick got up to follow his mom down the hall. As he got closer he heard two men talking to Morris.

A serious, stern voice echoed through the house, chilling Erick to the bone. "We're looking for Erick Hammond."