Buddy stirred awake as pale morning light sifted through the workshop's grimy windows, casting long shadows over scattered tools and half-assembled gadgets. The stale scent of solder and metal lingered in the air, a tangible reminder of the late hours he had spent bent over circuits and blueprints. Somewhere behind him, an alarm blared, forgotten in the rush of relentless focus.
He cracked open an eye and blinked twice, the ache in his muscles speaking louder than any alarm. Slowly, he pushed himself upright, stretching out limbs that felt simultaneously youthful and overworked. His bones popped in protest—a creaky symphony that came with the territory of a ten-year-old body burdened with the mind of someone twice his age.
A glance downward revealed the same comfortable clothes he'd donned yesterday morning: the soft black tee emblazoned with the bold blue-and-black emblem of Mr. Incredible, the stylized "i" crowned by its bright red dot, paired with worn sweatpants and those trusty push-in slippers — worn enough to mold to his feet, comforting enough to feel like armor of a different kind.
His stomach growled indignantly, reminding him that time had whisked by unnoticed and that his last proper meal was a distant memory. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he muttered, "Breakfast first — saving the world can wait 'til after I'm not about to pass out."
In the kitchen, Buddy rifled through the sparse offerings of the fridge, shrugging at the slightly wilted lettuce and sad-looking apples. His mother must have had a dozen urgent things to do last night, enough to keep her away from home, draining his pantry in the process.
"Guess it's just me and the cereal," he sighed, pouring a generous bowl of sugary flakes, the sweet scent a childhood comfort in this tangled life of tech and turmoil.
As he ate, the city outside blinked awake under fresh morning rain — streets still shimmering with droplets, neon signs slowly fading in the dawn. The quiet bustle of early commuters was a distant murmur beneath the comforting noise of his clinking spoon and crunchy cereal.
His mind, silent in the softness of the morning, began to take shape: the plan. He would reach out to those lurking in the city's darker corners — the vigilantes moving in shadows, carving their own ways. Not for glory. Not for justice. For opportunity. For survival. For profit. For the chance to finally make his skills pay off.
He chuckled quietly. "Honestly, if I don't turn this into something that lines my pockets, I'm just being an idiot playing hero like everyone else."
Finished and brushing crumbs off the table, Buddy slammed the bowl into the sink and headed for the bathroom. Warm water cascaded over him as he let the shower wash away the grime and fatigue of the night. The steam swirled thickly, muffling the city's wakefulness beyond the frosted glass.
Between the steady drum of falling water, his mind drifted like the wisps of steam curling up around the bathroom mirror.
Why do the best ideas always come in the shower? he thought wryly. Probably 'cause it's the only time the amount of water flowing doesn't depend on me.
He grinned, imagining the look on his mother's face if he told her about his "genius" plans concocted mid-rinse.
Also, who decided shampoo bottles shouldn't have little handles? No way am I risking a slippery bottle on top of juggling rocket boots and grappling hooks. Wouldn't want to add 'faceplant' to my resume.
The water scalded pleasantly as he shook loose a day's worth of tension, feeling more human with every drop.
When he finally stepped out, the cold air hit him like a challenge, pulling him back to the reality waiting beyond the bathroom door. This city wasn't going to change itself, and whatever path he chose was going to be messy.
But Buddy Pine wasn't one to shy away from mess. If anything, he thrived in the chaos — as long as the chaos played by his rules.
Towel wrapped tight, he gave a final look around the apartment — a shrine to invention littered with possibility. Tools, gadgets, and schematics clustered in organized chaos that only he could decipher.
After a quick rummage through his closet, he pulled out a cozy hoodie, the fabric soft and worn, featuring yet another iteration of the Mr. Incredible emblem. He chuckled to himself as he slipped it on. "At this point, I should just change my name to Buddy Incredible. My unhealthy obsession with this guy is practically a fashion statement."
With a final glance at the workshop, he made a mental note of the gadgets he needed to finish—tools that could help him make a real impact.
"Let's do this," he whispered to himself, determination flooding his veins. He was ready to step out of the shadows and into the light, to forge connections that could change everything.
With a deep breath, Buddy finished getting dressed and prepared to face the day. Today was the day he would reach out, and he wouldn't let fear hold him back. The city awaited, and so did the chance to make a difference—on his own terms.
~End of Chapter~
*This is a work of fiction and is intended for entertainment purposes only. I do not own The Incredibles or any of its characters, settings, or related intellectual property. The Incredibles is the property of Pixar Animation Studios and Disney. This fanfic is created purely for the enjoyment of fans and is not intended for profit. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.*