**Thirty-Six Hours Ago**
*Cedar Sinai Medical Center - 4:23 AM*
The emergency room erupted into controlled chaos as the gurney burst through the doors.
"Male, seventeen, high-speed MVA," the paramedic rattled off. "Vitals are... shit, they keep changing. Heart rate spikes then drops, temp's all over the place—"
"Is that... Jayden Luther?" A nurse recognized the blood-covered face. "Someone call the VIP coordinator. Now."
Dr. Sarah Kim grabbed the chart, then nearly dropped it. The readouts made no sense. Blood pressure that should have killed him. Neural activity that looked like three people thinking at once. And the EKG...
"Why is his heart generating that much electrical activity?"
"Doc," the paramedic said quietly, "you need to see the crash site."
*
**Sixth Street Bridge - 4:45 AM**
Detective Maria Santos had worked Superhuman Crimes Division for three years. She'd seen impact craters from flying heroes, melted concrete from heat vision, the works. But this was different.
"Tell me again why SCD got called to a street racing accident?" she asked her partner.
Detective James Washington pointed at the wall where the McLaren had hit. "That's why."
The concrete was scarred with what looked like lightning strikes radiating out from the impact point. Not painted on. Not burned in. The patterns were somehow *inside* the concrete, like frozen electricity.
"Latent activation?" Washington suggested.
"Maybe." Santos knelt beside the skid marks. They glowed faintly in the pre-dawn darkness, a blue phosphorescence that shouldn't exist. "Get the energy readers. And nobody touches anything without hazmat gear."
A young man in racing leathers approached nervously. Rico, according to the uniforms.
"Detectives? I was... I was racing him when it happened."
Santos studied him. Scared, but not just of cops. "Tell me everything. And I mean everything. Starting with why Jayden Cross decided to actually race tonight instead of throwing it like usual."
Rico's eyes widened. "How did you—"
"We know about the arrangement. Rich boy pays to lose, everyone's happy. What changed?"
"I don't know. He just... he seemed different tonight. Like something woke up."
*
**Luther Family Estate, Del Air - 6:15 AM**
Victoria Luther received the news in her home office, where she'd been awake reviewing quarterly reports. The Luthers didn't sleep; they strategized. The faint glow of her photokinetic abilities provided all the light she needed—no mundane electricity required.
"Coma," she repeated into the phone, her fingers unconsciously generating small light patterns. "But stable?"
Marcus Luther appeared in the doorway, already dressed despite the hour. Twenty-five years of marriage, and she'd never seen him in anything less than business attire. Shadows bent unnaturally around him—his umbrakinetic abilities as much a part of him as his ruthless ambition.
"The cripple?" he asked.
She nodded, hanging up. "Racing accident. He's at Cedar Sinai."
"Of course he is." No emotion in Marcus's voice. Never was. "How bad?"
"Bad enough that they called us. Apparently there were... complications."
Marcus manifested a chair from pure shadow and sat. "Complications meaning what? Finally overdosed on whatever helps him forget he's powerless?"
"Complications meaning the Superhuman Crimes Division is investigating."
The shadow chair rippled. "Impossible. He's a null. We've had him tested every year since the Event Genesis. The embarrassment of the Luther line."
"Maybe the tests were wrong."
"The tests are never wrong." Marcus stood, the chair dissolving. "Seventeen years. His sister could fly before she could walk. His brother manifested pyrokinesis at age eight. Even the cousins have at least minor abilities. But Jayden? Nothing. A genetic impossibility in our bloodline."
Victoria's light flickered with something like concern. "He's still our son."
"No," Marcus corrected, darkness spreading from his feet like spilled ink. "He's our failure. The one Luther in five generations born without power. Do you know what the other families say? The Apex clan, the Sterlings, the Voughts? They laugh at us. The mighty Luther line producing a cripple."
"And if he's manifesting now?"
Marcus paused at the window, his reflection absent in the glass—another perk of shadow manipulation. "Then we need to know what level. If it's anything below Platinum Grade, he remains an embarrassment. If it's higher..."
"You'd suddenly care about your son?"
"I'd suddenly care about our legacy." Marcus turned, his form briefly becoming incorporeal shadow. "Call Dr. Chen. Make it clear—we want every detail about what's happening. If Jayden Luther is finally becoming more than a stain on our bloodline, we need to control it."
"And the press?"
"Call Hartman at the Times. Make sure any coverage stays... appropriate. The last thing we need is headlines about the Luther cripple having a breakdown." His shadows deepened. "If he's manifesting true power, we spin it as a late bloomer story. Inspiring. The Luther who overcame adversity. If not..."
"If not?"
"Then we minimize coverage. Another tragic accident. Nothing more."
Victoria watched her husband fade into the shadows, teleporting to whatever meeting he deemed more important than their son's potential death.
She picked up her phone, light dancing between her fingers. Seventeen years of watching Jayden pretend he didn't care about being the only powerless Luther. Seventeen years of family gatherings where cousins flew overhead while he stood grounded. Seventeen years of being called "the cripple" behind closed doors and sometimes to his face.
Maybe that's why he'd been so reckless. When you couldn't fly, you found other ways to feel weightless.
Even if it meant racing cars into walls.
*
**Cedar Sinai Medical Center - Room 3847 - 2:17 PM
Rico sat in the waiting room, still in yesterday's clothes. He'd told the cops everything. Well, almost everything. He hadn't mentioned how Jayden's eyes had looked in that last moment before impact. Like he was seeing something nobody else could.
His phone buzzed. Unknown number.
"Yeah?"
"Mr. Vasquez?" Female voice, professional. "My name is Dr. Evelyn Marsh. I work with a organization that monitors latent activations."
"I don't know what—"
"You were with Jayden Luther when he manifested. The electrical scarring at the crash site, his biometric readings—he's not just manifesting, Mr. Vasquez. He's manifesting at levels we've never seen."
Rico stood, moving away from other visitors. "What do you want?"
"Information. And to warn you. When he wakes up—and he will wake up—he's going to be dangerous. Uncontrolled electrical manipulation paired with speed enhancement. He won't mean to hurt anyone, but—"
"You don't know Jayden," Rico interrupted. "Being the only powerless Luther fucked him up. He might not care if he hurts anyone."
Silence on the line.
"Every single one. Mom glows like a fucking lighthouse. Dad's made of shadows. Sister flies, brother shoots fire. Even the cousins have something. Jayden? Nothing. They called him 'the cripple' at family dinners."
"Jesus." Dr. Marsh's professional composure cracked. "No wonder his psychological profile is so... complicated."
"Complicated? Lady, he's been trying to kill himself with cars."
*
**LAPD Headquarters - Superhuman Crimes Division - 8:43 PM
Detective Santos spread the photos across her desk. The crash site from every angle. Energy readings that made no sense. And now this.
"Security footage from three blocks away," Washington said, queuing up the laptop. "Watch his car just before impact."
The video was grainy, distant, but clear enough. The McLaren racing toward the wall, and then—
"Jesus," Santos breathed. "Did he just—"
"Phase through three different probability states simultaneously? Yeah." Washington rubbed his eyes. "Whatever triggered in Jayden Cross, it's not standard speedster stuff. This is something else."
Santos picked up a photo of the unconscious young man, taken at the hospital. Rich kid. Trust fund baby. The only powerless member of the Luther dynasty—the superhuman family that practically owned half of California's tech sector.
"And now he's got powers that could level city blocks," she muttered. "The family 'cripple' becomes a god."
"The question is," Washington said, "what's he going to do when he wakes up? Join the heroes? Register with the government? Try to prove himself to daddy?"
Santos laughed bitterly. "You seen his record? Reckless endangerment, assault charges daddy's shadows made disappear, that incident at the marina last year? Jayden Luther has spent seventeen years being told he's worthless by people who can bend reality. Now he can bend it too."
"So what do we do?"
"We wait. We watch. And we hope to God someone teaches him control before he burns half of LA to the ground. Because a powerless kid who suddenly gets power?" She shook her head. "That never ends well."
*
**Cedar Sinai Medical Center - Dr. Chen's Office - 11:56 PM
Dr. Marcus Chen reviewed the readings for the twentieth time. It didn't make them any more believable.
"His cellular structure is converting itself into a bioelectric matrix," he told his colleague. "Every neuron, every muscle fiber—it's all becoming a living electrical network."
"Theoretical output?"
"If these projections are right? He's a potential Level 150, minimum. Maybe higher."
"Christ. And control mechanisms?"
Chen pulled up another screen. "Non-existent. His conscious mind has no connection to the power regulation centers. It would be like giving a toddler a nuclear reactor with no off switch."
"So when he wakes up..."
"When he wakes up," Chen said quietly, "we better hope he's in a good mood. Because Jayden Luther is about to become one of the most powerful uncontrolled metahumans on the planet. The boy who spent seventeen years as the family disappointment just became their greatest asset—or their greatest threat."
Through the office window, they could see the VIP wing where Jayden lay unconscious. Every few minutes, the lights in his room would flicker. The machines monitoring him had to be replaced every few hours as they overloaded.
****
Somewhere in Los Angeles, the Five were holding a press conference about their Antarctic victory. Apex was explaining how discipline and training made them Earth's greatest heroes.
In twelve hours, a different kind of powered individual would wake up. One with no discipline, no training, and no interest in being anyone's hero.
The city had no idea what was coming.
****
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