Chapter 1: The Interview

I cracked my eyes open and flashed a big, toothy grin. The harsh fluorescent light above buzzed like every DMV waiting room I’d ever suffered through, casting long, exaggerated shadows across my face—turning that grin into something almost predatory. A draft from the air vent brushed the back of my neck, sending a cold shiver down the small concrete room. Somewhere in the background, the dull hum of a battered Coke machine echoed through the cinderblock walls, as if to remind us just how far underground we were.

My smile made both young people shudder at the same time. The one standing in the back even jumped up and tried to yank the door open to escape. He yanked at the handle with both hands, sneakers squeaking against the linoleum. But no matter how hard he pulled on the handle, the door—which had just been closed—wouldn’t budge for some reason. He rattled the handle so hard, it clanged against the reinforced steel like a jail cell. I watched with idle amusement as he shot a nervous glance at the security camera in the corner, maybe hoping some off-site guard would come rescue him. No chance of that down here in the Bureau's infamous sub-basement.

Seeing this, I chuckled. “No need to be so nervous, you two. If I really wanted to do something, this place couldn’t hold me.” I let my gaze linger on the security camera, just long enough for them to wonder if I was joking. “So, why don’t you introduce yourselves?” My voice bounced off the concrete, warm and low, but there was a sharpness in it—a warning, wrapped in hospitality. I leaned back, crossing one ankle over my knee in a relaxed, almost cocky pose, like I owned the place.

The two exchanged a look, hesitated, and finally, one of them spoke up. “Uh, I’m Eric Lane,” he said, voice tight, like he was still waiting for the punchline of a bad joke. He had the crisp, hesitant tone of a kid who just finished his first year at the FBI Academy and still expected the world to play by the rules.

The other, the young man who’d just tried to bolt, followed after seeing this: “I’m Jason Fields.” Jason’s voice cracked on the first syllable, and he fiddled with the hem of his too-big Bureau khakis. He looked more like a college sophomore waiting outside a professor’s office than a government agent.

I nodded, saying nothing more. I let the silence hang just long enough for them to squirm, enjoying the tension like a cat with a trapped mouse. The only sound was the hum of the vents and the faint, metallic taste of fear in the air. The distant sound of footsteps in the corridor above reminded us how isolated this holding cell really was—a place nobody would hear you scream. The Bureau never did anything halfway.

Seeing my reaction, both of them swallowed hard. In the end, Eric forced himself to speak: “We’re here today to interview you.” His voice shook just a little, but he kept eye contact. I respected that.

I nodded slightly, then sat down on the chair behind me. At some point, the cold metal folding chair had quietly become a sturdy wooden one, like something out of a high school principal’s office. The change was so subtle you’d miss it if you blinked, but the warmth of the wood seeped into my spine like a small act of defiance against the Bureau’s chill.

I gestured for them to sit as well, then looked them over and asked, “So, what do you want to know?” I raised an eyebrow and tapped my fingers on the armrest, inviting them to drop the pretense.

After a pause, Eric cautiously asked, “They say you’re the strongest ability user—the Demon King who nearly destroyed the world?” His tone was the careful, clipped politeness of someone reciting a rumor at a church potluck—respectful, but deeply unsure.

I smiled and shook my head. “Strongest ability user? For now, I guess that’s true. But there’s one thing they got wrong: I never ‘almost’ destroyed the world.” I let my gaze settle on the ceiling, as if remembering an inside joke only I found funny.

Hearing this, the two let out a small sigh of relief—only for me to continue, “I actually did destroy the world. Once.”

I looked at the two of them, now frozen in shock, and asked, “You’re probably wondering: if I destroyed the world, how are you both still here?” I could see Jason’s eyes dart from me to Eric, as if hoping for some secret explanation, maybe even a hidden camera in the corner to tell him this was a prank.

Without waiting for a response, I went on, “It’s simple. After I destroyed the world, I restored it. That’s why we can all sit here and chat today.” I shrugged, as if it were just another Tuesday.

Eric swallowed hard. “I… I don’t quite understand what you mean.” He clutched his notebook a little tighter, fingers white against the cover, the way you do when you realize the test is way harder than you thought.

I glanced at him. “Then let me start from the beginning.” I leaned forward, hands steepled, giving the line the gravity of a Netflix docuseries intro.

“Twenty years ago, a mysterious meteorite landed on our planet. A week later, people all over the world started awakening all sorts of abilities. At first, everyone was skeptical. But soon they discovered that when you turned eighteen, you had a one-in-a-thousand chance of awakening a random ability. Those under eighteen could also awaken their powers on their eighteenth birthday.” I paused, letting the facts settle, knowing everyone in America still remembered where they were the day the meteorite hit—the endless cable news coverage, the sudden traffic jams as folks stared at the sky, the overnight spike in tinfoil hat sales at Walmart, and the late-night jokes on Jimmy Fallon.

I began to recount my story in the quiet room. The hum of the ventilation, the musty scent of old concrete and floor wax, the distant beep of security monitors—every detail seemed to fade as I spoke, drawing the rookies into my memories.

“The year after the meteorite landed, I turned eighteen. On my birthday, I felt something stirring in my mind, like an ability about to awaken. But by the end of the day, nothing happened. I thought maybe my ability just needed more time, that it would show up in a few days. But even after starting college, I still hadn’t awakened anything.” I remembered my mom calling me that night, her voice hopeful on the other end of the line: “Any powers yet, honey?” Just disappointment, over and over.

“So, I accepted that I was just an ordinary person and started living an ordinary life—going to college, planning for a decent job after graduation, living like everyone else.” I shrugged, a little bitter. I tailgated at football games, crammed for finals at the campus Starbucks, and ate microwaved ramen in a dorm that always smelled like weed and burned popcorn. Just your typical American student life.

“During college, I had a girlfriend. She treated me well, took care of me, and was always sweet. I fell for her quickly. Back then, she was my whole world. Oh, right—her name was Rachel Quinn.” My chest tightened at her name. Even now, a decade later, the memory of her laugh could still gut me. I glanced at Jason, waiting for his reaction. For a moment, my tone softened, letting the nostalgia seep through.

Jason’s jaw dropped. His badge nearly slipped out of his hand. “Wait—Rachel Quinn? As in, the Rachel Quinn?” I could see the shock etched across his features—a rookie who just discovered his high school hero was dating the villain.

I looked at him and nodded. “That’s right. The ace of your Seventh Bureau, the so-called Goddess of Vengeance—Rachel Quinn. That was about ten years ago. Whether she’s still alive, I don’t know.” I let the words linger, watching the realization dawn in their eyes. Rachel had become a legend—a face on Bureau motivational posters, a name whispered at water coolers.

I went on, “We spent blissful days together in college, even planned to get married after graduation. But in the end, I wasn’t just an ordinary person. On the day I graduated, my ability finally awakened—albeit late. And in that instant, I saw right through Rachel’s ability. Turns out, she’d been hiding it from me all along—she was an ability user too.” I could still smell her perfume that day—citrus and vanilla, sharp as the truth I’d just uncovered.

“So, what exactly is your ability?” Eric asked, his voice cautious. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, trying to keep his voice from trembling, but failing. The room seemed to shrink around us as the question hung in the air.

I looked at Eric and grinned. “You’re pretty bold. Back then, even your director, Mr. Charles Anderson—that old fox—tried every trick and still couldn’t figure out my ability, and you think you can get it just by asking?” I winked, teasing him, enjoying the rookie’s attempt at bravado. Anderson’s name always brought back memories of endless interrogations and those damn coffee stains he left everywhere.

“I didn’t mean it that way—” Eric tensed up immediately, clearly worried I’d be offended and crush him on the spot. His hands fumbled for the recorder in his pocket, like he was ready to offer it up as a peace offering.

I waved it off. “But I’ve been bored for ages, and it’s rare to have someone to talk to. So, I might as well tell you.” I reached over and snagged a bottle of water from the table—Bureau brand, of course, with the logo half-rubbed off—just to show them I was still playing nice.

Seeing their eyes light up, I continued, “On graduation day, I finally understood my ability: I can comprehend the description of any ability, and change one letter in that description.”

Looking at the two, who were clearly struggling to process this, I said, “You don’t really get it, do you? Let me use you two as examples.” I cracked my knuckles and gave them a mischievous smile, the kind that makes interns rethink their career choices.