Tyres crunched on gravel as a construction vehicle pulled up near the ruined warehouse. Gregory Mason wasn't a real insurance adjuster, but he had a hi-vis vest, a hard hat and a clipboard, which was enough of a disguise that he could generally go wherever he pleaded without interference. His pickup, marked with the logo and branding of a fictitious claims company, added to the impression of authority and authenticity. Nobody looked twice as he ducked under the yellow tape and into the restricted zone.

If he was honest, every part of Gregory Mason's life had become a lie more than three years ago, after <I>the accident</I> - the explosion that awoke something strange within him. He'd nearly died that day.

He and his team had been working on a building when half of the bottom two floors had been wiped out in an instant, a wall of debris and shrapnel leaving him clinging to life. He never even saw the attack that killed his friends, that left him broken and breathless in the ICU for three long weeks. He remembered coming to, dazed and weak, only to learn that Mainstream had saved the city from a rampaging giant robot that day.

But Mainstream hadn't saved <I>everyone.</I>

When he'd finally healed enough to walk, Mason returned to the site. The gutted building, nothing but twisted metal and shattered concrete, now stood condemned, too unstable to restore. He'd stared for hours at the smooth cuts along the beams, the places where the explosion had vaporised solid brick. This wasn't just debris; it was the scene of his friend's last breaths, their lives snuffed out without warning by forces beyond human understanding.

His own life hadn't been much better following the event. Without a team, his construction business had collapsed; the was no one left to help him rebuild and his heart wasn't in it. His insurance payout had been delayed, mired in investigation, and all plans, his future, everything he'd worked for, had been reduced to ashes in a heartbeat. No rescue workers of hollow condolences could change the fact that his friends had died for someone else's victory. This rubble was their tomb, and it was Mainstream's fault.

A crack of anger broke something loose inside him that day. He stumbled, fists clenched, as close as he dared to the heart of the destruction. "Why?" he shouted into the ruins, his voice hoarse with grief. "Why call him a hero?"

The rubble shifted. A sudden tremor, deep and resonant, seemed to answer him. Dust spilled from the rafters as if the building itself were cringing in pain. Startled, Mason glanced around, pulse hammering. This place had been picked over, declared safe enough for entry - with the appropriate clearances and waivers, of course, but still. Nothing should be moving.

Had? had he done something? His hands tingled, a strange, weighty sensation that crawled up his arms. Just a coincidence, he thought, but deep down he wasn't sure. It felt like he'd <I>grasped</I> something, somehow. He could feel a pulse beneath his skin, almost in his very bones, steady and potent, and though his anger has stirred something old and powerful. He took a step forward, raised his hands, and, driven by desperation, thrust hem toward the mound of debris.

"Bring them back!" he shouted, a raw demand that seemed to vibrate in his bones.

Loose bricks clattered free and a mangled girder sheared off with a metallic shriek. Instead of tumbling and bouncing they slammed to the ground with a crash. The force was visceral, real, an extension of his will. Even the dust and crumbling mortar smacked into the earth with a dull patter and lay still, pressed to the ground. He stood frozen in the silence, hands still outstretched, staring at the wreckage, processing what he'd done.

Realisation had hit his mind, then. <I>He</I> could change things. This wasn't some fluke. He had survived the blast and gained a power that answered his anger, fed by a force he couldn't name. He felt the weight of destiny settle like a mantle on his shoulders. His friends, their dreams, homes and families, the lives they'd built, had been collateral damage in a battle between gods, and now he would be one of them.

No. He would be better. He would hold them to account for their careless actions. He would avenge the innocent casualties caught up in the war of superhumans and demigods.

His codename would be Gravitas.

= = =

He didn't go after Mainstream right away, of course - he was angry, not suicidal, and the man could obliterate him with a flick of his fingers. No. Mason knew he had to rebuild - both himself and his life. His medical bills alone had nearly crushed him, wiping out his savings and leaving him with little to support his quiet vendetta. Starting small was essential, blending into the shadows while he figured out just how far his powers would go without drawing too much attention.

He sold his old house, relocated to a quieter town on the outskirts and worked his way into the shadows of the criminal underworld. At first it was pretty jobs, using his gravity-powers to immobilise petty crooks - a ready source of untraceable cash. It seemed like a good way to gather funds without drawing attention, and also gave him ample opportunity to practice with his abilities. He found he could do more than simply increase gravity - he could lessen it, allowing him to lift formerly-heavy objects, or counteract it entirely, leaving his targets floating in the air.

It was simple work, picking up quick cash from criminal scum, but he never took more than he needed to pay for food and pay his bills. It wasn't greed that drove him, it was necessity.

With his funds replenished, he bought himself some essentials - body armour, a decent mask, pepper spray. He even went so far as to purchase a handgun, cold metal that sat heavy in his palm. It was his backup plan, a safety net for those moments when powers alone weren't enough.

Just in case, he told himself, but he never needed it. As his confidence grew, tinged with a simmering rage just below the surface, he gained new mastery over his power. He could reverse gravity in a localised area, smashing targets against the ceiling, or if they were outdoors he could fling them high into the air? temporarily. One day he learned that he could do more than simply 'up' and 'down', when he accidentally dragged a man toward his outstretched hand. Shocked, he pushed outward with his power, and slammed the man backward into the far wall.

As his powers grew, so too did his ambitions. He wasn't going to waste his newfound abilities on two-bit criminals forever. He had a purpose, a calling, and every step had to bring him closer to it. His first real test would be the so-called hero Mister Fizzles - a foppish, bumbling inventor who was far more of a liability that an asset to the city.

Fizzles was, at best, a joke. A failed clown-turned-television host, he'd spent years presenting a children's science show, where his zany contraptions regularly exploded in clouds of coloured smoke or shot foam in every direction. The accidents were funny in a controlled studio setting, surrounded by props and safety equipment, but somewhere along the line he'd begun to take his public persona a little too seriously. Believing his own hype, he'd donned a ridiculous jumpsuit, strapped a (non-functional) jetpack to his back, and declared himself a hero.

In the field, his devices malfunctioned as often as they worked. What had been an amusing gimmick on the sound stage became downright dangerous when lives were at stake. Fizzles maintained that his antics were just what the world needed, an example of courage and curiosity wrapped in chaotic, slapstick bravado, but to Mason he was something else entirely: a liability, a foolish man playing reckless games with people's lives.

Mason watched him for weeks, learning his patterns, his routines, how he slinked around the city after hours with his clinking gadgets and haphazard inventions.

When he finally made his move, Mason didn't hold back. He hid himself near the man's favourite lookout spot and waited until nightfall. Fizzles didn't keep regular hours, but he did have a favourite route, and when he finally showed up he was wearing a new prototype jetpack, rigged with blinking lights and garishly-painted wings. He clearly thought this was going to be a big heroic moment, the kind that would look good on camera if anybody were there to witness it. But was alone, unaware that Mason, now calling himself Gravitas, was watching from the shadows.

Fizzles struck a pose, stuck out his chin, snapped his goggles into place and ignited the boosters. They sputtered and roared as they struggled to lift his hunched frame off the rooftop. Gravitas could see him teetering in midair, adjusting his grip on the handles as the device wobbled precariously, tilting this way and that as he fought against gravity's hold. It was a sweet irony, almost too easy.

Gravitas took a slow breath, feeling the familiar pulse of his power stirring within him. He reached out with an invisible force, his hand subtly outstretched as if pulling on a lever that controlled the weight of the world itself. With a twist of his fingers he created a gravitational eddy around the rocket boosters.

The jetpack faltered as the fuel flow ran backward, and Fizzles dropped back to the rooftop. His expression of proud determination turned to frustration and he struggled to regain control. Gravitas dispelled the effect, letting the engines ignite once again, and the scientist lifted off at maximum thrust.

Fizzles gave a jubilant hoot of victory, his lights flashing and dancing as he soared out over empty air. Gravitas reached out and pulled the man back toward the rooftop, down and backward.

"Hey, what's going on?" Fizzles cried, his voice barely audible over the roar of his jetpack. He tried to activate some additional emergency boost, but Gravitas simply smiled and pulled harder. Fizzle cried out as every last gadget, tool and trinket tore away from his suit and smashed to the ground with crushing force.

In a final indignity, the hero's shoes pulled off his feet and slapped loudly onto the asphalt below. Gravitas closed his fist and jerked his victim down like a hooked fish. Fizzles landed on the rooftop, his knees buckling as the jetpack's frame gave way, raining sparks and debris.

Panting, he struggled to stand, only for Gravitas to raise his hand again, amplifying the pull of gravity just to enough to force the man to his knees.

"W-who are you?" Fizzles stammered, the weight pressing him down, grinding broken bits of machinery into the concrete.

Gravitas stepped out from the shadows. The bottom half of his face was hidden by a black mask, but his eyes burned with cold fury. "Someone who believe people like you should face the consequences of your recklessness. You think this is a game? You think a costume and a gadget make you a hero?"

Fizzled tried to shake his head, but the pressure was unyielding, and it was all he could do to stay upright. "I- I was just trying to help. To inspire -"

"You were a clown on television," Gravitas said, his voice a low, menacing rumble. "And that's all you'll ever be. Consider this your last act. Retire, or next time I'll crush more than your toys." One by one, the gadgets strewn on the ground imploded, folding in on themselves or crushing flat. Fizzles found himself flung backward, almost to the roof's edge, and when he managed to pick himself up there was no sign of his attacker. He crumpled, broken and defeated, crushed by the weight of his own failure.

For Gravitas, it was a satisfying victory, the first step in his mission to rid the world of irresponsible "heroes". One down, and one step close to Mainstream.

= = =

With Ty's guidance, Zar's understanding of this new world grew quickly, but it was dizzying. The creatures of this world had multiple names for almost everything, with subtle shifts in meaning and context that would take time to master. They called themselves humans, or human beings, or simply people. A single human was called a person. They were further divided into male and female; fully grown humans were men and women, while the smaller, younger ones were boys or girls.

Zar's mind spun with this complexity. Ty, her friend, was a man. Zar, apparently, was a woman. When she asked how he could tell, Ty blushed, stammering something vague about "physical characteristics" that she'd come to recognise eventually. She accepted this and filed it away, thought his discomfort puzzled her.

She asked him about the human with the giant, bulbous head, and he looked mystified.

Ty shifted the conversation to something she was more interested in. "Fire," he said, thoughtfully, "is one of the most powerful discoveries mankind ever made, but it's also something humans instinctively fear, because of how easily it can destroy." Zar's eyes narrowed as she mulled this over, glancing down at her own flickering tail.

"So, they'll fear me?"

Ty quickly tried to reassure her. "Not if they see who you are. You're friendly, and people respond well to that. Besides, your appearance is, well, striking, but I think you could blend in more than you think."

She brightened at this, her flames flaring briefly. "I was to help, to be? useful. A champion, yes, but," she stopped. "I don't understand this world enough to know where to begin."

Ty smiled. "If you want to help, you can start small. Like helping me clear these plates, for instance." He held up one of the small platforms and she took it eagerly, carrying if over to the receptacle he indicated. Then Ty did something with his hand, summoning forth a gushing stream of the not-solid stuff, spilling out of a curved rod. She flinched, startled. "How??"

"It's water," he explained gently. "It? well, I mean? it's water. A liquid. Good for cleaning things." He caught her wary expression and paused, noticing her reaction. "Are you? scared? of water?"

She shook her head, she literally didn't know the meaning of the word.

"Hm." Ty raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you <I>should</I> be. Although I doubt anybody would summon a warrior who can be taken out with a bucket."

Zar nodded, carefully, but then shook her head. "I do not understand. What is <I>scared</I>? And what is a bucket?"

Ty made a strange sound, rubbing the back of his neck. "Right, fair questions. Scared is? it's when you feel like you're in danger, so you avoid the thing that scares you. And a bucket-" he gestured vaguely, and picked up a mug from the counter, "is a container, for holding things like water. Like this, but larger."

"To be scared means to avoid harm?"

"More of less," Ty replied. "Not always rational, but it can keep you alive."

She nodded, as if filing the concept away. "I do not think I am scared, then. My nature is to face things, not avoid them."

"I figured," he grinned, his eyes gleaming with an idea. "Here, I want to try something. Can you grab the end of your tail for me?"

She raised a brow, puzzled, but nodded and twisted around to comply with his request. Her tail flicked into view for an instant, just enough to encourage her to reach for it, but the moment she stretched out her hand it darted away. She frowned, turning faster, only for her tail to elude her again, flicking just beyond her reach - her own tail was hiding from her! She turned again, twisting almost completely around, and once more her tail whipped away out of sight. Frustrated, she growled, and made another attempt, determined to outwit the rebellious appendage.

A strange sound drifted over her shoulder - soft, broken, almost like Ty was struggling to speak, but his face was lit with an expression of? delight? Happiness? She froze, her tail instantly forgotten as she tried to decode what he was doing.

"What?" she asked. "What is it?"

Ty shook his head, still smiling, eyes crinkled with mirth. "I'm sorry, that was kinda funny. Like a dog chasing its tail."

Her brow furrowed deeper. "What is a dog?"

"Smart creatures, loyal and brave? humans keep them as? companions. They're, uh, known for a lot of things, including, well, doing what you just did."

Zar nodded, that didn't seem like a bad thing. "I can be a loyal friend," she murmured, "But my tail does not want to be caught. It resists me."

Ty sighed and scooped some of the not-solid - the water - into the small container, holding it carefully as he approached her, his expression wary. Zar didn't like this, and bared her teeth instinctively. Ty paused in mid-step.

"I'm just going to splash a little bit of this on your tail," he explained.

"Why?"

"It's? an experiment. Water puts fire out. If your tail is fire, I need to know if, well, if it'll be okay in water."

"Out?" she echoed, suspicious.

"It? just trust me, a small splash."

His hesitation stirred a sense of unease, but she held still, watching as he dipped his fingers in the water and flicked some of it toward her tail. The water hit her, and? nothing happened. He repeated it, this time holding his hand nearer. He pulled back, sharply. "Hot," he commented, more to himself than to her. She blinked - of course it was hot. It was fire.

"Can you try dipping just the tip in here?"

She shook her head. "I don't control it," she admitted, glancing back at the dancing flames with a hint of pride. "But it is pretty."

"Let me try something else." He stepped away and returned with a roll of some thin, flexible material. There were tiny markings all over it, but nothing she recognised.

Cautiously, he touched it to her tail - and it ignited instantly. He swore, yanking the flaming object back as Zar's eyes widened in glee.

"Fire!" she exclaimed, pleased. "We can make more?"

"Uh, maybe let's not," he grimaced, dumping the fire into the water, and it died with a dull hiss. Zar leaned over to watch it sink, morbidly fascinated. There was fire, and then the fire was gone. Eaten by the water.

"Is <I>that</I> what you wanted to do to my tail?"

"No! Not like that!" He shook his head, flustered. "I just wanted to make sure that wouldn't happen. We have weather, here, in this world. Water like this can fall from the sky anytime, and sooner or later, well, you'll probably want to take a shower. No offence."

"This? weather? It will try to put me 'out', like this?" she nodded toward the now-smoky water.

"I don't think it's as easy as that. I suspect your flames are magical in nature - after all there's no fuel, nothing's actually burning."

She shrugged, accepting the explanation without understanding it.

"I like when things <I>are</I> burning," she said, then blinked. "Water! I see now! The other place, where there was fire? I went back and it was changed. The fire was gone and there was water instead. The water destroyed the fire!"

Ty made an unhappy face, knowing Zar was right, and she wouldn't like his answer. "Fire, unchecked, would have caused a lot of destruction. We use water to stop that happening."

Zar was shaken. Fire, in her world, was an eternal thing. No fire ever went 'out', and nothing was ever destroyed. The creatures of this world had found a way to destroy fire, and it was a material that could fall from the sky at any time!

Surely some of the fire had survived. She could still feel a faint current toward the location, like a vortex that pulled, somewhere deep inside. She turned her attention to it, looking inward, somehow beneath and inside the hard surfaces of this alien world.

= = =

Ty gasped in horror as Zar vanished.

Chapters...