A gleaming white portal opened in the middle of an empty park, just beside a water fountain.

  The Tyrants stepped through, their feet landing on a clean stone pathway as the portal sealed behind them. They had shed their costumes, now dressed in civilian clothes scavenged from a white house nearby.

  They found it around the Whitehouse, but they didn’t know who the clothes belonged to— Krov couldn’t find a trace of DNA. Perhaps it was for the best.

  The Pretender wore a simple black cotton jacket and slacks, white sneakers completing the look.

  The Baroness was dressed in an elegant buttoned coat, clean trousers, and heels.

  666 had her green jumpsuit, paired with white sneakers.

  Havoc wore a suit and tie with suspenders, unintentionally preserving his clownish aesthetic.

  Krov kept his form-fitting red tracksuit, white sneakers, and black gloves.

  Divine wore a brown vest over a blue checkered shirt, jeans, and leather boots that made him look like a cowboy.

  “Where are we?” the Pretender asked, her voice tight with nervousness.

  “You’ll see,” 666 replied with a smirk.

  She hopped up onto the rim of the fountain and turned to face them, adjusting her stance like someone about to give a speech.

  “So. Listen up,” she said. “On your hands right now is what people call a Thinker.”

  Everyone glanced down at their wrists. Strapped to each of them was a device—part watch, part computer. It's compact, sleek, and surprisingly light.

  “I’ll simplify it for you dinosaurs,” 666 continued, confidence dripping from her tone.

  “We call a calculator a calculator because it calculates numbers. We call a computer a computer because it computes.” She gestured lazily at their wrists. “This works the same way. It’s called a Thinker because it thinks for us. Simple enough.”

  “Inside is a little robot person who can do all sorts of things,” 666 said. “You can watch movies, listen to music—basically anything you ask it to do.”

  “Ah, it is similar to Comrade Dolly, then?” Krov asked while rubbing his chin.

  “Correction,” came Dolly’s voice from 666’s Thinker. She had kept Dolly for herself.

  “I am a one-of-a-kind BMI system, unlike the basic mass-produced AI units.”

  “Ah—many apologies, then,” Krov said, bowing his head slightly. “I did not mean to offend.”

  “It’s alright!” Dolly replied cheerfully.

  “ Moving on,” 666 continued. “Inside your Thinker is everything you need to start a new life. New IDs, documentation, visas, all that shit. So don’t fucking lose it. I really don’t want to explain everything again, so if you’ve got questions, ask your Thinker.”

  The Tyrants glanced at one another, silently waiting for someone else to try first.

  The Baroness stepped forward, lifting her Thinker toward her face. “Hello?” she murmured.

  “Welcome, new user! How may I assist you?” the device replied in a bright, robotic male voice.

  The others gasped softly, impressed by the current technology in this world.

  “You’re not completely hopeless,” 666 said, nodding with approval.

  “As for money,” she continued, her tone brisk, “they use something called Ams nowadays. Aether Money. I’ve divided everything we found in the White House evenly.”

  “I found—” Divine started.

  “No one cares,” 666 cut in flatly.

  “Dolly has set up a bank account for each of you,” she went on. “Check your Thinkers if you don’t believe me. And again—don’t fucking lose them.”

  She folded her arms. “That should be enough for us to start new lives and never see each other again.”

  She paused. “So if you’ve got questions, better ask it now.”

  The air hung heavy after her words. The group exchanged uneasy looks, a mix of awkwardness and bitter understanding settling between them. The Pretender stared at the ground, avoiding everyone’s gaze.

  “Are we… really doing this?” she asked quietly, her voice cracking with unspoken emotion.

  “It’s for the best,” the Baroness replied, dismissing her without hesitation.

  The Pretender flinched as the words sank in.

  “Where are you going?” the Baroness asked 666, changing the subject before the awkwardness could surface.

  “Wherever the wind takes me,” 666 shrugged. “I’ll manage.”

  “Ah, living on the edge. Truly daring,” Krov said with a smirk.

  “What about you?” 666 asked back.

  “I will be partnering with my new comrade,” Krov said enthusiastically, throwing an arm around Havoc’s shoulders.

  “We are what they call homies.”

  Havoc gave him a long, slow side-eye, clearly uncomfortable with his wording.

  “Sure…” he muttered under his breath.

  Divine huffed loudly. “Well, I’ll be goin’ solo. Ain’t need anyone draggin’ me down.” He sounded proud, like loneliness was a badge of honor.

  “Thanks for reminding me why disbanding is a great idea,” 666 said dryly, already exhausted by his ego.

  With everyone else having declared their plans, attention finally shifted to the Pretender. She still hadn’t been asked. Her gaze remained fixed on the ground, posture tense and guarded.

  “What about you?” 666 asked reluctantly but curiosity slipped into her voice. “What are you gonna do now that you’re free?”

  “I… I don’t know,” the Pretender admitted, her voice faltering.

  She looked up, eyes pleading. “Do we really have to do this? There’s so much we don’t understand. Can’t we just stay together until we figure things out?”

  Silence followed. Her desperation was impossible to ignore. She was right—the disbanding was abrupt, premature even. But whatever bound them together was too fragile, too volatile to be safe.

  The Baroness exhaled slowly. “Do you even hear yourself ? How selfish that sounds?”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “I want answers too,” the Baroness cut in, her eyes cold. “All of us do. But that isn’t possible. Staying together is a ticking time bomb.”

  Her voice hardened. “We could end up killing each other. Or worse—everyone else. This is for the best. This is what we agreed on. Why can’t you accept that?”

  The argument was over before it could begin.

  “I…I’m sorry,” the Pretender said quietly. Her shoulders slumped, defeat settling in.

  They watched her in silence, pity and discomfort twisting in their stomachs.Yet no one spoke up to defend her. Hard to believe she used to be the leader of the Tyrants.

  “Well…” 666 said at last, breaking the tension. “Guess this is it. Time to go our separate ways.”

  “We should probably find an exit first,” Havoc said, scanning the park. “Where even are we?”

  666’s lips curled into a grin, eyes glinting with mischief. “You have no idea how perfect your timing is.”

  All their Thinkers chimed at once. The time flashed across every screen.

  7:00 AM.

  “Good morning, Utopia.” a calm female voice announced, seeming to come from everywhere at once— it was the sky itself speaking.

  In an instant, the stillness of the park shattered.

  The air, once silent, began to vibrate with a rising hum. From beneath the city, massive structures stirred from slumber—chrome spires surging upward, casting long shadows across once-deserted streets. Their mirrored surfaces caught the first rays of sunlight, flickering to life as they reflected the dawn of a new day.

  A thousand shutters clattered open. Floating shop fronts emerged—displays of pastries, sleek modern fashion, rows of gleaming gadgets—hovering effortlessly above the ground. Entire building facades lit up, art deco reliefs glowing with vibrant color as the city shed its dormant shell.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  A sleek silver train burst from an elevated track, its engine humming like a distant whisper. It swept into a station with graceful precision, doors sliding open with a melodic chime. Passengers poured out—business people in sharp coats with gleaming lapel pins, travelers dragging suitcases behind them.

  At street level, life surged. Elegant, unusual cars glided soundlessly along transparent lanes. Tall, slender robots swung open park gates, tipping polished metal hats as they greeted passersby in polite, tinny voices.

  “Greetings, citizens!” one called as it strolled past the Tyrants.

  In moments, the city was alive—no longer a silent relic, but a shimmering machine of light, movement, and sound. Utopia hummed, every gear turning, every voice contributing to the symphony of morning.

  “Welcome to Utopia—the city of heroes and new beginnings.” 666 announced.

  The Tyrants stared in awe. e futuristic skyline looked like something torn from fiction—an imagined future made real. Here, they would begin a new. Excitement stirred, curiosity sparked, each of them wondering what awaited them in this unfamiliar world.

  But the Pretender felt none of it.

  No amount of brilliance could drown out the crushing weight inside her. Her mind was a blank canvas, her memories erased. No past. No name that meant anything. No anchor. She was a shadow in a city of light—adrift, unmoored. And soon, she would be left to wander it alone.

  The Baroness noticed and her eyes narrowed slightly, her hand curling into a tight fist. Yet she said nothing to her.

  The Tyrants exchanged brief, final glances. Each hesitated for a heartbeat—just long enough for something unspoken to pass between them. Then, without a word, they turned away, drifting apart into the waking city, each drawn toward their own path.

  each drawn to some corner of the awakening city, following their own path into Utopia’s endless motion

  ---------

  666 strode away from the park gates as morning light glinted off the city’s steel and glass. She cut through a side street, the hum of traffic fading as a towering structure of dark marble rose before her. Gold letters gleamed above the entrance:

  UTOPIA CENTRAL LIBRARY.

  She pushed the doors open and stepped inside.

  The library’s postmodern design unfolded around her—an immense central atrium where curved balconies spiraled upward through multiple stories, creating an airy, open space. Bookshelves lined every level, interspersed with quiet reading tables and softly lit study nooks. The scent of fresh paper mingled with clean, sterile hints of new technology.

  She crossed to a public terminal fitted with a sleek keyboard and a thin, gleaming monitor—nothing like the dusty, outdated systems back in the Oval Office.

  She powered it on and immediately began scrolling through the Aethernet.

  The first thing she typed was:

  CycloneMan dead?

  The results loaded quickly.

  News articles about Robert Judd’s sexual misconduct.

  Clips of CycloneMan’s speeches condemning the Workers Association.

  Endless comments tearing him apart in comment sections.

  But nothing about his death.

  She frowned.

  Strange. They had swallowed his mansion whole—him with it—yet there wasn’t even a whisper about it.

  *Why are they hiding it?*

  She started typing again, then froze.

  In the dark reflection of the screen beside her, a shadow shifted slowly behind her.

  Divine.

  He stood silently between the shelves, a massive presence barely concealed by furniture that had no business pretending to hide him.

  “You know,” 666 said without turning around, “this place is called the City of Heroes. How long do you think it’ll take before someone arrests you for harassment?”

  “You’ve got ten seconds to leave.” She resumed typing.

  “Ten… nine… eight… seven… six… five—”

  “Calm down,” Divine said as he stepped out from his hiding spot.

  “Ain’t nobody harassin’ ya.”

  Uninvited, he approached and dragged a chair beside her with a loud scrape. When he sat, it creaked ominously beneath his weight.

  “I’m just checkin’ on ya,” he added with a smirk. “Ain’t safe for a little gal like you to be wanderin’ around all alone.”

  His accent grated on her nerves. His attitude was worse.

  “Four… three… two—”

  “Alright, alright! Sheesh.” He threw up his hands. “Why you gotta be such a dang hardass?”

  666 finally turned and shot him a glare sharp enough to cut steel.

  “What do you want?” she asked flatly.

  Divine leaned back, lacing his hands behind his head, smugness radiating off him. “I’m here to make you a deal you can’t refuse.”

  “I think we should be together,” he declared, like it was the most obvious conclusion in the world.

  “Dolly,” 666 said coolly, fingers hovering over the keys, “call the cops.”

  “Hear me out!” Divine blurted, panic flashing across his face as his hands flew up. “You obviously know your stuff. You’re sharp as hell. Is that what you wanna hear?”

  “Go on…” 666 said, a teasing smirk curling her lips.

  “So, I’m thinkin’ we should start a gang—you as the brains, me as the brawn. I’ll be your bodyguard, keep you safe from whatever the hell else comes our way.” he suggested.

  666 chuckled. “you quit a supervillain organization just to start your own supervillain gang?”

  “It don’t have to be a supervillain thing,” Divine said with a casual shrug. “You said this place is a city of heroes, right? Maybe we could give that a shot. Long as the pay’s good, I’ll be anything.”

  “Being a hero does sound fun,” 666 mused, leaning back in her chair. “A nice change after being the world’s most notorious supervillain.”

  “Yeah?” Divine looked genuinely surprised.

  “Yeah.” Her smirk sharpened. “Although… unfortunately, I don’t work with racists.”

  “Racist? Who?” Divine blinked, confusion washing over his face.

  The silence stretched for a moment that was longer than necessary. Then it finally hit him.

  “Me?! You callin’ me racist?!” he burst out, voice jumping between outrage and disbelief.

  “Yep,” 666 replied lightly, as if the decision had already been made.

  “Where’s this comin’ from? I ain’t racist! I know a Black man, a Mexican, and a commie. Hell, you’re a Jew and I never said nothin’ about that.”

  666’s eyes flicked briefly to her natural red hair.

  Does he seriously think I’m Jewish because of my hair color?

  “Oh yeah, What are their names?” she asked, already knowing his answer.

  “Uh—uhm—” Divine faltered just as she suspected. “They don’t got names. We all had our minds wiped, didn’t we?”

  “Then tell me their villain names.” she retorted

  “Well, uh, shit…” Divine scratched the back of his head, sweat beading along his brow.

  666 rolled her eyes and turned back to the monitor, already done with the conversation. Her fingers moved across the keyboard already pretending he no longer existed.

  “Alright, fine!” Divine leaned forward, frustration finally boiling over. “I don’t remember their names, alright? Cut me some slack. I woke up yesterday with nothin’ in my goddamn head! That don’t make me racist. It just makes me ignorant. And that’s different, ‘cause—”

  “Check this out.”

  666 spun the monitor toward him, cutting him off mid-sentence.

  Divine immediately choke

  The article on the screen was stark and unmistakable. Bold letters screamed the headline at him like a verdict already passed.

  DIVINE: THE FASCIST GIANT

  His face drained of color as he stared at it.

  “Wha—what the hell?” he muttered, voice unsteady. “That’s… that’s… ain’t no way.”

  ---------

  Havoc stuffed his hands into his pockets, idly kicking a loose pebble along the pristine sidewalk. Beside him, Krov walked with his arms stacked high with cardboard bricks of frozen dinners.

  “You really like frozen meals, huh?” Havoc asked, glancing at him with mild curiosity.

  “Oh, I don’t know, comrade,” Krov replied cheerfully. “I have no memory of ever eating them.” He paused, inspecting the boxes as if they were priceless artifacts. “But I simply could not let the opportunity go to waste. I had to have them before someone else got their hands on them.”

  “You don’t gotta worry about that,” Havoc snorted. “They restock every week.”

  “Really?” Krov sounded genuinely impressed. “My Utopia is truly amazing, isn’t it? So much food…”

  He frowned slightly. “Now I regret buying so many before we even found a place to sleep. Should we begin our search for a new home, comrade? I heard of a place called ‘the Hood.’ Perhaps we could live there?”

  “Hm… maybe.” Havoc’s tone was flat, but a faint trace of amusement slipped through. “I wanna visit somewhere first before we find a place to crash. You mind holding on a bit longer?”

  “Anything for a homie.”

  Havoc chuckled under his breath as they continued on. The steady flow of commuters thinned as they approached a quiet, old stone building wedged between gleaming chrome towers.

  A church.

  Its doors stood ajar, inviting them in.

  They stepped inside. Silence pressed down on them, heavy and reverent. The church was full, every pew occupied, the air thick with low murmurs of prayer. Havoc and Krov slipped into seats at the very back.

  Krov scanned the room, raising an eyebrow. “I did not take you for the religious type, comrade.”

  Havoc shrugged, his usual unhurried monotone intact.

  “I have nothing better to do. Still processing everything. I figured religion might help clear my head. Some self-reflection, maybe.”

  He turned towards Krov to ask. “What about you? Are you religious?”

  Krov shook his head, his expression darkening for the first time. “No. God is merely a concept created by lowly men to rationalize the unfairness of the world they are born into. A way to convince themselves their existence serves some greater purpose than to suffer, die, and eventually fade away.”

  The words settled heavily between them.

  Then, just as abruptly, Krov brightened. “But hey! I applaud you for trying to better yourself. It’s like therapy!”

  “Thank you…” Havoc replied slowly, still processing the emotional whiplash.

  Creeek! Just then, a priest entered from a side door, his booming voice filling the room. “Good morning, everyone! Praise the Lord—how are you today?”

  The congregation answered with a dull, exhausted chorus. “God’s fine…”

  Krov leaned toward Havoc, lowering his voice. “So, comrade… who is your favorite character in the Bible? Who do you think is the strongest?”

  Havoc shifted in his seat, suddenly very aware of how uncomfortable he felt.

  “It must be Jesus, da?” Krov continued without waiting for his answer. “It fits you. You are a very nice person—especially to me.”

  Havoc said nothing.

  “Bit cliche, but nothing wrong with that,” Krov went on. “My favorite is the Cherubim. Four faces, one head. Now that is cool.”

  Havoc stared straight ahead, willing the conversation to die. It didn’t.

  “Let us begin the sermon,” the priest said warmly. “Please be silent.”

  Krov immediately nodded, sitting up straight like a soldier receiving orders.

  Havoc exhaled and muttered under his breath, “Thank God,” relieved as Krov finally quieted down.

  ---------

  It had been eight hours since they left her. The Pretender wandered the park without ever crossing its boundaries, drifting in slow, aimless loops as though the paths themselves were quietly herding her back.

  The walkway beneath her feet gleamed in the sunlight, framed by grass so vividly green it looked painted on. Children darted past her, laughing, chasing a hovering ball that zipped and swerved as if it had a mind of its own.

  Above, caped figures streaked across the sky, leaving trails of light that faded like comet tails. Heroes, she thought. Better to keep her distance.

  Eventually, she settled onto a bench beneath a chrome-limbed tree and began fiddling with the thinker strapped to her wrist.

  She scrolled through the music app, the movie app, the AI settings—none of it held her attention. Then she noticed it. A small, inconspicuous app simply labeled User. She pressed it.

  Welcome, New User! the thinker greeted its new owner.

  Please enter your name.

  She stared at the screen, frozen.

  A name. What name?

  She glanced around, almost as if the answer might be hiding somewhere in the world around her. The park pulsed with life—color, sound, laughter everywhere. It was beautiful, undeniably so, yet it slid past her like water over glass. She couldn’t enjoy any of it. The brightness only made her chest ache, filling her with bleak, hollow thoughts.

  She didn’t understand the games the children were playing. She didn’t understand the food they were eating. She didn’t understand this world.

  She didn’t know anybody.

  She didn’t even know herself.

  There was no name to give.

  In the midst of all that light and noise, she felt more afraid than she ever had.

  The only reason she was still in the park at all was because she clung to a fragile hope that the others would come back. That they would change their minds. That they would decide it was better to stay together—to stay with her.

  Her hand fell into her lap, and she bowed her head, hiding her face as her composure finally broke. Her fingers pressed hard over her eyes as tears slipped free, hot and unstoppable. She was terrified—of everything. Of being alone. Of herself. More than anything, she wanted someone to come up to her and tell her it would be okay.

  “Hey! I’m talking to you! Are you okay?” a manly voice called out to her.

  Startled, the Pretender jerked her head up.

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  There, standing in the sunlight, was Havoc. Dressed in his clown costume, his Tyrant gear fully intact, even though they were all supposed to have gone their separate ways.

  He stood out in the open, passersby staring openly at him—completely unaware, or perhaps uncaring, of how ridiculous he looked.

  “you….?" Robin muttered, realizing something isn't adding up.