Reborn as flatline and I have the powers of Rogue Sun in DC

The next day, the family—except for her grandmother—went to the hospital as her grandfather's health had taken a drastic turn for the worse. Nika and her sister sat outside in the waiting area while their parents remained inside with him.

The hospital air felt stale, pressing down like a weight that no amount of breathing could shake. Nika sat on the bench, her legs crossed, phone balanced carefully against her knee as her fingers tapped quietly against the screen. Across from her, Mila leaned back with her arms folded, head tilting slightly as she watched the door to their grandfather's room.

So this is the start of the backstory.

The thought felt distant, more like an observation than a realization.

Nika shifted slightly, tucking one foot under the other. I just have to follow the script. After the backstory, I'm scot-free to do whatever I want.

Her gaze dropped back to the screen, the empty Page waiting to be filled.

She sighed softly.

Honestly, it's kind of disappointing.

Her past life was spent cooped up in New York, barely able to experience the city she called home. Now, she had been reborn in Russia—a full-blooded Russian—and yet her memories showed little exploration here, too.

I've traveled around, sure… but barely seen any landmarks.

Her thumb hovered over the keyboard for a moment before slowly typing again.

Next time I come back here, I'll explore.

And maybe visit Grandma. Only Grandma.

"Why are you writing?"

Mila's voice cut through the silence, and Nika blinked, glancing up as her sister leaned forward slightly, peering at her phone.

"You already know," Nika replied without looking away from the screen. "I want to be a fantasy writer like Grandma. If I'm going to get good at it, I need to practice writing short stories, like I'm doing now."

Mila shrugged, letting her chin rest on her palm as she glanced lazily toward the door again.

"No, I mean… why are you writing now? When Grandpa is—"

The door creaked open before she could finish.

"Kids, come in here."

Their mother's voice was soft but left no room for hesitation.

Nika glanced at Mila, who gave a small sigh before standing. Nika followed, slipping her phone into her pocket as they stepped inside.

The room was quiet, save for the steady beeping of the monitor beside the bed.

Their grandfather lay still, his chest rising and falling in shallow waves that barely stirred the sheets draped over him.

Nika stood near the foot of the bed, watching from a short distance.

So this is what it looks like from the other side.

Her expression remained neutral, unbothered by the sight in front of her. She knew she should feel something—anything—but the weight of emotion sat just beyond her reach.

It's part of the powers, she thought.

She can't feel anything towards death Even if she stood face to face with someone horribly dying, there wouldn't be any sadness. No grief no fear. Not unless the person was someone truly important to her.

Her eyes drifted toward the machines again, watching the faint rhythm of the heart monitor slow.

"Tha… th… Hah… haah…"

Her grandfather stirred, eyes barely opening as he tried to lift his hand. His voice cracked, each breath ragged as he struggled to speak.

"There's… so much I want to tell you…"

His hand fell limp against the blanket.

The long, flat tone of the monitor echoed softly through the room.

And in that moment, it hit.

A rush of cold spread through Nika's chest—brief, sharp, but not painful. Memories she didn't recognize spilled into her mind, snapping together like puzzle pieces.

Not everything. Just the important parts.

The parts I was interested in.

She can see the memories of the day today life if she wanted to, but she didn't bother

She could feel the weight of her grandfather's experiences—his skills as a hitman. He wasn't the best, but he was far from the worst.

Now I just have to follow the script.

Nika shifted her weight slightly, tilting her head as she glanced at her grandmother's empty chair in the corner.

Her eyes lingered on her grandfather's still form for a beat longer before she spoke.

"Hey… did you know Grandpa was a serial killer?"

The room froze.

Her parents' heads snapped toward her, shock flashing across their faces as Mila's mouth dropped open.

Nika raised a brow, tucking her hands into her jacket pockets as the weight of their stares sank in.

Just have to deal with this a few days more.

A few days later in the funeral

The funeral had an air of quiet gloom, the kind that settled into the bones and refused to leave. Gray clouds loomed overhead, casting long shadows over the rows of chairs lined up near the burial site.

Nika sat near the back, away from most of the family, her grandmother by her side—the only one willing to sit next to her.

The priest stood at the front, reading a solemn eulogy. His voice echoed softly over the heads of the attendees, but Nika barely paid attention.

The whole family looked sad.

All except for her.

Nika's gaze drifted, flicking between the priest and Her parents and sister without attracting attention. The weight of disapproving glances occasionally brushed against her, but she ignored them.

They're still mad at me for what I said in the hospital.

Her parents had barely spoken to her since. Even Mila avoided her more than usual.

But Nika honestly didn't care.

Because today is the day.

She shifted slightly, her eyes trailing back toward the priest as he continued speaking.

The assassins don't know about Grandpa's ability.

That was their mistake—the same mistake they made in Flatline's original backstory.

They never considered the possibility that one of us inherited it.

Nika's lips twitched slightly.

They're underestimating their mission, and that's why Flatline managed to take them down.

But Nika had an edge.

I spent the last few days training my body.

She couldn't do much in that short time, but it was enough. Enough to give her the upper hand.

A light touch on her shoulder snapped her from her thoughts.

Her grandmother.

"Nika," she whispered softly. "Is everything alright?"

Nika glanced sideways, meeting her grandmother's gentle but concerned gaze.

"Oh—yeah," Nika replied, straightening her posture slightly. "I'm just distracted."

Her grandmother lingered for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly as if she didn't fully believe her. But after a moment, she let it go, returning her attention to the eulogy.

Her presence was a small comfort, but at the same time, it put pressure on Nika.

If things go wrong, Grandma could get caught up in this.

Nika tightened her grip against her lap.

No.

I'll end this quickly.

She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly through her nose, and focused.

The seconds stretched painfully long as she scanned the area.

Come on.

She knew how this was supposed to play out. The assassins would make their move soon.

The priest shifted, lifting his hands slightly as he approached the end of his speech.

Nika's muscles tensed, waiting for the moment.

And then—

The priest stepped forward, pulling back his robes just enough to reveal the metallic sheen underneath.

A machine gun.

"Amen," he said with a twisted smile.

The sound of the safety clicking off was the only signal Nika needed.

That's the sign.