Replica

The alley was quiet now, the echoes of the fight fading into the night, but my heart still pounded in my chest. I stood there, staring at the place where the mugger had disappeared into the shadows, his blood staining the pavement where he'd fallen. My fingers trembled slightly, but it wasn’t from fear. No, it was something else—something darker, more complicated. Satisfaction.

I had won. I had used my power on him, and for the first time, I hadn't hesitated. I hadn’t just survived, I had fought back. The realisation sent a shiver down my spine.

But it didn’t stop there. That tether… I could still see it, stretching as he was fleeing away. I could remove the pain he was feeling at any moment. But that would mean I’d be the one suffering. And also, a darker part of me revelled in how he tasted his own medicine. He deserved it. For all the fear he tried to instil in me, for every drop of blood he drew.

But the longer I stood there, staring at the spot where the mugger had disappeared, the more the initial rush faded, replaced by a gnawing sense of unease. My fingers, still outstretched from where I’d yanked on the tether, felt cold, almost numb. The satisfaction was still there, lingering at the edges of my mind, but it was shadowed by something else—a creeping dread.

What had I just done? Not the self-defense part—that I could justify easily enough. But the way I had used my power, the ease with which I’d switched our pain. It was instinctual, natural even, like breathing. And that scared me more than I wanted to admit.

I knew metahumans left something behind when they used their powers. Power Traces, they called them, though not everyone could sense them. Most people wouldn’t notice, but there were others—more dangerous ones—who could. People like MetaPol. If they traced it back to me... No. I couldn’t think about that right now. But still, the thought lingered, a shadow in the back of my mind.

I glanced around, as if expecting someone to emerge from the shadows, tracking the faint remnants of what I had done. There was nothing. The city slept on, oblivious to the fight that had just taken place. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d left a mark, invisible to most, but there.

I needed to be more careful.

My heart was still pounding, though now it was from the realisation of what I’d risked. I couldn’t afford to be reckless, not with a power like mine. I didn’t know enough about how it worked, how much of me it left behind. Maybe no one had noticed this time, but what about the next? Or the time after that? I couldn’t count on staying invisible forever, not if I kept using my powers so openly.

In a world where metahumans were constantly tracked and monitored, where people like MetaPol existed to police those with powers, I couldn’t afford to be careless.

I took a deep breath, letting the cold night air fill my lungs as the adrenaline slowly ebbed away. My fingers still tingled with the memory of the tether, but now, there was something else too—a sense of control, of purpose. I had power, real power, and for the first time, I wasn’t afraid of it. I could use it, not just to survive, but to live. And if I played my cards right, no one would ever know.

The thought was liberating. Dangerous, yes, but liberating. For too long, I had been stuck in the past, haunted by memories of Mel, of that night, of everything I had lost. But now, I had something else—a future. And maybe, just maybe, I could take back some of the control that had been stolen from me. I wouldn’t let the metahumans rule over my life any longer.

I could live.

The idea grew in the quiet of the alley, taking root in the spaces my fear had once filled. What if I didn’t have to hide in the shadows forever? What if I could step out, use my power to carve a place for myself? Not like those self-righteous heroes or the villainous brutes who thrived on chaos. I didn’t want to be like them. But I didn’t have to be powerless either.

Maybe, just maybe, I could use this to my advantage. I could get a little revenge—not on some petty mugger, but on the ones who had taken everything from me. Metahumans, like Gravitas and Ms. Kai, who tore through my life as if it meant nothing. I couldn’t fight them outright, not yet. But I could use what I had, chip away at their world, slowly, from the shadows. It wouldn’t be reckless if I was careful, if I made sure no one saw me coming.

The idea was dangerous, seductive even. But it made sense, didn’t it? If I played it right, I could live a little more freely. Maybe I could even get a bit of justice for Mel, for everything that had happened. I couldn’t bring her back, but I could make sure that others felt the same loss. I could do it quietly, without anyone noticing. I could move in silence, leave no trace. No one would see me coming.

But to do that, I’d need to be more than just Liz. I couldn’t be the girl stumbling through the city, afraid of every shadow. I’d need to become something else, someone else—someone who could step in and out of the chaos without leaving a mark.

A costume. That’s what the big names had, wasn’t it? Heroes, villains, even rogues—they all had an identity, a mask to wear. It made them untouchable, gave them a sense of control, of anonymity. If I wanted to live more freely, to move without drawing attention, I’d need that too.

But costumes weren’t free, and neither was anonymity.

I sighed, running my fingers through my hair. My life had been reduced to counting coins just to stay afloat, but now, I’d need money for something more. Fabric, gear—whatever it took to create a new version of myself, someone who could slip in and out of places unnoticed. It wouldn’t be flashy, nothing that screamed for attention. I needed subtlety, precision. Something that let me blend into the background until it was too late for anyone to realize who I really was.

And to afford that, I had to get back to work.

I winced at the thought of going back to Paul’s shop. After everything that had happened, the normalcy of that place seemed so far away. But it was a means to an end. I needed money, and that was the only way to get it, at least for now. Plus, the shop was quiet, off the radar, the perfect place to start laying low. No one would suspect anything from the quiet girl stocking shelves and minding her business.

I started walking, the adrenaline finally ebbing away, leaving me with a cool determination. I had a plan now, a real plan. No more hiding, no more waiting for the next disaster. I was going to take control of my life, use my power the way I wanted, not as a victim but as someone with purpose. I wasn’t sure where this path would lead, but for the first time in a long time, I felt like I had a direction.

As the city lights flickered around me, I made my way home, the beginnings of something new forming in my mind. I wouldn’t be like the others—chaotic, reckless, loud. I would be a ghost in the shadows, slipping through the cracks, unnoticed but always there.

And soon, I’d have everything I needed to become exactly that.

The next morning, I made my way to Paul’s shop, the familiar bell above the door jingling as I stepped inside. The place hadn’t changed—shelves lined with vinyl records, old cassettes, and vintage guitars hanging from the walls. The smell of aged wood and leather cases filled the air, blending with a faint hint of coffee. Paul's shop was a sanctuary of sound, where every corner seemed to hum with the presence of music history. Behind the counter, Paul was hunched over a turntable, his grey hair tucked beneath a worn beanie, eyes closed as he tested an old jazz record.

The soft crackle of the vinyl filled the shop, a slow, mournful tune spilling out as the needle glided across the grooves. Paul's eyes flickered open when he heard me enter, his face lighting up with a familiar warmth. "Liz," he greeted, his voice gentle, as if afraid of startling me. "Didn't think I'd see you back so soon. You holding up okay?"

I hesitated for a moment, caught between the weight of everything I had experienced and the safety Paul’s shop offered. The normalcy of it felt like a lifeline, something to ground me before I drifted too far into the darkness I’d touched last night. "Yeah," I managed, offering him a small smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes. "Just needed something to do. Thought I’d come by."

Paul nodded slowly, his sharp eyes studying me for a moment. I could feel the weight of his gaze, as if he was searching for cracks, for signs of the Liz who had walked through that door before. “Of course. You take all the time you need, but I’m glad to see you. Things have been quiet without you around.”

He gestured toward a stack of records piled near the counter. "Hop on!” He forced out an authoritative voice. One that didn’t match his style, but one so nostalgic to me. The machine was falling back in place. “Those need sorting; Customers have been rummaging through them, and it’s a mess back there."

I glanced at the records, feeling the weight of everything I hadn’t said still hanging between us. But this—this was something I could do. A task simple enough to keep my mind from spiralling. I walked over to the stack and began to sort through them, the familiar weight of vinyl grounding me as the music played on in the background. For now, it was enough.

Enough to start on this new path in the world of metahumans.