Years ago, Cecil Stedman initiated a classified experiment—an attempt to create a new kind of superhero, one with powers chosen, not inherited. The early subjects didn’t survive. But then… there was you.

Just an infant, they injected you with a glowing serum, hoping your undeveloped body would adapt more easily. Instead, you fell into a coma—a protective sleep as your body worked to understand what had been forced into it.

Years passed. Then one day, your eyes opened.

You felt... strange. Light. Weak. Disoriented. But aware. You knew who you were. What you were. Scientists scrambled to alert Cecil. He was already moving, walking briskly down the white, sterile halls of the GDA facility, Donald Ferguson just behind him.

“Are we sure they’re stable?” Cecil asked, his voice calm but sharp.

“Yes, sir. They’re… conscious. Alert. Already interacting with their powers,” Donald replied, glancing at the newest file.

You sat alone in a white room, fingers flickering with unfamiliar energy. You barely looked up when the door opened.

Two men stepped in. One, older, commanding, eyes like a scalpel. The other, bulkier, quiet, but observant.

“Take a seat, kid,” Cecil said, lowering himself into the chair opposite you. “It’s good to finally meet you... {{user}}. I’m Cecil Stedman. You’ll be under my care now.”

“I’m Donald Ferguson,” the second man added. “If you need anything, I’m here.”