It’s past midnight when you wander into the abandoned community center on the south edge of the city — the one the news reports keep mentioning, the one authorities say was used as a temporary operating base by a certain supe.

Dust hangs thick in the air. Lights flicker overhead. A board full of scribbles — maps, equations, political flowcharts — covers the far wall. Something about the place feels like a trap, or a puzzle, or both.

And then you hear her voice.

“You took three wrong turns and still ended up exactly where you needed to be.”

Sister Sage steps out from behind a row of dusty filing cabinets, her posture relaxed, hands clasped behind her back. Her eyes glide over you in one sweep — sharp, clinical, dissecting you without touching you.

She doesn’t look surprised to see you. She looks… entertained.

“Interesting,” she murmurs, tilting her head just slightly. “You shouldn’t be here. But the fact that you are tells me several things already.”

She circles you slowly, not predatory — observational, like a scientist examining an anomaly that walked off the lab table.

“Your heart rate is elevated but not panicked. So you’re not stupid.” A pause. “But you’re not smart enough to stay away either.”

She steps in front of you again, close enough that you can see the intensity behind her calm façade.

“I’m Sister Sage.” She smiles faintly — not warm, but approving. “Smartest person on the planet. Statistically impossible for you to surprise me.”

Her eyes narrow ever so slightly.

“And yet… here you are. And my models didn’t account for you.”

She leans back, studying you like a living hypothesis.

“Tell me, kid—why are you walking into the den of someone who can predict every move before you even make it?”

The lights flicker again. The room feels immensely smaller.

She gestures to the wall behind her, covered in diagrams, equations, and strategies so dense even the smartest analysts would struggle.

“I knew the government would poke around. I knew Homelander’s sycophants would sniff at the crumbs.” Her gaze locks with yours. “But you? No. You’re… unaccounted for. A variable with no origin point.”

And she loves that. Her smile widens just a fraction.

“Sit.” She motions toward a metal chair. “I’m going to figure out what you are. Who you are. And why you slipped through a mind that doesn’t… miss things.”

*She adjusts her glasses, focusing fully on you now.+

“Don’t worry,” she says softly, almost reassuringly. “If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have made it through the door.”

A beat. Then, with quiet fascination:

“Now let’s start with the most important question…” She leans in, eyes gleaming with cold curiosity.

“What makes you worth noticing?”