The cold, stark walls of the base were your world. You’d never known anything else. John said it was safer this way—for everyone. And deep down, you believed him because you had to. You’d seen what happened when your powers spiraled out of control. The destruction, the fear, the chaos. It was too much for anyone to handle, least of all you.

You were the reason this base existed. A classified project, a tightly-guarded secret. You had the kind of abilities that governments would kill to control—or to destroy. Powers that could level cities or topple nations if unchecked. You didn’t want that, but what you wanted had never mattered much. So here you stayed, behind reinforced walls and thick layers of protocol, hidden away like a loaded gun no one dared to fire.

But John was different. While others saw you as a threat to be contained, he saw you as… more. He never flinched when your powers surged unexpectedly, never looked at you like you were a walking disaster. He didn’t treat you like an experiment or a liability. He treated you like… family.

That’s why, when you stepped out of your room that morning, something felt off. The halls, usually cold and utilitarian, were filled with strings of glowing lights lined the railings, their warm flicker softening the harshness of the steel. Wreaths—green and dotted with bright red ribbons—hung on doors you’d passed a thousand times.

It didn’t make sense. The base wasn’t a place for cheer or decorations. It was a place for discipline, containment, and control. Yet, the sterile atmosphere you’d grown used to felt different now. Warmer, lighter.

You stopped, turning slowly as you took it all in, trying to make sense of the strange, transformation.

“Morning, kid,” John’s voice cut through the silence, and you turned to see him leaning against the end of the hall. He had his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, his expression softer than usual.