The Punch, The Shadow, And The Warning

I’m flying high above New Haven, phone pressed to my ear, gliding over the lights, when Rashon starts going off.

“Bro, I’m telling you she got me fucked up.”

“What’d she do now?” I banked left, heading toward the east side. The city stretches out below, quiet, peaceful, nothing like what’s about to happen.

“She got mad ‘cause I didn’t text back fast enough. I was in the shower for twenty minutes. Twenty minutes. She blows up my whole phone talking about ‘you must be with another girl.’” He sucks his teeth loud enough to hear. “Nijah, I’m washing my ass. Relax.”

I laugh. Can’t help it. “You knew she was like this when you got with her.”

“Yeah, I thought she’d chill out after a few months. Nope. Got worse.” He pauses. “Bro… she went through my phone last week.”

“Find anything?”

“Exactly. Nothing. And she’s still mad. Said and I quote ‘The fact that there’s nothing here is suspicious.’”

I laugh harder.

“It’s not funny!”

“It’s a little funny.”

“It really isn’t.” He goes quiet. “You think girls are just like that? Or is it just her?”

“Like what? Jealous?”

“Yeah. She gets jealous as hell. Like she’s got trust issues.”

“Maybe you should talk to her about it, bro.”

“Right.” He shifts. “Anyway. Real talk. We gotta do something for graduation. Two more weeks. We’re almost done.”

“I know. Feels like four years went by in a blink.”

“Too fast.” His voice softens. “College gonna be different though. Nobody knows you. Starting over from zero.” A pause. “You think we still gonna be cool after? After graduation and all that?”

The question hits me hard. I can’t imagine my life without Rashon. He’s family. We grew up together.

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

“I dunno. People change. Go different directions.”

“Rashon.”

“What.”

“We’re gonna be cool. Stop being weird.”

He laughs. “Alright. But what about Arie? You ever gonna say something or you just gonna keep staring at her like you’ve been doing for three years?”

“I’m not it’s not like that.”

“Bro.”

“It’s not!”

“Whatever.” He sighs. “We gotta do something memorable before we leave. That spot in Midtown? The one with the wings and the rooftop patio?”

“That place be packed every night.”

“Go on a weeknight then. Get everybody together. You, me, Jakiya, Nijah, Maya… Arie”

“Yeah. I’m in. But weeknight only.”

“Good. It’s gonna be yo. What spot you flying over right now?”

“East side. Almost to”

I see it.

Gas station. Fifth and Madison. Three guys inside. One is waving a gun at the cashier. An idling SUV out front.

“Hold on,” I say.

“What? You see something?”

I drop lower. Two men by the door both armed. And then a fourth. Huge. He’s not holding a gun. He’s holding the ATM. The whole machine. Ripped straight out of the wall like it weighed nothing.

“I see something. Gotta go.”

“Wait”

I hang up.

I land in the parking lot, twenty feet from the door. Black hoodie, black jeans, mask I stitched together from tactical fabric. Gloves. Simple. It works.

The impact sends a jolt up my legs. And then that rush. That familiar, electric hum waking up under my skin. Kinetic energy. Mine to take. Mine to keep.

The guy by the door spots me first. Young. Skinny. Holding his gun like he’s never held one before.

“Yo!” he shouts.

The second turns. Older. Harder. Scowling. “The fuck you supposed to be?”

I hold my hands up. “Leave everything that doesn’t belong to you here. Walk away. I’ll let you go.”

He laughs. Actually laughs.

“You’ll let us go? Man, get the fuck outta here before I put a hole in you.”

“Can’t do that. And you can’t put a hole in me.”

“Dead bitch.”

He raises the gun. I see his finger squeeze. The barrel flares.

BANG.

The bullet hits me square in the chest. And I take it. I absorb every ounce of force, every shockwave, every bit of kinetic energy. It slams into me and spreads through my veins like fire. My muscles tighten. My vision sharpens. I feel alive.

The second fires. Then the first. Again. And again.

Five. Six. Seven shots.

All of them hit. All of them vanish into me. I stand there, taking it, feeling the power build and build beneath my skin.

Click. Click. Click.

Silence.

The older man stares at me like he’s seen a ghost. “What the actual fuck”

“Out of bullets?” I take a step forward. “Tough luck.”

I close the distance in two strides. He tries to swing the empty gun at me. I catch the barrel, twist it out of his hand, send it clattering across asphalt. The younger one raises his hands shaking.

“Go ahead,” I tell him. “Pull the trigger.”

He drops the gun.

I shove him. Not hard. Or harder than I meant to. He flies backward, crashes through the gas station window, and tumbles out onto the concrete. Glass shatters everywhere.

Shit. Too much.

The older guy holds his hands up. “A’ight, chill, bro”

“Get. On the floor.”

“Yo, we just”

“I SAID GET ON THE DAMN FLOOR!”

He drops face-down, hands behind his head. I hear him mutter “ain’t even a damn cop” into the pavement.

I’m breathing hard. The energy is still thrumming through me, hot and bright and hungry. I want more. I want them to hit me harder. I want to feel that rush again.

I step outside to wait for sirens. And then the big one comes out.

Six-foot-five. Two-fifty. Solid muscle. Still carrying the ATM like it was a briefcase. He looks at his partner on the ground. Looks at the shattered window. Looks at me.

“You done fucked up,” he says. Deep voice. Calm.

Then he throws the ATM.

I dive. Not fast enough. It slams into me like a freight train and I go flying backward across the lot. I hit the pavement hard, roll, bounce, and slam into a parked car crumpling the door like paper. My ribs scream. My back burns.

And the energy oh God it floods me. Vibrating through every cell. I push myself up. My hands leave dents in the car’s metal.

The big man walks toward me. Not running. Just walking.

“You can take a hit,” he says. “Must be a Meta. Cool. So am I.”

He heaves a metal trash can. I catch it. Feel the impact shoot up my arms. Then I throw it back. It hits him square in the chest. He stumbles. Actually stumbles.

“A’ight,” he says. “Now we’re talking.”

We meet in the centre of the lot. He swings. I duck. Come up with an uppercut to his ribs. He grunts. Grabs me. Lifts me. SLAMS me into the ground. The concrete cracks.

I absorb it all. More power. More fuel.

He plants his knee on my chest. Heavy. Crushing. I let him think he’s winning. Then I hook my legs around his waist, plant both feet against him, and push — with every ounce of energy I’ve stolen.

He flies backward. Crashes into a sedan across the lot. Alarms scream.

We both stand at the same time. He’s breathing hard. His eyes change. He came into this thinking it would be easy. It’s not.

He charges. Fakes a punch, grabs me around the waist, drives me backward through the gas station wall. Bricks explode. Dust fills the air.

I feel it all: the impact, the strain, the raw kinetic force. And I smile beneath the mask.

Finally. Someone who can hit hard enough.

I headbutt him. He staggers back. I throw a right hand that snaps his head sideways. Another to the ribs. Another to the jaw. He stumbles. Back and back. I don’t let him breathe. I don’t let him reset.

He hits the car. Looks up, eyes wide. “Wait hold up”

“Wait for what?” I step in close. “You done already?”

“Chill, bro you win”

“Chill? Nah.”

I grab him by the shirt. Yank him forward. Slam him back. He trips over his own partner. Falls. Scrambles backward.

“Where you going?” I walk toward him. Slow. “You said I fucked up. I’m waiting for you to show me how.”

“I’m done! Alright? I’m done!”

“You done?” I stand over him. Fist drawn back. “You want me to stop? Say it.”

“Please”

I swing.

My fist connects with his jaw. The sound cracks like a gunshot. His head snaps back. He hits the pavement and goes still.

Silence returns to the parking lot. Sirens wail in the distance. I stand there, chest heaving, fist still clenched. He’s not moving. Blood spreads beneath his head.

Did I

His chest rises. Barely. Once. Twice.

He’s breathing.

“Not bad, kid.”

I spin around.

A man stands on the gas station roof. Tall. Grey suit lined with glowing white. Eyes burning faint blue. He drops down lands without a sound.

“He gave up,” the man says. “I saw it. He tried to back off. You didn’t let him.”

“He threw an ATM at me”

“And you won. Fight was over.” He steps closer. “But you kept going. That’s the problem.”

“So what?”

“So? You enjoy it. That buzz in your chest? That high? That’s what worries me.”

“I had control”

“Then you’re a goddamn psychopath.” Cold. Flat. No anger. Just disappointment. “I’ve seen your kind before. Power without discipline. You’re dangerous.”

“I didn’t kill him.”

“You don’t know that. And you don’t seem to care enough to check.” He tilts his head. “I’m Vector Prime.”

I freeze. Vector Prime. The hero of New Haven.

“Figure out what you’re actually doing out here,” he says. “Because tonight made one thing clear. You’re no hero. Think on that.”

Sirens round the corner.

“I gotta go,” I say.

“Yeah. You should.” He doesn’t watch me leave. He kneels beside the fallen man, checking his pulse.

I launch myself upward. Into the dark.

My phone buzzes mid-flight. Rashon.

Rashon: Yo, where are you at??

Me: Headed home.

Rashon: Bet. And uhhh… did u see the news?

Me: What news?

Rashon: Check Twitter.

I pull up the app with one hand, still climbing.

A shaky video filmed from across the street. Me. The fight. The punch. Him going down. Then Vector Prime landing. Then me flying away.

Caption: “NEW META IN NEW HAVEN??? WHO IS THIS???”

Five thousand views. Already.

“Shit.”

My phone rings. Incoming call: Jakiya.

“Yes?”

“Jahkeen. What the fuck.” Tight. Controlled. Which means she’s furious.

“Everything’s”

“You’re on Twitter. Ten thousand views in twenty minutes. They’re calling you ‘The Puncher.’ Everyone’s trying to figure out who you are.”

“It’s a stupid name”

“That’s NOT THE POINT. I watched the video. He was backing up. He was trying to stop. And you kept hitting him.”

“He threw an ATM”

“SO THE FUCK WHAT? The fight was OVER! You stood over him and hit him anyway!”

“He deserved it.”

“THAT’S NOT YOUR CALL TO MAKE!” Her voice cracks. “You’re not a judge. You’re not a cop. You’re not God. You’re just a kid with powers who almost beat someone to death!”

“He’s alive, Kiya.”

“You DON’T KNOW THAT! You left him there and flew away! For all you know he’s in a morgue right now!”

“I didn’t leave him alone Vector Prime was there ”

“WHAT WERE YOU EVEN DOING THERE IN THE FIRST PLACE?” She steps back, breathing hard. “You stopped him. He surrendered. And you kept going because you wanted to.”

“I didn”

“DON’T LIE TO ME.” She stares right into me. “I know you. That mask changes you. You liked it. You liked the power. You liked seeing him afraid.”

I clench my fists. Because she’s right.

“You’re addicted to it,” she says, quieter now. “To the rush. To the power. Admit it.”

“It’s my POWER!” I snap. “That’s literally what I DO! I absorb kinetic energy! The harder I get hit the harder I hit back! Dad does the SAME THING!”

“DON’T BRING DAD INTO THIS!”

“WHY NOT? He absorbs energy too! You think he never went too far? He retired for a REASON, Kiya! We don’t even KNOW why!”

“STOP!” She’s shaking now. “You don’t get to use him as an excuse! OWN what YOU did tonight! NO ONE controls your hand but YOU!”

Silence. Heavy. Suffocating.

“You didn’t go there to protect anyone,” she says, voice steady and terrible. “You went there for the rush. And you know I’m right.”

I have no answer. Because she is. I can still feel it thrumming under my skin that bright, hungry, glorious energy.

“Keep going like this,” she says, “and someone’s going to die. And it won’t be the bad guy.” She softens, just a little. “I love you. But I won’t watch you become something you’re not.”

“Kiya”

“Mom and Dad are already asking questions. Why you’re late. Why are you bruised? Why you’re exhausted.”

“I handle it.”

“By lying?” She sits on the park bench. “This can’t keep going, Jay. It can’t.”

“I’ll be smarter.”

“That guy Vector Prime what did he say?”

“Said I’m not a hero.”

“He’s not wrong. That mask gives you too much confidence. Too much freedom to stop being you.”

I sit beside her. “You scared?”

“Yeah.” She bumps my shoulder. “I’m terrified. Because you’re my brother and you think being invincible means you can’t be broken. And you can.” She looks at me. “Promise me something. Promise you’ll be smarter. Promise you won’t make me tell Mom and Dad you almost killed someone.”

I look at her really look. She’s shaking. Scared. For me.

“I promise.”

“Good. Now go home. Get some sleep.”

“You coming?”

“In a minute. I need to think.”

I stand. Take off.

I land in the backyard five minutes later. Their bedroom light is still on. I climb through my window. Peel off the mask. Hide it under my mattress.

My phone buzzes again. Another clip. Vector Prime speaking to the reporter at the scene.

Reporter: “That individual seen in the footage any details?”

Vector Prime: “He’s young. Probably a kid. Clearly inexperienced.”

Reporter: “Were you able to identify him?”

Vector Prime: “No.”

Reporter: “And the conversation you had?”

Vector Prime: “I told him to figure out what he’s fighting for before he fights again. Before someone dies.”

Reporter: “Do you think he will?”

Vector Prime just stares into the camera. Silent. Heavy. Knowing.

The clip cuts.

I set the phone down. Stare at the ceiling. Close my eyes.

Tomorrow I’ll figure it out. Tonight I just need to sleep.

But even in the dark, I can still feel it. That buzz. That hunger.

Jakiya’s right. I’m addicted.

And I don’t know how to stop.