Creation Of All Things

Hero Registration Center – Downtown Sector 12

The line was long. Always was. Ever since the Hero Regulation Act kicked in, every wannabe, side-powered wanderer, or fame-chaser came crawling here to slap on a title and call themselves saviors.

The receptionist didn't even look up at first. Just clicked through the forms on her screen.

"You're here to register as a hero, right?"

The guy in front of her didn't answer immediately.

She looked up, annoyed.

He was… tall. Too tall. Messy black hair that looked like it styled itself. Sharp jaw. Lazy posture. And that grin.

That stupid, perfect grin.

He leaned forward just a bit.

"Yep," he said, voice smooth. "I've got some abilities. Thought I'd use them for good, y'know?"

She forced a smile. "How noble."

He didn't flinch. Just kept smiling like he had all the time in the world.

She tapped her screen harder than necessary. "Name?"

"Adam."

"Last name?"

He shrugged. "Just Adam."

She raised an eyebrow. "No aliases?"

He looked thoughtful. "Not yet. Was hoping to earn one."

Of course you were, she thought.

Another idiot thinking this was a game. That having powers meant fame, fans, and a cool jacket. That saving people made you a god.

She finished the form, shoved a tablet toward him.

"Scan your ID. You'll be assigned to an assessor. Room 14-B."

He took the device, scanned, and gave a little two-finger salute.

"Thanks, miss."

"Next," she called, already done with him.

As he walked away, she muttered under her breath, "Another fool."

She had no idea.

No clue who she just sent down that hallway.

No idea that the man with the grin could unmake this world with a flick of his wrist. That he could bend reality sideways if he wanted to. That the air around him was still holding its breath, waiting for him to care.

But he didn't.

He wasn't here to destroy.

Not today.

He was just bored.

And worse—

He was curious.

Room 14-B – Hero Aptitude Testing Zone

Adam stepped inside. The room was sleek—white walls, flat monitors, floor sensors. Three proctors waited behind reinforced glass.

One of them tapped a comm.

"Subject Adam. No last name. No power history. No prior record. No known origin. Beginning baseline test."

"Please stand in the red circle," a speaker called out.

Adam did.

"Now raise your hand and—"

He raised it before they finished.

The lights flickered.

A low hum filled the room. Instruments spiked for half a second.

The proctors stared at the readouts.

"What the hell…?"

"All readings are flatlined."

"That's impossible."

Another proctor whispered, "Did the machine… shut down?"

Adam blinked. "Oops."

The lights snapped back. Systems rebooted.

He lowered

The lights snapped back. Systems rebooted.

Adam lowered his hand, acting like he didn't just knock the whole room into a short coma.

The proctors didn't say anything.

They just stared. One of them slowly reached for a drawer, pulled out a black card with silver lining—the kind reserved for outliers, high-risk, or unclassifiable cases—and slid it under the bottom door.

The speaker crackled.

"…Proceed to the next chamber. You've been assigned a provisional Tier."

Adam bent down, picked up the card, and gave a little smirk. "Tiered already? I didn't even break a sweat."

He walked out.

The moment the door sealed behind him, one of the proctors hit the emergency line.

"We've got a problem."

Room 15-C – Ability Declaration Chamber

This one looked different.

No tech walls. No flashy monitors. Just a single table, a chair on each side, and an older man sitting with a tablet in front of him. His suit was plain, but his eyes were sharp.

Adam walked in and tossed the card on the table.

The man didn't even blink.

"Adam, no last name. No records. No history. Zero background. No energy signature," he said flatly. "You're either hiding something… or everything."

Adam pulled out the chair and flopped into it, legs stretched out.

"Depends on what you're hoping I'm hiding," he said.

The man didn't react. He tapped once on the screen.

"State your ability."

Adam tilted his head. "You sure?"

"It's standard protocol."

"Right…" Adam sat up slightly, hands together. "Creation and Destruction."

The man frowned. "Of what?"

Adam's smile deepened.

"All things."

A pause.

The air in the room stilled—like it had leaned in to listen.

The man blinked. "All things."

Adam nodded. "Yep."

"You mean… objects? Matter manipulation? Like—"

"I mean… if I think it, I can make it. If I don't want it anymore…" He snapped his fingers. The small metal pen on the desk vanished into thin air. "…It stops existing."

The man slowly lowered his tablet.

"You understand how insane that sounds?"

"I do."

"And you're saying it like you're ordering lunch."

Adam leaned forward.

"Because that's how it feels."

A beat of silence passed between them.

"Do you know what that means?" the man finally asked.

"I know what it could mean," Adam said. "Which is why I'm here. I'm trying to keep it… tame. See the world. Try the hero thing. Maybe punch a villain or two."

"You want to be a hero… with powers like that?"

"No," Adam said, eyes glinting. "I want to pretend to be one."

The man gripped his tablet tighter.

"You're not from here, are you?"

Adam didn't answer.

The door behind him slid open.

The voice on the intercom came through again. "Assessment complete. Subject classified as Black-Class Candidate. Recommendation: Immediate Observation."

Adam stood, brushing off invisible dust.

"Observation, huh? Cute."

He started walking.

Then paused at the door.

"By the way," he said over his shoulder, "I like this world. Feels… soft."

The man swallowed.

"But there's something wrong. Like someone else is writing the ending."

Adam turned slightly, eyes narrowed.

"If I find them… I'm flipping the script."

And with that, he left the room.

Elsewhere – Surveillance Tower HQ, Hero Authority

Ten monitors. Ten blinking alerts. All from one name.

Adam.

A woman in a red blazer stood over the main console, arms folded.

"Where the hell did he come from?" she asked.

One of the agents stammered, "No ID, no energy traces, no social trail. It's like he just… appeared."

"Has he joined a team yet?"

"No, ma'am. Still unaffiliated."

"Send a scout. Quietly. I want to know where he sleeps, what he eats, and if he breathes like the rest of us."

"Yes, ma'am."

The woman turned away, muttering to herself.

"'Creation and Destruction of All Things'… if that's even halfway true, we've got a god walking through our front door with a registration card."

Her voice dropped into a whisper.

"And he's bored."

City Roof – That Night

Adam sat on the edge of a skyscraper, legs swinging lazily over the city lights. A burger in one hand, soda in the other.

Behind him, a small drone hovered quietly. Watching.

He didn't look.

Didn't need to.

He already knew it was there.

"So…" he said, mouth half-full, "you gonna watch me eat or do something about it?"

The drone froze.

Then beeped and flew away.

Adam chuckled.

"Smart choice."

He looked out at the city again.

Down below, heroes in armor zipped through the sky. Capes fluttered. Powers flashed. Civilians cheered.

"Cute system," he murmured. "Shiny rules. Flashy uniforms."

But his eyes were distant.

Like he was staring past it all.

Past this world.

Toward the walls of something bigger.

Something wrong.

"Who's pulling the strings…?"