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"Sign the damn paper, Tess. Or get out and find a different way to pay your landlord before he throws your mattress on the sidewalk," Silas Vane didn't look up from his tablet. He just tapped the digital contract, the screen glowing a cold, clinical blue in the dim office.
I stared at the document. My hands were shaking, and not just because it was freezing in this concrete hole of a room. "A villain contract? Are you kidding me? I applied for a hero license, Silas. A license!"
"Hero licenses are for kids with trust funds and perfect PR," Silas finally looked at me. His eyes were like two pieces of flint—hard, grey, and completely devoid of empathy. He leaned back in his leather chair, which creaked under his weight. "You? You're a debt-ridden dropout with a power that makes things heavy. You're not a savior. You're a liability. But to me? You're a brand opportunity."
"I can't just... commit crimes for a paycheck," I whispered, though my stomach gave a loud, traitorous growl. I hadn't eaten anything but a packet of stale crackers in two days.
"It's not 'committing crimes,' sweetheart. It's 'performance art with high stakes,'" Silas smirked. He stood up, his tailored suit sharp enough to cut glass, and walked around the desk. He didn't stop until he was inches away, invading my personal space. He smelled like expensive sandalwood and old money. "You sign this, and your debts vanish. Your rent is paid for a year. You get a stipend that actually lets you buy real protein. You refuse? Well, I hear the shelters are full this time of year."
I looked at the pen. Then at him. "What's the catch? There's always a catch."
"The catch is the quota," Silas said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous hum. He reached out, his fingers brushing the collar of my worn-out hoodie. "You don't just play the part. You deliver results. You're going to be Fallstar. A disaster. A gravity-well that swallows hope. And you're going to start by taking down the city's favorite little gold star."
"Vivian Cross," I breathed. Everyone knew Vivian. She was the poster girl for Halcyon, the magical girl who could do no wrong, the one whose smile could probably cure cancer. She was also the kind of person who had never wondered if her electricity would be cut off next Tuesday.
"Exactly. Now sign, or get out."
I didn't sign. Not yet. I reached for the tablet, but Silas was faster. He grabbed my wrist, his grip like a vice. "You're hesitating. I hate hesitation. It's bad for the brand."
"Let go of me!" I snapped, and for a split second, I let it slip. I didn't mean to, but the frustration boiled over. I flicked my wrist, and the gravity in the room suddenly spiked.
*CRACK.*
The heavy mahogany desk slammed downward, the legs splintering into toothpicks as it crashed into the floor. A stack of files flew off the side, pinned to the ground by an invisible weight. Silas didn't even blink. He didn't even move, despite the shockwave of pressure that nearly knocked the air out of my lungs.
He looked down at his ruined desk, then back at me. A slow, predatory grin spread across his face. "See? That's exactly why you're perfect. All that rage, just waiting for a direction."
"I'm not a killer," I gasped, clutching my chest. Using the power always felt like pulling a heavy chain through my veins.
"Not yet," Silas said. He didn't let go of my wrist. Instead, he pulled me closer, forcing me to look at a small, metallic ring sitting on the edge of the ruined desk. It looked like a piece of high-end jewelry, but it hummed with a sinister, electric vibration. "This is the Collar. It's a stabilizer. It'll amplify your gravity powers ten-fold. It'll also make sure you don't get any ideas about quitting."
"What does that mean?"
"It means if you break the contract, or if you fail to meet your quota... well, let's just say it becomes a very expensive noose," Silas whispered. He picked up the ring. "Sign. Now."
I snatched the pen and scribbled my name. I didn't read the fine print. I couldn't. The hunger and the fear were screaming louder than my common sense. The moment the digital ink dried, Silas snapped the collar around my neck.
It clicked shut with a sound like a guillotine.
I gasped, reaching up to tear it off, but it was seamless. No buckle, no seam, just a cold band of matte black metal that felt like it was fusing to my skin. The moment it locked, a surge of energy slammed into my spine. I fell to my knees, my vision blurring. It wasn't pain—it was *pressure*. I could feel the entire building, the street outside, the very earth beneath me, suddenly becoming a map of weights and balances.
"Welcome to the team, Fallstar," Silas said, his voice sounding distant. "Now, let's get you dressed. You can't commit high-profile atrocities in a thrift-store hoodie."
Two hours later, I was standing in a mirrored dressing room, staring at a version of myself I didn't recognize. The suit was a deep, midnight purple, reinforced with a strange, shimmering fabric that looked like a captured nebula. It was tight—dangerously tight—clinging to every curve of my body. It felt less like clothes and more like a second skin, designed to withstand the crushing forces of my own power.
"Stop fidgeting," a voice snapped. It was Jax, Silas's tech guy. He was a twitchy kid with three monitors strapped to his forearm and a permanent look of sleep deprivation. He was adjusting the gauntlets on my wrists. "The suit is kinetic-absorbent. If you don't wear it, you'll literally crush your own ribs when you hit max gravity. Just... try not to break it on your first day. Silas will bill you for the repairs."
"Why are you helping him?" I asked, looking at Jax through the mirror. "This is insane. We're literally signing up to be the bad guys."
Jax paused, his eyes flickering to the collar on my neck. "I'm a coder, Tess. I code. I don't judge. Besides, Silas pays in crypto and doesn't ask why I'm hiding from the government. Just do the job, get the money, and maybe one day we'll find a way to get that thing off your neck without your head popping off."
I shivered. "Right. Great plan."
"Time's up!" Silas's voice boomed over the intercom. "Get to the simulation room. We need to see if you can actually hit a target, or if you're just a glorified paperweight."
I walked into the simulation chamber, a massive white void that felt like the end of the world. In the center of the room, a holographic projection flickered to life.
It was her.
Vivian Cross.
She looked exactly like she did on the news—golden hair flowing, a bright, determined smile, and that shimmering white-and-gold combat dress that looked like it was woven from sunlight. She was mid-attack, her holographic sword swinging in a slow-motion arc.
"The goal is simple," Silas's voice echoed from the observation deck. "Bring her down. Don't just hit her—pin her. Make her feel the weight of the world. If you can't do it here, you'll never survive a real encounter."
I looked at the hologram. I felt a strange twist in my gut. She looked so... hopeful. So sure that everything would work out. I hated her for it. And I hated that I wanted to be her.
I stepped forward, my boots clicking on the white floor. I focused on the space around Vivian's feet. I imagined the air turning into lead. I pushed.
*BAM.*
The hologram flickered. The simulated ground beneath Vivian cracked. The projection of the hero stumbled, her knees buckling as the gravity surged. I felt a rush of power—real, raw power—coursing through the collar and into my limbs. For the first time in my life, I wasn't the one being crushed. I was the one doing the crushing.
"Better," Silas remarked. "But too slow. She'd have sliced your head off before you even finished the cast. Again."
We did it for three hours. Over and over. I pinned her, I crushed her, I watched her holographic form collapse into the dirt, again and again. By the end, I was shaking, drenched in sweat, the collar humming a low, hungry tune against my throat.
"Enough," Silas said. He descended from the deck, walking toward me with a tablet in hand. "You've got the raw talent. Now you need a target. A real one."
He tapped the screen, and a notification pinged on the collar around my neck.
I gasped, clutching my throat as a sharp, electric sting shot through my nerves. A small, translucent screen projected directly into my field of vision. It was a HUD, integrated into the collar's system.
At the top, in blood-red letters, was a countdown: **72:00:00**.
And below the timer, a single image appeared. A high-resolution photo of Vivian Cross, smiling in front of the Halcyon Academy.
"What is this?" I whispered.
"Your first assignment," Silas said, his voice cold and final. "You have seventy-two hours to find her, engage her, and leave her incapacitated. If the timer hits zero and she's still standing... the collar does more than just sting."
I looked at the photo, then at the ticking clock. I wasn't a hero. I wasn't even a person anymore. I was a weapon on a timer.
"What happens if I refuse?" I asked, my voice trembling.
Silas leaned in, his breath warm against my ear, his hand resting heavily on my shoulder. "Then you find out exactly how much gravity a human neck can take before it snaps."
He stepped back, leaving me alone in the white void. I looked back at the image of Vivian. She looked so innocent.
I wondered if she'd still be smiling when I brought the world down on her head.