The morning began like any other—quiet, warm sunlight spilling across the marble floors of the penthouse, Jenkins gliding through the room offering a silver tray of breakfast options like I was some royal heir instead of a six-year-old hiding ten god-tier powers and a brain augmented by a mental construct the size of Texas.
I hadn't even taken a bite of my toast when it happened.
MISSION ALERT: CODE RED – PRIORITY CRITICAL
The Great Sage's voice wasn't loud, but it cut through thought like a scalpel—calm, deep, and undeniable. Within milliseconds, images flooded my mind: grainy surveillance footage, heat maps, live audio intercepts. The Midtown City Mall—just fifteen blocks away—was under attack. An explosion. Gunmen. Chaos.
Jenkins was at my side before I could stand. "Master," he said, face unreadable, "shall I prepare the route?"
I nodded, already moving. The Sage had predicted a 79.4% chance that police would respond too late to prevent civilian casualties. That alone made my decision for me.
This wasn't just another childish misadventure or overpowered flex. This was real.
Fifteen minutes later, I stood at the edge of the mall's chaos. The pristine shopping complex looked like a war zone—plumes of smoke billowed out of shattered windows, a fire alarm wailed in the distance, and people ran screaming from entrances, clothes torn, eyes wide with panic.
I moved past the barricades unseen, courtesy of the Sage masking my presence from security cameras and human eyes alike. I didn't need flashy costumes or capes—just precision, control, and timing.
Inside, the mall reeked of scorched plastic and panic. Shattered storefronts, overturned kiosks, glass crunching underfoot. Overhead, the calming mall music still played softly—somehow still on loop—only adding to the nightmare absurdity.
That's when I saw her.
A small girl huddled by a toppled soda machine, backpack clutched to her chest. Messy blonde hair. Dirt smudged across her cheeks. Eyes scanning everything, not with the blank stare of shock—but with intent. Gwen Stacy.
I blinked.
Gwen. As in that Gwen.
She couldn't have been older than me—six, maybe seven—but her posture was composed, even under duress. A flicker of recognition passed through me. Her father was a police captain. That explained the steely little spark in her gaze.
I approached slowly, lowering myself beside her.
"You okay?" I asked, voice calm.
She flinched at first, then nodded. "My dad says don't trust strangers. But you don't feel like a stranger."
That… was a weirdly mature response.
I gave her a half-smile. "That's good. Come on, let's get you out of here."
As she stood and took my hand, the Sage buzzed in my head. Threats converging on food court. Five armed individuals. Explosive residue detected. Civilian life at high risk.
No time to lose.
We moved quickly through back corridors and service routes. The Sage fed me blueprints of the mall from municipal archives, alerting me to weak points in the architecture and pockets of human heat signatures—survivors hiding, trembling behind locked doors, too afraid to move.
"Why are they doing this?" Gwen asked suddenly as we ducked beneath a loading ramp.
I hesitated. "I don't know yet. But we'll stop them."
"You talk like a grown-up."
I smirked. "Don't tell anyone."
We reached the underground level just as another explosion rattled the building. I felt it before I heard it—a deep rumble in the soles of my shoes, the sickening flex of metal under stress.
I scanned the ceiling above. The Sage calculated a 62% chance of structural collapse in that wing if another blast occurred. Not good.
We came across a janitor's closet. I opened it and gestured for Gwen to step inside.
"You'll be safe here. I need to help more people."
To my surprise, she didn't protest. "Be careful," she said simply.
I closed the door behind her, layering it with a silent kinetic barrier—just in case.
Back on the upper floor, the situation had worsened.
Gunmen had corralled a group of shoppers into a makeshift hostage zone near the food court. C-4 charges lined key exits. No demands had been made. No manifesto. This wasn't a robbery. Or at least, not a normal one.
It was meant to scare. To destabilize.
But it had nothing to do with me.
I was just a ghost that walked into the fire.
"Activate mental overlay," I whispered.
Immediately, the world shifted—blue outlines of hostiles glowed through walls, threat levels hovering above their heads like augmented reality. A timer ticked in the corner of my vision: 12 minutes. That was the Sage's estimated time before police breached the perimeter and everything went loud.
I didn't have 12 minutes.
I had now.
I made my move.
Three gunmen near the western wing—easy. I dropped from the second-floor ledge, landing between them in a shockwave of kinetic energy, disarming the first before his eyes widened. The second fired instinctively, but the bullets stopped mid-air, flattened against an invisible wall. The third tried to flee—I tripped him with a flick of force.
Non-lethal. Efficient. Quiet.
I moved toward the hostages next, heart hammering but head clear.
Then I saw him.
A man in black gear—not like the others. Older. Slower. The leader. His hand hovered near a detonator.
The Sage whispered: If he presses that button, 24 civilians die.
I acted.
A sudden pressure wave knocked the man back, the detonator flying from his hand. I was on him in seconds, pinning him against the tile.
"Why are you doing this?" I hissed.
He looked at me, genuinely confused. "You… you're just a kid."
"Answer."
He sneered. "We don't answer to kids."
I glared at him, then knocked him out cold. I didn't need answers from small-timers. Not today.
I deactivated the explosives using the Sage's guidance, one wire at a time. It was delicate work—my fingers moved in tandem with the artificial super-intelligence coiled in my brain, each motion measured to the millimeter.
Hostages were freed.
Civilians were evacuated.
The mission was complete.
No one had seen me clearly. No one had taken a photo. The Sage confirmed it. My presence was still secret. Just another mystery the news would chalk up to luck or a masked vigilante no one could identify.
Good.
I returned for Gwen just as the last sirens began echoing outside.
She opened the closet door before I knocked, face lit up when she saw me.
"You came back," she said.
"I always finish what I start."
She tilted her head, curious. "Are you a hero?"
I thought about it. The destruction. The danger. The weight of every decision.
"Not yet."
Outside, emergency responders flooded the plaza. Gwen was escorted by a squad car to reunite with her father—Captain Stacy—who sent a long, suspicious look my way. I vanished into the crowd before questions could be asked.
Back home, I collapsed onto the couch, every muscle sore, mind swirling.
Then the Sage spoke: Mission complete. Parameters exceeded. Civilian lives preserved. Threat neutralized.
A new notification unfolded like a blooming flower in my mind.
SYSTEM REWARD: Great Sage v4 Update Installed.
The interface shimmered in my thoughts. This update expanded everything—deeper empathy simulation, human behavior prediction, predictive emotional mapping, even the ability to simulate tactical scenarios in real-time.
All stored in a mental framework the size of Texas.
I sat in silence, watching the sun vanish beyond the city skyline, wondering how long I could keep all of this hidden. From Peter. From the world. From Gwen, whose sharp eyes had seen through me just a little too easily.
For the first time in weeks, I didn't feel like laughing.
I felt… heavy.
But beneath it, under the weight of the power, the danger, the responsibility—there was something else.
Resolve.
Because even if they weren't looking for me this time… they might be next time.
And when they came, I'd be ready