House of El: Reforged

Fortress of Solitude — 9:42 AM

Location: Somewhere between grief, time travel, and the edge of a nervous breakdown.

The Fortress hummed.

A soft, crystalline vibration pulsed through the chamber, like the heartbeat of a planet long dead. Spires glowed faintly, refracting light across the walls in slow-moving constellations. The air held the hush of ancient temples, the solemn weight of secrets.

Kara Zor-El sat hunched on a smooth platform of ice-glass, feet swinging above the floor, wrapped in a black fleece cloak too Earth to be Kryptonian. Her blonde hair stuck damply to her face and neck, and in her hands she cradled a steaming mug of cocoa — because of course her first drink on Earth was a child's comfort food.

She hadn't touched it.

"So," she said again, her voice flat. "Krypton's gone. Everyone's dead. Except you."

Clark Kent—Kal-El—stood a few feet away, arms folded, cape pooling behind him like a velvet curtain. He looked carved from marble and guilt. His eyes were soft, patient, exhausted.

Kara's gaze swept upward, toward him. "And you're... this. This muscle mountain in a red curtain."

He smiled gently. "I grew up."

"No kidding," she muttered. "Last time I saw you, you were rolling around on a padded floor trying to eat your own hand. Now you're a dad with biceps that could crush moons."

Clark cleared his throat awkwardly. "I, uh, work out."

"Clearly," she deadpanned.

From a nearby alcove, Kelex floated into view, arms folded like a very judgy metal librarian. "Forgive me, Mistress Kara," the AI said in its perfectly crisp Alan-Tudyk-in-British-mode voice, "but I believe what you are experiencing is what's known in Earth psychology as 'existential whiplash.' Side effects may include sarcasm, shouting, emotional numbness, and moderate telekinetic outbursts."

Kara shot him a look. "You left out screaming into pillows."

"Ah, yes. Shall I download an assortment of plush Earth pillows for therapeutic scream absorption?"

Clark held up a hand. "Kelex. Maybe... ease up on the commentary."

"As you wish, Master Kal-El. I shall resume my silent vigil, brooding stoically from the shadows like a mechanical Batman."

Kara blinked. "Wait, what is a Batman?"

"It's a whole thing," Clark muttered.

Kara dropped her head into her hands. "And you married a witch."

Clark sat beside her, close but not crowding her space. "Her name is Lilly. She's brilliant. Kind. And... magical in every way."

Kara peeked at him between her fingers. "And your children?"

He nodded. "Hadrian and Neville. Twins. They're fifteen. Roslyn is thirteen."

"Let me guess," she said, dry as lunar dust. "They all have impossibly noble names in both languages."

"Hadrian Har-El. Neville Nev-El. Roslyn Ros Kal-El."

Kara squinted. "You named your daughter after a town and a pun."

Clark offered a sheepish shrug. "It was a meaningful town."

She leaned back, groaning. "Fantastic. I'm the interstellar time-lost aunt with a ship full of parental expectations and a complete identity collapse. And I'm supposed to meet my fifteen-year-old nephews and thirteen-year-old niece who, fun fact, are the exact age I was when I got stuffed in that pod like leftovers."

"You don't have to do anything today," Clark said. "You rest. You adjust. You punch a few glaciers. Whatever helps."

"Glaciers?"

"It's a Fortress tradition."

She laughed. It came out half-bitter, half-hysterical. "Do I bow when I meet them? Salute? Is there a Kryptonian etiquette guide for showing up thirty years late to your own babysitting job?"

Kelex floated back in, uninvited. "There was such a guide. Sadly, it exploded along with the rest of your civilization."

Kara turned to Clark. "Does he ever stop?"

Clark smirked. "Not unless you reprogram him. And even then, he pouts."

Kara stared at her untouched mug. "My parents."

Clark's expression sobered.

Kelex answered gently. "Zor-El and Alura In-Ze stabilized Argo's shielding long enough to launch you toward Kal-El's last known escape vector. They died believing you would reach Earth first. That you would protect the infant Kal-El."

Her breath hitched.

"They sacrificed everything... and I was late."

"Not your fault," Clark said. "You were caught in a Phantom Zone vortex. Your pod drifted for years."

"And you grew up."

"I did."

"Without me."

He nodded once, solemn.

She whispered, "I was supposed to take care of you."

Clark took her hand. "You still can. Just... from the other side of the coin. I could use the help."

She stared at their joined hands, her fingers trembling. "I don't know who I am here. I don't know how to be here."

"You start with being Kara."

"And if Kara doesn't fit?"

Clark gave her a soft smile. "Then we make space."

There was a beat.

A crack.

A sudden tremor shot through the floor, and a nearby crystal spire shattered like a champagne glass at a Kryptonian wedding. The explosion of frost and shards echoed through the chamber.

Kara yelped, half-jumping to her feet. "WHAT WAS THAT?"

Kelex pinged calmly. "That would be you, Mistress Kara. Solar cell surge. Early-stage gravity field instability. In short: puberty, but louder."

Clark looked around at the crumbling spire. "We, uh... might want to give you a few days before school."

"School?!" she screeched.

Clark winced. "We were easing into that part."

Kara dropped back to the bench. "Tell me you're joking."

"You're fifteen. On Earth. It's required."

"My classmates will be my nephews."

"They're cool. Hadrian likes philosophy and fencing. Neville writes plays. Roslyn... collects knives."

Kara blinked. "That last one feels relevant."

"She's very responsible about it."

Kelex twirled in a dignified pirouette. "Shall I prepare guest quarters, or perhaps a padded training room? I could also simulate an episode of Friends if you require cultural immersion."

Kara rubbed her face. "What's a 'Friends'?"

Clark grinned. "Oh, you're gonna love it."

She groaned. "I survived planetary collapse, Phantom Zone hell, and cryostasis drift... and now I have to survive sitcoms and school?"

He slung an arm around her shoulders. "Welcome to Earth."

Kelex buzzed brightly. "First lesson: never trust a caffeinated Earth teenager with access to TikTok."

"What's a TikTok?"

Clark looked at her, all sympathy. "...We'll save that one for next week."

Kara groaned into her hands again. "I should've stayed frozen."

—

A politely judgmental cough echoed through the crystalline chamber — not an actual sound, more a carefully modulated audio simulation meant to resemble a 19th-century butler clearing his throat at an inopportune dinner party.

"If I may interrupt this rather touching moment of emotional stabilization," Kelex said, hovering into view like a smug ghost in a Tron reboot, "Master Kal-El, I feel compelled — by protocol, obligation, and basic narrative timing — to remind you that your magical spouse remains utterly uninformed about the miraculous resurrection of your long-lost cousin."

Clark Kent, who until that moment had been savoring the tiniest smile from Kara and the rare feeling of not completely failing at family, winced.

"Right," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was getting to that."

Kelex tilted thirty degrees to the left, a movement that radiated judgment.

"Would you like me to also arrange a candlelit dinner and compose an apologetic ballad to explain how you forgot to inform your wife about the revival of an entire Kryptonian bloodline? Perhaps something in G minor?"

Kara raised one pale brow. "You didn't tell her?"

Clark reached for the compartment in his belt, already pulling out a small obsidian rectangle.

"I was going to," he said, tone defensive but sheepish. "Things got… distracting."

Kara crossed her arms and gave him a look that could have curdled milk.

"You've had thirty-eight Earth minutes. That's enough time to change into three outfits, fake a power surge, and script a Hallmark reunion special. What were you doing, Kal? Practicing your big reveal in the mirror?"

Clark gave a weak smile and held up the obsidian rectangle between two fingers.

"Technically, this is the mirror."

Kara squinted. The object shimmered faintly, silver glyphs along the edges pulsing like heartbeat lines. It felt wrong to her Kryptonian instincts — not in a dangerous way, just... uncanny. Like tech pretending to be something more.

"That's not standard," she said slowly. "Is it Kryptonian?"

"Sort of," Clark said. "It's, uh… enchanted."

Kara's eyes narrowed. "Clark. That's not an explanation. That's what people say right before they open cursed tombs and get haunted by space liches."

He pressed a thumb to the center, and the surface rippled like moonlight on dark water.

"Look, it's just… magic. Lilly enchanted it."

Kelex, who had looped back behind Kara for dramatic effect, added helpfully, "It works across realms, dimensions, and that one particularly unfortunate camping trip to rural Kansas."

Kara blinked. "Wait. Your wife is magical?"

Clark gave her a look. "You flew out of a stasis pod surrounded by singing crystals and you're surprised by magic?"

"I'm not surprised," Kara said. "I'm concerned. Magic means chaos. Drama. Frogs falling from ceilings."

"That was one time," Clark muttered.

"Twice," Kelex corrected. "Once for the frogs. Once for the spontaneously animate scones."

Kara stared at Clark. "You married someone who makes baked goods sentient?"

"She's really good with kids," Clark said, tapping the mirror. "And threats. And existential crises."

The screen finally resolved. A woman's face appeared — not framed perfectly like a video call, but as though she was leaning toward a fire-lit scrying pool with a cup of coffee in hand and an eyebrow already arched.

She had waves of red hair, loosely braided to the side, and eyes the color of freshly-cut emeralds — sharp, assessing, amused. Her expression sat halfway between "Tell me everything" and "Who did what to my husband and why haven't I hexed them yet?"

"Clark," she said dryly. "Did something explode again?"

Clark smiled, warmth instantly lighting his face.

"Hi, love. Sort of. The crystal garden lost a spire and Kelex has opinions."

Lilly's eyes narrowed. "You know I like that spire."

"I know."

"I grew sunfire roses on that spire, Clark."

"I know."

Kara, still holding her mug of cocoa, leaned slightly into the frame. "Hi. I'm apparently the cousin. Also, um… sorry about the spire."

Lilly's eyes went wide. Then her jaw dropped.

"Oh."

Clark cleared his throat. "So. Remember how I said Kara's pod was never recovered?"

"Yes," Lilly said slowly. "I also remember you leaving out the minor detail that if it was recovered, she'd look like Milly Alcock crossed with an apocalypse."

Kara waved. "That's… weirdly accurate?"

Lilly's grin bloomed slow and bright. "Well. You're alive. Physically intact?"

"More or less. Emotionally, still buffering."

Lilly sipped her coffee, eyes dancing. "We're going to get along beautifully."

Kara tilted her head. "Are you going to hug me or hex me?"

"Depends," Lilly said, utterly unfazed. "Do you like marshmallows in your cocoa?"

Kara looked at her mug like it had personally betrayed her. "I haven't decided."

"Fair," Lilly nodded. "Sugar first. Existential bonding later."

Clark let out a soft laugh, the kind that came from deep relief — the kind that said maybe this was going to be okay.

Kara studied the mirror. "So how does this work exactly?"

Clark gave her a look.

"Magic," he said again, unapologetic.

"You say that like it's a wireless protocol," she muttered.

Lilly winked from the mirror. "It is, darling. Just with more Latin and less customer support."

Kelex drifted back into view.

"Shall I alert the children to prepare guest quarters, or shall we simply roll out a red carpet made of unresolved trauma and throw in a Jell-O salad for good measure?"

"Not yet," Clark said, rising. "She needs time."

Kara nodded. "Yeah. Breathing sounds good. Also punching something."

Lilly smirked. "Start with a glacier. Then we'll discuss WiFi passwords, Netflix queues, and why Roslyn keeps knives in the banana drawer."

Kara blinked. "That was... a lot of Earth words."

"You'll get used to it," Clark said, patting her shoulder. "Eventually."

Kelex chimed as he hovered upward. "Initiating Earth Cultural Orientation Playlist. Entry One: High School Musical."

Kara made a strangled noise. "What in Rao's flaming boots is a musical?"

Clark grinned. "It's like theater. But with random singing. And deep, unresolved feelings set to choreography."

She groaned. "I should've taken my chances with the singularity."

Clark smiled wider, leading her toward the platform.

"Too late, Kara. Welcome to Earth. Welcome to the family."

—

Meanwhile back in Smallville High – Cafeteria — 12:33 PM

Where cafeteria pizza dreams go to die, gossip grows like mold, and the Freak Squad claims a corner like rebels with fries.

The cafeteria doors flung open like a challenge.

Hadrian Kent strolled in first—six feet of Kryptonian swagger wrapped in flannel and sin. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up just enough to hint at forearms that could probably snap steel beams, and his emerald eyes scanned the lunchroom with the bored intensity of someone who could read your soul and still not be impressed. He had a tray balanced in one hand and a lazy smirk that said yes, he knew you were looking.

Behind him, Neville Kent moved like a stormcloud in slow motion—black curls still damp from workshop grease, pale green eyes unreadable, jaw sharp enough to cut through emotional repression. Where Hadrian was all light and legend, Neville was shadows and steel. The tray in his hand barely had anything on it—just enough to pretend he gave a damn.

Zatanna Zatara drifted beside them like she was born to walk in eyeliner and tragic poetry. Her dark hair fell in waves, her sleeves were safety-pinned runes and band concert patches, and her boots probably had secrets in the soles. She carried tarot cards like other girls carried lip gloss, and her fingers tapped a silent rhythm of spells on the side of her tray.

And then—Maya Sullivan.

She bounced in like someone had laced her cereal with glitter and chaos. Blonde, five-foot-nothing, a walking exclamation mark of kinetic energy, she spun toward a table near the vending machines and declared:

"This. Is. The spot."

She slammed her tray down with all the authority of a war general claiming territory, then patted the seat beside her with dramatic flair.

"Raj! Sit. You're about to receive the Holy Gospel of Smallville High's Cafeteria Social Taxonomy."

Raj Kulkarni hovered at the edge of the group, clutching his tray like it might explode. His hoodie sleeves were pulled halfway over his hands, and his glasses were perpetually slipping down his nose. He gave Hadrian a wide-eyed look.

"Is it always this... intense?"

Hadrian gave a one-shoulder shrug and slid into his seat, sprawling like gravity didn't apply to him. "You haven't seen intense yet, Rocket Boy. Wait 'til Spirit Week."

Maya pulled Raj down into the seat beside her. "Ignore the Ken Doll. He likes to pretend he's all chill and no trauma. Lies. Anyway—focus up."

She pointed across the cafeteria with a half-eaten chicken nugget like a wand.

"Okay. That booth over there? Those are the Plastiglams. Think Mean Girls, but with better lighting and more sponsorship deals. They run entirely on lip gloss, thirst traps, and gluten-free cruelty."

Raj squinted. "Is that a ring light?"

Zatanna nodded solemnly. "Her name's Kylie. She's got more followers than the school board."

Maya gestured to the opposite side of the cafeteria. "That's the table for the Future Farmers & Apocalypse Preppers—they sit together, but don't be fooled. The farmers are all about sustainability. The preppers are just waiting for aliens to land or gluten to go airborne. Again."

Raj blinked. "Why are they playing Uno with a gas mask on the table?"

Hadrian tossed a curly fry in his mouth. "It's Tuesday."

Then Maya's tone shifted, subtle but sharp. She lifted her juice box like it was a telescope and narrowed her eyes toward the entrance.

"And here comes the reason why this chicken nugget suddenly tastes like betrayal and Axe body spray."

Raj followed her gaze—and saw him.

Brad Manning entered with a varsity swagger that screamed yes, I moisturize with protein shakes. Blond, tall, and carved out of football propaganda, he wore his letterman jacket like royalty wore crowns. On his arm was her.

Sarah Cushing.

She was radiant in a quiet, painful way—brown eyes soft, laughter bubbling from her lips like it was trying too hard not to crack. Freckles danced across her cheeks like stardust. She looked up at Brad like she wanted to believe he was the real thing.

Neville didn't move.

Didn't blink.

Didn't breathe.

He just froze—and his tray shifted, one of the plastic forks sliding off the edge like it was trying to escape the tension.

Maya leaned toward Raj, voice hushed but furious. "Nev's had a crush on her since they were six. Built her a telescope in seventh grade. Walked her home every Thursday. Moon Boy, she called him. He's been orbiting her since before puberty hit."

Raj frowned. "So they dated?"

"No." Zatanna's voice was soft. Sharp. "He was her safe place. Brad's... something else."

Hadrian muttered, eyes locked on Brad like they held heat vision. "We caught them making out this morning. Tongue, hand-on-butt, full rom-com horror show."

Zatanna's tarot cards flipped themselves.

Three of Swords. Reversed.

Maya slammed her juice down. "I swear to every ancient god and emotional support demon—if that walking testosterone ad hurts her—"

"He already is," Neville murmured.

Zatanna turned, her voice low and threaded with steel. "Neville—"

"I'm fine," he said.

"You're not," Maya snapped, eyes bright. "You're sitting in front of a tray like it insulted your ancestors."

Hadrian leaned in, his voice casual but tight. "Want me to throw Brad into a dumpster? I'm not saying I could do it gently. But I'd enjoy the arc."

Neville gave him a dry look. "You'd flatten the dumpster."

"Collateral damage," Hadrian said with a shrug. "The world's messy."

Maya stood, hands on hips, radiating furious care. "Nev. Don't you dare go into your dark poetry corner. You stay. You eat these trauma-nuggets. You let us be mad with you."

Neville hesitated. For a second. Just long enough.

Then sat back down. Wordless. But not alone.

Zatanna reached over and touched his sleeve. Just once.

Maya turned to Raj and exhaled, already switching gears like chaos was her default setting.

"Congratulations. You're officially full Freak Squad now. Initiation complete."

Raj blinked. "What was the initiation?"

"You watched Nev's heart break and didn't bolt," Hadrian said. "That counts."

Maya grinned. "Also, you're helping me hang a conspiracy board in the Torch office after school. We've got UFO sightings, ghost raccoons, and Principal Reynolds' suspicious Spotify playlists to investigate."

Zatanna tapped her cards. "Also, we're hexing Brad's locker tomorrow."

"Eucalyptus?" Neville muttered.

Zatanna smiled like a girl who knew too many curses. "And mold spores."

Hadrian raised his juice box. "To chaos."

Maya raised hers. "To the Freak Squad."

Zatanna, softly: "To staying."

Neville, at last, lifted his cup. "To surviving sophomore year."

Raj hesitated, then lifted his milk carton with a small, stunned smile. "To me, I guess."

They clinked together like armor.

Outside, the Smallville sun burned a little brighter.

Inside, the Freak Squad stood unshaken.

And the story?

Oh, it was just getting started.

—

The Torch Office — 1:19 PM

Technically Room 2B. Spiritually? A vortex of caffeine, teenage genius, unhealed trauma, and whatever curse is probably living in the ceiling tiles.

The door creaked open with a sound like a horror movie jump scare, and the smell hit Raj first—printer ink, old highlighters, vanilla-scented candles, and the unmistakable sharpness of burnt Pop-Tart.

Raj took one cautious step in, adjusted the strap on his bag, and blinked like he wasn't sure whether he'd walked into a newsroom, a haunted RadioShack, or the set of a low-budget sci-fi show from 1998.

There were strings. Literal red strings connecting thumbtacked newspaper clippings, post-it notes, and printouts on a massive corkboard labeled in glitter glue: WALL OF WEIRD – NO TOUCHY. One article read, "Janitor Claims Broom Possessed—Exorcism Pending." Another simply read, "Cows Too Smart? Our Deep Dive."

Maya spun on her heel from where she was crouched beside a locked filing cabinet labeled NOT PORN, STOP OPENING THIS, HADRIAN. She was grinning, blond ponytail bouncing, eyes sharp with caffeine and mischief.

"Raj Kulkarni," she said, spreading her arms like she was introducing royalty. "Welcome to the Freak Squad's command center."

Raj stared at the life-sized Elvis cutout in the corner wearing a press badge and a party hat.

"This place is… aggressively specific."

"Thank you," Maya said, beaming like he'd just complimented her child. "Imagine if The X-Files, Lois Lane, and a clearance sale at Spirit Halloween had a three-way in a haunted thrift store. This would be their miracle baby."

Neville was at the back of the room, sleeves rolled up, forearms dusted with solder. He barely looked up from the disassembled drone he was Frankensteining back to life.

"He's not wrong," he muttered, his voice low and calm. "The toaster just asked me for a soul."

Raj blinked. "The… toaster?"

Hadrian's voice floated from the other side of the room, deep and warm and tired like he'd fought three supervillains before lunch and barely survived Algebra.

"Don't touch it," he said, without looking up from the printer he was kicking into submission. "It still holds a grudge."

"I insulted it once," he added after a beat, in the same tone someone might admit to surviving a bear attack.

Zatanna, sitting on the edge of the desk with her boots dangling over the side, didn't even look up from her deck of tarot cards. She flicked one lazily, caught it mid-air, and arched a brow.

"The toaster bit him."

Hadrian turned to her, deadpan. "It latched."

Maya waved that off. "It was an experimental AI interface gone rogue. It's chill now. Probably."

Zatanna's dark eyes lifted slowly. "It tried to call the Pentagon last week."

Raj opened his mouth. Closed it again. "What exactly… do you people do here?"

Maya grinned like the Riddler on Red Bull.

"Expose conspiracies. Track cafeteria weirdness. Hunt down ghosts, aliens, lizard people, and rogue vending machines. Publish bi-weekly horoscopes and annual exposés. Create chaos. Ask questions. Eat expired Halloween candy. Occasionally threaten the football team with facts."

She motioned to the desk. "And this… is our website."

The screen flickered as she tapped a few keys. The Torch homepage lit up like a MySpace page possessed by Tumblr. Red banners. Flashing gifs. A looping Bigfoot animation doing the Macarena. The loading bar was a pixelated witch on a broom.

THE TORCH: Smallville's Premier Source of Truth, Weirdness & Mildly Illegal Investigations.

Below were the headlines:

BREAKING: Principal Reynolds Buys 17 Grapefruits—Coincidence or Citrus Cult?

Torch Exclusive: Cafeteria Mystery Meat Now Sentient?

Which Teacher Secretly Moonlights as a TikTok ASMR Star?

An aggressive pop-up filled the screen.

HAVE YOU SEEN THE LIBRARIAN'S FERRET?!

Raj recoiled like it had hissed at him. "Your cursor just turned into a quill."

Maya beamed. "I programmed it to do that after the chicken nugget incident."

Hadrian crossed his arms, his broad frame leaning against a file cabinet like he was built to brood there. "That incident still isn't funny."

"I warned you the nugget was looking at me funny," Maya shot back.

Zatanna deadpanned, "You yelled 'EXORCISMO!' and hit it with a copy of Wuthering Heights."

Raj blinked at them. "Your lives are… not boring."

Neville finally looked up, pale green eyes sharp beneath his tousled black hair. "You're handling this surprisingly well."

"I watch Doctor Who," Raj said. "This feels like a crossover episode."

He turned back to the monitor. "But this website… this is criminal. You're using Comic Sans in bold. And I'm ninety percent sure this layout is still using HTML tables."

Zatanna gasped. "Maya. You said you used a grid system."

"I lied," Maya said shamelessly. "Sue me."

Raj leaned in, eyes narrowing like a surgeon before an operation. "There's no mobile responsiveness. Your CSS is a nightmare. There's a pop-up I can't close. And I'm pretty sure your JavaScript is trying to mine crypto."

"I call that charm," Maya said.

"I call that a war crime," Raj muttered.

Zatanna tilted her head, intrigued. "You know how to fix it?"

Raj smiled. "Give me access. I'll clean it up, add dark mode, fix your broken links, and maybe install an actual CMS."

Maya made a sound like someone discovering oxygen. "DARK MODE?! Marry me."

Neville smirked. "She said that to the raccoon last month."

"Shut up, that was different."

Hadrian chuckled lowly. "Careful, Raj. You offer one line of code and you'll wake up in a hoodie that says 'Assistant Editor' and a fridge full of mystery juice."

Raj paused. "...You have a fridge?"

Zatanna, still not looking up, said, "Nothing in there remembers its name."

"I'm not scared," Raj said, standing taller. "I built my own gaming PC with parts from a flea market and my uncle's garage. I once fixed a firewall with a pizza box and tears. This? This is my turf."

Everyone stared.

Maya threw her arms in the air like a touchdown. "OH MY GOD I LOVE YOU. YOU'RE PERFECT. YOU'RE HIRED."

Neville gave him a nod that was almost proud. "Welcome to the chaos."

Hadrian met Raj's gaze, and for the first time, something flickered—respect. Maybe even curiosity. "Hope you're ready."

Zatanna smiled behind her cards.

The Fool. Upright.

Beginnings. Risk. A leap of faith.

She watched the four of them, this beautifully broken little team, and tucked the card back into her deck.

Raj adjusted his glasses, cracked his knuckles, and turned back to the monitor like a man preparing to perform open-heart surgery on a website that also may be possessed.

"Let's get weird," he said.

And the Torch hummed—like it approved.

—

Boys' Locker Room — 3:42 PM

The sacred temple of sweat, Axe body spray, and the absolutely criminal misuse of protein powder.

Brad Manning stood in front of the mirror, shirtless, flexing like he was auditioning for American Psycho: The Varsity Years. Golden hair slicked back. Jaw like a Ken doll who'd taken too many steroids. He flashed his best predatory grin and made finger-guns at his reflection.

"She's almost there, bro," he said smugly. "Swear to God, another week of candle-lit movie nights and being the 'nice guy,' and Sarah's gonna be begging to ride me like I'm a mechanical bull at the county fair."

Chad grunted from the bench behind him, surrounded by dirty socks and existential apathy. "Didn't she say she wanted to wait till after graduation?"

Brad snorted. "Yeah, well. They all say that. Until they don't. Cheerleaders, choir girls, even that weirdo goth chick with the tarot deck—Zarina or whatever—once they get a taste of the Manning magic?" He winked at the mirror. "Hooked."

Chad barked a laugh. "You're a menace, bro."

"I'm a legend, bro."

That was when the locker room door creaked open, and in jogged Bryce—wide receiver, part-time tattletale, full-time coward.

"Yo," he said, breathless. "Guys—you're not gonna believe what I just heard."

Brad turned, towel slung over his shoulder. "If it's about the lunch lady's wig falling in the soup again, I don't care."

"No, man. It's about Coach."

Now that got everyone's attention. Chad sat up straighter. Brad's eyes narrowed.

"What about him?"

"I was filling the Gatorade tanks by the gym, right? Coach Daniels was talking to the Assistant Coach. He wants to offer the Kent twins spots on the team."

Silence.

Then—

"You mean Hadrian and Neville Kent?" Brad said slowly, voice darkening.

"Yeah. He said they've got raw power. Could be game changers."

Brad's smile faded. He clenched his jaw. "No. No frickin' way."

"They humiliated us this morning," Chad muttered, cracking his knuckles. "You saw that throw."

Brad's face turned the shade of a pissed-off tomato. "Yeah. I also saw Neville Kent play Captain America and catch my spiral before it nailed that walking IT Help Desk. And Hadrian? That freak threw a ball like a damn missile and sent you flying, Chad."

"I slipped," Chad growled.

"You flew like a drunk pterodactyl. Don't lie to yourself."

Bryce hesitated. "I mean… they're both built like tanks. I think Neville could probably bench-press two linemen during gym."

"Don't care." Brad's voice went cold. "You know who else is built like tanks? Our O-line. You know what makes the Kents dangerous? They don't even try. That's worse."

Chad nodded slowly. "We can't have them on the team. They'll take your spotlight. Girls already look at them like they invented abs."

"Exactly," Brad said. "And let's not forget—Neville's been making googly eyes at Sarah since middle school."

Bryce blinked. "Wait—Sarah? But she's your—"

Brad spun. "Mine, Bryce. She's mine. And now she's got him walking around, all quiet and respectful and brooding and whatever the hell she likes. You think I'm gonna let that stand?"

Silence hung in the room like the fog of a bad decision.

And then, Brad smiled. The kind of smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"This year," he said, turning to face the rest of the team gathering nearby. "This year's Scarecrow tribute? It's double or nothing."

Chad straightened. "Two scarecrows?"

Brad nodded. "One for each smug, holier-than-thou, pretty-boy freak."

Bryce shifted nervously. "Uh… dude. The Kent twins are, like… huge. Like, 'could be on the cover of Men's Health' huge."

Another teammate muttered, "Hadrian looks like he kills werewolves on the weekends."

"I heard Neville doesn't blink. Like. At all."

"Okay, shut up!" Brad snapped. "They're just freaks. Farm boys. All muscle, no loyalty. You think they'd bleed for this team? They're not us. We're the Titans."

A lineman with half a sandwich hanging out of his mouth grunted, "Technically, the Titans lost."

Chad elbowed him. "Shut up, Ethan."

Bryce lifted a hand cautiously. "What if Coach finds out?"

Brad turned, eyes hard. "He won't. He never does. Like always. We pick the time, we pick the place. No marks. Just a little field trip. Maybe duct tape, maybe not. We hang 'em up, take a pic, laugh about it, move on. Classic Scarecrow."

A pause.

Then, someone mumbled, "They're not gonna take that lying down."

Brad smirked, slow and mean. "Then we knock 'em back down."

Chad whooped. A few of the others joined in, testosterone building like static before a lightning strike.

Only Bryce looked uneasy, chewing his lip.

"They're not like the usual kids we hang up."

Brad clapped him on the shoulder. "Which is why it's gonna feel so good."

And in that locker room, soaked in sweat and delusion, the wolves thought they were picking their prey.

They had no idea they were poking gods.

---

Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!

I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!

If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!

Click the link below to join the conversation:

https://discord.com/invite/HHHwRsB6wd

Can't wait to see you there!

If you appreciate my work and want to support me, consider buying me a cup of coffee. Your support helps me keep writing and bringing more stories to you. You can do so via PayPal here:

https://www.paypal.me/VikrantUtekar007

Or through my Buy Me a Coffee page:

https://www.buymeacoffee.com/vikired001s

Thank you for your support!