Super Hero Rhapsody: 1975

Three days of quiet have softened the edges of the Department's nightmare. Sally steps onto the Rose City Warriors training floor in gray sweats and a cropped hoodie, the clean rubber mats bright under the overhead lights.

Above her, The Rose stands on the observation deck, arms folded, calm as a coach before practice. She gives Sally a small nod, then points toward the open floor.

Sally feels the old fear, but it does not rule her the way it did before. The polished training gear, the marked lanes, the sparring dummies waiting in silence, it all feels almost reassuring.

The Rose leans on the rail, patient and watchful, giving Sally the whole floor and a moment to answer.

Sally extends two fingers toward the nearest sparring dummy. The air around her hand tightens, then answers with a tiny spark that snaps blue-white across her knuckles and kisses the dummy’s shoulder plate.

The spark fades before it can spread, leaving only a faint scorch mark on the padded target. No blast, no flare, just a clean little pulse where her focus lands.

The Rose straightens on the rail, eyes fixed on Sally’s hand. The training floor hums under the bright lights, and the untouched dummies suddenly look less like obstacles and more like targets.

Sally snaps her hand toward the next dummy and lets the spark go. It jumps cleanly, a tight blue-white spit of light that lands exactly where she aims, cracking against the shoulder pad with a sharp pop.

The dummy shudders on its stand. A new scorch blooms beside the first one, and the sting of ozone hangs in the cool air.

Sally's fingers tremble for a beat as the glow dies, a faint ache running up her wrist from the effort. On the rail above, The Rose leans in, watching the clean hit and the strain that follows.

The second dummy waits under the bright lights, untouched and still, while the first one smolders at the shoulder and Sally has to choose whether to push harder or keep the spark exactly where she wants it.