Tyler's right hand began to vibrate—no, buzz—at an impossible speed, humming like a jackhammer on high. His eyes widened.
"What's happening now?" he muttered.
Then, without even meaning to, he thought of moving forward—and suddenly, the world blurred. The cracked asphalt beneath him warped like a smeared photo, and before he could even blink, he was a hundred meters away.
He skidded to a halt, breath catching in his throat.
"What?" Tyler gasped, spinning around. "Is this… another superpower?"
His eyes shone with realization. First the clones… and now this. His hand clenched with excitement.
"I am…" He took off again, this time on purpose.
Wind whipped against his face, his clothes rippling wildly as he dashed across the street and back, moving so fast that a white trail lingered behind him like the tail of a shooting star.
"Super fast!" he shouted, laughing with exhilaration.
The earlier punch to the gut from being fired? Gone. The bitterness in his stomach? Faded. His smile was real now.
Who cared about some stupid forensic job?
He was a superhuman.
Without wasting another second, Tyler blurred into motion again, racing home with the wind singing in his ears and lightning crackling under his skin. It felt like something ancient and alive was waking up inside him—power surging through every nerve.
In what felt like less than a second, he stood in front of the cracked door to his apartment. He swung it open and rushed inside. The moment the door closed behind him, he was already pacing excitedly.
"Okay, okay—let's see what we've got here," he muttered, hands twitching with energy.
He immediately tried what came naturally: creating clones.
They popped into existence. Dozens. Then more. They crowded the room in seconds, shoulder to shoulder, filling up every inch of space—on the couch, in the kitchen, some even climbing on top of each other trying not to fall.
"Ugh, damn—too many!" Tyler groaned.
He dispelled them all at once, the energy fizzling away until only one remained.
"Looks like… there's no real limit to how many I can make," Tyler said, grinning. "I just need the space."
Next test.
He pointed to the clone. "Run. Fast."
The clone nodded—and vanished in a gust of wind. It zipped from one end of the apartment to the other, becoming a blur that bounced off walls and furniture without missing a beat.
Tyler's eyes widened.
"They can all use super speed?" he whispered.
His heart pounded with the weight of what that meant.
An army. A limitless number of him—each moving faster than the human eye could track. Faster than bullets. Faster than anything.
Absolutely terrifying.
And incredible.
His grin widened as test after test began to bloom in his mind like fireworks. Super speed, super regeneration, teamwork—what else could he do? What else could they do?
...
The apartment was filled with the sound of rhythmic thuds, grunts, and the whoosh of air displaced at inhuman speeds.
Dozens of Tylers moved in perfect synchrony—pushing, pulling, lifting, sprinting. Every single one of them was working out at superhuman intensity, blurring in and out of focus, their muscles straining and sweat flying through the air in fine mist-like arcs.
The real Tyler?
He was sitting on the couch, sipping water and occasionally checking his phone.
He was drenched in sweat—not because he had trained, but because his body was taking on the cumulative effort of all the training his clones had done.
One by one, he absorbed them.
Every clone vanished in a spark of white light, and with each one, a wave of pain surged through his nerves as the fatigue, strain, and stress of their workout slammed into his body. But even as his muscles tore under the weight of that absurd exertion, they immediately began healing—regenerating with ferocious speed.
His cells, primed for replication thanks to his cloning power, reacted like hypercharged factories. Super speed fed his biology the perfect storm of recovery. And with every reabsorption, he got stronger.
Stronger, faster, better.
He had figured it out: by making forty clones train at superspeed, he could condense forty days of gains into minutes. And he had been doing it nonstop for four hours.
That was ten years' worth of gym work packed into an afternoon.
His shirt clung to his chiseled torso, damp with sweat. Beneath it, his physique had transformed—his body looked carved from marble, like something out of ancient Greece. A flawless V-taper, roped veins down his arms, steel cables for abs. He looked like a men's fitness model who somehow had the strength of Eddie Hall.
And all without touching a dumbbell himself.
He absorbed the last clone with a grunt, chest rising and falling. Then:
Bzzzz.
His phone lit up.
> "Hey, sorry to bother you, it's me, Tracy, from Jitters, remember me?"
Tyler's eyes narrowed, then a slow, cocky grin spread across his face.
He cracked his knuckles, wiped some sweat from his forehead, and typed back:
> "Tracy... hmm, let me think... oh, you're that clumsy, cute waitress?"
...
Meanwhile, in a small apartment on the edge of the city, Tracy had just come home and flopped onto her bed when her phone buzzed.
She read the reply—and blinked.
"C-Cute?" she muttered, cheeks turning red.
Her heart gave a stupid little flutter, but she shook her head. "Probably just one of those guys..."
But before she could even finish the thought, another message arrived:
> "Wanna come over?"
Her mouth opened in disbelief.
"W-What?" she whispered, her finger hovering over the "block" button.
Was this all he wanted? Was he some shallow player trying to act charming?
She hesitated.
Then another message came.
And this one made her pause:
> "I know... it sounds shameless... but I just woke up from a nine-month coma and sincerely... I just want to stay home for now... a lot of TV shows came out, I absolutely have to catch up. Wanna watch them with me?"
Tracy stared at the screen.
Something about the message caught her off guard. It wasn't smooth. It wasn't manipulative. It was… weirdly sincere. Endearing. And a little sad.
Nine months in a coma? She didn't know the full story, but… he must've been through a lot.
She smiled softly, feeling a strange mix of warmth and curiosity.
> "Sure, send me the address. I'll keep you company!"
...
Back in his apartment, Tyler leaned back, fully healed and brimming with power. His grin widened as he set the phone down.
"Still got it."
To be continued...
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Guys, liked this chapter? Am I making him too OP?
If you have any suggestions, I'm always open.