Power Down

Jerome Martin, a powered thief with kinetic energy abilities, is sent to Blackstone, a maximum-security prison for superhuman offenders. Inside, he discovers a government conspiracy that systematically frames and imprisons independent heroes who refuse to register under the Hero Regulation Act. Forced to navigate complex prison politics and survive without his powers due to dampening technology, Jerome joins an underground resistance led by former hero Chelsea  "Mindscape" Reeves. As they work to gather evidence and expose the truth, Jerome must confront the facility's ruthless Director Walsh, avoid detection by an undercover agent, and decide whether to accept a deal for freedom or stand with his fellow inmates. The choice becomes more difficult as a prison riot forces him to finally take a side, leading to a climactic confrontation that could either expose the system's corruption or condemn the resistance to failure.

CHAPTER ONE: POWER DOWN

The power dampening collar sealed with three distinct clicks, and Jerome Martin's world fractured. Not into darkness—into absence. The kinetic symphony he'd felt since age seventeen vanished, leaving him stranded in a body that suddenly felt foreign. Each heartbeat, every footstep, the simple act of breathing—all transformed from familiar rhythms into awkward, mechanical movements.

He caught himself against the processing room wall, smooth concrete cold beneath his palm. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, a sound that should have rippled through him with crystalline clarity. Now it was just noise, distant and meaningless.

"Disorientation is expected during initial dampening," the technician said, eyes fixed on her tablet's readout. "Neural pathways are reorganizing. Adaptation typically occurs within six to eight hours." Her white coat bore the Blackstone facility logo—a stylized tower in black and silver. "Any nausea or vertigo should be reported immediately."

Guard Hayes stepped forward, security cuffs gleaming. "Registration number 24681, power classification Beta-7, assigned cell block C." His voice carried the practiced efficiency of someone who processed new inmates daily. "Standard intake protocol complete. Move out."

The past six hours had systematically dismantled Jerome's identity. Forms that reduced his life to checkboxes. Scanners that mapped his DNA and power signature. The white-walled evaluation chamber where they'd recorded his ability to sense and manipulate kinetic energy. He'd shown them enough to justify his classification, carefully masking the precision control that had made him the most successful heist specialist on the West Coast.

Blackstone's main corridor stretched before him, a masterpiece of containment engineering. Gun-metal walls reinforced with power-dampening alloys. Security doors rated to withstand superhuman impact. Guards stationed at mathematically precise intervals, weapons loaded with specialized suppression rounds. Overhead, security cameras tracked movement with mechanical precision, their soft whirs accompanied by the constant hum of dampening field generators.

Inmates watched his progress from their cells. Gray uniforms marked with classification patches told stories of power and threat assessment. Red for energy manipulation like his own. Blue for physical enhancement. Green for mental abilities. Some wore additional restraints—specialized cuffs glowing with suppression tech, sensory dampeners covering eyes or ears, full isolation suits for the most dangerous.

"Welcome to C-Block," Hayes announced at a massive security door. "Remember your number, 24681. Names don't matter here. Only classification and compliance."

Hydraulics hissed as the door opened to reveal a three-story chamber. Cells stacked like steel filing cabinets housed over a hundred powered inmates. The common area below teemed with carefully controlled movement—card games, exercise routines, small groups in conversation. Every action measured, every position calculated for maximum distance from others.

A mountain of a man looked up from the weight bench, muscles straining his uniform despite power suppression. His Alpha-class patch marked him as top tier physical enhancement. He set his weights down with deliberate precision and rose to his full height.

"Fresh intake," someone called. The words rippled through the block like a stone disturbing still water.

Jerome felt the press of evaluation from dozens of eyes, each measuring his potential value and vulnerability. His fingers twitched reflexively, seeking the familiar flow of energy that had always warned him of threats. The collar's weight seemed to increase with each passing second.

The large man approached, his movement betraying military training beneath the prisoner's shuffle. "James Walker," he said, voice pitched low enough to evade the nearest surveillance mic. "And you're about to learn how to survive in a cage built for gods."

Jerome met his gaze steadily, refusing to let his shoulders bend under the collar's burden. Five years of evading the system had taught him adaptation. Now he'd learn its inner workings.

Walker's eyes flicked to the nearest camera, then back to Jerome. "First lesson: everything here serves two purposes. The trick is figuring out which one keeps you alive."