Part 1: Home Dynamics
The twins returned home that evening, the chaotic yet familiar energy of their family washing over them. Their mother, Mandy, was in the kitchen with Dexter, preparing a pungent, spicy supper. In the living room, Wess was bellowing at the TV; his football team was decisively losing to Mandy's favorite.
Mandy didn't miss a beat, calling out without turning from her chopping board: "I beat you every time, babe! You should just switch teams at this point!"
"Screw you and your team!" Wess bellowed back, stomping his foot hard enough to rattle the kitchen's metal racks. "We're just having a bad season!"
Wayne walked in, rubbing his ears. "You're always yelling, geez." He bypassed Wess and walked straight to Dexter. "Hey, Dad."
Dexter, carefully peeling vegetables, smiled warmly. "Hey, how was your day, son?"
"Hell, as usual," Wayne replied with a sigh. "How was yours?"
Dexter laughed—a quiet, soothing sound. "Quite all right. Say, did you happen to get any of that math homework today?"
Wayne avoided eye contact. "Umm... maybe."
"We'll work on it when you're ready," Dexter promised.
"Sure. Sup, Mom." Mandy offered a quick, powerful hug that nearly squeezed the air out of him. "Hey, boy. We're making your favorite today: The Lava Chili."
"Ah, a ray of sunshine," Wayne mumbled. "Thank you."
He walked upstairs, throwing a defiant glare at Wess on his way past. Wess's muscles tensed, his eyes signaling Damien to intervene before he lost his temper with his own son. Damien offered a calm greeting to everyone, his very presence acting as a stabilizer for Wess's simmering rage.
Part 2: The 94% Threshold
Later that night, Damien called Tina.
"How was your day? You looked pretty rushed this morning," he asked, keeping his tone light. Tina admitted the day was good, but confessed that Tyrone's impatience was becoming embarrassing. That tiny admission—a crack in her defense—was all the fuel Damien needed.
The next morning, the twins found Alex had strategically placed a desk right next to theirs. Her eyes nervously darted toward Damien, transfixed by the high percentage of Positive Energy he radiated. Wayne looked at her and conceded she was, objectively, kind of cute—but he crushed that flicker of interest instantly. He had seen enough drama in his brother's life to know better.
Damien focused on the corner of the room. "You know, car thing aside, I'm genuinely worried about Cecelia. She doesn't talk, yet she has so much negative energy."
"Yeah," Wayne muttered. "92% is definitely psycho levels."
Alex shifted in her seat, her eyes fixed on the girl in the corner. "92%? I'm seeing 94%."
The twins exchanged alarmed looks. "What? It's gone up? Something is definitely wrong."
"If she seems normal here," Alex whispered, "maybe you need to see how she is at home."
Damien snapped his fingers. "Great idea, let's go ask her!"
"Gosh, don't encourage him!" Wayne complained, but it was too late. Damien grabbed him by the collar, dragging him toward Cecelia's desk like a limp sack of laundry.
"Cecelia," Damien said, his tone heavy with concern. "Is everything okay at home?"
"Home is perfect," Cecelia recited in a high, hollow voice, like a child reading a forced script. "I have everything I would ever want."
Wayne seized the moment. "Fine. Can you just give us a car, then? That's all we're really here for."
Cecelia blinked slowly. "Oh. A car? I guess."
"There. Problem solved," Wayne said triumphantly. Just then, Mr. Han walked in, and the moment was over. Cecelia returned to her mechanical preparations, her eyes once again lifeless.
Part 3: The Fortress
The car wasn't mentioned again. Immediately after school, Cecelia headed straight for the exit. Damien didn't even ask; he just grabbed Wayne's shirt and started walking.
"You're kidding, right?" Wayne groaned.
"We're following her."
They tailed her from a distance, using their superior speed to keep pace as a sleek, black limousine collected her. They followed the car as it snaked through the affluent districts, eventually leading them to a massive estate enclosed by towering stone walls.
The limo paused at the front gates—intricate, automated ironwork that looked more like a fortress entrance than a driveway. A stiff, impeccably dressed butler greeted her. The twins watched as she disappeared inside, the gates hissing shut with an air of finality.
"Okay, we saw the house," Wayne said, gripping his brother's arm. "It's rich. She's crazy. Let's go do math homework."
Damien ignored him. He took a deep breath, his Positive Energy flaring faintly with conviction. He walked straight to the intercom, pulled back his fist, and slammed it against the metal.
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
The sound echoed through the estate, a power-enhanced announcement that the "Golden Child" had arrived.