G.R.O.W.T.H

~ Ethan's Pov ~

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The next few hours crawled by in a haze of barely contained panic and awkward attempts at faking my way through work.

Ryan had been my unintentional lifeline. Every time I hesitated too long, he'd sigh, shake his head, and take over, grumbling something about me not getting enough sleep. I played along, nodding when necessary, keeping my head down. The last thing I needed was to attract more attention.

By the time 11:45 AM rolled around, my nerves were frayed.

I logged off my terminal, pushing my chair back. Ryan glanced up from his own workstation. "Yo, where you headed? Lunch?"

"Uh, yeah. Just... need some air," I mumbled, already grabbing my bag.

He gave me a knowing look. "Lena, huh?"

I stiffened. "What makes you say that?"

"Because you look like you're about to puke." Ryan stretched, folding his arms behind his head. "Man, you really let her get to you, huh? But hey, maybe she's finally gonna apologize for being—*" He cut himself off, clicking his tongue. "Never mind. Not my business."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "Nothing. Just... don't let her talk circles around you again, alright?"

Talk circles around me? What kind of dynamic did Ethan and Lena even have?

I wanted to ask more, but I was already pushing my time. I just gave a stiff nod and made for the exit.

The café wasn't far—just a few blocks from Ethan's apartment. Muscle memory guided me there, even as my stomach twisted itself into knots.

By the time I stepped inside, my pulse was hammering. The scent of coffee and baked goods did nothing to ease my nerves.

And then I saw her.

Lena.

She sat at a corner table, stirring her drink absentmindedly. She looked about my age, maybe a little younger, with dark brown hair pulled into a loose ponytail. Her sharp, green eyes flicked up the second I walked in, locking onto me like she'd been waiting for this exact moment.

A smirk tugged at her lips. "Well, well. You actually showed up on time for once."

I hesitated, then slowly made my way over.

"Yeah," I said stiffly, sliding into the seat across from her. "Guess I did."

She leaned back, crossing her arms. "So?"

"So..." I swallowed harder than I even thought I would, glancing at her cup before meeting her eyes. "Uh; You said we needed to talk?"

The smirk faded. Her gaze hardened at me. Seriously, what was our relationship?

"Yeah," she said. "We do."*

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

My breath caught, "Excuse me?"

"Don't play dumb, Ethan." Her voice was low, but firm. "You've been weird all week. Ignoring my calls, flaking on plans. And now, this morning, you text me back like nothing happened?"

She narrowed her eyes, "What's going on with you?"

I opened my mouth. Closed it. My pulse thundered.

I had no idea how Ethan normally acted around her. No idea what their history was. One wrong move, and she'd know something was off.

I took a slow breath, choosing my words carefully. "I've... been dealing with a lot."

Her gaze stayed locked on me, searching my face for something. "Yeah? Like what?"

I swallowed. "I... I don't know how to explain."

Silence stretched between us. Her fingers tapped against the ceramic mug.

Then, softly, "Is this about Sinclair?"

I blinked. "What?"

"Your job," she said. "You hate it. I mean, you act like you don't, but I know you, Ethan. You've been miserable for months. So if this is about work—"

"It's not just that." I said quickly.

Her brow furrowed. "Then what is it?"

My thoughts scrambled. I needed to get through this without blowing my cover.

I exhaled slowly, "I... I just... Let's just say I haven't exactly been feeling like myself lately."

It wasn't a lie. Not exactly.

I could feel Lena studying me for a long moment. Then, to my surprise, her expression softened—but just by a little.

"Okay," she said to me finally. "Then start talking."

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I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. The café buzzed faintly in the background—coffee machines hissing, quiet chatter from other patrons, the occasional clink of a spoon against ceramic. But right now, it all felt distant.

Lena was watching me closely, her green eyes sharp but not unkind. There was an edge of frustration there, sure, but underneath it? Something else. Concern, maybe.

I exhaled slowly, lowering my gaze to the table. "I don't even know where to start," I admitted.

"Try," she said, leaning forward slightly. "Because from where I'm sitting, you've been acting like a stranger for days, and I'm getting tired of trying to figure out why."

Stranger. The word hit harder than I expected. Because that's exactly what I am, aren't I?

I rubbed the back of my neck. "I guess I've just... been feeling weird lately. Off. Like I woke up and everything is the same, but it feels different. You know what I mean?"

Her lips pressed together. "No, Ethan, I don't. Because that doesn't tell me anything."

I winced. Okay, clearly she wasn't going to let this slide.

I hesitated before adding, "I— I don't remember texting you last night."

Her expression flickered—something between disbelief and growing irritation. "Are you serious?"

I nodded slowly.

She let out a breath, tapping her fingers against the mug again. "So, what, you just 'forgot' that we were supposed to meet up? Or that I called you? Three times?"

My stomach twisted. Shit. Ethan—the real Ethan—had plans with her? I had no idea what he'd said, no memory of what their last conversation was like.

"I..." I fumbled for a response. "I've just been out of it, okay?"

"No, not okay," she shot back. "Ethan, you blew me off with no explanation. And then when I texted you this morning, you acted like nothing happened. Do you even get how weird that is?"

Her voice wasn't raised, but there was an unmistakable sharpness beneath it.

I clenched my jaw, my mind racing. I couldn't exactly tell her the truth—that I wasn't actually Ethan Vaughn, that I didn't even know who he was before this morning. But I had to say something.

"I didn't mean to ignore you," I said, my voice quieter now. "I just... I've been having trouble remembering things lately. Not everything—just... parts. Like last night."

Her brows knit together, some of the frustration giving way to confusion. "What do you mean, 'trouble remembering'?"

I hesitated for some reason, "Like I said... things feel off. Like I'm in my own life, but... disconnected from it."

She studied me for a long moment, her fingers still drumming lightly against the cup, "Oh gosh... You're not joking, are you..."

It wasn't a question.

I shook my head. "No."

Something in her posture shifted. The frustration was still there, but now it was laced with something else—uncertainty.

"Okay..." She leaned back, arms crossing again. "You're saying you forgot our conversation last night. Fine. What do you remember?"

My fingers tensed against the table. Tread carefully.

"I remember work," I said. "I remember being late. Sinclair nearly took my head off for it."

"Yeah, no surprise there," she muttered. "You've been on thin ice with him for weeks."

Weeks? So Ethan had been screwing up long before I got here.

"I remember Ryan," I continued. "He helped me cover at work today."

"Of course he did," Lena scoffed. "You always make him do your dirty work."

I blinked. "I do?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Don't give me that face, Ethan. You know you do. He practically does half your workload while you sit around pretending to look busy."

I struggled to keep my expression neutral. Okay. Good to know Ethan Vaughn was a terrible employee.

"But the past week?" I pressed. "Before today? It's... all, hazy."

She frowned, tilting her head slightly. "And this just started out of nowhere?"

"Yeah."*

She stared at me, long enough that I had to fight the urge to fidget. Then, she let out a breath and shook her head. "God, this is so weird."

"Tell me about it," I muttered.

She glanced down at her coffee, swirling the spoon inside absentmindedly. "Have you gone to a doctor?"

"No."*

"You probably should," she said. "Memory loss isn't exactly normal, Ethan."

I swallowed. "Yeah..."

Her eyes flicked back up to mine, and I could feel the question coming before she even spoke.

"You're not lying to me, are you?"

My breath hitched.

There was something in her gaze—sharp, probing. Looking for a crack, a tell.

I forced myself to meet her eyes, steady but uncertain. "No. I'm not lying."

The words came out softer than I intended. Not a lie, but not the whole truth either.

She didn't answer right away. Instead, she studied me again, like she was trying to pick me apart.

Then, finally, she sighed. "Alright."*

Relief washed over me, but it was short-lived.

"But," she continued, "if I find out this is some bullshit excuse because you're avoiding something? I swear, Ethan, I will make your life hell."

My throat dried. "Got it."

She took another sip of coffee before setting the mug down with a quiet clink. "You should go back to work. Lunch break's almost over."

I glanced at my phone—she was right. It was already 12:48.

I nodded, pushing my chair back. "Right. Uh... thanks for meeting me."

She let out a quiet huff. "Don't thank me, idiot. Just figure out what's wrong with you."

I hesitated for a split second before turning to leave. But as I reached the door, her voice stopped me.

"Ethan."

I turned back.

She wasn't smirking anymore. No frustration. Just quiet concern.

"If something's really wrong... you'd tell me, right?"

The weight of the question settled deep in my chest.

I forced a small, uncertain smile. "Yeah. Of course."

A lie.

And I had a feeling she knew it.

By the time I made it back to Vance Industries, my head was a tangled mess of half-formed thoughts.

Lena. My job. My missing memories. The fact that I was Ethan Vaughn, a man I didn't even know yesterday.

And now, apparently, I was on thin ice at work and had a history of flaking on people. Fantastic.

I stepped into the elevator, jamming the button for the tech department. The doors slid shut, and for a brief moment, I let myself exhale.

Then, my phone buzzed again.

A new text. From Lena.

You're acting different. I don't know why, but I'll figure it out.

I swallowed hard, shoving the phone back into my pocket.

When I got back to my workstation, Ryan barely glanced up from his screen. "Well, that was fast. She rip you a new one or just go straight for the psychological warfare?"

I slumped into my chair. "Both."

"Classic," he muttered.

I hesitated before speaking again. "Hey, Ryan... can I ask you something?"

He finally looked up, raising an eyebrow. "You? Asking me for something? What's the occasion?"

I ignored the jab. "What's... my deal with Lena?"

His brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

I shifted in my seat. "Like, what are we? Friends? More than that?"

Ryan blinked. Then, very slowly, a smirk stretched across his face. "Oh my god, she finally friend-zoned you, didn't she?"

"What? No—"

"Dude, I told you! You spent months simping for her, dropping everything the second she called, doing that whole 'Oh no, she doesn't see me like that' thing—"

"Ryan."

"—and now she's finally said it out loud, and you're having an identity crisis about it."

"Ryan."

He grinned. "Just say the word, man. I'll take you out for drinks. Get you on a dating app. It's time to heal."

I let out a slow, exasperated breath. "So... we're not together?"

"No. You wish you were, but no."

Huh. That was actually kind of a relief. The last thing I needed was to be unknowingly dating someone.

"Alright," I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck. "Good to know."

Ryan squinted at me. "Dude, are you okay?"

"Yeah, just tired."

"Mmm-hmm." He didn't sound convinced, but thankfully, he let it go.

The rest of the shift passed in a blur of me pretending to work and Ryan occasionally side-eyeing me. By the time 5:30 PM rolled around, I was beyond ready to leave.

The walk home was quiet, the streets of the city buzzing with life as people wrapped up their days. The skyline stretched above me, filled with towering buildings, bright signs, and the occasional news drone hovering in place.

It was all familiar. And yet, it wasn't.

I reached Ethan's apartment—my apartment—and locked the door behind me before sinking onto the couch.

I needed answers.

Pulling out my phone, I started searching.

Year: 2023.

So, at the very least, the world's timeline hadn't changed. But the deeper I dug, the more... different things felt.

The news was filled with reports of Heroes. Costumed individuals, vigilantes, powered figures—whatever you wanted to call them. Some sanctioned by the government. Some working alone. Some causing more problems than they solved.

It wasn't new to Ethan. But to me?

'What kind of world is this?' Heroes? They actually existed here.

I kept scrolling, my mind racing.

Heroes existed. The government monitored them. Companies were involved—some even sponsoring their own "official" heroes... When I saw which one was on the headlines, it kind of took me by surprise, Omni-Man.

And then I stumbled across something that made my blood run cold.

-Vance Industries – New Hero-Tech Division Expands Following Recent Breakthrough-

I sat up straighter seeing it. Vance Industries. My job.

'My company is involved in hero work?'

I clicked the article, my heart pounding.

And as I read, I realized something else.

The tech department I worked in? The department I barely even understood?

It was directly tied to hero research. And if I stayed in this life, I was already in the middle of it.

I sighed to myself, what else could a man do at this point? 'This is gonna be a tough life...'

I continued scrolling through the article, my pulse hammering in my ears.

Vance Industries' Tech Division Expands Following Recent Breakthrough

Following a major funding boost from government agencies, Vance Industries has announced an expansion of its hero-tech research division. CEO Gregory Vance stated that the company is committed to advancing technology that will 'change the landscape of hero work as we know it.' While specifics remain classified, sources close to the project hint at developments in enhanced exo-suits, bio-integrated AI, and next-gen combat analysis software.

I clenched my jaw.

This wasn't just some side project at Vance Industries. They were deep in the hero game—developing tech, possibly even working with heroes themselves.

And I was working there.

In that department.

I let my phone drop onto my lap, staring blankly at the ceiling. Was Ethan involved in this research? Did he actually contribute, or was he just some guy pushing buttons while everyone else did the real work?

I exhaled slowly, rubbing my temples. The headache from this morning still lingered—a dull pressure at the back of my skull, like my mind was trying to force memories into place that weren't mine to begin with.

I had spent the whole day trying to figure out Ethan's life. His job. His relationships. How not to completely fall apart in front of people who expected me to be him.

And now I had an even bigger problem.

If Vance Industries was developing hero tech... what exactly was I working on?

I glanced at my laptop on the coffee table. If I had access to work files, maybe I could figure it out.

But first, I needed to know one thing.

Had Ethan Vaughn been the kind of employee who brought his work home?

I grabbed my bag, digging through it. A few loose papers, some old receipts, my ID badge—then, finally, a company-issued tablet.

Bingo.

I powered it on, and after a second, the screen flashed to life. A login page. Employee ID required.

I frowned. I had used my badge at work earlier—if I was lucky, I had muscle memory on my side.

Taking a deep breath, I typed in what felt right.

|E.Vaughn_1245|

Ha! That actually worked. I hit enter.

The screen processed for a second—then another. My fingers twitched. Come on, come on—

|Access Granted|

A relieved breath left my lips.

I was in.

The home screen loaded, and my eyes darted across the folders. Most were work-related—project reports, software logs, encrypted communications. But one folder caught my eye.

|Active Development – Project Argus|

I clicked on it.

Immediately, a wall of text appeared—schematics, notes, code logs. But one thing stood out.

A mini headline at the top of the file.

|ARGUS: Predictive Threat Analysis AI|

I scrolled down, my chest tightening when I did...

|Project Argus is designed to enhance real-time hero decision-making by utilizing vast data sets to predict and counter threats before they occur. The system operates by analyzing environmental variables, enemy combat patterns, and strategic probabilities to create an optimized course of action for active heroes.|

I leaned back, gripping the tablet.

So that's what I—Ethan—had been working on. An AI designed to predict and neutralize threats before they even happened.

That was huge.

And, dangerous.

If this tech fell into the wrong hands, it wouldn't just help heroes—it could be used against them. Used to predict their movements, counter their attacks. Turn them into easy targets.

I swallowed hard.

'What the hell have I gotten myself into?'

I was still staring at the screen when my phone buzzed again.

I reached for it, expecting another text from Lena.

But it wasn't her this time;

========

Ryan:

[Yo, you busy tonight?]

I blinked at the message, my pulse still racing from what I'd just read. My mind was tangled between Project Argus, the breaking news, and the unknown number that had just texted me. But now? Ryan?

I hesitated before typing back.

Me:

[Uh… not really. Why?]

The reply came almost immediately.

Ryan:

[Thought you could use a break. You've been acting weird as hell today. Wanna grab a drink or something?]

I exhaled, rubbing my temples.

Ryan wasn't wrong—I had been acting weird. He'd probably been side-eyeing me all day, trying to figure out what was up. And if Ethan had really been the kind of guy to slack off at work while making Ryan pick up the pieces, then my sudden intensity probably set off some alarms.

A normal person—a normal Ethan—wouldn't spend the night glued to his tablet, deep-diving into encrypted company files like some conspiracy nut.

A normal Ethan would go out, crack a few jokes, pretend like nothing was wrong.

And right now, I needed to be that Ethan.

Me:

[Yeah. Yeah, sure. Where?]

Ryan:

[Usual spot. 8:30.]

'Shit. The usual spot?'

I checked the time—7:42 PM. That gave me less than an hour to act like I knew where the hell I was going.

8:24 PM – The 'Usual Spot' (Wherever That Is)

It turned out my feet did know the way.

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Once again, nothing but muscle memory guided me through the city, past relatively familiar neon-lit storefronts and some of the most buzzing street corners, until I found myself standing in front of a bar called -Lock & Barrel- Dimly lit, a little run-down, but buzzing with the energy of a typical Friday night gathering...

I slowly stepped inside, immediately hit by the familiar scent of beer, old wood, and faint cigarette smoke. Extra emphasis on the smoke.

And there he was; Ryan, already at the bar, two drinks in front of him. He spotted me instantly and raised a hand. "Look who actually showed up."

I forced a small, tired grin as I slid into the seat next to him. "Yeah, well... figured I owed you one."*

"Damn right you do," Ryan said, pushing one of the drinks toward me. "On the house. Well, my house. Don't make me regret it."*

I wrapped my fingers around the glass, staring at the amber liquid inside. "Thanks, man."*

"Don't thank me yet. I still might make you pay for the next round."* Ryan took a sip of his own drink, then gave me another long, searching look. "Alright. Spill. What the hell's up with you?"

I stiffened slightly. "What do you mean?"

"Dude." He gave me a flat look. "You were basically a walking corpse at work. Then you leave for lunch, come back looking like someone dropped a bomb on your personal life, and now you're sitting here acting like I just dragged you to a funeral. So yeah, what's up?"

I hesitated, fingers tightening around my glass. I couldn't exactly tell him the truth. But maybe I could give him something.

"Just… a lot on my mind," I said finally. "Work's been rough. Sinclair's got it out for me, Lena's pissed, and—" I exhaled. "I guess I've been feeling kinda... lost lately."*

Ryan studied me over the rim of his glass. Then, after a beat, he huffed. "No shit you feel lost. You hate your job, your ex still strings you along, and you have the worst sleep schedule I've ever seen."*

I nearly choked. "Wait—ex?"

"Oh, don't play dumb."* He rolled his eyes. "You and Lena were never official-official, but you were something for a while. You liked her, she liked you—until she didn't. Then she went cold, but still keeps you on the hook."*

I stared at him. "And I just… let that all happen?"

"Apparently. You're... well, you, after all."

That stung a little, even though it technically wasn't me he was talking about.

"Look, I know I mess with you a lot, but real talk?" Ryan swirled his drink idly. "You gotta stop letting her yank you around, man. It's messing with your head."

I swallowed, the words; they're sitting heavier on me than I expected them to...

Because the truth was—I did feel yanked around. Not just by Lena, but by everything. My life, my memories, this entire existence that wasn't even supposed to be mine.

I stared into my drink, my reflection rippling in the glass. "Yeah... maybe you're right."*

Ryan nudged my shoulder lightly. "Damn right I am. Now drink, because I am not babysitting your emo ass all night."*

I let out a small chuckle despite everything and finally took a sip. It burned, but in a way that steadied me. If that even made sense...

For a few minutes, we both just sat there, drinking in silence. It was almost comfortable... Some level of peace in my life right now.

Then Ryan spoke again. "By the way... did you hear about that hero attack?"

My stomach dropped. "What?"

"Yeah, man. Some hero got targeted downtown earlier. They're saying Vance Tech was involved somehow. It's all over the news."*

I forced my grip to stay loose around the glass, What hero attack? "Uhm... You think it's true?"

"I mean, it wouldn't surprise me. You know how it is. The company acts all clean, but behind the scenes? Who the hell even knows half the crap that goes down."*

I nodded absently, my mind already spiraling at this point.

Vance Tech. The attack. Project Argus? Why do I feel that none of this was a coincidence...

"Yo, you good man?" Ryan asked, frowning. "You look like you just saw a ghost."*

I blinked, shaking myself out of it. "Yeah—yeah, I'm good."*

He didn't look convinced, but he let it slide.

For the rest of the night, I forced myself to play along—smirking at Ryan's bad jokes, nodding in the right places. But the entire time, my mind was racing.

Because I wasn't just lost anymore. I was officially way in over my own head.

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END