[Recap]
The Smiler's voice distorts— low and echoing from inside Tony's mind.
"I'm not your enemy. I'm your reminder."
Tony thrashes, kicking, fighting to breathe.
His hand goes to his pocket—
Gone.
"Looking for this?" the Smiler says in that man's voice voice, holding the token up between blackened fingers.
Tony's eyes widen.
The Smiler's face blurs— the man's grin flickers over it. Then Dahlia's. Then Tony's own.
"You're not ready yet."
With one final slam—
Darkness.
[Back in Reality — Tony's Room]
Tony bolts upright, gasping. Sweat-soaked. Chest pounding.
His hand darts to his pocket.
Nothing.
He scans the room— eyes land on his desk.
A small sticky note sits there, elegantly written:
"Thanks for the token.
Sweet dreams, my little prototype.
—Dr. Drake"
Tony stares.
His jaw tightens.
Fists clench.
[End]
Tony stumbles into the bathroom, flipping on the light. He grips the sink, breath shaky. He looks into the mirror.
Normal. Just his reflection. No glowing eyes. No tar.
He quickly checks his arms, his chest. No bruises. No pain. Nothing.
"What the hell..." he mutters.
"Tony!!" Olivia yells from downstairs. "Hurry up and finish whatever you're doing!"
He pauses then— shouts back.
"Fine! Just give me a minute!"
[20 Minutes Later — Kitchen]
Tony enters, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "So what's up?"
Olivia doesn't look up from her phone. "Mom said I gotta take you to school. Get in the car."
Tony frowns. "I usually walk."
Olivia replies.
"She said she heard gunshots near the neighborhood last night. She's being overprotective or whatever."
Tony freezes for a beat. "Oh... yeah. Okay."
Olivia sighs, already annoyed. "Well, stop standing there. Grab the keys and wait in the car."
He nods and heads into their mom's room to grab the keys, then steps outside.
[10 Minutes Later — In the Car]
Tony sits in the passenger seat, tapping his foot against the floorboard. The silence grows until the front door finally opens and Olivia walks out.
She slides into the driver's seat.
"What took you so long?" Tony asks.
"Don't worry about it." She starts the engine.
They drive in silence, the quiet hum of the car doing little to settle the buzzing in Tony's head.
[Later — School Track Field, Gym Class]
Tony jogs lazily across the track, headphones in but no music playing. His thoughts are too loud anyway.
Dahlia pulls up beside Tony, jogging at an even pace.
"You look like death." she says with a smirk.
Tony exhales through his nose, offering a weak grin. "Didn't sleep well again."
"Nightmares?" She asks.
"Something like that," he mutters.
They jog in silence for a moment, their shoes thudding softly against the track.
"You ever feel like your body went through hell, but you wake up with nothing?" Tony asks.
Dahlia raises a brow. "Okay... That's new. You sick or something?"
Tony shrugs. "I'm fine. Just... felt weird. Like I fought someone and forgot."
Dahlia watches him for a second. "Alright, yeah, you need help."
"Gee, thanks."
"No, seriously. I know someone. A friend of my mom's. She used to take me to her clinic when I was little."
Tony looks over. "Clinic? Like a therapist?"
"Yeah," she says, shaking her head. "She's... kind of different. Old-school. Bit weird, but cool. She helped my mom through some stuff."
Tony slows down a little. "What's her name?"
"Elene," Dahlia replies, pulling her phone out mid-jog. "Hang on, I'll text her."
"You sure she'll be okay talking to me?"
Dahlia shoots him a look. "Tony. You're not that special. She talks to a lot of people."
Tony snorts. "Wow. Thanks."
"Text sent." She pockets her phone. "I told her you're a little weird, but mostly harmless."
Tony laughs under his breath. "Harsh."
Dahlia grins. "You'll live."
"Let's sit down for a bit." Tony says.
"Fine." Dahlia replies.
Tony and Dahlia sit under the shade of a tree near the edge of the school's track. Tony leans back on his elbows, still catching his breath from the jog, while Dahlia checks her phone.
Tony eyes her, still skeptical. "And she's really supposed to help me... with what, exactly?"
Dahlia shrugs. "She's smart. Knows a lot about the body, fighting, healing. Ran a clinic for years."
Tony nods slowly. "And your mom took you to her when you were a kid?"
"Yeah. I had asthma," Dahlia says, smiling faintly. "Elene used to tell me weird stories while she gave me shots. About underground fights, people fighting with masks on. Thought she was just being dramatic."
Tony's brows furrow, but before he can say anything, buzz— Dahlia's phone vibrates.
She looks down.
Dahlia grins and tilts her phone toward Tony. "She's in."
[Dahlia's Phone]
Elene:
"Dahlia. Haven't heard from you in forever. Who's the boy?"
Dahlia:
"His name's Tony. He's been... dealing with some weird stuff. Thought maybe you could help."
Elene:
"Weird stuff, huh? You're starting to sound like your mother."
"Bring him by the clinic after school. I'll be there until 6."
[Back To Reality]
Tony raises a brow. "That easy?"
"She's like that. Mysterious, but she's got a soft spot for people who are lost."
Tony doesn't respond right away. He glances out at the empty track. The wind picks up.
"Alright then... Let's see what this Elene's really about."
[After School — Sidewalk near Downtown]
The afternoon sun is starting to dip behind the buildings, casting long shadows over the street. Tony walks alone, hoodie up, hands in his pockets. His bag swings at his side with each step.
The world feels a little too normal after everything.
Cars pass by. A dog barks in the distance. Someone laughs behind him. All so ordinary... but his mind is spinning.
He glances at the corner of a store window— just a glance— but his reflection makes him tense. He quickly looks away.
"Get a grip."
He keeps walking.
Trash rustles in an alley as he passes by. His eyes flick there on instinct. Nothing. Just a plastic bag caught in the wind.
He pulls his phone out and re-reads Dahlia's last message.
DAHLIA:
Clinic's near the corner of 5th and Pine. You'll see the red door.
He reaches the intersection. There it is.
A narrow, weathered building squeezed between a laundromat and a pawn shop. Faded sign above the door reads "Elene's Remedies" in peeling gold letters.
The red door looks like it hasn't been painted in years— but it still stands out.
Tony walks up to it. Pauses.
His hand hovers just above the handle.
He looks at his reflection in the dusty glass— normal again.
He exhales slowly and opens the door.
[Soft chime—door opens]
It's dimly lit— quiet. Dust floats in the air like slow snowflakes in the strips of sunlight coming through the blinds. The scent of something herbal lingers in the space— like dried flowers and old books.
Lining the walls are old cabinets with glass jars, herbs, and old instruments Tony doesn't recognize. A single fan hums in the corner, lazily spinning.
And then— he sees her.
Toward the back of the room, sitting in a leather armchair like it's a throne, is a woman who appears to be in her mid-to-late 40s. One leg crossed over the other, on her phone, and a cigarette between her fingers, trailing smoke that twists up like a lazy specter.
She looks over at him with a calm, calculating expression.
"You're Dahlia's friend?"
Tony blinks, caught a little off guard. He nods. "Yeah... I'm Tony."
She exhales slowly, letting the smoke roll out through her nose.
"So you've been having problems? Explain."
Tony replies. "yeah so.. I had a nightmare, about fighting this creature.. it was after I had an encounter with someone.. his name was Dr. Drake. And i've also been seeing things, like a smiling figure within my reflections."
She stubs out the cigarette in a small ashtray next to her. Then slowly stands, stretching her back with a quiet pop.
"Well, let's see what we're working with. Follow me."
She walks away from him, opens a side door labeled "Examination Room."
"Come on, then. You've got questions. I'll give you some answers. But only if you can handle hearing them."
Tony hesitates... then follows.
The door creaks open as Tony follows Elene inside. The examination room is a far cry from anything modern. No fluorescent lights. No antiseptic smell. Just warm lamplight, wooden drawers, and tools that look like they were forged rather than manufactured.
A faded poster of the human muscular system hangs crookedly on one wall. A pair of black boxing gloves rest on a nearby table— cracked from age but well kept. This place didn't feel like a clinic— it felt like a dojo in disguise.
Tony's eyes trail across the shelves. A photo catches his attention— Elene, younger, dressed in fighting gear with her arm raised, standing in the center of a ring. A crowd behind her frozen mid-cheer.
"She has fought before."
That part hadn't quite registered until now. Dahlia hadn't mentioned this side of her. Maybe she didn't even know.
Elene gestures to the table with a small nod. "Shirt off. Sit."
Tony hesitates again, then pulls his hoodie and t-shirt over his head and sits on the exam bench. The leather's cold against his back.
Elene pulls a stool over and starts checking him— first his eyes, then his arms. Her hands are precise.
"Your breathing's tight. You been feeling pressure in your chest?" she asks, not looking at him.
Tony nods. "After that... hallucination or whatever it was. I felt like I got slammed into a wall. Multiple times."
Elene hums quietly.
"So, what happened?" she asks, casually.
Tony freezes. "I was walking—."
[After Tony's explanation]
She sighs and leans back. "Figured. That kind of strain's not from normal street fighting. You've already had contact with one of them— haven't you?"
Tony's fists clench in his lap.
"One of them? What are they?"
Elene lights another cigarette, but doesn't answer right away. Instead, she pulls open a drawer and takes out something wrapped in black cloth. She sets it on the desk behind her, but doesn't open it yet.
Instead, she looks at Tony. Really looks.
"You're still new. Still figuring out what that token even means. Let me make this clear for you, Tony— the masks? They're not just tools. They're bindings. Contracts."
Tony's jaw tenses. He doesn't fully understand. But something deep in him responds to the weight in her voice. Like it knows.
Elene flicks her ash into a tray. Her tone softens.
"You're lucky you're still breathing."
She stands up again and moves toward the black cloth bundle.
"Let me show you something."