The condo on the outskirts of Metropolis buzzed with a chaotic energy that could only be described as a battlefield of estrogen and iron wills. At the center of the storm sat Ben Brown, an 18-year-old who’d gone from bespectacled nerd to superhuman enigma in a matter of months. His lean frame hunched over the dining table, a worn journal splayed open before him, his pen scratching furiously across the page as if the words themselves could shield him from the barrage of questions about to descend.
Around him, his family—a cadre of powerhouse women who could bench-press a tank and still look flawless doing it—loomed like a council of war goddesses. Diana, better known to the world as Wonder Woman, stood at the head of the table, arms crossed, her piercing blue eyes boring into Ben with a mix of maternal concern and unyielding authority. Her raven hair cascaded over her shoulders, and even in casual jeans and a tank top, she exuded the aura of a queen.
“Ben,” Diana’s voice cut through the clamor like a blade, sharp and commanding. “What exactly are you scribbling in that little book of yours? You’ve been at it for hours. We’re not the enemy here—spill it.”
Ben’s pen froze mid-sentence. He glanced up, his hazel eyes darting nervously behind a pair of glasses he no longer needed but wore out of habit. “Uh, just… doodles. And, you know, thoughts. Guy stuff. Nothing you’d wanna read, trust me.” He forced a lopsided grin, hoping to deflect, but the sweat beading on his brow betrayed him.
Cassie Sandmark, lounging against the counter with a smirk, popped a grape into her mouth and chuckled. “Oh, come on, Ben. ‘Guy stuff’? Is that code for pining over some crush, or are you writing about how much it hurt when your body decided to go full Hulk? You did say it felt like your bones were on fire during the transformation. Care to elaborate, nerd boy?” Her tone was teasing, but her sharp gaze suggested she was fishing for more than a laugh.
Ben’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson. “Cassie, can you not? I’m trying to eat here. And no, I’m not writing about… that. Geez.” He shoved a bite of sandwich into his mouth, hoping to buy time.
Artemis, seated across from him with her muscular arms resting on the table, leaned forward, her fiery red hair framing a face that could intimidate a lion. “Let’s cut the nonsense, Ben. Why you? Out of all the scrawny mortals out there, why were you chosen to wield powers that rival ours? You’re hiding something, and I don’t like secrets at my table.” Her voice was low, a growl of suspicion that made Ben’s sandwich taste like cardboard.
Before he could stammer out a response, Nubia, Diana’s sister and a warrior with a stare that could melt steel, stepped closer, her presence suffocating. “Artemis is right. You’ve been cagey since you stumbled back into our lives after five months in that… facility. What did they do to you there, boy? What aren’t you telling us?” Her dark eyes pinned him in place, and Ben felt like a bug under a magnifying glass.
He swallowed hard, the weight of their collective scrutiny pressing down on him like a physical force. “Look, I… I was trained, okay? By the best warriors. They saw potential in me or whatever. That’s all. Can we drop it now? I’m kinda full, and I need a shower.” He pushed his chair back, clutching his journal to his chest like a lifeline.
Diana arched a perfect brow, her lips twitching into a half-smile that was equal parts amusement and disbelief. “Trained by the best, huh? That’s a convenient little half-truth, isn’t it? You’re Fort Knox with abs now, Ben. What’s next, a moat around your diary?”
Cassie snorted, tossing another grape in the air and catching it with her mouth. “Fort Knox? Nah, he’s more like mystery meat. You know, the kind you’re not sure you wanna bite into, but you’re curious anyway.”
Artemis smirked, folding her arms. “I’d say he’s a locked vault with a cheap padlock. One good hit, and it’ll crack wide open. Care to test that theory, Ben?”
Ben groaned, dragging a hand through his messy brown hair. “You’re all relentless, you know that? I’m fine. I’m here. I’m not gonna explode or anything. Can I just… breathe for five seconds without the inquisition?”
Nubia’s stern expression softened just a fraction, though her tone remained firm. “We push because we care, Ben. But don’t think for a second we’ll stop digging. You’re family, and family doesn’t keep secrets. Not for long.”
Before he could muster a retort, Vixen—Mari McCabe, with her lithe frame and captivating amber eyes—slipped up beside him, her presence a sudden, electric jolt. She’d been quiet until now, observing from the sidelines, but as Ben stood to make his escape, she caught his arm. Her touch was warm, deliberate, and sent a shiver racing down his spine.
“Hey, hero,” she purred, her voice a sultry whisper meant just for him. “Thanks for being… somewhat honest. I know it’s not easy.” Before he could process her words, she leaned in, her lips brushing against his in a quick, searing kiss that left his brain short-circuiting. She pulled back with a wicked grin, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Don’t keep us waiting too long for the rest of the story, hmm?”
Ben blinked, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “I—uh—y-yeah. Sure. Okay.” His face was a furnace, and he was pretty sure his knees were about to give out.
Cassie cackled from the counter. “Oh, look at that! Vixen’s got him blushing harder than a tomato at a salsa convention. Run along to your shower, lover boy, before you melt into a puddle right here.”
Diana shook her head, a rare chuckle escaping her. “Go, Ben. Clean up. But don’t think this conversation is over. We’ll be waiting.”
With his journal tucked under his arm and his dignity in tatters, Ben bolted for the hallway, the sound of their banter echoing behind him. “Don’t trip over your own secrets, kid!” Artemis called after him. “And don’t use up all the hot water!” Cassie added with a laugh.
As he shut the bathroom door behind him, Ben let out a shaky breath, leaning against the sink. The mirror reflected a young man caught between worlds—part awkward teen, part something far greater, and entirely overwhelmed by the fierce, unyielding women who called him family. He turned on the shower, the steam beginning to cloud the glass, and muttered to himself, “Surviving a secret facility was easier than surviving lunch with them.”
But as the hot water cascaded over him, washing away the tension of the moment, he couldn’t shake the lingering heat of Vixen’s kiss—or the nagging feeling that deeper revelations, and perhaps steamier encounters, were just around the corner.
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