Approximately 1 month ago.

Marcus stared into the infinite black void. Old memories twisted past his vision, triumphs and successes and losses. He saw himself dancing with Delilah on the day of their wedding, twirling past friends and family long dead. He was so happy then, so light and free of worry. Burdened only by an abundance of happiness. Not a hint of the misery to come.

He watched as Stanley proposed to Anastasia, the ferocious woman flushed with delight. Rarely had he seen her smile, and never so wide a smile as that day. He hadn't thought her capable of love, or affection, or any of the gentler emotions. A valkyrie carved out of stone, born for battle. She had found her happiness, brief as it was. Did she blame Marcus still, for the disaster he had wrought upon her family?

He recalled trekking through a silent forest, through thorny brambles and over unstable ground. He saw himself standing before a hermit, begging for a chance to study his power, making promises he could not keep. He could hear the man's laughter, the mocking despair that filled his voice. "I am a plague on existence," the man whispered, with an expression devoid of hope. "The broken mirror, the open ladder, the stormcrow. I am the spilled salt and the violated grave. I am the blackest cat that will ever cross your path, and you've spent far too much time in my presence already." He remembered the cold terror that had gripped him then, the sense of certain death that sent him fleeing from the Empty Woods of Colorado. Marcus had never believed in luck, but he often looked back on that conversation with dread.

He remembered Chicago burning, an orange glow that covered the horizon; the death screams of Fireheart as Cannibal ripped into him, blood splattering across bare skin. The sounds of broken buildings and bones, an indescribable, ear-shattering boomas Anastasia's return strike flattened five city blocks. He remembered the villain standing back up, rising from the ashes beaten but unbowed. He remembered Jeffrey Saide's cold eyes, staring into his soul. "This is not my end," the man had said, as they locked him away, buried beneath desert sand.

Focus!

He saw himself standing before Stanley, blueprints in hand, crowing about his achievement. He remembered the constant tests, the experiments, the volunteers seeking a better tomorrow. He recalled the pride he felt, as they created wonder after wonder. He remembered Stanley climbing into his device, with a smile on his face. "Maybe they'll call me The Enlightened," he had joked, moments before his very existence had been irrevocably changed.

At that image, Marcus ripped himself away from the visions with a scream of anger and anguish and everything in-between. He found himself in his lab once more, facing away from his window into the Gap. He closed his eyes, shoulders trembling, as he wrestled with the sudden burst of irrational rage threatening to consume him.

He wanted to destroy something. Violently. Absolutely. With a club, like a caveman, if at all possible. It was a distinctly aberrant feeling, even more so the fact that Marcus struggled to banish it. He grit his teeth and fought past the red haze obscuring his vision, forcing himself to breathe evenly. Minutes passed before he was able to regain control, and with a frustrated sigh, he reached for his tape recorder.

Click.

"Day seven," he croaked, his voice hoarse. "Morning evaluation: subject experiencing pronounced surges of anger, triggered by prolonged viewing of the Gap, combined with memories of past failures. I am uncertain whether these flashes of memories are triggered by the Gap, or some lingering subconscious desire. Or some combination of both." His eyes drifted slowly back towards the yawning black chasm. "Subject continuously feels a desire to return to his observation." He forced his eyes shut. "Addiction centers in the brain register something similar to heroin withdrawal, albeit without the accompanying physical effects."

Marcus paused, shuddering to himself. "I believe that I am slowly losing my mind." Which would certainly be counterproductive. More worrying, was that he had witnessed this exact sequence of events many times. Passion into obsession into frustration into anger. Every one of his old companions (Victims, some vindictive part of him whispered) had followed this path into full blown insanity. The fruits of his greatest labor and most spectacular failure. They, at least, had lasted years rather than days. Marcus was rapidly losing control of himself. Why would such a similarity exist?

"Hypothesis: my genius upgrade functioned by tapping directly into the Gap. This suggests that the Gap can somehow act as a font of creativity. A possible explanation for why my degradation has followed the same path as previous subjects."

He paused, trawling through the muddy waters of his mind.

"Accelerated symptoms possibly because of more direct exposure. I have no explanation for how I am being affected. The device should only allow for observation." He closed his eyes, rubbing at his brow. "My current theory is that my own power is reacting to my attempts at observation. Or, more accurately, that the Gap is influencing what I see through my power's connection to it. Shaping itself to my unconscious expectations. In which case, my device may actually be useless."

Fortunately, this was not entirely outside his expectations. There was a reason why he had so many scans of his own brain saved throughout the station. A... reset, of sorts, was sometimes needed. It had always been a possibility that man was simply not capable of observing the Gap without consequence. It was the proverbial Abyss, and with its gaze came madness.

Marcus brow furrowed, and he raised his recorder once more. "Personal note: consider how Daniel has been affected by his own exposure. It is possible that his power grants him immunity in some way."

Click.

Well then, time to get back to work.

Marcus opened his eyes. He sat in his laboratory, slouched in a chair facing the corner of the room. Taped to the wall in front of him was his old tape recorder, and a handwritten note. He could not remember falling asleep or, as he quietly contemplated the situation, what he was last doing. Or much of anything beyond his own name and flashes of his personal history.

This all felt perfectly normal.

Marcus peeled the recorder free, and ran a hand over it. It was authentic, so far as he could tell. A gift from his favorite student, worn from age and use. An old chip on its side from when it had been smacked out of his hand, the first time he had asked to run tests on Anastasia. The small depression where the plastic had deformed after years of holding it the exact same way. He checked it for a tape, then hit play.

Click.

"Marcus," his own voice crackled out of the ancient device, "we have successfully created a window into an alternate dimension." This simple sentence sent goosebumps down his back for reasons he didn't fully understand. "Unfortunately, though this new reality is quite similar to our own, its physical laws seem to differ slightly. As a recent event has slightly compromised my own judgement, I've initiated our standard amnesia protocols to eliminate personal bias during our examination."

Ah yes, the amnesia protocols. Marcus remembered those. Or, he supposed, had been allowed to remember them. Memories were physical things, stored within neurons in the brain. Though the process was distinctly unpleasant, Marcus was able to isolate specific memories and seal them away from himself for brief amounts of time. It was a useful way to gain a slightly different perspective on a problem, or to conduct multiple tests without previous results biasing the outcome. Marcus couldn't conceive of why it had been used in this particular situation, but it wasn't his purpose to pry into it. He trusted himself, and would work within the parameters that he had been assigned.

Though, some precautions had to be taken. He eyed the letter that accompanied his old recorder. A quick swipe of his hand had it open, and a small slip of paper fell out. On it, a simple sentence, written in his own hand.

Delilah favored roses.

He smiled, tracing the name fondly, before crumpling the paper into a ball and popping it into his mouth. Evidence disposed of, he stood out of the chair, limbering up his old muscles. His shoulders popped pleasantly as he rolled them, and his neck cracked with a light twist.

Idly, he considered what sort of wonders he would see in this new dimension. Foreign stars, distant galaxies, new life? Did time run parallel to this reality? Did mankind walk the Earth, or did the dinosaurs still reign supreme? Perhaps the portal was nowhere near Earth. Perhaps he might finally witness an alien civilization.

"What a marvelous time to be alive!" he cackled to himself. There was science to be done!

He quickly discovered that his task was far more frustrating than anticipated. Apparently his counterpart had meant it when he had described his device as a window. A brief examination had confirmed to Marcus that it was designed purely for observation, though a full understanding of his extraordinary creation was denied to him. He could feel the gaps in his knowledge, clusters of neurons filled with relevant information and sealed away, but he forced himself to move on. He would be most disappointed with himself if he damaged whatever test he was attempting to run here.

So, he persevered. Observation was what was allowed to him, and so that is what he engaged in. This new dimension was beautiful, he had to admit, even seen through the lens of his obscenely over-engineered telescope. The vastness of space spiraled out before him; stellar phenomenon, the likes of which appeared once in a lifetime, unveiled before his very eyes. It was like he was witnessing the birth of a universe in real time.

On the first day, he witnessed a comet splintering under its own rotational force, coming apart in a spray of minute particles that would drift forever through the void. On the second, he saw a distant moon shattered by a meteor, its surface giving way and cracking, sending debris raining down onto the surface of the planet it orbited. On the third day, he found a star being born, billions of light years away, and he started to grow suspicious. The odds had ever been against him, and this sudden rash of good fortune was most concerning.

But he couldn't look away. With a sense of growing wonder, he returned, again and again. He was no longer concerned about his goal, the mission given to himself. It was nigh impossible, regardless. How could he test the natural laws of a place that he could not interact with in any meaningful way? The difficult puzzle might have fascinated him at any other time, but the window monopolized his attention.

"Day four," he spoke into his recorder. "I find myself sleeping less and less. It is with great difficulty that I calm my turbulent emotions each night. Meditation has helped very little. When I dream, it is of a different universe, and of the wonders it might hold. I do not understand this obsession."

He was missing some important link, some crucial knowledge, locked away behind self-made walls. It was immensely frustrating, to know that answers could be had with a mere exertion of will. To do so, however, would defeat the point of this exercise. It was becoming clear that he was the experiment, him and whatever was causing this slow descent into madness.

Each morning he awoke, performed his daily ablutions, then sat before the window, making his observations. He feared gazing into the depths of that other reality, yet he feared even more what he might miss. More and more, he saw the splendor of creation. More and more, the small window into a different reality kept him entranced by its grandeur.

By the week's end, he was ready to crack.

"Day seven," he croaked into Stanley's gift. "I am no longer capable of continuing this experiment. I will log my current state, and then revert the amnesia protocols. Apologies to myself, but I fear any further observation may prove permanently detrimental. Already, my determination erodes. All that I wish to do is return to our device, and observe the stars." A single tear ran down his cheek. "I should not be so captivated. What was once a strong inclination has become an obsession. I know it is not right, but I cannot bring myself to care."

He paused, taking a shaky breath.

"I hope that this has been helpful, but we should not attempt it again."

With those final words, he shredded the seals surrounding his neurons, and was lost in a flood of memories.

"The idea is ludicrous," Marcus argued, with a roll of his eyes. "You cannot simply expect your power to adapt itself according to your whims!"

"Can't I?" Anastasia asked imperiously, raising an immaculately trimmed eyebrow. "I say that I already have."

"Anastasia's power manifested itself as a sort of weak telekinesis. I think we can all agree that it's somewhat more than that, now," Stanley spoke up in defense of the woman he was attempting to court. Marcus had serious doubts about the younger man's chances, but he remained cordial to the vitriolic female as a favor to his old student.

The three of them were gathered in a hotel room, just outside of Boulder, Colorado. They had come there to investigate a sudden rash of deaths that had occurred over the past month, and that had just as suddenly stopped.

But that was currently irrelevant. He had been somehow drawn into a discussion on powers with Anastasia, the newest member of Stanley's little cadre to bring about world peace. The woman had her uses, widescale intimidation and destruction, mostly, but her foolish notions were poisoning the well. How could they change the world if their ideas were bound by primitive superstition?

"We only have her perception to account for the changes within her power," Marcus pointed out carefully. It wouldn't do to upset the woman. He was liable to lose his head. "Surely, Anastasia, you can acknowledge your own fallibility?"

She rolled her eyes, somehow packing more disdain into the action than a hundred words could have conveyed. Her reply was biting. "Surely you can acknowledge that I am the foremost authority on my own power?"

"Not at all," Marcus said, quite reasonably in his opinion. He ignored Stanely's bulging eyes and the desperate shaking of his head. "We all have our own biases. You've clearly been blinded by your beliefs."

"And you have not?" she replied acidly, her expression growing vicious. "The great and good Marcus Mercury is beyond such human matters?"

"Of course not," Marcus scoffed in reply. "I simply have hard facts on my side. We"—He motioned to Stanley, despite the younger man's shrinking form—"have already proven our statements. Upgrades work. They are stable. Unchanging. That natural powers are seemingly capable of growth is merely an illusion. We are simply incapable of ferreting out all of our abilities from the start. It is perfectly understandable, and nothing to be ashamed of. These powers do not come with a handbook."

Anastasia's hand came down on the table with a crack, and the wood shattered into powder and dust. Stanley yelped, almost jumping out of his seat, while Marcus tumbled backwards out of his chair. Anastasia gestured towards the bathroom, and the toilet exploded outward, water fountaining into the ceiling with enough force to rip a hole through the plaster. Another gesture, and Marcus's hearing grew muffled. His ears ached, his breath grew short, and a migraine prickled at the back of his mind.

"Ear barotrauma," he muttered to himself, clenching his jaw.

"Caused by barometric pressure," Anastasia acknowledged. Her head tilted towards the bathroom, where the water was still tearing into the ceiling. "Water pressure." She kicked at the pile of wood shavings that used to be a table. "We can call that air pressure too, if you'd like. Shall I raise your blood pressure as well?"

"That is not how any of those things work," Marcus spat, climbing to his feet. "And you raise my blood pressure with your mere existence. You are paying for these damages, by the way."

Anastasia shrugged laconically. "Works for me."

While Stanley slowly pressed a palm against his face, Marcus struggled to explain circular logic to a woman more stubborn than a mountain.

"I do not dispute that your methods work," Anastasia finally admitted. "However, mine work as well. Better, even, at least for natural powers. Upgrades are already too entrenched. It would take a person of extraordinary will to grow past the societal conditioning that has already occurred." She paused, then added, "Or a great deal of torture."

Marcus muttered furious things under his breath, unwilling to argue with the obtuse woman for a single second longer. He knew he was correct. She would too, in time.

Marcus opened his eyes. The pathways of his brain shifted according to his will. The world fell into focus, and clarity returned to him.

"...your methods work," Anastasia's voice echoed, "However, mine work as well."

"It couldn't be so simple," Marcus murmured to himself.

No, who was he kidding? Of course it could be that simple, if only because reality enjoyed mocking him.

There were no rules in the Gap Between Worlds. No laws, no physics, nothing but what one brings into it. He knew this already. He just assumed that things would be different within this reality. No, rather he knew that things were different. He had studied powers long before he ever gained knowledge of separate dimensions.

But had he ever really known anything? Had he ever really understood what it was that he was toying with? The kind of power that he was attempting to harness?

Marcus frowned, brow furrowing in thought. Perhaps it was time to try other methods. Methods that he knew had worked, but that he had always disregarded. Why? Was it pride? Shame?

He shook away the melancholy before it could arrive. That was not a productive line of thought.

He had a theory to test. Anastasia would be proud of him.

"Move on, move forward," Marcus said aloud. "Always forward."

He smiled, grim yet pleased. "There's science yet to be done."

The window into the Gap hovered behind him. He paid it no mind.

"What a time to be alive."