The air is thick with the scent of hot stone and dry earth, the only sound the rasp of coarse sand against skin in the absolute dark. This is not a memory she recalls, but a truth her bones know. Superhumans have existed since humans existed. The first of them walked out of that primordial darkness, and she was there.
Usually only females possessed the abilities. A genetic quirk, a twist in the helix that expressed itself almost exclusively in the X chromosome. Once in a millennium, a male would manifest. Historians and archaeologists would later find the evidence in early Stone Age cave paintings—figures surrounded by halos of lightning or floating above the ground. They would call them gods and goddesses.
The most well-known pantheons were catalogued: Chinese, Greek, Norse. Stories of divine power and immortal drama. The oldest documented superhuman, a woman who could command the growth of crops, was recorded in 200 B.C. in a clay tablet from Mesopotamia. Putting the evidence and theories together, modern superhuman experts reached a conservative conclusion. The being known as The Goddess was the oldest superhuman to ever walk the Earth. They dated her at roughly 3,000 years.
They were wrong. She is older.
Her power was never a secret. It couldn’t be. The ability to take superhuman abilities from another superhuman required only touch and intent. A brush of skin, a focused will, and the power flowed from them into her. The other was left ordinary. It was robbery in the eyes of every law, divine and mortal.
She claimed every power she took was willingly given. A gift, a sacrifice, a trade for protection or knowledge or a place at her side in the long, lonely centuries. She stopped using this power in 100 A.D., making a silent vow as the Roman Empire sprawled. No more taking. But by then, it was too late. She had already acquired almost every known ability. Telekinesis, elemental control, flight, regeneration, enhanced strength, precognitive flashes—they were all layers of silk wrapped around her core.
The healing and regeneration ensured she did not age. She watched empires rise from dust and return to it. She learned to change her face, her form, to avoid the terrifying consistency that would mark her as a monster. A blonde Caucasian woman, 5'11", athletic. It was just the latest costume, more durable than the white catsuit folded away in a storage unit.
For over a thousand years after her vow, she simply existed. She walked among humanity as a ghost, a spectator. Then, in the 1700s, the world began to scream. The Industrial Revolution birthed not just steam and steel, but new kinds of crime, new scales of suffering. She saw the need. She felt the old, stubborn pull to help.
She established The S.L.U.T.—the Superhuman League of Unusual Tactics. She gathered the most powerful, the most dedicated. For centuries, they were heroes. They fought villains and saved cities. They were legends.
And then, four years ago, the world decided it was tired of legends. The Superhuman Legislation passed. Register. Be catalogued. Be controlled. The S.L.U.T. disbanded. Her team scattered to the winds, going to ground or into government custody. She stored her costume. She changed her face again. She became a ghost once more.
Now, in a sun-drenched safehouse apartment that smells of laminate and stale coffee, she stares at a blank wall. In her ear, a tiny device whispers encrypted chatter—government frequencies, manhunt coordinates. They are hunting her. The most powerful being to ever exist.
She listens. She waits. And she plans to find what is truly lost.

