Mod Superhero (Book 6 STUBBING on Oct 27th)

Chapter 7.12 - Golden Boy 1

Golden Boy had been in plenty of underground bases before—war bunkers, buried supply caches, old military vaults. That went doubly for forward bases thrown together on battlefronts or in war zones. They were usually a mess: sleeping bags packed edge to edge, weapons leaning in corners, maps tacked to crumbling walls, clipboards everywhere, wires snaking across the floor, and generators roaring to keep the lights on. A constant din of voices and motion.

And all of that was long before he was a super.

For the last week, he'd been stationed in one of the newest Resistance bases, tucked in an abandoned train station just outside Dalton City.

The old main terminal had been gutted of turnstiles and kiosks, leaving open concrete floors and arched tile ceilings. Faded signage hung from rusting brackets. The scent of old metal lingered beneath the tang of electrical circuits—someone had worked hard to bring power back to this place.

The Resistance had shaped this place with purpose. Special nanite sleeping mats were stacked neatly to one side, gear stowed out of sight. No paper orders cluttered the walls; everything was digital. Additional lighting was brought in, but none of the wires were visible. Portable terminals sat where old ticket booths once stood. No loose ammo, no piles of supplies. Weapons and armor were hidden in camouflaged crates.

The place had a sense of order. Of control. A far cry from the chaotic outposts of Golden Boy's past. He wasn't sure if that was comforting—or unsettling.

From where he stood, Golden Boy could feel the faintest tremors through the stone. Expansion. Somewhere beneath the old station, nanites were tunneling. Slow and steady. The Resistance wasn't just hiding—they were building. Right under everyone's noses.

Until three days ago, this had been their furthest base from Belport.

Now that he'd seen nanite construction for himself, he understood how they were multiplying so fast. Most armies needed engineers, supply chains, and convoys of equipment to dig in and expand. The Resistance didn't. They had something better. Something that felt alive.

It reminded him more of a superpower than a conventional military. Fast, adaptive, self-sufficient. Given enough time, they could turn any abandoned structure or patch of earth into a forward base. No bulldozers. No noise. Just controlled growth.

It even reminded him of Greenspire forest. Lord Sumac had terraformed the entire region by himself, shaping trees and plants like an extension of his will. The Resistance's construction wasn't on that scale—yet—but if Wight and Venture were to be believed, it was only a matter of time. One day, they'd have a presence in every major city.

And with every new tunnel, every new room, their reach extended further. A different kind of army, building its war machine underground.

Golden Boy crossed the length of the main terminal. Floating came naturally, but he forced himself to walk. He wore a dark flightsuit now, plain and functional. No cape. No emblem. No more gleaming gold. He'd given up the suit when he left. It had always been too flashy for his tastes, but... over the years, he'd grown used to it. It had turned him into something larger—a symbol people could rally behind. Now he wore something quieter. The new flightsuit carried a hidden nanite layer for cloaking when needed, but he didn't bother with armor. He didn't need it.

Even stripped of the colors, he still stood out. There was too much purpose in his stride, too much controlled force behind the way he moved. He didn't carry himself like a man—he carried himself like a soldier. Years of combat experience, and the kind of power that didn't come from training alone. It came from what they had made him.

A scattering of Resistance members filled the main concourse. Some familiar. Some new.

One of the Resistance veterans, the ice super, Krystal, sat on the floor beside one of the old benches. Her blue hair was pulled up in a bun. She leaned forward, speaking softly on a video call to a red-haired girl. Golden Boy caught a few words about their fathers—a personal conversation, not business. He made a point of tuning it out.