Chapter 3

Words : 702 Updated : Sep 24th, 2025

Explore the latest events in "Beyond the Limit (DC)" Chapter 3: Joseph Bell blended into the background. He was just there. Brown hair, brown eyes, clothes...

Joseph Bell blended into the background. He was just there. Brown hair, brown eyes, clothes chosen for function, not style. The kind of kid who could walk past you a hundred times and never register. Which, most days, suited him fine. "Joseph." His head jerked up, pulled from the half-dream state he'd drifted into. The fluorescent lights hummed above him, the classroom a blur of indistinct chatter. "Are you even listening?" Barbara Gordon was less patient than most. Understandable. He'd been zoning out through their entire lab assignment. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered, rubbing his eyes. "Something about chemical bonds." Her blue eyes narrowed. "You were sleeping." "Resting my eyes," he corrected, stretching. "Big difference." Barbara exhaled sharply, shoving a completed worksheet toward him. "Just sign." He glanced down, surprised to see his name already filled in. He scribbled the final signature with a grateful nod. "You ever consider actually trying?" she asked, arms crossed. "You're smart. Smarter than you let on." Joseph forced a grin. "Why try when you can coast?" Her gaze lingered, skeptical, but the bell rang before she could press further. He grabbed his stuff and made for the door. "See you around, Gordon." She watched him go, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face before she turned back to her notes. ** The apartment was freezing when Joseph stumbled in after his shift. 2:17 AM. He didn't bother with the lights, just kicked the door shut behind him and collapsed onto the couch. A white envelope lay on the floor. More bills. Joseph shut his eyes. He'd deal with it later. Three hours of restless sleep later, he was up again. His body moved on autopilot, navigating the cramped apartment, its corners still haunted by remnants of his mother's life. Her books. Her perfume. The framed photos he couldn't bring himself to pack away. His stomach twisted. Grief, anger—he wasn't sure which anymore. None of it mattered. Not the grades, not the jobs, not the school. The system didn't care. He could work himself to the bone and still end up on the street. He needed another way. Joseph dropped into his desk chair, flipping through his notes—pages filled with diagrams, equations, half-formed theories. At the center of it all: LexCorp's nanites. The accident should have killed him. That truck, those chemicals—he shouldn't have walked away. And yet, here he was. At first, he thought it was shock, adrenaline. But then the changes started. Faster reflexes. Perfect recall. The ability to calculate equations without thinking. He didn't question it. Not until now. A low hum thrummed in his skull, a sensation just at the edge of perception. Then— //Connection established. Awaiting command.// Joseph's pulse spiked. He sat up straight, hands gripping the desk. "...Who said that?" //Query detected. Identifying: Integrated Neural Assistance System. Designation unavailable.// His breath hitched. The voice—calm, mechanical, yet unsettlingly familiar—was inside his head. "...You're still in there." //Affirmative. Awaiting designation.// He hesitated, then exhaled. "Nova." //Designation accepted. Greetings, Joseph Bell.// His fingers curled into fists. This was real. He wasn't crazy. "...What are you?" //Self-replicating nanomechanical construct. Primary function: regenerative acceleration. Secondary function: cognitive enhancement.// Regenerative. That explained the scars that never stayed, the bruises that vanished overnight. Joseph grabbed a knife from his kitchen drawer, hesitated, then dragged it lightly across his finger. A thin line of red beaded at the surface. Fifteen seconds later, the cut was gone. A slow grin spread across his face. "...That's insane." His mind raced. He'd been desperate for an escape, a way out of the cycle keeping him chained to a future he never wanted. Maybe this was it. He leaned back, staring at the ceiling as exhaustion finally crept in. "Nova, can you wake me up in two hours." //Optimized rest cycle recommended: Eight hours. Neural stress repairs in progress.// Joseph let out a dry laugh. "Yeah, well. Life's not optimized." Still, as the weight of sleep dragged him under, he felt something he hadn't in a long time. Hope. ** Edit on July 4 2025: Here Joseph is 16 and the year is 2009.

Chapter 3

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