The world had changed in the span of a single day.
Riftmaster now ruled.
Not with armies or bombs, but with leverage — the world leaders he had kidnapped during the asteroid distraction. They were kept alive, paraded on live broadcasts, forced to read scripted speeches praising the "new order." Presidents, prime ministers, kings, and queens became nothing more than puppets on strings. Riftmaster's clones stood behind them in every transmission, dark energy blades hovering just out of camera view.
The public was told it was for "global stability." In reality, it was total control.
Major cities were under curfew. Communication networks were monitored. Any sign of resistance was met with swift punishment — a clone appearing, a leader "punished" on air, a city block plunged into darkness as a warning. The Super Couple — once Earth's greatest heroes — had surrendered to save those leaders. The world called us traitors in some circles, martyrs in others. But mostly, people were just scared.
Elena and I lived under house arrest in our own home.
Riftmaster had allowed us to stay together — a twisted act of "mercy" — but the house was wired with surveillance rifts that followed our every move. We couldn't fly more than ten miles without a clone appearing. Our powers were dampened by hidden inhibitors buried under the foundation. We were prisoners in our own sanctuary.
The guilt was crushing.
We had let the world down.
I felt it every morning when I woke up and saw the news: another leader forced to denounce us on television, another city placed under stricter lockdown. Elena felt it too. She barely spoke some days. The vibrant, confident woman I had married seemed to shrink under the weight of what we had done.
We didn't have sex at all.
Not once since the surrender.
The passion that had defined our marriage — the constant, hungry need for each other — had vanished. It felt wrong. Dirty. Like any moment of pleasure would be a betrayal of the billions suffering under Riftmaster's rule. We slept in the same bed, held each other sometimes, but the intimacy stopped there. The air between us was heavy with unspoken regret.
One evening, three weeks into the new order, I was in the living room again.
The TV was on — an old action movie from the early 2000s, something mindless with explosions and one-liners. I had started watching movies again. A lot. It was the only escape I had left. The screen didn't judge me. The characters didn't know I had surrendered the world to a madman.
Elena walked in from the kitchen, carrying two mugs of tea. She looked tired — beautiful as always, but the light in her eyes was dimmed. She set one mug in front of me and sat on the opposite end of the couch, leaving space between us.
"You're watching this again?" she asked quietly, glancing at the screen.
I shrugged, not taking my eyes off the movie. "It's easy. No stakes. No consequences."
She nodded slowly, staring into her tea. "I get it."
Silence stretched between us for a long minute. The only sound was the movie's soundtrack and the faint hum of the surveillance rift hovering near the ceiling — a constant reminder we were never truly alone.
Elena finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you think they hate us?"
I paused the movie. "Who?"
"Everyone. The people out there. The ones we swore to protect." Her hands tightened around the mug. "We gave up. We surrendered. We let him take control because we couldn't stop the asteroid and save the leaders at the same time. I keep thinking… if we had been stronger, faster, smarter…"
I set my mug down and turned to her. "We saved lives that day, Elena. The asteroid would have killed millions. The leaders would have died if we hadn't surrendered. We made the only choice we could."
She looked at me — eyes glistening with unshed tears. "But at what cost? Look at the world now. Leaders reading Riftmaster's script on TV. People living in fear. Children growing up under his shadow. We were supposed to be the ones who never gave up. The Super Couple. And now… we're just two people who folded when it mattered most."
I reached for her hand. She let me take it, but her grip was loose.
"I feel the same way," I admitted. "Every time I see a news report, every time I hear someone whisper 'traitor' when we fly by… it eats at me. I keep replaying that moment on the asteroid. If I had pushed harder, if we had found another way…"
"You did everything you could," she said softly, squeezing my hand once. "We both did. But it still feels like we failed them. All of them."
We sat in silence again. The movie stayed paused on the screen — a frozen explosion that suddenly felt meaningless.
Later that night, we lay in bed together. No touching beyond the occasional brush of fingers. No sex. Just the heavy weight of guilt hanging between us like a third presence in the room.
"Do you remember the night on the moon?" Elena asked into the darkness. "When we lay there naked, watching Earth, talking about our future?"
"I remember," I whispered. "You said one month until we were married."
She let out a small, sad laugh. "And now look at us. Married. Living under his rule. Watching the world suffer because we couldn't stop him."
I turned on my side to face her. "We'll find a way. We always do. This isn't the end."
She didn't answer right away. When she did, her voice was small. "I hope you're right. Because right now… it feels like the end."
We fell asleep like that — close, but not close enough. The guilt kept us apart even in the same bed.
The next day was more of the same.
We patrolled — stopping a small riot in Chicago caused by food shortages under the new regime. We won, as always, but the people we helped barely thanked us. Some looked at us with resentment. Others with pity. The Super Couple had become a symbol of defeat.
When we returned home, I went straight to the couch again. Another old movie. Something with car chases and heroes who always won.
Elena watched me from the doorway for a long moment.
"You used to watch movies with me," she said quietly. "Now you watch them to hide."
I didn't deny it. "It's easier than thinking about what we've become."
She walked over and sat beside me — closer this time. "I miss you. I miss us. The way we used to be."
"I miss us too," I admitted, pausing the movie. "But every time I look at you, I see the woman I failed to protect the world for. And I hate myself for it."
She leaned her head on my shoulder. "We failed together. That's what marriage is, right? We carry the weight together."
We sat like that for a long time — not speaking, just existing in the same space. The guilt was still there. The anxiety was still there. But for the first time in weeks, we felt a little less alone.
Outside, the world waited under Riftmaster's shadow.
Inside, the Super Couple was broken… but not yet beaten.