A Boy's Life 1.0

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CONTENT WARNING: IMPLIED SEXUAL ABUSE, CHILD ABUSE

June 18th, 2010

The burly man in all black down to his leather jacket and boots strode down the winding path, his scowl as deep as the lines etched into his weathered face as he made his way out of Central Park's bustling heart. The sun beat down mercilessly, the New York summer heat oppressive and unrelenting, but the man paid it no mind, his focus solely on the path ahead and the white bulldog trotting eagerly in front of him.

Suddenly, the dog froze, its body tensing as a low whine escaped its throat. Its gaze trailed upwards, whine slowly dying down to nothing as it remained in place, transfixed. The man in the black trench coat stopped abruptly, his annoyance palpable as he glanced down at his canine companion to figure out what was wrong.

"Fuckin' 'ell, mate, you just took a sh—" The words died on his lips as his eyes followed the dog's gaze, his hardened features slackening in pure, unadulterated shock as he took in the sight above the Park. "Bloody fuckin' 'ell..."

It wasn't a cloud parting or a plane cutting through the blue. Above them, the sky itself seemed to be tearing apart, a jagged, pixelated rip forming as if the Hand of God Himself was forcibly rending the very fabric of reality. The edges of the rip flickered and glitched in a way that sent chills down those who had already noticed, looking straight up into the sky.

The air around them suddenly shifted, the oppressive heat giving way to a strange, unsettling coolness. A wind picked up, seemingly out of nowhere, whipping through the trees and sending loose debris skittering across the paths. The daylight dimmed again, taking on a flickering, sapphire hue that bathed everything in an otherworldly light.

Across the park, the usual hum of activity faltered, conversations trailing off into stunned silence as people began to turn their gazes skyward. The air crackled with energy, the hair on the back of people's necks standing on end as the strange, otherworldly light washed over them. A young couple, hands intertwined, stopped mid-stride, their expressions morphing from contentment to confusion, and then to pure shock as they took in the scene above them.

"What... what is that?" the woman whispered, her voice trembling as she clung to her partner's arm.

The man shook his head, his eyes wide with disbelief. "I-i-I… don't know…"

A group of teenagers, sprawled out on the grass nearby, sat up abruptly, their laughter and chatter ceasing as they pointed and stared at the sky with wide, disbelieving eyes.

"Dude, what the fuck is happening?" one of them asked, his voice tinged with a mix of awe and fear.

Before anyone could respond, something burst forth from the center of the rip—a streak of light, hurtling towards the earth with terrifying speed and intensity. It was like a meteor, but alive with energy and power, its trajectory aimed directly at the heart of Central Park.

In an instant, panic erupted.

People started to scream and run, their movements frantic and uncoordinated as they tried to flee from the impending impact. Some stumbled over each other in their haste, their faces contorted with pure, primal terror.

A businessman, his phone clutched tightly in his hand, dropped the device and sprinted away, his dress shoes slipping on the grass as he tried to put as much distance between himself and the incoming object as possible. Birdwatchers, their binoculars hanging forgotten around their necks, joined the fleeing crowd.

Many didn't get very far.

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"Central Park Catastrophe: The Aftermath"

"Good evening, I'm Chet Williams. Our top story tonight continues to be the aftermath of the unprecedented tragedy in Central Park. Nearly two thousand lives were lost, and many more injured, when what appeared to be a meteor-like object crashed into the heart of the park. The city is in mourning, and the nation is in shock. We now go live to our correspondent at the scene, Mike Stone."

"Thanks, Chet. Behind me, you can see the devastation left in the wake of this catastrophic event. Emergency services are still working around the clock, and the area remains cordoned off as investigations continue..."

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@WalkinHere: "Can't believe what happened in Central Park. My heart goes out to all the families affected. #CentralParkTragedy #NYCStrong"

@ConTheory101: "No explosive material found at Central Park? This wasn't an accident. #OpenYourEyes #Truth"

@VoughtNYC: "In times of tragedy, we see the true spirit of New York. The way people are coming together is inspiring. #CentralPark #Unity"

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The New York Times: "Tragedy in Central Park: Thousands Dead in Unexplained Blast"

The Daily News: "Central Park Horror: City Mourns as Questions Loom"

The Post: "Central Park Massacre: Terror or Tragedy?"

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Cameron Coleman: "This is clearly an act of terrorism. We need to take action against our enemies who dare to attack our city!"

Michelle White: "But there's no evidence of explosive materials, and no terrorist group has claimed responsibility. We can't jump to conclusions."

Daniel Majors: "Regardless of the cause, this is a wake-up call. Our city, our people, were vulnerable. We need to ensure this never happens again."

Madelyn Stillwell, Senior VP of Hero Management: "Exactly, and we at Vought know exactly what steps to take. While the Seven were in Seattle preventing Goliath from destroying the city, they are deeply saddened they were not here when their city needed them. This is why Vought International has pledged to expand its hero network by 500% to make sure that every major city in America and every single state has a team of heroes dedicated to them by 2020."

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@HeroWatcher: "500% more heroes? Sounds like Vought is capitalizing on this tragedy."

@RealTalk: "Where were the so-called 'heroes' when NYC needed them most? #CentralParkQuestions"

@HopefulCitizen: "@RealTalk You fuckin dumb? They were on the other side of the country?"

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

"In other news, conspiracy theories abound regarding the Central Park incident. Suspected sightings of a blue blur seen in the aftermath trailing away from the crater. With no clear explanation for the cause of the blast, speculation continues to run rampant across social media platforms and among the public..."

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@KellsKells: "No one's taking credit, no explosive materials... this wasn't a normal attack.

@Patriot101: "We can't let our guard down. This could be a new form of warfare.

@PeaceNotWar: "Let's not let fear divide us. We need to come together in times like these."

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Anchor: "As the city continues to reel from the Central Park tragedy, questions remain. Was this a freak accident, an act of terror, or something else entirely? Stay with us as we continue to bring you the latest developments."

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@NewNYC: "Walked past Central Park today. The silence was deafening. We lost so much, but we will rebuild. We are New York. #CentralParkStrong"

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The boy's feet pounded the pavement, the rhythm as relentless as his need to keep moving. Days had blurred together since he'd crawled out of that crater, surrounded by nothing but chaos and screams. The images of destruction and death were burned into his brain, haunting him every time he closed his eyes. He didn't have a clue how he got there, who the hell he was, or where he was supposed to go. All he knew was that he had to keep running, and that came to him as naturally as breathing. The second he'd gotten to his feet, the world around him had shifted into some kind of hyper-focus, and he'd just started moving.

He'd torn through the smoke and debris of Central Park, his body moving on autopilot as he tried to blend into the chaos. Some kind of energy was coursing through him, a type he couldn't even begin to understand, let alone control. He'd run for almost an hour straight without stopping, his stamina seemingly endless. The only breaks he took were to crash in some filthy alley or to dig through dumpsters for scraps of food before he kept zig-zagging across the city, trying to stay under the radar.

Speaking of dumpsters...

His stomach let out a loud growl, reminding him that he needed to find some grub, and fast. He darted down another alleyway, his eyes scanning for anything edible. He couldn't let anyone find him, not like this. He'd seen the news, the reports of the rising death toll, the destruction he'd somehow caused.

I did that. It's all my fucking fault.

His fists clenched, his teeth gritting as he fought back the hot sting of tears. He didn't know how, but he was sure he wasn't in that crater by accident. He was one of those supes, those freaks with powers, and now they were hunting him down. He wasn't just some stray kid; he was different, special even.

But that don't mean shit right now.

His stomach growled again, like some feral animal clawing at his insides. Being special doesn't fill an empty belly. He skulked through the grimy streets, bare feet aching with each step on the cold, unforgiving concrete. Trash and broken glass crunched under his soles, sharp edges biting into his skin, but he hardly even winced anymore. Pain was just another part of his new fucked-up reality.

As he rounded another corner, his foot caught on a loose brick. "Shit!" he hissed, stumbling forward. His eyes darted around, always watching, always wary. He'd seen the fliers, the ones with his face on them, always popping up in the areas he'd just left. They're hunting me down. These fuckin' supes want me bad.

The cops and the public didn't seem to have a clue, at least according to the news. But these supes, they were relentless.

His stomach let out another angry growl, pulling him out of his bitter thoughts. He rushed around a corner, ignoring the stabbing pains in his feet from the glass and trash littering the alley. Gotta find some grub before I pass out.

Then he saw it - a pizza joint with a dumpster out back. "Fuckin' finally," he breathed, his voice a mix of relief and desperation. Hunger had a way of making even dumpster diving seem like a five-star meal. He quickened his pace, the promise of food giving him a new burst of energy, ignoring the stinging cuts on his feet.

He was just steps away when a strange whirring sound pierced the air, making him freeze in his tracks. His survival instincts kicked into high gear as he twisted around, eyes wide, trying to find the source of the noise. The fuck is that?

His heart was pounding, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He glanced around, confused and on edge, ready for anything.

"WHOOOHOOOOOOOO! HERE COMES THE A-TRAIN, BABY!" The voice boomed out of nowhere, filling the narrow alley with obnoxious bravado.

The boy barely had time to register the blur of blue and white before it slammed into him like a fucking freight train. The impact sent him flying backward, his body smashing against the alley wall with a sickening thud. Pain exploded across his skull and back, darkness creeping into the edges of his vision. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

His head was spinning, the world tilting and blurring around him as he struggled to get his bearings. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, and that's when he saw him - another teenager, taller, muscular, decked out in some skin-tight blue and white suit, standing over him with a smug grin.

"Can't believe I had to ditch the Kix reunion party to catch your scrawny ass, lil' nigga," the costumed teen scoffed, looking down at him like he was something stuck to the bottom of his boot. He shook his head, his smirk widening. "I better get a bonus for this shit."

image [https://lh7-us.googleusercontent.com/es1sxwLbbGp-UKB8WFjb0sZe1iYveYIrdw5TwpupS3AE08W_rH7iEhWCN92OlXIXgCLCyh7rUQ1mDTF9GnRUJ96cXNKUXAckIPPIzgCeW9MYFfiOUp-CYY18l4nvKPX0vdBp9YNk1AD1UirtHQT66fA]

Bonus? The fuck is he talking about?

The thought flickered weakly in the boy's mind as consciousness began to slip away. His vision was blurring, the edges going dark as he fought to stay awake.

No, no, no... gotta stay awake...

But it was no use. The last thing he saw was the costumed teen's smirking face before a gloved fist slammed into his face and the world went black, the darkness swallowing him whole.

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The boy's consciousness crept back to him slowly and painfully, dragging him out of the dark depths of his mind and into a blurry world of light and shadow. His whole body felt like it had been run over by a fucking truck, every muscle aching, every bone screaming in protest. The cold, hard surface beneath him did jack shit to make him feel any better. Fuck, everything hurts.

His eyelids were heavy as lead, barely lifting to reveal the stark, blinding lights above. He squinted, trying to make sense of the blurry shapes swimming in his vision. Shadows loomed over him, their edges sharp against the harsh clinical light. Where the fuck am I?

Straps dug into his wrists and ankles, holding him down on what felt like a hospital bed. An IV line, cold and creepy, snaked into his arm. What the hell is going on? He tried to move, to pull against the straps, but his body wasn't listening. It was like he was trapped in his own skin, unable to do a damn thing.

"He's not one of ours," a voice said, floating above him. It was a man, his tone all detached and shit, like he was talking about the fucking weather. The boy's mind grappled with the words, trying to hold onto them through the fog that clouded his head.

"What do you mean, he's not a supe?" Another voice, this one a woman's, all stressed out and panicky. "Our satellites tracked him leaving the crater in Central Park! He has to be."

They're talking about me.

"I didn't say he's not a supe, Madelyn. I said he's not one of ours. Not a drop of V in his system," the man said, his voice still eerily calm.

The boy's heart raced, his mind a whirlwind of confusion. V? What the fuck are they talking about?

"What?" The woman, Madelyn, sounded like she couldn't believe what she was hearing. "No Compound V? Pull the other one, Vogelbaum."

"I said what I said, Madelyn," the man said with a slight chuckle that made the boy's skin crawl. "Not a drop of Blue. Aqua to Ultramarine, not a bit."

"Wh-what? How is that possible?"

"I'm not sure. Strictly speaking, I'm not even sure this boy is the supe behind the Central Park situation."

"I-I'm lost." Madelyn admitted, her voice a mix of frustration and disbelief.

"So was I. The boy is in great health, the peak of any 13-year-old boy I could imagine. Rather quick healer too. But tough enough to survive that landing? Neuron complexity to support powers? Not in the slightest."

"That... how?" Her voice was a whisper now, laden with confusion.

"I know. Doesn't make a lick of sense."

What the fuck are they talking about? What's happening to me?

As he lay there, trapped in his own body, the voices started to fade, becoming distant echoes. The light above blurred, swirling into the darkness that was creeping in from the edges of his vision. He fought against it, desperate to stay awake, to understand what the fuck was going on, but it was no use.

His eyes darted around the room, trying to take in his surroundings through the haze of drugs and confusion. The walls were white, clinical, like something out of a fucking horror movie. Machines beeped and whirred around him, their purpose as mysterious as the people talking over him.

I gotta get out of here. I gotta... I gotta…. He pulled against the straps, his muscles straining, but they held fast. The IV tugged at his arm, a sharp reminder of his helplessness.

The man, Vogelbaum, leaned over him, his face coming into focus. He was old, balding, with a white coat that screamed "mad scientist".

"Ah, looks like our special little guy is waking up," he said, his voice dripping with a condescension that made the boy's blood boil. "Let's fix that, shall we?"

The man reached for the IV, fiddling with something the boy couldn't see. A moment later, he felt a cold rush in his veins, the drugs flooding his system. No, no, no... I can't... I can't go back under...

But it was too late. The darkness was coming for him, dragging him back down into the depths of unconsciousness. His eyelids grew heavier, his thoughts more scattered.

The last thing he heard before the void claimed him was Madelyn's voice, edged with confusion.

"What now, Vogelbaum?"

"Oh, I have plans for this one, Madelyn. Big plans."

And then there was nothing but darkness.

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"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"

The boy's scream tore through the lab like a banshee, the sound so raw and primal it didn't even seem human. It was the kind of scream that only came from someone in the worst pain of their life, like every nerve ending in their body is being torched with a blowtorch.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"

Consciousness crashed over the boy like a tidal wave, dragging him out of the darkness and into a world of excruciating pain. His eyes flew open, the bright-ass lights of the lab stabbing into his skull like white-hot needles. He couldn't see worth a damn, everything a blurry mess of too-bright light and shadows. But he could feel everything, and the little part of him that could produce conscious thought wished he couldn't.

His entire being screamed in agony, each cell of his body seemingly on fire. His eyes flew open, a reflexive response to the unbearable torture enveloping him. Above him, the stark white lights of the laboratory merged into a blinding glare, their harshness assaulting his already overwhelmed senses.

The pain was indescribable, beyond anything he had ever imagined. Like his blood was liquid fire, pain coursing through his veins with every frantic heartbeat. His skin glowed ominously, blue light tracing the paths of each and every one of his veins, a sinister, glowing map etched into his flesh.

His throat was raw, his screams uncontrollable, each one tearing from him in a desperate plea for relief. The sound was primal, the guttural cry of a person pushed beyond their limits, his mind refusing to shut down despite the pain.

He was thrashing on the bed, his body spasming and convulsing like he was being electrocuted. The restraints dug into his wrists and ankles, rubbing his skin raw, but that pain was nothing compared to the inferno raging inside him.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"

He screamed again, his throat so raw it felt like he was gargling razor blades. But he couldn't stop, the pain was too much, too all-consuming. It was like every cell in his body was being individually set on fire, the agony so intense it was almost blinding.

Through the haze of pain and tears, he could see the old man in the lab coat just standing there, watching him like he was some kind of fucking science experiment. The boy's eyes locked onto him, pleading, begging for help, for anything to make the pain stop.

But the old fucker just stared back, his face curious but detached as he took notes down on a pad, like he was watching a movie instead of a kid being tortured right in front of him.

The blue light was spreading, moving up his body towards his chest. And with every inch it crept, the pain got worse, ramping up to new levels of pure, undiluted agony. It felt like someone had reached into his chest and grabbed his heart, squeezing it with a grip so tight it felt like it would pop like a water balloon any moment now. Every heartbeat was like a sledgehammer to the chest, the pain so intense it stole his breath away.

He was gasping, choking, his lungs burning as he tried to suck in air. But it was like trying to breathe through a twisted straw, every inhale a struggle, every exhale a whimper.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"

Another scream, so loud it made his own ears ring. The light was in his head now, and FUCK!

A moment of consciousness he regretted with tears in his eyes before it was stolen away by the pain as it washed back over him. It felt like his brain was being put through a blender, shredded into tiny pieces by the searing, white-hot agony.

His vision was fracturing, splitting into a million pieces like a kaleidoscope from hell. Colors and shapes swirled and danced in front of his eyes, nothing making sense, everything just a jumbled mess of pain and light and torture. He could feel himself slipping, his grip on consciousness fading. The pain was too much, his body and mind unable to cope. He was shutting down, the blessed darkness of oblivion calling to him.

His head lolled to the side, blood trickling from his nose, his ears, his eyes. The vessels in his eyes had burst, turning the whites a stark, bloody red. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, swollen and bloody from where he'd bitten it in his agony.

And then, mercifully, the darkness took him, dragging him down into the depths of unconsciousness, away from the pain, away from the light, away from everything.

The last thing he heard before the void claimed him was the old man's voice, cold and clinical, cutting through the fog of pain like a knife.

"Subject appears to be reacting adversely to the serum. Will continue monitoring."

And then there was nothing. Nothing but blessed, perfect darkness.

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"WHY IN THE FUCK WOULD YOU GIVE HIM V?"

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… upDatinG

… uPdAtinG

… UpDAtiNG

… UPDATED

…sYstEM ONLINE

+ 92,075 XP Gained

Level up x 48

LEVEL 49

Stat Points: 248

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

> Compound V Infusion

> (Eliminating Negative Effects)

> (Enhancing Effectiveness)

> Potency: Rank III - Sky Blue

> Affinity: Booster

>

>

>

> Mega-Strength III: STR x 10

> Mega-Durability III: DUR x 10

> Mega-Agility III: AGI x 5

> Mega-Mind III: INT x 2.5

> Mega-Power III: PWR x 10

> Ability: Regen I

> Ability: Toxin Immunity I

> Ability: Enhanced Senses I

> 150 Stat Points

September 22nd, 2010

The boy yanked the mask from his face, the blue domino mask that had been plastered across his eyes for the better part of a goddamn day. He knew the thing was expensive as hell, probably about a fifth as expensive as any phone currently on the market, but that didn't stop him from tossing it carelessly into the sink with a clatter. Fucking thing.

His hands clamped down on the porcelain edges of the sink, his grip firm but cautious. He wasn't about to break it, not out of any kind of respect for this place, but because he didn't need another reason for them to be on his case. His furious blue eyes met his reflection in the mirror, the image of himself framed by the gaudy gold trim that adorned the walls of this overly-fancy bathroom. Who the fuck puts gold on their walls? Rich assholes, that's who.

He stared at himself, taking in his perfectly straight white teeth, brown skin without even a hint of the usual teenage acne or scuffs you'd expect to see. His hair was in short locs, a style he'd fought tooth and nail to keep when they'd tried to make him cut it. Zion wasn't about to let them strip away every part of himself, no matter how much they wanted to mold him into their perfect little poster child. They can fuck right off with that shit. My hair, my choice.

Apart from the lack of typical teenage imperfections, he could almost convince himself that he was absolutely normal. Just a regular kid.

That is, until the edges of his irises began to glitch unnaturally, pixels flickering and shifting in a way that was anything but normal. Fucking freak eyes.

They always did that, especially when he was getting worked up about something, but he only really noticed it when he stared at himself like this.

Not glitching. Pixelated. He thought to himself again, a bitter reminder. They forced him to wear the mask for a reason; his eyes were too much, apparently. Too 'intense', too 'frightening'. According to the "panels" of so-called experts, they made him look too 'unstable', and that just wouldn't fit with the 'wholesome image' they were trying to sell of him as a good, young "Christian" boy.

What a load of bullshit.

With a sigh, he let his gaze drop to the sink again, the mask sitting there still. How the hell did I end up here?

This world was alien to him, filled with strangers and their strange ways. He had no memories to call his own, no past to anchor him. Sure, he knew facts - capitals, historical events, science trivia - but his own life? That was a complete blank, a slate wiped clean by whatever the fuck had happened to him.

Not knowing his own home, his family, or even his own damn name? That grated on him, a constant irritation that he couldn't shake. Who the fuck am I?

"Stepchild?"

Speaking of constant irritations...

Without turning, Zion's eyes lifted to the mirror, catching the reflection of the boy behind him. He wasn't surprised he hadn't heard him enter - the kid's powers made him as stealthy and agile as any amateur ninja, and he was only eleven years old.

Still annoying as fuck, though.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

The other kid was decked out in tight purple spandex, complete with a black cape that Zion was sure served no practical purpose whatsoever. He winced at the sight of Zion's pixelated eyes - a clear warning sign that Zion was in no mood for bullshit.

"Pidge..." Zion growled, the name coming out like a warning.

"Y-yeah?" came the tentative reply, Pigeon shifting uncomfortably in his ridiculous costume. The fabric squeaked slightly with the movement, a sound that set Zion's teeth on edge.

"What did I tell you about calling me that?" Zion's voice was a low growl, barely-contained anger simmering just beneath the surface.

Pigeon swallowed nervously, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "S-sorry, Z-Zion... I... I forgot."

Forgot, my ass.

Zion's gaze didn't waver, his pixelated eyes locked onto Pigeon's reflection with an intensity that made the younger boy squirm. "Try not to forget next time."

Pigeon nodded quickly, his cape fluttering as he took an involuntary step back. "Got it. Won't happen again, I swear."

Zion's eyes narrowed as he let out a sigh, more frustrated with himself and his own hair-trigger temper than he could ever be with any of his new "siblings".

No, it's not my fault. It's theirs. His. They made me this way.

He turned the tap on, letting the cold water run over his hands, watching as the mask's electronics shorted out with tiny sparks.

Good fucking riddance.

"... Father sent me to collect you for dinner. You were taking really long to wash up," Pigeon said, his voice all cautious and hesitant, like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to be talking to Zion at all. "Just wanted to see if you were okay."

Okay? When the fuck am I ever okay in this place?

Zion turned off the tap with a sharp twist of his wrist, the water cutting off abruptly. "I'm always okay," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he glared at Pigeon's reflection in the mirror. "Isn't that what He wants me to say? That everything's just fucking peachy all the time?"

Pigeon didn't respond, but Zion didn't need a mirror to know the expression that would be on the kid's face. They all looked at him like that - like he was some kind of ticking time bomb, always seconds away from exploding.

Maybe they're not wrong.

He grabbed a towel from the gold-plated rack, drying his hands with more force than necessary, like he could scrub away the anger simmering under his skin. "Just... keep out of my way tonight, Pigeon. I've got enough to deal with without playing babysitter to you and the rest of the Lollipop Guild."

"I'm not a kid," Pigeon muttered, but there was no real conviction behind it. They both knew better.

Zion scoffed, tossing the towel aside carelessly. It landed on the marble floor, the white fabric stark against the black and gold veining of the stone. He pushed past Pigeon, his shoulder bumping the other boy's roughly as he stalked out of the bathroom.

image [https://lh7-us.googleusercontent.com/lvxLduANhVORdfvgy_hH3KiuEDUxMaE-ryKCzEPy34kC0FIASWu13xv1IPCBwH953r9En2_R26clKdFDoVqu16zVMqsfCwDz2Y2OeKM4aVzhvK_Y63oNmWesuL1mSxY5epHgDVjEgwjNbxCYS65qrcQ]

The bright lights and gaudy gold-and-white embroidery of the place were suffocating, like a gilded cage that was supposed to be luxurious but felt more like a fucking prison.

They can dress it up all they want, but a cage is still a cage. And I'm no one's pet.

He didn't look back as he walked away, his sneakers squeaking on the polished marble floor. He didn't need to see Pigeon's face to know he'd left an impression, and frankly, he didn't give a shit.

Not my problem.

Zion's footsteps echoed through the hallways as he strode towards the dining room, his eyes narrowing at the ostentatious gold filigree that seemed to cover every fucking inch of the walls.

I'm thirteen, not blind. How is this place so goddamn tacky?

Months of living here and the gaudy designs still made his eyes hurt, like staring directly into the sun at high noon. It was all just too much - too bright, too shiny, too fucking fake.

Behind him, the faint sound of footsteps persisted, trailing after him like a lost puppy.

Pigeon.

Zion glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of the younger boy following him, his purple cape fluttering behind him as he tried to keep up with Zion's longer strides. Pigeon offered a tentative smile when he saw Zion looking, but it quickly faltered under the weight of Zion's scowl.

Freaking Pidge, Zion thought, a mix of annoyance and reluctant fondness stirring in his chest. The kid was hard not to like, despite his unnerving stealth and the way he constantly shadowed Zion like some kind of pint-sized bodyguard.

But that didn't mean Zion trusted him. He couldn't afford to trust anyone in this place.

As they approached the large white doors of the dining room, Zion's frown deepened, etching lines into his young face that had no business being there. He tugged the hood of his blue jacket up over his head, burying his hands deep in the pockets.

Let's just get this over with.

With a push that was a little more forceful than necessary, he swung the doors open and stepped into the dining room, his pace never slowing.

"Hello, Stepchild," a chorus of high-pitched voices chimed in unison, the sound grating on Zion's nerves like nails on a fucking chalkboard. Barely five seconds in the room and they were already starting with that Delightful Kids from Down The Lane bullshit.

Zion stopped in his tracks, his sneakers squeaking on the polished floor. He turned slowly, his glare sweeping over the eleven children seated along one side of the long dining table, their faces a mix of fear and forced cheerfulness.

"Next person who uses that name gets an extra round in the ring with me," he declared, his voice cold and hard as steel. He punctuated his threat by slamming his fist into his palm, the sound echoing through the room like a gunshot. A visible shockwave rippled out from the impact, rattling the expensive china on the table.

The threat was a potent one, and they all knew it. None of the other kids worked nearly as hard as Zion when it came to training, and he'd been stronger than half of them from the moment he'd been dumped in this hellhole. Three months later, he was pretty sure he could take on the weakest nine of them at once and still come out on top, even if he was going easy. Not that I would. Little shits need to learn some respect.

Granted, they were almost all a year or two younger than him, just snot-nosed preteens playing dress-up in their stupid costumes. But still, the point stood.

The room fell silent, the clamor of voices replaced by the clinking of silverware as the kids suddenly found their plates utterly fascinating. Pigeon, who had finally caught up, hovered just behind Zion, his presence going unnoticed by the others as they studiously avoided looking in Zion's direction.

Zion sneered, his teeth grinding together as he fought the urge to flip the whole damn table.

"Yeah, that's what I thought, you little fuckheads," he growled, his eyes flickering with barely contained rage. "Keep my name out of your mouths if you know what's good for you."

Fucking brats. Think they're so special. They don't know shit about the real world. But then again, neither did he. His memories only went back a few months, to the moment he'd woken up in that lab, his body on fire and his mind a blank slate.

Everything before that was just... gone. Wiped clean like a hard drive formatted to factory settings. Who the fuck was I before this? Did I have a family? Friends? A life that didn't revolve around this freak show?

The questions haunted him, bubbling up in the quiet moments when he was alone with his thoughts. But he pushed them down, burying them deep. It didn't matter who he used to be. That person was gone, and he was never coming back.

This was his life now, for better or for worse. And he'd be damned if he was going to let these pint-sized assholes make it any worse than it already was. I may be stuck in this cage, but I'm not going to be their fucking pet. I'm not going to jump through hoops and play nice just because some creep fuck in a cape tells me to.

With that thought ringing in his head, Zion stalked over to his usual seat at the table, the only seat across from the thirteen tables on one side of the table, his movements deliberate and heavy. The chair scraped against the floor, the sound sharp in the now quiet room. He slouched down into the chair, hoodie still over his head, his posture screaming defiance as he glared at the covered plate in front of him.

Pigeon hovered awkwardly, the boy in purple staring at Zion like he was trying to figure out what was going on in his head. But one sharp look from Zion was all it took to send a clear message: Don't even fucking start. Pigeon got the message loud and clear, quickly breaking eye contact and scurrying over to the left end of the table, putting as much distance between himself and Zion as possible.

Smart move, kid.

The dining room was ridiculously fancy, with crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and silk tablecloths draped over the long wooden table. But to Zion, it all just felt fake as hell, like a prison cafeteria playing dress-up. He picked at the food on his plate, a beef dish something close to meatloaf that he couldn't even bring himself to care about, even though there was a tall glass of his favorite drink - apple juice - right next to it. His appetite was just gone, replaced by a simmering frustration boiling inside of him that was getting harder and harder to ignore.

The other kids were quiet, the only sounds the clink of silverware on fancy china and the occasional whispered conversation that died as soon as Zion's gaze swept in their direction. He could feel their eyes on him, could practically taste their fear and unease. Good. Zion's gaze swept over them, his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. Better I scare them than Him.

"So where the fuck is the Big Man, anyway?" Zion's voice cut through the tense silence like a hot knife through butter, sharp and demanding.

At the far end of the table, Flambo - the kid with the jack-o-lantern face and the fire hazard for hair - let out a dramatic gasp. "You can't disrespect Father like that!" he exclaimed, his Bronx accent thick and his tone all self-righteous.

Zion's head snapped towards him, his eyes flashing with barely contained disdain. "Flambo…" he said, his voice dripping with contempt, "Shut the fuck up. I asked a question, and I want a fucking answer. Where. Is. He?

But before anyone could say a word, the doors at the other end of the room flew open with a bang that made half the kids jump out of their seats. "GREETINGS, MY WONDROUS WARDS!" a voice boomed, deep and commanding and so full of itself that Zion could practically smell the ego from where he sat.

His hand tightened around his fork, knuckles turning white as Oh Father strode into the room like he owned the place - which, Zion guessed, he kind of did.

The man was a fucking giant, well over six-and-a half feet tall and built like a brick shithouse, with muscles bulging out of the white and gold spandex bodysuit he wore like a second skin. Golden boots, a billowing white cape, the whole nine yards. He looked like every single dream Zion had ever had about what a superhero should be, all power and presence and larger-than-life charisma, and the public felt the same.

image [https://lh7-us.googleusercontent.com/4cKBfIfP9wTryrHQwKNLLsNBgaCrQjsaxrjrluJYBmlBi1XAdrU_yQxA1HYPntuy7uaGiBsUo2JgcBcCRYnLI-hGshbDlAf9H8t15kNtFnu4xuwUgdgwNRfb32OKow4d_o-SSex-xEtkTp4uFq1h5Jw]

Superhero, my ass, Zion thought bitterly, spearing his food with a fork. The public's clueless about the real shit these freaks are into.

What the public knew about supes could fill a simple cup. Zion stabbed at his food, his appetite well and truly dead. The public didn't know shit about what really went on in this place, about the fucked-up things these so-called "heroes" did in the name of God and country. Hell, he had only been introduced to this world a few months ago and all he had was a bathtub of knowledge compared to the lakes of implied shit these monsters were swimming in.

To the public, Oh Father was some kind of savior, the leader of Capes for Christ, known for "rescuing" superpowered kids and turning them into little soldiers for the Lord. But Zion knew the truth. He knew what went on behind closed doors, knew exactly how Oh Father broke these kids down to build them back up in his own image. He knew that underneath all that pretty gold packaging, Oh Father was just another monstrous freak, using his powers and his influence for the worst kinds of shit you could imagine.

As the big man made his way to the head of the table, the other kids started up with their creepy-ass little ritual, standing up one by one and chanting "Greetings, Oh Father!" in voices that ranged from nervous and shaky to so full of fake enthusiasm that it made Zion want to puke. He just sat there, continuing to eat, watching the whole thing with narrowed eyes and a sneer on his lips. Some cult-level bullshit right here.

Oh Father started calling out names, and each kid popped up like a fucking jack-in-the-box, all eager smiles and bright eyes. "Flambo!" The kid with the firey hair and anger issues, leaping to his feet with way too much energy. "Kid Robo!" The little tin man in black and white, snapping to attention like a toy soldier. "Spinner!" Kid in the spider suit, doing an unnecessary flip like he always did.

On and on it went, a roll call of kids in costume, each one stepping up to pledge their allegiance to the almighty Oh Father. Spinnerette, Imp, Buddy, Zap, Ultra Lass, Cupid, Guppy... a whole parade of brainwashed little puppets, dancing to Oh Father's tune.

And then, finally: "Pigeon!"

The kid in purple practically levitated out of his seat, his arms spread wide like he wanted to hug the whole damn room. "Oh, Father!" he exclaimed, his voice cracking with an emotion that made Zion's skin crawl.

Jesus Christ on a cracker, could this get any more ridiculous? He watched the whole thing play out with a mix of disgust and disbelief, one hand clenched into a fist under the table. He'd seen this dog and pony show before, every couple of weeks like clockwork, but it never got any less surreal. These kids, so-called "heroes in training", were nothing but a bunch of brainwashed drones, programmed to jump at Oh Father's every command.

And they expected him to fall in line, to buy into this whole "soldiers of God" crap and become just another cog in their freaky little machine? Fat fucking chance.

Zion's nails dug into his palms, the pain a sharp counterpoint to the anger simmering in his gut.

One day, I'll be out of this madhouse, Zion vowed silently as he continued chewing on his meal, another forkful of meat waiting for him. It was damn good meatloaf, no lie.

"Stepchild!" Oh Father's voice boomed across the dining room, his gaze finally landing on Zion.

Zion sat at the table, his posture all slouched and indifferent, like he couldn't give less of a fuck about the fancy dinner or the people around him. The boy, draped in an indifference that was as much his armor as the blue-and-white costume he wore, didn't even bother to look up. The codename 'Stepchild', a not-so-subtle reminder of his place in this twisted family, was a title he'd been burdened with since replacing the former member of the team that made Sidekick Twelve a dozen strong.

Knife and fork in hand, he continued digging into his meatloaf.

"Stepchild!" Oh Father's voice boomed across the dining room, loud enough to make the glasses rattle on the table. Zion didn't even bother to look up, just kept shoveling food into his mouth like he hadn't heard a thing.

Not my fucking name, asshole.

"Stepchild!" Oh Father called a third time, his voice sharper this time, with an edge of anger that cut through the tense silence of the room like a fucking knife.

Zion just kept eating, his eyes cold and hard as he stared down at his plate. He could feel the eyes of the other kids on him, could practically taste their fear and anxiety. They were all watching him, waiting to see what he would do, how he would react to Oh Father's little power play.

The sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the room as Oh Father strode down the length of the table, each step deliberate and menacing. Zion could feel the heat of the man's presence as he got closer, could smell the sickly-sweet stench of his cologne mixed with the coppery tang of his aura of power.

Fucking disgusting. I can't believe I have to breathe the same air as this creep.

Oh Father stopped right beside Zion's chair, looming over him like a fucking mountain. Zion could feel the man's eyes boring into the top of his head, could practically hear the gears turning in his twisted little brain as he tried to figure out how to put Zion in his place.

"Stepch-"

"Not my name," Zion said flatly, cutting Oh Father off mid-word. He still didn't look up, just kept his eyes fixed on his plate as he shoveled another forkful of meatloaf into his mouth.

Oh Father's eyes narrowed, his fake-ass smile getting all tight and brittle around the edges. "Be a good boy, now, Stepch-"

"You've been calling me that stupid fucking name for three months now," Zion snapped, finally looking up to meet Oh Father's gaze head-on. His eyes were starting to glitch out, pixels flickering and fuzzing around the edges as his anger built. "And every fucking time, I don't answer. You'd think you'd have gotten the hint by now, but apparently, you're too fucking dense to figure it out."

He could hear the gasps and whispers from the other kids, could feel their shock and disbelief at his blatant disrespect. But he didn't give a shit. He was done playing nice, done pretending to be something he wasn't.

"You can call me Zion, or Z, or fucking 'Boy' for all I care," he said, his voice cold and hard as steel. "But I'm not answering to 'Stepchild' anymore. That's not my goddamn name."

The room went dead silent, the tension so thick you could cut it with a fucking knife. Zion could hear the blood pounding in his ears, could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins as he stared Oh Father down, daring him to make a move. Come on, you sick fuck. Let's see what you've got.

But Oh Father just stood there, his face a mask of barely-contained rage. Zion could see the muscles twitching in his jaw, could practically hear the man's teeth grinding together as he fought to keep his composure.

And then, quick as a fucking snake, Oh Father's hand shot out and cracked Zion across the face, hard enough to snap his head to the side. The sound of the slap echoed through the room like a gunshot, making the other kids flinch and cower in their seats.

Zion just turned his head back slowly, a smirk spreading across his face as he locked eyes with Oh Father once again. He could taste blood in his mouth, could feel the sting of the blow burning hot on his cheek. But he didn't flinch, didn't back down.

"As the Lord says," he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "'turn the other cheek,' right?"

The other kids were staring at him with wide, shocked eyes, their mouths hanging open like they couldn't believe what they were seeing. Zion could practically hear their thoughts, could feel their awe and their fear rolling off them in waves. That's right. Take a good, long look. This is what happens when you stand up to a bully.

Oh Father's face was turning red, the veins in his neck bulging out as he fought to keep his composure. Zion could see the man's hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, could practically hear the bones creaking under the strain. Go ahead, asshole. Take another swing. See what happens.

But Oh Father didn't move, didn't say a word. He just stood there, glaring down at Zion with a look of pure, unadulterated hatred.

Yeah, that's what I thought. All bark and no bite. Zion just smirked wider, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. "What's the matter, 'Father'?" he asked, putting as much disdain into the word as he could muster. "Cat got your tongue?"

Oh Father's nostrils flared, his eyes flashing with barely-contained rage. But still, he didn't make a move, didn't say a word. Pussy.

Zion just shook his head, turning his attention back to his plate. "That's what I thought," he said, spearing another chunk of meatloaf with his fork. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a shitty dinner to finish."

And with that, he shoved the food into his mouth, chewing loudly and obnoxiously as he stared Oh Father down, daring him to do something about it. Your move, "Father." Your fucking move.

Zion stood there, his body tense and ready, as he stared up at Oh Father with a mix of defiance and disgust. The man loomed over him, his massive frame practically vibrating with barely-contained rage. But Zion wasn't about to back down, not now, not ever.

Fuck this asshole. I'm done playing his sick little games.

Oh Father's face was a storm of emotions, his features twisting and contorting as he struggled to maintain his composure. Zion could see the anger burning in the man's eyes, practically feel the heat of it scorching his skin. But there was something else there too, something darker and more sinister, lurking just beneath the surface.

Wait… What the hell happened to the kid I replaced?

The thought hit Zion like a punch to the gut, cold and sickening. He'd heard the whispers, but he'd never let himself dwell on it, never let himself imagine the worst. Fuck that. I'm not gonna end up like them. I'm not gonna be another statistic.

"You would dare take the Lord's name in this house and use His Word against me?" Oh Father thundered, his voice booming through the room like a clap of thunder. "You ungrateful little brat! After everything I've done for you, this is how you repay me?"

Zion could feel his temper flaring, his frustration and rage bubbling up inside him like a volcano ready to blow. He pushed himself to his full, albeit modest, height, his chair skidding backwards with a harsh scrape of wood on marble.

"You're a fucking! Pedo! Priest!" he shouted, his voice cracking with the force of his anger. "Shut the fuck up about the Lord already! You don't get to use Him as an excuse for the shit you do!"

The supe in gold and white seemed to freeze for a moment, expression still a rictus of focused rage, before he seemingly pulled back. A sigh escaped the man as his shoulders dropped slightly, expression relaxing somewhat as he put on an expression of forced serenity. Still staring up at the man, Zion waited for the other shoe to drop. "I should have taken you in for some private Bible study long ago. You're still too rebellious and worldly, corrupted by your life before God, before me. We should change that," the muscular cape stated calmly.

He reached out, his massive hand moving towards Zion's shoulder like a snake going in for the kill. "Come with me, child. Let me show you the error of your ways."

Zion recoiled, stepping back out of reach of Oh Father's grasping fingers. He could feel the bile rising in his throat, the disgust and revulsion twisting in his gut like a knife. "Don't fucking touch me," he spat, his voice dripping with venom. "I've seen you sniff your fingers after you 'talk' to the other kids, you sick fuck."

The faces of the other kids went white with shock, their eyes wide and horrified. Pigeon flinched like he'd been slapped, his whole body seeming to curl in on itself.

Sorry, Pidge. But someone's gotta say it.

Oh Father's face contorted with rage, his hand clenching into a massive fist. "YOU LITTLE SHIT!" he roared, his voice shaking the very walls of the room.

He reared back, his fist rising up like a hammer ready to strike. But Zion was faster, his own hand shooting out with superhuman speed and strength. The fork he'd been holding was still clenched tight in his fist, the tines glinting in the light as he drove it forward, straight into Oh Father's crotch.

The sound that came out of the man's mouth was like nothing Zion had ever heard before, a high-pitched squeal of agony that seemed to hang in the air like a physical thing. Oh Father doubled over, his hands clutching at his injured groin as blood began to seep through the pristine white fabric of his suit.

"N-n-nooooooo..." he whimpered, his face twisted in a mask of pain and shock. His legs gave out from under him, and he sank to his knees, his massive frame crumpling like a puppet with its strings cut.

Zion stood over him, his body thrumming with power and righteous fury. He could feel the energy coalescing around him, could see the bright blue glow emanating from his skin like a beacon. "And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger," he intoned, his voice low and steady, "those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee."

The energy swirled and danced around him, solidifying into glowing blue forms that encased his hands, feet, and head like armor. It was one of his favorite parts of his abilities, a rush of power and strength that made him feel invincible, untouchable.

He raised his head, a smile spreading across his face as he stared down at Oh Father's bleeding form. The man was whimpering now, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he tried to crawl away.

"Now," Zion said, his voice cold and hard as steel, "what's my fucking name?"

The room was silent, save for the sound of Oh Father's labored breathing. The other kids were staring at Zion with a mix of awe and terror, their eyes wide and their mouths hanging open.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Oh Father managed to choke out a single word, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"Z-zion..."

Zion nodded, his smile widening into a fierce, predatory grin. "Good boy."

And then, with a roar of fury, he brought his fist down, the glowing blue energy crackling and sparking as it slammed into Oh Father's face with a sickening crunch.

> + 10,000 XP

>

> Level Up!

>

> LEVEL 50

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OH FATHER BRUTALIZED BY ONE OF HIS FLOCK

Accusations of Sexual Abuse in Capes for Christ

By Daniel Jawkes

In a shocking turn of events that has sent ripples through the community, the renowned leader of Capes for Christ, known publicly as Oh Father, was reportedly assaulted into a comatose state by one of his own team members during what witnesses described as a heated confrontation. The incident has also unearthed a series of disturbing allegations against Oh Father, involving sexual abuse and misconduct within the organization.

Capes for Christ, a group that has long been celebrated for taking in young individuals with superpowers and guiding them towards the path of righteousness, is now at the center of a scandal that threatens to undermine its very foundation. Sources close to the situation, who have requested anonymity due to the sensitivity of the matter, claim that the altercation was sparked b-

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> Zion Judas

> Level 50

>

> Health: 3500/3500

> Power: 1050/1050

>

> Strength: 150

> Durability: 150

> Agility: 60

> Mind: 50

> Power: 100

> Charisma: 10