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threepandas · 12 days

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Bad End: Witness

"Specimen '873 is starting to disappoint me. He was showing such promise. These numbers, however?" My keeper muttered to himself, distaste painting his face as he watched the feed in front of him. "Unacceptable for a battle class. He might as well be spare biomass at this point."

He was supposed to be wearing his glasses, not holding them. They may have been called "reading" glasses? But they were not, technically, just for that. They also had a blue light filter. Helped with headaches and eyestrain. He just hated wearing them because he thought they made him look old.

A God Forbid ANYTHING remind him of the passage of time.

He did NOT take it kindly.

I managed to avoid THAT landmine by virtue of having witnessed his receiving them. An "incident" that resulted in his head slamming against a screen. Protocol demanded he get checked. In the process, they discovered his eye sight was declining. It was a... bad day. I brought him things to break and stayed very, very quiet.

He bounced back fairly quickly, though. Once the arrogant researcher who had arranged for the incident to even OCCUR? Tried to come lord his "weakened old man" status over him. It was one thing to "accidently" let the battle class get unfettered access to weapons before loyalty train. But to be dumb enough to step into his lab, call him weak, and gloat about it?

Dr. Raghnall Periculum was many things.

But "unwilling to bludgeon a man to death with the nearest object" was not one of them.

He was dangerous like that. Murderous. It came and went like shifting storms, all you could really do was learn to read the triggers. Get good at knowing when to back up. When to hold really, REALLY still. After all... this was a lawless, immoral place. No one here could or WOULD stop him.

They were all just as bad.

Gritty Sci-Fi Otome games are... a lot less fun to LIVE. To be honest? They are actually pretty horrifying. Traumatizing, really. Hellish. As in, I am pretty sure this is a futuristic version Of Hell (but that is a personal opinion). I regret EVER playing a single damn one. But... BUT? I CLING to the knowledge I gained from it. So I can not regret it completely. Because through them? Through KNOWING this world?

I KNOW this will end. KNOW we will be free. That these monsters will pay for what they've done. The epilog promises a golden age. A beautiful, peaceful dawn after this long and terrible night, filled with horrors. I just... I just have to survive. Hold on. Keep my head down and pray.

I may be trapped in hell, but I'm not broken.

We will be Free.

I have SEEN IT.

Sometimes the greatest defiance is just refusing to die. Just keeping hope alive. I... I can do that. May not be able to fight my way out. Not smart enough to hack or sabotage these nightmares. But I can stay alive. I... I can do that. Bear witness, that someday I may stand against them in trial. Record. So no one is forgotten.

It doesn't feel like enough. I feel tired and angry. Hateful and small. But for the sake of my sanity? I make myself feel nothing. Compartmentalize. I've... I've become unfortunately quite good at it. Good at a lot of terrible things. Like placating. Making myself small. Being invisible. A retail smile. Being one with the furniture.

See, just like the poor souls on the screens in front of him? I'm a Clone. Of who? I have no idea. None of us do. They use old DNA databases. From when it was first commercially available, I think. Like those ancestry tests. Here it was squirrelled away, kept for later use. Which... was us.

My template has been dead for centuries, I think. Or perhaps? She would have considered herself my mother? I hope she would have, strange as I turned out to be. We are all children of the dead. It'd be nice to think they'd have wanted us.

Dr. Periculum's cup lifts lightly as he take a drink, more focused on his work then anything else. That heft is about midway point. I've discovered if I begin brewing now, it will be done by the time his cup is empty and he wants more. A glance at the closest screen gives me the time. Food too, is a good idea.

He likely won't eat it. But if it's there? The chances are higher. And when he comes out of his focus, it'll be available. Less chance of him getting irritated by hunger.

On a well practiced route through piles of notes and projects I know better then to touch, I quietly make my way to the coffee machine. Begin another round of abomination the caffeine tar. It is, quite honestly, a wonder he hasn't accused me of trying to poison him to a heart attack.

A few granules of salt, a bit of cinnamon, some expensive fatty creamer, aaaand? There. Unholy bitterness gone. "Just" a cup of liquid tar so potent it could make a rhino taste time.

I also grab one of the meat pies and put it on a little paper plate.

Ah... what has my life become? That I am so well practiced in make snacks for a monster? Picking them up, I don't dare answer that. That way lies madness. Don't think about it. It can wash out in therapy. After. Because there WILL be an After. There HAS to be an After.

Careful steps and...? Just as I estimated. He just ran out. I nearly silently tap the paper plate down to the edge of the table then slide it forward, with-in ease of reach, but not too close. Then I swap the cups. Go to step away. Only to freeze. As, out of the corner of my eye, I see one of his hands briefly leave his keyboard to make a nearly dismissive "one moment" gesture.

Stay put. Don't move. I'll address you when I'm done with my, more important, thoughts. I feel the flash of fear, of panic, but let it go. There is nothing I can do. I will be hurt or I won't be hurt. There is no use suffering twice, through speculation and fear, I remind myself. Force my mind empty and pleasant. Retail smile. Happy to serve.

He finishes. Leans back, dissatisfied with some project or other, and finally slips on his glasses. Gestures imperiously for the cup in my hands. I do not question of course, merely hand it to him. He takes it, passes it to his other hand, and sets it aside. Then, casually, leans slightly over and wraps a thickly muscled arm around my waist. Dragging me off my feet and into his lap.

"You know, girl? B-21873 really was, actually quite promising. I was starting to think I'd keep him. Decent speed, good stamina, excellent problem solving. His test scoring was exceeding all expectations. Really thought I might have gotten you a little friend to play with. A gaurd so I could send you out on some chores safely. But no, he just HAD to be a failure." He said, leaning forward to grab his cup.

I was crushed awkwardly close. Could feel every moment. Acutely aware of his woody and sea air cologne, the coffee on his breath as words were spoken far to close, the beating of a heartbeat I could feel against my arm. Hyper aware of him. Why was I in his lap? This felt dangerous. I should not be in his lap.

Between sips, he turned his head and pressed his lips to my temple, not kissing... somehow worse. Just... just breathing me in. Slow, deliberate, and deep. Like savoring a scent, a sensation. The subtle back and forth, as though rubbing his lips against my hair. Enjoying the feeling against sensitive skin. It could almost be a cuddle on any other man. It took everything I had not to shudder.

"Unlike you of course. You pet, could never disappoint me. If these rejects tried even half as hard as my perfect darling girl? The world'd be a better place." He paused his almost nuzzling. To simply rest his head against mine, pulling off his glasses so he could tuck his head closer. His breathe was hot against my ear. His voice gravel and distain as it spoke of others.

"It's disgusting. Like they don't even try. We spend countless resources breeding, feeding, and training them... for what? Failure? I'm starting to think those bastards are deliberately sending me bad specimens."

Every word he said was horrifying. I could not cry. Dare not. But my heart screamed for those poor souls. They were just kids. Trapped in hell. Tortured from birth. Disposed of when they no longer met some arbitrarily impossible anime standard. If I turned my head, even slightly, I KNEW, I would be faced with screens of untold suffering. Feeds of "testing". So called training. Autopsy reports and datapoints.

Lists of who... who had been deemed "not good enough".

Who were scheduled to become "recycled biomass".

But if I looked? I would weep for them. And that? That was dangerous right now. Right NOW? I had to be pleasant company. A child's doll to be dragged around. No thoughts, no differing opinions. Preferably no opinions at ALL. Just warm and huggable. Soft. A beloved pet who serves coffee and brings things when told. Endure. I just... I must simply ENDURE.

The night will end. Dawn will come. Believe in her.

J-Just empty your head... and Believe In Her.

An alert pops up. I can hear it on a screen somewhere behind me. Dr. Periculum turns his head to look, reaching for his snack. Freezes. Then, a sharp bark of laughter. It's violent, like the strike of a lightning bolt, jostling me. The ones that follow just as harsh. He's not a man that laughs often. And it's not a kind sound.

Filled with schadenfreude, his laughter is like the vicious barks of hunting hounds. The shots of a weapon. A short and harsh to the ears sound, over and over. Delight in the suffering of an enemy. The fall of a rival. It strikes through his body like seizures. Making him lean forward to read. Brace against the desk, tighten his grip around me, widen the brace of his legs.

Glancing up, his eyes are alight with manic glee. His grin is vicious.

He looks Feral.

"Well, well, WELL! What do we have HERE?! Is that Jack ANDERSON'S facility I see? Mr. 'Master of the genome' himself? Looks like SOMEONE got AHEAD of themselves! Ha!" Raghnall cackles spinning his chair so I can see the screen. Leaning back to grab his cup and toast with it. "Look what we have here, pet! Some fucking KARMA! I knew that little shit wasn't worth the paper his degree was printed on! See this? THIS is what happens when you can't control your own damn compound!"

"Rest in PIECES, you worthless little SHIT!"

I sat. Frozen. As Dr. Periculum laughed and laughed, his mood viciously pleased. Because... because I recognized that facility. Chapter Two. There was an animation that played. The... the BREAKOUT! Joy filled me. Like the first rays of dawn. That was HER. S-she was OUT! Free! She DID it! Oh god... oh god she was COMING! It had finally BEGUN!

I caught myself. Barely.

My eyes felt a bit wet so I disguised it with a fake yawn. I dare not show empathy. NEVER show empathy. Keep it guarded like diamonds in your chest. If he thought, for even a moment, that I empathized with anyone but him. CARED about anyone but him? They wouldn't last the hour.

And it would be the longest, cruelest, hour in existence, as they died.

You make that sort of mistake exactly ONCE.

"Ah~ todays a GOOD day. And you know what we should do?" He hummed, nearly a coo as he spun us almost lazily around on his chair. In whimsical circles like a bored child. "We should celebrate. Ding dong, the fuckers dead~ HA HA! Not to mention? It's been entirely too long, pet, since I've spoiled you rotten. We should get a cake, hmm? You want a cake? Lil treat? Sweet lil treat for my girl?"

"I could get you that new dress I've been looking at. Bet you'll look like a classy lil princess, won't that be nice? Can even make it match the trackers I'm finishing up! No more uncomfy collars when we go out! Just pretty lil bracelets, ain't that nice?"

I force myself to smile. Nod. Ignore the fear and anger, the humiliation and helplessness. It's not time yet. Bid your time. You will LOSE your chance for True Freedom if you give in to your anger. Your hurt. Patience, THEN strike. Remember! Chapter two! There are FIVE.

It is COMING.

He stopped spinning, planting his feet on the floor. His manic grin softening. No less unhinged, less full of teeth, but perhaps the closest a man like him could come to loving. His eyes obsessive as the roam my face. Cataloging everything.

"You know, pet? You really might be might greatest creation. Best thing I've ever made or done. Anyone wants you? They'd have to pry you from my cold, dead hands. I'd burn EVERYTHING down. Kill just about EVERYONE." His voice was the sort of whispered confession meant for churches, not the heart of this hell he had built. It felt unholy. Dangerous.

Exactly like him.

"Once I figure how to take humanity to it's next stage? Reverse aging? Heck, even stop it. I promise, pet. Gonna take you with me. You're coming along for the ride. Straight to the end. Heat death of the universe. Well become GODS, pet. Live forever and a day. Bet you can't wait, huh?"

"Don't worry. The futures going be BEAUTIFUL. Just you wait."

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jumpywhumpywriter · 2 months

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"The Lost Hero" - Crippled Hero Presumed Dead part 1

Warnings: crippled hero, hero with disabilities, retired hero, reluctant hero, near-death experience, reluctant rescue

***I don't see nearly enough of heroes with seriously traumatic, permanent injuries in writing. Like, not just classic scarring, but the kind that sticks with them every day and impacts everything from the way they move to their confidence levels. Physically handicapping kind of old wounds. Maybe they just didn't heal right, who knows. Anyways I decided to write what I've always wanted to see! Enjoy!! 👇👇

The last time Hero was seen alive was 5 whole years ago, in her final battle with Supervillain. But it had gone so terribly wrong. They had been fighting in the bottom level of a skyscraper Supervillain had rigged to blow, unbeknownst to Hero. Supervillain tried to escape the building, leave Hero to die when the bombs exploded, but Hero had been fighting too hard, keeping him from leaving. And so, the bombs went off, and the skyscraper collapsed... right on top of the two most famous figures in the city, crushing them. Supervillain's body was found a day later... but Hero was never located, though she was presumed dead after the horrific accident. Her final sacrifice to save the city.

After Hero’s death, the city was in shock. There had been years of peace and safety won by Hero's noble sacrifice… Before New Supervillain came along. With no hero to protect the city, New Supervillain easily took over, working his way through the government until he was in total control of the people and businesses, forcing them to bend under his tyrannical rule. Anyone who stood against him would be executed on the spot.

5 years later after Hero’s sacrifice...

-------------------------------------------------------

Logan was a 15 year old boy who was hurrying home, mind abuzz with typical teenager thoughts as he weaved his way through the crowded city streets, when he stepped into the street to cross without looking for traffic. A loud horn blared, and he froze with terror at seeing the two large semi truck headlights bearing down on him, paralyzed with panic.

There was no way the huge truck could stop in time. Logan's instincts screamed at him to run, to move for crying out loud, but his feet were rooted to the spot, muscles locking up with fear, trapping him in place as the truck's brakes screeched and squealed on the asphalt, doing little to slow its momentum.

Logan's breath hitched, terrified as he braced himself for the inevitable impact -- but something else collided with him a millisecond before the truck did, slamming into him from the side with enough force to knock the breath from Logan's lungs, tackling him. Strong arms wrapped around him, and he sucked in a gulping gasp of air as he hit the ground hard, a blast of pain zinging through the arm he'd tried to use to catch himself.

His body suddenly tingled as though he'd just been zapped by a strange static electric shock, and he blinked in surprise to find himself staring up at a woman's face who was practically sprawled on top of him, her eyes filled with muted panic and fear. And worry. She was wearing a black hooded cloak that shrouded her features in darkness, but he still caught a glimpse of those piercing blue eyes before she turned her face away, pushing herself off of him with a grunt.

Logan sat up, dazed, looking around to see a small crowd gathering, gawking at him with concerned faces as the semi-truck driver hopped out of his vehicle to check on him. The driver was saying something frantic to him, probably apologizing profusely, but Logan was still wrapping his head around the fact that he'd almost died, that the strange woman had tackled him out of the way at the last second to save him.

As the woman stepped away from him, her eyes flicked over his prone form, lingering on his now-bloody arm from where he'd hit the edge of the concrete sidewalk. Then, without even saying a single word, she pulled the hood further down over her face and turned, walking briskly away with a slight limp, despite appearing uninjured. She wasn't sticking around as Logan became the center of attention, everyone asking if he was okay.

Logan glanced down at his shirt, blood going cold as ice as he noticed the slightly singed cloth where the stranger's arms had wrapped around him. It couldn't possibly be... could it?

Bystanders helped him to his shaky feet, checking him over while others called an ambulance, but Logan wasn't listening. "I-I'm fine!" He hastily blurted, snapping out of his state of shock and pulled himself away from the worried hands, pushing through the small crowd to chase after his unexpected hero. He needed to thank her... as well as sate his hopeful curiosity.

He barely caught a glimpse of the edge of her black cloak disappearing around a corner, stumbling in his stride before catching his balance as he raced to catch up. Shouts from concerned people called after him, but he ignored them.

Logan skidded around the corner, darting into the dark alleyway the stranger had slipped into. "Wait!" He cried as he finally spotted the hooded figure. He ran up before she could escape, tugging at her cloak to snatch her attention.

The stranger flinched and yanked the edge of her cloak from his hands, whirling around but still slightly turned away.

"I didn't get to thank you," Logan panted breathlessly. "If you hadn't been there--" his voice caught in his throat, and he realized he was trembling all over, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. The woman just nodded in acknowledgment, still unusually silent, before turning to keep walking.

"W-Wait! I need to ask something--"

The stranger paused in her step, but didn't turn to face him.

"My shirt... did you burn it?" Logan knew how it must have sounded, such an out of the blue, unusual question. But the woman's reaction was the exact one he was looking for, as she stiffened, going rigid. His mind reeled with dawning realization.

"You... You're Hero, aren't you?" Logan breathed hopefully, said like more of a statement than a question. Hero was the only one he ever knew of who could do that, who had the ability to control electricity. Who could burn without a flame. And who could have been fast enough to cross the street and tackle him out of the way before he was hit.

The stranger finally turned and reached up and pressed something shiny and metal stuck to her neck, a tiny blue light appearing before she opened her mouth for the first time.

"No... I'm not," a raspy voice sounded, hoarse and wheezy. "You've got the wrong person." Her hand dropped from her neck, and she pointedly turned away. But Logan darted around in front of her to block the path, his eyes huge with excitement and wonder.

"No way... You're alive? The whole city thinks you're dead!" He gasped. Her reaction all but confirmed it. It had to be Hero, the same hero that has disappeared five solid years ago, never seen again.

Hero was presumed dead after an intense battle with Supervillain that went down all those years ago. Supervillain had killed several heroes in the past, leaving Hero as the only one strong enough to face him. He was notoriously well-known for being dangerous and lethal.

The ensuing superpowered battle had leveled several whole blocks, and ended with the destruction of a skyscraper from a bomb Supervillain had intended to use to kill Hero, the last surviving hero in the city. But he'd been trapped in the building with Hero when the structure collapsed prematurely. Supervillain's body was found buried in the rubble a day later. But Hero's never was.

The woman's blue eyes were wide with surprise but tinged with sadness and guilt, before she shook her head grimly, pressing the side of her neck again. Maybe a nervous habit, or something more?

"No... Hero died in the accident, just like the news stations stated. Hero doesn't exist anymore. So leave me alone. I saved you because I just happened to be fast enough. Adrenaline gives you that kind of strength." She brushed off the accusation, reasoning with him. Her shoulders sagged, and she took a step away from Logan. "Go away, kid... there's no hero here."

The words hurt like a dagger to the chest. Logan was so sure this was Hero -- but if she was, why hide for so long? Why let the city fall into chaos under New Supervillain's rein? Why not stand up and fight the new evil?

"What are you so scared of?" Logan challenged. "I mean, you're Hero, you've taken down endless criminals and villains before. Why did you disappear for so long? Why let New Supervillain win?"

"Like I said, kid... Hero doesn't exist anymore." The woman's voice was gruff with a tone of finality, and her sharp blue eyes dropped to Logan’s arms, where blood was streaming down in scarlet rivulets.

"You're hurt. Go see a doctor, get it patched up, and forget this ever happened. Okay? No one will believe you anyway if you tell them I'm alive. After all, you're seeing a ghost."

Logan clapped a hand over the gash in his arm -- the wound had started throbbing now that the adrenaline wore off. But then he looked back at Hero, jutting his chin up and giving her the fiercest glare he could muster. "I'm not going anywhere until you give me answers," he said stubbornly.

Hero pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering something incoherent under her breath, but there was no mistaking the tone of exasperation. Her hood hid her face, but he could have sworn her features were twisted with confliction, torn.

"Please, I want to know what happened," Logan tried, speaking a little softer, more pleadingly.

Hero let her hands drop to her side, and she glared right back at him with equal intensity. Logan jumped as sparks of electricity crackled in her hands, a threat of greater danger to come.

"I'll give you one last warning. Turn around and walk away, or I'll fry your brains out," she growled low in her throat, her voice deadpan and flat.

Logan's heart faltered for a beat with fear. Hero was certainly capable of following through with that threat. But he watched her body closely and could see her weight shifting uneasily on her feet. It was a bluff, a final attempt to scare him off.

"...Then I guess you'll have to fry my brains out," Logan croaked weakly. He was taking a risky gamble.

Hero stayed stiff for a few agonizingly long seconds, before caving, the electricity sizzling out as she sighed wearily. "Why do you even care?" She hissed in annoyance. "New Supervillain's already controlling the city. Sometimes it's better to just... tolerate it, rather than try to be a martyr and go against higher powers. Sometimes you have to go with the flow."

"Only dead fish go with the flow!" Logan retorted angrily. "What happened to fighting for justice, for peace?"

Hero didn't even argue, just let out a long breath. "That was a long time ago, kid. I'm not that hero, not anymore. Not since..." She cut herself off, clearing her throat awkwardly. "My point is, I'm done fighting. My hero days are behind me, and I plan to keep it that way.”

Logan gaped at her in disbelief. "You can't be serious! You're just going to let New Supervillain run this city however he wants and not lift a finger to stop it?!"

Hero nodded tiredly, but he didn't miss the fraction of hesitation that came before. It gave him a sliver of hope.

"Please, Hero... we need you," Logan practically begged.

Hero's eyes suddenly flared with hurt and anger, and her raspy voice rose to a quiet shout, though it was harsh and grating and strained. "I can't, kid! You don't understand, I don't want to be Hero anymore. Screw the city, no one was there to save me when every bone in my body was crushed, when I was choking on blood and dying in a collapsed skyscraper. I gave everything for the people, and all it brought me was pain and suffering and loss. So forgive me if I'm not too keen on taking more bullets for the sake of the citizens. I've given more than my fair share of effort into protecting people, many years of my life dedicated to it. They can save themselves for once."

"But--" Logan sputtered and floundered around his words, reeling.

Hero's eyes softened pityingly. "I'm truly sorry to crush your dreams of freedom, but it's not going to happen. The best advice I can give is to go home, live your life to its fullest. Chances are good you will never cross paths with New Supervillain in-person anyway; he's too busy and distracted ruling his new kingdom of a city."

"Can you at least tell me why?" Logan finally choked out, his voice cracking.

Hero hesitated, her eyes glancing around both ends of the shadowed alley on high alert before she stepped closer. "Fine. You want answers? Come with me. It's... not safe to talk around here." Her voice dropped low and quiet, and without another word, she headed off.

Logan's heart skipped a beat with apprehension mixed with excitement to be trailing after such a legendary figure. Although, she wasn't anything like he'd ever expected. Far from the powerful Hero he'd seen pictures of in the newspapers five years ago, or that he'd caught glimpses of in villain battles.

He followed in silence as Hero traveled through the back alleys, navigating them with resolve and purpose in each step -- though Logan couldn't get his mind off her uneven, almost lurching gait. Subtle, but noticeable, like slightly favoring one leg, or limping.

Eventually Hero stopped in front of a large blue dumpster, suddenly appearing alert and edgy as she scanned around for any unwanted eyes. Then, satisfied that they were alone, she braced her shoulder against the side of the dumpster and pushed against it with her supernatural strength, scooting it to the side with a loud scraping sound.

Then she tapped the wall of the brick building the dumpster had been against before gripping around one of the bricks, pulling off what Logan realized was a false cover made to look exactly like the brick surrounding it. He took a surprised half-step back at seeing the square hole that was revealed, like some kind of creepy hidden tunnel.

"Down here's where I've been hiding out," Hero explained in her wheezing voice. "Follow close, and do not touch any of my stuff without permission. A lot of it is too dangerous for curious hands. Got it?"

Logan nodded eagerly, making note of her words. He watched as Hero crouched down to fit into the small space, disappearing into the dark. He shivered uneasily, but obediently followed her in. He tripped in surprise before realizing he was standing at the top of a staircase, and he felt his way down it with his feet, down into the unknown darkness. He could only hear the rustling of Hero's cloak in front of him as she descended into her underground hideout.

Then, the flip of a switch, and light flooded his vision. Logan winced and covered his eyes with a hand, waiting for them to adjust. He stared around with wide eyes at the room he found himself, taking it all in.

It wasn't as fancy or high-tech as he would have expected, in fact it was rather messy, a few tables cluttered with disorganized piles of various electronics and old devices, evidence of someone who likes to tinker.

Weapons lined the walls, wickedly sharp blades of all kinds along with dozens of others he had no idea how to use. Some junk papers and maps were scattered about randomly on both tables and floors, while others were pinned up on a corkboard in no recognizance order. It looked so strangely... normal, almost. Like a messy apartment room.

But one thing in particular snagged Logan's attention. Pinned up against the back wall, was Hero's hero suit, all mangled and covered in burn marks and dirt. Large holes were torn into the leather, evidence of a fierce fight. To be honest, it looked a lot like it had been through a paper shredder.

Hero strode over and sank into a chair sitting in front of one desk, and for the first time, pulled off the cloak and set it on down.

Logan barely stifled the horrified gasp that threatened to tear out of him. Hero's face was a mess of vicious scars like a messed-up tattoo spiderwebbing across her skin, that stretched all down her neck, and even her arms -- at least the parts that were visible from her short-sleeved shirt.

"...Are those all from the skyscraper accident?" Logan couldn't help asking. He felt insensitive for the question, but Hero answered regardless.

"Most of them are, but others... I got long before the fight with Old Supervillain." She winced at some phantom pain before her cold composure returned.

Logan stepped over to the nearest table, marveling at all the artifacts scattered thoughtlessly about. A loose dagger caught his attention, and he found himself instinctively reaching for it to get a better look, when Hero's stern voice cut in.

"What did I say about no touching?"

Logan instantly jerked his hand back, glancing apologetically at Hero. He thought for sure there was a flicker of amusement in her expression. Then his gaze darted back to the dagger. The blade looked rusty, but as he peered closer he realized that it was just crusted with dried red--oh.

Hero nodded to it, reading his thoughts. "That's the same blade I stabbed Old Supervillain with before the building came down on us both."

"Really?" Logan breathed in amazement. And the corner of Hero's mouth almost twitched up into a smile -- almost.

"Yes."

Logan stared wide-eyed at Hero, a dozen questions bouncing in his mind, but Hero held up a hand to keep him silent before he could pepper her with them.

"First, I assume you want to know why I can't fight New Supervillain?" She quirked an eyebrow, and he nodded vigorously.

Hero pointed to a small metal circle resting innocently against her skin, the one she’d pressed before speaking in the alley. "My vocal cords were crushed in the accident, I can't speak without this device in my throat keeping my entire throat from collapsing. I can control my voice's volume from the button on the side of my neck." Then she gestured to her leg, pulling up the cloth pant leg covering it to reveal giant, ragged scars torn down it, almost more scar tissue than normal flesh, a mangled mess of thick white lines and long-healed gashes and lacerations. That explained the limp Logan had noted.

"My leg is permanently ruined, shattered one too many bones in it when the building caved. It never quite healed right." She let out a humorless laugh. "What use is a crippled hero who can't talk on her own, can't even walk right, let alone fight? I'm done, kid. Retired. Go find someone else to stop Supervillain. Anyone but me." She rubbed her temples with her forefingers as though to soothe a headache.

"But you don't need to walk right to fight!" Logan blurted. "Can't you just, you know, use your powers to zap Supervillain?" He imitated shooting lightning from his fingertips, and that earned a quiet chuckle from Hero.

"It doesn't quite work like that. I need my agility, my skillset, my powers are worthless if I can't keep myself from being hit by whatever weapons Supervillain might have. I need to be able to move, to nimbly dodge. There's a lot more to fighting than just 'see enemy, and strike them'. But you're too young to know better."

"But there has to be something you can do!" Logan argued.

Hero leaned back in her chair with a bone-weary sigh. "It's a miracle I'm even alive at all, after what I went through five years ago. But the damage is permanent, there's nothing you can do to fix it. My body aches and hurts every day of my existence, I'd rather stay hidden away down here in my bunker than go fight another psychopath."

She laughed dryly, shaking her head. "And you know what's even worse? Villain is the one who dragged me out of the wreckage, who stitched me back together like some messed up jigsaw puzzle to keep me alive. And of course, he didn't do it for free." She tapped on the metal piercing her neck that led to the device in her throat. "This thing doesn't just give me my voice back, it's what's keeping me alive. It keeps my throat and airways open so I can breathe. Villain has a device that lets him control its functionality, which means he can snuff my life out on a whim if he wants, leave me drowning in air at any time, suffocating. He was a surgeon before he became a villain, so he knew how to set all my broken bones in place. There wasn't much he could do about my shattered leg, though. Too many bone fragments to piece together." Her gaze fell to the floor with shame.

"I'm only alive because Villain wanted me to be. He wanted to control me. Told me that if he ever needed my help for anything, I would do whatever he wanted or he would use his device to choke me out. Said it was a small favor for 'saving my life' after I fought Old Supervillain.” A bitter laugh escaped her. “I haven’t heard from Villain ever since he let me go, though, so clearly I'm not useful enough to be of any value yet, if he’s never bothered to call me to his aid.”

Hero leaned back in her chair, and Logan saw her visibly wince as the movement jarred her shredded leg.

“So what, you’re just going to spend the rest of your days wasting away down here?!” Logan blurted incredulously.

And to his utter astonishment, Hero merely nodded. There was no fight left in her hollow eyes, her defeated expression. Nothing but pain and exhaustion. “That's exactly what I’m doing,” she rasped tiredly. “Saves me a whole lot of suffering. Because the thing is, kid… you’re too innocent to understand what I've been through, and I'm too broken to remember what ‘peace’ is… there is nothing left for me to fight for. Right here in this bunker, I'm alive. No fighting, no patching myself up in the night – all I have to do here is exist. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“It sounds lonely," Logan said pointedly. Hero shrugged.

“Some days are harder, when it's just Me, Myself, and I… But I've learned how to live with it.” She gestured to the staircase they'd come down earlier. “You’ve stayed here long enough. It's almost night, you should hurry home before your folks start to worry about you. At least you have someone who will notice when you're missing.” Logan didn't miss the hint of bitter wistfulness lacing Hero’s voice before she averted her gaze away from him.

Logan automatically went to the staircase, but paused at the bottom of it to turn back. “Hero?”

“Hmm?”

“...Thanks. For… For everything you've done, now and… before.”

Hero nodded sadly, and Logan headed up the stairs with a heavy heart to be greeted by the sharp sting of cold night air on his face as he stepped into the alley.

Logan's mind whirred the entire walk home, and the blood on his arm had already dried by the time he made it back. His excuse was that he'd tripped and fell after his parents questioned him. He cleaned himself up and headed to bed, slipping out of his shirt. He stared numbly down at the small singe marks in the cloth, replaying the rescue in his mind over and over again, letting the new knowledge sink in.

Hero was alive. And he was determined to find a way to bring her back, to give her the determination she needed to be the legendary hero she once was. It was up to him to change her mind, to get her to stand up for justice and freedom. He was already working on ideas of how to do that, and he knew just where to start as he flopped down into his bed for the night.

Hero might have lost faith in herself... but Logan certainly hadn't. And he would find a way to prove it.

This one sort of just popped in my head randomly, not sure if I should continue it or not. But hey, a crippled and half-mute hero who's given up fighting getting a reason to live again and get out of the ditch despite all the odds might be an interesting series, right???

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