Have you ever wanted to be a hero?
Ever dreamt of flying through the sky nonstop punching holes through buildings, saving lives, and hearing the world cheer your name?
Then this book is for you.
If you read Marvel, DC, or if you're a real badass, Invincible and The Boys, you're in the right place.
But let's make one thing clear...
This is not your usual Marvel material.
This is adult content. Viewer discretion is advised.
This book contains:
— Sexual references
— Gory violence
— Brutal language
— Drugs
— Alcohol
— Deep emotional trauma
Still here? Good.
Now that the warning's out of the way...
Welcome to the world of the heroes.
...You sure you still want to turn the page?
In 2003, under the Bush administration, the world saw its first official heroes.
That's right the very first superhero team.
They were called The Saviors.
Six enhanced beings. Each one a piece of the perfect puzzle.
Wiplash, the unstoppable attacker. Never lost a sparring match. She didn't talk much, but when she entered a room, her enemies trembled.
Blink the transporter. Here one second, gone the next. She could carry messages, weapons, even people across miles in a flash.
Bull all strength, no brains. But when something needed smashing, he got the job done.
Mastermind no muscle, just raw genius. He could plan battlefield strategies in seconds. Tactics, escape routes, and manipulation all his domain.
Goast — the shadow. The spy. Silent. Invisible. She slipped past locked doors like fog in the night.
And finally, their leader, Christ. Calm, powerful, righteous. He was the heart of the team.
Together, they were unstoppable. They saved lives, helped the poor, fed the hungry, stopped global threats. People worshipped them like gods.
Until Project VX.
A new experiment a chip prototype. Something better.
But the chip went rogue. It didn't just fail. It mutated the subject into a creature so horrific, no photo was ever released.
The thing escaped. Devoured an entire city in minutes.
The Saviors did what they swore they'd never do. They broke their code. They killed.
And it broke them.
One by one, their minds shattered. Some killed themselves. Others went mad.
By 2006, the last of them was gone.
Project VX was buried. Hidden in a lab.
Mutated. Twisted.
Never to be seen again.
Or so we thought.
After every tragedy, society mourns.
And in that sorrow... crime spreads.
When the Saviors fell, people lost something deeper than just protection. They lost purpose. Hope.
But by 2007, the world began to heal not through faith or leadership, but through celebrity.
Heroes were out. Superstars were in. The people didn't want gods... they wanted idols.
And that's when Inferno arrived.
No one knew where he came from. Only that when he appeared, everything changed.
He didn't just fight crime he formed the most powerful superhero team the world had ever seen. A new era. A new superhuman administration.
They were called The 9.
Smaller teams followed. More powers. More heroes.
And more heroes meant more government control.
First came the money.
In 2009, just from transporting materials, saving cities, stopping wars, selling merchandise the U.S. earned 987 billion dollars in a single year.
Second came the laws.
New amendments were passed not just to protect the public, but to protect the heroes. Give them more room. More power. Less oversight.
Third? The takeover.
The government took everything the earnings, the equipment, even the heroes' identities. They left the heroes with nothing, because after all... what more could gods want?
Celebrities became brokers.
Taylor Swift, Ed Sheeran icons paid by the government to endorse heroes like products. Selling faces. Selling powers. Selling lies.
And then... there were The 9.
Mr. American the arsenal. Every weapon, every style of combat. A patriotic face with twisted motives.
Sentro the carrier. Able to lift tons and fly at Mach 10.
Roadrunner the fastest man alive. Untouched. Unmatched. Top speed: Mach 25.7.
Mad the unstoppable powerhouse. Strength. Speed. Durability. Rage.
Warrior Girl (Valkyrie ) the fearless striker. Smart, tactical, and devastatingly effective.
Vortex, the wind goddess. Unpredictable. Deadly. Seductive.
Electric Strike is a reckless, fast-talking wildcard. Funny, unpredictable, and way stronger than he looks.
Winthrop (Black Assassin) the ghost. Silent. Unknown. Lethal. Always watching.
And at the top... Inferno, the god among them. The leader. The fire. The king.
By 2015, The 9 had made over 2 trillion dollars for the United States.
By 2026, crime was down 45%.
The national debt? Gone.
And the Trump administration? Celebrating.
World peace had never looked more real.
But peace... is just the silence before something terrible.
And what's coming no hero can stop.
Scene 1
Laughter echoed through the treehouse, a sprawling wooden fortress nearly thirty feet long and nine feet wide, perched high among thick, whispering branches. The scent of pine mixed with the warm summer air, carrying a hint of old sawdust and varnish from the countless hours our dads had spent building it a labor of love, sweat, and more prayers than nails. It wasn't just a hideout; it was our sanctuary, the only place where the world felt quiet enough to breathe.
By 2018, we'd upgraded it with everything a crew like ours could dream of: a cracked but still-functional TV mounted to one wall, a bulky Xbox and PlayStation stacked beneath it, and a mini fridge humming softly in the corner, stocked with cold drinks that clinked whenever someone reached in. The glowing neon lights of a poster on the wall flickered faintly, a relic from the previous summer's lightning storm. This was our fortress a sacred place to escape when the weight of everything else pressed down too hard, or when the loneliness slithered in like an unwelcome guest.
We were inseparable, my friends and I a band of misfits united by shared secrets and reckless loyalty. Zack was the wild one, thirteen and fearless to a fault. He wore a faded black hoodie emblazoned with a skull and crossbones, sleeves rolled up to reveal scrapes and bruises that told their own stories. His purple skateboard, streaked with neon green flames, rested against the treehouse wall a badge of honor and envy. Zack lived for thrills, the kind that made your heart jackhammer in your chest. Once, he snuck out to Mark's house for a marathon of The Boys, Invincible, and South Park a forbidden binge that ended with him grounded for three months. The memory still made me grin, especially recalling how he'd tried to sneak snacks in, only to drop a bag of chips right on the floor. Classic Zack.
Mark, fourteen, was our gentle giant. Towering over us with his broad shoulders and easy smile, he had the kind of goofy charm that made girls swoon without trying. His worn denim jacket, decorated with patches from random bands and video games, hung loose on his frame, a perfect fit for his laid-back personality. He was strong freakishly strong, fast too, but what really set Mark apart was his brain. Obsessed with superheroes and politics, he had this strange combo of passion for justice and a sly sense of humor that could lighten the darkest moments.
Then there was Alex. The mastermind, the queen of the group, and, honestly, the one person who made me feel like I didn't just exist in the background. She was sharp as a tack, fiercely confident, and devastatingly beautiful. Her blonde hair caught the sunlight like threads of gold, falling in perfect waves just past her shoulders. Today, she wore a sleek black leather jacket zipped halfway over a graphic tee of some indie band I'd never heard of. Alex's silver tongue had won us pizza during class once a feat so legendary that we still teased our teacher about it. She had this way of looking at you, like she knew exactly what you were thinking and wasn't afraid to call your bluff.
And then there was me Connor. Probably the nerd of the group. I was the guy with the journal always tucked under my arm, the one who preferred books to brawls and words to noise. Sometimes, hanging out with Alex felt like walking a tightrope she was a storm I wanted to chase, but I wasn't sure if she even noticed me beyond the group. Honestly? My stomach flipped every time I thought about asking her to dance at the upcoming school dance. The thought both thrilled and terrified me.
The late afternoon sun filtered through the branches, casting dappled light across the room as Alex leaned forward, her blue eyes sharp and gleaming with competitive fire. She was trash-talking Zack and Mark during a heated game of Call of Duty, the glow of the TV screen reflecting in her eyes.
Woo! There we go, Alex! Kick Mark's ass! Zack cheered, his grin wide as he shifted on the beat-up beanbag chair, arms flailing like he was about to launch himself into the screen.
Mark's jaw clenched, his eyes glued to the screen, fingers twitching on the controller. Shut up, Zack! She won't beat me not a chance. His voice held that playful growl of a fighter who loved the game more than the win.
Alex laughed, a clear, ringing sound that bounced off the walls. You stayed up all night practicing, Mark? Your reaction time's gonna be slow.
Mark frowned, but the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth gave away the thrill. What? I trained for this moment!
Zack smirked, folding his arms. Yeah, and this moment's gonna be your screw-up.
Alex's grin widened as she clicked her final shot. Almost there... Done! Yes!
While the others bantered, I sat cross-legged on the floor, scribbling quietly in my journal. My pen hovered over the page, words forming slowly as my eyes darted to Alex. The way her blonde hair caught the last golden rays of the sun, the way her laughter filled the room, the confident curve of her chin it all mesmerized me. She was amazing at everything she did, always ready to challenge us, to push limits.
But underneath it all, I wrestled with a quiet, gnawing question: did I have the guts to ask her to dance next Friday? Just thinking about it made my stomach twist into knots.
A sudden crash from Zack, knocking over a soda can with a triumphant yell, pulled me back.
Come on, Connor! You're too quiet! You're supposed to be the brain here don't just sit and write! Zack teased, nudging me with a grin.
I smiled weakly, closing my journal but not quite ready to share what I'd written. Because this treehouse this fortress built with shaky hands and stubborn hearts was more than just a place to play. It was the only place I could really be myself. And deep down, I knew that the world beyond those branches was a lot darker than the laughter inside.
The shadows were always waiting.
April 3rd, 2026
Connor's Journal
The laughter softened into chuckles as Connor quietly shut his journal, the leather-bound cover making a faint thud against the wooden bench. He placed it gently at his side, his fingers lingering on it like it was a shield. Outside, the summer evening breathed warm through the open window, thick with humidity, the scent of wildflowers, and the distant hum of cicadas. Fireflies blinked lazily in the purple dusk.
Inside the treehouse, the glow of the TV flickered across their faces. On-screen, a chaotic firefight erupted in Call of Duty, the volume just a little too loud, bass rumbling through the wooden floor.
Zack twisted around from where he was half-sprawled across a beat-up beanbag, a can of soda cracked open in his hand. He slurped obnoxiously before tossing two cold cans toward Mark and Alex, who caught them with ease.
Connor, you good, dude? Zack asked, brows scrunching beneath his mop of curly black hair. You look kinda... I dunno off. Like, ghost-vibes off.
Connor didn't answer right away. His eyes stared forward, unfocused, jaw tight. His hoodie sleeves were tugged over his palms, fidgeting in a nervous rhythm.
Alex, now curled sideways in a folding chair, popped her soda open with a hiss and a subtle roll of her eyes. She tilted her head toward Connor. She didn't speak not yet but her gaze lingered. Curious. Soft, but sharp, like she was scanning him the way she used to scan test questions she didn't trust.
Mark leaned back on a pile of throw pillows, one foot propped on the wooden edge of the wall. His smile was crooked, lazy. "Yo! Maybe he got into my IWJ stash."
Alex's head whipped toward him. Oh, God. You mean that Inferno Workout Juice' crap? she scoffed. That's basically 350 milligrams of heart attack in a bottle.
Mark shrugged with mock pride, flexing both arms dramatically. Hell yeah, it is. Tastes like watermelon battery acid and makes you feel like Zeus on steroids.
Zack snorted, raising his soda like a toast. Yeah, and your heart's gonna explode by age twenty but hey, at least you'll die swole.
Mark winked. A glorious death. Better than living slow.
Alex raised an eyebrow, taking a sip with theatrical disgust. Y'all are idiots. Glorified idiots.
Connor's jaw clenched. His nails dug into his sleeves, a quiet tremble building in his hands. He stared at the TV screen without seeing it, hearing the banter twist around him, every word pressing in like static.
Zack elbowed Mark, then grinned over at Connor again. Yo, Earth to Connor. Still with us, man? Or did you astral-project into Sad Boi Land?
Connor didn't answer. His breath was shallow now. Alex's eyes narrowed slightly.
Mark chimed in, nudging Connor's foot with his own. Dude. Seriously. You alright?
Connor's lips barely moved. I'm fine.
Zack sat up a little straighter, tilting his head. You sure? Cause you're sitting there all stiff like someone just ran over your cat
Zack, Alex said flatly, cutting him off.
Zack raised his hands. "What? I'm just saying he looks like he's about to cry or something.
And then, the trigger snapped.
Connor stood abruptly, the bench creaking underneath him, his voice louder than it had been all night. Okay guys! Just... stop! I can't take it right now!
The sudden crack in his voice echoed through the treehouse like a glass shattering. His shoulders were heaving, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles blanched. For a second, everyone froze.
Zack blinked, taken aback. The hell?! What's with him?
Alex turne sharply toward him, glaring. Seriously, Zack? Maybe shut your damn mouth for once.
Zack frowned, confused. What'd I even say?!
Mark sat up, the grin gone from his face. Maybe one of us should check on him?
But Alex was already on her feet, tossing her soda aside and heading to the hatch. I'll go. Last thing he needs is two morons yelling in his ears.
Hey screw you! Zack called after her, but his voice lacked bite.
Mark just sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
Alex jogged down the ladder with practiced ease, her sneakers thudding softly against the wooden rungs. The tall grass swallowed her calves as she ran, wild clovers brushing against her legs, the summer air cooling just slightly as the sun dipped beneath the tree line.
She spotted Connor about twenty yards ahead, walking fast, hood up. The back of his sweatshirt was stained slightly from where he'd sat on the bench, dust clinging to the fabric. His head was low, hands jammed into his hoodie pockets like he was trying to disappear into himself.
Connor! Alex called, breath catching in her throat. Connor, wait up!
He didn't stop, but his shoulders twitched like the sound of her voice cut through his wall.
She caught up quickly, grabbing his arm gently to slow him. Her fingers gripped the fabric over his wrist, then slid up and pressed flat to his chest, just above his heart. It wasn't forceful but it stopped him. His breath caught.
Hey, she said softly, her voice suddenly far more delicate. Are you okay?
Connor looked away, lips tightening. The touch, the sincerity in her voice it all dug into something vulnerable.
I'm fine," he muttered. "Just want to go home.
Alex didn't buy it. Her hand lingered a second longer before sliding down and giving his arm a light squeeze. You're a crap liar, Connor.
He looked at her really looked for the first time. The fading golden light caught the edges of her hair like a halo, and her brows were pinched just slightly, eyes searching his. She wasn't judging. She wasn't mocking. She was there.
You don't have to tell me what's wrong, she said, a little softer, but I'd rather you not walk off alone like some moody vampire. Let me walk with you, yeah?
He swallowed. Heat bloomed across his cheeks....Sure. That'd be nice.
She smiled not her usual smirk, but a real one. Warm. She bumped his shoulder gently as they started down the path toward the street.
Can't let my cute friend wander off all broody and sad, she teased, glancing sideways with a slight raise of her eyebrow.
Connor's brain skipped.
Wait. Did she say cute? Did she just call me
His fingers twitched as he tried to play it cool, eyes darting to the sidewalk.
The neighborhood was quiet, the sound of cicadas filling the spaces between their footsteps. Lamp posts flickered to life one by one. The scent of freshly mowed grass and distant barbecue drifted faintly on the breeze.
Connor fidgeted with his hoodie string. So, uh... do you like heroes?
Alex rolled her eyes so hard it looked like it took effort. Ugh. Everyone's obsessed with them. Posters, merch, overpriced cereals... I don't get the hype. They fly around, throw trucks, and rake in billions. Like... whoop-de-do.
Connor blinked. I mean... I think they're kinda cool.
She gave him a sideways smirk, bumping her elbow lightly into his. That figures. You're a softie. Let me guess — you like the quiet, broody types with tragic backstories.
He chuckled nervously. I mean... maybe.
But you're better than that, she said. You've got that whole... thoughtful, artsy, mysterious thing going.
Connor flushed again. I guess.
Alex changed the subject with a grin. By the way... I saw your journal earlier. You hiding secret talents from me, huh?
He blinked. It's nothing just some sketches. Animals and stuff.
She extended a hand. Let me see. I won't tease. Promise.
Reluctantly, Connor handed over the journal.
She flipped through the pages slowly, her fingers brushing delicately against the inked outlines of wolves mid-howl, birds mid-flight, deer frozen in motion. Her eyes widened.
Connor... these are beautiful. Like, actually stunning.
He smiled shyly. Thanks. I usually draw at night. Helps me think.
Alex raised an eyebrow. Is that why you're always falling asleep in class?
He laughed. "Caught me.
You should teach me sometime, she said, nudging him with her hip. Bet I suck, but it'll be fun.
He looked down, trying not to grin like an idiot. Yeah... I'd like that.
They reached his doorstep. He paused, one foot on the step, the moment thick with a soft, quiet energy.
Thanks, Alex, he said. "For walking me home.
She stepped a little closer, eyes still on him. Of course. Anytime.
Her hand brushed his arm one last time, warm and light, then dropped away as she turned and jogged off down the street.
Connor watched her go, heart pounding, a quiet smile playing on his lips.
See ya, Alex, he whispered.
...I'll miss you.
Scene 2
The forest always looked different at night. By day, it was just trees tall and ordinary, with scattered birdsong and patches of sun. But now, the world had gone quiet. The kind of quiet that wasn't peaceful... the kind that listened.
Alex walked slowly, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her black hoodie, her eyes locked on the winding dirt trail ahead. Dry leaves crunched beneath her sneakers, and every sound every twig snap, every rustle made her stomach coil.
Her house was maybe half a mile deeper in. No streetlamps. No neighbors. Just her, the darkness, and the thing waiting at the end.
She knew what was coming.
You're late.
Thirty-two minutes, to be exact.
She had checked the time four times on the way back, like somehow knowing the number would soften the blow.
It wouldn't.
Her fists clenched inside her pockets. She tried to breathe slow, quiet. But her chest was already tightening. That familiar pressure. Like something squeezing her ribs from the inside.
She passed the old rusted truck in the woods, half-buried in moss. Her dad used to say it was from before she was born. Sometimes he said it was from the war. Sometimes he said it was haunted. The truth changed depending on how drunk he was.
The lights of the house peeked through the trees now flickering yellow through cracked blinds. The windows glared like eyes. The porch light was out, again. Of course it was.
She stopped at the edge of the tree line.
Her legs didn't want to move.
Just leave. Just turn around. Go back to Connor's. Go anywhere. Just go.
But she didn't move.
Because she knew what happened when she didn't come home at all.
If you run, he'll find you. And if he doesn't, he'll find her.
Alex closed her eyes. The breath she took in shook all the way down to her gut.
Then she stepped forward.
The front steps creaked under her weight as she climbed them slowly, like a soldier approaching the mouth of a cave. The air smelled like old beer and mold. A broken wind chime above the door clinked once, then fell still.
She reached for the doorknob.
Her hand trembled.
Inhale. Exhale. Smile. Walk in. Don't cry. Don't look weak. Don't say anything stupid.
She turned the handle and pushed the door open.
The smell hit her first bitter alcohol, stale smoke, and something metallic beneath it.
The living room looked like a storm had passed through. Torn clothes were strewn across the floor. One of the couch cushions had been shredded open the foam guts spilling out like something wounded. The coffee table was flipped. Beer bottles were everywhere. The TV was on, playing static white snow humming like the sound in her head when she was about to black out.
Glass crunched under her foot.
She froze.
From deeper in the house... came the sound of fists. Slow. Heavy. Wet.
No.
She knew that sound. She'd heard it too many times.
The hits stopped.
Then silence.
Then
ALEX!
His voice shattered the stillness like a gunshot. The house vibrated with it.
She flinched. Her whole body flinched.
His footsteps pounded down the hallway. Fast. Heavy.
He came into view.
Her father six-foot-something and built like a truck that had been left to rust stood there with bloodied knuckles and a twisted face, somewhere between human and animal. His eyes were wild, mouth curled into a sneer. His chest heaved under his grease-stained undershirt, and his boots left smears of something dark across the floor as he stepped forward.
Care to explain why you're so fucking late?!
Alex tried to speak, but her throat locked. Her eyes flicked behind him and that's when she saw her mother.
Crushed against the hallway wall, like something discarded. Her blouse was torn. Her lip was split. Her face swollen and already bruising. One of her eyes was shut entirely, the skin around it purple-black. Blood was matting her hair. She moved just barely. Her lips parted.
...Alex...
Her voice was like paper tearing. "Get help... I
She collapsed.
Alex's chest seized. Her heart felt like it was tearing through her ribs.
Dad! Stop! she screamed, voice cracking. Why did you why did you hurt her?!
He laughed.
Not a normal laugh.
A choking, slurring, mocking sound that didn't belong in any normal man's mouth.
He took a step toward her. His boots crushed a bottle, shattering it beneath him.
I beat her because you were fucking late, you little bitch!
Then he grabbed the nearest bottle from the table and hurled it across the room. It missed her head by inches and exploded behind her on the wall.
She ducked and gasped, ears ringing, arms raised instinctively.
Then he was right in front of her.
Close enough to smell the rot in his breath. Old beer. Cigarettes. Something worse.
He grabbed her shirt with one hand and yanked her forward until their faces were inches apart.
Listen close, you little cunt, he growled, voice low and shaking. You ever tell anyone your little boyfriend, your school, your teachers and I swear to God I'll fucking kill everyone you care about.
He spat the last word in her face.
Her legs trembled. Her hands stayed limp at her sides. She couldn't move.
She wanted to scream. To claw his eyes out. To do something.
But she didn't.
Because she remembered what happened the last time she did.
I... I'm sorry, she whispered.
His face twisted further. What was that?!
He shoved her back so hard she slammed against the wall her spine cracking against the wood.
THUD.
Pain exploded in her side. Her vision doubled. She tasted blood.
Don't try to talk back, you little shit! he screamed. His spit hit her cheek. You hear me?!
Alex nodded, blinking through tears.
I didn't hear you!
Y-yes! I... I hear you...
Her voice broke into a sob before she could stop it. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. Anything to stay silent. Anything to keep him from getting worse.
He turned away from her, still fuming, kicking through bottles and yelling at no one.
God damn it! Where's the rest of the fucking beer?!
She slid down the wall. Slowly. Quietly.
Her knees hit the floor. Her hands shook in her lap.
She stared at her mother's unmoving body. Her chest rose faint. Still alive. But not by much.
Alex stayed there, curled in the corner like a ghost in her own home.
And in her head, just one thought echoed like a bell:
Next time, I won't be late.
The bedroom door clicked shut behind her with a whisper. Not a slam. Not even a creak. Just... closed. Like she was afraid the sound alone might set him off again.
Alex stood there for a long moment, still as a shadow. Her breath came in quick, shallow bursts. Her hoodie clung to her body, damp with sweat and fear. Her side ached from where he'd thrown her a deep, blooming pain that pulsed with every breath.
The silence in the room was deafening. But not safe.
She moved slowly. Mechanical. Like a puppet.
Every step toward her bed sent a jolt of pain up her ribs. She didn't even take her shoes off. She just dropped onto the mattress like gravity had yanked her down harder than it should have.
Then, the shaking started.
Her hands first. Then her legs. Her shoulders.
And then the tears came.
No screaming. No sobs at first. Just quiet, broken sounds like something in her chest was unraveling.
Her body curled in on itself, fetal and fragile, as her face buried into the pillow. The scent of her own shampoo strawberries and vanilla clashed horribly with the scent of beer still clinging to her skin.
The tears turned to sobs. Quiet at first. Then louder. Ugly. Raw.
Her fingers dug into the pillow, clutching it like a lifeline as her whole body convulsed.
And then
FLASH.
The memory struck like lightning.
Her father's fist.
The thud of her mother hitting the wall.
The snap of a belt.
His roar.
The way his spit hit her face.
The sound of the bottle shattering behind her head.
That grin.
That grin.
I'll kill everyone you love.
Alex gasped, hand flying to her mouth like she could hold it all in the sobs, the memory, the shame.
She couldn't.
Her knees pressed into her chest. Her shoulders quaked.
The shaking wouldn't stop.
She dug her nails into her arm. Just a little. Just enough to ground herself. Just enough to remember that this this room was hers. Not his.
The crying continued. Not loud. Just endless.
And through it all, one silent scream echoed inside her:
I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I want out.
At some point, the crying stopped.
She didn't know when.
Only that the room had fallen into a hollow kind of quiet — the kind that feels like floating underwater, far from everything.
Alex lay still on the floor, the sting from her father's throw still pulsing through her shoulder. The ache throbbed like a heartbeat, but it felt distant now, like her body belonged to someone else.
Her breathing slowed.
Her eyes glazed over.
And then...
The room faded.
Warmth.
Gentle orange light flickered across wooden walls. She sat at a long, polished dinner table, her legs swinging slightly under her chair. A cozy fire crackled in a stone fireplace behind her, casting playful shadows across the floor.
Her mother not broken, not bleeding stood by the table with a smile. Her hair was brushed, her eyes bright, her voice soft.
Dinner's ready, sweetheart.
She placed a bowl of steaming mashed potatoes down, followed by green beans and baked chicken, laughing as Zack tried to sneak a roll before the prayer.
At the head of the table, her father not the monster, but a version from some other universe joked about how terrible her math teacher must be, nudging Mark as they laughed.
Connor sat beside her. Calm. His brown eyes full of warmth. He passed her the gravy boat with a grin, his fingers brushing hers just a little longer than they needed to.
She smiled. Not forced. Not fake. Just... real.
For once, her shoulders didn't feel heavy. Her hands didn't shake. Her ribs didn't ache.
The room filled with laughter.
Peace.
Belonging.
Family.
Her eyes shimmered as she looked around. No broken glass. No bruises. No yelling. Just a safe place. Her place.
But then
The fire behind her began to hiss.
Then crackle.
Then roar.
The warmth turned sharp. Hot. Angry.
The walls flickered. The laughter faded.
A shadow stretched across the table. A bottle shattered somewhere in the distance.
ALEX!
The dream snapped like glass under a boot.
Her father's voice screaming from the doorway of the vision, his figure flickering like a devil slipping between worlds.
His face contorted with rage, his knuckles red again.
Don't fucking ignore me!
She turned, heart racing.
But the dinner table was gone.
Connor. Her mom. Everyone gone.
Just fire.
And him.
Reality.
Alex jerked awake with a sharp inhale, her whole body rigid under the covers. Her cheek was damp not just with tears, but with sweat. Her arms clutched her knees against her chest. She trembled.
The dream was gone.
Only the room remained.
Cracks in the ceiling. Shadows in the corners. The faint sound of a can rolling across the hallway.
She curled tighter beneath her blanket, clutching the edge like a child afraid of the dark.
But the dark wasn't the problem.
Her whisper cracked the silence:
I just want to be somewhere else...
Her voice was barely audible.
But in that moment, it was the truest thing she had ever said.
Scene 3
The cold metal of Alex's locker slammed shut with a dull clang that echoed down the nearly empty hallway. Inside, battered notebooks lay stacked crookedly, their edges torn and worn, like the remnants of the fragile pieces of Alex's life. Faded photos peeked out: her mom's warm smile frozen in time, her dad's blurred, harsh face.
Alex's fingers trembled as she shifted her heavy backpack on her shoulder. Her breath caught, a quiet sob threatening to escape. The ache in her ribs throbbed from last night's nightmare, but she forced herself to stand tall, chest tight with exhaustion.
High heels clicked sharply on the linoleum floor.
Amanda appeared, an ice queen in a varsity jacket, her short skirt swinging confidently. Her blonde hair spilled over her shoulders in perfect waves. Flanking her were Emily and Rachel — two ruthless shadows, their eyes cold and cruel, smirks playing on their lips.
Amanda's grin was a razor blade.
Well, well, well, look who's still limping around like a broken doll, Amanda sneered, eyes glinting. How's it feel to be the school's favorite punching bag?
Emily laughed, voice sharp as broken glass.
Seriously, Alex, do you ever think about quitting? Or is it just your hobby to get your ass kicked?
Rachel snorted.
You probably get more bruises than compliments.
Alex's hands clenched at her sides, knuckles white. She kept her voice low but steady.
I'm not scared of you.
Amanda's smirk deepened, slow and mocking.
Oh, honey, it's not about being scared. It's about knowing you're worthless. And that I'm the hottest, strongest bitch in this entire school. You're just... the background noise nobody cares about.
Emily pushed forward, twirling a strand of hair.
Bet your parents don't even notice when you come home crying.
Rachel nodded, eyes flashing.
Maybe you should just disappear. Save us the trouble.
Alex swallowed the lump in her throat but stayed quiet. Her body was aching physically and emotionally drained. She raised her fists weakly, more out of habit than hope.
Amanda's eyes narrowed, voice cold and slow.
Talk back one more time, mouse. Just one.
Alex barely breathed out.
Leave me alone.
Amanda's grin turned vicious.
Wrong answer.
With a sudden shove, Amanda slammed Alex hard against the lockers. The metal clang thundered through the hall. Amanda's hands gripped Alex's shoulders like iron.
Say something worth hearing.
Alex shook her head, voice cracking.
Please... just leave me alone.
Amanda laughed cruelly.
Jesus, you're pathetic.
Emily stepped in, voice dripping venom.
Tell me, do you cry yourself to sleep? Or just when no one's looking?
Rachel smirked.
Probably both.
Amanda leaned in close enough for Alex to smell the sharp scent of cherry lip gloss mixed with sweat.
I'm going to teach you what happens when you don't know your place.
Before Alex could brace herself, Amanda's fist shot out with the speed of a striking snake. It caught Alex's ribs with a sickening crack. The breath exploded from Alex's lungs in a harsh, painful gasp.
Emily laughed.
That's gotta hurt.
Rachel kicked Alex's thigh hard, making her stagger.
Amanda circled her prey, eyes glittering.
You think you can survive me? You're a joke. And I'm the punchline.
Alex's teeth clenched, fighting back tears and pain. She tried to stay steady, fists twitching, but the weight of years of bullying and exhaustion was crushing.
Amanda slammed her palm into Alex's jaw, the impact snapping her head sideways. Another vicious kick tore into her thigh.
Emily and Rachel mocked her every move, shouting insults and laughing.
Alex collapsed to the floor, clutching her side, tears sliding silently down her cheeks.
Down the hall, Zack leaned lazily against his locker, tossing a water bottle up and down, a smirk on his face.
Dude, did you see that video? Inferno fucking lifted a skyscraper yesterday.
Mark shook his head in awe.
No way. That's insane. Like, superhuman.
Connor barely smiled. His gaze was fixed down the corridor.
Then, a scream raw and piercing cut through the school noise.
Fuck.
Connor's muscles tensed. He peeked around the corner.
Alex on the ground, curled tight and vulnerable.
Amanda standing over her, flanked by Emily and Rachel, who both laughed and taunted.
Zack's grin faded.
Holy shit, what the hell is that?
Mark's hands clenched into fists.
We can't just stand here.
Connor's jaw tightened.
I'm going in.
Zack hesitated.
Wait, Connor this could get ugly. She's got those two with her.
Mark nodded.
Amanda's trained in Krav Maga and Kung Fu. This ain't some playground fight.
Connor's eyes burned with determination.
Alex is hurt. She needs us.
Zack groaned.
Fine. But if we get our asses kicked, don't say I didn't warn you.
Mark cracked his knuckles.
Let's go.
Connor sprinted forward, landing a heavy punch on Amanda's jaw. The sharp crack echoed.
Amanda staggered, blood bubbling at her lip.
You little shit, she snarled, wiping the blood away.
Before Connor could react, Amanda struck back. Her fists moved like lightning a brutal uppercut slammed into Connor's ribs, knocking the wind out of him. He doubled over, gasping.
Amanda followed with a knee to his gut.
Mark yelled as he charged in.
Get off him, Amanda!
Mark tackled Amanda, wrestling her to the floor. The struggle was raw punches flew, skin scraped, and blood spilled.
Amanda twisted fiercely, landing a crushing elbow on Mark's shoulder.
Zack jumped in, wild punches flying.
Amanda dodged, spinning and landing a savage kick to Zack's chest.
The crowd roared around them wsome cheering, some horrified.
Alex tried to crawl away, clutching her side, but Amanda kicked her knee. Alex cried out quietly, tears falling freely.
The shouting stopped suddenly.
What the hell is going on here?!
A teacher pushed through, eyes blazing.
He grabbed Mark roughly.
You, nurse's office. Zack, principal's office. Now.
Mark gasped, frustration and pain in his eyes.
Zack gave Connor a quick nod and followed.
The hallway fell silent.
Alex lay curled against the wall, battered and broken.
Connor dropped beside her, voice soft, trembling.
Alex? Please... say something. Are you okay?
Her face was a canvas of pain and tears, smeared with blood.
I... I'm... I'm okay...
Connor shook his head, anger and worry in his eyes.
No, you're not.
She looked at him, voice barely a whisper.
Please... just don't leave me. Can you... take care of me?
Connor's chest tightened, eyes burning.
I swear to you, I'll protect you. I'm not letting this happen again.
He carefully lifted her into his arms, steady and gentle.
Her voice was soft.
Thank you, Connor.
He held her close as they walked away from the nightmare the hallway, the bullies, the pain far behind them.
The principal's office felt like a cold trap, the silence pressing down heavier than it should. The steady ticking of the wall clock was unnervingly loud, each second dragging like a countdown to doom.
Principal Sims sat behind her polished oak desk, her posture rigid, shoulders squared like a soldier standing guard. Her graying curls were pulled back tightly into a no-nonsense bun, streaks of silver catching the harsh fluorescent light. She wore a deep red blazer that contrasted sharply with the sterile cream walls, the fabric crisp and unyielding, just like her.
Her sharp eyes flicked between Zack and Mark, two boys slumped awkwardly in the visitor chairs, their youthful faces pale with nerves.
Miss Sims's voice cut through the silence, smooth and cold.
So... this is the ninth time you two have been called to my office this month.
She folded her hands on the desk, knuckles white, jaw clenched like she was biting back years of frustration.
Without waiting for an answer, she rose, her heels clicking deliberately on the tiled floor as she crossed to the window. The blinds were half-closed, filtering the sunlight into harsh strips that fell across her blazer and the room in sharp, cold lines.
Her back was to the boys as she spoke, voice steady and sharp.
Let's be honest here. What the hell is going on with you two?
Zack shifted uneasily, his fingers fiddling with the edge of his ripped jeans. He slouched further, attempting a casual tone, but the tension twisted his features.
Uh... Miss Sims, it's not really like that
Don't." Her voice rose, slicing through him like a blade. "No ifs, no buts. I've heard enough excuses this month.
She spun around, eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and disappointment. The air in the room thickened with the weight of her stare.
First it was the Play-Doh prank. Then that slime stunt in the science lab. And now you're involved in an assault?
Mark's eyes darted nervously between Zack and the principal. His voice came out quick and defensive.
We weren't just involved. We stepped in someone was hurting Alex.
Miss Sims cut him off, raising a firm hand.
I don't want to hear explanations or justifications. You're teenagers, not toddlers. You need to take responsibility."
She lowered herself back into her chair slowly, as if the weight of their actions had drained her energy. Her face softened for a moment a flicker of tired hope but it was quickly replaced by stern disappointment.
I thought you were growing up. I really did.
Zack opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again, swallowed by the oppressive atmosphere.
Miss Sims reached for the phone on her desk. Her fingers danced over the buttons with mechanical precision.
Mark, your mother is coming in.
The phone crackled, and a weary female voice answered.
Hello? Is this about Mark again?
Yes, Miss Sims replied flatly. He assaulted another student today. Tackled him and threw punches. A teacher broke it up before it escalated.
There was a long pause.
Mark's mother's voice cracked, furious and exhausted.
Mark Joseph Donovan! What the hell is wrong with you? You're grounded. I'm on my way right now. You're in so much trouble.
The call ended with a sharp click.
Miss Sims stared at Mark, her expression unreadable but heavy.
Then her gaze shifted to Zack.
Your mother?
Zack's body tensed, his gaze dropping to the floor. His voice came out quiet, almost hollow.
I don't have one. She left a month ago.
Mark leaned in, voice low and shocked.
Wait, what? You never told me.
Miss Sims's eyes narrowed, voice cold and precise.
Mark. No more talking.
She turned her gaze back to Zack.
Your father?
Zack shrugged, barely able to meet her eyes.
He's a cop. Mostly night shifts.
Miss Sims sighed deeply, rubbing the bridge of her nose.
So who's your legal guardian?
My sister, Ellie," Zack muttered, barely audible.
Miss Sims's expression softened briefly, a hint of recognition in her eyes.
Ellie Martin? I had her in class years ago — one of my best students. I didn't know she was your sister.
Zack's voice cracked with a mixture of relief and frustration.
Yeah... she's all I've got.
Language, Mr. Martin!" Miss Sims snapped, straightening.
She picked up the office intercom and pressed the button firmly.
Yes, could you contact Principal Howard at Central High? Let him know Ellie Martin needs to come pick up her brother immediately.
She hung up and folded her arms, leaning back slightly with a sigh.
Mark whispered to Zack, the tension thick between them.
So, uh... we're fucked, huh?
Zack grit his teeth, anger simmering beneath his calm exterior.
Yeah. And none of this is my fault.
Miss Sims's gaze hardened.
Well, fault or not, it's your problem now.
The clock ticked louder, the silence settling in again as the weight of their futures hung heavy in the air.
Scene 4
The front door creaked on its weary hinges as Connor pushed it open, the faint groan echoing softly in the quiet house. The air was thick with the faint scent of pine cleaner and old paper, a strange mix of sterile and nostalgic. The place was spotless—too spotless—but tables and countertops groaned beneath uneven towers of unopened mail, scattered papers rustling underfoot like dead leaves in a forgotten forest.
Cradling Alex gently in his arms, Connor moved quickly but carefully, navigating the narrow staircase down to the basement. The temperature dropped as they descended, cool shadows pooling in the corners. The faint glow of a small desk lamp spilled over a worn mattress crammed beneath a sagging blanket fort—bedsheets draped over broomsticks, still holding onto the magic of childhood summers long past.
Connor's breath caught as he carefully lowered Alex onto the mattress, smoothing a soft, faded pillow beneath her bruised head. He pulled the familiar flannel blanket up over her trembling shoulders—the same one that smelled faintly of dryer sheets and distant memories of simpler, happier days.
His hands trembled slightly as they hovered over her, tracing the angry purple bruises blooming on her cheek, the swelling that puckered her ribs, the dark dried blood crusted along her temple. A knot twisted deep in his chest, squeezing tight with helpless fury.
His voice was barely more than a whisper, rough and uncertain.
Do you... want anything? Water? Food? I—I can grab my mom's first aid kit... whatever you need."
A fragile, almost surprised giggle slipped past Alex's cracked lips. Her tired eyes fluttered open, the exhaustion swimming in their depths, but beneath it all, a flicker of warmth and softness that made Connor's throat tighten.
She reached out, fingers light as feathers, and brushed her hand against his arm.
I just want you right here, she murmured. Can you... just lay with me?
Connor's heart hammered so loudly he feared she might hear it. His brain spun with disbelief.
Me? Here, with her?
He swallowed hard, voice shaky.
A-Are you sure? I mean, I could still get the bandages, or maybe...
Her soft laughter cut him off, quiet, tender, and somehow brave.
You're adorable when you're scared, she teased, tracing lazy, soothing circles on his arm with her fingertips. Just be here, okay? We'll fix me up later.
He looked at her, really looked at her golden hair like soft strands of sunlight framing her bruised, beautiful face. Even in pain, her blue eyes held stars, and the weight of everything they'd both been through.
Slowly, he nodded.
Without a word, he shifted awkwardly, settling beside her, arms resting stiffly at his sides, staring up at the rough wooden planks overhead. The glow-in-the-dark stars stuck there since he was eight still shimmered faintly, casting soft ghostly shapes in the dim light.
Then, almost imperceptibly, he felt her shift closer.
Her head tucked beneath his chin, hands resting lightly on his chest. Her breath was soft, steady—barely a whisper in the quiet room.
What you did back there... she said, voice cracking. It was brave. Thank you.
Her eyes fluttered closed, exhaustion finally pulling her under.
Connor stayed still long after she'd fallen asleep, heart aching and mind racing.
He reached up gently, brushing a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. It felt impossibly soft, fragile as the moment itself. His hand trembled as it traced the edges of her bruises, featherlight and reverent.
Rest easy, Alex, he whispered. You're safe now.
In the quiet sanctuary of that battered basement, with the ghosts of childhood lingering and the outside world held at bay, Connor vowed to protect her, no matter what it took.
The front door creaked open with a tired groan, and Ryan stepped aside, holding it wide as Lydia shuffled inside. Her shoulders slumped under an invisible weight, every step slow and heavy like she was carrying the world on her back. Her eyes, rimmed red and clouded with exhaustion, flickered up for a brief moment, and a faint, grateful smile cracked through the fatigue.
Thanks for picking me up, Ryan, she murmured, voice rough and raw. I don't know what I'd do without you.
She sagged onto the threadbare couch with a long sigh, hands instinctively reaching out to the cluttered desk nearby. Bills, old letters, and official documents lay scattered like forgotten promises, their stark edges mirroring the sharp ache inside her chest. The room smelled faintly of stale coffee and worn fabric, a comforting yet heavy scent that clung to the air.
Ryan shifted his weight, a small, sympathetic grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, though his eyes stayed serious and watchful.
Don't worry about it. I'm just doing what's right, he said quietly.
Lydia let out a bitter chuckle, low and tired. God, you're stubborn. That's probably why I like you. She glanced away, biting her lip, a hint of shame shadowing her expression.
Ryan moved closer, his fingers curling around a crumpled piece of paper he'd picked up from the desk. The soft rustle punctuated the silence.
So... your dad was a U.S. Senator? His voice was steady but gentle, searching for an opening.
Her smile vanished like a candle blown out by a sudden gust. Lydia's fingers snapped out, snatching the paper away and dropping it onto the floor with a harsh rustle.
That's... classified, Ryan, she whispered, eyes darting to the window as if the shadows outside might hear. You... you should leave. Her voice cracked under the weight of old pain and buried secrets.
Ryan didn't move. He stayed rooted, watching her closely, heart aching for the fortress she'd built around herself.
Lydia... you've been hiding this for a long time, he said softly. Maybe it's time to be honest with me, and with yourself.
She swallowed hard, the tremor in her voice betraying her fierce hold on control. I... I don't know, okay? Please, just leave me alone. Not now. Not with you.
Ryan's brow furrowed, confusion and concern twisting his face. "One second you're smiling, the next you're pushing me away. Lydia... if you'll just listen—"
Her eyes flared suddenly, cheeks flushed with frustration and pain. She rose abruptly, knocking the scattered papers off the desk in a chaotic cascade.
Don't you get it? she snapped, voice raw and fierce. I'm drowning here, Ryan! I have to pay the bills since Mom's gone, go to school, look after my brother, cook dinner, sign endless papers, juggle a job I'm fucking breaking, and I can't... I just can't do this!
Ryan's breath caught. He reached out cautiously, resting a warm hand on her shaking shoulder.
It's okay, he murmured. I'm here for you. Always.
Her defenses wavered. With a shuddering breath, she leaned into him, wrapping her arms tight around his waist. Her voice cracked as she whispered, I'm so sorry, Ryan. I just... I just...
Tears spilled down her cheeks, hot and unrelenting.
Ryan's hand moved in slow circles on her back, a steady anchor in the storm of her pain. He sighed, a mixture of sorrow and fierce resolve in his chest.
Hey... shhh. It's alright. I've got you. What do you need right now?
She wiped at her face with trembling hands, glancing up with hesitant hope.
Maybe... can you drive me to see my mom?
Ryan hesitated, concern darkening his gaze.
Are you sure? It's been months since you saw her.
Her eyes hardened with quiet determination.
Let's go. It's the only way. She swept up the scattered papers, holding them tightly like a shield. I need to know the truth about my dad. But Ryan if we go down this road, there's no turning back.
Ryan nodded slowly, a solemn promise in his eyes as he opened the door for her.
Then so be it. Wherever this leads, I won't leave your side.
Together they stepped out, the weight of the past hanging between them, but also the fragile hope of what might come next. Ryan's hand found her back once more, a silent vow of strength for the uncertain journey ahead.