… Elias Mercer
Winslow High… if hell had a branch office, this would be it.
This place was a prison made of concrete and boredom, disguised as a public school. The exact kind of place that takes whatever scraps of hope you still have and squeezes them dry… which usually happens within the first fifteen minutes of your first day.
The hallways had that signature smell of dampness mixed with expired cleaning products. The walls sat somewhere between depressing yellow and awkward ochre, decorated with faded motivational posters and half-scrubbed graffiti.
In the corner of the main staircase, someone's dried puke was still there, fossilized like part of the school's historical heritage.
Winslow High was the perfect place for anyone who wanted to lose the will to live before turning eighteen.
Like I said… hell itself.
But despite all that… there I was.
Because the American education system firmly believes that learning trigonometry and wars they swear they won is more important than… I don't know… not getting stabbed during lunch break.
My hood was down and my headphones were off, just to avoid a lecture from the teacher, while I took my usual seat in the corner of the classroom.
Strategically far enough from the loud mouths and close enough to the window to fantasize about an explosion coming down from the sky.
'Everything would be easier if I could just drop a meteor or two on this city…'
Unfortunately, that wasn't a power I had.
But ignoring my thoughts, our current class was history, and today's topic was… World War II.
The irony almost made me laugh.
Our teacher, a short woman with bulging eyes who tried to hide her exhaustion behind massive doses of forced optimism, was giving a morbidly enthusiastic speech about how the Allies defeated Nazism.
I rested my chin on my hand, staring forward without really seeing anything.
'Cool… but does she know they're still walking around Brockton Bay? Puffing their chests out with swastika tattoos and recycled Third Reich speeches?'
She probably does, but pretends she doesn't… just like everyone else here.
'It'd be funny if it wasn't so pathetic…'
When the bell rang, it was like someone had granted a sliver of hope to a pig being dragged to the slaughterhouse.
That sharp triiing signaling another round of social survival.
I grabbed my beat-up book, shoved my broken pen into my pocket, and got up along with the rest of the herd being pushed into the hallways.
I was already set on walking straight past and sticking to my routine… but fate seemed to have other plans for me.
And those plans came with lip gloss, fake giggles, and the sickening smell of cheap teenage perfume.
'The Triumvirate of Falsehood…' I don't remember who came up with that name, but I'd say it fits pretty damn well.
They were Emma Barnes, Madison Clements, and Sophia Hess.
Three natural forces of Winslow High, born and presented in different flavors of cruelty.
Emma was the redhead with cold eyes and a practiced smile, basically a sociopath-influencer who treated manipulation like performance art.
Madison was the third wheel, also known as the follower. The type who laughed easily, but never because she actually found anything funny, but rather because they needed to laugh… like her entire existence depended on it.
And then there was Sophia, a walking wall of tension. A somewhat athletic girl who always had her fists shoved into her pockets like she was one second away from snapping.
Basically the human version of a poorly trained pit bull with a chronic urge to punch someone, as I liked to think.
They were leaning against the lockers like they owned the school. Which, to be fair, they probably did on the social level of this local ecosystem.
I'd normally walk right past them, but the world is cruel and today, it wanted a show.
"Look who finally crawled out of his cave," Emma said, her voice way too sweet to be honest. "Let me guess… looking for a spot for another quiet funeral, Elias?"
I stopped mid-step. 'She… just made a joke about my mom's funeral?'
I sighed, like someone gearing up to brush their teeth with crushed glass, and slowly turned my head to look her straight in the eyes.
"Emma…" I said, catching that hint of amusement in her gaze. "…still practicing to see if one day you can be cruel enough to make up for your complete lack of personality?"
She blinked, and her smile flickered for a brief second. Madison let out that classic muffled "damn", but quickly covered her mouth.
"What's wrong, Mercer? You trying to get attention?" Sophia stepped forward, pushing herself off the locker.
Her voice was low, loaded with that constant aggression. Always ready to escalate anything into violence.
Yeah… really like a badly trained pit bull, just like I said.
"Attention? Nah~" I shrugged. "It's just funny watching snakes crawl out of their holes thinking they're lions."
Emma narrowed her eyes. Madison crossed her arms, trying to look bigger than she was, and Sophia took another step forward.
"Watch what you say," she growled.
"Why? You gonna bite me?" a faint smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. "Oh, right… I forgot that in your zoo, threats are just basic form of communication."
She stepped closer until the space between us was measured in millimeters. The smell of cheap perfume mixed with the anger leaking out of her pores hit me head-on.
"Keep talking like that and you're gonna end up with your face smashed into a locker," she said, eyes narrowed.
I leaned in just a little and asked, my voice as dry as Mr. Gladly's jokes, "Is it just gonna be you?"
She frowned. "The fuck is that supposed to mean?"
"I mean…" I tilted my head slightly, staring straight into her eyes, "…last time you tried something, you walked away with a dislocated shoulder, and Emma had to drag you down the hallway while Madison cried harder than the public education budget."
I saw Madison's mouth drop open in outrage, and Emma cross her arms like she was trying to shrink in on herself.
Sophia growled… again. "You got lucky that day."
"Lucky?" I repeated, letting out a short laugh. "Sophia… I grew up in Brockton Bay. Around here, knowing how to take down a grown man with a knife isn't a talent, it's basic literacy."
"You're not special," I added, looking her up and down. "Honestly… you barely qualify as a warm-up."
Sophia clenched her teeth and stepped closer, but didn't attack. Because we both knew exactly how that would end if she did.
I might've gotten my power recently… but that doesn't mean I didn't have ways to defend myself before.
Hell… this is Brockton Bay! Learning self-defense is the bare minimum!
Sophia knew that too, and it didn't look like she wanted to relive the experience of the weirdo throwing off her balance and slamming her to the ground in two seconds.
"You think you're real smart, huh?" she tried again, her voice going harder.
"No…" I shook my head, "I'm just tired and not in the mood to deal with your little cruelty theater."
"Enough," Emma cut in, grabbing Sophia's arm. "Let's go. This asshole isn't worth it."
'Damage control, huh…' Looks like Emma didn't like the attention they were drawing this time.
"Yeah," I said, already walking again. "Listen to the emotionally unstable redhead. It's the smartest advice you'll hear today."
I walked past them without slowing down. They watched me go, but none of them followed.
Of course they didn't, since unlike the other students, I didn't pretend the world was fair enough to deserve any kind of morality. So there was nothing stopping my fists from answering violence with more violence.
...
At Winslow High, routine smelled like a suffocating mix of teenage sweat, cleaning products diluted until they turned into dirty water, and desperation.
But that's just the surface layer of this hell. What comes right behind it, if you pay attention, is worse.
It's the smell of fear.
The kind of fear that gets processed daily, that builds up in hallways where nobody speaks too loudly and in bathrooms where nobody asks any questions.
Today, that smell was stronger… and it was coming from the girls' bathroom hallway.
The bell had already rung, releasing the horde of uniform-wearing zombies shambling toward their next classes.
I took my usual alternate route along the edges of the school, away from the crowd.
That's when I turned the corner and saw Taylor Hebert walking out of the bathroom like a ghost.
Her curly hair was stuck to her forehead, completely wet. Her shoulders were hunched, and her walk…
I sighed, pulling my hood down. I leaned against the wall like someone who'd done this way too many times.
Yeah… not the first time, and probably not the last.
When she passed by me, I spoke without raising my voice.
"I was wondering what today's humiliation was gonna be," my voice came out drier than I expected. "Water on your head? Toothpaste in your books? Or was it more subtle? Or did they decide to get extra cruel?"
Taylor stopped and slowly turned her head, her deep, tired eyes locking onto mine.
I knew that look… because it was a poorly polished mirror of my own.
Just like me, Taylor was another reflection of Brockton Bay. Another soul being drowned in installments of suffering.
The difference between us was that she still hadn't learned how to hit back.
"None of your business," she replied, almost emotionless.
"Fair enough," I said, continuing anyway, even thinking maybe I had some part in this this time. "Wasn't my business last week either when you walked into class looking like a bucket of paint tried to teach you abstract art, but I still commented, right?"
She frowned before speaking. "What do you want, huh? From your high-and-mighty view… you think you understand all of us, Elias?"
"I never claimed that, Taylor," I answered, holding her gaze. "I just judge based on what I see… and what I'm seeing is pretty damn bad."
Taylor looked away, of course. She had sharp comebacks, but she could never hold a confrontation for long.
But this time, there was no one else around except the two of us… and the subtle hum of the old heater trying to justify its ridiculously inflated cost.
Zzzzzzz.
I cut off my thoughts when I heard that tone buzzing in my ear.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
It was almost imperceptible, but after getting Boogie Woogie, my brain had changed and started processing the environment like a stage filled with possibilities.
And right then, the possibilities forming around Taylor weren't just a vague feeling.
'Insects…?'
And not the kind of amount you'd expect from a public school with overflowing trash cans and shitty maintenance. It felt like there were hundreds of them… but I didn't say anything.
Because in Brockton Bay, even asking questions can get you killed.
And what if I was right? If this was the manifestation of what I thought it was?
Exposing a Cape is the same as stepping into a minefield blindfolded. Especially when the person in question has more than enough reasons to hate everything… including every inch of their own existence.
"Look, Taylor…" I continued, like nothing had changed. "You can do whatever the hell you want with your life. You wanna keep being the personal doormat for the rich bitch and the rabid pit bull? Fine, that's on you."
Taylor stared at me for a few long seconds, but I didn't flinch.
"But let me tell you what's worse than being humiliated every day," I paused to breathe before continuing. "Accepting that humiliation, you know? Is the same thing as admitting you deserve it."
"You don't understand a damn thing," she shot back.
"Yeah, I do," I cut in. "You think being invisible is safer than being remembered, don't you? But this is Brockton Bay! When someone disappears in this goddamn city, nobody goes looking for them!"
The buzzing got louder, and Taylor pressed her lips together. It looked like she wanted to respond, but couldn't find the right words.
Because there was no trust between us. Not as classmates, and definitely not as people trying to survive different kinds of hell.
She turned her back and walked away with long strides full of bottled-up tension.
And I stayed there watching… because I knew what it looked like when someone was standing right on the edge of a line you don't come back from.
...
Every night, Brockton Bay made sure to remind us that this place was hell.
During the day, there was still enough noise, routine, and masks to hide behind. But when the sun goes down…
The theater closes its curtains, and everyone becomes what they really are.
My disguise was still the same… functional and perfectly irrelevant. The art of looking so ordinary that you become invisible.
My destination was still Empire Eighty-Eight territory, which they controlled with the same pride as someone planting a flag on a pile of shit.
My first targets were three goons circling a corner. Two of them had pistols out in the open, while the third had a radio clipped to his belt.
The kind of guys who thought tattooing white supremacy symbols and yelling "purity" made them special, when they probably couldn't even pass sophomore year without cheating.
One of them stopped to piss on a wall tagged with "Empire Lives", the L scribbled backward. The second lit a cigarette, dragging on it like he was exhaling power. The third laughed loudly at some fucked-up joke.
Probably about minorities. Feels like the only kind they know how to make.
They all looked relaxed, like they owned the place. But as I watched them, another thought crossed my mind.
'Must be because I saw Taylor… I'm feeling a little nostalgic…'
I knew Taylor before the Triumvirate of Falsehood happened… and back then, she reminded me of someone.
That someone was me, or rather, the version of me that existed too long ago for me to remember clearly. The one that existed before the city ripped me out like a weed from what people call a "normal childhood".
Back then, I was a kid who laughed easily. Who thought bullies could be stopped with a firm "no." Who thought being good was enough. Who still said "please" to the world and expected to hear "you're welcome" in return. Who believed throwing a punch was the last resort, not the first.
That Elias died a long time ago. But it wasn't some cinematic, dramatic trauma... it was a slow, suffocating death.
Maybe his last breath came in some filthy alley that smelled like warm beer, piss, and blood… or in some bathroom where I learned that screaming for help only brings more pain.
That was the thing… Brockton Bay doesn't kill you with violence, it kills you with consistency. It corrodes your soul slowly, tears apart your principles, and then sits back and watches as you stitch the remaining pieces together in the wrong order.
Because you have to keep standing somehow, right?
But what's left of me is just this. A warped reflection of the city… a different kind of monster.
And Taylor… just like I did, she's standing right in the middle of that curve. The exact moment between "stay a victim" and "become what others fear".
I watched the three nazis for a few more seconds, still thinking about her.
I was curious about what she would choose. To find out if we all eventually fall… or if I was just too weak.
But down there, while I was lost in thought, the moment passed, and the three nazis started to split up.
The first turned a corner, disappearing between parked cars and darker shadows. The second stayed at the intersection, looking around with empty attention, and the third leaned against the graffiti-covered wall of an abandoned laundromat and lit another cigarette.
That's the one my eyes locked onto. For a few seconds, everything felt… slow.
My hands moved almost on reflex.
Clap.
I swapped places with a loose manhole cover a few meters ahead. The kind of free object Boogie Woogie takes without any issue.
I moved in, coming up behind him while the cigarette smoke still drifted upward.
I stepped closer, my hand reaching the holster on his thigh, pulling the pistol out carefully enough not to make a sound… then I dropped the gun to the ground.
"You don't need that." My voice came out muffled through the mask, but he heard me.
He turned with a startled choke. His mouth started to open, maybe to shout, maybe to ask who the hell I was.
Clap.
He and a cardboard box tossed near the dumpster switched places after I kicked him. His body slammed against the wall, and his head met the brick.
He stayed down there breathing… or maybe not. I didn't stop to check.
I slipped back into the shadows before the second guy could hear the impact. Climbed up a side ladder, disappearing between the buildings.
It was quick, efficient, and completely cold.
"…"
It felt like a horrible way to act… but that's what Brockton Bay does to all of us. It turns the pain we feel into instinct, our fear into a weapon, and all hope into a distant memory.
The city just needs to convince you to stop fighting the change first and once you finally accept what you've become… there's nothing left to save.