I didn't cry when the monsters left.
I just sat on the couch, bear on my lap, staring at nothing. The air smelled weird—like smoke and something burnt. There was dust in the air that made my nose itch. The window was gone. The ceiling had a big hole like a bite had been taken out of the sky. The only sounds left were distant—the crackle of fire, sirens that started and stopped, the faint whine of something flying overhead. I kept hugging my bear close to me, my body had gone cold, like all the heat had drained out of me and sunk through the floor. I kept waiting. Hoping that this was all nothing but a bad dream. Hoping for my Dad to walk in, his face all dirty covered up in grease from fixing up his motorcycle on weekends , saying something funny. Hoping for my Mom to caress me gently to wake me up from my sleep with her soft tone, then kiss the top of my head.
But they never came. They were not going to do that for me again.
The door creaked, and I flinched. Big boots stomped through what used to be our apartment. I screamed when someone touched me. I thought it was one of the monsters again. I kicked and tried to bite, but then one of them took his helmet off. He had a face. Not a monster face—a person's face.
"You're okay now. You're safe."
Safe. He said it like it fixed things.
They took me in a truck. a bunch of other kids were inside too. Some were crying. Some were quiet like me. I held my bear so tight my arms hurt. I didn't cry. I couldn't anymore. It was like my tears dried up inside me.
The camp was a big tent. Just outside of the burning city. It smelled like sweat and rain and something kind of like blood. The ground was wet and cold, and my shoes made squishy sounds when I walked. I didn't want to talk. I just sat with my bear, his fur rough under my fingers.
I could hear so many people arguing. Grown men with faces that i couldn't really make out, they looked angry but their eyes were filled with tears. Their exchanges were filled with sharp words that the young men couldn't understand. I remember one of them yelling, "They had Superman! Where the hell was he?"
Another one answered, "He was there. They all were. Darkseid wasn't just some guy. He was a god."
But villains are not gods, gods weren't supposed to let this happen.
I didn't want to listen. I pressed my bear against my ear and tried to drown it out, but it was like their words just climbed in through my skin.
After some time they gave everyone, including me blankets and granola bars before they brought out a big TV on a cart and plugged it in. Everyone gathered around when someone said the President was about to speak, like we were going to be told it was over. Like the world might start again. After some time, The President's face came on screen. His face looked tired and kind of old. He said things about heroes and winning and how we were all safe now. Everyone clapped. I didn't.
He kept talking about hope. About rebuilding. About how we were going to rise from the ashes and stand together.
But then he said it.
The Justice League.
He called them a symbol. Superman, Wonder Woman, Batman, the others—they had a name now. They were supposed to be what came next. What kept us safe from monsters like the ones that ripped the roof off my life.
Everyone in the tent stared at the screen like it was church.
But all I could think was: 'they didn't save them…'
They didn't stop my mom from jumping out of a window. Nor did they get there in time to pull my dad out of those monster claws….
"Why don't you cheer, boy?"
Mrs. Hightower voice made me jump as I looked up to her. She was wearing the same clothing I always saw her wear when she was teaching in math class. Her voice was scratchy almost like she ate the rocks from our school's playground compared to her old mean one . She looked at me with eyes that knew things. She must've found me sitting on the bench alone.
"Don't you feel better knowing those superheroes pushed that evil Darkseid back where he came from?"
I shook my head. "No," I whispered.
She bent down. "Why not?"
I squeezed my bear. My voice felt tiny. "They didn't stop him. They just made him go away. But he's gonna come back. And my mom and dad won't…" I pressed my face into the bear before the crying could find its way out.
She sat next to me. Her hand was big and heavy on my shoulder. It didn't fix anything, but it helped.
That night, I couldn't sleep. I stared at the top of the tent. People whispered, sniffled, rolled over in their cots. My brain wouldn't shut up. I kept hearing the monster crashing through the ceiling, Mom yelling, Dad shouting my name.
The heroes didn't save us. They didn't kill the monster. They didn't stop anything.
I rolled onto my side, hugging my bear. I whispered the name over and over into his ear like it was a spell.
Darkseid.
I was six, but I knew one thing: I wanted him to hurt.
I think I stopped being a real kid that night. Maybe it didn't hit all at once. But by the time I turned seven, I could feel it. Like there was something inside my chest, sitting on my heart, making everything feel heavy.
I didn't laugh like the other kids. They still played with blocks and made silly faces. They cried when someone took their cookie. I just watched. I felt like I was behind glass, looking in. Like I wasn't one of them.
The world…it's not the same…not anymore…never since. Every shelter, every foster home—none of them lasted. None of them mattered to me anymore.
They sent me to a home in Gotham. The Morrows. They were... fine. The mom smiled all the time, she often would try to appeal to me, asking what kind of food i liked, or was there anything i would like, but to me, it did not feel like it, the look she gave me was similar to people i'd see at checkout everytime she took me out shopping, the kind of look people wear when they want something from you. The dad? He was less okay, never really bothering to put up an effort other than keep saying how proud he was to help a "child in need." repeatedly every time the mom's attempt to "help me" But I didn't talk much. I didn't hug them. I didn't play with the toys they gave me. I stared at the ceiling a lot.
After six months of going back and forth like that, they decided enough was enough and sent me back. Said I wasn't "adjusting," or warming up to them. I wasn't surprised. I just can't be bothered with it.
After that, it was just one place after another. The old couple in Metropolis gave me ice cream. I ate it, but it didn't make anything better. In Star City, a woman locked me in my room when I didn't want to play. I sat on the floor and waited for the lock to click again. In Blüdhaven, the man yelled all the time. He smelled like bad juice and made me feel small even when I was standing.
Every place felt the same. Strange beds. New rules. Smiling strangers pretending it was all okay.
At school, kids would ask where I was from. I'd shrug. It didn't matter. I was never staying long.
I started to notice how kids looked at their parents. The way they smiled when they got picked up. How they leaned into them like it was the safest place in the world. I didn't have that.
Sometimes I'd watch a mom hug her kid and my chest would get all tight. Like something wanted out. Like crying, but deeper. Like wanting something you knew you could never, ever get back.
By twelve, I stopped trying. I was just... there.
Teachers looked at me like I was a broken toy. Like I might snap. Social workers tried to smile, but it never reached their eyes. I could tell when people were pretending. I got good at it.
I started watching the news. The League. The villains.
Joker. Luthor. Cheetah. Sinestro.
Bad guys. Monsters.
They always came back. Every time. The heroes would catch them, and then they'd escape or get let go. And people would die again.
Why? Why did they get to keep living when my parents didn't?
I'd lay in bed and clench my fists until my hands hurt, thinking about it.
What if I was the one to stop them? What if I could make them pay?
I was fifteen when I snapped.
It was a house in Coast City. The foster dad said I was too old to keep a stuffed bear. Tried to take it from me.
I threw a chair at him.
They called the agency. I ran.
No more houses. No more pretending.
I lived in shelters when I could. Slept in alleys when I couldn't. I stole food. Took jobs nobody else wanted. Kept my head down and listened.
The Justice League kept growing. More heroes. More bad guys. More cities turned to rubble.
Every time I saw them on a screen, I wanted to scream. They smiled like they were proud. Like they were helping. But people still died.
By eighteen, I didn't even feel human anymore.
I sat under a broken building, backpack on my lap, bear still stuffed inside. He was dirty and ripped at the seams, but he was mine.
My stomach growled. I didn't move.
All I could think about was the capes, the cameras, the lies.
Why don't they kill them?
Why do the monsters keep coming back?
Why do the people I loved stay dead?
I curled my hands into fists, nails biting my palms.
They called it justice. Bullshit.
It was survival.
And I was done surviving.
Author's Note:
If you're enjoying the story and want to read ahead or support my work, you can check out my P@treon at P@treon.com/LordCampione. But don't worry—all chapters will eventually be public. Just being here and reading means the world to me. Thank you for your time and support.