The rain didn't wash away the smell of copper. Ten-year-old Elias crouched behind a rusted dumpster, his fingers digging into the brick wall until his nails bled. Twenty feet away, the street was a crater. A massive, grey-skinned creature lay pinned under the boot of Captain Valor. The monster wasn't fighting back anymore. Its jaw was shattered, and its breath came in wet, jagged gasps.
Elias had his notebook clutched to his chest, the one filled with drawings of Valor's shield. He had waited his whole life to see this. But Valor wasn't finishing it. The hero reached down, grabbed the creature's arm, and slowly—deliberately—began to twist.
The sound of snapping bone echoed off the alley walls. The monster let out a high-pitched, warbling shriek that sounded more like a person than a beast. Valor leaned in, a wide, ecstatic grin splitting his face. He wasn't saving the city. He was playing.
'Why isn't he stopping? He won. It's over.'
Valor plunged a glowing hand into the creature's open wound, twisting his fingers. The hero laughed, a bright, heroic sound that felt like a serrated knife against Elias's ears.
Elias felt his stomach lurch. The bile rose in his throat, hot and acidic, before he vomited onto his shoes. He scrambled backward, tripping over trash bags, his breath coming in shallow hitches. He looked at the "Hero" one last time. In the glow of the streetlamps, Valor's golden cape was drenched in black ichor, and his eyes held a hunger that was far more terrifying than the monster he was killing.
Elias turned and bolted into the dark, the sound of the creature's dying whimpers following him home.
Four years later, the smell of copper was gone, replaced by the scent of wet asphalt and cheap exhaust. Elias walked down the sidewalk toward Midtown High, his hoodie pulled low. He was fourteen now, thinner and quieter, with dark circles under his eyes that never seemed to fade.
'Just get through the day. Don't look up.'
A crowd had gathered at the corner of 5th and Main. The familiar hum of news drones filled the air. Elias tried to push past, but the flow of people jammed him against a shop window. High above, a streak of silver light descended.
It was Silver Streak, the city's fastest "guardian." He landed softly in the center of the street, waving to the screaming fans. He had just apprehended a common mugger, pinning the man to the ground with a knee to the neck. The mugger was gasping, his face turning purple, but the cameras only focused on the hero's winning smile.
Elias watched the way Silver Streak's fingers tightened on the man's throat, just a little harder than necessary. He saw the flicker of that same twisted joy in the hero's eyes—the same look Valor had four years ago.
"Move it, kid," a man grumbled, shoving Elias aside to get a better photo of the hero.
Elias stumbled, his shoulder hitting a street lamp. A sharp, stinging heat flared behind his eyes.
"I hate them," I whispered to the concrete. "I hate every single one of them."
Deep in the back of his mind, something shifted. It felt like a glass wall cracking. For a split second, the bright neon signs of the city blurred, and the digital clock on the pharmacy wall across the street didn't just tick—it stopped.