A/N: Warnings, the MC in the story has deep-seated trauma towards a particular racial group. He will get better as the story progresses, but he will have some statements or thoughts that are seemingly racist or racially motivated.
It goes without saying that racism is bad, and it's never OK against individuals or groups in real life in any circumstances. This story does NOT endorse such thoughts, words, or behaviours and disavows their usage in real life. It is fiction, and the MC is in a bad place mentally, but he WILL become better and realize his mistakes.
Thanksgiving - November 25th, 2010 - Brockton Bay, USA
William picked at his food in silence. The turkey was overcooked, dry, and hard to chew. The potatoes were too lumpy, and the vegetables would have to be tossed out. They were disgustingly bad. Another fuck up in the kitchen.
Happy Thanks-fucking-giving to me… He could order out. What was even available? There was that kebab place downtown, they might be open. Chinese- No. Fuck no.
He'd rather starve than touch a single God-damn piece of some ABB-trash's cooking.
"Fuck this." Getting up, William cleaned his plate into the garbage can and placed it into the sink. He'd go grocery shopping tomorrow. Maybe see if he can find something easy to make online. How did mom make it look so simple…
It'd been two months since she and his dad had…
Pushing aside those thoughts, William turned off the lights in the kitchen and the dining rooms, making his way towards the staircase. The house, his childhood home, was dark. Silent. He'd done his best to keep it clean and tidy since…the incident. To keep the social workers that check on him monthly off his back. Not that they really cared about him. The judge had been all too happy to pass his emancipation request, quick to get him off state benefits and out of the System's hands.
But clean and tidy didn't mean homey. It felt like a tomb. His eyes wandered over to the door beside the stairs. The door he hadn't opened since the first week he returned home.
Their bedroom. Left, exactly as it had been, on that day.
His hand reached for the door handle…and then he pulled it back, and made his way upstairs. He avoided looking at the other door down the hall, his Father's Office. Another room untouched... He slammed his bedroom door shut behind him and sat on his bed, head in his hands. Was every holiday going to be just like this? Christmas is in a month…what the fuck will I do?
Keeping the house had been a mistake. Every picture, every piece of furniture, every appliance, every fucking utensil and tool reminded William of them. He should have sold it! Gotten away from it all!
And then what? What would change? You'd still be alone... William grit his teeth, dragging his hands down his face. He could feel the tears at the corner of his eyes, again. He fought to keep them back.
A glint caught his eye, and despite himself, he reached out for it. Taking up the picture frame that had been placed on his bedside table. The glass had been cracked in several places, and the frame dented. He'd thrown it twice in the last week, three times the week before.
The picture behind the glass, however, remained intact.
It was his father, his mother, and him. He'd just won a regional fencing tournament, the Juniors on account of his age, and they'd been so proud of him. He'd wanted to go Olympic when he was older, something his dad had encouraged. He was a tall kid, even a year ago. He towered over his parents in the picture, being 6'2 at 15. They celebrated his win with a trip to Cannova's, his favorite Pizzeria.
It was the best day of his, admittedly short, life. Now, he wasn't even sure he wanted to fence anymore. What was the point? To do it for them? They were dead. To do it for himself? He wishes he were-.
William dropped the picture and covered his face again, not even bothering to hold back the tears this time. He was tempted to hurl it against the wall, to break it further…to do something to make himself feel better. But…It wouldn't work. He'd tried. It didn't help. Nothing could.
Not when his parents were dead and their killer walked free.
"Lung…" William grit his teeth, the tears still running down his cheeks.
Lung, the most powerful Cape in The Bay. The leader of the ABB, an Asian gang in the city. He had the power to turn into a fucking dragon. A ruthless, uncaring prick that had gotten into a brawl over some piece of the shitty city William called home. A nail salon or some other Asian bullshit, William didn't care about the details.
All that mattered was that his parents had died because of it. Because Lung had torched the area fighting Hookwolf, a Cape from the other gang of superpowered assholes in the city. E88, Nazi Capes. Only in fucking Brockton…
Lung had walked away from it, like he always did. What were the police going to do? Half of them were bought, the other half were cowards. Maybe a few would have stepped up, but they'd be eaten alive. The PRT? The Protectorate? The most they'd ever done was a few photoshoots in the richer parts of the city.
They hadn't done anything meaningful in years. Even then, it was New Wave - then the Brockton Bay Brigade - that had put away Marquis. The PRT and their Cape soldiers just claimed victory and established balance in the city. Bullshit.
No, Lung walked away. Returned to his empire of sex slaves, drug dealers, and murderers. And no one did a fucking thing.
"Not even a fucking Kill Order." The rage that had been burning in his heart for two months erupted once more, and William saw red. He gave in and leapt to his feet, yelling. Swinging his arm out…
When he came out of his haze of anger, his room was in shambles. Clothes thrown to the floor, his fencing gear was haphazardly tossed about, picture frames were broken, and he'd stabbed his pillow some half a dozen times with a foil. His hand also ached, and there was a sizable dent in his wall - one of many added over the months - with a smear of red in the middle.
His desk was broken, and his computer was on the floor. He'd have to make sure it wasn't damaged too badly. He'd already failed to turn in a dozen homework assignments this month alone…Winslow was a shithole, but he needed to keep at least a 2.5 to keep the government off his back. He was dipping near a 2.7 right now…
Another fucking thing to add to the list…Why? Why can't things just go right for once? Where's the fucking justice?Clutching his hand to his chest, William fell to his knees in his wrecked room.
"It's not fair." Lung, school, the government on his fucking back constantly, this God-damn house being poison on his soul… "It's not fucking fair!"
William wished he had the power. He wished he could make it fair. To drag that overgrown salamander to his fucking knees and make him beg before he cut his fucking head off. He'd throw it in that fat blonde bitch's face, make her and her precious PRT see what they should have done the moment Lung had stepped out of line. Then he'd clean up the rest of this fucking city, one villain at a time.
Lung, Hookwolf, Kaiser…all of them. Every. Single. One. Damn the PRT, damn the Protectorate. If he had the power…
A crushing weight came over William, suddenly, and he found himself unable to move. He was pinned in place. Then, it came. A presence. Something…massive. Otherworldly. God-like.
Is that so? Prove it. The presence seemed to say, but not with words. Expectations. Feelings. Urgings. It forced its meaning into William, forcing him to Understand.
William felt hot liquid running down his lip and knew, somehow, that his nose was bleeding. His vision darkened, and the last two things he saw before falling forward was a giant anvil and hammer crashing down towards him…
A/N: This is NOT Celestial Forge. I actually hate that power and find it utterly stupid and just thousands of words of power wank and exploration. I don't see why anyone likes it. I'd rather do Inspired Inventor. But, this isn't that either! Hope you stay tuned for more!
Please read the warnings/statement at the top if you have issues regarding some of William's thoughts and statements. Keep in mind, he is a deeply traumatized 16-year-old in a shitty city.
I will have an update on Cassandra's story either tomorrow or Sunday, depending on my food coma (my father's birthday is tomorrow).