Ding-Dong,

That was the ring of the Orphanage's doorbell. That would be normal, but not only was it late at night, it was raining so bad that it might as well be a hurricane trapped in the city.

Ms. Fordsworth gets up from her old chair, moving down the old hallway. All the kids under her care were tucked in bed, so she had to take care of where she stepped too not creak the floorboard to loud. Then again, she might need to wake them up to meet a potential new family. And whatever family was so dedicated to get a child in this weather would be wonderful parents.

She opens the door, giving the standard greeting. "Hello, welcome to Mr. Cherry's Orphanage for Abandoned Youth. What are you here for?"

"Hello, ma'am!" a meek voice comes from below. Immediately, the caretaker looks down and sees a little boy with ruby red hair, dull blue eyes, and inspite of the weather and being drenched in the cold rain, he's wearing a cheerful smile. And in his hand, there was a small puppy, unusually quiet to boot.

She glances around, seeing if anyone was out of sight, trying prank her with some kind of new schoolyard trick. But whoever was the mastermind of this plan would have long left by now.

Crouching down, the caretaker asks, "Sweetie… what are you doing here? Do you have parents?" He shakes his head to both questions, which immediately has her worried. Then again, he looked no older than 4, so maybe he didn't understand what she was saying. Most kids knew who their mom and dad were at this age, but there was always the chance that more less fortunate children would be left out of the blue of what's going on.

"Do you have a name?"

"It's… uhh… Bell…" he points to the doorbell outside. Ms. Fordsworth could immediately tell that by how unsure his tone of voice was, this might not be his actual name, and simply something he came up with on the fly. For all she knew, this kid could be from a different country caught up in some kind of international crime ring.

But right now, she didn't have 100% certainty with who he is or where he's from. All she could do is offer him shelter, and in the morning, she'll deal with whatever issues this kid will bring over. She takes him inside to warm up, get some food in his system, and have somewhere to sleep that won't be flooded with rain.

She brought him in, and as she warmed him up, she picked the dog, and noticed that it was quiet… and its body was soft, like a wet towel. It was dead. Did the kid even know what had happened?

"Kid… Bell… your pup… it's not doing so well."

Still somewhat cheerful, Bell smiled, "Oh, yeah! It wasn't feeling so while, and so I rocked him until he slept. Maybe when he wakes back up, he'll be back at it again!" She gives a reluctant smile as she nudges him along to wait elsewhere while she deals with this.

When he's out of sight Ms. Fordsworth took a closer look at the Dog and noticed its head was slightly wobblier than the rest of its body… eh, it's her first time handling a dog corpse, maybe they're all like this.

Though… she had to admit that that kid's smile was kind of creepy…

3 years later…

The bristles of a broom kick against the wooden floor of Ms. Fordsworth's office. Despite being an organized woman, her room always told a different story. It's like she doesn't even try to pick up her messes, spills, and all kinds of nonsense.

Bell didn't mind it, though. Chores were always the more "enjoyable" parts of living in an orphanage. Nothing usually happened in the home, and well, making friends to have fun with wasn't all too easy since kids slipped in and out like mail. One day, Bell would get to know a kid named Mikey, fun, pizza-loving jokester, and the next, he'd be out of the house.

He wasn't a part of that revolving door. Bell was a "ghost child", a kind of a kid that shows up out of nowhere, has no traceable family, and it was actual months before they could even tell what race he was. No one was comfortable raising a child with very little information. Sure, he was good kid, but there's no guarantee that'd last, and why waste time trying to figure out what he is and what makes him comfortable when there's a child over there that you can take in and raise with much more ease.

The only companions he had here, Mikel and Mikal. A brother and sister duo that shared the similar woes to their "ghost" friend, but in their case, they had a mother and father, it was just that they needed to find them. They had the plan to make enough money from selling all kinds of trinkets and devices, save up, and go back to their old home to continue the search.

"Hey, Bell." Mikel announces their arrival, immediately going to greet his friends. Today's endeavor seemed to selling newspapers. They even had the stereotypical paperboy outfits that those period pieces from the 70s-80s said they wore.

"Glad to see you guys, have any luck in your jobs?" Bell's chipper attitude shimmers through every word. Mikal slings a bag of today's headlines onto the ground, clearly sick and tired.

"No. Barely anyone is buying these worthless piece of paper. All the news is one the TV or the internet! What's even the point in selling these?!" She slams the bag onto the floor.

"I mean, I can't be that bad, right?" Bell comments. Mikal glares at his smiling face, almost tempted to yell at him, until Mikel grabs at her arm. He glares at Bell's knuckles, noticing the trace amounts of blood on them… It happened again.

"Bell… did you hurt someone?" Mikel asks, and Bell's attention is immediately drawn to his hands.

"Oh no, no, no! I just hurt my self while I was doing so backyard work! Hehe, you know how some of Ms. Fordsworth's flower sting like ever!" While his smile was chipper, the two were still uneased. He'd had always been honest about these incidents, but it seems like now he was starting to hide reality under a veil of laughter. The sibling offer fake smiles before inching away to dispose of the Newspapers.

As always, Bell didn't quite know why they were so umease, maybe it's that puberty thing that Ms. Fordsworth is always talking to them about.

He didn't hurt anyone today! The plants just really hurt today and every time he tried to trim them, he'd always prick his finger over and over. But this time, he didn't take it out on anyone! Just a couple punches to the ground and he was feeling better than ever! They should've been proud of him but then why are they… bah! Maybe next when they see his improved self-control, they'll cheer him on!

And just as quickly as the thought enterted his head, it left as he resumed cleaning the office. As he gathered the pile of dust and crumpled papers into a small pan, his thoughts drifted back to Mikel and Mikal.

They were the only constants in his life, the only ones who seemed to understand what it meant to be invisible in this world. He was happy they were going to find their home, but that was the difference between him and them; they had a real home. They had a family to look for, to be comforted by, even the knowledge of having one was preferable.

What was he? Who was he? That's all he could ask. And the only answer he'd get, was nothing. A fitting answer.

As he emptied the dustpan into the wastebasket, he notices a bundle of newspaper-like books. He glanced through the pages, and started to read more and more, saying outloud,

"What is a Superman?"

4 years later,

Middle School. He'd only had stories hint at what went on in here, but nothing prepared him for the real thing.

Bell adjusted the strap of his worn-out backpack, the one he'd been given when he first came to the orphanage. It had been Mikal's before she left with Mikel. The siblings had finally saved enough to leave, and true to their word, they'd gone off to search for their parents. They promised to stay in touch, and for a while, they did. But then the letters just stopped. Just like everyone else in his life, they'd moved on, only having Ms. Fordsworth to care for him.

He took a deep breath and walked through the doors of the school. The hallways buzzed with the energy of hundreds of kids, laughing, shouting, and clumping into groups. Bell kept his head down, slipping through the crowd. He found his locker, twisting the combination he'd memorized, and pulled it open with a creak.

Inside, there was nothing but an empty space. Bell placed his few belongings—a notebook, some pencils, and a dog-eared copy of Superman: The Man of Steel—on the metal shelf. As he did, a group of boys passed by, one of them knocking into him on purpose. His books tumbled to the floor, scattering across the hall.

"Watch where you're going, freak," the boy sneered, not even bothering to look back.

Bell knelt to pick up his things, his heart pounding. He wasn't new to being bullied, but it never got easier to hold it back. Evidence by the slight dents he'd formed on the surface of a nearby locker. But rationality kicked in and he withdrew any anger than dwelled within him. As he gathered his scattered belongings, someone else knelt beside him, helping to pick up the comic book.

"Don't mind those guys. They're just idiots," a voice said. Bell looked up to see a girl with short, spiky black hair and sharp green eyes. She handed him the comic with a smile.

"Thanks," Bell mumbled, taking the book from her.

"I'm Avery," she introduced herself, holding out a hand.

"Bell," he replied, shaking her hand cautiously.

"Cool name. Like the doorbell, right?" Avery joked, grinning.

Bell couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, something like that."

They stood up together, and Avery looked at the comic book in his hand. "Superman, huh? You into superheroes?"

Bell nodded, clutching the book to his chest. "Yeah... I like the idea of someone who can do anything, who can always save the day."

"Oh, that's nice. Me personally, I'm more of Spider-Man kind of girl. The way he thwips, kicks butts, joke, it's really fun!"

"Really? Who's your favorite Spider-Man?" Avery looks stunned at the idea of multiple Spider-Men, before Bell lists off 3 of note: Peter Parker, Ben Riley, and Miguel O' Hara. All of which had different stories and perspectives on the role of Spider-Man. This greatly amused Avery, chuckling at how dorky Bell sounded, but also impressed at how dedicated he seemed to comic book knowledge.

"Of course, that doesn't mean Spider-Man isn't a great hero… just that Superman is better—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to insult them…" Bell is immediately apologetic.

Avery snickered, noting on how sweet his demeanor was. "Well, not everyone can fly or shoot lasers from their eyes, but that doesn't mean you can't be a hero. Sometimes it's just about doing the right thing."

Bell thought about that as they walked to their first class. Maybe he wasn't Superman, but for the first time in a long time, he felt like he wasn't completely invisible.

"What is it, Sir?"

"Bell, got into a fight. It was 4 kids who were bullying another. One of aids was about to separate them… then the incident happened."

The Principal's Office. Only the worst of the worst saw this place. Guess that makes Bell the worst of the worst. Ms. Fordsworth was sitting next to Bell, who had his head down in shame, not only for being in trouble, but also hiding the bruises and cuts he'd gotten from the fight.

"I'm so sorry! Bell is normally such a quiet and nice boy, I don't know what's gotten into him! I tell him not spend all his time reading those stupid comic books and look where that got him!" The older lady was putting on a more vigorous and determined look, trying to draw attention away from any negative press that could hit her and Bell pretty soon. "Please, tell those family that we'll face any punishment necessary!"

"There won't be any need for that," The Principal remarks, leaving Ms. Fordsworth even more confused. "You see, Bell was the only student significantly injured in the scuffle. Other than a few bruises here and there, he didn't really do anything beyond a parental referral. We had actually called you so the parents could apologize to Bell."

"Wait, so he didn't seriously hurt anyone?" Ms. Fordsworth is stunned.

"Well, no. Bell's a good kid. Nice, cheery, likes to talk with teachers, tries to help whenever he can. If he was a little more consistent with his grades, he'd be a model student. But… every since a little Miss Avery Johnson left the state, he's be lonelier and lonelier. You have to understand, ma'am, that kid was his only friend. All the other kids don't want to even talk with him for too long because he "smiles weird" and "talks about dumb comics" or "he plays too hard". You know, kid things. Tell me, does Bell have any friends outside of school?"

"N-No, sir… he's very outgoing, but no one has been willing to match his outgoing nature. Most of the time he's outside, he spends out running around or just reading his comic books."

The Principal glances over to Bell, who looks back up, his face all bruised and scarred in the places that weren't covered with bandages. Even through the pain and some broken teeth, Bell gives a big ole' smile. That's more than enough to give a strange form levity to the Principal. He gets up and firmly shakes the caretaker's hand. "Well, I'd suggest having him stay back in out afterschool programs. Plenty of kids there, plenty of options. Now, let's go get you that apology."

In spite of how sympathetic the "Sorrys were, the ride back instantly put him down. Ms Fordsworth speaks.

"Bell, I don't know what to say. I'm glad you're okay, but you shouldn't be getting into fights, even if you're trying to help someone. Your anger seems to get the better of you and then, boom, blows up in your face!"

Bell looked out the car window, watching the sunset, mirroring his somber mood. He had always imagined what it would be like to be like Superman, swooping in to save the day, but reality was different. No one got cheered for after a fight. Instead, they got bruised and battered, and in trouble.

"I wasn't trying to hurt them," Bell mumbled. "I just wanted them to stop hurting others.. stop hurting me."

Ms. Fordsworth sighed, glancing at him with a mix of concern and frustration. "I know your heart was in the right place, but there are other ways to help. You can't solve everything with your fists."

Bell didn't respond, only nodding slightly. The truth was, he didn't feel like a hero at all. He just felt lost, with no real place in the world. Avery had been his only friend, the only person who made him feel seen, and now she was gone too. The loneliness gnawed at him, even as he tried to push it away.

As they pulled up to the orphanage, Ms. Fordsworth turned off the engine and looked at him seriously. "Bell, I want you to promise me something."

He turned to face her, waiting for her to continue.

"I want you to promise me that you'll try to find other ways to help people. Use that big heart of yours, but use your head too. Okay?"

Bell hesitated, then nodded. "Okay, Ms. Fordsworth. I promise."

She gave him a small, tired smile. "That's all I ask. Now, let's get you inside and cleaned up."

Later that night, as he lay in bed, Bell stared at the ceiling, his thoughts drifting to the comic book he had been reading earlier. Superman was strong, invincible, and always knew the right thing to do. But Bell was none of those things. He was just a kid who didn't even know where he came from, let alone where he was going.

No one wanted to adopt him for 7 years straight. No one wanted to take him in and make him apart of their family. He didn't belong there, there weren't enough seats for him. That was the truth. A living puzzle with missing pieces, hole upon hole that ruined an otherwise beautiful image.

"What I am I?" Bell asked the same question.

The same response would be given. The same wetness stained the pillow.

A buzzer goes off, as loud thudding boots entered the Orphanage's front door.

"Hello sir or ma'am. Have you made a request with us today? If not, please take a number and wait over theeeeerreeee…" Ms. Fordsworth looks up and sees a tall, built man with a black-beard, equally black short hair, and dull ebony eyes that almost looked empty.

"Greetings. I've come to adopt a child." He spoke with the smoothness of a stick of butter, yet it was deeper than the Grand Canyon. Almost instantly, the 50-something year old fell in love with the man before her, but her job snapped her back to reality, immediately, picking up a catalogue of all kinds of kids.

"We've got 6 year old Matty, 9 year old Adrian, 11 year old Tyler, 12 year olds Joan and Gumilly, strange name, we've got—" before she could finish, the man is drawn to outside, the caretaker soon following him.

Right outside, Bell was sitting next to the step, glancing through the latest issues of several indie comics, barely protected from the hot sun.

"Who is that?" The man asked.

"Oh, that's Bell. He's the kid that's been here the longest. Poor guy hasn't been in any family's crosshairs. Calling him all sorts of nasty things. I think it has to do with his smile…" Descending down the stairs, making his presence well known, the man kneels to be level with Bell. Bell's blue eyes streak up, noticing the man right before him. He puts his book down, and flashes a smile.

Instead of the usual unease he'd always seen, instead, the man smiles back. Bell is stunned, even more so when they start talking.

"Hey there, little guy," the man said, his voice surprisingly gentle despite his imposing appearance. "What's your name?"

"Bell," he answered, his smile faltering slightly as he waited for the usual uncomfortable reaction.

But the man didn't flinch. Instead, he nodded thoughtfully. "Bell, huh? Like the one you ring?"

Bell's smile returned, a bit more confident now. "Yeah, something like that."

The man extended a hand, his large palm dwarfing Bell's smaller one as they shook hands. "I'm Asriel. Nice to meet you, Bell. Do you like reading comics?"

Bell's eyes lit up at the question. "I love them! Superman is my favorite."

"Superman's a good choice. Strong, always knows what to do, and never gives up, right?"

Bell nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! He's amazing." Right as he continued, he quickly looks over to see that the ice-cream store across the street has opened for business. Immediately, the man looks back, smiling at the place, before turning back around.

"Are you hungry for some Ice Cream?" he calmly asks, and Bell nods. And so, he walks over to the place, soon exiting with a cone and treat in a wrapper. Right as he approaches once again, he looks up to the nearby Ms. Fordsworth.

"Is it alright if I give him something? No allergies or anything?"

"Nothing we know of. Given him ice cream a couple of times, and he hasn't reacted yet. Go ahead." She trusts him, and so, he hands Bell the wrapped goodie. Quickly tearing into it, Bell finds a ice-cream sandwich in store for him.

He starts to wolf it down, to the man's amusement. Ms. Fordsworth was about to command Bell to eat more properly, but he stopped her.

"Let the kid enjoy his treat." He laughs and all she can do is look on as Bell finishes the sandwich, crumbs covering his face.

Bell licked the last bit of chocolate from his fingers, his face beaming with happiness. It was a rare sight to see him so carefree. Solomon watched him, a thoughtful expression on his face, as if he was trying to figure something out.

"You know, Bell," the man began after a moment of silence, "being strong isn't just about muscles or fighting bad guys. It's about facing the world, even when it's tough. I can see that you've been doing that for a long time."

Bell looked up at The man, his smile fading slightly as he considered the man's words. He had never thought of himself as strong; he was just trying to get by, trying to find his place in a world that didn't seem to have a place for him.

"Do you think Superman ever felt lost?" Bell asked quietly.

The man's eyes softened. "I think even Superman felt lost sometimes. But he always found his way because he had something to hold onto—something that gave him hope."

Bell nodded, though he wasn't sure what that something was for him. The only thing he had ever held onto was the idea of being someone important, someone who mattered. But that idea felt more like a fantasy.

"Would you like to come with me, Bell?" The man asked gently, breaking through Bell's thoughts.

Bell blinked in surprise. "You mean... go with you? Like... be your son?"

The man smiled warmly. "Yes, that's exactly what I mean. I've been looking for someone special, and I think I've found him."

Bell's heart raced. The words he had longed to hear, the chance he had been waiting for, was finally in front of him. But along with the excitement, there was a twinge of fear—fear of getting his hopes up, only to have them dashed again.

"Why me?" Bell asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "There are so many other kids here... why choose me?"

The man knelt down, his gaze level with Bell's. "Because I see something in you, Bell. Something strong, something good. You remind me that even when things are hard, there's always a reason to keep going. You have that spark, that hope, and I want to help you nurture it."

Bell didn't know what to say. No one had ever spoken to him like that before, had ever seen anything in him worth nurturing. He glanced over at Ms. Fordsworth, who was watching the interaction with tears in her eyes, though she was smiling.

She nodded at Bell, as if to say it was okay, that he deserved this chance.

With a deep breath, Bell turned back to The man. "Okay... I'll go with you."

The man's smile grew, and he reached out, ruffling Bell's hair. "Welcome to the family, Bell. I think you're going to like it."

As they stood up, Ms. Fordsworth approached, handing The man a folder with Bell's paperwork. "Take good care of him," she said, her voice thick with emotion.

"I will," The man promised, taking the folder and shaking her hand firmly. "He's in good hands."

Bell glanced around one last time at the orphanage, the only home he had ever known. There was a pang of sadness in leaving, but it was overwhelmed by the hope, hope that might finally bring him to the family he had always dreamed of.

As he and Asriel walked out of the orphanage together, Bell couldn't help but feel that, for the first time in his life, he might have a place to call home.

3 years later

Mors walks in, stretching after a long day of work. All of her bones were sore and aching, Several of them were cracked. To anyone this would sound like hell, but to Mors, it was an uncomfortable Tuesday afternoon.

"Mors! You're back!" A rather light force pushes against her back, causing a little more pain, pain which disappears as the excited voice of her younger brother shines on through.

"*Hey, hey. What the hell do you think you're doing sneaking up on me? Atleast let me get some rest first… damn." (*Translated from Spanish). Bell couldn't tell what she was saying, but she said it in a happy tune, so that had to have mean something.

As Mors winced and let out a string of Spanish, Bell grinned wider, his excitement undeterred. He knew the tone in her voice meant she was happy to see him, even if her words sounded a bit grumpy. He pulled back just enough to give her some space, his energy barely contained.

Before Mors could fully settle in, the room brightened with the glow of sparklers. Azrael, their foster father, appeared in the doorway, holding a cake adorned with glittering lights. The soft glow from the sparklers illuminated his calm, steady expression, a stark contrast to the excited energy in the room.

"Happy Birthday, Bell," Azrael said in his deep, soothing voice.

Bell's eyes widened in pure joy as he saw the cake. He hadn't even been thinking about his birthday; all that mattered was that Mors was here. But now, seeing the cake and feeling the warmth of his family's presence, his heart swelled with happiness.

Mors, despite her exhaustion and aches, felt a smile tug at her lips as she watched her little brother's delight. She slowly moved to the table, giving Bell a gentle pat on the head as she passed by.

Azrael placed the cake on the table, the sparklers still burning brightly. "Make a wish, Bell," he said with a soft smile.

Bell glanced at Mors, then at Azrael, feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude. He closed his eyes, thinking hard, before blowing out the sparklers with all his might. Mors glanced over at Azrael.

"So, did you tell him?" she asks, and lightbulbs go off in his head at the realization of what she means.

"I was planning to… but then work came up and—" before Azrael could continue his onslaught of excuses, his foster daughter pushes him closer to Bell.

"" The taunting in Spanish didn't help but he had to break the news. He'd forgot to do so last year, can't forget this year. He taps on Bell's shoulder, and right as he spins around, Azrael sikes himself up to deliver the next few sentences.

"Bell… you know when you were 12, and your sister came home without an arm, but grew one back the next morning?"

"Yeah."

"And remember how I told you that she was a mystical being from the Bible called the Horseman of Death?"

"Yes, dad."

"Well… you see… you're the Horseman of War." The words immediately ring throughout Bell's head, almost like a gong going off. Mors, meanwhile, was chowing down on some delicious blueberry/raspberry combo cake. "I know it sounds bad, and if you're not ready for this, we can—"

"So… I have superpowers?" Bell timidly asks.

"Technically yes but—" Not even the but contained a twelfth of the rocketing Bell did all over the house, loudly announcing, "I have superpowers! I have superpowers!" Bell's excitement bubbled over as he reveled in the news of his newfound powers. The room was filled with a whirlwind of energy as he dashed around.

"Whoa, whoa! Slow down there, champ!" Azrael said, trying to catch Bell as he zoomed past. "It's a lot to take in, and we've got to make sure we handle it properly."

As the two looked on at the hyper-active boy causing some damages that insurance might not cover, Azrael leans in, whispering, "Good thing I didn't tell him that we're moving to Japan in a couple of months."

"Yeah, good you didn't." Mors takes another bite out of her cake, and halfway through chewing, realization hit. "Wait, we're what?"