This is a series of rambling debates that I'm having with myself based on the ethics and...
With Great Power (Young Justice)
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Lealope
Not yet invincible
- Pronouns
- She/Her
This is a series of rambling debates that I'm having with myself based on the ethics and philosophy of superheroes and superheroics, along with broader questions of power and moral responsibility. Expect it to be amateurish at best. It is also a story, inspired by With This Ring by @Mr Zoat, though it is not a self-insert and the main character does not have any meta-knowledge. It also doesn't have an insane update speed, competent writing, clear direction or significant commitment from the author. So nothing like With This Ring.
Young Justice was chosen because it provides an episodic narrative in a relatively low power version of the DC universe, meaning that I don't have to worry about cosmic events or multiple world crises from a billion different comic lines.
Though it is not a self-insert, it is written in first person for multiple reasons. First, it is the style I am most comfortable with. Second, the narrator is unreliable and I wasn't confident in my ability to convey that in third person. Third, he'll debate with himself when I put him in a situation useful for demonstrating ethical or philosophical problems.
I welcome any comments, counter-arguments and corrections you care to come up with.
Young Justice was chosen because it provides an episodic narrative in a relatively low power version of the DC universe, meaning that I don't have to worry about cosmic events or multiple world crises from a billion different comic lines.
Though it is not a self-insert, it is written in first person for multiple reasons. First, it is the style I am most comfortable with. Second, the narrator is unreliable and I wasn't confident in my ability to convey that in third person. Third, he'll debate with himself when I put him in a situation useful for demonstrating ethical or philosophical problems.
I welcome any comments, counter-arguments and corrections you care to come up with.
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Lealope
Not yet invincible
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Does great power come with great responsibility?
The ambiguous syntax in that phrase always bugged me because it could mean a couple of things.
1. Power comes with a moral responsibility to use it for good
2. Responsibility brings a power in its own right.
I realise that the original sentence is a pithy statement and near everyone got the message, whether they agreed or disagreed. Only philosophers and pedantic fuckwits like me even thought about it. Responsibility can bring out the best in someone, ground the lackadaisical, sharpen the dull. At the same time, it can break someone. Heavy is the head that bears the crown.
Of course, responsibility doesn't give you the ability to eat lighting and shit thunder. No, that would probably be something approaching fair and we can't fucking have that, can we? And so, question number two is somewhat less relevant than question number one. Do the earthbound gods have a responsibility to protect their lessers?
(Most do not call them gods to their faces. That doesn't stop people adding Superman idols to their family temples.)
Y'see, even before today's incident, I had always been the sort to think about this. Where does the responsibility end?
My paternal side of the family are farmers, farmers living in a less than forgiving area of India. Their lives and livelihoods are at the mercy of Mother Nature and her grace is finite. To me, it seems the entire region is teetering on the edge of famine and drought. I suspect climate change will not be kind to them in the years to come.
My father's efforts ensure that their village does not starve but even then, he can only do so much. Our immediate family remains well-fed but the other villagers tend to have a distinctly tight look about their faces. They are smaller and have an almost frail look about them, despite a life of backbreaking physical activity.
Malnutrition gives them a certain "look" about them. It is the same look that street labourers have. I imagine exposure to fine dust and noxious fumes take just as much of a toll. Their children will suffer similarly.
And so, when I see miraculous technology on the live news built by some lone lunatic in his garage, I can't help but feel somewhat irritated that a major world power is somehow less technologically advanced. Mark Madron has a magic wand that controls the weather; are you trying to tell me you can't loan it out for a day?
I know I'm being ridiculous. I know there must be ten thousand climatological reasons why it wouldn't work. I know there's potential for abuse, infrastructure problems. I know. And I don't care. Are you trying to tell me that a world power couldn't do better than some mad fucking engineer in a cave with a box of scraps? Harvard's entire research budget is a goddamn rounding error in a nation's GDP. I'm betting people could get together the political and financial capital real goddamn quick if word got out that we could end drought.
And if not public, why not private? Wayne, Kord, Queen and Lex are in a four way cage match trying to get new innovations out to the public. And yet, there's nothing to change the game, nothing to shake the world. With access to confiscated technology and notes from people who would've been, should've been paradigm shifting geniuses, they really can't do better?
The Justice League aren't much of a help. They seem to follow a doctrine of the "unambiguous good." Only clear cut crimes and natural disasters. It's unquestionable that they save lives. Hundreds of thousands lives, succor brought to the blighted, justice brought to the unjust.
But couldn't they do more? They treat the symptoms but rarely the disease. Batman may have broken the backs of Gotham's crime families but Bruce Wayne was the one to make Gotham into something more than a crime ridden hellhole. His charities may have done more than Batman ever could, even if he is a ditzy billionaire playboy. If Superman was even a hair away from perfect control, he could rearrange the landscape with an errant motion. Could that same strength not be turned to carving water-bringing tributaries to regions of probable drought?
One hundred grams of prevention is worth one kilogram of cure.
They are the mightiest heroes of our world. The greatest, most moral, most visible . They are exemplars and paragons of the superheroic ideal; it is only natural that aspiring protectors follow their example. There are those who profit from their powers but they remain few and far between. Those that try to truly change their environment are fewer still.
That said, today has been an informative experience on the virtues of restraint. Certainly, I would not have atomised my friends and family if I had the training to control my powers. Undoubtedly, I would not face down in the crater that used to be my school if I hadn't been blinded by self-righteous hubris. Assuredly, if I hadn't thought myself a superhero, a being of impeccable control and judgement, I wouldn't have caused a diplomatic incident or traumatised the national consciousness of a country.
How many years did the Justice League train to not break the world of cardboard that they live in?
Sometimes, power comes with a moral responsibility to not use it, to recognise that power exercised incautiously can tear free from even the best of intentions and wreak its own havoc. Law and virtue are restraints on those who can recognise their own fallibility.
Hard Men that make Hard Decisions while Hard are almost universally deluding themselves into believing that they flawlessly serve the greater good and that they needn't hold to any moral principle in that most noble of pursuits.
Megalomaniacs, in short.
TL;DR: I got superpowers and managed to kill most of the people I cared about (along with a thousand other people) in my first week because I thought I was a protagonist.
The ambiguous syntax in that phrase always bugged me because it could mean a couple of things.
1. Power comes with a moral responsibility to use it for good
2. Responsibility brings a power in its own right.
I realise that the original sentence is a pithy statement and near everyone got the message, whether they agreed or disagreed. Only philosophers and pedantic fuckwits like me even thought about it. Responsibility can bring out the best in someone, ground the lackadaisical, sharpen the dull. At the same time, it can break someone. Heavy is the head that bears the crown.
Of course, responsibility doesn't give you the ability to eat lighting and shit thunder. No, that would probably be something approaching fair and we can't fucking have that, can we? And so, question number two is somewhat less relevant than question number one. Do the earthbound gods have a responsibility to protect their lessers?
(Most do not call them gods to their faces. That doesn't stop people adding Superman idols to their family temples.)
Y'see, even before today's incident, I had always been the sort to think about this. Where does the responsibility end?
My paternal side of the family are farmers, farmers living in a less than forgiving area of India. Their lives and livelihoods are at the mercy of Mother Nature and her grace is finite. To me, it seems the entire region is teetering on the edge of famine and drought. I suspect climate change will not be kind to them in the years to come.
My father's efforts ensure that their village does not starve but even then, he can only do so much. Our immediate family remains well-fed but the other villagers tend to have a distinctly tight look about their faces. They are smaller and have an almost frail look about them, despite a life of backbreaking physical activity.
Malnutrition gives them a certain "look" about them. It is the same look that street labourers have. I imagine exposure to fine dust and noxious fumes take just as much of a toll. Their children will suffer similarly.
And so, when I see miraculous technology on the live news built by some lone lunatic in his garage, I can't help but feel somewhat irritated that a major world power is somehow less technologically advanced. Mark Madron has a magic wand that controls the weather; are you trying to tell me you can't loan it out for a day?
I know I'm being ridiculous. I know there must be ten thousand climatological reasons why it wouldn't work. I know there's potential for abuse, infrastructure problems. I know. And I don't care. Are you trying to tell me that a world power couldn't do better than some mad fucking engineer in a cave with a box of scraps? Harvard's entire research budget is a goddamn rounding error in a nation's GDP. I'm betting people could get together the political and financial capital real goddamn quick if word got out that we could end drought.
And if not public, why not private? Wayne, Kord, Queen and Lex are in a four way cage match trying to get new innovations out to the public. And yet, there's nothing to change the game, nothing to shake the world. With access to confiscated technology and notes from people who would've been, should've been paradigm shifting geniuses, they really can't do better?
The Justice League aren't much of a help. They seem to follow a doctrine of the "unambiguous good." Only clear cut crimes and natural disasters. It's unquestionable that they save lives. Hundreds of thousands lives, succor brought to the blighted, justice brought to the unjust.
But couldn't they do more? They treat the symptoms but rarely the disease. Batman may have broken the backs of Gotham's crime families but Bruce Wayne was the one to make Gotham into something more than a crime ridden hellhole. His charities may have done more than Batman ever could, even if he is a ditzy billionaire playboy. If Superman was even a hair away from perfect control, he could rearrange the landscape with an errant motion. Could that same strength not be turned to carving water-bringing tributaries to regions of probable drought?
One hundred grams of prevention is worth one kilogram of cure.
They are the mightiest heroes of our world. The greatest, most moral, most visible . They are exemplars and paragons of the superheroic ideal; it is only natural that aspiring protectors follow their example. There are those who profit from their powers but they remain few and far between. Those that try to truly change their environment are fewer still.
That said, today has been an informative experience on the virtues of restraint. Certainly, I would not have atomised my friends and family if I had the training to control my powers. Undoubtedly, I would not face down in the crater that used to be my school if I hadn't been blinded by self-righteous hubris. Assuredly, if I hadn't thought myself a superhero, a being of impeccable control and judgement, I wouldn't have caused a diplomatic incident or traumatised the national consciousness of a country.
How many years did the Justice League train to not break the world of cardboard that they live in?
Sometimes, power comes with a moral responsibility to not use it, to recognise that power exercised incautiously can tear free from even the best of intentions and wreak its own havoc. Law and virtue are restraints on those who can recognise their own fallibility.
Hard Men that make Hard Decisions while Hard are almost universally deluding themselves into believing that they flawlessly serve the greater good and that they needn't hold to any moral principle in that most noble of pursuits.
Megalomaniacs, in short.
TL;DR: I got superpowers and managed to kill most of the people I cared about (along with a thousand other people) in my first week because I thought I was a protagonist.
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- Location
- france
A point:
In the original comic, Superman DOES this sort of things.
He is even an expert to using current crisis to solve past problems.
I remember one comic when he used an enormous mass of ice generated by a super-villain to solve a drought.
- Location
- Turkey
What are your powers? You should escape that region now that you have killed lots of people and at least learn to use your powers correctly. Don't be one of those idiots who thinks few weeks of martial arts lesson and playing with your powers in your backyard makes you an expert. stay away from crime fighting. As you said, Bruce Wayne has done more than Batman ever did for Gotham. It's clear that crime fighting is not the solution. Master your powers like Superman, Munchin and min-max them like Taylor Hebert, master your own body like Ranma, master the art of money making and controlling the opinion of the masses like Lex Luthor, create plans and back ups for everything that could happen like Batman.
If you want to be the protagonist of this world and lust for the fame and recognition like the ones for super hero's, than though luck. Best advice I can give about that is, contract with a telepath with an magically binding geass to not share and act on whatever he find in your head to get rid of your protagonist feelings. Than kill that guy when his back is turned. you can't effort to leave traces. That world is not safe. Invasion every month from whatever the author cooked up, mad man thinking they are gods, gods playing with humanity like little girls playing barbie dolls, weekly random metahuman rampaging across the streets...
If you want to be the protagonist of this world and lust for the fame and recognition like the ones for super hero's, than though luck. Best advice I can give about that is, contract with a telepath with an magically binding geass to not share and act on whatever he find in your head to get rid of your protagonist feelings. Than kill that guy when his back is turned. you can't effort to leave traces. That world is not safe. Invasion every month from whatever the author cooked up, mad man thinking they are gods, gods playing with humanity like little girls playing barbie dolls, weekly random metahuman rampaging across the streets...
Lealope
Not yet invincible
- Pronouns
- She/Her
A point:
In the original comic, Superman DOES this sort of things.
He is even an expert to using current crisis to solve past problems.
I remember one comic when he used an enormous mass of ice generated by a super-villain to solve a drought.
Ah, I see. I think there are two differences between what he does and what the main character is complaining of.
The first is a matter of short term versus long term solutions. Alleviating a drought is one thing but ensuring that the area stops being drought prone is another.
The second difference is a matter of reactivity versus proactivity. Instead of fighting fires, building fireproof houses. Instead of saving flood victims, have meteorologists predict annual areas of probable flood and work to build dams or drains to prevent them entirely.
1. He isn't me.
2. He's a little bit catatonic and having a completely breakdown after vapourising his school and killing his friends and family.
3. He doesn't know what his powers are. All he knows now is that they are powerful and incredibly difficult to control.
4. He wants to help people. He disagrees with their methods but he deeply, deeply respects the Justice League.
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- Location
- Turkey
man... what a way to kill my excitement... I will probably still continue watching this thread but you killed my hopes man... Most of the writers on this site writes about OCs or SI's who wants to be 'da HERO'. they join the the JL or YJ or whatever the name the local hero group. Your fic is not bad and has potential but I wanted to read Magnificent Bastard.
sigh...Anyway, good luck with writing. (Sorry if I sounded like I was Flaming your fic)
Jackercracks
In a British accent
- Location
- England
Leaving aside matters of morality, people going after you in revenge and such, your best advice is to let a man read your mind where he can presumably see that you plan to kill him, and then expect him to turn his back to you. Think about that for a minute. Also, the magically binding geass requires finding a mage, which are 1: extremely rare, 2: extremely annoying to fight and, 3: liable to shove their noses into whatever takes their fancy.
Lealope
Not yet invincible
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Thank you. Don't worry about it.
Lealope
Not yet invincible
- Pronouns
- She/Her
All things considered, I'm glad Martian Manhunter was the one to find me. Though I know all of the members of the League are some of the kindest, more empathetic and most compassionate people alive, telepathy is somewhat of an unfair advantage when it comes to understanding people. I would be unsurprised if he felt contempt towards me after I killed a thousand people because I thought I could be a hero but at least he'd be able to see that I wasn't malicious, just an arrogant idiot.
Those weren't my thoughts at the time, of course. I wasn't thinking much of anything other than gibbering and/or internal screaming. Normally, I'd have been a lot more resistant to the idea of someone reading my mind but I welcomed it in the present circumstances. I could only assume that he'd contacted the League immediately after seeing the scale of the devastation because the Lanterns were pretty quick to arrive for containment duty.
In a flash of green light we had teleported to Belle Reve penitentiary, presumably the most suitable place on Earth to contain something like me. I suspected that arrangements were being made to transfer me into more secure Lantern facility. Until then, terrestrial metahuman suppression collars, Lantern construct reinforcement and what felt like a telepathically induced mental block on my powers would have to be enough. It's not as though I'd resist; I knew full well that I deserved everything that happened to me. Worse, in fact. It was merciful of them to simply humanely imprison me instead of a lifetime of torture. Pearl Harbour was enough to make America turn to concentration camps; I don't want to think about what my country would do to me if they could get their hands on me after what I did.
"Hey."
It's funny how shock works. I could register that there was someone talking in the vicinity but my mind couldn't make the connection between someone talking at me and someone talking to me. Even then, I could register the gentleness in his voice. It was the voice of someone who was both used to and enjoyed caring for people.
"Hey. My name is Guy Gardner. I'm a teacher for children with special needs. I'm here to help you."
Given my unresponsive state, they had decided set me down on the cell's minimalistic bed. I assume they had brought me to Belle Reve's maximum security; the place that was tested against Superman and came out solid.
Seeing that I wasn't responding, the man repeated himself. This time, I had managed to register that someone was actually talking to me and work up a response through the haze in my mind. My thoughts felt like a fish swimming through treacle; the motions were familiar but everything was so slow, no matter how hard I tried.
"Hi."
Eloquent, I know. Thankfully, he was patient with me, content on slowly coaxing out a response instead of taking aggressive action. I don't think I would have responded well to scary people in that mind state. I can't imagine I'd have responded well if someone like Batman had questioned me. I'm glad they got someone on short notice to talk to me; as cool as talking to a superhero would be in normal circumstances, I'm pretty sure the overwhelming shame and self loathing I'd feel talking to one probably wouldn't be conducive to treatment.
"You don't have to worry. We care about you. We want to help you."
His words were slow and measured and I got the impression he carefully selected each one. He kept his sentences short and left pauses between them so I could follow along. At that moment, I couldn't actually understand the implications of his words.
"Okay."
"I'm going to ask a few questions about what happened today. Is that alright?"
"Okay."
"Could you tell me how this all started?"
Before I consciously recognised it, I was already gathering my thoughts to tell him everything. The instincts of a veteran therapy patient, I suppose.
"It all started with this weird tattoo."
-
How the hell am I supposed to hide this? And who the hell gets a tattoo on their goddamn palm? A tattoo of a compass rose at that. Did I get roofied or something? Did I get mindfucked by a supervillain? God, if someone sees it, I'm going to look like such a bloody ponce.
Things continued in that vein for several more minutes as I got myself ready for school. In the end, I decided to just wrap my hand in bandages and call it a day. If anyone said anything, I scraped my hand on some gravel and I didn't want to take any chances with infection.
The bus ride to school remained much as it ever was, filled by little hellions with no sense of restraint. Thankfully, I had a friend on this bus and together we managed to shove the little buggers away from the back seats and claim them for our own. Studiously ignoring their screeching, we talked about random highschool bullshit on our way to the building. By the time we finally arrived, we were having a heatedly bickering about absolutely nothing.
Today was a special day; an award ceremony for exceptional students. My parents would be coming in their own car because they flatly refused to wake up at the ungodly time I did to get to school on time. The actual event would be at eight thirty so it wasn't as though they'd be late.
School also remained much as it ever was. I relaxed around with my friends in our homeroom, cracking dirty jokes and mocking our everyone and everything that came to mind, especially each other. The morning's classes were cancelled for the sake of the assembly. Until then, we were to wait with the rest of our class. We weren't exactly complaining since we got to miss some of the worst lessons in the day.
And then we heard gunshots.
I couldn't actually believe it at first until the intercom actually announced that yes, there was a terrorist attack and no, this was not a drill. Since our school was considered a likely target for terrorism, the response times would be relatively fast, if anything could be called fast going through the traffic typical to Indian cities. I had forgotten how utterly inane the response protocols were. We had to hide under goddamn tables and wait for the police and/or superheroes to come save us. I already knew that untrained civilians would only make the situation worse if they blundered in face first but it was still galling to be so utterly helpless.
I heard screaming.
I was moving before I could think about it. I've always had this idiotic habit of reflexively trying help people in danger without actually planning or preparing and today I was in rare form. Didn't bother considering the fact that I might've drawn attention to my classroom, a room filled with my friends.
The tattoo felt warm.
I could hear shouting behind me as the people in my class called at me to come back. I didn't listen, of course. People were in trouble and no one was doing anything; I was the only one who was willing to help. Thoughts like those ran through my mind as I flew down the stairs four steps at a time.
My hand started glowing.
The first gunman I came across saw me immediately and hit me with a burst of full auto fire straight into my chest. I didn't even have a chance to react. As I fell, I was filled with fury. Not towards anything in particular or perhaps everything in particular. Fury at myself for being worthless, fury at these stupid bastards for killing children because of some stupid ideology, fury at the heroes for not being there, fury at the entire world for being a place of such cruelty.
I started burning.
It started at my palm but spread to my entire body. My blood was boiling and fire was scorching my lungs. I tried my utmost to contain it was beyond me like the sun is beyond a candle.
And then there was light.
Those weren't my thoughts at the time, of course. I wasn't thinking much of anything other than gibbering and/or internal screaming. Normally, I'd have been a lot more resistant to the idea of someone reading my mind but I welcomed it in the present circumstances. I could only assume that he'd contacted the League immediately after seeing the scale of the devastation because the Lanterns were pretty quick to arrive for containment duty.
In a flash of green light we had teleported to Belle Reve penitentiary, presumably the most suitable place on Earth to contain something like me. I suspected that arrangements were being made to transfer me into more secure Lantern facility. Until then, terrestrial metahuman suppression collars, Lantern construct reinforcement and what felt like a telepathically induced mental block on my powers would have to be enough. It's not as though I'd resist; I knew full well that I deserved everything that happened to me. Worse, in fact. It was merciful of them to simply humanely imprison me instead of a lifetime of torture. Pearl Harbour was enough to make America turn to concentration camps; I don't want to think about what my country would do to me if they could get their hands on me after what I did.
"Hey."
It's funny how shock works. I could register that there was someone talking in the vicinity but my mind couldn't make the connection between someone talking at me and someone talking to me. Even then, I could register the gentleness in his voice. It was the voice of someone who was both used to and enjoyed caring for people.
"Hey. My name is Guy Gardner. I'm a teacher for children with special needs. I'm here to help you."
Given my unresponsive state, they had decided set me down on the cell's minimalistic bed. I assume they had brought me to Belle Reve's maximum security; the place that was tested against Superman and came out solid.
Seeing that I wasn't responding, the man repeated himself. This time, I had managed to register that someone was actually talking to me and work up a response through the haze in my mind. My thoughts felt like a fish swimming through treacle; the motions were familiar but everything was so slow, no matter how hard I tried.
"Hi."
Eloquent, I know. Thankfully, he was patient with me, content on slowly coaxing out a response instead of taking aggressive action. I don't think I would have responded well to scary people in that mind state. I can't imagine I'd have responded well if someone like Batman had questioned me. I'm glad they got someone on short notice to talk to me; as cool as talking to a superhero would be in normal circumstances, I'm pretty sure the overwhelming shame and self loathing I'd feel talking to one probably wouldn't be conducive to treatment.
"You don't have to worry. We care about you. We want to help you."
His words were slow and measured and I got the impression he carefully selected each one. He kept his sentences short and left pauses between them so I could follow along. At that moment, I couldn't actually understand the implications of his words.
"Okay."
"I'm going to ask a few questions about what happened today. Is that alright?"
"Okay."
"Could you tell me how this all started?"
Before I consciously recognised it, I was already gathering my thoughts to tell him everything. The instincts of a veteran therapy patient, I suppose.
"It all started with this weird tattoo."
-
How the hell am I supposed to hide this? And who the hell gets a tattoo on their goddamn palm? A tattoo of a compass rose at that. Did I get roofied or something? Did I get mindfucked by a supervillain? God, if someone sees it, I'm going to look like such a bloody ponce.
Things continued in that vein for several more minutes as I got myself ready for school. In the end, I decided to just wrap my hand in bandages and call it a day. If anyone said anything, I scraped my hand on some gravel and I didn't want to take any chances with infection.
The bus ride to school remained much as it ever was, filled by little hellions with no sense of restraint. Thankfully, I had a friend on this bus and together we managed to shove the little buggers away from the back seats and claim them for our own. Studiously ignoring their screeching, we talked about random highschool bullshit on our way to the building. By the time we finally arrived, we were having a heatedly bickering about absolutely nothing.
Today was a special day; an award ceremony for exceptional students. My parents would be coming in their own car because they flatly refused to wake up at the ungodly time I did to get to school on time. The actual event would be at eight thirty so it wasn't as though they'd be late.
School also remained much as it ever was. I relaxed around with my friends in our homeroom, cracking dirty jokes and mocking our everyone and everything that came to mind, especially each other. The morning's classes were cancelled for the sake of the assembly. Until then, we were to wait with the rest of our class. We weren't exactly complaining since we got to miss some of the worst lessons in the day.
And then we heard gunshots.
I couldn't actually believe it at first until the intercom actually announced that yes, there was a terrorist attack and no, this was not a drill. Since our school was considered a likely target for terrorism, the response times would be relatively fast, if anything could be called fast going through the traffic typical to Indian cities. I had forgotten how utterly inane the response protocols were. We had to hide under goddamn tables and wait for the police and/or superheroes to come save us. I already knew that untrained civilians would only make the situation worse if they blundered in face first but it was still galling to be so utterly helpless.
I heard screaming.
I was moving before I could think about it. I've always had this idiotic habit of reflexively trying help people in danger without actually planning or preparing and today I was in rare form. Didn't bother considering the fact that I might've drawn attention to my classroom, a room filled with my friends.
The tattoo felt warm.
I could hear shouting behind me as the people in my class called at me to come back. I didn't listen, of course. People were in trouble and no one was doing anything; I was the only one who was willing to help. Thoughts like those ran through my mind as I flew down the stairs four steps at a time.
My hand started glowing.
The first gunman I came across saw me immediately and hit me with a burst of full auto fire straight into my chest. I didn't even have a chance to react. As I fell, I was filled with fury. Not towards anything in particular or perhaps everything in particular. Fury at myself for being worthless, fury at these stupid bastards for killing children because of some stupid ideology, fury at the heroes for not being there, fury at the entire world for being a place of such cruelty.
I started burning.
It started at my palm but spread to my entire body. My blood was boiling and fire was scorching my lungs. I tried my utmost to contain it was beyond me like the sun is beyond a candle.
And then there was light.
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QuietlyObserving
The Railgun That Walks Like a Bear
- Location
- Here.
Oh, this looks absolutely spectacular already. A setting I like, great characterization even with the minimal dialogue so far, and a unique start to a story.
I'm looking forward to where this goes.
I'm looking forward to where this goes.
seconded. It also isn't US centric which is awesome. There isn't nearly enough fiction representing other parts of the world and I'm saying that as someone who lives in the US. It must bother people who don't much more.
johnwedd
Above Average man
- Location
- usa
I agree, having more cultures and nationalities represented in the recent round of comic book reboots is one of the things that has given me hope for the industry (miles morales and kamela kahn are fucking awesome legacy heroes) . seeing this trend reflect in the fan fiction gives me the warm and fuzzies.
RazorSmile
ROB Used To Be A Knife Missile
Ahhhh, he's the Starbrand from newuniversal aka formerly known as New Universe? That explains a lot if true.
Nitpick; while probably true in the main-verse (more or less all versions of it, I think) , YJ-verse power-levels are somewhat less ridiculous.
Lealope
Not yet invincible
- Pronouns
- She/Her
ZFighter18
I'm not a god. I AM WHAT A GOD PRAYS TO.
- Location
- Maryland
Ooooh, the Starbrand. Me likey dat.