Brandon Breyer sat at his school desk, trying to ignore the whispers of his classmates. He was thirteen, but it felt like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. After the nightmares that haunted him at night and the secrets tied to his ship, school seemed like a place where he could forget, if only for a moment. But that day, everything went wrong.
During recess, on the playground, a group of kids started picking on him again. One of them, Roy, tall and cocky, shoved Brandon as he walked by. Caught off guard, Brandon lost his balance and fell onto the gravel. Laughter erupted around him like a flock of crows.
"Look at the klutz!" Roy shouted, and the others joined in.
Brandon clenched his fists, feeling blood pulse in his temples. He wanted to stand up, say something, maybe even push Roy back—but he knew he couldn't. His strength was too great. One wrong move, and he could hurt someone. So he stood up in silence, brushing off his pants, and headed toward the school building.
The gym teacher, Mr. Harris, noticed the commotion. Instead of punishing Roy, he looked at Brandon and sighed.
"Caitlyn, help him pick up his stuff," he said, pointing to a girl standing nearby, smirking
Caitlyn, one of the more popular students, rolled her eyes. She'd laughed at Brandon earlier, tossing snide remarks about his "weirdness." Now, reluctantly, she approached as he gathered his scattered books.
"Here, I'll take it," she muttered, reaching for his backpack.
"I've got it," Brandon snapped, too sharply. He grabbed the backpack, but Caitlyn yanked it toward her. He didn't realize how tightly he'd gripped it. There was a crack, followed by Caitlyn's scream.
She fell to her knees, clutching her wrist. Her hand was bent at an unnatural angle, her eyes brimming with tears. Brandon froze. Silence fell around them, then shouts from other students.
"What did you do?!" Roy yelled, running toward them.
"I… I didn't mean to," Brandon whispered, but no one listened. Mr. Harris rushed over, pulling Caitlyn away and shooting Brandon a look of disbelief.
"To the principal's office. Now," he growled.
That afternoon, Tori and Kyle sat in the living room across from Brandon, who looked like he wanted to disappear. The news of the incident at school had reached them quickly, and the meeting with the principal only made things worse. Caitlyn had a broken arm in two places. No one understood how it happened—no one except Brandon and his parents.
"Brandon, you need to tell us what happened," Tori began, her voice calm but laced with concern. "Caitlyn says you just grabbed her hand."
Brandon looked down, staring at the grain of the wooden floor.
"I didn't mean to hurt her. She… yanked the backpack, and I… I didn't control my strength. I didn't know it would be that…" He trailed off, clenching his fists.
Kyle leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"Son, we know you didn't mean it. But your strength… it's different. You've got to learn to control it. Especially in moments when you're angry or frustrated."
"I know, Dad," Brandon muttered. "But how? Sometimes it feels like everything in me… like it wants to break free. And today… they were laughing at me. I couldn't take it."
Tori sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Brandon, your emotions are just as important as your strength. If you let anger take over, you might do something you'll regret. You need to learn to control yourself -both what you feel and what you do."
Brandon looked up at his parents. In their eyes, he saw love, but also fear—not of him, but for him.
"What if I can't?" he asked quietly.
"What if I'm… bad?"
Kyle shook his head.
"You're not bad, Brandon. You're our son. And we'll find a way for you to live with who you are. But you've got to trust us."
Brandon nodded, though deep down he felt unease. He knew his parents wanted the best for him, but did they really understand what was inside him? Could anyone?
Five Years Later
Brandon Breyer stood before the mirror in his room. At eighteen, he was tall, muscular, with sharp features that drew glances. His dark hair fell over his forehead, and his eyes—those same eyes that sometimes flashed red—stared back at him with an intensity he didn't fully understand. He was handsome, but he wasn't thinking about that. Not today.
He'd finished high school. The world lay open before him, but what did that really mean? Over the past five years, he'd learned to control his powers—at least enough to avoid breaking any more bones. He'd learned to manage his anger, though sometimes he still felt something whispering inside him, urging him to let go. The nightmares still came, though less often. Blood, emptiness, that laughter—his laughter.
What now? he thought, staring at his reflection. He could stay on the farm, help his parents. He could leave, maybe for New York, where heroes like Spider-Man and Iron Man fought threats. But who would he be there? A hero? A villain? Or something else entirely?
Outside the window, the Kansas fields stretched endlessly, calm and quiet. But Brandon knew his life wouldn't be like that. He couldn't escape who he was-or what might await him.