“This,” he explains patiently, “Is to stop superhero discrimination. It doesn’t make sense for the Act to still exist – it’s been almost twenty years, and nothing has been solved. Crime rates have gone up, insurance has doubled, it’s making people turn on each other.”
He didn’t regret any of his decisions either in being a hero or a father, but he sometimes wished the world had been a little different, so that his children could grow up enjoying their powers instead of hiding and stifling them.
They’ve been parents and spouses and soldiers and nurses and lovers and fighters and now they have little left. They’ve been so many people in just forty-five years that it’s easy to forget who they are now.
The plan is formulating in her mind faster than she can stop it, and maybe it’s putting herself and him, and everything else that she’s worked for at risk, but she won’t let them torture a boy who’s her age, who’s barely old enough to even be in the war, without doing something about it.
“I’m going to get you out of here,” she whispers.
The war will strip much from him, but he won’t let it strip his identity. It’s the one thing that no one can take – not the British, not the French, not even the Germans.
For all their training in dueling, the years of previous wartime, this war was different. One side had the distinct advantage of finality to their condition, while the other was forced to run and run until they eventually succumbed to the illness as well or died trying to avoid it.
renegadekarma 