GOOD/EVIL

To Be A Hero

My name is... well, I don't have a name. Not really. At the orphanage, they called me Fives. It's because of my number. Subject 505--tattooed right on my neck, only half visible beneath the collar of my shirt.

They labeled me as B class when I was put in the orphanage. I was about six. B class was rare for anyone under the age of sixteen. Hell, for a kid my age, it was completely unheard of. My mutation was already strong enough to get into Heroes.

The houseparents at the orphanage were afraid of me, but the other kids weren't. Looking back, I wish they had been afraid. My best friend's name was Ethan. I accidentally broke his arm three times before they told me I couldn't play like the normal kids. Even if I wasn't roughhousing with the other children anymore, I somehow managed to keep on hurting them by accident.

Everything came crashing down after the... incident. I sent a kid to the emergency room, and he was left with permanent damage. I could never forgive myself. After that, they put me in isolation. I couldn't blame them. If anything, I was grateful they locked me up on my own. I never meant to hurt anybody.

I never knew what went on in the isolation rooms until I was sent there. To put it lightly, the place is a nightmare. They put me through relentless tests of endurance and strength, using me as their high-class guinea pig.

Could I have busted out of there if I wanted to? Absolutely. Did I? No. In my mind, there was nowhere to go except the orphanage. Nowhere to belong. As long as I was locked behind the blank steel walls of the isolation room, they were safe.

Yet that crazy son of a bitch, Ethan, stole a clearance badge from one of the housemothers. He used her clearance to get access to my isolation room. I'll never forget it, the broad grin on his face when he opened that door and peeked inside. 

I was terrified. I backed into a corner, held my knees against my chest and told him to leave. I said I didn't want to hurt him, too. My best friend.

He ignored every bit of it. He walked up to me and sat down, took my hand, and placed a deck of cards in it.

"Your deal," he said.

A couple of hours later, a housefather heard laughing in my room. He opened the door, but before he could say anything, Ethan stood up and faced the housefather, spreading his arms defensively. He went on a rant about how they couldn't leave me here alone, how it wasn't fair. He said he wouldn't let them hurt me anymore.

I was speechless. Here this kid was, protecting someone who was B class when he was E class at best. I doubt the housefather could have hurt me even if he'd tried, but Ethan didn't care. He'd seen someone who was hurt, and he took it upon himself to help them.

I don't remember much after that. All I remember is bawling my eyes out. That's the first time I ever cried, I think. I didn't cry when they told me my parents had died. I didn't cry when I was moved to a strange new building in a strange new place. I didn't cry when I'd left my own friend with irreparable damage.

But in that moment, I couldn't hold it back anymore.

They ended up letting Ethan visit me every day, whenever he wanted. I guess he took that as an invitation to move in because, after that, we were inseparable. We did everything with each other. Ate together, played together, watched movies together, he even ended up with his own bed in my room. We weren't best friends anymore. We were brothers. The only family we had left.

The tests stopped after that. Whether the guilt of hurting a child had finally gotten to them, afraid of being exposed for their monstrosity, or something bigger was at work, I never knew, but I didn't stop to think on it, either.

Being a Hero had never crossed my mind, but after the night he snuck into my isolation room, I couldn't help but think that what he did, the courage he displayed, the selflessness, and the compassion. To put others before yourself, to protect and fight for what you love, no matter how strong or weak you are, no matter the cost...

That's what it meant to be a Hero.