Before We Grow

The Beginning

CPS had come for me just as the funeral ended. My parents had no living relatives, so, I had no other choice but to be put back in the foster system. Once again, I was an orphan. This time, there was seldom chance of getting adopted. For a child to lose two families in one lifetime was considered bad luck. I expected to be bounced from home to home until I was of age to live on my own.
    That was much to far away.
    CPs had allowed me to return to my home to gather a few belongings. Two agents sat on the front porch waiting for me as I entered my childhood home once again.
    It was a nice victorian house, built long before any of us were born. It had towering white walls, and the floor was ornate dark wooden planks. Pictures of my family hung on the walls, some of us all together, some of just me, just Mama, just Papa, and of the son they lost long ago.
    They never spoke much about Eion Brimsey. From what I heard, he died at a young age from a rare cancer. He never stood a chance. He barely made it through his first year at school before the light left him. Just a year later, they found me.
    I took a picture of Mama, Papa, and I down from the wall. It was of my sixth birthday. The three of us posed, with me on Mama's hip between them, on the beach. It was my first ever visit to the beach. That was the day they told me they were going to adopt me, and I never had to go to a foster home ever again.
    If only.
    I held that picture under my arm as I headed upstairs. The door to Mama and Papa's room was wide open, allowing me to step in.
    Everything was exactly as they had left it. The bed was neatly made, and a pile of clothes sat on a nearby chair. The window was drawn, but sunlight still streamed in. If I closed my eyes, I could see them lying in their bed, waiting for me to come and watch a movie with them.
    Their closet door was also wide open, which I found odd. Mama had a habit of closing it, and keeping it closed. Cautiously, I snuck into the tiny room, clinging to the picture as if it were my life.
    Their clothes were neatly hung on either side of the room. Boxes were stacked perfectly beneath the racks of clothes, most of which held shoes. One box in particular stood out. It was made of metal, almost like a casket, and large enough for me to fit in if I curled my limbs in tightly. The lid was crooked, as if someone had hurriedly shut it.
    I tentatively pushed the lid off. Inside, a pair of gloves and a pair of boots rested inside of foam. They were black, with wires going through the fabric of the gloves and the leather of the boots. I took the gloves out and examined them. On the palm and the fingertips, flexible metal sheets were adhered to the fabric. There was a button on the inside of the right glove, right on the skin between the thumb and forefinger. I pressed it, and all four items buzzed with electricity.
    I stared at the items in shock. Mama had told me about this, it was a new project of hers. Gloves that could produce a shock as powerful as a defibrillator and boots with enough kick to launch their wearer into the air. She said she had created a prototype, and was going to show it to The University next week. These must be her prototype.
    If they truly could produce that level of electricity, they could be used as a weapon. Better yet, they could be used like a super power. I've heard of people who built themselves into superheroes, maybe this could do the same. If I wore these gloves and these boots, I could be an electric superhero.
    I might even stand a chance at beating Superman.
    With adrenaline fueling my step, I quickly grabbed one of Mama's backpacks. Stuffing the gloves, boots, and their charging cords into it, I leapt up and hurried into my room. There, I threw in several spare articles of clothing, and my favorite book. I also threw in the picture I held.
Going back to Mama and Papa's room, I crouched by the side of the bed. Papa had always told me that, in case something ever happened to them and I needed it, he had hid some money under a loose floor board beneath their bed. I had to crawl under the bed to get to it, but when I did, it was worth it. Held together by a rubber band, two thick rolls of American currency resided. I grabbed both, stuff them in my pack, and zipped it up.
    I had to get out without the CPS workers noticing me. That meant I had to get out through the window. I went through my window, as it was behind the house. They wouldn't be able to see me. I opened the glass, feeling the cool air touch my cheeks.
    For a moment, I hesitated. This would be the last time I Ieft the place I called home. For all I knew, that might be the last time I even had a home. Going through that window meant I was truly leaving behind my childhood.
    "There will be justice," I whispered, "I promise, Mama, Papa, I promise."
    With one, single, solitary glance back at my bedroom, I leapt out the window. From there, I grabbed a nearby tree and shimmed down. All those gymnastic lessons really did come in handy. When my feet hit the dirt, I took off running.
    I wasn't sure where to go, or what to do. To take my revenge on Superman, I had to know his weakness. Even when I knew that, I had to be stronger. Maybe if I had some help, I could do it.
    Papa had told me stories of his encounter with The Batman of Gotham City. It was before he and Mama had moved away. The Batman had rescued Papa from muggers.
Since then, I had read stories and newspaper articles about the Batman. He fights for justice, and he doesn't kill. Maybe he would help me get justice on Superman. Even if he wouldn't kill, that was fine. I wanted to deal the killing blow, I just needed help getting there.
    Perhaps I could convince him. He had a child sidekick, obviously he wasn't opposed to children fighting for what's right. He seemed to be the most logical choice. I just had to get to Gotham, get a costume, and find him.
    The best way I could think to get to Gotham was to stowaway on a train. There's was no way they would let a ten-year-old purchase a train ticket. Stowing away wouldn't be hard, the problems would arise when I got there.
    If I could find him, and that was a big if, it would take a lot of convincing for him to help me. I had to establish myself as a hero, or, at the very least, a vigilante like him. In order to do that, I needed a costume and a name.    
    First, I had to get there.