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The Villains Kid

You are the child of the villain and you've just found out their arch-nemesis has killed them.

"I'm not ready for this." I stared down at my half-filled suitcase, shirts and pants were scattered around it, A single dress laid out flat and perfectly waited by eh suitcase.

"Jamie, we gotta go." My uncle steeped into he room, and instead of responding to my statement he changed the subject, "The lawyers will be here soon and you need to get ready for their questions as well as taking over the empire."

I sighed, walking, almost falling backwards into the chair behind me, I couldn't stop staring at the dress, "He gave me that dress you know...When He showed it to me all laid out on my bed like that, I was just so happy...I can't believe he's-" My words cut out as my throat closed up and I felt the burning sting of a new wave of tears coming. I rubbed my eyes really hard to push the sting back as well as the tears and vehemently stood up, i grabbed the dress and all the clothes and shoved them in the suitcase, I handed it to my uncle once it was zipped.

"I;m going to grab the last few things, wait for down stairs."

My uncle nodded, "Jamie," I turned to face him, "I know this is hard for you, but Your father knew as well as I the consequences of his work and well...theres no better person then you to take his place."

I turned back around with out answering what he had said, he left silently.

I grab the toiletry bag and a few of my favorite books, behind the wall painting I had made a little over a year ago I pulled out my Glock, loaded.

I fastened it on my hip holster and after putting the hood up on my hoodie I grabbed the last of my things and left.

I would miss this house, Laine Manor, With it marbled walk ways stone columns, oak wood floors and furniture.

I looked back at the stone statues perched in the wall croppings, the famous paintings hanging in our main living room.

This was my home, but now none if it could belong to me.

I clenched my fists in my pocket, angry was a word to soft for the feelings I felt right then.

I walked through he kitchen remember the good days when my father could make time for me and we would make dinner together, the piano where he taught me to play sat in the room across from the kitchen and next to the grand hall.

My uncle stood at the garage door, "Is this really all you want to bring?" He motioned to the one suitcase he had the bag I carried.

"Yes."

"You don't want any of your fathers things?"

"You've already burned his most prized possessions so does it really matter?"

My uncle shrugged knowing I was right.

We walked out to the garage and instead of taking one of the many priceless cars my father owned we took my uncles old black SUV.

AS we drove away I look out the tinted window at my house one last time.

The gun on my hip bit into my back and cringed but felt to tired to actually move it.

A gun on my hip, a dead father, and a global super-villain crime syndicate, It all seemed to much for me, I was only fifteen, yet it was all mine.

The hero who had killed my father would pay.

The hero stripped everything good in my life away, it was unfair that they got to kill, yet were praised by the city for their acts. How were they any different then my father now?

The hero was a murderer, at least my father had purpose, to built a better and safer world, his means and ideas of how to accomplish that only differed from the hero's, but how did that give reason for his death.

The sting of tears came back, but this time I didn't stop them.

If the hero feels its ok to take everything I love and burn it in the light of their glory then I would make it my mission to take everything from them, I will make them bleed, then I will kill them.

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FIVE YEARS LATER...