We stood in a group outside the changing rooms and showers, not having had time to get changed after training. Sweaty T-shirts and tracksuit bottoms, which had seemed normal just a few minutes ago, now looked out of place against the backdrop of what was happening around us. The police had already arrived, and stern officers in uniform were walking back and forth, whispering to each other. The school administration was also there. Their faces reflected a mixture of shock, confusion and despair. I noticed that Kenny's parents had arrived, which was another blow to the already tense and heavy atmosphere. His mother, upon seeing her son's body, fell into hysterics and then lost consciousness, hitting her head as she fell. Medics immediately rushed to her side, trying to revive her. The boy's father stood nearby, motionless, his eyes empty, his arms hanging limply at his sides. He looked at his wife, but seemed not to notice her — his mind was somewhere far away, in another, safe world where everything was as it had been before.
The police ordered us to stay where we were and wait for our parents: they couldn't officially question us because we were all minors and unaccompanied by adults. My best friend Ethan and I stood a little apart, whispering to each other, trying to understand how such a brutal murder could have happened within the walls of our familiar, seemingly safe school. Fragments of conversation and whispers floated around us. Some of the kids were crying silently, some were staring intently at the police officers, and some had their heads bowed in despair, clearly unable to recover from the shock.
Soon I noticed my father hurrying towards me. He was walking quickly, his face pale, his eyes anxious and slightly feverish. When he approached, he immediately began to examine me closely, as if looking for even the slightest scratch.
"Bruce, dear, are you all right?" my father asked anxiously, and I heard his voice tremble. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine, Dad," I tried to reassure him in a calm tone and added a slight smile. "I'm a tough nut to crack, you can't get to me that easily. You'd need to... " I stopped myself, almost revealing my abilities, and quickly added, "You know I'm always careful."
My father breathed a sigh of relief, but the tension remained on his face.
"Yes, son, of course," he nodded, trying to regain his usual composure, but I could see his hands shaking. "When I heard what happened, I rushed here right away. Your mother is in New York at a charity event, but she's already on her way back. She said that nothing is more important to her than our family."
"I thought she had an important event planned there: a foundation presentation, guests..." I remarked in surprise, glancing at the police officers who had surrounded the parents of the other children.
"I'm sure she does," my father shrugged. "But she couldn't stay there knowing that her son was near the scene of a murder. She left everything to her deputies, explaining why," my father's face showed a mixture of pride and concern. "Everyone was understanding; family really is the most important thing."
Noticing that Ethan was timidly approaching us, my father gave him my seat next to me.
"Mr Jonathan, Bruce, how could this have happened?" Ethan muttered, and I could hear the fear and confusion in his voice. His eyes darted from side to side, as if he were looking for support or at least some reasonable explanation for what he had seen.
I exchanged glances with my father and, taking a deep breath, decided to tell my friend everything I had seen with my own eyes:
"Ethan, I'm sure Kenny's been killed," I lowered my voice to a whisper so that no one else could hear us. "When I found him in the shower and turned his body over, I noticed a terrible cut across his throat. But the strangest thing was that there was no blood around it. The shower was on, of course, and the water could have washed it away... But when I moved him slightly, the cut was dry. Do you understand? Dry! It felt like someone had somehow drained all the blood out of Kenny beforehand.
As I spoke, my father watched my face closely. With every passing second, his gaze grew darker and his lips tightened. I sensed that he knew, or at least suspected, something that he preferred not to say out loud.
"Dad?" I said quietly, trying to catch his eye. "Are you hiding something?"
My father just shook his head and said quietly,
"Later, Bruce. I'll tell you everything, but only when we get out of here. Right now, let's focus on what we need to tell the police. An officer is on his way. Tell him everything you saw, without leaving out any details.
I nodded and turned to look at the approaching detective. He was a strong, middle-aged man who looked tired but had an attentive and penetrating gaze. He introduced himself as Detective Brown and suggested we step aside so we could talk quietly.
"Good evening... although it's certainly not a good evening, Mr. Wayne. Bruce," he said, glancing at Ethan, "my name is Detective Brown. I hope you can spare a few minutes for me?"
"Certainly, detective," my father replied. "Bruce will tell you everything he knows. Ethan, I see your parents are here too," he nodded towards the Carters, who were hurrying towards their son. "You'd better go to them so they don't worry."
Ethan nodded quickly and, casting an anxious glance at me, headed towards his parents. My father and I followed the detective to his car. There he took out a folding chair and a notepad. I told him everything: how I found the body, what the wound looked like, the strange absence of blood. Every time I mentioned details related to the blood, the detective's face darkened. Anger and frustration flashed in his eyes, while my father listened in tense silence, occasionally glancing at me with short, anxious looks.
"Thank you, Bruce," the detective said at the end, closing his notebook. "Your help is important to the investigation. If we have any further questions, we will contact you through your father or the school. Now, considering the circumstances, I will let you go. It's been a terrible day, try to get some rest and pull yourself together. You have school tomorrow, strange and difficult as it may seem."
My father and I walked to the car, got in, and I felt the tension between us, like a thick, tangible fog. We sat in silence for a minute, and then my father started the engine. As we pulled out of the school parking lot onto the night road, I finally decided to break the silence:
"Dad, please explain what's going on. You obviously know something, but you're hiding it from me.
My father sighed and took his eyes off the road for a second to look at me:
"All right, son, I'll tell you at least part of what I know." His voice sounded even, but I could sense the anxiety and anger boiling inside him. "We Waynes have always had strong connections in this town. When your grandfather was mayor, he established good relations with the police. I've recently been informed that there's been a series of strange murders in our state: all the victims are found without a single drop of blood, although there is a deep cut on their necks. Apparently, the wound is inflicted after the victims have lost all their blood. The experts don't understand how the killer manages to do it so quickly and without leaving any traces.
My father frowned and gripped the steering wheel tighter. In the moonlight, his profile looked hard and stern.
"There have been more than ten cases like this," he continued. "But they all happened in other areas before. And now here, in our neighbourhood, and even at your school. I can't just sit back and watch this happen. Tomorrow I'll talk to the right people and demand that they step up the search for the killer. Something's clearly wrong here, and the police haven't been able to find a lead yet.
I noticed his hands clenching the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
"If the perpetrator wants to continue, he will have to answer for his actions. And I don't want you getting involved in this, Bruce," he added, suddenly softening his voice. "I know you have special abilities that make you almost invulnerable. But I'm your father, and I'll always worry, no matter what you say.
I suddenly felt anger rising inside me. The very thought that someone was walking around our city hunting people filled me with rage and disgust.
"Dad, I'm not a punching bag," I said, trying to control my emotions. "Let that... maniac, or whatever he is, just try to attack me. He'll realise he's picked the wrong target."
"Son, I understand," my father nodded. "But, I repeat, there is clearly something sinister behind these murders. I'm not sure that this is something an ordinary person is capable of. Maybe it's a whole group, maybe something else... Damn it, I don't know. But I want you to be careful. I'm sorry, but I'll have to call in all our connections and resources to make sure none of us gets hurt. I don't want this murder to happen again, and I certainly don't want it to affect our family.
We drove on in silence, each lost in our own thoughts. I looked out the window at the night city, where the shadows of houses loomed gloomily over the empty streets. Images from the shower flashed through my mind: Kenny's lifeless body, the terrible cut on his throat. My heart ached with grief and anger.
We drove away from the noise of the city and soon turned into the grounds of the Wayne estate, our family's ancestral home, known to all as Wayne Manor. We hadn't lived here for the past eight years, but the huge mansion still stood proudly, surrounded by majestic trees and gardens. It looked both intimidating and inviting. The dark stone walls covered in moss, the Gothic turrets and stained-glass windows with narrow spires all inspired a sense of awe for its history.
"We'll come back here someday," I said quietly, gazing at the silhouette of the mansion in the moonlight. "The whole family, just like before."
My father didn't answer; he was too lost in his thoughts. He glanced at me briefly, his eyes warm and sad, before continuing on. A few minutes later, we arrived at our current home, where we had moved for more privacy because of me. As soon as we parked, my mother appeared on the porch. Her face expressed both relief and a tinge of anxiety.
"Bruce, my darling," she rushed towards me and embraced me tightly. I could smell the faint scent of her perfume mixed with the cold night air. "When your father called me and told me what had happened, I almost fainted. It's so scary... Poor boy, poor parents. I can't imagine how they're coping."
"Esme, let the boy breathe," my father said gently, smiling faintly. "He's fine, just shaken up. Give him some space."
His mother loosened her grip and looked at me with concern.
"I'm sorry, son," she said, embarrassed. "I was just scared to death. How are you feeling? Are you hungry?"
I shook my head, feeling that due to my inner exhaustion and emotional shock, I really couldn't eat or drink anything right now.
"Thanks, Mum, I don't want anything. I'd better go straight to bed. Tomorrow's another day at school, as awful as that sounds." I smiled stiffly, trying to show that I was fine.
My father put his hand on my shoulder:
"Get some rest, son. We'll talk more tomorrow if you need to."
I nodded, and we all went into the house together. Quiet footsteps echoed in the hallway, and dim light fell from the lampshade on the wall. Looking back, I noticed traces of tears on my mother's face and a silent plea in her eyes: she wanted to be sure that I was really okay, that nothing was threatening our family.
"Everything's fine, Mum," I repeated, trying to make my voice sound firm. "Really. Today was a difficult day, but I'm fine."
My mother nodded silently and smiled, trying to regain her composure. I went up to my room, trying to chase away the heavy thoughts. I couldn't forget that tomorrow I would have to look my classmates in the eye, walk past Kenny's empty desk and try to act normal when everything inside me was screaming about the injustice. But I had no strength left for anything except to lie down and close my eyes for at least a few hours.
"I'm going to bed. Tomorrow is a new day, and school hasn't been cancelled. Dad, Mum, good night.
*****
I was sitting at the highest point of the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, not far from a viewpoint called Point Imperial. This place was mesmerising not only because of the stunning views, but also because of the feeling that the earth itself was falling away beneath you, revealing an endless space in which human life seemed insignificant and fragile. The horizon stretched so far that it became clear: we live on only a tiny piece of the Earth's crust, while time and the elements have been shaping the planet's destiny for millions of years. The Grand Canyon is one of the most amazing and monumental creations of nature on Earth. It is located in the state of Arizona and is famous for its colossal depth, sometimes reaching more than one and a half kilometres, and its impressive width, reaching up to thirty kilometres. It is not just a huge crack in the Earth's crust, but a whole world of its own, where each layer of rock tells its own unique story, taking us back to times long before the dawn of humanity.
At that moment, the sun was just beginning to rise timidly above the horizon, filling the sky with soft transitions from pale pink to warm orange and gold. The rays, like the delicate brushstrokes of a talented artist, barely touched the canyon walls and emphasised the amazing palette: bright red, ochre orange, muted yellow and grey stripes of rock now seemed alive, enlivened by the morning light. I watched this majestic spectacle of nature and involuntarily felt all my worldly cares fade away and retreat before the grandeur of time. It seemed as if I was standing on the edge of infinity, where one could directly touch eternity and see the history of the Earth in all its diversity.
Somewhere far below, the Colorado River meandered and twisted, looking like a thin glowing thread from here. But I knew that this was a deceptive impression: in reality, the Colorado is a mighty and capricious river, which, through its strength and persistence over millions of years, has shaped the appearance of this colossal canyon. Through the narrow gaps between the boulders, I could make out tiny splashes and foaming jets of water where the river formed small waterfalls or rapids, providing a picturesque contrast to the dry, harsh walls of the canyon. The whole scene served as a reminder that nature is capable of transforming the faces of mountains and continents with even the smallest drop of water, given enough time.
My gaze wandered lazily over the patterns of the rocks, where sunlit ledges and ridges alternated with deep shadows and hollows. Fantastic monoliths and spires, resembling ancient temples or watchtowers, gave the landscape a special mystical aura. Some of these formations had names: Vishnu Temple, Rama Tower, Vatican Domes — sonorous names that seemed to add a touch of legend to an already magical place. It was a reminder that nature is not just a physical reality, but also a spiritual phenomenon capable of awakening the most subtle senses.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, allowing the pure morning air to fill my lungs. Warm rays of sunlight glided across my skin, giving me a feeling of gentle vibration, as if I were a living battery slowly absorbing the energy of the sun. In a way, this was true: I began to notice that with the emergence of new abilities, contact with the sun became more and more tangible for me and constantly filled me with strength. In passing, I remembered the legendary Superman — Kal-El from the DC universe, who drew his power from solar energy. Now I, albeit in a different universe, seemed to have inherited his nature — and this gave me cause to reflect on my own abilities and my role in this new world.
Of course, this led my thoughts to the story of how I ended up here in the first place. I found myself in a world that had nothing to do with my former life or the DC universe. The place I ended up in belonged to the Marvel universe, and there was no Krypton or any of the mythology associated with Superman. But how did I end up with abilities similar to his? The answers lay in my strange travels between worlds. I was originally a scientist in my own reality, where I was fascinated by unusual physical phenomena and tried to uncover the secrets of interdimensional portals. One of my experiments went wrong, and my soul was transported to the DC universe, where I merged with the essence of Kal-El and became a Kryptonian. Then, through a series of unpredictable events and probably another portal malfunction, I was thrown into the Marvel universe. It sounds like the plot of a cheap fantasy novel, but it was my reality. That's why I sometimes jokingly called myself a "double time traveller," although there was a grain of bitter truth in that joke.
My newfound powers brought back memories of Superman in all his glory and power. For now, I only had some of his abilities — the ability to lift and move heavy objects, super speed, and almost complete invulnerability. But I knew that my abilities did not end there: the legendary Superman had a much more extensive arsenal. Once, in my former life, I watched films and read comics with my grandchildren and was amazed at how much this hero could do. His strength was practically limitless, allowing him to move giant ships, stop trains travelling at full speed and even move entire planets in some versions of the story. His body was almost indestructible, capable of withstanding colossal blows and even nuclear explosions. And his super speed made him lightning fast and allowed him to cover huge distances in seconds. But that was not all — he had heat vision that could burn or melt any obstacle, X-ray vision, super-sensitive hearing that allowed him to distinguish sounds at enormous distances, and the legendary ability to fly, making him a virtually invincible opponent.
All this was combined in an amazing organism that could regenerate at incredible speeds, did not need to breathe constantly, did not suffer from the cold of space, and hardly aged at all. Putting all these details together, I realised that when my powers were fully unleashed, I would be one of the most powerful beings in this new world. But along with this realisation, a fear began to grow within me: what if I lost control, let my emotions take over and became a threat to those I cared about? After all, as a Kryptonian, destroying the planet would be easy — all I would need to do is trigger catastrophic processes in the core or knock Earth out of its orbit. The mere thought that I was capable of such a thing made me shudder and feel uncomfortable from the enormous responsibility.
However, there were also factors that could keep me on the edge, because even Superman had weaknesses. Kryptonite is one of his most famous vulnerabilities, as radioactive fragments of Krypton weakened his strength and could kill him. But here, in the Marvel universe, there was no Krypton, and after examining the area where I had landed, I confirmed that there was no kryptonite here. Paradoxically, this was both a relief and a frightening prospect for me. I realised that if I lost control, no one would be able to use such a weapon against me.
However, there was still magic, which Superman had always feared and which I now also had to take into account. His powers (and mine, for that matter) had a scientific basis, while magic operated according to different laws that were independent of Kryptonian physiology. In this universe, magic apparently existed in reality. There were sorcerers, spellcasters, magical creatures, and artefacts. As a scientist in the past, it was not easy for me to accept something that did not obey familiar logic. But now, having become an involuntary inhabitant of such a world, I felt even a kind of reverent excitement: after all, all these wonders could be studied, their principles could be understood, even if they seemed to be a completely different science.
Unnoticed, the sun began to sink towards the horizon. Its golden disc first hung at the very edge of the sky, as if hesitating before sinking into the deep blue, and then gradually disappeared behind the horizon. After that, the shadows around me lengthened, the rocks took on harsh, sharp outlines, and soon the sky was covered with the first stars. I glanced at my watch and realised it was time to go back. The prospect of a long run home seemed like a routine chore, since I could cover the distance in a matter of moments. But then it occurred to me that it would be nice to surprise my parents with something tasty for dinner from New York, which I could reach even faster.
The idea instantly filled me with anticipation, and I remembered a cosy place in Queens called Delmar's Deli-Grocery, where they made amazing tacos with different fillings and sauces. It seemed that I had finally decided on my route. In the blink of an eye, I was transported to the bustling and noisy city of New York, bathed in the lights of cars, signs and street lamps. Delmar's Deli-Grocery was located on a quiet street in Queens, which I reached in a matter of seconds. A modest sign hung above the entrance, and stickers and a sign with the opening hours glistened on the glass door. A pleasant bell rang when I entered, closing the door behind me.
The room greeted me with soft yellow light and the appetising smells of freshly cooked food. Behind the counter stood Mr Delmar, a young man with a friendly face and a distinctive white apron. He recognised me immediately and smiled as if he had seen an old friend.
"Oh, Bruce!" he exclaimed, waving his ladle playfully. "You haven't been here in ages. I was afraid you'd forgotten the way. The usual, super-spicy tacos?"
"Sure," I confirmed, feeling my stomach rumble. "Make me three with the hottest sauce and a couple with milder sauce for my parents. They also love your signature recipes, but they're not ready for the hellish spices that I love."
"Well, I always try my best for my favourite customers," the owner winked. "Take a seat while I get everything ready, and it'll be hot off the grill."
I went over to a table in the corner to wait for my order. On the table, covered with a checkered oilcloth, lay someone's forgotten newspaper. Glancing at the front page, I saw a large headline: "Hank Pym resigns as director of Pym Technologies: conflict of principles and ambitions." Intrigued, I began to read the article.
It described the shock that had gripped the scientific community over the sudden resignation of Dr. Hank Pym, founder of Pym Technologies and one of the greatest minds of his time. According to journalists, the reason for his departure was irreconcilable differences between Pym and the board of directors over the use of his revolutionary inventions. Pym himself, a man of strong moral convictions, insisted that his developments be used exclusively for peaceful purposes. The board of directors, however, particularly a certain Darren Cross, saw commercial potential in Pym's technologies and prospects for their use for military purposes.
"Wow, that's the scientist who invented the 'Pym particle' technology," I muttered to myself, recalling stories about unique developments that allowed objects to change size. "I'll have to discuss this with my father.
"Bruce, your order!" Mr. Delmar's voice distracted me from my thoughts about Hank Pym.
I neatly folded the newspaper, silently thanking whoever had left it on the table, and walked over to the counter. After paying for my order and transferring the bag of hot tacos to my hand, I stepped outside. The cool New York night air blew pleasantly against my skin, and somewhere in the distance I could hear the muffled sounds of the city — the noise of cars, the occasional ringing of bicycle bells, snatches of other people's conversations.
Diving into a nearby alley, I stopped to check if anyone was around who might have noticed my sudden disappearance. Convinced that no one was there, I was ready to use my speed when suddenly a burning wave of pain pierced everything around me — my ears heard a sharp, desperate scream coming from the opposite end of the street.
"Help!
***
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