Brilliant, Chapter 1

Summary: Sabo has grown up in a world where superheroes are good and villains are bad. At sixteen, he runs away from home to start a new life as a hero, and to escape an abusive father. But not all is as it seems. Whisked into the dangerous world of villainy, he struggles to stay alive, and along the way he meets two brothers who change his life forever. Is he truly cut out to be a hero? AU

Warnings: violence, explicit themes, dystopia.

Enjoy! Please review if you can!

(having to reupload this! ugh stupid website...)

Chapter 1 - Bug Boy

Sabo slams the door shut behind him, suitcase scraping along the concrete at his side, and turns on his heel to storm away from the house with rage smouldering in his gut. It feels like a heavy weight is settling on his shoulders. He can hear the door open behind him as he's halfway down the path, can hear his father yelling after him, but he doesn't even turn around. The man can threaten Sabo all he likes - it won't break his resolve.

At the back of his mind, he feels his power brewing. There are bugs beginning to congregate around him, following him, skittering after him along the stone path. He forces them back. Now really isn't the best time to lose control. Sabo forces himself to keep moving, tuning out the sound of his father's angered ranting, shoving the hand that isn't dragging his suitcase into his pocket. Above, the sky churns a dark, dull grey as storm clouds begin to roll in from the south.

"I'm warning you, Sabo-"

Sabo's control cracks. He whirls around just in time to see a dozen hornets, larger than they would be if they were natural, flying into Outlook's face. Each is about as long as Sabo's hand. His father falls back, yelling out, hands over his face. Sabo doesn't bother to call them off. The anger inside him spurs them on and he turns on his heel again, reaching the garden gate and stepping out into the street without looking back. He can hear his father's yells of pain all the way down the street, and he relishes in them.

Out of all of the ways his sixteenth birthday could have turned out, he hadn't expected this.

Anger tears at the thin restraint he has managed to force over his power. Sabo winces as he feels a trail of ants creep onto his shoe and he sends them away, giving orders to all the bugs nearby to stay out of his way. Only Tiny stays near him, fluttering around his left ear. Sabo sighs, knowing he wouldn't be able to keep the little critter out of the way even if he tried. It's almost like she's imprinted on him. He shoots the dragonfly a look, but she doesn't budge, and after a few minutes she settles down on the top of his head.

The train station is a twenty minute walk away. It takes ten. Sabo focuses on moving, putting one foot in front of the other, walking quickly through the streets until the large, marble building comes into view. His sneakers are a little too small, and there's a dull ache stretching up the arches of his feet. He ignores it. His suitcase bumps on the uneven road and he lifts it to carry it up the steps to the station, ignoring the stares he gets for the insect resting on his head. Soon he'll be too far away from this godforsaken town to care.

He barely manages to catch the train before it leaves. Their town is on the end of the trainline and he buys a ticket to take him all the way to the other end, not even checking where that might be. He doesn't care anymore. It's late, the sun long-since set, and the carriage he clambers into is empty. Methodically, almost robotically, he stows away his suitcase, sits down and listens to the train doors slam. After a few minutes, the train moves off, and he watches his only home fade away into the distance in the window. He doesn't move for a long time. He keeps his eyes on the train station for as long as he can until, just like that, the train rounds a corner and it's gone.

With a sigh, Sabo looks away from the window, curling his knees up and hugging them to his chest in the window seat. He buries his face in them and releases a long, shaky breath. It's over. Home is far, far behind him and he's never going back there, not even if it kills him. He thinks of his father, who is probably nursing some bad stings right now, and the image makes him laugh a little. The noise doesn't really sound like a laugh, and in the silent carriage, it sounds too loud. He shuts his mouth quickly.

So, what now? He can't even begin to think about it. It hits Sabo that he might have just done the stupidest thing he's ever done in his life, and he finds that he can't make himself regret it. Maybe the regret will come later. For now, he can barely take it in. He actually did it. He actually got the nerve to run away from home, to attack his father and take off as he's wanted to do for years. He's… not sure how to feel about it. Happy? Anxious? Right now, he just feels numb.

The train rumbles along the tracks, and the sound of it soothes Sabo. He rests his head against the window, chin still on his knees. Outside, the sky is growing dark. The lights inside the carriage are soft and warm, and he feels - at least, for now - content. He reaches into the pocket of his sweatshirt and pulls out his ticket, holding it up to the light, squinting to make out the printed letters.

SINGLE - UNDER 18 - 12/12/93, 16:54
BROCKTON BAY

Brockton Bay. A part of Sabo swells with excitement, with anticipation. Brockton Bay may be one of the most dangerous cities in the country, but it's also the city with the highest Parahuman population. It is filled with people just like Sabo - heroes and villains and rogues, people with powers, people who can teach him how to control his own. It will be a place where he can start a new life, away from the hatred of his father, the ignorance of his home town. It will be his place to finally do what had, until now, seemed impossible.

He's going to become a hero.

A hero. The thought sets his blood boiling. He can really be a hero, like Glory Girl and the Joker and Lady Nico and Legend. He can fight for the good of the people, to protect them from the villains infecting the streets: Militia, Necromancer, even the likes of Kingpin. Even that monster's name scares Sabo a little. Everybody has grown up hearing horror stories about Kingpin. But… if he's going to be a hero, he's going to have to face people like that, and Sabo sets his resolve to at least try.

Suddenly feeling a lot less weary, Sabo gets up and crosses the carriage to the luggage rack, unzipping his suitcase and pulling out one of his blank notebooks and a pencil. Tiny is hovering around near one of the air vents, and Sabo smiles a little at the knowledge that he's going to have a friend when he's at Brockton Bay. Sure, it's hardly a human friend, but it counts. Moving to sit back down, Sabo opens the notebook on his tray table and begins to write on the first page.

My name is Sabo Outlook. I am sixteen years old today. My father is a bad person. He is miles away from me right now. I am a parahuman. I can control bugs. I'm starting a new life.

They're all simply statement of fact, pieces of information that he knows are true. But it is almost therapeutic to do this - to confirm that he really is leaving. Sabo jots down, I'm going to be a superhero, as well, and the words make him smile. He's going to help people. He's going to change the way the world is.

He starts a new line.

Parahumans are rare. Not too rare - not how things used to be - but we're hardly everywhere. I've never met another parahuman. I've researched them. Most of them have powers I could only dream of. And the majority of them are either heroes or villains. Most of these people reside in Brockton Bay.

A lot of normal people are scared of us parahumans. Or they hate us, and the violence hero/villain conflicts bring to their streets. But most normal people are in awe, I think. I don't know why they would be. But it doesn't change the fact that heroes are treated like celebrities, by the media and the people alike, and that's- he hesitates- not what I want. I don't want to be put on a pedestal. I don't want to be given a fancy stage name and a shiny costume and I don't want to have to parade in front of the press whenever I'm not fighting villains.

Sabo frowns for a moment, chewing the end of his pencil, before adding-

But I'm willing to do it if it means helping people.

My father

Sabo stops. Takes a deep breath. Forces himself to carry on writing, because this helps. Getting it all out on paper is helping him to clear his mind. And as much as he wants to forget that his father even exists...he has to do this.

is one of those people who hates parahumans. I was never meant to have powers. 95% of people don't. But I've got bad luck. I tried to keep it from him. I failed, and he d

His hand is shaking. Sabo drops the pencil and closes his eyes, trying not to think about it, trying not to let the memories overwhelm him. Now isn't the time for memories. He is abruptly acutely aware of who and where he is - he is a teenage runaway with a shitty costume in his suitcase and an even shittier power, on a train that is leading him to an uncertain future, away from the only home he has ever known. He feels… strangely alone. Strangely isolated. Like the only people who ever cared about him are far, far behind him.

He picks up the pencil again, crosses out the last few lines, and starts writing again.

My father didn't care. I need to remember that. He didn't care about me and I'm glad I got away and he can die for all I care.

Sabo writes the words three times, one after the other, in neat print. Somehow, he hopes his father can feel the anger he's feeling - the disappointment and the fear and the conflict. God knows the bastard deserves it.

Outside the window, the sky is black now. Sabo sighs, stands, walks across the empty carriage and puts his journal back into his suitcase. The lenses of the mask of his costume, folded up and tucked inside, wink up at him in the light before he zips the case back up. The train rumbles steadily beneath him. Sabo crosses back to his seat and curls up, head resting on the window, closing his eyes.

He can sense half a dozen spiders in the air vent above him. Eyes closed, Sabo makes them organise into a perfect circle, before instructing them all to march clockwise, maintaining the shape. Their tiny bodies are easy to control. They circle high above him in the vent, around and around and around, and Sabo feels himself falling into an uneasy sleep. Brockton Bay grows closer with every passing minute.

He dreams of spiders and hornets and masks.

Militia moves silently. After years on the streets, you learn to do that, especially in a city like this. Shoving his hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt, he keeps his head down and keeps to the shadows, moving north. Two men in PRT uniforms are strolling up the other side of the street and he reaches up, pulling his hood down over his face and slouching. Can't risk them recognising him.

It's been like this for him for a long time.

The machinery in his backpack only adds to the heavy weight settled on his shoulders. Militia stays slouched, shoulders hunched, and he keeps to the shadows all the way up the street. His signature bandana is gone from his face - it would be too telling to wear it in public. He is moving north, up through the city to the docks, and as he slips through the grimy streets, he passes body after motionless body; slumped in alleyways, splayed out in the street. Nobody moves to pick them up, to give them a proper burial. Death is a common thing in Brockton Bay.

Rubbing his forehead to stave of an oncoming headache, Militia hikes his backpack up on his shoulders. He was unlucky in the power lottery, getting into this situation because of it, but at least his physical appearance is still the same. He could have ended up like Sundancer, which would have been a disaster. After five years of searching for him, the police still haven't managed to find him, a fact which Militia is proud of. Heaven knows they've tried.

There's a poster on a wall and as he passes it, Militia slows to a stop, raising an eyebrow. The poster is covered in rain, tucked away down a sidestreet, but the words on it are unmistakable, beneath a strange symbol like a cross, bisected by a crescent.

New Wave - Recruiting Now

Militia clenches his jaw. They're certainly not being subtle. If he was one of them, he would berate them for their tactlessness - but he's… a family friend, not really one of their team, so he refrains from it. It's not his authority to tell them what to do. With a sigh, he moves on, trying to keep his power under wraps. When he's tired like this, it has a tendency to go slightly out of control unless he concentrates on keeping it in. Being a Tinker sucks sometimes.

He's close to home, now. The docks loom through the mist in front of him and he speeds up, boots hitting the concrete. It's starting to rain. Paranoid about his machinery getting wet (even though it's waterproof), Militia breaks into a run and sprints the rest of the way to the base, hood pulled low over his eyes. The air stinks of oil, and the sky is black by now, lit only by the dull, copper glow the streetlights below. His limbs ache with the cold.

Militia finally reaches the base just as he feels himself begin to shiver, clothes soaked with rain that is now pouring down in sheets. Brockton Bay is hardly known for its amazing weather, sure, but this is ridiculous. He unlocks the doors with cold, shaking fingers, stepping into the warehouse and locking the doors behind him. Inside it is cold but dry, and he shrugs off his hood. He doesn't dare to put down the bag yet, though. You have to stay on your toes in an area like the docks .

Stretching, Militia crosses the wide ground-floor room and jogs up the stairs into the loft. Above the main warehouse are a cluster of rooms, packed together under a roof of corrugated iron. Sundancer is at the top of the stairs, coming down, and they meet in the middle. She's in costume, her mask seeming to glow in the dark, and Ace can just about make out her piercing eyes through the visor.

"Militia," she nods. "You look cold. Should I…?"

"No, no, I'm fine!" he says, a little bit too quickly. He doubts anybody could blame him for not wanting to get too close to her power. "You heading out, Koala?"

"That's Sundancer, when I'm in costume."

"Ah, shit-" he mentally hits himself. "Sorry. I forget."

"It's okay." She shrugs it off. "And yeah. Gotta meet up with somebody. It's not a big deal."

"Are you gonna be back tonight?"

She puts a hand on her hip. "I dunno. Trust me, kid, I'm not going to die."

"Kid?!" Militia ruffles. "You're, like, a year older than me."

"Two years." Even through the visor, she catches him wink. "Anyway, I should be off. See you!"

"Yeah, yeah." Militia turns on his heel and carries on up the stairs, listening to Sundancer as she moves down and away from him. Trust her to stay cheerful, even on nights like this, when the city feels like it's going to crush them. The only person who could probably beat her for cheerfulness is-

Speak of the devil.

Militia reaches the top of the stairs and the kid comes skidding out of a room to the left, whooping when he sees him and sprinting towards him. He isn't in costume; he's actually wearing a sweatshirt that belongs to Magnetism (and it's about five times too big for the thirteen-year old) and a pair of sweatpants. Militia opens his arms and Tattletale jumps and throws himself into them, hitting him like a small cannonball. Militia grunts but laughs through it, spinning Tattletale around, feeling small, skinny arms wrap around him.

Tattletale pulls his face back, grinning at him. "Ace!"

Ace blinks. Sometimes it takes somebody saying his real name to snap him out of Militia-mode. Letting Tattletale down, he smiles a little at the smaller teen.

"Heya, Tattle- shit, sorry, Luffy."

Luffy grimaces a little. "You're all wet. Law's gonna kill me for getting his sweatshirt covered in rain water."

"Is he here now?"

"Nah. Said he'd be back soon, though. He's out looking Nami - she hasn't reported back since last night."

Ace rolls his eyes. "Yeah, but for Nami, that's not long. She's always disappearing like that."

"I know. Law was just…" Luffy shrugs. "Could feel that he was really… paranoid tonight, I guess. It gave me a headache."

"Luffy…" Ace frowns, shrugging off his backpack. "You shouldn't use your power so much."

"I can't help it!" Luffy defends. "Look, maybe I can turn off the information and stuff, but I can't turn off the feelings. They just… come. From everywhere. All the time."

"I know-" Ace messes up his hair. "But unless you want to pass out again, try not to pay any attention to it all, okay? All that information coming into your lil' idiot brain must be tiring-"

Luffy elbows him in the guts. "I know you got hit earlier, my power told me. I'm gonna hit you again!"

Ace laughs through a little wheeze. "I thought I just told you not to use your power."

"Oh, yeah." Luffy picks his nose uninterestedly, apparently bored with the conversation, wandering back into the kitchen. "I forgot. Oh well."

"Brat," Ace murmurs after him, fondly, before going to grab his backpack and making his way into his room.

'MILITIA' is printed on the door. It's cold inside the bedroom, but one of Koala's little suns is sitting in a jar beside his bed, spreading sparse warmth through the small room. Ace smiles. Trust her to do something like that. She's thoughtful in a way Luffy isn't. Changing into a pair of loose sweatpants and a t-shirt, Ace sits on his bed and, by the light of the mini-sun, plays with a few pieces of wiring. He threads them together into a parallel circuit without even having to think about it. Scraps of metal and bolts litter the floor. It looks like the room of any typical tinker.

Contraptions are piled up in a corner, scrapped or unfinished or both. Ace knows, deep down, that all of them are probably valuable, but… Empire is a villain group. They commit crimes regularly and Ace gets a sixth of the payout. They're hardly struggling for cash, and he doesn't like the idea of selling his own tech unless it's necessary.

Sighing, he hurls the little knot of wires at the wall and flops back onto his bed, throwing an arm over his eyes. Something strange has been brewing in this city for a while. He can feel it well. He knows Luffy must be able to, too, and the rest of the group most likely. It's almost as though something new is just around the corner for them all. More than ever, Ace constantly feels like he's being watched. The rest of Empire must feel the same.

But… the winds are always changing in Brockton Bay. The best Ace - no, Militia - can do is attempt to navigate them.

:D