What...what kind of after school special crap are they spouting now?

One hand drops to his side, fingers itching. He wouldn't wish the thing in his nightmares on anyone - but shit, this kid might just deserve it if he could make it happen. It'd give him the excuse to really wring their skinny little neck.

They don't know. They can't even begin to understand. He is the hero. He fixes the damn problems, and makes it so they never hurt anyone again. It's not his fault. It's not his fault.

The boiling-over frustration, the rage churning in his gut, all calcifies into a twitch of his eyelids. An ice-thin smile.

Whatever they threaten, they're not the thing he sees every time his eyes shut. They'll never be the thing that haunts him. Death is a goddamn blessing compared to that thing.

"Try it," he says. "You got me. Unarmed, right?" Wrong. He has his camera. He's ready to catch whatever blow they throw at him - clumsily, maybe, but he thinks he can do it.

Mock them. Taunt them. His lip curls in a sneer as he hisses, "come on. Show the world what you are. What you deserve."