Broken(DC)

Death and life are inextricably linked, with the end of one becoming the beginning of another.

The souls of the departed enter the stream of purification, where their memories and energy essence undergo cleansing, and the wounds their souls sustained in life are mended.

But what if a soul had such immense power during its lifetime that even death itself was powerless before it? What if the only thing that ended it was its own exhaustion with existence? Upon entering the stream of purification, the soul began shedding all unnecessary elements, returning to its primordial state. Yet, its internal energy resisted the process. Two forces clashed in opposition, neither able to prevail. Years turned into decades, decades into centuries, as the standoff endured until the soul's defenses began to falter.

Sensing this moment of weakness, the stream surged forth, tearing down barriers and penetrating the very core of the soul. A few shards of energy managed to preserve fragments of memory and innate potential.

Before long, the cleansed soul was sent to a new incarnation.

The DC Universe is a dangerous place, where even the most powerful beings can fall before forces greater than themselves.

To be born an ordinary human in this world meant living in fear for your life, hoping you wouldn't find yourself caught between the clash of heroes and villains. Among all the places in the DC Universe, one city stood out as the darkest of all—Gotham City. This grim and foreboding metropolis exuded a sense of hopelessness, its life overshadowed by rampant crime. Maniacs and killers roamed its streets, and despite the efforts of law enforcement, their numbers never dwindled.

Even in such a bleak city, there were unsung heroes—police officers who risked their lives fighting for justice, adults who cared for orphaned children, helping them find a path to a brighter future, and countless other citizens with hearts full of kindness. No matter how pervasive the darkness, a light always shines somewhere.

In one of Gotham's maternity wards, a new spark of life flickered into existence. The birth was difficult for the mother, and the child entered the world with great struggle. When he was born, he appeared fragile, thin, and pale, with unnaturally bent arms that gave him an unsettling appearance.

When the baby was shown to his mother, she cried out in horror:

"This is not my child! I couldn't have given birth to something like this!"

She screamed at the doctors, unable to accept what she saw. The woman, in a state of shock, could not gather her thoughts.

The infant was left in his crib, abandoned as if he were unwanted, forgotten by the world. His frail body had no strength to cry; only faint whimpers escaped him, a testament to his suffering.

Two nurses entered the ward to check on and care for the newborns. They eventually made their way to his crib.

"Oh my God, why was he left like this?" one of the nurses exclaimed, immediately beginning to clean and swaddle the child.

"Everyone in the hospital is talking about him," said the second nurse with a small laugh. "They say his mother screamed in terror the moment he was born."

"Don't talk like that. He's just a baby. It's not his fault he was born this way," the first nurse replied, tenderly stroking the child's head with care.

"Come on, the doctors have already given their verdict—he won't survive the month," the second nurse replied indifferently.

"Isn't there anything that can be done?" the first nurse asked, concern evident in her voice.

"Something could be done, sure, but who's going to pay for it? The parents refused, and the state won't cover such expenses," the second nurse said, continuing to jot notes on her tablet.

The first nurse leaned closer to the fragile child and whispered softly, "I'll pray for you. Everything will get better. Don't give up—live."

The world had been harsh to this new life from the very start, yet one small ray of kindness reached out to him.

It was as if the baby understood her words. His tiny hands clenched, struggling to form fists, as if to say, "I won't be broken so easily. I will live!"

The boy slowly grew stronger, and the doctors' grim prognosis proved wrong. Yet, with no parents to care for him, the child was sent to an orphanage.

St. Valentine's Orphanage wasn't the worst place to grow up. The child was fed and cared for, but he lacked the love he so desperately needed, and his body brought him constant pain.

He spent most of his time lying alone in a small crib, visited only when it was time to be fed or have his diapers changed. Time passed, and nothing seemed to change. A whole year had gone by.

Physically, he was severely underdeveloped. His twisted limbs made even crawling impossible, let alone taking his first steps. The caretakers, seeing no point in trying, didn't attempt to help him build his strength. Yet, despite his frail body, his mind flourished. Though he couldn't yet speak, his eyes were sharp and filled with understanding far beyond his years.

Year after year, the frail but intelligent boy continued his life at St. Valentine's Orphanage. Despite enduring long periods of hardship, small moments of light always found him. From birth, no one had given him a name, as they hadn't believed he would live long enough to need one. But finally, a year after his birth, the paperwork was completed.

He was officially named Brian Forman, born on June 5, 1989.

A name was more than just an identity—it was a declaration to the world that he was someone. He was no longer an anonymous existence; he was Brian Forman. From that moment, his soul fully anchored to his body, melding with it completely.

Another miracle occurred: Brian was scheduled for surgeries to correct his condition.

The bones in his body, which had grown improperly, urgently required correction. Initially, surgery had been out of the question—first due to his precarious health, and later because his body was too frail. But now, he had grown stronger, ready to face any trials and tribulations that came his way.

The operations were grueling for both the doctors and Brian himself. It was as though they were rebuilding his fragile body from scratch. Yet, the doctors performed a miracle, managing to fix the complications in his skeletal structure. The only lingering issue was the uneven development of his muscles and nervous system, which they couldn't entirely resolve. His limbs varied in thickness, as if mismatched arms and legs had been attached to his body.

From this point on, it was all up to Brian—a heavy burden for such a young child. A loving family might have helped him recover fully, but unfortunately, he remained at the orphanage.

By the time Brian turned five, his intellectual development was exceptional. He had already learned to read and could lose himself in books, pondering their deeper meanings. Unlike other children his age, however, he couldn't run around or play freely. His body didn't allow him to move on his own—he could only crawl. His legs were too weak to support him, and his hands barely had the strength to hold a book. Yet his thirst for knowledge was unrelenting.

One day, Brian was called to the orphanage director's office. The room was luxuriously furnished, a stark contrast to the rest of the orphanage. Behind the desk sat a plump, older woman, and beside her stood a slim, younger woman in her early thirties—or perhaps even younger, though the dark circles under her eyes and her weary expression made her seem older.

"Here's our special little boy," the director said with a smile as Brian was brought in. "He's such a bright child, and I'm sure you won't regret adopting him." She turned to Brian. "Say hello, Brian."

"Hello," he said shyly.

"He's so bashful. This lovely lady is going to be your new mother," the director continued.

Brian looked at the woman in front of him, not fully understanding what a mother was. In the books he had read, a mother was loving and caring, but in his own life, he had never known such a presence.

"Hello, Brian. My name is Elizabeth, and I'd like to become your guardian," the woman said gently, introducing herself.

"Now that we've all been introduced, let's get the paperwork started," the director said, placing documents on the desk in front of Elizabeth.

"I'll be very happy to become his mother," Elizabeth said as she wasted no time signing all the papers quickly.

"That's it, he's now officially your child. You can take him home," the director said with a smile.

"Come on, Brian, let's go to your new home," Elizabeth said, walking over to the boy. She picked him up and headed toward the exit.

At first glance, the woman seemed caring, as if she genuinely wanted to take care of the poor child. However, when they reached her car and she opened the back door, she unceremoniously threw him onto the back seat. Then, sitting in the front with a scowl, she turned to Brian with a completely different demeanor.

"Remember this: you're only here for the allowance they pay me because of you. Don't expect anything from me, understood?" she said in an unpleasant tone.

"I understand," Brian replied. The hope for a real loving family, like in the books, faded in the harsh light of reality.

"Good, then."

The car began to move, taking him to his new home. The boy watched the grim city outside. Passersby hurried about their business, their faces devoid of joy, leaving only traces of hopelessness. It was his first glimpse of the streets of Gotham City. The buildings, crafted in refined architecture, created an air of mystery. Even the bright sun seemed to dim as it met the towering structures, sinking lower into the shadows.

The towering buildings gave way to small, single- and double-story houses. Gradually, these transitioned into utterly decrepit structures with broken fences and dirt-streaked walls, neglected and left to the mercy of time. It was in front of one such house that Elizabeth stopped.

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"Here's your new home. Remember, I'm not going to waste my time on you. I have very little of it as it is—I'm busy," Elizabeth said, carelessly adjusting her hair in the rearview mirror. She glanced at Brian through it, her gaze sharp. "Got it?"

"Yes," Brian replied. What else could he say?

"Good."

Elizabeth stepped out of the car, walked to the back door, opened it, and lifted the boy, carrying him inside the house.

The interior greeted them with a space that had long been neglected—walls in need of repair, furniture begging for care. As they entered, a girl slightly older than Brian ran up to the door.

"Meet Alice," Elizabeth said, gesturing toward her daughter. "She's your sister now. She'll be looking after you."

"Hi! What's your name?" Alice asked, her voice angelic.

"My name's Brian," the boy replied.

"Nice to meet you," she said with a sweet smile, clasping her hands behind her back.

"Chat later. I'm tired of carrying him," Elizabeth said curtly, heading upstairs with Brian in tow.

She walked to the end of a narrow hallway and entered a small room. It was modest, to say the least—furnished only with a tiny bed and a worn-out table. The floor was damaged in several places, and the furniture looked like it had been in use for decades.

"This is where you'll live now," she said, laying him down on the bed. "Alice will bring your food. When you're done eating, put the dishes on the table."

With that, Elizabeth finished her brief instructions and left the room, leaving Brian alone.

The little boy lay on the bed, contemplating his new surroundings. Despite the conditions, he made a decision—he would improve his room on his own without waiting for better circumstances. First, though, he needed to learn to walk. He set this as his first goal on what he knew would be a long road ahead.

That evening, Alice entered the room, carrying a plate of porridge. She placed the food on the table and stood quietly, watching Brian.

"Aren't you hungry?" she asked.

"I am," he replied. Slowly, he tried to get out of bed, lowering himself to the floor. With great effort, he crawled toward the chair by the table, struggling unsuccessfully to climb onto it.

Alice watched him with a thoughtful expression. After a moment, she seemed to make up her mind. Walking over, she helped him onto the chair.

"Why can't you walk?" she asked innocently.

"I was born disabled. I have weak muscles and problems feeling my limbs," Brian said, sadness evident in his voice.

"Why?" Alice asked again.

"I don't know," he replied, resigned. "That's what the doctors said."

"When will you learn to walk?" she continued, her curiosity unrelenting.

Brian answered her questions as best as he could. Conversations like this were unfamiliar to him; he'd rarely had anyone to talk to before. Despite the somber topic, the exchange felt new and comforting.

As they finished their meal, the questions subsided.

"Alice, I have a favor to ask," Brian said, looking at her with determination. "Can you help me learn to walk? Once I can move around, we can fix up the house together."

"Hmmmm… alright, I'll help," Alice said with a smile.

And so, Brian found his first friend. Together, they decided to build a better future.