I never thought dying would hurt this much. It wasn't epic, just incredibly painful and filthy, like a run-over animal.
All because I tried to do the right thing.
Couldn't I have just minded my own business? Of course not. That would've gone against my damn principles.
And there I was, lying on the ground, bleeding out.
My chest cold, the street spinning, and the sunlight stabbing my eyes, as if the universe wanted to mock me one last time.
And the worst part… the absolute worst part… The person I tried to help had taken off.
Not even a "thank you," not a glance. Nothing. She left me to die like an idiot.
You know what's the saddest part? I wasn't even surprised.
But of course… To understand how I ended like this, we have to go back to the beginning.
It all started a few minutes earlier…
FLASHBACK.
It was daytime.
Clear skies, light traffic, and that kind of bright sunlight that makes you think nothing bad can happen, especially after a cosplay event.
Spoiler: it can.
I was walking down some random avenue, like it was any other day. It was.
I was hot, my feet ached, and my neck itched under that damn cape. That's right, I was wearing a superhero costume, one of those you buy online at the last minute.
Thin Lycra, slightly see-through if the light just hit right. Seams pulling awkwardly at the shoulders. The boots were red covers, velcroed over my black sneakers. The red underwear was stitched onto the pants, off-center.
Like my life.
And the cape… oh, the cape: long—way too long—made from a shiny plastic that looked more like a party tablecloth than a heroic fabric.
I also had a fake gold utility belt—obviously fake—and an "S" on my chest already wrinkled from sitting wrong at lunch.
But ridiculous as it looked, I liked how it made me feel: strong, iconic, like I could make a difference, even if it was just for one day. Even if it was just an illusion.
I wasn't a nerd, or so I wanted to believe.
I just hadn't killed off my inner child… or at least that's what I told myself to feel better.
But anyway, I was walking toward the subway, trying to ignore the heat and how stupid I felt in that costume.
Just another normal day… until it wasn't.
I was crossing a half-empty avenue when I heard it: a scream, sudden and tense. A woman's voice.
I turned my head and saw it.
A girl was struggling with two guys. One was pulling on her bag, the other pushing her against a metal fence, covering her mouth.
No one did anything. Three pedestrians stared from across the street like it was a movie scene. One even pulled out his phone… not to call the cops, but to record.
That filled me with rage.
My body moved before my mind could catch up, but… I hesitated.
I could've just kept walking. Played dumb. Pretended I didn't see anything, like everyone else.
It wasn't my problem. I didn't know the girl.
What could I do? I was just some guy in a Superman costume from Amazon. I had no powers. I wasn't invulnerable.
And they… they could be armed.
I could die. Was it worth risking my life for a stranger?
But then again, do you really need the "super" to be a hero? No one should need powers to do what's right.
And then I remembered something my tutor used to say when I was a kid:
"If you do nothing when you see something bad, then you're part of the problem."
I sighed. Clenched my fists. Felt the S wrinkle tighter against my chest.
"Fucking Boy Scout motto…" I muttered.
And I ran.
Yes, with the damn cape flapping behind me. It looked like a scene from a bad sketch show.
I had no plan. Just rage. That stupid urge to do good… and training.
Yeah. Training.
I wasn't a pro or anything, but growing up in an orphanage teaches you two things:
Don't trust anyone. And learn to fight… or get stomped.
I took some boxing when I was fourteen, thanks to a volunteer who dropped by once.
Enough to know how to throw a punch without breaking my fingers. Enough to defend myself from assholes with bad intentions.
And, for now, enough not to die in the first ten seconds…
The first guy to see me was the one holding the bag. He stepped back, surprised. Maybe by the ridiculous outfit, maybe because people don't usually run toward danger.
I don't know.
"Hey!" I yelled. "Leave her alone!"
My voice didn't shake.
I was scared, of course, but I'd made my choice. After all, courage isn't the absence of fear—it's facing it.
The guy holding the girl barely had time to react before I tackled him with my shoulder. We both went down, rolling. He grunted out a curse I couldn't make out.
I got up first, wobbling.
The girl took advantage of the chaos and broke free.
She ran without looking back.
Good. At least something went right. Or at least that's what I told myself.
The second guy came at me.
I braced, blocked the hit with my forearm,
and punched him in the ribs. Not perfect, but effective.
People were watching now.
I heard someone yell:
"Are you recording this? Are you seeing this?!"
"God, is this guy nuts or is it a prank?" someone said, laughing.
A joke? They should be helping me.
A woman pulled out her phone.
"He's fighting two guys, holy shit!
He's dressed like Superman!"
I saw a kid, maybe fifteen, standing on the corner.
Mouth open. Like he was seeing something bigger than life. Like, for a second, he actually believed I was Superman.
And for a moment… I believed the lie too.
I turned to face the second guy, who was already getting up.
Gray hoodie, blank stare. Calm, way too calm.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" he said, pulling something out. It wasn't a question.
It was a gun.
My chest tightened.
Shit. I tried to move, dodge, scream.
Something.
Bang.
It wasn't like in the movies.
No slow motion. I didn't go flying.
Just a hard impact in the chest, like being hit with a giant hammer from the inside.
My body hit the ground like someone unplugged me.
The pavement was warm, but I felt cold. The sunlight stabbed my eyes, everything spun, but I couldn't keep going.
The shouting sounded far away, like underwater.
A car honked in the distance.
I blinked. Once. Twice.
The guy with the gun walked away, swearing.
No one came to help. No one.
The girl was gone, didn't look back, didn't say thanks.
I didn't even know if what I did mattered. Maybe she wouldn't even remember.
Well… at least I saved her.
END OF FLASHBACK.
So there I was.
Lying on the ground.
Dressed as Superman. Dying like an idiot.
And the worst part… the most fucked up part… is that I'd do it all over again.
Not because I was brave. But because that orphan kid who learned to fight alone, who grew up believing in comic books…
That bastard just wanted to do what's right.
And sometimes, that's enough.
Even if no one else sees it.