I know how horrible this sounds, but given time, you can get used to everything in this world, even seeing corpses on a daily basis. And sometime, you catch yourself on being relieved after seeing a dead body. It’s merely a gunshot wound - you think, glad that tonight you’ll be able to sleep normally, your dreams not invaded by twisted images of eviscerated humans.  

Because of the darkness. Because you work from shadows more than any other heroes. You allow them to have such commodities like being able to look at a hamburger without feeling sick. You allow them to deal with regular crooks in colorful costumes or tyrannical masterminds or any other stuff, “regular” stuff. And when they save the world from an alien invasion, they don’t know that a family of three was killed in a dark alley that day. Most of all, you allow them to feel good about themselves.

It grows on you. Like a shell. Monstrosities don’t affect you as much. And when you see a kid with a sword, you don’t hesitate to put him down. And when you see a scene of pure massacre, you only see small details. Small, but important. For this reason, other heroes think of you as a weirdo.

I hide this behind laughs and smiles, but my sister doesn’t. No point, she says, no point in trying to pretend to be something you’re not. I understand her better than ever. I still crack a joke or two on the reflex. Because of the darkness. Because you’re still a little girl afraid of the darkness. 

“Heads up!” As the floor suddenly decides that it likes being the wall better, I grab a tiny pistol-like object from my utility belt. Grappling gun. Every street vigilante’s best friend. It takes me milliseconds to aim, even less to pull the trigger. I flash a brief thumbs-up to the dynamic duo nearby and go for the prize. 

I let the rope pull me closer to the evil-doer - like how corny this term sounds - and prepare to give her a good taste of my ceramic-plated boot. In a moment, this very moment, time seemingly slows. I see her blink and surprise. 

One second. I fly closer, but still not quite close. She shouts at me. It doesn’t matter.

Two seconds. I am closer, prepared to finish this in one swoop. She does something, and in instant… Everything matters.

Three seconds. I see them, multiple possibilities, all shown to me. I see every outcome possible, every reality that fractures from this point. In a kaleidoscope of colors, every actions unfolds in a different matter. I’m everywhere and nowhere in particular. 

Four seconds. I have to choose one. And so I do. I pick up one of them, where my kick connects with her face, and stop the ripples. It has to be ended now. I pull the grappling gun at full speed and my accelerated leg meets a very movable object.

And then, her neck twists, accompanied by a very unpleasant sound. I look into a lifeless body on the floor in silent horror. I do not shout, nor wail. I say nothing, my eyes glued to a fresh corpse I made just now. I’m not sure what exactly should I feel, but now I can only feel empty.

“God…”