Chapter Text
In a world full of monsters, heroes, villains, one’s whole life can feel… jarring, especially when you have superpowers. You belong to a group of different individuals. It can feel... well, it definitely makes you feel a certain type of way.
That’s how a young Benjamin Banks felt.
His whole life, Ben looked up to heroes. His favorite being The Guardians of the Globe (and yes, he did totally have a crush, growing up, on War Woman). While Omni-Man was not himself a member of the team, he always felt like a guardian nonetheless.
Their world was full of monster, aliens, and other crazy shit.
As time went on he eventually got used to his powers, tho he promised his mother to not use them unless it was an emergency. His mother, Beverly, could see in his eyes that his admiration of heroes was something that was gonna influence him. Having powers wouldn’t make it safer tho; many villains constantly returned and attacked, but unfortunately that was the world they lived in.
A pair of blue twin giants called The Mauler Twins had actually just attacked the White House this morning, before unsurprisingly getting their asses handed to them by the aforementioned hero team.
Ben had finished his homework an hour ago, and was ready to head out to The Cavern. During the last hour, he had been sketching on his desk, a hobby his mother made him become very invested in. She had told him that it was important for him to have a hobby; having powers could often make one forget they were human. This hobby allowed him to sketch his very own hero suit.
The design was simple, but it lacked an emblem.
Most heroes like Omni-Man, Immortal, and Red Rush, they had a letter on their chest, and while he was interested in paying an homage to that trope, he didn’t even have a hero name yet.
His list:
•Unstoppable (too presumptuous)
•Hit Hard (too lazy)
•Mr Powerful (literally just a slot filler)
Ben leaned back on his chair. It was almost six, so he was gonna go train at his spot. He grabbed his bag, and walked down the hall of the apartment. He saw Brianna, his 10 year old sister playing Mario Kart with her friend.
He walked up to his mother in the kitchen with an eager paced, and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
“Okay mom, gonna go; see ya later.”
He headed for the door.
“Ben wait.” She said suddenly.
Ben turned around. “Yeah mom.”
She approached him. She didn’t know how to formulate her response. “Uh… I, uh… well, I just wanted to ask if you’ve looked into art school.”
Ben blinked. “Uh, yeah. I’ve been looking at the one at the SAIC. It’s looking good to me.”
“Oh, that’s… that’s good to hear.”
Ben tilts his head. “What’s wrong mom?”
“Oh nothing it’s just… well, I’m glad you’re looking at other things outside of, well… your powers.”
Ben blinked again. “Oh. Yeah, I, uh… I’m not powerful all the time mom. Just like how I’m not all artistic all the time. Moderation is the key."
“Well, maybe you should; heroism can be seen as an art by many."
They both chuckle at that.
“Mom… it’s something I don’t want to try, but rather do.”
“I know it’s just… it’s dangerous.”
“Mom… isn’t this what you knew I'd do?"
She had no answer to that.
“I carry everything that you’ve taught me and take it to heart and mind. Besides, I still haven’t finished the suit yet… nor do I have a name in mind.”
“I just hope you chose a design that won’t look ridiculous, Ben."
“It’s Ben, mom. It’s bound to look ridiculous. He was doomed from the get-go.” Brianna said without peeling her eyes off the screen.
“Ahaha, haaa...Very funny Bri.”
With that he gave his mom another kiss on the cheek and took the stairs to the roof. Once there he bent his knees slightly, and let gravity release its hold on him. He flew off towards his destination.
Location: Bunker Hill Prairie.
Time: 9:00 pm
“998, 999, and… 1,000.”
Ben breathed heavily. So… that sucked. But no gain without pain.
Ben stood up and wiped some sweat off his face. So far he’s been making progress. When he was 14, he unlocked his powers after a certain... incident. For three years, he’s had his powers. So far, he appeared to have some of the classics that classified him as a brick that could fly. A flying brick.
Super strength, speed, and flight. He also possess the lesser known ones that you need in order to have the ones mentioned above which include endurance, stamina, endurability.
Can’t forget those.
And yes, he'd spent months after gaining his powers staring at brick walls to see if he could shoot lasers out of his eyes... but no shots were ever fired.
As he been prepared to leave, he saw something in the corner of his left eye. It was the suit that he had designed. Using some fabrics the spot had in its inventory, Ben had designed it a few weeks ago.
It looked like something made by Benjamin Banks himself.
It was a sleek, two-toned suit dominated by deep black and vibrant orange. The core of the suit features a solid orange panel that covers the chest and tapers down to a sharp point at the waistline. It also has an orange belt design that showed where the division between the shirt and pants are. The high-necked collar, long sleeves, side panels, and legging pants are a dark, solid black material that extends all the way to his wrists and ankles, leaving his hands bare. A long, flowing orange cape rests securely at the shoulders that reached the ankles, and the uniform is anchored by a pair of smooth, knee-high orange boots.
Ben thought it might look a bit out there what with the orange, but it was his favorite color.
The only thing that it lacked now was an emblem. Sure, he’d considered just not putting one, especially if he chose a name that’s first letter is a symmetrical letter. It would definitely look goofy.
He walked up to the suit… someday.
He looked around and his gaze wandered around the cave. It was a cozy spot for a secret tech cave to be hidden. He had to hand it to his old man, he knew how to provide in seemingly permanent absence.
He turned off the lights and used his hand scan to lock down. As he looked at the night sky, he wondered when he would actually have the balls to do it.
Come on Ben. Not having a name it’s no longer a good enough excuse anymore, he chastised himself. He then took off into the night silently.
The next day at school, Ben heard some commotion down the hall. That’s when he saw it.
Todd. Of course. He was harassing Amber Bennett.
"Knock it off, Todd!"
“Come on... Quit playing games.” Todd scoffed, “I know you're crazy about me. Marcy told me.”
"Well, you are big and strong, aren't you?"
“You know it.” He flexed.
“And you think that makes it okay for you to harass me?” She tried to walk away.
He grabbed her by the wrist. “Hey, don't walk away from me. What, are you a lesbian or something?”
“Oh, my god, I wish! Would you leave me alone then? Let go of me, so I can go find a girl to kiss!"
Before Ben could try to muster some courage to speak up, someone else beats him to it.
A throat was cleared. Ben turned his head and saw Mark Grayson, take the stand.
“I think Amber's been pretty clear about how she feels, Todd.” Make remarked.
Todd raised an eyebrow “Are you serious, Grayson?”
Mark straiten up more. “Look...”
Suddenly, Todd throws a haymaker at his face, then stomach. Ben tries to get through the crowd to help, but Amber beats him to it and kicked Todd from behind where the sun doesn't shine.
“Leave him alone!”
Todd groans as everyone snickers at him, and he begins to runs away whilr cruthing his groin “What are you lookin' at?”
Amber looked at Mark. “Thank you.” She turned round and walked down the hall.
“Yup.” Mark wheezed weakly. His friend, William Clockwell, was holding him up, as he held his own stomach.
Wow. If I had spoken up three seconds sooner, Mark wouldn’t have gotten hurt. Damn. I can't afford to hesitate like that.
Ben walks up to Mark.
“Hey man, that was really cool of you,” he praised him, “minus the punch to the face and gut of course.”
“Oh, uh, thanks man.”
William looks Ben up. Ben has to look down due to his own height.
“You’re… who are you again?”
Ben nods and introduces himself. “I’m Benjamin Banks. Call me Ben.”
“I’m William, but you can call me whatever you want.”William said with an above average friendly smile and tone.
Right. Clockwell is a well known gay kid at school. He’d heard through the grapevine about it.
“Well, I got to get to class”. He turned around. “See you around.”
Later that week, Ben took the suit home, and began to mess around with it in his room that night, and put it on. He posed infront of his mirror. He tried a corny hero line. He was an absolute dork.
“Good work officer. You guys-you’re the real heroes.”
“You’re so fricken ridiculous.”
Ben looked behind him, and saw his sister watching him in her pajamas while he wore… a different type of pajamas.
Ben looks at his sister who is watching him.
“Bri, seriously, get out”.
“Sure thing Mr. Dork Orange.”
Ben closed his door, before getting dressed for school again. He slipped his suit into his backpack.
At school, he was in the library writing some more hero names down next to the pages full of drawings he made.
He overheard two jocks talking not so quiet. They were discussing what all superhero fans do:
1v1’s
“Dude, The Immortal would definitely kick Omni-Man’s ass; he might be an alien, but Immortal gets stronger as he ages; it’s part of his power set.”
“What power set? Dude, not all heroes post their full set of abilities online. Besides, what you just said is a myth; not all heroes publicize their power origins. Now Omni-Man, I heard that one asteroid he stopped years ago was like the size of France. There’s no way a guy with the word ‘mortal’ in his name could take on power like that.”
Ben rolled his eyes and as he continued sketching.
"Ugh, typical of you brainless dipshits," a girl nearby muttered after hearing the conversation. "Everyone is always talking about fighting and power levels. Why can’t you people ask more important questions?" Like, of the two of them, which one is most invested in world peace? In showing fighting is never the answer, or that they want to stop all wars and problems in the world?”
Ben couldn’t agree more. He himself didn’t just want to punch. He wanted to make people smile and maybe make some kids’ day, with like an autograph or a high five.
“Pssssh! Lame. Superheroes aren’t exactly build for that.”
Ben’s eyes almost got launched into orbit as he rolled his eyes again.
“Just yesterday, The White House got attacked for the fourth time this year; it’s simply in the job description.”
Ben couldn’t help but concede to that statement.
The girl however stood by her point. “The world is influenced by people with superpowers, regardless of whether they’re evil or benign, and those who are the latter, should maybe consider showing more kindness. The Guardians of the Globe might be great, but with the exception of Martian Man, not all of them exactly give out hugs or spread love to others”.
“The 70’s were last century, ya hippie.”
The free period bell rung. Ben rolled his eyes again. Thank goodness.
However, this conversation would pick at his mind for the rest of the day. Influence vs Power… hmm.
Later that night, Ben was sketching on the roof of his apartment. He was drawing the night city buildings and lights.
The heavy metal door of the roof stairwell creaked open, and Beverly stepped out, wrapping her cardigan a little tighter around herself against the breeze. She walked over quietly and sat down beside him on the gravel roofing.
She leaned over slightly, looking at the open sketchbook on his lap. It was a highly detailed, sprawling sketch of the city skyline, the shading perfectly capturing the fading light.
"That shading is incredible, honey," she said softly, a warm smile on her face. "You’ve really gotten better at capturing the depth."
Ben paused, the graphite hovering over the paper. He let out a quiet breath, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. "Thanks, Mom." He closed the sketchbook, resting his hands on the dark cover. He stared out at the real skyline, his intense, dark eyes filled with doubt.
Beverly watched his profile. She knew that look. "You've been up here a long time, Ben. What's going on in that head of yours?"
Ben gripped the edge of the sketchbook. "I'm just... I don't know. I'm trying to figure out this whole hero thing. I don't even have a name yet. I don't know what my angle is, or what I'm supposed to stand for." He finally turned to look at her, the mask dropping completely. "Mom... I'm worried. What if I can't do this? What if someone gets hurt because I don’t know what kind of hero I wanna be?”
Beverly’s smile softened into something deeply empathetic. For years, she had been terrified of her son, wanting to become a hero. She reached over, placing her hand over his.
"I knew this day was coming since you were a toddler, Ben," she said with a nostalgic chuckle. "Remember that old, rusted steel pipe I kept in the hallway?"
Ben let out a soft, genuine laugh, the tension breaking slightly. "Yeah. How could I forget?"
"After you turned seven, I pulled that pipe out," Beverly reminded him, her eyes crinkling at the memory. "And for another seven years, every single morning before I let you walk out the door for school, I’d hand it to you and tell you to try and bend it. I was so anxious, just waiting for the day your genetics finally woke up. I thought we’d see a little dent first, maybe a slight curve in the metal..."
She shook her head, laughing softly.
"...and then, one day, you got so incredibly excited to go down to the shop to buy that new limited-edition Seance Dog comic book that you grabbed the passenger side of my car, and pulled the entire car door clean off its hinges, falling on your ass with that door on top of you. The pipe never even served its purpose."
Ben smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I still feel bad about that."
It let me know my boy was ready," Beverly said. Her smile faded slightly, turning more reflective. "Your father... before he left us, he told me that whenever your gifts finally showed up, I had to make sure you stayed grounded. He explicitly told me to raise you to be a kind-hearted young man."
Ben’s posture instantly stiffened.
Ben’s jaw set, his gaze dropping back to the gravel. "He doesn't get a say. He left us right after I was born. It’s pretty audacious of him to drop a manual on how to raise me and then walk out the door forever. I don't care what he wanted."
"I know you don’t like to hear about it," Beverly said gently, entirely unbothered by his reaction. "But it doesn't matter why he said it, because it’s exactly what I did. I didn't do it for him. I did it for myself and for you. You were alway such a sweet, kind boy, Ben. Now, you’re almost a man. You have a good heart."
Ben looked at her, the anger fading back into that quiet insecurity. "Being sweet doesn't stop bad guys, Mom."
"No, it doesn't," she agreed, shifting closer to him. "But strength without a heart, is just apathy. You asked what you should stand for. The world is a cruel, violent place, and there are plenty of people out there who think brute force is the only answer. They let the power turn them cold."
She reached up, brushing a stray dark brown hair away from his forehead.
"The thing is... when, not if, you do this you will be a different kind of hero," Beverly said, her voice filled with absolute certainty. "You don't just have strength. You have a heart. And that’s what this world actually needs. It needs kindness. It needs good will. It needs benevolence."
Ben smiled at her. Her words hung in the cool evening air. He looked at his mother, repeating what she said in his head. Slowly, the heavy weight of the doubt lifted from his chest, and a small, genuine smile finally broke across his face.
“Come down for dinner soon?” She asked.
“I’ll be there.” Ben smiled.
She kissed his forehead and headed back down.
As he stared off into the night sky, he slowly came to a realization.
Wait…
He looked down at his sketch book. He repeated her words again in his mind. He’s smiled, this time with an idea.
He’s got it.
He began to draw.
Damn it… if Brianna thought he was a dork before, he was gonna be Dork of the Year after this.
The Cavern:
Ben was typing things into the keyboard while his suit was under the high tech weaving/sewing machine. The new emblem might need to be explained to some, but in the end, he’d still own it.
Once the device powered down, he lifted the shirt and stared at it.
Yeah. I can make this work…
Ben stands in front of his mirror now complete with his emblem. He made sure to lock the door so his sister wouldn’t see him posing and trying to look heroic.
It’s gonna be okay. Ben looked out the window, then back at his mirror. World, here I come.
3 years ago...
The morning of Ben’s fourteenth birthday started exactly like the two thousand, five hundred, and fifty-five mornings before it: with a heavy, humiliating piece of plumbing.
The Chicago apartment was freezing, the radiators clanking in a useless rhythm against the autumn chill. Ben dragged himself out of bed, his lanky, teenage frame wrapped in an oversized hoodie, and trudged into the small kitchen. The smell of scrambled eggs and burnt toast filled the air, but his eyes immediately went to the object sitting next to the front door.
It was a two-foot section of galvanized steel water pipe. It was thick, heavy, capped on both ends, and dotted with small blooms of rust.
Beverly stood by the stove, a spatula in one hand and a mug of black coffee in the other. She looked at him, then nodded toward the door. "Happy birthday, kiddo. You know the drill before breakfast."
Ben groaned, letting his head fall back. "Mom, it’s my birthday. Can we take a day off from the pipe? It’s been seven years. I’m starting to think this is just some weird psychological torture."
"Humor your mother," Beverly said smoothly, taking a sip of her coffee. "Just try. You never know what day it’s going to happen."
With a heavy sigh, Ben walked over and picked up the pipe. It was freezing to the touch, and it weighed a solid ten pounds. He gripped it with both hands, planting his feet on the worn linoleum floor. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and squeezed. He flexed his biceps, gritting his teeth, pouring every single ounce of his fourteen-year-old strength into the metal. His knuckles turned white. His face flushed a deep crimson.
After thirty seconds of intense, shaking effort, he let out a loud exhale and dropped his arms. The pipe was perfectly, stubbornly straight. Not a single millimeter of give.
"Nothing," Ben muttered, tossing the heavy steel onto the entryway bench with a loud clatter. "It’s completely pointless, Mom. It's just a stupid piece of metal. I'm just a normal kid. Whatever Dad was, I clearly didn't get the memo."
Beverly offered a sympathetic, almost relieved smile. "Eat your eggs, Ben. We've got a busy afternoon anyway."
Today wasn't just his birthday; it was Wednesday. New comic book day. More importantly, it was the release day for the highly anticipated, double-sized anniversary issue of Seance Dog, featuring a foil cover that his local shop was absolutely going to sell out of by 4:00 PM.
Ben practically vibrated out of his skin as he rushed down the apartment complex stairs, his backpack bouncing against his shoulders. Beverly was right behind him, jingling the keys to her green car.
"Hurry up!" Ben called out, jogging toward the passenger side. "If Marcus sells my pull-list copy to that guy from the West Side, I'm going to lose my mind!"
"I'm moving, I'm moving," Beverly laughed, unlocking the doors with the remote. "You'd think the world was ending."
Ben reached the car. He was so incredibly wired, his heart hammering in his chest with anticipation, his mind entirely focused on getting into the seat as fast as physically possible. He grabbed the plastic handle of the passenger door. He didn't think about his footing. He didn't think about his grip. He just yanked the door open with a burst of eager, impatient energy.
There was no resistance.
Instead of the familiar click of the latch, there was a deafening, metallic screech. The sound of tearing steel echoed in the empty garage.
For the first time in his entire life, the physical world stopped pushing back. The heavy, steel of the car door felt no different than a piece of wet tissue paper.
With a violent, ear-splitting CRUNCH, the heavy steel hinges sheared completely off the frame of the car. The sheer, unexpected lack of resistance sent Ben’s center of gravity spiraling wildly out of control. He let out a sharp yell as his feet flew out from under him, hurtling backward toward the pavement.
He hit the concrete hard, landing square on his ass. A split second later, the two-hundred-pound car door, complete with the window frame, crashed down directly on top of him. The tempered glass exploded inward, showering his chest and face in thousands of sharp, glittering cubes.
Ben lay flat on his back, staring up at the autumn sky through the empty window frame of the heavy door resting on his chest. A deep, dull ache throbbed through his tailbone and radiated up his spine. It genuinely felt like he had been tackled onto concrete by a professional linebacker. But as he blinked, the soreness began to rapidly recede, washing away as his newly awakened cells repaired the minor blunt-force trauma almost instantly.
"Ben!"
Beverly’s voice was a frantic shriek. She had scrambled over the center console, practically falling out of the gaping hole where the passenger door used to be. She dropped to her knees on the pavement beside him, her hands hovering over the shattered glass, terrified to touch him.
"Ben! Oh my god, don't move! Are you bleeding? Where does it hurt?"
Ben carefully pushed the heavy steel door off his chest with one hand. It felt impossibly light now, like it was made of balsa wood. He sat up, shaking a cascade of safety glass from his hair and jacket. He looked down at his hands, expecting to see them sliced to ribbons by the jagged edges of the metal frame. The skin was completely pristine. Not a single scratch. Not a drop of blood.
He looked up at his mother. “I’m okay. It doesn’t hurt.” Beverly’s flushed with relief, and then looked at the empty frame of their only vehicle. The comic book was entirely forgotten.
"Mom," Ben croaked, his voice cracking with puberty and sheer disbelief. "I'm so sorry."
Beverly didn't care about the car. His sincerity in his voice, was laced in guilt instead of excitement. He felt bad about this... he definitely won't be a problem for the world.
She raised a sweet one.
She grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him into a crushing hug right there on the pavement amidst the wreckage, letting out a breathless, shaking laugh of pure relief.
Ben hugged her back, his mind racing, his heartbeat thudding against his ribs like a sledgehammer. As he stared over her shoulder at the, ruined metal of the car door, a single, incredibly frustrating thought pushed its way through the shock.
'Seriously, why couldn't that damn steel pipe have just bent this morning?'
Despite his guilt and his insistence regarding how much it would cost to fix, his mother insisted on getting him the comic book. They took the bus number to avoid unwanted questions, and to this day that special edition issue feels tainted.
In downtown Chicago the granite staircase leading up to the grand entrance of the Illinois Central Trust Bank was a chaotic war zone. The bank’s alarm was going off like crazy.
A massive, heavily built man in a dense, metallic grey suit and a black tactical vest, and a really lame looking mask, stood near the top of the stairs, laughing maniacally as a duffel bag stuffed with bearer bonds and money hung from his shoulder.
He was a villain known as Mass-Drop, which sounded like code for taking a shit, but his power wasn’t anything to scoff at. His super power was gravity manipulation.
His hand stretched outwards towards the police. As they fired their weapons, their bullets fell like flies a few yards from the villain and were flattened into lead coins.
“Haha! The world is full of money! A few missing dollars shouldn’t hurt no body. Quit wasting your bullets, gents!”
Suddenly one of the police vehicles was flattened to the officers’ knee level as an act of intimidation. Their cover was gone. Many began to fall back.
“I probably paid for that car with my tax dollars! No biggie!”
Before he could crush the other car, a streak of vibrant orange and black blurred down the street, with terrifying velocity towards the villain.
A fist collided straight into Mass-Drop’s jaw. The impact sent him flying. His power was turned off instantly, and Mass-Drop was launched backward, crashing violently through a solid concrete structural pillar before embedding himself deep into the bank's drywall.
Dust settled over the wreckage. Mass-Drop groaned groggily, shaking his head as his he felt his power was now unusable due to his bruises. He looked up, spitting a mouthful of blood, staring in pure shock at the being above him.
Floating at an imposing six-foot-two, the young man possessed a striking, broad-shouldered physique that easily defied his teenage self. Despite his heavy musculature, he had an effortless, boyish charm to him. His face was defined by a strong, chiseled jawline and warm, brilliantly clear green eyes that sat beneath thick, expressive dark brows. Framing his sun-kissed complexion was a thick mop of chestnut-brown hair, parted casually and swept back in loose, natural waves, with just enough textured fringe falling across his forehead to give him a perpetually wind-blown look. He has a nervous, but determined expression.
His chest heaving slightly, with adrenaline of his first ever fight. He looked down at the criminal with a proud, unyielding expression.
"What you’re doing is unacceptable," Ben said, his voice heard clear across the ruined street. "People could have been crushed. You don't get to terrorize this city anymore."
Mass-Drop blinked through the haze, rubbing his broken jaw. "Who... who the hell are you supposed to be?"
Ben inhaled, puffed out his chest, which now bore an emblem that looked like a “3E”, but was really a stylized "BE"
He smiled, looking entirely confident as he delivered his line.
"Me? I'm—“
