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The Boys: Rebirth

🇺🇸DarkLadyReader
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chs / week
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Synopsis
I laughed, in hell! A whirlwind of emotions washed over me.Fun and happiness, terror and despair mixed into a vortex of madness. Adrenaline was boiling in my blood demanding to be released. The straps that bound me, tightened more and more, and I kept laughing. Everything mixed up before my eyes. The white walls of the cell, the faces of the people on the other side of the glass, grimaces of either horror or disgust. I just wanted to destroy everything. Open my veins. Kill them all. End it all. Everything got mixed up in my head. - - - - - - - - - - - - The listless body, just a couple of seconds ago writhing in convulsions, hung helplessly on the straps. The faces of the people behind the glass were frozen by porcelain masks, the only thing that showed a living being in them was their eyes. They stared at the body hanging on the straps, as if expecting it to come to life... The door flew away as if from a strong shock. Here’s the corrected version: -The performance is over! Everyone out!- yelled the weird-looking man as he entered the room.People slowly made their way to the exit. All the while continuing to look back at the body, as if in disbelief that the inhuman is finally dead, that this is the end... - what a circus was arranged here! squeaked the detective, closing the door.
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Chapter 1 - Chapter1

Author: Hi QwQ

1 chapter is planned at least once a week, maybe more.

Thank you for your attention ><

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---If losing my humanity is the price of my survival, I will easily reject it----

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Sharp pain… What dared to pierce the comforting veil of my sleep? Surely, I'm dead; this darkness wraps around me like a soft, suffocating blanket, lulling me back into blissful oblivion.

But then, a sharp thump echoes through the room, followed by a screech—like a pig in distress. It's so disturbing, pulling me from my haze. With great effort, I pry open my eyes, my vision blurring as the remnants of a dream slip away. He is dead. The thought strikes like a current, electrifying my sluggish mind. These fools can't even carry out a death penalty properly. Although, I suppose someone must have paid them. I'd gladly pay to watch my enemy writhe in agony, trapped in a hell of their own making. But sleep beckons again, pulling me down into its depths.

Another blow lands, and my cheek ignites with fire. I blink sharply, scanning the room. An old woman hunches over me, her gnarled hands trembling as she mutters something unintelligible. I can't be bothered to listen. I seem to be in some sort of childish sanctuary, cluttered with bright superhero figurines and posters that scream of innocence. My son used to love heroes, too—what a cruel joke. My thoughts swirl, heavy and disjointed.

I glance around and spot a pencil lying on the bedside table. Ah, I recall a tale of a Russian KGB agent who dispatched eight adversaries with a mere pencil in a bar. A grim smile tugs at my lips as I study the woman still hovering over me. How many times would I need to jab her in the neck to silence her incessant prattling? But I hold back. She's screeching about my mother being a whore and insists that I must go to school. Ah, the absurdity of it all. For now, violence can wait.

With a slow, deliberate movement, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and push myself up. I'm a thin, unremarkable boy—probably thirteen, with limbs that feel foreign and weak. I ponder whether it's time to shed this flimsy pajama fabric when the woman suddenly freezes, her mouth agape in shock. Shouting something incomprehensible, she bolts from the room like a startled deer.

I snort. Pathetic. I look around again, my curiosity piqued. The room is a chaotic jumble of bright colors, toys, and the remnants of childhood dreams. A small table with an aging computer sits by the window, a sentinel of this bizarre reality. I approach the window, feeling the cool glass against my fingertips. The view reveals a backyard and rows of identical houses in a bland suburb. Second floor—an escape route, perhaps.

Next, I turn to the closet, and as I yank the handle, a mountain of clothes collapses onto me, fabric smothering my face. I wrestle my way free, finally snatching a pair of jeans and a T-shirt emblazoned with some superhero logo that mocks my current situation. With a deep breath, I make my way to the door.

I wrench it open, revealing a dimly lit corridor lined with four doors. Great. I choose the nearest one. Surprise—there's a sister, her face a blend of annoyance and concern. Next! The old woman again, back to her prattling. I slam the door behind me and dash to the next one—bathroom at last. I lock the door, leaning against it as I catch my breath.

In the mirror, another me stares back—blond hair, dark eyes, a nose too sharp to be charming. I'm not grotesque, but I can't shake the feeling that I've fared better in other lives. I stretch my mouth into a smile, but it feels more like a grimace. Alive. And yet, this is utter nonsense. Time travel? A parallel universe? Too many theories, not enough information.

I peel off my underwear and step into the shower, letting the water cascade over me. I grimace at the reflection—a body untouched by effort or ambition. It feels alien and wrong. After a quick wash, I pull on my clothes and take one last look in the mirror. I draw a smiley face on the foggy glass, a promise to myself. I step back, slamming the door behind me.

At the end of the corridor, I see the stairs leading down. I descend quietly, heart pounding. The old woman spots me, her eyes widening in surprise. She rushes toward me, grabbing my hand with surprising strength. I can't help but wonder—mother? Aunt? Grandmother? I need to slip away unnoticed.

She grumbles under her breath, pulling me toward the front door. Before I know it, I'm tossed into a car, a backpack flying through the air, narrowly missing my head. I think I'm being taken to school. As the engine roars to life, I brace myself for the chaos ahead. Time to consider a plan of action.