And when the dust settles on their broken thrones, there will be no crown. No flag. No savior.
I found her in the sub-levels of Stryker’s—a girl who can move mountains with her mind and hasn’t spoken a word since they drugged her into compliance. They call her dangerous. I call her proof . Proof that power isn’t evil. Silence is evil. Conformity is evil. Injustice 2-REVOLT
Superman was right about one thing: fear is the only currency the powerful understand. He just spent it on the wrong dream. He wanted to rule. I want to burn the idea of ruling altogether. Not anarchy—something older. A revolt of the forgotten. The ones crushed between the boot of the Regime and the fist of the so-called Resistance. And when the dust settles on their broken
They want us to fight each other. Batman vs. Superman. Blue vs. Red. Same game, different jerseys. I found her in the sub-levels of Stryker’s—a
No.
I walk the ruins of Metropolis—still a tomb, never a monument. The glass crunches under my boot like the bones of the old world. They want me to forget. To fall in line. To be a hero .
Batman thinks he saved us. He just traded a tyrant for a surveillance state. Alfred wipes the blood off the cowl, and Gordon pretends the batsignal isn’t a leash. They call Superman the fascist? Look at the orbital platforms. Look at the meta-human registration files. Look at the fear in their eyes when someone like me refuses to kneel.