Marvel: Scientist reborn as Superman

"Bruce!" Ethan yelled, pushing his way through the line and standing behind me. At that moment, I was standing in line at the school cafeteria, trying to decide what to have for lunch. The choice, as always, was mediocre: a little mashed potatoes, vegetable casserole, strange cutlets, but then I saw the dessert I wanted — pudding, which was usually

 already gone by the middle of recess.

"Come on, Bruce!" Ethan wouldn't give up, tugging at my shoulder. "Pay attention to me!"

I sighed, rolled my eyes, and then reached over and put the pudding on my tray. Turning to my friend, trying not to look too annoyed, I asked,

"What's the matter, restless soul? You'll wake the dead with your shouting. What happened to make you so fired up first thing in the morning?

"Ha, you don't know?" Ethan broke into a broad smile. "Coach Murphy announced after practice today that we're going to sports camp! Can you imagine, three whole weeks in June without our parents?

There was such genuine joy in his voice that I couldn't help but smile.

"I found out from the older kids," he continued, "that not only football players are going to this camp, but other athletes too. And most importantly, rumour has it that there are loads of girls there. Plus, there will be cheerleading teams from all over the state!" Ethan rolled his eyes as if imagining a paradise. "It's the spring of my youth in all its glory!"

I chuckled quietly, seeing his eyes literally light up:

"You're already planning how you're going to chase every girl, aren't you?"

"Of course!" Ethan laughed, then instantly became serious: "You're coming, right?" He looked at me with the look of a hurt puppy. "You're not going to leave me there alone, are you? If you don't come, you'll ruin my fifteenth birthday, and I'll still be a virgin!"

I coughed at this statement as I handed the cashier a dollar. The bill fell out of my hand and began to slide across the floor. The cashier glanced at us because Ethan, without embarrassment, continued to talk about how he would find a girl, walk with her in the woods, and "kiss her passionately."

I picked up the dollar, paid, and smiled sheepishly at the cashier. As if to say, "I have nothing to do with this, it's just my friend who's always talking dirty." The girl seemed to accept my apology — her face lit up with cute dimples.

Ethan noticed how she looked at me and almost choked with envy. He stared wide-eyed, then whispered something like, "Some people have all the luck," and we moved towards the tables.

When we finally sat down at our favourite table, I opened a bottle of water, and Ethan immediately started his usual spiel:

"Look, Bruce, you have to come with me! I can't do it without you, and I'll never find a decent girl. Look at you, even older girls are hitting on you — the cashier is clearly interested in you, and she's probably twenty!" Ethan looked into my eyes like a cat begging for cream. "Come on, let's go together! If anything, you can help me meet someone there, right?"

I raised an eyebrow:

"What makes you think I was going to refuse?" I muttered. "And why should I be your personal matchmaker?"

"Come on, Bruce, please." He put his hands together. "And I'm glad you're going after all."

With that, he quickly finished his meal, jumped up from his seat with astonishing speed and disappeared from view. Apparently, he was in a hurry to tell someone else the news about the camp and continue promoting his upcoming "rite of passage."

I paused, thinking. Fifteen years already... Somehow, almost the entire first year of high school had flown by unnoticed. And now summer was coming soon.

Time really flies, especially after the events that took place six months ago. That was when I encountered real vampires and experienced for the first time what it means to participate in a hunt — not for animals, but for cruel bloodsuckers. Our small town managed to recover quickly from those horrific events, and now almost no one remembers them. People are trying to live normal lives, as if nothing supernatural ever happened.

But I haven't forgotten. A lot has changed in the last six months. I became a student of Abraham Whistler, the very hunter with whom I had a serious conversation after those events. At first, I was "unofficially" recognised as a young novice of the order of hunters, and then I was offered full membership.

Naturally, I agreed. After all, despite my super strength and super speed, I am essentially an ordinary civilian. I was not taught how to track creatures, how to fight professionally, or how to kill. What if an enemy appears in the future who is stronger than me? Perhaps then I won't have enough basic hand-to-hand combat skills or knowledge of where to strike to inflict maximum damage to win.

So I accepted Abraham's offer. And now, six months later, I don't regret it. The training is tough, but I understand that I need it. I don't care where the old hunter wants to hold the lesson: he just calls me and tells me where in the country he is and what time I need to be there. Then my super speed comes to the rescue: in just a couple of seconds, I'm next to him and start learning new things.

I still clearly remember every piece of advice Abraham gave me — these lessons are so deeply engraved in my memory that they seem to have become a part of me. The first thing he drummed into my head was self-discipline. Without it, he said, no warrior could survive for even a week. You have to learn to control yourself, your strength, your emotions and your thoughts. Panic, fear, anger or pity in battle will kill you faster than a vampire's fangs. Self-control and calculation are what distinguish a true hunter from an ordinary prey.

When I first began to understand his lessons, Abraham repeated almost daily:

"Don't let yourself relax for even a second. Your abilities can make you fast and strong, but without inner discipline, you will miss the moment and make a fatal mistake.That was my first immersion into the life of a hunter. I tried to listen carefully and remember every word, because even then I understood that this was not just someone's personal quirk, but a matter of survival — mine and those whom I might one day be able to protect.

Martial arts were the next step. Abraham made it clear that there were no "sporting" rules here:

"Forget about the fancy moves you see in the movies," he said. "There's no referee on the street, and your opponent won't fight 'fair'. Here, the one who hits faster and harder survives.

He taught me boxing — to make my punches accurate and fast. At the same time, we practised kickboxing and karate, training our coordination and ability to keep our balance while kicking. Then came jiu-jitsu and sambo, where he showed me how to escape from the toughest holds and break my opponent in close combat. Finally, he introduced me to Krav Maga and street fighting, where anything goes: from groin strikes to throwing your opponent onto the sharp edge of a kerb. Abraham never tired of repeating:

"There are no 'dirty' tricks when it comes to life and death. The main thing is to survive. Don't spare your enemy until he spares you.

And although I sometimes felt uncomfortable with all this harshness, I understood that we were talking about creatures that knew no mercy. This wasn't about stealing a wallet in an alley, but about fighting creatures that saw people as nothing more than food.

Weaponry is another vital skill. Hunters rarely rely on their fists and feet, especially if the enemy is stronger or outnumber them. Abraham showed me how to hold a gun properly, how to choose the right moment to shoot, and how to handle shotguns and automatic weapons. His motto was:

"A weapon should be an extension of your arm. If you have to think about pulling the trigger, you're already dead.

He also taught me how to handle cold weapons: knives, swords, and even how to shoot accurately with a bow and crossbow to remain unnoticed. He even told me about the most unusual types, such as silver chains, spiked brass knuckles and poisoned pipes. Any object can become a murder weapon if it helps you survive and gives your enemy no chance.

However, Abraham never missed an opportunity to remind me that "strength without brains is a path to the grave." He taught me the tactics and strategy of hunting.

"Don't rush in," he would repeat. "Analyse your target, find out who you're fighting. Vampires come in all shapes and sizes: purebreds, mutants, newly turned — they all have different weaknesses and habits. And besides vampires, there are many other evil creatures in our world.

He drummed into my head that traps, surprise attacks and teamwork are far more effective than open combat. I also learned how to track a target without being seen and how to retreat in time if the situation becomes unfavourable. Know when to attack, know when to hide. According to Abraham, that's how the best hunters survive.

Abraham paid particular attention to stealth and camouflage.

"To be a hunter is to be able to blend in with the crowd," he liked to repeat. "You're not a hero in a cloak, you're a shadow that no one notices until it's too late.

We practised moving around the city so that I wouldn't be seen by cameras or noticed by passers-by, and even those walking nearby couldn't remember what I looked like. Abraham showed me how to quickly disappear around a corner, blend into a crowd, hide in a dark doorway or alley. He taught me how to walk silently, move with low centre of gravity, and observe the enemy from a distance without giving away my presence, even with a casual glance.

Another important aspect was knowing the enemy. Abraham talked tirelessly about vampires and other evil creatures: their habits, hierarchies, eating habits, hunting methods. He explained how they settled among humans, blended in with the crowd and chose their victims unnoticed. I learned that some were affected by silver, others by sunlight, and still others could only be defeated with special serums or methods. He showed me how to distinguish an infected person from a normal one, talked about the first signs of vampirism, and explained what to fear most. For example, some purebred vampires can hypnotise you and break your will if you are not sufficiently prepared for their mental attack.

But even with such knowledge, a hunter is not immune to injury. That is why Abraham insisted on teaching me first aid. He showed me how to quickly stop bleeding and apply stitches in the field if there are no doctors, pharmacies or safe shelters nearby. He told me which drugs help keep a fighter on his feet if he is seriously injured, how to use adrenaline to survive in a critical situation. And, of course, how to create an antidote if there is a risk of poisoning.

Then there were lessons in survival in extreme conditions. Abraham repeated that hunters often act alone, hide in cities, sleep wherever they can, and often find themselves without weapons or supplies."You must be able to navigate the labyrinthine streets, find reliable shelters and stock up on everything you need to survive until the next day.

I learned to find food and water, make my way at any time of the day or night, and escape from the police or gangsters if they happened to come across me. After all, in a life like this, full of secrets and dangers, no one is immune from contact with all kinds of people — and not all of them are friends.

Finally, Abraham talked about what he called "the psychology of the hunter." He said:

"The hardest thing in this war is not to kill the monster, but not to become a monster yourself. If you don't learn to preserve what's left of your humanity, sooner or later something inside you will break.

He didn't give trite sermons about virtue and morality, but he reminded me that if I didn't find an inner reason to fight for, I would eventually become an empty shell with no compassion or desire to live.

"There is no place for heroism for the sake of applause in this business," he repeated seriously. "There will only be eternal struggle if that is what you really want. But the point is to remain human inside.

Sometimes I thought, "Maybe I don't need all this? I have super strength and super speed" — after all, none of the hunters could boast such abilities. But Abraham explained that raw power without knowledge and skills is just an illusion of invincibility. And I myself felt how invaluable his lessons were. What's more, every new technique, every medical or combat strategy textbook I read in seconds, I immediately committed to memory. It was my little advantage: seeing a technique once and being able to repeat it flawlessly. Abraham jokingly said that he had never had such an incredible student and was unlikely to ever have another.

That's how six months of tough, gruelling but incredibly useful training passed. And then one day Abraham admitted that he couldn't teach me anything more:

"I've given you everything I know," he said, looking at me with a certain pride, "and now it's up to you to put it into practice. You are now a hunter."

I asked him, "What now? What do I do next?" Abraham suddenly became serious and leaned back in his chair:

"Listen carefully, Bruce. This war is not about honour, glory, or heroism. This war is about survival and destroying the enemy. You are not a superhero from a comic book or a noble knight. You are a hunter. Your job is to kill the creatures before they kill you. Period.

With that, he smiled slightly, as if softening his harsh words:

"For now, you just need to live. Go to school, have fun with your friends, don't turn into a vagrant like me, chasing monsters day and night. Keep growing and enjoying life — that's your job.

After that, we said goodbye. Abraham and Blade were going to Europe to visit some old friends who had called for help. I hadn't heard from them for over a month and, to be honest, I was starting to get a little worried. Who knows what could happen in a world where danger lurks around every corner...

Another incident that stuck in my memory, on my fifteenth birthday, also involved the hunters Eric and Abraham. Of course, I invited them to the party, but unfortunately, due to their work, neither of them was able to come. I was already looking forward to seeing how the guests and my parents would react to the "big black man and grey-haired old man" who would suddenly appear at the door. Surprised faces, questions, awkward guesses — it all promised to be a great show. But, alas, instead of a personal visit, they sent a strange but impressive package.

It arrived right in the middle of the festive meal. The box was as tall as me, and I even wondered how they had agreed to deliver it without any questions — after all, there are people working at the post office, so it would have been logical to at least ask what was inside. But no one asked any questions.

When I opened it in front of everyone, they were all stunned. Inside was a huge sword. A real one, without any exaggerated props. A letter was tied to the hilt.

I quickly unfolded the letter and, scanning the lines, immediately realised who had made this "modest" gift. Either Abraham had made a joke, or Eric had — but in any case, it was a powerful statement. The sword resembled a weapon from an old book or a collection of historical weapons. Of course, I lied to the guests and my parents, saying that it was a souvenir for a "budding collector." I said that I had been planning to start collecting such things and that my friends had decided to support my new hobby.

My father, judging by the look on his face, didn't really believe me, but he kept quiet. He just glanced at the huge object from time to time, trying to figure out if I really wanted to hang such a contraption on my wall or if it was just another teenage prank.

Late in the evening, when everyone had left and I was alone in my room, I took the sword out of the box and examined it more closely. It turned out to be a flamberge, forged from a special tungsten alloy. Almost two metres long and weighing about ten kilograms, it was a substantial piece of metal, no joke. The blade was crafted with wavy patterns across its entire surface, giving the weapon a recognisable "flaming" shape.

The guard was made in a strict style, without any fancy decorations, but it protected the hand reliably. The ricasso made it easy to grip, and the handle was covered with thick leather. On the metal elements of the guard, I saw tiny engravings — symbols belonging to the order of hunters. They were not bright or flashy, but rather a reminder: "Do not forget who lurks in the darkness."

I read all this in the letter. It was a tradition for a mentor to give a sword to his apprentice. It had existed for many centuries: when a teacher passed on everything he knew and had nothing more to teach, he would present his apprentice with his very first blade. Abraham, it seemed, was no exception to this rule, although, to be honest, I didn't understand why I personally needed a weapon, given my abilities.

Even considering that my strength would allow me to easily wield such a sword, I didn't see much point in using it. Against enemies that I would need something like this to defeat, other, more sophisticated weapons would certainly be more suitable. Nevertheless, a gift is a gift.

In the same box was a special leather case made of several wide strips with a fastening system. The sword was "sealed" in it so that, if desired, with one movement of the hand — pulling on the strap — the blade could be released and the sword drawn for battle. The design looked impressive, as if it had come straight out of a fantasy novel, but I smiled and decided to hang the flamberge above my bed. At least now it served as an impressive interior decoration.

*****

After finishing my lunch in the dining room and clearing away my dirty dishes, I headed for the coach's office. The thought of Itan's offer to go to sports camp was stuck in my head. Why not? Why not have some fun? The holidays were long, there didn't seem to be any new dangers on the horizon, so why not have some fun with friends and get some normal teenage experiences?

When I entered the coach's office, I saw Mr Murphy. He was sitting at a bulky computer — the case was the size of a box, with a monitor with a cathode ray tube, a keyboard and a square mouse. The whole thing took up a good half of the desk, and the coach was trying to press the buttons with one finger, peering at the flickering screen with childlike enthusiasm.

Accustomed to much more advanced technology in my previous life, it was strange for me to see such a device. But I understood that here and now, this was a real innovation, and many at the school viewed the computer as a miracle of scientific and technological progress.

"Coach, have you decided to keep up with the times?" I asked with a smile.

Murphy turned around and, noticing me, grinned cheerfully in response: "Oh, Bruce, you're right! The board of trustees got ten of these machines for the school. And I got one for my services. Now I'm educating myself. It's a good thing they persuaded the school to hire an instructor — he comes in every day and explains how this machine works. And you, Bruce, have you embraced the new technology yet?

"Not yet, I've missed all the latest trends," I said, spreading my hands. "But I think I'll catch up soon and buy something similar for myself."

"You're doing the right thing," the coach nodded approvingly. "This is the future, mark my words. I'm still learning myself — I'm still confused, but I'm enjoying it. Anyway, what brought you here?"

"I wanted to sign up for a sports camp," I replied. "The whole summer is ahead of us, and I don't want to sit at home."

"Great idea!" The coach slapped the table happily. "There are still places available, I'm just sitting here making the lists. You're one of us, Bruce, you're a smart guy, plus you play great for the Tigers. The last match was fantastic!

I smiled to myself, remembering how easily I dodged opponents on the field thanks to my speed, and how the coach just shook his head, wondering where I got such quick reactions.

"Well, I'm glad I'm helping the team," I said.

"Help? You're almost single-handedly carrying our school team forward," Coach Murphy winked. "So, of course, I'll take care of everything. Come by tomorrow to pick up the paperwork and get ready for the trip."

He turned back to his computer and started typing again. Judging by the tense expression on his face, this "innovation" was not coming easily to him. But the coach was a stubborn man, and sooner or later he would surely conquer the insensitive technology.

"Thanks, coach. See you tomorrow," I said, turning towards the door.

"Goodbye, Bruce," I heard in reply.

The coach just waved his hand, indicating that he was still busy with his battle with the keyboard and the computer terms that were new to him.

***

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