"Bruce, get up, you have to go to school soon! Hurry up and get ready!" My mother's familiar voice rang out loudly, accompanied by a demanding knock on my bedroom door. I sleepily opened my eyes and immediately realised that
I was floating a few centimetres above my bed again. What the hell is going on? Before I could do anything, gravity returned and I crashed back onto the mattress with a loud thud. The impact was so strong that the legs of the bed creaked pitifully and immediately collapsed as if they were made of thin plastic. I ended up rolling across the floor with my blanket and pillow, kicking up a cloud of dust.
"For God's sake, how many times can this happen? Not again!" I thought to myself, feeling extremely annoyed. "This is a disaster, Bruce. How can you control it? This is the umpteenth bed..."
Fortunately, the floor remained intact. My father and I had tried a thousand times to reinforce my sleeping places: we used metal frames, impregnated the wood with special compounds, even some clever designs with bolts — but to no avail. If I "fly" onto the bed, I break it. There's nothing I can do about it, I guess it's my cross to bear — or the price I pay for being born with unusual abilities.
I brushed the tangled hair from my forehead and continued to lie on the floor under the blanket, trying to hold on to the last remnants of my morning slumber. It was nice and warm, like being in a cocoon. I even thought, "Maybe I'll lie here a little longer?" But I knew perfectly well that my mother would be furious if I didn't show up in the kitchen soon. With a sigh, I got up.
Sitting down on the broken bed frame, I glanced at the bedside table. The alarm clock, as expected, was smashed to pieces: gears, pieces of plastic, hands, a battery — all lying in a shapeless heap. "Come on, get yourself together, sleepyhead, it's time to wake up!" I told myself and slapped my cheeks a couple of times, trying to get my brain to work. However, as practice showed, all these methods from films are just pretty pictures. In reality, they had no effect: I was still sleepy. "Oh well, a contrast shower will save the day!"
I got up, grabbed a clean towel and headed for the bathroom. As soon as I turned on the water and felt the cool jets hitting my back and shoulders, the sleep finally began to recede and my head cleared. The feeling was like a sudden burst of energy: "Oh, that's great..." I had just thought when a voice came from behind the door:
"Brew! How long are you going to be in there?!" my mum shouted, drowning out the sound of the water. "We're running late, hurry up! You've been in there for thirty minutes, breakfast is getting cold!"
I shuddered as if I had been doused with ice water and hurried to turn off the shower, because "thirty minutes" sounded crazy — I was sure it had been five at most! Jumping out of the bathroom, I realised that if I didn't hurry, I was in for a beating. Using my super speed, I literally pulled on a shirt and trousers in a matter of seconds, combed my hair and jerked open the door to my room, hoping that everything would be fine. But then I froze in confusion: after rushing back and forth a few times, my entire room had turned into the epicentre of a paper hurricane — sheets of paper, notes, textbooks, and various small items were flying around, and my clothes were scattered in the most ridiculous places.
My mum, standing in the doorway, raised an eyebrow and looked behind me. To her credit, instead of shouting, she just sighed heavily and shook her head: "When you come back from school, you'll clean everything up," she said in a tone that brooked no argument.
I nodded guiltily, knowing I had no excuse. "But how cool it is to be so fast!" flashed through my mind. Just one quick burst of energy, and you've already managed to get dressed, comb your hair and get ready for the new day while everyone else is still yawning. However, my mum would still make me clean up the mess I had made.
We headed downstairs to the kitchen, and I couldn't help but rejoice inside: being super fast is damn cool!
*****
Where did I come from — this floating lunatic with superpowers and incredible speed? As it turned out, it all started on the day my ship crashed on Earth — more precisely, on the land of the Waynes, whose vineyards stretched out beneath New York City. That was fourteen years ago. Now I know that it was then that I met the most wonderful people I could have wished for on Earth: Jonathan and Esme Wayne. They became my adoptive parents. I affectionately call them Dad and Mum because I can't imagine any other parents who love and care for me so much.
They don't have children of their own: my mum can't have children due to health reasons, and my dad, who adores her, always says that she is all he needs. So when I literally fell into their lives — a baby in a strange spaceship — they immediately decided to adopt me. Of course, I am officially their biological son: my father and mother, being quite influential, managed to sort out all the paperwork. Esme had just returned from a Swiss clinic, where she had been trying to treat her infertility, and it seemed quite "logical" to those around her that she had "given birth" to me shortly after her return. So that's how I was registered: Bruce Wayne.
I was certainly lucky to have them. My parents provided me with a peaceful childhood and protected me from prying eyes, which, upon learning of my abilities or my alien origins, could have turned my life into endless scientific research. And the Waynes themselves were no ordinary family: my father was the owner of a large wine-producing company called Wayne Winery. We live on a farm with vineyards stretching as far as the eye can see. It's a stunningly beautiful place, especially in summer, when the sun gently illuminates the endless rows of green vines. The farm is located in the picturesque Hudson Valley, not far from the city of Kingston, New York.
The Wayne family business was founded in 1839 by a French immigrant named Jean Wayne, who brought European winemaking techniques to America and laid the foundation for his future business. Over the years, the company has flourished, surviving even the most difficult periods, including Prohibition in the United States (1920–1933). At that time, the Waynes found a clever solution and started producing church wine, which was not banned at the time, thus saving the business from collapse. Since then, the winery's reputation has grown stronger, passing from generation to generation, and at the same time, production processes have been improved. Jonathan Wayne, the founder's grandson, is now a direct descendant of the winery's founder and is proud to continue not only the family business but also the tradition of sponsoring educational programmes and various community events.
The winery itself is located near Kingston, a small but historic town founded by Dutch colonists in 1652. The population here is about 23,000, and everyone knows the Wayne family and respects my father for his contribution to the development of the region. I grew up in this cosy place, running through the vineyards, helping my mother in the kitchen and listening to my father's stories about the importance of family values.
When I turned fourteen, I transferred to Kingston High School, choosing a programme in physics within the STEM (science, technology, engineering, mathematics) system. Many people wondered why I was drawn to studying rather than the family business. But ever since I was a child, I felt that I was special and wanted to understand how the universe and the laws of physics work, allowing me to suddenly float in my dreams and possess superhuman strength. I still dream of learning how to create portals to parallel worlds, because now I am sure that if I myself once arrived on this Earth in an unknown ship, then transitions between realities are real.
Besides, I still can't believe that the world I live in is the Marvel universe. All these years, I've noticed strange coincidences, but I was truly shocked when I was looking for educational institutions in our state and came across information about Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, founded by Professor Charles Xavier. I literally froze, staring at the screen. "Professor Xavier? The one from the comics?" I asked myself, speechless. But that was only the beginning of my surreal discoveries. Just recently, I turned on the local news and saw a report about a young, eighteen-year-old Tony Stark, who was introduced as the heir to Stark Industries. His slightly arrogant but charming smile, his famous surname... It seemed like the final, definitive sign: I was really living in the Marvel universe, where familiar names and events were becoming reality.
This discovery struck me so hard that I suddenly lost control of my superpower. I quickly got up to go to the screen, but slipped, hit the edge of the sofa and flew headfirst into the coffee table.
I fell headfirst onto the coffee table, breaking it, and subsequently got a scolding from my mum.
I immediately remembered how I used to go to the cinema with my grandchildren, who are big fans of this universe, to see all the Marvel films. Every time, we would sit down in comfortable seats and eagerly await the start of the film. My grandchildren would literally jump up and down in their seats, anticipating another exciting spectacle, and I would enjoy watching their faces light up with joy. I was amazed by the imagination of the creators of this world: how skilfully they combined scientific facts with artistic fiction! I analysed some of the technologies shown in the films down to the smallest detail, trying to explain to my grandchildren that much of it was actually possible in our world, even though we were still lagging behind technologically. But the more I talked, the more excitement I saw in their eyes: they loved these conversations about scientific wonders that were possible even in everyday life. I really wanted them to follow in my footsteps and become fascinated by science and physics, because it is an amazing world full of discoveries. I still remember how their eyes lit up with admiration when I started talking about quantum mechanics or the theory of relativity. It seemed that in those moments I was even more of a hero to them than the fictional Spider-Man, Iron Man, Hulk and Vision.
"Yeah, fictional," I thought at the time, lying with my head against the glass. And now I myself have somehow become a "fictional" hero. After all, I ended up here because of a failed experiment and became not who I was before, but an alien from Krypton. Damn it, I'm Kal-El, or, to put it simply, Superman! How is this even possible? I have no idea what exactly went wrong in my experiment, but the fact remains: I was thrown into this world and turned into what appears to be a fictional character. And if before I had only theorised about the existence of different universes, now I see it in practice.
I was six years old when my superpowers first manifested themselves — although calling it "six years" is rather strange, considering that the consciousness of an elderly scientist from another dimension was already lurking in my mind. However, to everyone around me, I looked like an ordinary boy who was discovering the world with indescribable excitement. However, memories of my past life remained in my mind, although they seemed faded, like an old black-and-white photo that had been lying in an album for a long time and covered with dust. I could literally feel my habits and worldview being reformatted to fit my young age, turning me from an experienced explorer into a reckless rascal. As soon as I noticed something new or interesting, I would rush headlong into adventure without thinking about the consequences. At the same time, my old knowledge did not disappear; it continued to live within me, which meant that my experiments often went far beyond typical childhood pranks.
It was clear to me that I was discovering a completely different life here, one filled with special opportunities that I could only dream of in my former world. Once, when I was six, I begged my father to take me with him to the factory, where, as he told me, wine was produced continuously, and in the deep cellars, the real magic of maturation and ageing took place. I was madly attracted by these labyrinths of barrels, complex technological schemes and the very grandeur of the family business. I won't hide the fact that scientific ideas were spinning in my head: after all, buildings of such age, built of durable stone, could contain a wealth of architectural tricks, and I passionately wanted to study them from the inside.
When we pulled up to the factory, I was struck by its grandeur. Before me stood a vast, monumental structure which, according to my father, housed production workshops and extensive cellars for ageing wine. The walls were made of natural stone — granite and sandstone, interspersed in places with brickwork. This gave the building a serious, almost impregnable appearance. The dark brown tiles on the roof sparkled in the sun, reflecting a terracotta warmth. Tall arched windows framed by elegant wrought iron elements were reminiscent of ancient castles. Just below, on a massive wooden door with intricate carvings, intricate patterns were visible, and above the door itself, the Wayne family crest proudly displayed the mysterious letter "W" entwined with decorative grapevine shoots. To the left and right of the entrance stood wrought-iron lanterns in the style of the century before last, exuding an atmosphere of history and nobility.
But the most mesmerising sight was revealed when we descended into the wine cellars. These cellars turned out to be a whole network of corridors and halls filled with countless rows of oak barrels. They seemed endless, and each one held within it the aroma and taste of a future masterpiece. The place was dimly lit by the sparse light of a few lamps, and a control system maintained the ideal temperature and humidity. I wandered through the narrow passages between the barrels, smelling the faint aroma of fermentation and wood. My heart was pounding with joy and excitement, and thoughts of researching the chemical processes taking place in these huge volumes of wine began to form in my head. In the end, curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to climb higher to get a better view of this "wine army" from above.
Without hesitation, I began to climb the rows of barrels, clinging to the ledges and ropes that secured them. I felt adrenaline or excitement boiling in my chest: I didn't think the height could be dangerous, and the prospect of seeing everything from up there seemed extremely appealing to me, a six-year-old "scientist." But as soon as I reached the top, I heard my father's voice, sharp and full of alarm:
"Bruce, get down quickly! These aren't toys!" he shouted, not doubting for a moment that I could fall.
I looked down and froze for a second: I had indeed climbed quite high, and heavy, bulky barrels were piled up beneath my feet. Realising that my father would clearly not approve of me climbing any further, I tried to climb down carefully. However, the sleeve of my jacket got caught on a metal hook, and I jerked to free myself. The rope holding one of the barrels came loose, and it began to swing and suddenly lost its balance. Realising with horror that things were not going according to plan, I jumped down, hoping to land as softly as possible. Imagine my surprise when I landed on my feet without feeling any pain or impact! I simply landed softly on the stone floor, as if held up by an invisible force. That was a shocking discovery in itself, but the real horror came when my father shouted:
"Son, watch out! Above you!"
I looked up and saw a huge oak barrel flying straight at me. Out of fear, I instinctively closed my eyes and stretched out my arms, expecting a terrible blow. But instead, I felt a strange, almost weightless touch. For a few seconds, I didn't dare open my eyes, but when I finally opened one, I saw my father's stunned face. It turned out that the barrel was lying in my palms, as if it were a light toy, not a heavy machine weighing several kilograms. I carefully lowered it to the ground, not believing my eyes. My father jumped up, grabbed me by the hand, and we ran out of the cellar and sat down on the nearest bench, both shaken. That's how we realised that I possessed superhuman strength.
From that moment on, our lives changed. It turned out that I was not only strong, but also incredibly resilient: there was not a single blow or wound that could harm me. In one of the acts I still regret to this day, I took my father's gun and shot myself in the chest to see if I was really invulnerable. The bullet simply flattened, leaving not even a bruise. My mother almost went mad when she heard the news, and my father gave me the most severe beating I had ever received. But now all my doubts were gone: my body was protected from harm.
A few years later, I discovered that I had another superpower: incredible speed. At first, I noticed that I could cross the room in a fraction of a second, without even blinking. Then I discovered that I could easily outrun cars when I decided to race my father. By the age of ten, I could run hundreds of kilometres in literally a split second. And the strangest thing was that my speed was increasing, slowly but surely. I felt as if my body was getting stronger every day.
And, of course, I can't forget my night flights, which also began to appear quite early. But in the end, I gathered my courage and asked my parents directly: "Where did I get all these abilities? Why am I different from other children?" I told them about the memories that were coming back to me: flashes, loud noises, voices and faces. It was all fragmented, but for some reason it seemed eerily familiar. My father looked thoughtful, but finally said that the time had come to reveal the true secret of my origins. He took me to an old storage room where, under a layer of dust and piles of stuff, I found a strange, oblong metal capsule. On its body, I could clearly see the letter "S" engraved in an elegant style. And then everything fell into place: I remembered how often I had discussed the Marvel universe, the DC universe, all kinds of parallel worlds in my past life... "Holy shit," I thought then, "I'm Superman in the Marvel universe!"
My brain refused to accept such an absurd coincidence, but everything pointed to it. My ship, my incredible abilities, my complete invulnerability — and suddenly the Marvel universe was all around me? I didn't know how it happened, but here on Earth, I was Kal-El, only transported to another dimension. My parents assured me that they loved me just the way I was, but added that I had to be extremely careful and not reveal my secret to anyone. In other words, be a normal child, but remember that you are not entirely normal.
*****
"Sit down at the table quickly, or you won't have time for breakfast," my mother suddenly snapped me out of my reverie, tapping my hand on the chair so I wouldn't dawdle.
My father was already sitting at the table, leisurely leafing through the New York Times. His face reflected the calm confidence of a man who knows exactly what he wants and where he is going. I sat down opposite him and began to devour my hot eggs and fresh bread, trying to get rid of the thought that I was Superman. I wanted to discuss it with someone else, but unfortunately, only my parents knew my secret.
My father put his newspaper aside and said quietly, "Bruce, I just remembered, you said that today is tryouts for the Kingston Tigers American football team at your school. We signed the permission slip, but... are you sure it would be fair to the other kids? You do have some advantages. I don't want you to accidentally injure someone or reveal yourself.
I swallowed a bite of scrambled eggs and looked at my father with a very serious expression: "Dad, you said yourself that you were captain of the team at school, and it was one of the best experiences of your life. You still remember how you won the state championship and how everyone celebrated the victory. I want to feel that excitement too, to feel like I'm part of a close-knit team. I don't want to prove anything or humiliate my opponents. I promise I won't use my superpowers — well... at least I'll try. No one will notice that I'm "special"; it'll be our secret. After all, I just want to live a normal life, like a regular teenager.
My father smiled and ruffled my hair as if to say, "All right, do as you wish, son." "All right, you have my blessing, but please behave yourself," he warned.
"All right, stop talking," my mum intervened, glancing at her watch. "Bruce, hurry up or you'll be late. Do you want a lift?"
"No, thanks, I'll get there myself. You know that," I smiled and jumped off the chair. Using a little of my speed, I darted into the room for my backpack and came back, ready to go.
"Bruce Jonathan Wayne, haven't you forgotten anything? Lunch, who's taking it?" my mum reminded me sternly as I stood in the doorway.
I immediately appeared next to her, carefully took the food, kissed her on the cheek, and disappeared from the room.
***
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