"How did it go today?" she asked. I handed her the folder with my grade report papers inside. She flipped through the pages, giving an approving "uh-huh" at each perfect A. Until, that is, she found the one B-minus. Religious studies was never my subject. I only took it because my father made me. "You need to understand the crazies out there if you're gonna sell to 'em," he said.
My mother gave me another smile, this one sympathetic. She knew what was coming next. My father did not tolerate anything less than perfection from his son. It wasn't so much that he wanted me to be perfect—he sure as hell wasn't—but he perceived any and all failure as a lack of perseverance and hard work.
It was perseverance and hard work that drove my father to build his own business from the ground up and eventually turn it into Galaxy Communications, the biggest media corporation in the United States. "You never get anything for nothing," he always said.
When my father got home, my mother hugged him and asked how his day went. I knew she was trying to soothe and distract him. I appreciated it. But as soon as he saw me, his eyes darted to the folder still in my mother's hand. He took it and flipped through the pages as she had before.
"Good... good... excellent..." Then he stopped. He turned the page around to show me. "Care to explain this, Morgan?"
The red-inked "B-" stood out like a wound.
"...Religion's not my best subject," I said quietly.
He gave me a displeased smirk. "Really."
He grabbed my arm and clamped down hard enough that I thought he might leave a bruise. I briefly thought of trying to twist out of his grasp, but immediately thought better.
I was practically dragged into the study—or, as I liked to think of it, my father's trophy room, filled with all his company's awards for excellence.
He screamed at me. Asked me why I wanted so badly to ruin his reputation at that school, when so many other billionaires' sons were holding perfect grade records. "They don't have perfect grades!" I yelled back. It was true. A few of my peers were exceptional, yes, but most were spoiled heirs and heiresses. Talking back was a mistake. I told everyone at school that I got the bruise on my cheek from falling down a staircase.
That Saturday, my parents and I were out downtown in Metropolis. Standing on the sidewalk, I glanced down the street, saw a hot dog vendor, and realized I was hungry. I pulled out my wallet only to see that all my cash and credit cards were missing. Any normal person probably would have suspected theft, but I knew my father was responsible.
I turned to him and saw his slightly smug face staring at me. "You'll get your money back when you prove you're responsible," he said.
I was practically livid. I knew it was unfair. And what excuse was I supposed to give my friends at Excelsior? They all had thousands of dollars in free spending money from their parents. It was beyond humiliating.
I knew if we'd been home at the time, I'd have nothing to do but shut up and go to my room before I said something that got me in trouble. But we were out in the open here; surely my father wouldn't do anything in public. And by the time we got home, he might have calmed down.
I argued. He argued back. Any louder and we would have been having a shouting match in the middle of the sidewalk. As if to compensate for not yelling louder, we leaned in closer to one another. My mother, ever the concerned and compassionate one, moved close and tried to get my father to stop.
"Vincent, please, not here," she whispered.
"SARAH, STAY OUT OF IT," he said, pushing her back.
I'd never seen my father be forceful with my mother before, but this once was all it took. She fell backwards into the street just as a twelve-ton bus drove by.
Morgan Edge stepped onto the roof of his family's tower at midnight. Pounding rain soaked his clothes, and he began shivering from the cold, wet wind. Echoes of thunder boomed off the walls of every skyscraper in Metropolis, and lightning struck nearby at random.
Sarah Edge was dead. The bus driver saw nothing, and neither did anyone else. Vincent told the police that it was an accident; that Sarah had tripped. Morgan said otherwise, of course, but Vincent convinced the investigators that Morgan was in shock and didn't know what he was talking about.
Morgan fell to his knees on the roof and wept.
My mother is dead, he thought. Justice doesn't exist. This entire world deserves to burn in hell.
Grief began to solidify into anger. Morgan lifted his head to the skies and screamed.
"I HATE MY FATHER!!!"
A huge bolt of lightning slammed into the roof in front of Morgan. Morgan jumped back, startled and temporarily blinded by the intense light. As his vision faded back, he saw a figure standing in front of him. Nearly eight feet tall, thickly built, with skin like dark stone and eyes that burned with red flame.
"Who... who are you?!" Morgan said.
"I am Darkseid," the figure said. His gravelly words boomed with dark power.
"...What are you?" Morgan said, confused.
The fire in Darkseid's eyes grew hotter. "I am a god."
"...What do you want with me?"
"To offer you a deal."
"...A deal?"
"My armies will soon arrive on this planet. They will raze its surface to ashes. I offer you the chance to join with me. Be my servant; my secret emissary. Serve me, and I will reward you."
"...Reward me with what?"
Darkseid smirked. "Your life. And I will grant you vengeance upon your father."
Morgan gritted his teeth. "Deal."
"Very good, Morgan Edge. Now you must prepare."
"Prepare for what?"
"For the coming of Apokolips."
The image of Darkseid, ruler of Apokolips, faded into the wind, leaving Morgan Edge alone in the night once more.
APOCALYPSE IS COMING
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