BEEP.
BEEP.
BEEP.
The rhythmic pulse of the heart monitor filled the quiet room. It had been background noise for so long that John barely registered it anymore.
He lay there, thin, frail, almost ghost-like, propped up against too many pillows, the stark hospital light washing out what little color his body still held. Tubes fed oxygen into his nose. IV lines dripped chemicals meant to keep him alive. His arms were marked with bruises from too many needles.
He was eighteen, yet he looked older than his own father.
But John wasn't watching the machines keeping him alive.
His eyes were locked on the small, boxy television placed on the desk at the foot of his bed, surrounded by plastic pill bottles with unreadable labels.
On the screen was a cartoon.
Bright colors. Sharp outlines. Dramatic shading.
One of those old superman animated movies John had watched since he was a kid played on the screen, before he was subjected to his fate on this bed, before the tubes and needles, before the endless waiting for an end that never seemed to come.
It was stupid, maybe.
A cartoon shouldn't have been the thing keeping him going.
But it was. It was the only thing that still gave him hope.
The only truth he had left.
And right now, that truth showed Superman standing tall on a ruined street, beaten but not broken. He straightened his shoulders, chest heaving, as he looked at Manchester Black, with one swollen red eye, as Manchester glared at him furiously while screamed in anger and frustration at superman.
And then… John's favorite part finally came.
Superman's gaze didn't waver. His voice, steady and calm despite the chaos around him, cut through the tension,
"Good. Dreams save us. Dreams lift us up and transform us. And on my soul, I swear that until my dream of a world where dignity, honor, and justice is the reality we all share, I'll never stop fighting. Ever."
The words rang in the quiet hospital room like a bell.
John's fingers clenched the blanket.
No matter how many times he watched this movie, this part always hit him like a truck.
He wished that one day he would be as strong as Superman, no, not Superman, as strong as Clark Kent. The courage, the patience, the ability to always see good in the bad.
But deep down, he knew that wish would never come true.
And yet… he couldn't stop dreaming.
Because he truly believed that anyone could be a Superman.
You just have to try.
A soft knock on the door pulled John from his thoughts.
"John?" a gentle voice called.
He turned his head slowly, A doctor stepped inside, clipboard in hand, eyes kind but professional.
"Are you ready?" the doctor asked. "It's almost time for your surgery."
John's stomach tightened. He had been expecting this moment, yet hearing it spoken aloud made it feel more real.
"Yeah." he whispered, voice barely above a breath.
It was here. Time waited for no one. If this surgery succeeded, he would have his life again. He could finally be normal. He could finally start repaying his parents for being such a financial burden on them, even though they always insisted he wasn't. He could tell, from the tired lines on their faces and the quiet sacrifices they made, just how much it had taken a toll.
For the first time in years, hope felt almost tangible.
The only bad thing was the success rate, it was less than thirty percent. But they had to take the chance, it was either try and maybe succeed, or face certain death. It was already a miracle he'd lived this long. There was no point in fearing the Reaper now.
A nurse pushed a wheelchair into the room and helped him onto it. The halls passed in a blur as they rolled him toward the operating room. Bright lights. Cold air. Sterile white walls.
They lifted him onto the operating table and began hooking him up to machines, heart monitor, oxygen, IV lines, each beep and click marking the countdown toward whatever future waited for him.
The head doctor stepped forward, gloves on, eyes calm and steady. He glanced to one of the nurses, who nodded before leaning over John and said,
"Alright, John. See you in a bit, okay?"
John looked at her, the corners of his mouth lifting weakly, and then he closed his eyes as they began to put him under.
His final thoughts drifted like a whisper into the darkness,
'If this succeeds… Then this is it. The start of my new life. I swear I won't waste it… I will be a Superman… No matter what…'
His consciousness faded fully as the sounds thinned, the colors dimmed, and the last visible light disappeared, sending him into silent, eternal darkness.