Thud. Thud. Thud. Leather smacks against worn asphalt, vibrating up Aiden’s sweaty forearms. He drives hard to his right, imagining an invisible defender closing in, before spinning back on his heel and launching a high, arching shot toward the rusted hoop bolted above the garage. Clang. Iron rings out in the humid evening air, a sharp, metallic scream that echoes across the narrow backyard. The ball bounces away, rolling into a patch of overgrown weeds near the chain-link fence. Sweat drips from his forehead, stinging his eyes as he glares at the crooked rim. His chest heaves, lungs burning with a familiar, desperate hunger to run faster, jump higher, and escape the suffocating weight of this house. Spinning the basketball in his hands, he stares at the worn leather. This ball is his lifeline, his one-way ticket out of Queens, out of this neighborhood, and away from the man who makes their lives a living hell. Heavy, humid air presses down on him like a physical hand, smelling of asphalt and oncoming rain. Aiden is only sixteen, but his body is already built like a soldier's—broad shoulders, corded muscle, and a height that makes him a terror on the varsity court. Aiden Richardson lives for the court, where every movement is precise, every reaction calculated, and where he is entirely in control. Here, he isn't just a scared kid trying to keep his family from falling apart. On the hardwood, he is a prodigy. He is the one who decides whether they win or lose, the one who holds the power. Distant sirens wail in the streets of Queens, a constant background noise that defines their lives. He ignores them, focusing entirely on the rhythmic bounce of the ball, the physical exertion acting as a shield against his thoughts. His twin brother, Aaron, doesn't have that luxury. Aaron is the thinker, the gentle soul who spends his hours buried in biology textbooks, hoping to change the world with science rather than physical dominance. Quiet and fragile, Aaron is the perfect target for the cruelty that haunts their home. Aiden has spent his entire life trying to act as a shield, putting his own body between his brother and the storm. Memories of past bruises flash through his mind, each one a mark of his inability to truly stop the violence. He remembers the nights spent whispering in the dark of their shared bedroom, promising Aaron that they would get out of here, that one day they would be free. Headlights cut through the deepening twilight, painting long, distorted shadows across the cracked driveway. Engine noise, a low, guttural growl that belongs to a rusted Ford pickup, signals the end of the peace. The truck hisses to a stop, its exhaust coughing out a cloud of black, foul-smelling smoke. Richard Richardson steps out of the cab, his heavy work boots slamming onto the gravel. He doesn't look at his son, but his presence immediately sucks the air out of the backyard. Smelling of stale beer and cheap tobacco, Richard hauls his massive frame toward the back porch. He is a mountain of a man, his face weathered by years of construction work and hardened by a bitter, toxic resentment toward the world. "Get inside," Richard barks, his voice like grinding stones. "And grab my toolbox from the truck bed." Aiden doesn't move for a long second, his fingers digging into the rubber seams of the basketball until his knuckles turn white. He swallows the hot spike of anger that rises in his throat, tasting copper. "I said move, boy," Richard growls, stopping on the porch stairs to glare back at him. Grabbing the heavy steel toolbox, Aiden follows his father inside, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth click. He hates how his stomach knots at the sound of that voice, hates the instinctual urge to run and hide. Inside, yellow light from a single overhead bulb illuminates the cramped kitchen. Aaron sits at the small formica table, his shoulders hunched so low his chin nearly touches his chest. He is frantically copying notes from a massive textbook, his fingers trembling around his pencil. Books are Aaron's armor, but they are useless against the man who just walked through the door. Look at me, Aiden thinks, trying to catch his brother's eye, wanting to offer even a shred of silent comfort. But Aaron keeps his gaze glued to the paper, his entire body rigid with fear. Richard kicks his boots off, letting them slam against the baseboard. He marches straight to the refrigerator, yanks it open, and pulls out a sweating can of cheap lager. "Where is your mother?" Richard demands, taking a long, messy gulp that leaves foam on his stubble. "She's working the double shift at the clinic," Aaron whispers, his voice cracking slightly. "She won't be home until midnight." Excuses! Richard shouts, slamming the beer can onto the counter. "I work twelve hours in the heat, and I come home to an empty kitchen? No dinner? No respect?" Step by step, the massive man advances on the table, his shadow stretching over Aaron like a suffocating blanket. Aiden places the toolbox on the floor with a loud, deliberate crash, desperate to draw the monster's attention away from his twin. "I can cook, Dad. Let him finish his homework." Don't touch him, Aiden prays internally, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. Richard turns slowly, his bloodshot eyes narrowing as they lock onto Aiden. "You think you're the man of the house now? You think because some high school scouts wrote your name in a newspaper, you get to tell me what to do?" "No," Aiden says, holding his ground, though every nerve in his body screams to retreat. "You think you're better than me," Richard sneers, taking another step forward, his chest nearly brushing Aiden's shoulder. "You're nothing. Just a parasite living under my roof." Anger burns like wildfire in Aiden's veins, hot and volatile. He wants to swing, wants to put all his varsity strength into a punch that would crack his father's jaw, but he knows the consequences. Go upstairs, Aaron, Aiden thinks, his eyes pleading with his brother. "Nobody moves until I say so," Richard bellows, as if reading Aiden's mind. He spins back toward Aaron, grabbing the edge of the textbook and slamming it shut. With a sudden, violent motion, Richard snatches the collar of Aaron’s shirt, dragging the smaller boy out of his chair. Aaron whimpers, his hands flying up to grasp his father's thick wrist. "Dad, please, I was just studying—" Aiden lunges forward, his hands grasping his father's shoulder. "Let him go! He didn't do anything!" A heavy fist strikes Aiden across the chest, sending him stumbling back against the sharp edge of the counter. The breath rushes out of his lungs in a painful gasp. "Get to your room!" Richard roars, his face purple with rage as he drags a struggling Aaron toward the hallway. "Both of you are going to learn some goddamn discipline." Dragging Aaron by the collar, Richard throws open the bedroom door at the end of the hall and shoves him inside. Aiden Richardson, fueled by a scorching fury, slams his fist into the kitchen wall as his father's booming voice echoes from Aaron's room, leaving a spiderweb of cracks in the drywall and a fresh scar on Aiden's knuckles, his helplessness a bitter taste in his mouth. Silence falls over the house, heavy and suffocating. Heavy boots stomp back down the hallway. Richard doesn't even look at Aiden as he strides past, grabbing his keys from the counter and slamming the back door behind him. Minutes crawl by as the truck engine roars to life outside, tires spraying gravel as Richard speeds away into the night. Slowly, he pulls his hand away from the wall, staring at the ruin he has created. His knuckles throb with a dull, rhythmic ache, blood dripping slowly onto the cracked linoleum floor. His hand shakes, not from the physical trauma, but from the realization that nothing has changed. He is still just a boy, trapped in a cage with a monster, unable to protect the only person who mattered to him. Rustling sounds break the silence from the dark hallway. Aiden blinks away the sweat and dust, turning his head toward the shadows. From the shadows of the hallway, Aaron's small, trembling hand reaches out, holding a crumpled flyer for a field trip to Oscorp, the paper trembling like a trapped bird.

Chapter 1: Shattered Glass, Silent Scream