Chapter Text
My life kinda sucked, and then I got hit by a bus.
Sorry, I should probably give a little context for that.
My name – my current name – is James Tyler Mason. Before that, I was a nobody living a life of mediocrity. One day, nearly delirious from a lack of sleep, I made the uncharacteristic decision to try jaywalking during morning rush hour. I heard the honking of a horn and the screeching of tires, and then everything went dark. Looking back on it, it may have been the best thing that ever happened to me.
When I finally regained consciousness, I was in a hospital room. Except I wasn’t a patient, per se. No, if I had to guess, the real patient was probably the woman right behind me, screaming in agony as she pushed me – ME! – out of her birth canal. That’s right. I had to experience being born all over again. You think it’s unpleasant for the mother? Imagine being born with the mind of a grown man, and being fully aware of what’s going on around you as you’re being born.
I tried to speak up, tell the doctors there was something deeply wrong here, but when I opened my mouth, all that came out was a shrill cry, accompanied by the head doctor shouting “It’s a boy!”
Did you know humans usually can’t speak until they turn 1? I found that out the hard way. I don’t think my mother was too happy that my first word, clear as day, was “Fuck.” Of course, it didn’t help that I said it in front of the whole family.
It was a bit of an adjustment period, but I eventually grew to appreciate this new family. Obviously, my old family was irreplaceable and I missed them dearly, but this new world had some perks. For starters, my father, Charles, was actually present in my life instead of being completely absent, not by choice, but because Mom ghosted him as soon as the test came back positive. My mother, Caitlin, was a kind, intelligent, beautiful woman instead of the morbidly obese, borderline psychotic monster that I spent 10 years learning to fear more than love before my stepdad came to the rescue.
I finally realized what was really going on when I realized that I was living in Coast City, a city that doesn’t exist where I’m from, and seems to have replaced San Diego from what I can tell. And then I started paying attention to the news. It truly is amazing what people will discuss in front of children when they’re absolutely certain the kid can’t understand them.
When I was 3, the prodigal son of Gotham lost his parents in an alley, inspiring him to become more than just a man.
When I was 5, a boy in Central City lost his mother to a killer and his father to the legal system, setting him on a collision course with a lightning bolt and a shelf full of chemicals.
When I was 10, a wealthy playboy from Star City was found marooned on a deserted island five years after he was presumed dead in a shipwreck.
When I was 15, the people of Metropolis were met with definitive proof that a man can fly.
The following spring, Coast City got its own hero in the form of a test pilot with a fancy ring.
All over the country, extraordinary individuals were popping up, completely turning our understanding of the world on its head. And that’s not even talking about the countless movies, comics, and documentaries about the brave men and women of the Justice Society of America, who fought back the Axis of Evil in World War II.
I was ecstatic. Every fanboy’s dream come true. I realized very quickly that I was here for a reason. Call it entitlement, call it delusions of grandeur, but I was destined to be a hero.
Then it happened.
It was a day unlike any other. After all, a man’s 21st is a special occasion. I had just graduated a few months earlier with a teaching degree from Metropolis University (it helped that I had already done this once before), and my parents had flown out with my younger sister Lyla and my little brother Will to celebrate my birthday. We had gone out to a restaurant, and we were having a ball.
Then a massive floating skull with tentacles descended from the sky, as every screen in the city was hijacked with a symbol I was all too familiar with: three circles, connected by lines to form an open triangle. The robotic voice blaring from every speaker introduced itself as Brainiac.
As Brainiac informed us – surprisingly politely, I might add – that our city had been chosen for his collection, I was lost in my own thoughts.
No… not today… why did it have to be today?
I had already leaped out of my seat, and I was about to rally my family to get to safety, until I was interrupted by a loud boom and a flash of light. When I came to, there was blood on my face, and the entire restaurant was reduced to rubble.
And then I saw them. My father… my mother… Lyla… Will… Oh, God… he was only 8…
Just like my second birth, all that came out of my mouth was a scream. I barely even noticed him touch down behind me and lift me into his arms. It was him. The Green Lantern. When my brain finally connected back to reality, I was on the outskirts of the city, surrounded by people in trauma blankets and various states of shock. And then I realized he was talking to me.
“…What?” I let out after a moment.
“Are you alright?” Green Lantern asked, clearly not for the first time.
All I could do was nod dumbly. Seemingly content with my answer, he flew off, leaving me to fall to my knees and stare at the burning skyline of Metropolis.
The next week flew by in a blur. My family was laid to rest. I didn’t even know they made coffins that small.
I’m not afraid to admit I’m a bit of a crybaby. Mom used to joke that my superpower was the truly inhuman amount of tears I could produce. God, what I would give to hear her voice one last time… But this time, I held it together. I held it together through the funeral. I held it together through the memorial service for the lives lost during the Invasion, including the 48 other people in the restaurant that day. I held it together through the goddamn Man of Steel personally apologizing to me and every single other survivor who showed up. I held it together all the way up until the door of my apartment clicked shut, and I found myself alone in the dark. And then, the strangest thing happened. I didn’t feel sad. Not anymore. No, the only thing I felt in that moment was the blinding, searing heat of rage. Rage at Brainiac. Rage at the newly-formed Justice League for not being there fast enough. Rage at whatever cruel, unfeeling God had seen fit to trap me in this Hell.
Deep down, I knew this was going to happen. I was dropped here to play out a story, and the best stories in this universe start with tragedy. But it’s one thing when you see Thomas and Martha Wayne, two complete strangers, get gunned down in an alley. It’s one thing when Krypton, a place so utterly foreign, blows up and leaves naught but a few survivors behind. But I spent 21 years with these people. I had grown attached, goddammit! These weren’t characters played by actors. They weren’t illustrations on a page. They weren’t digital models in a video game. They were real, flesh-and-blood people, and they were my people. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to tear that robotic bastard limb from limb with my bare hands.
When the rage subsided, it looked like a tornado had passed through my apartment. I sat down on the mattress – now upside down and on the floor – to catch my breath. And then, finally, came the tears. As the tears poured from my eyes, a sound caught my attention in the dead quiet of my apartment. A sound of shattering glass, something busting through my window. And then, the room was lit by a fiery, angry, crimson glow. I looked up, and there it was. A ring. A Red Lantern Ring. I knew where this was going.
Not ideal, I thought to myself, but it’s something.
I held out my hand. The Ring moved forward and perched itself, rather fittingly, on my middle finger. A gruff, robotic voice echoed in my mind.
“James Mason of Earth, you have great rage in your heart. You belong to the Red Lantern Corps.”
I wanted to be a hero. I never said anything about being one of the nice ones.