Chapter 1: numb to the world
Derek Thunder was twelve, but life had already taught him that the world was indifferent. While other children laughed, ran in the streets, and obsessed over games, Derek retreated to a quiet corner of the house, surrounded by books. Physics, chemistry, biology, biochemistry—everything followed rules. People did not.
Home offered no refuge. His parents favored James, his charming, spoiled older brother, leaving Derek invisible unless he made a mistake. When he spoke, his words were dismissed. When James taunted him, his parents either ignored it or scolded Derek for being “too sensitive.”
James delighted in tormenting him. He stole Derek’s notebooks, tore pages, shoved him into walls, called him “bookworm,” “freak,” “worthless.” Derek never cried. He never shouted. He never fought back. He felt… nothing. Numbness wrapped around him like armor. He became a silent observer, storing every shove, insult, and mocking glance in his mind.
School offered no reprieve. Classmates whispered behind his back, hurled paper, or tripped him in hallways. Teachers shrugged. The principal looked the other way. Derek learned quickly: adults were powerless—or unwilling—to intervene.
He endured, silently mapping the chaos around him. Difference was dangerous. His intelligence made him stand out. He observed James’ moods, classmates’ reactions, and teachers’ weaknesses. He learned when to retreat, when to respond subtly, and when to wait. Every word, glance, and action was data.
At night, Derek sat at his desk, writing—not homework, but observations. Every insult, shove, and unfair punishment went into meticulous notes. Every temper tantrum of James, every indifferent glance from his parents, every calculated cruelty of classmates—cataloged. These notes were his alone, a record of the injustices he endured.
Even small victories mattered. He anticipated James’ attacks, avoided them without confrontation. He learned which teachers could be subtly influenced, which classmates ignored, and which corners of the house were safest.
Derek never felt helpless. Emotions were tools for others to exploit. By feeling nothing, he became untouchable. Observant. Patient. Calculating. Yet, in rare quiet moments, a flicker of longing appeared—a wish for safety, for warmth. The world offered none. He would have to rely on his mind alone.
Every slight, every injustice, every overlooked moment became a building block in the fortress of his mind. Nights were for planning—strategies for surviving school, surviving home, surviving a world determined to crush him. Scenarios ran through his head. Outcomes were tested. Failures imagined and countered.
Derek was small, overlooked, underestimated—but in the unseen hours, he grew stronger, sharper, more prepared. The world had ignored him. The world had failed him.
But Derek Thunder was learning to endure. And endurance, he knew, was only the beginning
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