Fanfic #182 Life Is But A Game by ZFighter18(YoungJustice)

This fanfic is a gamer self insert into Young Justice. I really like this fic because the mc develops as the story goes on instead of just being heroic right off the bat. I also like the way that the gamer powers develop.

Synopsis: There are things everyone understands about life. Life is chaotic, messy, and it doesn't give a damn about what you want or need. Even in a world that would be considered fictional, this idea still holds true. Dropped into a world of demigods and incredible monsters, one young boy has to face the fact that his wants and needs matter even less than they did before. (Gamer SI)

Rated: T

words: 118k

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/12891973/1/Life-Is-But-A-Game

Here's the first chapter:

December 7, 2010

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

"LET ME OUT!"

His fists slammed against the cold metal, the sound reverberating inside the container with every single hit. Over and over again, he threw the force of his body against the side of the container, hoping that this time - this time, this time, this time - it would tip over.

"SOMEBODY! HELP!"

He wanted to get out. He needed to get out. The filth, the feeling… he couldn't stand it. He had to get clean.

Filth-ridden fluid, oily and greasy, clotted with lumps of things he couldn't even bring himself to imagine, dripped down his face and chest. He didn't bother wiping trying to wipe it away, the fact that his clothes and limbs were even filthier than his face was rendered that plan pointless. His shoes were long discarded, the liquid pooled in them making them a chore to wear and a disgusting haven for so many… so many disgusting things. He was almost part of the trash now, his freshly pressed khakis stained beyond belief, joined by his baby blue uniform polo.

Disgusting. Filthy. Trash.

"GUYS!"

The smell didn't even need mentioning. In fact, as long as he had been in here, he barely even noticed the stench of putrid, rotten garbage anymore, too busy focused on screaming his throat raw and begging for someone - anyone - to help him get out. The gagging noises he made, the sounds that came from his throat to interrupt his shouts, those weren't from the smell. At least, he doubted it. No, they came from the taste of filth in his mouth.

How long had it been?

Too long.

"COME ON!"

Lunch had to be over by now.

What was it, now? Thirty, maybe forty minutes since they had tossed him in here.

He didn't even know what he did.

He had been walking to the bathroom, away from the watchful eyes of the lunch monitors, eager to get a chance to play. Eating his food as fast as he could wasn't a problem. It wasn't like cafeteria food was anything to savor, anyway. All he was waiting for was a chance to slip away and pull out his games, the ones he had waiting for him in his pockets.

Not too long after he walked out the side entrance of the cafeteria, they had surrounded him.

One smashed a fist into his face, nearly rocking him off his feet. Another slapped a hand over his mouth, grabbing him before he could fall to the hard linoleum floor. The third grabbed his legs, hauling him up and pushing open a side exit leading to the school parking lot on the west side of the campus. He tried to struggle, his efforts futile against the strength of three far stronger, far bigger people than he was. He knew it but he tried anyway, a fist to the stomach serving as all the warning he needed to stop.

By their faces and height, they had to be seniors. Thing is, he didn't know any seniors and he doubted any seniors knew him. His social circle was small, filled with people whose names he barely knew but still… they tolerated him. What else would you call what they did? The fact that they let him hang around them even if he did stare too long and smile for no reason had to mean something.

"IT'S COLD OUT HERE!"

So… why?

"IT'S NOT FUNNY ANYMORE!"

Why did they throw him in here? The dumpster was one of the older ones that the school still possessed, for whatever reason. Entirely metal, and nearly rusted beyond belief. Yet, they still used it. Or, they claimed to at least. It was rarely emptied and the custodians often forgot about it given its placement near the parking lot.

"I CAN'T BREATHE IN HERE!"

The seniors had shaken everything out of his pockets. His money, his ID, his inhaler, his games. They had clattered against the asphalt, black and white cases scratching slightly as they hit the ground. Laughing, the three of them had stomped on his prized possesions, happily breaking them while he watched. When they finished, they threw the shattered pieces in there with him. In less than a minute, they had slammed down the top of his cage and latched it tight, not even caring about the cold, the filth, him.

In the dark - the stench of weeks of garbage left to rot making his nose and eyes water - he couldn't see them. Still, he knew they were there.

His own money. Months of saving.

Months of work.

Someone had put them up to this.

"GUYS!"

Someone he knew.

He had screamed himself hoarse for so long, his voice raspier than it had ever been at this point.

"PLEASE!"

So many students walking through the corridor with a window staring right out at the parking lot, people he shared classes with undoubtedly and not one of them even bothering to check where he was.

"PLEASE!"

They saw them do it! He screamed in his head, pounding against the side of the dumpster with what remained of his strength, the screams in his head only amplified by the screams from his throat. You all saw them!

Why would they do this to him?

"SOMEBODY!"

He was only thirteen.

A freshman at thirteen. Did they hate him for that? Of course they did. They always did. Every single year, they hated him for it. Ever since second grade, when the five year old walked in. They looked at him like he didn't belong. Like he was nothing.

"IT'S SO COLD!"

New tears built up in his eyes, tears of anger. Tears of hate.

The boy slumped against the back of the dumpster, sinking into a throne of putrid filth, his body far too tired to continue his fight. The cold ate at his strength, draining him of whatever will he possessed to keep going. The pain in his fists warmed him though, the liquid running down them - pouring out with every single hit - even more so.

He hated them.

He always hated them. All of them.

The students. The teachers. Security, even.

All of them.

They let things like this happen.

People messing with his things. Pushing him, prodding him.

He hated all of them from the moment he saw them.

Everyone.

Bleeding hands slammed against rusted metal one more time, mouth open in a silent scream of rage as the sound reverberated in the enclosed space.

I wish they would all die.

A flash of light, bright and blinding as it lanced down from the sky, struck the ground with a corona of energy. As quickly as it appeared, the beam of light vanished, leaving nothing behind but boiling asphalt and the charred, melted remains of what was once a dumpster.