When an older man in a fancy suit arrived at your home and asked if you were willing to adopt a supe, you'd been taken aback. The man, Stan Edgar, had been very selective with which of your questions he'd answer. It felt like pulling teeth just to find out why he had a child in need of adoption.

What's his name? John.

Why is he up for adoption? He was deemed "too difficult" for Vought's orphaned supes program.

What's the program for? Classified.

How is he too difficult? Just a violent, disturbed young man. We trust you can handle it.

Vought was offering to pay you child support. It was obviously some sort of hush money, and you were extremely suspicious of Mr. Edgar's answers. But it was more than enough money to support yourself and an eleven year old. And you were too put off by this man to not take that boy away.

Now, just a week later, you were signing a contract and trying to coax John out of the car that dropped him off. He was tall for his age, lanky with shaggy blonde hair that clearly no one had cut for him. He was clutching a blue baby blanket like it was the only thing he owned.

"Goodbye, John," Edgar said icily, pushing the boy towards you at the porch steps. "I hope you do better going forward."

What a strange thing to say to the child he just gave up.