This is the second story of my action. Unlike the first one, which was about the abuse autistic people experience and how they rise above when loved, this is about the fury of the lack of justice for autistic people and other marginalized people. The character in this story is a fan character for DC Comics, but I wrote her to stand on her own.

Trigger/Content Warnings: Mentions of ableism, mentions of violence, Misogyny, Bigotry

I thought that moving to America would mean people would treat me better, sounds like I'm wrong. My parents' announcement about us moving to the States led me to dive deep into research about life there. My only knowledge about long-term living in America ‌was my dad's experiences. I researched and researched, and some ‌things I found infuriated me to no end.

There are so many individuals who are corrupt and in power. Many of their supporters want those like me dead, or to not have rights. I've heard adults talk under their breath about me, questioning why my mom kept a baby who couldn't speak. It always made mom upset. The times when they told my mom that she shouldn't take me, her daughter, out in public, infuriated her the most. She told my brothers and I about when she was my age, beating kids up for bullying my uncle due to him liking other boys. I know every time she heard someone make a demeaning comment to her about me, ‌she was trying not to punch them in the face. The ones who knew her from her middle school days didn't do that, they knew better.

Post after post, article after article, comment after comment. Everything I learned about the hardships Americans faced appalled me. Hearing about the ways Hispanic immigrants were treated sickened me to my stomach. The fact that most people who sexually assaulted someone got away with it boiled my blood. The ableism that disabled and neurodiverse folk faced made electric sparks appear on my body. The ones like my uncle and brother discriminated against for wanting to love who they love tightened my fists. How people need to pay extremely high prices to get the healthcare and medicine they need makes me want to kill.

My dad had a talk with me before we moved. He told me about how dangerous the States are for women, especially those like me. He told me that if anyone tried to put their hands on me without my consent I had his permission to beat them to the ground. Given how I bit one of my classmates hard enough to scar several years ago. I don't need reassurance about considering violence when someone's pushing my boundaries. I'm surprised it wasn't my mom who had that talk with me. She's an expert on that.

That talk was a mistake. All dad did was make me want to help protect others from assault. I'm an autistic teenager who has issues with low blood sugar. And a tendency to have seizures when the lights are too bright and puking when there's too much noise. Not a wonderful combination for a vigilante, especially when including my unstable powers.

When we were at our first stop in America to where we were moving, I did my first bit of vigilante heroics. I heard someone screaming for help, and I sped over to help them. It ended up being this man trying to force a woman to have sex with her or something. They didn't see me. I was using my powers to conceal myself. I summoned a blade, beheading the man. After making sure that the woman was doing alright, I zoomed back to my parents. It surprised neither of them at what I did. My mom only said, "A little extreme, Yuna, but I expected it."

After we rested at the hotel, I found out on the news that the man that was trying to rape the woman was some congressman. Oops. Not the way I wanted to start my vigilante side-hustle. Listening more, I learned that they had affiliations with groups that spoke of "curing" autism. Generally treat autistics horribly. I knew that murdering that sorry excuse of a person was wrong, but I didn't feel regret. The only regrets I had were for the poor women who he forced himself upon, feeling powerless because he was in a position of power.

I know there are people who would tell me to call out those who are corrupt. Except I'm a disabled Asian girl who isn't even old enough to vote makes my voice insignificant in the eyes of the world. Many have tried before to call for reform, but it's more often than not that they'll be shot down. Even if the reform they're calling for would benefit the country en masse. There are too many individuals in power who benefit from what needs to change. They shut down all attempts to make changes that would jeopardize their power.

I hate it. I've been told before to repress who I am, to have silent hands and feet. And when I become an adult, I'll know anything about how to navigate life because what they teach fails to consider the fact that I'm autistic! There are people exploited to benefit those in power. They aren't taught how to navigate life at all, it's infuriating!

I've been wearing a mask my entire life. Might as well use it to do some good. To make any decent changes, I need to make sure that those preventing what will benefit humanity are out of positions of power. To change society, we need to remove the bad apples before they contaminate the entire basket. If that means murder, then so be it.

When my family arrived at our new home, I asked my parents if they'd be okay with me becoming a vigilante. My dad was apprehensive, not only because of my sensory issues but also my hypoglycemia and what would happen if I got hurt? I distinctly remember my mom telling me ‌she was okay with it, but we needed some ground rules.

"So, I can only go on my vigilante duties when I don't have school the next day. I must check my blood sugar before I go, and if I am overwhelmed, I am to return?" I asked.

"And, if you ever get kidnapped, Jonas and I will find a way to save you." Mom said.

"Hiroko, honey," Dad scratched the back of his head, "just don't get too violent if that happens, alright?"

Knowing my mother, she might throw around the ones keeping me captive like ragdolls. She's very strong, she can lift my brothers up like nothing, and they're literal giants compared to me. I don't call her Muscle Mom without reason.

With that, my parents and I had an agreement. I remained in the shadows, striking when I saw someone being assaulted or raped, or anything along those lines. It's the least I can do anyways.