Hero - Part 1 - The Man - Chapter 3

8/9/2019 Hero - Part 1 - The Man - Chapter 3

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'Hero' - Part 1 - The Man - Chapter 3

Window open, venetians drawn up, streetlights provide the only illumination, night time noises fill

the room, in the street the red light district and Chinatown vie for business

Holed up in this room waiting for darkness hadnt been the head trip I was expecting. Id decided to

clear my mind with some Tai Chi but the strain on my body was too much and when I came to, I

realised Id passed out naked on the floor. Too fucked up even for Tai Chi, dont laugh.

Realising this was hardly the establishment to idly lie on the floor naked and vulnerable, I quickly got

up and paying no attention to the pain, dressed just as quickly in my underclothes. I checked my

reflection, less cowardly now since I was mostly covered up. I looked almost normal and that was

perfect camouflage for this part of town.

Still disbelieving the 48 hour slumber, I flicked through the channels again. Plenty of super hero

news today and after half an hour none of it concerned me. I was sick of keeping my head low; I was

tired of not knowing what the fuck was going on. What was their game?

At this stage, I wanted something, anything to happen. Except my death. I was coming round to the

idea of living a longish life. The waiting was exactly killing me but its unpleasant not knowing where

you stand.

With nothing coming to get me, I couldnt think what to do next. I was barely alive as it was; every

movement took effort that used to be effortless. I needed time to heal and had no idea how much

time I had left. I had no idea where my enemy was and how many more I had, although a lot

seemed an accurate assessment.

When I had awoken it was night and everything had stiffened up again. Waiting for dark had been

the extent of my Escape with My Life To-Do list and now that it had come to pass, I was feeling

antsy. Id cooled my heels enough and the starting to feel good again feeling had deserted me. The

only way to get it back was Jack and lots of him. I grabbed my coat.

Time for a drink.

Man in shadows in the foreground, in front of him in the background the red light district and its

nightlife, street full of people, taxis stream by all occupied


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Why would super heroes be silent on the subject of someone killing one of them?

Pondering this profound question, I walked out into the street and considered which side was the

lesser evil? The drug-addled hookers or the smack addicts? I chose the hookersand stepped in with

the rest of the crowd heading to their favourites dives and blended in with the freaks.

Super heroes have their enemies, usually other super heroes either getting in the way of them

renewing their precious corporate sponsorship or a wayward hero deciding to walk on the wild side

and needing to be put down. This happened less lately, heroes fighting heroes weirdly seemed to

have an adverse affect on the population, failing to capture their imaginations; probably because all

the good bits occurred either in the stratosphere or 10kms below ground out of the view of cameras.

Speaking of which, I deftly avoided one of the streets security cameras, carefully shielding my face

from its intrusive stare by crossing the road and kept to the shadows. Something grabbed my pants, I

can be forgiven for being jumpy, I leapt out of the way and bit back a shout as a hand reached out to

me.

The hand belonged to a girl. She was slouched on the ground, head to one side with a hand palm up

stretched towards me. She was rather pretty in a washed out way and probably could be once again

if not for the purple blotches trailing her limbs, infecting her will and anchoring her only to her need.

All around us, clubbers picked their way through the trash that littered the street, taxis crawled past,

men and women hustled for sex and the smell of pizza fills the gaps between the stench of day-old

garbage. So many people and I felt isolated, so what about her? How did she feel about this world

that was passing her by not giving her a second glance?

When I didnt move and she didnt feel the metal clink of coins in her hand, she looked up. Her wing

of hair swung aside and uncovered her whole face which was an unholy mess. She wouldnt work

much tonight, emphasis on the much, but she would still work. Have to. My pity for her couldnt

penetrate her sorrowful desperation just patronise it.

Feeling the ultimate hypocrite, I swept aside, trying to forget her and her bruised punctured limbs

and resolved to beat myself up about it later.

I am not the bad guy. Maybe that wasnt clear to anyone else and I could see why. Circumstantially,

evidence condemned me. I was the villain of this piece rather than the heroic saviour. If this ever got

out, which seemed improbable despite my best efforts, I am not the enemy.


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These days the worlds heroes enemies were largely human and militant. There have been a couple

of civilian uprisings but not for a good long while, making that protest, the one that caught my

attention and started it all, all the more interesting. Super heroes appreciate a good war; it gets

them figuratively dirty, they love signing the photos of them walking out of the rubble; it reinforces

their global motto of dont fuck with us. No matter the times people hear it though, not everyone

gets that message.

In either instance, spokespeople are out in force downplaying or over-emphasising, taking

responsibility for or denying everything. Sometimes the more public relations-friendly heroes get in

on the act and we hear from them at ground zero. In the event of life, death and severely wounded

we got something. Granted the death of a super hero hadnt happened for awhile but surely these

press releases were like riding a bike.

A motor bike sped past with the very devil after it. He or she wasnt stopping for pedestrians or

other traffic and the usual urban debris didnt slow them down. I wondered who was after them or

who they were chasing. I envied them their purpose, it seemed no one was after me nor was I

chasing anything other than my tail.

So press releases...the answer werent someone forgetting how to do their job. Brilliant, good to

know the obvious hasnt eluded me with so many blows to the head.

Outside of a bar, street, people, a parked car, fire hydrant

Nursing a beer in the corner of the bar, I watched the few people around me. None of them had any

idea of what I was capable of, what Id done. I was sure the anonymity would be short-lived. They

must be keeping me on tenterhooks for a reason. What that was I have no idea but I was so positive,

the certainty of it was wearing me out. I just wanted to know. I drained the glass and ordered

another.

On the screen above the bar, eyes were glued to the latest spectacle Id seen the highlights of back

at the ranch. Images of crashed cars, billowing smoke, emergency vehicles and personnel flashed

across the screen. Commentary was muted but we got the picture: life and death, only the super

heroes can save us and here they come!

Gratuitous breasts shots filled the screen. A few drunken cheers went up, a brief explosion and in

the distance and two super heroes flew out of the smoke bearing two bodies. Applause erupted off-


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camera and back in the studio the anchors wore triumphant smiles. There were a few more drunken

cheers and I thought about moving onto bourbon. The telecast then moved onto another daring

exhibition of bravery involving two more super heroes and I looked away.

Shot of steps, group of heroes at the top, 3 women and 2 men, banner indecipherable

Very few super heroes work alone. No one super hero has the power to perform all feats of heroism,

a fact I exploited, successfully it would seem. In a world where money talks it was prudent for the

corporations to invest in multiple heroes, which also lead to super heroes teaming up to lessen the

threat to any one hero. In exceptional circumstances, syndication was offered. Some heroes were

too big, too powerful for just one corporation and their combined influence turned them into a

conglomerate.

The Three were one such conglomerate and the only one on this continent. Powerful, incredibly

influential and as supernatural as they come. All the other super heroes were deferential to them

and whilst they expected very little, the government would bend over backward if they needed

anything. What they needed was each other, something I had learned and put to the test during the

beating I took the other night.

They were mysterious by nature but their past was a complete mystery to almost everyone. Except

for me and except for what Im sure is a very small circle of suits. The story that was perpetuated

was that they came from the stars, were more powerful at night under the light of the Milky Way

and were celestial beings created by the galaxy to protect Earth.

I laughed out loud at the thought and was asked if I wanted another drink. I ordered from the very

nice lady, sat back and watched the passers-by through the grubby window. What a lovely

neighbourhood. Junkies and whores, loan sharks and petty thieves happily coexisting in the world

the super heroes work so very hard to make a better place. It warmed the cockles of my heart.

And speaking of cockles I had to piss.

Mens bathroom, black and white floor tiles, dirty white walls, four sinks, four urinals and four

stalls, all empty


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I walked through the bar, mostly empty despite the hour, still steady on my feet although I couldnt

feel my feet. The booze was going straight to my toes which were probably all broken.

Standing at the urinal I thought about The Three. They always maintained they were family, they

were too close to be just colleagues and some tabloid fodder loved the incest angle, mnage a trois

and all that. Sitting back at the table, I drank my beer and watched the commotion at the bar.

A couple of guys seated at the bar had been providing their own commentary during the amazing

displays of heroism. Now they were arguing incoherently and smacking each other on the back. They

see-sawed between love and hate for the rest of the newscast. Much the way I see-sawed between

bourbon before and after the night before.

Avenging one another was another hot news topic. Even if all they got was a scratch versus taking

out a city block, their super hero buddies would be issuing statements in support of their actions,

pledging their devotion generally sucking up each others asses. It was sickening but consistent and

largely absent in my situation.

So I contemplated her associates and it was then I had my brainwave. Either that or the beer had

magical powers.

So probably both.

Flash back to alley, cape on ground in foreground, shipping containers, darkness and shadows and

a figure lying broken on what used to be a car

I knew she had, if thats what they consider themselves, a supernatural family. More like a weird

Children of the Corn family. Normal people go to their friends or family when theyre in trouble,

super heroes are no different. Normal people might know a police officer or even the commissioner

to help them out of their troubles but when youre a super hero who knows people that run through

brick walls for fun, its really no contest.

And now the leader of the most powerful conglomerate of the supernatural world had been beaten

to a pulp by a human being and left for dead. And they were quiet, silent, were they mourning? Its

possible.

If I wanted answers I should go to the source. I should find the other family members of the Children

of the Corn and have them tell me what the fuck was going on. Yeah like that was ever going to


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happen. And I suppose after asking them nicely, wed sit down, have tea and calmly discuss our

differences, after which there would be much hugging and vows to catch up regularly to save the

world and then I would be released alive and well and in one piece.

Nice dream asshole.

Regardless, I was expecting those people to be here, well not hopefully here but here on the news;

mourning her, going on about the travesty, the quest for justice, the usual hypocritical bullshit that

got her into this trouble in the first place. But they werent.

So my brainwave told me the only other logical explanation (after discounting I hadnt had that

much bourbon and imagined it all and that the body had just simply disappeared) was the body

wasnt dead. And if the body wasnt dead it meant it was alive.

She was still alive.

End of Chapter 3

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Hero - Part 1 - The Man - Chapter 3