Chapter the Third; In Which Our Hero Engages in Fisticuffs with a Ruffian
Being a superhero generally doesn’t pay unless you’re willing to shill for a private security company or a city. No one pays for your costume and gear repairs, your self defense classes, the sick days you have to take when you’re waiting for your broken ribs to heal, or the pizzas you have to pay Nermal in.
More idealistic people would go on and on at this point about the good vibrations they get from helping people and I’m not going to deny that that’s nice. But sometimes, simpler pleasures abound. Like for example, the very act of being ‘super’ itself.
I have to remind myself sometimes that even with the grip boots and gloves I built, a normal person would shatter their legs running sideways across buildings and making those street spanning leaps. After the first few months of it, I can’t imagine how I’d live without it.
It was all the better that night after leaving Nermal’s place though. After days of waiting and worrying that the city would go straight to a computer chip instigated hell, I had a destination; a recently vacated United … Continue reading