That?s the thing about this city, normal people don?t survive for long. I don?t remember when I first noticed it, but it must have been sometime around the third or fourth world-ending clash between good and evil. I had been living in Super City for 5 years at that point and was starting to feel it. It turns out that superheroes and supervillains make it way harder to do normal people things like be alive and live and not die. If you are an average person there?s a higher chance you?ll die walking to work than if you?re a hero fighting for your life. Heroes and Villains go crashing through buildings and are shot at with lasers, and all they deal with is ripped clothes. Just buy pre-stressed spandex if it?s going to happen every time. But if you are within 5 miles of a fight, you will probably be hit by debris or a stray energy blast and die. And yet any of the big players just walk it off. They don?t even have to have powers. The mayor has been in office for 30 years, and he gets kidnapped once a quarter. They have to budget for it at the start of each fiscal year. They plan on him getting kidnapped, and he still never dies. You won?t live past 40 if you are nobody special in Super City. If the world at large doesn?t know your name, write your will early.
There were a few patterns like this that I realized at first. Avoiding them helped me stay alive as a normal for as long as I did. No big crowds. I avoided any large gatherings or mass transportation. So, no galas, no ferries, no trains. I rode my bike as often as I could. When guys with super strength start using cars as weapons, they don?t always check that they're empty. I?ve yet to see Wonderguy throw a 10 speed at DoomLord, so I was safe in that regard. I avoided all sentimental moments. I didn?t get engaged or achieve lifelong goals or play with my [nonexistent] son. Nothing like that. I lived my life like an extra. You might have seen me eating at a café with a woman, sure. Was it a date? Were we married? Secret affair? Who knows and who cares? I just pretended like I was in soft focus and paid in cash. Finally, and most importantly, I didn?t use banks. If I had to interact with one, I was solely online. Why do people keep going to banks? I?d rather go streaking in Chernobyl than wait in a teller line in this city. Banks here get robbed every week. I usually have sympathy for the normal people who get killed here, but if you aren?t part of a credit union for the interest rates alone, you deserve to die at this point. Spotting these patterns helped, but it wasn?t enough. Friends I knew who were doing the same still got carried off by demons or killed by aliens or were crushed by gentrified rent (not part of the superhero issue, but still something worth talking about). Nothing was 100%. The only consistent thing was that everything revolved around someone important. And the important someones never seem to die. To truly get the best chances of survival, I had to become relevant.
At first, I thought about becoming a goon. It?s good work if you can get it. Gooning is a union job, and on the lower end of relevancy. They don?t usually die, just get roughed up. It seemed like a cheap and easy way not to risk death every day, but then I found out about the insurance premiums. I?d be paying half my salary just to be able to get ER visits. I don?t know how those guys work that job. It really has to be a job you?re passionate about, and I was only in it for the safety. Props to those guys. To goon is a work of heart. So, I gave up on gooning and started to look around for some martial arts training just to have some edge on any interdimensional beings I might have to fend off. I looked around the city, and couldn?t find a single place not reeking of plot-point-based danger. The first place I visited was a boxing club that I swear had a blue/green filter permanently installed to the aura of the property. I don?t know how they did it. The minute I walked in, I was greeted by two things. 1) The coach offering me a week of lessons for free and 2)the haggard, experienced boxer pacing at the speed bag.
I pointed to the older boxer in the corner, ?What?s his deal??
?That?s Lou. He?s training. His last fight is in a couple weeks.? the coach told me, and began to get out the sign up paperwork.
I glazed over during his sales pitch because I knew that I was one answer away from walking out of there and burning the clothes I walked in wearing.
?Last fight?? I asked. ?Did he bet any money on it??
?Him? No.? the coach responded. ?But rumour has it that the Mancini?s put a ton of money on the guy he?s fighting Don?t know why they did. Last I checked Lou was pretty tight with them. Doesn?t matter anyway.?
I took a deep breath. ?Ok, so this lifelong boxer is going into his one last fight against a guy who his mob buddies bet a ton of money on??
?Yah, if you want to use laid-man?s terms.?
?Ok, cool, I?m going to get the hell out of here. Thanks for your time.?
And that was it. I?ve seen chemical reactors with less chance of becoming the location of an origin story. I?m not going to be in the showers while Super City?s next revenge arc gets started. I?m just not. But it really seemed like I might have to. Everywhere I went to learn to fight, melodrama stuck out at me. I couldn?t even find a karate class where the current sensei hadn?t killed his former master. Even the YMCA?s instructor was the lead suspect in a hit and run before they decided not to press charges because the DA wound up dead. Cause of death? Blunt force chops. It was ridiculous. I couldn?t learn to fight, gooning was out of the question, what was I going to become? I couldn?t seem to get anywhere in this city without running into what clearly traced back to some significant person?s life story. The worst part was, no one else seemed to think it was weird. It was like no one had read a book in their life. I mean, why would they? Enough stuff goes down in this city to keep you occupied for life, however cut short it might be. No one felt like the 4 nuclear power plants were just a little cliché. No one felt like the constant conquests for world domination were maybe a little derivative. No one else could see it, not regular people, not the villains, not even the superheroes. Only I could. When I realized that, I found my ticket out of the regular person rat race. I had to become a hero myself. A hero above the heroes. A man who can see above these constant, unending stories. I became a Meta Man.
That was a couple years ago. I?m not dead yet, so I feel like it?s been a bit of a success. It was difficult at first, but once you know what you?re looking for, you get into a routine. I usually check out all the local orphanages once or twice a week. Lots of heroes start off there. It?s uncanny. But, by finding the ones that can blast holes in the ceiling, I save the city a lot of money, and give the next generation of Power Pals a head start. I just sort of carry a lot of locks with me now. Most of the time when people end up getting powers can be avoided if someone just locked the door. So, whenever I see a biohazard label, I just slap on a padlock. Some days are harder than others, I?ll admit. Sometimes I wake up and everything is a shade darker and I overhear the one PG-13 allowed ?fuck.? I know that means Gritty Reboot is in town, and I?ll have to tread a little more carefully. A hero's moral compass is about to be tested, and when the conscience of someone who can level city blocks with their mind gets twisted into a knot, it usually ends up poorly for renters. So, I keep tabs on those quandaries for them. I have a lot of Kant downloaded onto my kindle and we usually just go from there. It?s a pretty good gig. I have a great chance of not dying, and all the big heroes know me, so even if I die, they?ll probably come up with something to bring me back. I?ve got a good thing going. My name is Billy Bright. I go by MetaMan most of the time. My powers are a BA in English and having watched all the episodes of Mystery Science Theater 3000. I?m an after school tutor in Super City by day, and its greatest protector by night.
?That?s the thing about this city??
A mix of ketchup, mayonnaise and mustard is dripping from the shawarma so I stuff it all into my mouth as a last resort. I quickly wipe the sauce from my hands on my trousers to stop the spread. I flip my wrist to see if I had caught it in time. The damage was minimal. I wipe it again for safe measure. I hate the sensation of sticky goo on my hands, I shudder at the idea of not being able to clean them properly. It never gets easier.
?What is?? I ask.
?Huh??
?What?s the thing about this city??
?Aaaaah! That?s the thing about this city!?
I hate it when he goes like this. Chest all puffed up, head held high, like he?s some sort of intellectual. He hasn?t even eaten his half of the shawarma and I can see all the goo dripping from his hands and onto the ground. How can he stand it? Doesn?t it make him sick? Brrrrr!
?No! What?s the thing about this city? You said, that?s the thing about this city. What is??
?Aaaaah! That you can be whatever and whomever you wish!?
What?!
The sauce continues to drip as he stares at nothing.
?Are you going to eat that??
?Huh? Yeah!?
And he stuffs it whole into his mouth and proceeds to wipe his hands briefly on his jacket and then rubs them together. That?s not how you do it.
?What do you mean by that? We ain?t nothing no more.?
?Aaaaah! This is where you?re wrong, George. Maybe, you?re nothing but I can be whatever I want to be in this city. All I need is imagination!?
?Whatever you say, Professor. Can we not be hungry? Half of leftover shawarma ain?t really stimulating material in that regard.?
?Hmmmm!?
And off he goes again into the unknown nestling behind his eyes. Right hand cupped beneath his chin, fingers pulling absently at his beard. He?ll be like this for awhile so no use in trying to talk to him anymore.
This place is disgusting, and to think we?re deep in the heart of the city. Most people don?t even know this park exists. If you can still call it a park that is. Around one hundred square meters in total, to the left an old basketball court with a high wire fence, to the right three broken down benches. Everything else: dirt, a couple tufts of loose grass and syringes. Lots and lots of syringes. All the homeless junkies come here to get their fix.
But, if you can stomach the depraved reality you?ve got a pretty high chance of ending up with a full belly. There are pubs, bars and fast food joints all around so the dumpsters in the alley leading to the park are usually brimming with treasure. Today, not so much!
There?s a puddle behind one of the benches, it rained two nights ago, it can?t be filthier than what I have on my hands.
The Professor?s expression has changed, he looks less constipated, maybe his imagination has yielded some fruit. Hopefully it?s the tangible kind.
?So? Have you decided what someone fed looks like in this city??
?Very funny, George. If I thought you knew what cynical meant I would call you to be one. Why do you insist on scuffing me so? Have I not always kept us fed??
?I ain?t sure what you?re trying to say there, Professor. But if I?m not mistaken it was I who found food today, and yesterday for that matter. Was it not??
?Indeed it was, George. But what good did it do us since we?re hungry again five minutes later? What we need is a plan! Something to give us pause for a couple of days, so we can relax a bit.?
?Relax from what? It?s not like we?ve got anything going on for us anyway!?
?We don?t! But have you ever asked yourself why is that??
?No! What good would it do, it?s not like I can change anything about it.?
?Aaaaah! But that?s where you?re wrong my dear George. Just as I said before, we can be whatever and whomever we want to be. We just need to dare imagine it.?
?Oh, come on, Professor! Don?t start with that again! I just want to be fed and if I can score something on the side to help me sleep better, I?m golden.?
?Tsk, tsk, George! Tsk, tsk!?
?Don?t ?tsk, tsk? me! For everything that fancy degree of yours is worth, at the end of the day we?re looking inside the same dumpster.?
?Come now, George! No need to get riled up about it. All I?m trying to say is that we need to improve our lives a bit. We could start, as you heatedly suggested, with our stomachs.?
?And how do you propose we do that, Professor??
?The outstretched hand that does not tell a story, does not receive alms.?
?Enough with the fortune cookie crap! Just say what you mean!?
?I mean to say that we?ve been too small minded, we?ve been looking at the egg when we should?ve been looking at the chicken.?
?That?s it! It?s clear that rats must of been eating at your half of the shawarma because you?ve completely lost it. What?s worse is that you?re really starting to piss me off.?
?Oh, relax already! Have you ever heard the saying: give a man a fish and he will be fed for a day??
?Teach a man how to fish and he will never go hungry again. I know of it! I also know that the dude who said it wasn?t a fisher.?
?Why do you say that, George??
?Because he never heard of droughts, storms or any hundreds of other things fishermen have to deal with on a daily basis.?
?Hmmm, now that you mention it. In any case, what I mean to say is, we?re always going to be hungry, right??
?Not if you got food you ain?t!?
?I mean to say that we will always need food, correct??
?Yes.?
?Ok, than we should start thinking about ways to make sure that we always have enough!?
I look at him and I see the excitement in his eyes. He?s positively brimming with it. I would like nothing more than to punch it right out of him.
?And how do you propose we do that??
?People haven?t been rather charitable lately, correct??
?Not with all the reduced foot traffic because of the damn pandemic or whatever it?s called. Thank God they decided to reopen the pubs and bars. Took them long enough, rotten assholes.?
?Right! But even before that we didn?t have much luck.?
?And??
?Maybe we should invent some background stories for ourselves. Something to make people want to help us, not because we need help but because they need to help us? Do you understand, George??
?Ok!?
?And by that I mean that we can be whatever and whomever we want to be. Do you understand now??
?Aha! Like an astronaut!?
?I guess that could work, but maybe we should drop it down a notch, what do you say??
?I?m just messing with you, Professor. Sure, let?s do it, as long as it gets me fed I don?t see why not. Hmmm! Heads up, we got a tweaker.?
The benches where we ate are about ten meters away from the alley but that doesn?t stop the smell from rushing at me as soon as he steps into the opening.
Disgusting!
?Let?s go, George.?
?Right behind you.?
He?s wearing a pair of moldy trousers and a ripped up sleeveless undershirt that is more yellow than white and he?s huffing nervously from a black plastic bag. I can hear him mumbling to himself and then out loud:
?Do you have a light??
?No, man.? I reply.
?How ?bout something to eat??
?Neah! We just fished something from that dumpster over there. Slim pickings today unfortunately.?
?No, no? Ok!? he twitches nervously and huffs again. ?Do you want to get a fix with me?? And he pulls a syringe out of his pocket and shows it to us. ?I can share.?
?Neah, man. We?re fine. You enjoy that? I reply.
The Professor?s looking rather angsty and I can see that he? unconsciously scratching at his left arm, right beneath the elbow. What?s up with that?
?You guys have a phone? Can you call 911 if anything happens to me?? The drive?s so great that he starts lining up his shot while talking to us.
?We don?t, but maybe you should be careful with that, huh?? I tell him.
?Come on, George. Let?s go!?
?He have to go, buddy. You take care now.?
?Yeah, yeah? he mumbles incoherently and carries on with his appointment.
We turn right at the end of the alley and go straight for the river. We decide that if we?re to start with our little experiment we should do it in a proper park. People are more gullible when they?re relaxed. Also, there?s a proper water fountain there.
Once the Professor finds his tongue again we start throwing ideas back and forth of who we should be. There aren?t many people on the streets, and the ones that we come across give us wide birth. Can?t really blame them, I?d avoid myself if I could. Yeah, if this is ever going to work it can only work there.
The park is surrounded by many historical buildings so there?s a lot of comings and goings from tourists and the occasional stroller. We put on our most miserable faces and go for it.
?Sir, excuse me, Sir!? the Professor approaches an elderly man walking his dog.
?Piss off!? he replies. No surprise there.
?Ma?am! Excuse me!? as he approaches a middle aged woman talking on her phone. ?Can I bother you for a second??
She passes him without sparing a second look.
?Excuse me, Sir! Hello!? to a young man around twenty-five.
He lifts his gaze from his phone and stops when he meets the Professor?s. Once they stop, they?re half in the bag Sensing this, the Professor goes all out.
?Hi, Sir! Do you have a moment? I?m sorry to bother you, but could you please help me out? We?re from the county and my wife got sick due to the pandemic. I told her not to go to the market but she wouldn?t listen. She got transferred to the hospital here and I followed her but our money ran out. I?ve been trying to phone my friends to send me some money but it?s been very hard. Do you think you could maybe help me out? Please!? his eyes go as big as saucers at this point.
?I can give you a sandwich if you want? as he starts rummaging through his bag. ?Ooh, and a mask.? the man replies.
?Thank you, thank you! Could you maybe spare two masks?? the Professor asks.
?Sure? the man answers.
Half a sandwich later the Professor is all teeth as he announces triumphantly. ?I told you this would work.?
?I don?t really see how half a sandwich is going to keep me fed for a week to be honest.?
?We?re just warming up. You?ll see. By the end of the day I?ll make a believer out of you.?
?Yeah! Sure.?
He didn?t. We went at it for a couple of hours, doing turns and trying different angles but at the end of the day we?re only up a couple of bucks, a bag of pretzels and another sandwich.
?So!?
?Maybe we should?ve gone with your astronaut story.?
?Yeah, maybe!?
It felt like kicking a puppy. But even puppies sometimes deserve it.
?Next time maybe we should focus less on who we could be and be more of whom we are.?
?Wow. Now, that?s a real tongue twister, George.?
?Yeah, I?ve been practicing it all day Come on, I have an idea.? and we start walking towards the edge of the park. ?Do you see that building over there??
?Yes.?
?Workers have been going in and out all day, they?ve been changing the plumbing. Do you know what that means??
?No.?
?It means that we get to be plumbers tonight.?
?What??
?What?s wrong, Professor? Wasn?t this the thing about this city, that we can be whatever we want? For five dollars a kilo we?ll get to be plumbers and delivery men tonight. Come on, you?ll love it.?
?Aaaaah, ok.?
?We?ll need to find something to carry it with. Go to that supermarket over there and get me one of those shopping carts.?
If you pay attention to the world around you, you?ll see that there are plenty of opportunities to make an easy buck. Especially now, when people have gone feral. Everyone?s looking after their own health, their own future and comfort. They no longer care so much about what happens around them, even if they?re technically paid to do just that.
Let?s take for example the sixty something year old security guard sleeping in his one by one plastic shed. As long as the building?s going to be there tomorrow morning, nobody?s going to bother him and he won?t be bothered tonight since nobody can vanish a whole building without him waking up. I call that a win win situation.
We?re able to get the copper tubbing out pretty cleanly and hauling it to a seller is even simpler.
Just like an apple, a city gets rotten at the core and if you have the eyes to see it, you?ll notice that the city is more rot than apple. A slinger there, a lady of the night here and hustlers everywhere. That?s the only thing you should focus on not being, blind.
?So, Professor! I guess you were right, we had no imagination. We should be covered for the next few days. That should give us enough time to expand our repertoire and be whomever we wanna be.? and I hand him his share of the cut. ?You look twitchy, are you all right??
?Hm? Yeah, yeah! Don?t worry about me. I was just thinking about something.?
?Is it about the tweaker we met in the park??
There?s this spark that lights up in the eyes of a cornered animal. It fades away pretty quickly but for a heartbeat it?s there, suspended between fight or flight, a moment of choice. A moment when anything is possible, when even rabbits can turn into fiends.
?No! No! Why would I be thinking about him?? the Professor says scratching at his arm.
?I don?t know, you seemed pretty shook up when we met him.?
?You know what? Maybe we should go and check on him to see if he?s ok. What do you say??
?Yeah, maybe we should.? It?s still early. ?Hey, Professor!?
?Yes??
My uncle was a boxer. He taught me that if you hit someone squarely on either side of the jaw, you have a pretty big chance of knocking them down. No broken wrist, no broken teeth, no chance of scrapping the skin off your knuckles.
The Professor sinks like a rag doll. I check to make sure he didn?t hit his head and take his half of money from the copper haul.
The most important thing about rot is, it spreads.
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