I find myself in the bustling police station, my armor gleaming under the fluorescent lights as I hover a few inches above the ground. I'm waiting for my boss, Miller, to discuss the latest escapades of yours truly in the world of crime-fighting.

Suddenly, I spot Garry, the old bank robber from the day before, being escorted by a pair of burly officers. His disheveled appearance and sheepish grin are unmistakable.

"Hey there, Garry," I greet him with a nod, trying to keep the tone light despite the circumstances. "Fancy meeting you here, buddy."

Garry's eyes widen in surprise before he breaks into a toothy grin. "Well, if it ain't Brightspark himself! Thanks for not letting the drones kill us all yesterday. You're a real lifesaver, you know that?"

I chuckle, scratching the back of my helmet. "Ah, just doing my job, Garry. Besides, it's more fun to keep you guys guessing, right?"

We exchange a few more pleasantries before Garry is whisked away to face his fate.

A moment of camaraderie before the reality of the situation sinks in. Garry is about to be carted off to a prison so packed it makes sardine cans jealous. I watch as he's escorted away, my mind wandering to the loot from yesterday's heist. I can't help but wonder where it ended up. Knowing Garry, it's probably with his grandchildren. Or maybe it is being used to buy youth serum for his wife.

Captain Miller shows up a few minutes later a scoul on his face. Take a listen he pulled out a old radio The radio crackles to life, and the President’s voice fills the room. His words are measured, each syllable weighted with gravity.

“Citizens” he begins, “I stand before you with a heavy heart. Our coffers are empty, our debts insurmountable. The time has come to make difficult choices.”

I glance at Captain Miller, who looks angry and a little bit scared. The President continues, his voice unwavering.

“Effective immediately, all old-age entitlements are suspended. Pensions, medical care, housing—gone. We must tighten our belts, sacrifice for the greater good.”

I think of my parents, their wrinkled faces etched with years of hard work. How will they survive without their pension?

Captain Miller looked at me his his eyes steely. “Brightspark,” he says, “we’re on the edge of a storm. They halved the old age entitlement and a month later the old people were eating dog food. This is a thousand times worse. If they are cutting entitlements when when do they cut the funding for the addicts? Trouble’s brewing, and it won’t be long before desperation turns to anger. I know one thing for certain—trouble is coming, and we are not ready."

Miller sighed "Think about what your going to say when the press asks about your response. Also get down to the local girls school there has been a murder. They have a new cape for you if you want it but it has a bull sew on the back of it." I looked at Miller who shrugged "They were using a computer to design your cloak but it kept giving you a hood. So they looked up a list of cloaks and the spanish bull fighters cloaks do not have any hoods. I told them to look up capes next time idiots. Super herroes wear capes." I looked at my cape and felt a sense of embarisment. I had entered claok into the machine that designed by image. Flying girl who had designed her's at the same time as me cape was half the size of mine and she never got it stuck in doors. Miller looked at me seriously "You can not mess this one up so your going to have to do everything that Preacher says. I am sending you with Tank and Preacher. Tank is there so if anyine needs killing you are not caught on camera doing it. So remember if a twelve yerar old pulls out a machine gun. Try not to kill them that is what Tank is for."

That is how I found myself squished between Tank, the ex-marine with a no-nonsense attitude, and Preacher, the flamboyant, well-dressed police spokesman, in the back of a van. It was a bizarre mix of personalities, to say the least.

"Why are we even in this van?" I grumbled, crossing my arms in frustration. "I could fly there in no time."

Tank shot me a stern look, his thick Polish accent adding an extra layer of seriousness to his words. "Protocol, Brightspark. Gotta follow protocol."

I rolled my eyes, the frustration bubbling inside me. "Yeah, yeah, protocol. Like the protocol that makes me wear this ridiculous cape?" I gestured towards the offending piece of fabric draped around my shoulders.

Preacher chuckled, adjusting his perfectly tailored suit. "Hey, don't knock the cape, Brightspark. It's all part of the superhero gig. Adds a bit of flair, you know?"

I huffed, sinking further into my seat. "Flair, schmair. I just want to get to the crime scene and do my thing."

Tank nodded in agreement, his expression stoic as ever. "We'll get there soon enough, Brightspark. Just gotta endure the van ride a little longer."

With a resigned sigh, I leaned back in my seat, begrudgingly accepting my fate. But as we rumbled towards our destination, I couldn't help but plot my escape for the next time. Flying was definitely the way to go. A fart that could have been mistaken for someone blowing up a dam came from Tank and Preacher rushed to open the window. I put on my mask to stop the heavily polluted air ginving me asma or something. I swore as the smell that would have killed a rat got into my nose. I realised my mask did not filter out the smell and almost vomited.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

The van rattled along the uneven road, its tires bumping over potholes as if trying to escape the stench that permeated the air. I sat in the backseat, feeling more like a prisoner than a superhero. Why, oh why, was I confined to this metal box when I could easily be soaring through the sky?

My annoyance only intensified when Tank, let loose another particularly noxious cloud of gas. The smell hit me like a punch to the stomach, and I gagged, desperately trying to suppress the urge to vomit. From under Tank's ass I swear is saw a yellow cloud of hazardious waste stream.

"Tank, for the love of God, what have you been eating?" I exclaimed, waving a hand in front of my face in a futile attempt to disperse the odor.

Tank merely chuckled, unaffected by the foul smell he had unleashed upon us. "Sorry, Brightspark. Guess my stomach didn't agree with that last meal. But you know how it is decent food is expensive and the last fast food place I went to sold me a burger with a human finger in it."

Beside me, Preacher wrinkled his nose in disgust, his impeccably tailored suit doing little to shield him from the assault on his senses. "Sweet mercy, Tank! Have you no shame?"

But Tank just shrugged, flashing us a toothy grin. "Hey, when you've been in the trenches like I have, you learn to appreciate the little things. And sometimes, those little things happen to be gas."

I sighed in resignation, resigning myself to endure the rest of the journey in olfactory agony. But as the van rumbled on, a determination began to simmer within me. No longer would I allow myself to be confined by the limitations of this infernal vehicle. No, the next time duty called, I would spread my wings and take to the skies, leaving Tank's gastrointestinal exploits far behind me.

For I was Brightspark, the airborne avenger, and nothing, not even the foulest of farts, could keep me grounded for long.

But just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, Tank, decided to unleash more of his own brand of chemical warfare.

A sound like a thunderclap echoed through the van, and a putrid yellow green smoke billowed forth from Tank's posterior, filling the air with a nauseating stench. I gagged, my eyes watering as I struggled to breathe through the noxious cloud.

"Good grief, Tank!" I choked out, pressing a hand to my air filter in a futile attempt to block out the smell. "What on earth did you eat? Did you decide to eat a couple of diseased cows"

Tank merely chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eye as he reveled in our discomfort. "Well look at fancy pants who can afford lettuce. I saw you yesterday you had an actual chicken sandwich. With the food shortages, I have to eat grey goo. So I figured I'd share the love."

Beside me, Preacher gagged, his normally impeccable demeanor crumbling in the face of Tank's olfactory assault. "Lord have mercy, Tank! Have you been holding that in since boot camp? I can buy you food"

But Tank just laughed, seemingly immune to the horrors he had unleashed upon us. And as the van continued to trundle along, I couldn't help but feel a sense of defeat wash over me. What had I done to deserve this?

I decided something had to be done and phoned Captain Miller."Captain Miller, I understand that budget cuts are affecting everyone, but this is getting out of hand. Tank's emissions are a hazard to everyone's health!" I pleaded over the communicator, hoping for some resolution.

Miller's voice crackled back, "Brightspark, I hear you loud and clear. But with the recent entitlement cuts to the elderly, we're all tightening our belts. Even you."

My heart sank. "What do you mean, Captain?"

"I mean," Miller continued, "that with your mother not getting her pension, she might have to start eating grey goo. And we all know what that does to the digestive system."

I grimaced, knowing just having learned the hard way the effects of that notorious substance. "But Captain, surely there's another solution?"

"I wish there were, Brightspark," Miller replied solemnly, "America is broke they are about to kick a lot of old folks into the street we're all going to have to make sacrifices. And that includes you. You might have to start eating grey goo yourself. Given they raided the police pensions to pay for the hurricane protection Florida needed well you will want to be putting away a lot of your salary. "

I felt a wave of despair wash over me. The thought of subjecting myself to the same fate as Tank was almost too much to bear. But then, a glimmer of determination sparked within me.

"Thank you for the heads up, Captain," I said, my voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside me. "I'll do whatever it takes to ensure my mother's well-being, even if it means enduring the dreaded grey goo."

As I ended the call, I couldn't help but wonder what other challenges lay ahead. But one thing was certain: no matter what obstacles I faced, I would always find a way to rise above them.

For I was Brightspark, the airborne avenger, and no amount of grey goo or budget cuts could dim my resolve. From Tanks ass a cloud of Green smoke came as he began to laugh at me I opened the van door and flew off into the air leaving a screaming Preacher and police driver behind.

I landed in the Christian girl's school to find Jamie the school Principal waiting in the parking lot. I found myself facing yet another absurd situation, this time with the school principal, Jamie. He just dropped a bombshell on me, explaining that the victim, Jerry, was a heroin vending machine technician. He made sure there was enough heroin in the sales machines. My incredulity must have been evident when I asked Jamie if it was legal to sell heroin to school children. This was a girl's school what would happen if they ran out of money? There were a lot of sick perverts out there.

To my utter disbelief, Jamie replied matter-of-factly, "As long as they use two different vending machines to sell the drugs separately from the needles, it's technically legal. I would love to get rid of the machines but Congress just passed the Freedom from pain act"

I struggled to wrap my mind around the absurdity of the situation when suddenly, a figure appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. It was Marty according to my helmet face scanner, a notorious heroin seller, making an unexpected entrance into our already bizarre conversation.

Before I could even process what was happening, my communicator buzzed with a call from Captain Miller. "Brightspark, we need you to bring Marty in for questioning. Put him in the van with Tank. And be careful, Marty's slippery."

I sighed, resigning myself to the chaos that seemed to follow me wherever I went. "Understood, Captain," I replied, mentally preparing myself for the unpleasant task ahead.

As I ended the call, I turned to Jamie, who was watching the scene unfold with a look of resignation. "Looks like I've got another job to do," I said with a wry grin. With that, I set off to apprehend Marty, hoping that this bizarre day would soon come to an end. I also decided I was not getting into the van with Tank again. I was betting he was about to eat a lot of gray goo.

A van screeched around the corner and the preacher and the driver jumped out. Preacher got sick puking all over his shoes and the driver fell to the ground with tears in his eyes. Tank jumped out of the van and grinned at Marty "You know I have not had sex in a year. I have military grade lungs from my time in the military." Marty turned pale "It's legal to sell to kids now days. Read the constitution its all legal baby "

"Yup, but I am only bringing you in for questioning." Tank's grin widened "You know if I had paid 500 dollars instead of 219 dollars I could have sprung for the better digestive system. The only problem was I thought the good old U.S of A was going to default on its debts. So being worried about inflation I bought my children the best immune system I could afford."

A manic gleam appeared in Tank's eye. "It was worth it keeping my kids fed. Of course, it was worth it but you know what. I miss sex and drinking. It was because of the cost of health insurance due to opioid and to a lesser extent heroin addiction that I can now kill my wife if I fart. I mean that is why we almost defaulted on our loans" Marty began to sweat as Tank grabbed him and led him to the van. I heard Tank whisper in Marty's ear “You know what I can't get drunk anymore something about my new stomach being too effective at digesting things. But get this I can actually drink waste cooking oil it gives me gas like you would not believe. Now normally all I fart is yellow maybe a bit of green gas. But waste cooking oil that is pure black smoke.” Tank pulled out a silver canteen and began to drink. The sweat began to drip down Marty's face.

A girl ran up to Tank “Thanks for killing those pimps” and ran off Marty looked at Jamie with a begging look. Jamie turned away and Tank whispered to Marty. “It's now legal to sell heroin to kids. The thing is technically my farts have been rated as being merely a nuisance. The fact if I drink waste cooking oil it can kill well that has been ruled impossible because well I am not too sure. It's probably one of those long explanations like how pain killer addicts only have themselves to blame.”

Marty tried to make a run for it but Tank tripped him and put cuffs on him before dragging him screaming into the van. Preacher pulled out a handkerchief and after wiping down his feet began to talk to the girls. “Nothing to see here. We are just bringing him for questioning.”