Daniel Peterson

I stood in Walter’s office with Yellow Bolt. The man himself wasn’t present yet. He liked us to stew as we waited on the trouble side of the comically large mahogany desk. I stared dazed. I didn’t know whether it was on purpose, but Walter’s office was perfectly situated to let the afternoon sun shine in your eyes. The vertical glass panes did nothing to reduce the glare. It just aggravated my headache.

Rob fidgeted around, scared of Walter’s verbal lashing. I was just tired. I wanted to lie down and sleep it off. No, wait, I still had to go in the tank. I groaned. Getting choked on the street was bad enough, especially when there were people posting it on social media. It looked even worse because the guy was invisible. It probably looked like I was getting man-handled by a ghost.

I threw up my hand to shield myself from the glare. It was getting really annoying now, especially since the only other thing I could look at Walter’s large walls brimming with awards and memorabilia, faces and pictures of the Urban Defenders as they went and came on Walter’s team. Did he have them there because he actually liked any of us? Or was it just for the image? I had no earthly idea.

The door suddenly opened behind us, and Walter entered. A shudder went up my spine as I braced myself for what was next, but strangely, the insults never came. Instead, he quietly walked around his desk and sat down. The man rapped his fingers on the desk, holding our attention with every twitch and nod.

“We have an opportunity here,” Walter finally spoke.

I felt the tension in the room melt into utter bewilderment. Yellow Bolt and I exchanged a confused glance, both afraid to ask the question.

“Oh, you screwed up, nothing new about that.” Walter waved his hand dismissively, noticing our confusion. “But Nighthawk getting choked on the street works to our favor. He didn’t have a reputation to burn, and since that stunt, the Urban Defenders have gotten a thirty-three percent uptick in engagement. And now… we officially have our very own super villain.”

“The invisible guy?” I asked.

Walter nodded, a delicious smile creeping up his lips. “I’ve told the media to call him The Ghost. We’re going to get his face plastered on every billboard, television, and phone in the city. Tomorrow, he’s going to be all the rage. Thousands of journalists are working right now to uncover every fact about this guy, and so far… his background is a reporter’s wet dream.”

He pulled out his computer and began typing. “Name is Seattle Vance. Ridiculous, but it’s cheesy enough to work for us. Apparently, he was raised by New American extremists. It’s a fad among them to name their kids after old American cities or states. He’s a professional smuggler. Definitely not the thug we took him for. And more importantly, he’s an abnormal not on the Registry. This guy has broken some serious laws.” Walter was grinning from ear to ear as he read it from the computer.

“So you’re going to have your men track him down, and we fight it out?”

Walter leaned back in his chair and threw up his hands. “Bigger. We’re going to do a full ensemble for this campaign: Atomic Girl, the Blue Justice, everyone. We need faces on the streets. I’m going to have Cheryl write up story arcs for all of you. This one is going to be a team effort. We have to milk this for all its worth. City 57 needs this kind of excitement.”

Great. I rolled my eyes. A whole story arc that began with me getting my lights punched out on the street. Can’t wait for the sequel where I get my head shoved in a toilet.

Walter saw my expression and his darkened. He pointed a finger at me. “Do not screw this up for the Urban Defenders, or I’ll make you wish you ended back in Gen Pop. Shut up, stick to your script, and do what I tell you. And if you can do that, I’ll rent a plane for your stupid skydiving obsession. Got it?”

I nodded. “Are we at least done for the evening?”

“Done?” Walter barked. “You haven’t even gotten started. You have a party to attend at nine. Big names are going to be there, the fund raising kind. And they’re all going to want to hear about your encounter with the terrorist. Nighthawk, Cheryl is going to type up your story about the fight in the armored truck. By the time you exit this building, you better be able to recite it backwards. As for the rest of the team, you’re going to talk up The Ghost as much as you can. Make him seem like a credible threat against the city. This is our big break. All goes well? We might might be looking at moving up to B Rank.”

Yellow Bolt’s shoulders stiffened. I could tell he was already on it. I just gave a weary salute. “You got it, boss.”

“All right, get out. I have work to do. And no drinking until afterwards. I don’t want another spaghetti night incident, Nighthawk.”

I shrugged. “I’m not responsible for drunk Nighthawk. That guy’s an ass.”

…

I sat in the limo drinking a bottle of vodka. Walter can try all he likes, but it’s damn near impossible to stop a guy who can teleport. Jayne sat opposite of me. I was in a superhero costume and he was in a tuxedo. I can’t tell you how much I wanted to trade places with him.

“You shouldn’t drink so much. You’re going to slur your words.”

“It’s just the authentic Nighthawk experience.” I raised the bottle, it was my third that night. That was another downside of being a superhero. I had the liver of an Irishman who had been bitten by a radioactive beer bottle.

Jayne adjusted his black bowtie. “It’s also going to be bad for your health.”

“You think I care about my health? I wouldn’t be in super hero business if I did.” I took another swig. “After all, we’ve got a super villain now. His name is The Ghost. Isn’t that great? Just think of the views!” The sarcasm dripped from my mouth.

“I know,” Jayne said, genuinely.

I sighed and put away the drink. I couldn’t be mad at Jayne. Out of all of them, he was the only one who had a sense of honesty. Growing up, I drove all my previous handlers away. I tried to do the same with Jayne. Bottom of the barrel Jayne. The sixty-year-old man was only still in the business because he couldn’t afford retirement. He was also the only man alive with a worse fashion sense than my costume designers. He wore a fedora unironically!

He was also the only father I ever had.

I straightened myself out. “How do I look?”

“Not shitfaced yet at least.”

I cracked a smile. “Yet.”

The limo came to a halt outside this fancy hotel. I looked out, and I saw the most detestable people in existence all lined up, ready to take photos and write articles. They weren’t even the professional grifters. Those all went to the A-Rank heroes. We got the sloppy seconds.

“Try to make the most of it,” Jayne said. “You’re not them. Remember that.”

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“Thank you,” I said, gritting my teeth as I steeled myself for what was to come.

Jayne got out first and walked around the car to open the door for me. I was glad I was wearing a cowl so people couldn’t see how embarrassed I was.

Several times I had tried to show up to parties in regular clothing. That had gotten attention, but it drove Walter bonkers. He made Cheryl write this whole arc where I slowly accepted becoming a superhero and dressing like the rest.

In truth, I hated it more than ever. The thing about superheroes is that they shouldn’t be called super. A hero is already what most people aren’t. That’s why they are called a hero. Heaping more praise on that is vanity, and that was all I saw walking on the red carpet that night.

Vanity, and the people who made their living off it.

But that was still better than what greeted me inside. I walked into the lounge where I was taken up an elevator to the top floor. Up above on the roof was the upper crust elite. Not the upper upper class, just the guys who wanted to pretend they were. I saw that the rest of the team had already arrived. Small circles of people were gathered around them, but the swarm flocked to me.

Before I even got the lay of the land, I was already being bombarded with questions. People in the most garish outfits not much more different than mine pushed in around me.

“What was your fight like with The Ghost?”

“What’s the Urban Defender’s next move?”

“Do you take autographs?”

I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t know. And I’m contractually obligated to. Those were the answers I was tempted to give. Instead, I had been handed a script and told to follow it. The humiliating encounter suddenly turned into an epic fight scene where I tangled with the terrorist in a knockout brawl with a knife. How did he get out of handcuffs? How did he get a knife? Who knew. Those were just the details you weren’t supposed to squint at.

He only got the upper hand because he pulled some epic martial arts Jiu Jitsu shit and forced me to teleport him out. At least that was less embarrassing than what actually happened.

As for the next move of the Urban Defender’s, that part was still being written by Cheryl. All I could give them was that we were going to be on the lookout for The Ghost and would be combing the city for him. That part was the worst lie. We wouldn’t be doing anything. We were there for people to take pictures. The real team were the data analytics guys who were busy tracking down the perp while we were enjoying parties.

It was astonishing to me that these people bought that lie. At least, it seemed most of them did. Those that worked in the business gave the usual wink and nod. But the rest? They were hanging off my every word. It would’ve been one thing if it was all just an act, but they really bought it all. Nothing was more vomit-inducing than a liar who’s bought his own bullshit, and I was surrounded by dozens of them.

I gave out autographs as I usually did. It took me an hour before the line dwindled and I was finally free to get drinking. I found myself on a couch far away from the main party enjoying some whiskey. The buzz was finally hitting.

“You should take this more seriously.” The Blue Justice appeared in front of my hazy vision.

I hated he got to be the leader of the team. Gifted with super strength and flight, he had everything I ever wanted. There wasn’t a day that went by when I didn’t envy him. He didn’t deserve to be able to fly.

“I am taking this very seriously,” I replied. “We’re supposed to party right? Enjoy ourselves? I’m just being relatable.”

I went to take another swig, but The Blue Justice—John—swiped it right out of my hands. “We’re supposed to set an example. We’re supposed to be better.”

I was trying to be controlled, but taking my drink really ticked me off. “If you were trying to set an example, you would be out looking for the guy. Or are you just going to let everyone else do that work for you?”

The Blue Justice leaned in close, and I noticed he was only handsome in a very feminine way. Yeah, he had a good jawline but his face was uncannily smooth and he was clearly wearing makeup. He didn’t have muscles despite his super strength. Why bother working out if you’re already the strongest guy in the room? In fact. he was just as thin as I was. His curly hair gave him an almost tomboy appearance. I could easily believe he was just a very masculine woman if not for his voice.

“For once in your life, act like a superhero. This is big. Don’t ruin it for the rest of the team.”

“And just for once in your life, stop kissing Walter’s ass. You’re in his fucking upper intestine.”

The Blue Justice grabbed my throat, and I instantly teleported us outside the building. We were floating in the air some fifty feet away from the hotel. He had to grab my arm, otherwise he would’ve accidentally snapped my neck.

The wind whistled by with the distant noise of the city.

“Go ahead.” I sighed. “Drop me. See what happens when the reporters get their hands on this drama. Or are you going to turn that into another story arc? About how I betrayed the team for The Ghost?”

“Why can’t you just play along?” John asked. “Is that too much to ask?”

“Don’t ask me to lie. I’ll play nice for this campaign, I promise. Just don’t ask me to act like we’re the good guys.”

At this point, I was too drunk to care who was listening in on the watch.

The Blue Justice seemed hurt by this, but he was only concerned for appearances, much like Walter. He may not have agreed with me, in fact he vehemently hated me, but he also needed me for this arc. He nodded his head, and I teleported us back to the couch like nothing happened.

“Enjoy the party.” I swiped my drink back. “Just leave me out of it.”

He left back to his adoring fans, and I continued drinking myself to death. Why not? I had nothing I wanted to live for, and nobody wanted me. They only wanted the juicy drama they could squeeze from Nighthawk.

It didn’t feel like I was even real anymore.

…

The night was carrying on, and I vaguely noticed Atomic Girl approaching me. Her power was being able to create green force fields and launch energy blasts. I suppose the name sort of fit. It was better than Nighthawk at least. That was another problem with superheroes. All the good names were copyrighted. What even was a Nighthawk?

“Hey,” she said.

“What do you want, Sarah?” I asked, a little more rudely than I intended.

She looked down at the floor. “Could you do me a favor?”

I sat up, knowing the real reason behind her request. I took off my watch and dropped it in a nearby champagne bucket. She didn’t have a watch on her. She had the convenient excuse that electronics malfunctioned in close proximity. I don’t know whether that was true, but it worked for the execs. Meanwhile, they could think me and her were in a secret relationship all they want. It made good headlines anyway.

Not that I wouldn’t date her. She was cute, blond hair, and a heart-shaped face, and a perfect figure. She was beautiful in every way that mattered for social media, but should the day ever come where I decide to make a move, it wasn’t going to be in front of a masturbating audience.

“Could you teleport me to floor forty-three?” she asked.

I placed my hand on hers, and we were there. I also brought along my whiskey, but the bottle was just for me. I stumbled over to a nearby corner and enjoyed my drink. Atomic Girl brought out a small flip phone and texted.

An older women approached pushing a cleaning cart. She worked as a cleaning lady for the hotel because it was a spot Walter often chose to host the Urban Defenders. The little known secret was that she was Sarah’s mother. I envied Atomic Girl for that, having a parent that cared for her.

Sarah was an ASA kid, confiscated and then bought right out of the holding facility. Don’t know the details, but somehow she managed to reconnect with her mother. Or maybe it was another way around. I didn’t want to pry too deeply into the story.

The two hugged each other and darted out of the hallway into one of the nearby rooms. That was all I wanted to see before I teleported into another empty room to enjoy my drink. They would have fifteen minutes before I would come back for her. It was just too dangerous to have her out of sight for any longer. Not to mention, Blue Justice would soon get the word and search for us.

I drank my whiskey, wondering where my parents were—whether they were still in the Protective Parent program or not. I don’t remember their faces. I doubt they would recognize me if they saw me on social media or the news. How could they? It had been so long by now. Speaking of which, there was a good chance I had brothers and sisters I didn’t know about—maybe even half brothers and sisters.

Or maybe they got sent back to Gen Pop after I was taken to Super Camp. Who knew? It didn’t matter. I didn’t have a rat’s ass of a chance of meeting them again anyway. I wasn’t angry about it anymore. I used to be, but I’m not now.

The world was spinning from the alcohol, and I didn’t know why it didn’t make me feel good like it used to.

I just wanted to fall. I wanted to fall so long and so far that my worries would be no more. I wanted to fall to the ends of the Earth. Only there I could be happy. I toyed with that dream while Atomic Girl and her mother had their fifteen minutes before I would come and whisk her daughter away.

There was nothing I wanted to be more than being normal. Not because superheroes are terrible but because we weren’t superheroes. We were celebrities dressed up in costumes. Maybe I could forgive Walter if I could save the world, but as it was, I couldn’t even save her. I was a walking advertisement and nothing more.

Maybe I could accept that life. I probably would drink myself to death first, but maybe I could die happy. If only I could save anyone from this life we lived, maybe then it would’ve all been worth it…