“Siiiigh...”

That's my seventh sigh in a row. Or maybe my twelfth. Eighteenth? Doesn't matter. When you come down with clinical depression as hard as I have, you don't care to count.

What's wrong? What's going on? That had to have worked on somebody. Girls love a confident, interesting guy who takes the initiative, don't they? Did I not come off as confident enough? Was it not interesting to them that somebody used their own advice on them?

Or is it something else? Is some other factor at play that's out of my control, and because of this factor, no woman, no matter how hard I try or what I try, will want me for her boyfriend?

What, though? What could it be? What?

As I sit on the curb, I ponder this mystery and watch the pedestrians who stroll by.

That man has a nice, tight beard. Women love beards. I grew one once, but it had no effect.

That guy's hair is slick and shiny. I don't think my hair's half-bad. But women apparently don't think anything of it.

That guy's got a cigarette hanging from his mouth. A lot of people consider smoking unattractive, yet they still find someone who doesn't mind their nasty habit or is a smoker themselves. Hell, I bet instead of candles, they light cigars when they have romantic sex.

Add that up and what does it all mean?

I'm ugly.

The ugliest man on this earth.

The ugliest man to have ever existed.

Plain and simple. What else could it mean?

Women will claim that personality trumps looks, but let's be real—no way in hell will a supermodel wanna hop on the dick of some obese guy whose face looks like a horse did the hokey-pokey on it.

That's why women always say no to me. They see how unbearably hideous I am and shoot down my advances. I don't blame them. Even I wouldn't wanna get with an ugly chick. Then again, do I even know what ugly is? Here I am, the ugliest person on the face of the planet, and I have the audacity to criticize others' physical appearances? Despicable. Disgusting. What a disgrace. I should be ashamed of myself. I am ashamed of myself.

But mostly, I'm just sad. Sad that I'm too ugly for any woman to tolerate holding my hand without the urge to dunk it in lava, or kiss her lips without her skull corroding from the contamination of my saliva.

I think I'm reasonably attractive whenever I look in the mirror, but I also read that people overestimate their attractiveness. In my case, I've overestimated my attractiveness a lot.

All I've ever wanted in life is a girlfriend, but looks like I'm destined to a life of perpetual singularity. The proper word is singleness, but singularity sounds cool. Much cooler.

Oh, who am I kidding? I'm much too ugly to be cool. I should just roll over and accept that, for the rest of my life, I'll never be anything to anyone.

Too ugly to get a girlfriend.

Too ugly to be cool.

“Siiiiiiiiigghhhh...”

My life sucks.

Some gunshots come from down the block and around the corner. What is it this time? Drive-by? Robbery? Assassination?

A couple seconds later, a man comes blasting around the corner with a fat wad of money inside a sack. Robbery it is. Right on the money, you could say.

“Heh.”

Don't laugh. You're too ugly to be funny.

I'm a superhero, so I suppose I should do something about the guy. I stick my leg out as he runs by, and he trips over it.

“Gah! Hey, asshole! The fuck's your problem?! Get in my way, you get capped!” He points a gun at my head. Probably a pistol. Too mired in my own self-pity to care to look.

“Go ahead. Shoot me. I don't care anymore.”

“Grrrr!”

Is growling the thing you do before you shoot someone? Seems unnecessary to me. If he's going to shoot, he better do it and get it over with. There are police sirens blaring just down the street.

Too late, they're already here. And he's lifting me up.

What's going on? Isn't he on the run? Shouldn't he prioritize that over getting his revenge on me?

Oooohhh, I see what's going on now. He's holding me hostage. Got that gun to my temple and everything. Okay, robber. All right. You know how to play that bad guy role all the way.

“Nobody move! Or I shoot!” he hollers at the police when they arrive. I wish he wouldn't shout in my ear. That hurts.

He's got me as his human meat shield, but I wonder if he realizes that I'm no help unless he can make a getaway. Standing here on a public street, where more cops can pour in, isn't a good strategy. Taking me hostage was a good move, but it's just the first step. Only a matter of time until a squad car pulls up from behind and shoots him in the back.

Oh? He's shuffling backwards now. Seems he does understand that he's a sitting duck here. His next move isn't the smartest, though. He backs into the shop behind us and locks the door. What's that going to accomplish? Doesn't he know how these scenes play out? He locks himself in and it's only a matter of time until the SWAT team moves in or hostage negotiators persuade him to come out. Unless he's got the ability to phase through walls or turn invisible, he's backed himself into a corner.

Predictably, the robber turning this mom & pop shop into his fortress panics the customers and employees here, and he keeps them in line by having them line up, myself included. I comply.

*

Welp. Here we are. Nearing two hours in, and the standoff is still going strong. And I gotta say...

Being a hostage is boring. I could've watched an entire movie in the time I've been sitting here. At one point, I asked if we could turn on the tv.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“No!”

“Why not? It's boring sitting here.”

“I said shut up!” He pushed the barrel of his gun to my forehead.

I didn't get him. We were being good hostages. We just wanted a little entertainment to pass the time until this standoff ended.

A little later, one woman looked like she was about to piss herself. I don't know if that was from terror or if she just really needed to go.

“Mind if this lady heads to the bathroom?”

“No!”

“No, you don't mind?”

“Don't you know how to shut your mouth?!” Again, he silenced me with the business end of his gun. I was becoming well acquainted with this thing.

Of course, the answer to his question was no. Not ten minutes later, the woman really looked to be on the edge of bursting, so I stood up for her. Not literally. Didn't have the energy for that. Also didn't have the energy to get these people to safety. I won't let them die, mind you. If he launches a bullet at them, I'll pluck it out of the air. Better yet, I might just throw myself in front of it. Then the world will remember me for my sacrifice, and women everywhere will cry with regret. “What a selfless hero! Why didn't we give him the chance?!”

“Why don't you release these people and keep me? You only need one hostage.”

“Honest to god, don't you know the meaning of shut your fucking mouth?!?” This guy sure is fluent in gun-waving. “Say one more word and see what happens!”

Ah. So he's getting serious now. About to pull out that thorn that's been poking him in the side. Or blow it apart with his handgun, rather.

“If you're going to shoot me, then shoot me. I can't stop you.”

He doesn't shoot me, though. He gives me his meanest, nastiest scowl, and pounds me in the head with the butt of his gun.

Ow! That hurt like hell!

“I'm only gonna say this one more time—Shut. The Fuck. Up.”

Your face is too close. And you spit on me. Oh, god, I'm disgusted. Any hand sanitizer for sale here?

He's got all the power in this situation, yet he's not using it. I die, that's his primary agitation gone. Yet the most he's done is roughhouse me.

Ah. I see his angle. He doesn't want to kill. Rather, he realizes he shouldn't.

Almost this whole time he's been pacing back and forth anxiously and mumbling to himself. Sussing out an escape route. Though if there was one, he could've and would've taken it, so now he's contending with the mistake he's made, understanding that it's only a matter of time before he's taken into custody. He caps me, that's another charge on his record. That alone is probably enough to land him for life.

My appeal to let this woman use the restroom has failed, so it's fallen to me to take care of her. I could end this now, but at this point, if I did, people would be like, “Why didn't you take him out sooner?” Because I didn't feel like it, all right? I was hoping that guy would put me out of my misery, but he's proven himself too uncommitted. And I'm not in the mood to watch a woman sit in a puddle of her own piss, so I go Light Speed and carry her to the bathroom, where I sit her on the floor. She's a bit heavy, but I've been working out lately. No problemo.

I was careful to go Light Speed when she was in the middle of a blink so that the switch from the sales floor to the bathroom wasn't too jarring. Though if she sees me, her fellow hostage-in-arms, suddenly in front of her, she's gonna know there's something up with me and be like, “Why didn't you take him out sooner?” Because I already explained this, all right? Just be grateful I brought you in here, off the front lines.

“Huh? Wha—Huh?!”

Predictably, she freaks out at the change of scenery. My physical appearance is also something to behold.

Using my Light Bend, I switched up my face and my clothes, but I went the extra mile and gave myself angel wings. Deflecting and converting light that's not striking a solid object is trickier, but I think I manage to pull off a convincing pair of angel wings.

“I'm an angel. I couldn't bear to see you in pain, so, uh...The toilet's right there. Just stay in here, all right?” Not very angelic speech, but I couldn't care less. My duty's done, so I'm out of here.

“P-Please! Save us! Help the others!”

She's surprisingly vocal for someone who's meeting an “angel” for the first time in her life. I thought she'd clap her hands in prayer and offer her endless gratitude for as long as I'm standing here. I'm sure she'll do that when she's on the toilet.

As for her request...I'll think about it.

“Lower your eyelids.” There, that sounds more angelic, right?

She does as commanded, and I Light Speed out of there and back to my original position on the sales floor.

“Where'd that bitch go?”

Hey, now, that's a rude way to refer to a woman.

“She went to the bathroom.”

“Wha—” He's dumbfounded but doesn't bother checking, because doing so means abandoning us, meaning he'll lose his hostages and the only thing keeping the SWAT team from storming in here.

That woman requested I help everybody here, and I've thought about it, and I might as well. I can see the news cameras set up outside, so they're streaming live, and if Elsa sees this and sees me sitting here with my thumb up my ass, she'll chew my head off. She can't if Mr. Robber offs me, but he's not in the mood to do so, so I might as well bring an end to th—

“...”

What's that I see out there? That beautiful, radiant face in the crowd, eyes glistening wet with tears, hand covering her mouth in pure shock.

Is that...a beautiful woman...worried about me? Concerned for my life? Is she crying because she's scared of what'll happen to me? Even though I'm a hideous abomination 99% of women would rather attack with a fire extinguisher?

We make eye contact.

Oh yeah. I can definitely feel something going on there. The second I'm free from here, she'll run up to me, exclaim how worried she was, and embrace me in a passionate hug.

And that, children, is how I met your mother.

That gotta-go woman mistook me for an angel, and now some higher power has graced me with an angel of my own.

A moment ago, I was agnostic. Now, I'm a true believer—in love!

Okay. We've been at this long enough. Time to speed things up.

In Light Speed mode, I pluck the gun from the guy's hand, dump out all the ammo in the trash can, and give him his gun back. Then at normal speed, I egg him on.

“Obviously, you're not gonna do anything with us, so you might as well let us go.”

“What the fuck did I tell you about talking?!?”

Woah, our friend's roaring now. Is that desperation in his voice I hear? I think it is.

“You told me you'd shoot me if I talked, but you're all talk. I'll talk so long as my body is free of bullets.”

He presses the gun to my forehead and says in his most threatening voice yet, “Last chance.”

Oooo, I'm so scared. I might've wet myself if my bladder was overflowing like that woman's.

“Bet you won't do it, you chickenshit bitch.” I might not understand women at all, but I do understand men, and the one thing most guys hate more than anything else is being emasculated.

He lowers his gun and pulls the trigger with the barrel aimed at my stomach. I give him credit. He finally grew a pair. Not a convincingly large pair, but it's a pair. Might impregnate somebody.

Actually, don't. I'll lose my mind if I meet a woman who'll have sex with him sooner than one who'll have sex with me.

“...What?!”

What's the matter, chickenshit robber? Could've sworn that magazine was full to capacity? I'm so sorry. How'd that happen?

“It's empty!” I shout and jump at the guy. Deliver him a swift uppercut to the lower jaw. As a reminder, I've been working out, so that's gotta hurt.

We get into a scuffle. I throw punches and land, and he throws punches, and I cheat by dodging them in Light Speed mode. Not to such a drastic degree that I'm flickering all over the place. I just appear to be somebody with superhuman speed, because, bitch, I am!

The hostages break free, and the cops come pouring in once they're out.

“Back away! Put your hands where I can see them!” The first SWAT member in yells at me to get back, and then he and his buddies surround the robber.

He's all yours, coppers, for the taking.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a future wife to embrace.

Wow, this is so exciting. SO exciting! I haven't felt this thrilled since facing the Karraker. I feel like an action movie hero who saved the day and is stepping back into the normal world to accept the reward he's earned. And I will graciously accept my reward with open arms.

I'm here, honey! I'm not hurt! You don't have to cry anymore!

“..............................”

Where'd she go? She was here a minute ago. Wasn't she? I didn't hallucinate her in an unconscious bid to force myself to step up and do the right thing, did I?

“Goddammit...” I'm converting to atheism.

What's the point in saving the day if there isn't a pretty lady to congratulate you?