It could be difficult to find a place to have fun when you were a monster. This was due to humans not wanting to be worried about being eaten while bowling. Despite that, Pins and Consoles Arcade did in fact support full cross-species customers. Their rating had gone down a star when they announced the decision, and then rocketed up as monsters started flooding in.

At any rate, Bain was playing a two-player arcade game, a fighter called Flip Kickers. It was about as generic as they came, but it would have been fun to play, except...

"You're cheating."

His opponent, a perfectly ordinary human of sixteen, poked his fluffy brown-haired head around the cabinet and grinned. "I'm not cheating until you can prove that I'm cheating."

Bain glared at him, a withering expression that made babies cry and adults pass out. The human remained thoroughly unwithered, and the monster gave up. "Please. My reflexes have been honed against rats bigger than you, so I should be able to crush you when it comes to this."

The human shrugged, his grin growing wider. "Then how come I beat you every time?"

"Because you're cheating."

He leaned on the arcade cabinet, still smiling hugely. George scratched at a stray itch on his pale skin, green eyes flicking back to the cabinet screen as his long fingers returned to the controls. Bain recalled the day he'd met him a year ago, his first time going into the arcade. He'd seen George playing the same game and had casually said, "That looks easy." The teenager had simply raised an eyebrow and offered to play against him. He hadn't done any better then.

Despite his horrific losing streak (it was in the hundreds), Bain enjoyed spending time with George. He was one of, if not the only, humans that didn't even flinch when he showed up. Aside from that, he was funny and confident around people, two things that Bain didn't quite have down. 

"Okay, let's take a break from the beatdown and get some pizza. You down?" Bain snapped out of his thoughts and nodded awkwardly. He hadn't actually heard what George had said and wasn't quite certain he could work up the confidence to ask him what it was.

Somehow, he picked up on Bain's uncertainty and snorted loudly. "Let me guess - you didn't hear a word of that?" Bain considered not telling the truth but nodded. George chuckled and repeated his question.

Bain shrugged. "Sorry, I already had breakfast today."

George replied, "Okay, suit yourself."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

A man entered the arcade. He was dressed far too formally for anyone going to an arcade, wearing a perfectly fitted pinstriped black and green suit. His olive-colored tie was flawlessly inserted into the suit, and his black shoes clicked on the floor, sticky from candy and who knew what else. His vivid green eyes narrowed as he observed the arcade, bringing a gloved hand past his sharp cheekbones to carefully fix his already immaculate hair.

He seemed extraordinarily comfortable in what likely would have been an uncomfortable situation for anyone else, as he wielded nothing except a letter. How he'd found the person he'd been looking for was a mystery to anyone who thought about it, as his target lived in a place that just about everyone avoided. It didn't even have an address.

His eyes narrowed as he found who he was looking for, though he would have honestly been hard, if not impossible, to miss under any circumstances. Without any further preamble, he set off at a rapid pace towards the individual.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

Bain was startled by an immaculate glove tapping his shoulder and would have taken the offender's arm off if not for his phenomenal self-control, built up by long hours of practice against any accidental maimings. Even George looked a little startled by the man's appearance, and quietly set his pizza down. 

Turning, Bain stood to his full height, hoping it would scare the man away. It wasn't the first time someone had asked him to leave the premises, though it was the first time he'd seen them dressed so nicely. It almost made him want to try clothes, for no other reason than to look as good as this man. 

He extended his other hand, a letter firmly grasped in it. "Are you Bain?" 

Bain blinked. This hadn't happened previously. Shotguns, yes. Letters? Not really.

The man's eyes narrowed and he asked again, slowly, "Are you or are you not Bain?"

He shook his head before answering, albeit with some trepidation. "Yeah, that's me." 

He sighed. "If you're going to shake your head and then agree, at least do it with sarcasm. But I digress." Bain took the letter as the man spoke, easily slitting it open with a massive, razor-sharp claw. "My name is Benedict Dawes. I'm a representative of the more..." he waved a hand disinterestedly. "...disreputable heroes of Centropolis. One of them has been made aware of your repeated attempts at hero registration and had expressed his current desire to accept you in a temporary internship of sorts, so as to better educate you as to the true purpose of heroism."

Bain's mouth opened slightly, displaying his maw of teeth. "Uhhh..." 

Benedict sighed. "One of the heroes at the Tower wants to 'take you on', if you will, as a sidekick. The details are contained in the letter. Are you interested or not?"

Despite his split-second reaction times and powerful mind, it took Bain a full four seconds to process the information. "I'm going to be a hero?"

Benedict waved a hand in a so-so gesture. "Temporarily, yes. A sort of probationary sidekick, assisting a hero in whatever he endeavors he decides to allow you to participate in. It would be unlikely that you maintain the job, given your overall appearance, but for the lack of a better term, yes. You are going to be a hero."

Bain grabbed Benedict's hand with all four of his and shook it wildly, upsetting the balance of his glasses somewhat. "Thank you so much! I can't - I've been waiting for this for years!"

Withdrawing his hand from Bain's formidable grip, Benedict straightened his glasses, fixing him with a frosty glare. "Don't thank me. I personally think you won't last two weeks as a hero, especially not with all the popularity issues and Rep boosting going on behind the scenes. In fact, while not a betting man, I've got money on it. Your chances of survival are minimal in the world of heroism. I simply happen to be the messenger giving you the news."

The overwhelming disapproval radiating from him failed to bring down Bain's mood, and he turned to George, practically hyperventilating. "Can you believe it? I'm finally going to be a hero!"

George hadn't stopped grinning for the past thirty seconds, and it was starting to look painful. "I know! You're going to do great!" 

As Benedict left, taking the faint smell of expensive cologne with him, Bain flicked the letter open and started reading.

To who it may concern; namely, the monster Bain.

  The only reason I'm giving you a shot at this is because of the sheer number of applications you've put in. In fact, you've not only broken the record for hero requests, but you've left it in the dust. Regardless of the fact that you're an eight-foot killing machine (from what the reports tell me, at least) you want to be a hero and you haven't given up at any point in the past six years. Good grief, what do you do with your time?

  Anyway, this is going to be a probationary period where you get to do hero stuff with me. I show you the ropes and teach you a couple lesser-known things about being a less-than-popular hero, and you do exactly what I tell you to do in return. There won't be any bending of the rules in that regard, by the way. It's my way or you're out.

  To put it bluntly, we need good people. And the way I see it, anyone who takes the first of every month to head to a building full of people that hate his guts to apply for the most dangerous job in the country is probably a good person. Let's call it a calculated risk. 

  I know Benedict is going to give you a hard time with your odds, but I think you can make it. You're not the only monster to try and be a hero, though you will undoubtedly be the first non-humanoid. I can't even tell you how many chicks with horns try to become a hero and gain fans. I also can't tell you, for legal reasons, just how friggin' many of those same chicks end up getting fandoms the size of Texas, or at least the bit where Texas used to be. 

  Anyway, I'm getting off track. I'll be on the forty-ninth floor of the Tower, and you'd better be darn well sure you're not late. Be there at nine o'clock tomorrow.

                    Stitches

P.S. I know you're probably going to be excited, but if you get there early and wake me up I swear there won't be anything left of you to train the crap out of.