Under the scorching sun, Remy trudged along the grey sand, ploughing relentlessly, fighting the elements. The wind periodically beat him harshly, yet he moved as if it didn't exist, reflecting on individuals of interest: his parents, Lyra, Jay, and of course, the ranked Superheroes.

Hours quickly blended into days and soon, he adopted a routine in the brutal landscape. During the mornings, he hunted for food, shooting down the mutated animals that resembled a mix of cows and sheep. Then at night, he let his body "rest." Though he couldn't lose consciousness, it was essential to let his body go through the necessary metabolic processes as a normal person would when they sleep.

Just like everyone said, the Deadzone was the only place on Earth that truly felt alien. The ecosystem was nonsensical. No crops or grass existed yet farm-like animals skulked about alone, feeding on... God knows what. On the sixth day of his solo venture, he spotted a little girl in the far distance. Tears flowed down her face. Remy sceptically raised an eyebrow.

His initial thoughts were ones of caution. Was this a trap of some kind? There was no way a child could be alone in the Deadzone. But then again, it was also true that there were a few unfortunate groups of humans that had been born and raised in the Deadzone. There was no way to know for sure unless he investigated.

Remy closed in a few kilometres before yelling out.

"Hey, kid! What are you doing here?"

There was no response.

He closed the gap further, and the kid's crying intensified– sharp, heartbreaking sobs.

Remy grimaced. He had heard such piercing sounds a few times in his life, and every time they made him feel nothing short of uncomfortable. The sobs reminded him of his parents mourning the loss of Amelia late into the night. They reminded him of what happened when, on a rare occasion, a villainous threat had prevailed, even if just for a few precious moments. After all, that's all it took.

To create complete despair and torment, all it took was a group of civilians trapped with one heinous individual. With one Mantis Monster. In such scenarios, the broadcasts would cut off before anyone could witness the nightmare... but in some dark corners of the internet, one could see the hidden yet obvious truth that superheroes didn’t always win.

The kid was human. Remy made sure of it, analysing her facial features and body frame: blue eyes, and blond hair. Heavily malnourished, skeleton almost visible. He got closer. His tall frame towered over the kid, though she didn't look up, horror-filled eyes still transfixed on the sand.

"Hey," Remy said. "What’s wrong?"

The sobs shifted to quieter whimpers, and she hugged herself tight, turning away.

"I... I..."

"Breathe first," Remy continued. "Don't worry. I can help you."

He raised an arm forward just as the kid sprung up, revealing a glinting dagger. It dragged across Remy’s cheek, and crimson splattered onto the sand. She continued the assault, relentlessly slashing and swiping with the knife, but Remy’s training took over, allowing him to evade each attack with graceful head movements. He stepped forward before jabbing her in the shoulder. The kid yelped, dropped the knife, and staggered back.

But suddenly, he was surrounded. Individuals clothed in grey erupted from the sand. His fists clenched, but seconds later they loosened, and his vision blurred.

No. What's happening?

Instantly, he knew the answer to his question: the knife had been laced with some kind of poison. He fell to his knees abruptly and couldn’t move a muscle, as the mysterious individuals quickly stripped his personal belongings which included his pistol, backpack filled with supplies and, unfortunately, his beloved–

Not the gauntlets! Remy screamed in his thoughts, unable to speak out loud. Anything but the gauntlets!

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He watched helplessly, mouth agape, while his glorious babies were carried away. To the inexperienced eye, the gauntlets simply looked like warm gloves one could wear on a cold winter's day, but little did the robbers know they were holding a technological marvel. And not just any technological marvel-- a goddamn expensive one. Remy had forced the pricing of the gauntlets into his subconscious to retain his sanity, but the horrendous truth was that Lyra had charged him like he was a king of multiple nations. To put things into perspective, just one of the gauntlets was four times the price of the Staress V20.

The thieves scurried away, leaving him alone in the wasteland. But only for a few moments. An aggressive howl of an engine pierced the air, and the pungent smell of gasoline wafted under Remy’s nose. He was not used to the odour. Vehicles that ran on gasoline or diesel were illegal and considered obsolete by most governments due to the better alternatives and nearly non-existent fossil fuel supply.

The rectangular hunk of dirty metal rolled up beside him, its fat wheels dangerously close to crushing his hand. Graffiti in strange symbols tainted the car's body, and protruding from the back were four long spikes, reminding Remy of the back of a porcupine. Hurried voices flew about in the air. They spoke English, yet the accent was unknown to him.

"We got a big one! Retrieve it quick!"

Someone began to drag his legs, before cursing loudly.

"Bastard’s fat as fuck…”

"I said hurry up, you black-eyed son of a shit-festered whore! We ain't got all day!”

“Then how about you help me carry the whale!”

Whale? Rude. If Remy wasn’t completely paralysed, he would have roasted their skeleton frames. They were mistaking fat for muscle– or maybe fat with height since his weight had plummeted tremendously over the past two weeks.

THUD!

The two kidnappers unceremoniously hurled him into the back of the vehicle slash contraption like a bag of groceries, and seconds later they zoomed across the grey sand. For no meaningful reason, the car performed doughnuts and zigzagged every few minutes while the two cloaked individuals began to discuss Remy's demise, rather jubilantly.

"He's Grade A-- no doubt about it. Muscles are nice and thick. Strong. Sturdy frame. I'm one hundred per cent sure he's an otherworlder. We could sell him for at least 250. I bet all his organs are intact. I can smell it."

"Fuuuuk no!" another voice retorted. "Why are you always trying to sell shit? Those bandits were close to blowing our heads off last time or have you forgotten already? Let's keep him ourselves. I haven't eaten a dark-skinned otherworlder in a minute. Now and then we've gotta treat the crew."

"Well... you make a convincing argument. I'm craving livers."

Remy accepted the words surprisingly well, but that was probably because he was still heavily paralysed, and the foreign chemicals flooding his bloodstream were most certainly disrupting his hormonal system. Without much choice in the matter, he listened to the kidnappers discuss their cannibalistic cravings until the car halted on a street littered with bones.

"In fact, how about we split things up? Let's keep his bones and then--"

The voice cut off as the car door slammed shut. Remy closed his eyes, forced to do nothing for exactly fifteen minutes before the door opened and many hands dragged him out of the vehicle. Gasps of awe surrounded him along with collective shouts of, “Good find!”

The fact they didn't bother tying him up confirmed Remy's suspicions-- they assumed he was unconscious from the effects of the poison-laced knife.

But of course, he couldn’t fall unconscious.

Every time Amelia had reminded him of the benefits of Eternal Insomnia, he had rolled his eyes. She’d listed scenarios similar to the ones he was in now, and he had looked at her like she was nuts. But it was actually happening. Like an adult somehow needing to use quadratic equations, it was actually happening.

Hours passed as his body was left on the ground near a burning campfire. Conversations mingled in the air, and a rhythmic beat drummed.

Though Remy's eyes were closed, he had heard six distinct voices and determined two certain facts. Number one: He had been kidnapped by a gang. Number two: They had settled on eating most of him-- apparently, his "kind" tasted the best.

As the sun’s warmth dissipated, one of the gang members finally tugged at his leg. “Help me drag the meat!"

Two people dragged him towards the campfire and took off his shoes. The paralysis had worn off, but Remy stayed limp and lifeless, executing the one skill he considered himself a master of-- patience.

The gang bickered more. Then the sharp clang of metal rang in the air.

“Time to cook,” someone said cheerfully.

"Is he dead?" replied someone else.

"No. But he's about to be. Get out of the way."

Remy's eyes shot open, and his right arm whipped out just as an axe swung in the air. He caught the weapon, snatched it from the butcher's grip, and swung horizontally, cleanly decapitating them. Their head rolled.

Everyone recoiled, and Remy used their moment of shock to casually reclaim his shoes nearby and slip them on.

"Can I have my fucking gauntlets back?" he asked.