Cord

“Do you have any openings at the other offices or maybe a remote position available?” I asked over the phone desperately.

I walked down the street, pushing my way through the busy lunch crowd. The subway stop was up ahead. It was one of the few that was still running and worked from end to end and, as such, was becoming even more popular. The New York explosion had ruined some of the underground lines. Luckily, no trains were caught in the middle of the blast, but it was a close call.

“I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t have any of those positions available currently. Please consider checking back on our website for new openings when they become available.”

“I’m not sure you understand. I fit the qualifications for your accountant position. I have the experience and have worked in the field before. What I am asking is. Can the position be moved online or largely online? You might be able to understand this because most companies have moved call centers to work from home, but I want to be able to work from home as well. It isn’t safe to live in New York anymore. So. I am once again asking, can the position be moved online or largely online?”

“I can’t make any decisions about how specific departments are run. Right now, the available areas are looking for workers who can be available in person. You may need to wait for other positions to become available otherwise.”

“Whatever.” I hung up on the person. “What a waste of time.”

I entered the subway and swiped my card. People were packed in, waiting for the next train. At least fewer people were visiting for vacation who hadn’t already scheduled something. Times Square was now more somber but filled with people. It was like they had an obligation to go see the place and take pictures even though part of the city twenty or so minutes away was a crater.

I tried not to linger on it even though it was in everyone’s faces at this point. It was probably because I tried not to think that I almost died. Three in the afternoon was a strange time for anything and when the explosion happened, I was only two blocks away. The building shook with the shockwave. I don’t think anyone died in the shockwave, but the glass did break into the building and caused some scrapes and minor injuries. Work let out early of course. We didn’t go back for the rest of the week. They had to inspect the building. As soon as it was declared defunct half of the staff including myself was let go. They decided it was best to have a smaller workforce work from home while they rebuilt their skyscraper.

I shuffled into my train home and found a spot to stand. Everyone was focused on themself. I too pulled out my phone and put on headphones to drown out distractions and pretend like everything was okay.

The stops ticked by. People flooded in and out. Eventually, I reached my stop. I walked past the graffitied walls. The artist must have worshiped superheroes. It was a well-done portrait of Blitz, one of New York’s original heroes. He died young a few years ago. The event was controversial during a time when heroes were less well-liked. I guess to some they still really aren’t liked.

As I walked down the street towards my apartment, I noticed a large crowd of protesters gathered on the sidewalk. They were holding up signs and chanting slogans, their voices filled with anger and frustration.

The protesters were vehemently opposed to the presence of superhumans and the current Hero system in place. Their signs bore messages like "Superhumans Out!" and "No More Heroes, No More Destruction!" It was clear that they blamed the superhumans for the recent devastation in New York City, including the massive explosion that had left a crater in the heart of the city.

Some of the protesters were handing out flyers, which detailed their grievances against the superhumans. They claimed that the unchecked power of these beings had led to countless instances of collateral damage, with innocent civilians caught in the crossfire during battles between heroes and villains. The flyers also accused the Hero system of being corrupt and ineffective, failing to properly regulate and control the actions of the superhumans.

As I observed the protesters, I noticed that the crowd was divided. While some were passionately chanting and waving their signs, others seemed more hesitant, their expressions a mix of fear and uncertainty. It was evident that the recent events had shaken the city's residents, leaving them feeling vulnerable and distrustful of the very beings who were supposed to protect them.

One particularly vocal protester, a middle-aged man with a gruff voice, shouted through a megaphone, "They claim to be heroes, but they're nothing but a menace! They've destroyed our city, our homes, and our lives! We won't stand for it any longer!"

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His words resonated with some in the crowd, who cheered and raised their fists in solidarity. However, others remained silent, their faces etched with concern and doubt.

As I continued to walk past the protesters, I couldn't help but feel a pang of agreement with some of their sentiments. The recent explosion had been a stark reminder of the destructive potential of superhumans. The fear and uncertainty that had gripped the city were palpable, and I understood why so many people were calling for change.

I had always admired heroes like Blitz, who had sacrificed so much to protect the city. But the reality was that their battles often left a trail of destruction in their wake. Buildings reduced to rubble, lives disrupted, and a constant sense of danger loomed over the city. It was hard to ignore the fact that, despite their best intentions, the presence of superhumans had brought as much chaos as it had of order.

Despite my mixed feelings, I knew that standing around and listening to the protesters wouldn't change anything. I had my own problems to deal with, and finding a new job was at the top of that list. The heroes had too much power and nothing would be done without being one of the few in power. Despite some changes due to a new dynamic with superhumans, the world had stayed largely the same. Governments had taken in those powers and now used them as they saw fit. With a sigh, I turned away from the crowd and continued my walk home.

The side of a wall was covered with more graffiti. This part of the neighborhood seemed to be falling apart. More of the wall was amateur art than the red brick behind it. On one part of the wall was art that echoed the protester's ideas. It was a simple stenciled image that represented a strong message: ‘Heroes Equal Death’.

The streets were quieter as I moved further away from the protest. The familiar sights of my neighborhood brought a small sense of comfort. The corner store where I bought my groceries, the park where I sometimes went for a run, and the old brownstone buildings that lined the street—all of it felt like a small refuge from the chaos of the city.

I turned into the corner store to pick up a few things.

“Slow day today, Cord,” asked Mark the regular employee who ran the hole-in-the-wall store. “How was yours?”

I sighed as I grabbed a basket and started down the first aisle. "Not great, Mark. I just got off the phone with another company. No remote positions are available, and they want everyone in the office. It's like they don't understand how dangerous it is out there."

Mark nodded sympathetically. "Yeah, it's tough. A lot of places are still trying to figure out how to balance safety with getting back to normal. But hey, at least you're safe, right?"

I shrugged, picking up a loaf of bread and checking the price. "Safe, sure. But look at this—bread's gone up another dollar since last week. It's getting ridiculous. Next week it will be up another."

Mark leaned against the counter, his expression serious. "I know, man. Prices are skyrocketing everywhere. It's not just bread. Milk, eggs, even canned goods. Everything's more expensive. I can’t do no employee discount either."

I moved to the next aisle, grabbing a carton of milk and a few other essentials. "Why is it so bad? I mean, I get that things are tough, but this is insane."

Mark sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's a combination of things. Shipments into the city have slowed down a lot. The explosion messed up some of the main supply routes, and with the increased security, everything's taking longer to get here. Plus, food production around the country has stalled. Farms are struggling with labor shortages, and some areas are still dealing with the aftermath of whatever superhuman bullshit is big for the week.”

I frowned, placing a few more items in my basket. "What about international food? Can't we import more to make up for the shortfall?"

Mark shook his head. "It's not that simple. Other countries are dealing with their issues. They can't just ramp up production to feed our entire population overnight. Or something like that. It is a mess.”

I sighed, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on me. "It's just frustrating. Every time I think things might be getting better, something else goes wrong."

Mark gave me a sympathetic look. "I hear you. It's tough for everyone right now. But we'll get through it. We always do."

I nodded, trying to muster some optimism. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Just got to keep pushing forward."

As I made my way to the checkout, I couldn't help but think about the protesters I'd seen earlier. Their anger and frustration mirrored my own, and I wondered how many others in the city felt the same way. The heroes were supposed to protect us, but it seemed like their presence was causing more harm than good.

Mark rang up my items, and I handed over my card. "Thanks, Mark. I'll see you around."

He smiled, handing me my bag. "Take care, Cord. Hang in there."

When I finally reached my apartment building, I felt a wave of relief. The building was old and a bit run-down, but it was home. I climbed the creaky stairs to my floor and unlocked the door to my apartment. The familiar scent of my space greeted me as I stepped inside.

I tossed my bag onto the couch and headed to the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee. As the coffee brewed, I couldn't help but think about the protesters and their message. The fear and anger in their voices echoed in my mind. I wondered if things would ever change. If there ever would be a way to balance the power of superhumans with the safety and well-being of ordinary people.

With my coffee in hand, I sat down at the small table by the window. The view wasn't much—just the brick wall of the building next door—but it was a place where I could gather my thoughts. I just held disappointment with what the world was turning into.