When you think of superheroes. What comes to mind?

A caped crusader? A masked vigilante? Do you know their names or just just by outfit and or ability? 

You see, most think of them more as a force of nature. The good in the good versus evil. 

It’s silly but over the years these people have become normalized. That doesn’t make them mundane by any means but like a celebrity in status and how everyone can be proud that the hero is from their town.  

The modern hero is very active, as the forces of evil, the villains, have become more numerous and televised. But lets look back on the origins of the hero.

We can understand why they keep their identity a secret. In the beginning it wasn’t because villains would kidnap their loved ones, or that they couldn’t live normal lives if they were discovered. 

No. 

It all started with a simple vigilante named Charles Trow. Trow was part of the neighborhood watch and stopped a bank heist while it was in motion. His act of bravery made him feel like he could do more for the community. And he only decided to hide his identity because he wanted it to be a symbol. The Watch, as Trow decided to call it, would patrol and keep others safe to help relieve some of the pressure put on the local police.

He did great things as the Watch but when he wasn’t patrolling people started noticing. So him and his buddies, Rudolph Cranz and Dale Eddison, took turns being the Watch and the community never felt safer.

It was this influence that started the country wide phenomenon of heroes. The unfortunate side effect was the villains that followed. A topic we’ll discuss at a later date, if time permits. 

As the rise of heroes came, they seemed to be located in more or less all of the major cities of America. Those that didn’t have their own heroes felt the difference in five to ten years. 

So if you are living in one of those cities, what were the options? What was there to do?

This question was answered by a secret government agency. One that raised their own heroes and employed them across the nation, much like the FBI, to combat the rise of criminals that the local police forces could not stop.

This is a story of one of these agents who don't usually have powers beyond human means, but instead are trained to infiltrate and destroy any villain's lair and or villainous scheme.

My first mission was reconnaissance. Infiltrate the lair which was a laboratory in the middle of a dark forest somewhere in Pennsylvania. Unusual state to find a villain in for some reason. 

I snuck in. Did some stuff. Almost died. Blew up a huge machine piloted by Dr. Dresform to prevent it destroying the small town nearby.

That was out of the ordinary. Agents work in teams, never as strong as a single hero but with enough teamwork and gadgets anything is possible.

The Agency’s doctor set down the clipboard, clearing his throat he began “You have super-cancer.”

About that “anything is possible” part? Doesn’t always mean the most positive outcome. 

I zoned out the rest of what the doctor said.

Blah Blah Blah, die soon, farewell party, funerals.

Anyways, I cashed in my sick days, my paid vacation, and then retired with the remaining time I had left dedicated to one last personal mission.

****

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Remember the Watch? The first modern vigilante hero that consisted of Charles Trow, Rudolph Cranz, and Dale Eddison? That group started back in the 1950s during the good ol’ cold war. Back when the United States was constantly fighting against the U.S.S.R. in the shadows of Europe and Asia. Turns out all those secret agents used overseas were also very useful on domestic soil. 

I was “recruited” around that time. I didn’t know about the Watch until after my first mission. I was a young delinquent who falsified her I.D. to make herself older for a job when I was caught, sent to jail and given the offer.

I did the job under much duress and the agency saw so much promise they gave me a new set of instructions. Not the arrangement of do the job and your slate is clean, but the much less beneficial of do it for your country or you’ll be behind bars the rest of your life as a communist spy. 

It sounds more harsh than it was. Mr. Blue, my handler, was even nice about the safe house I used and I got my own radio to catch up on the newest entertainment.

I did more jobs, reconnaissance mainly but sometimes I needed to break something important or steal valuable technology. One mission I ran into Dr. Jarrod Winter, one of the new real villains who specialized in cold technology. I successfully infiltrated and assisted in a team to take him down but was frozen in the process.

An unfortunate accident on the job, a casualty of the war on crime.

Seeing as I am still breathing, it wasn’t a lethal encounter.

For the rest of my team it was.

Turns out the first mission I was on I may have gotten a hold of something special, a strange glowing goop that I used as a means to hide gave me some sort of extra energy and now, I radiate a little more heat than other people. 

This boon saved me that day but it took some time to defrost me. By the time I was no longer a popsicle, it was nearly ten years later. Once the agency found out about this situation they developed a means to freeze their agents so they would be ready for the next mission without worries of them growing old or rusty.

That motion failed as prominent agents were barely able to recover from the process of being frozen and unfrosted like a frozen dinner and I was the only one they kept in cold storage.

Sounds terrible until the rights movement gave me better arrangements. I could see flashes of history every time I was sent out to deal with something. I met so many people and fought against the agents of evil.

I was even thawed out for the end of the Berlin wall and the subsequent reunification of Germany. The end of the U.S.S.R. and the cold war itself.

Now I find myself in a small town, nearly 60 years after I was recruited to the agency, sipping a warm caramel macchiato and people watching. 

I watched because I wanted to learn the mannerisms of the locals. Not only local to the city or street but local to the times.

Fashion changed and I was very surprised during the 90s when the 80s vanished and were replaced with grunge, punk, and attitude. I did appreciate the goth movement, very classic in my opinion. 

I once had to pretend to be meek while in public. No girl should be so blazen in attitude. Thank goodness that was gone. Not that it was very popular back then but nowadays a lot of rules are lacker. Whether it was from the people’s movement or that female heroes and villains could do a lot of damage if not appeased in a very simple way. 

Regardless, I sat on a bench facing a statue of Sunburn, the first solar hero, in the middle of Play Square in Citipolis. I never met him in person but saw his work. Large potential for nasty damage but done cleanly. Scorching rays and fires done with precision.

His outfit left little to the imagination but not tasteless. Maybe the modern times affect me more than I thought or I always had a taste for the adventurous sort. 

As I drained my sugary coffee, sitting on the bench, I felt the autumn air push dead leaves into the pedestrians as they slipped between the shops, boutiques, and cafes that lined the sidewalk. 

People move, they have places to be and things to do. People are always so busy and fussy.

People watching is not a hobby I thought I’d pick up but all their mundane worries were so foreign to me after I spent most of my life working as an agent for the undisclosed agency. They worried about clothes and fashion. If their favorite show was getting another season or the latest movie. 

For civilians, and I guess me, these were what people worried about. Grades, work, their loved ones. All things very important to them and while I fought to protect people…I really didn’t get time to be a part of them. I had family once. Not anymore and the last ones were better forgotten. The agency acted in some ways like a family but it still sent me into dangerous situations without my utmost cooperation. 

It was this conditioning that made me move from my perfectly boring bench and into the space between Laughing Coffee and Mountain Chic, where the alley cut to another street. 

I drew the jacket up as I braced against the wind. It was brisk and the alleyway, while not dark, was shadowed by the surrounding buildings. I didn’t need the jacket’s warmth but it felt natural in the motion, as I saw many other people do so when they braved the cold winds. 

I would’ve liked a scarf, they are long and warm and interesting. Something you could use to accent your clothes. I never had a scarf before because of their impracticality in stealth, movement, or combat.

But they looked cool and even some heroes wore had them as part of their outfits. But heroes have advantages that mundane folk don’t. That’s why they swoop in from above or announce their presence to their combatant with a witty line.

Me? I had a few tricks up my sleeve but as I approached the back of the mugger who threatened someone with a gun, I just used a discarded brick to end the confrontation.