Duality
One Shot
Author's notes: Seeing as I've not been posting for almost a year, I thought I'd come back to where it all started. This was written a very long time ago, but I thought I would post it when I had ideas for other fics in this section as well. Those ideas still have a big 'In Development' stamp on it, so it may be some time before I post another story here.
Tired, trembling hands pushed open the door leading to the home of one of Metroville's most prolific person… except, the home was owned by one of Metroville's most ordinary citizen.
The man stumbled through the doorway, knees quaking from fatigue. He glanced at the wall clock on the mantelpiece; staring back at him were pictures of an unfamiliar man, like a person from his distant memory, long forgotten. The hands on the clock ticked innocuously past the four o'clock mark. Make that four in the morning.
Fifty-six hours. That's how long he's been away from home. That's what? Three days?
Two days and eight hours, a voice spoke out of the darkness. Feels like forever, doesn't it?
"Who's there?" The Super called out, forcing his body upright. The voice sounded like it came from miles away, yet still it felt like it was right beside him.
He remembered the voice… he used it in his other life… his secret life.
Most Supers would refer to it as their secret identity, but which one was really the secret: their normal or Super life? Under the mask, they tried not to associate themselves with anything mundane. Their identity has to be kept secret. Yet, once the mask is off, they did everything to avoid being linked back to it.
It's no wonder that Supers were more likely to become schizophrenic once they were in it full-time. There's always someone talking about your 'other' self. Some Supers like to discuss it with others, as though their 'other' self was a distant relative who came over to visit last Sunday.
Almost instantly he slumped towards the couch, reaching out with his hand in the last second to stay on his feet. He can't sleep now; not when he had to work tomorrow. His excuses were running thin; he wasn't sure which relative's wedding or funeral he had already attended, or what operation he had undergone last time.
Barely able to walk straight, he staggered towards the bathroom. He has to bathe now, or else he'll have to turn up at work as a skunk. He turned on the tap, as steaming hot water gushed into the tub with loud, turbulent crashes. Positioning himself in front of the mirror so that he could support himself on the sink with one hand, his shaky fingers peeled off the mask from his weary face.
This was the momentary transition between a Super and an ordinary person. There was supposed to be some rites of passage; once the mask was off, he ceased to be Super. The mask uncovered more than his identity; eye bags that weren't evident under the mask were now protruding out. Blood-red capillaries were now visible in the whites of his eyes, crawling like worms all over. He tried to force a smile, but his facial muscles refused to respond. Instead his face ended up looking much drearier than before, the growing stubble on his chin itching…
He didn't know who he is anymore.
He pulled off his left glove gingerly, and winced as flakes of congealed blood scattered all over his sink. Some of it was from the villains, some from the victims. None were from him. Like all other Supers, he has to uphold the legend that Superheroes can't bleed. The suit had something to do with it, of course.
The other glove came off, and soon he was staring at his empty hands. It was surprising how different they looked without the suit. He flexed his fingers a couple of times, relishing the feeling without the restraints of gloves. His palms were wrinkled with faint creases, but underneath those gloves, all that anyone ever saw were smooth rubber.
Finally, the Super-suit went off. The suit was stiff as cardboard, due to evaporated sweat that clung onto his skin. Even Edna's suit had its limits… hopefully the washing machine was able to handle it. It hadn't failed before, as certified by Edna when she sent it over to his house.
Only when he entered the tub did the aches start to act up. His body was almost numb to it when he was out there saving lives, but it always came back to haunt him. Someday someone will break him, be it an over-zealous thug or villain. He knew it was inevitable; retirement didn't suit Supers well. There will always be this lingering feeling that you cannot rest until 'one more person' had been saved. He had seen too many predecessors fall because of that 'one more person'. Old and frail, still trying to play the hero way past their prime… He's seen too much of it.
Too much of it to be bothered… but he knew he'll be walking down the same path as them anyway.
He'd only be able to sleep for three hours, but it was better than nothing compared to what he's been getting for the past two days. The dozens upon dozens of crime, each strung behind each other like beads on a necklace, till it appears to be an infinite loop.
Civilians just expect Supers to continue on with it. He can't say, "No, I have to work tomorrow." When someone cries for help, you respond, no matter how tired you are. It didn't matter that he was stumbling around like a drunkard when he took on those last thugs, nor did it matter that it took him fifteen minutes before he realised he had ended back in his own neighbourhood. If that thought never crossed his mind, he'd still be out there…
Thinking about it struck another chord of fear in his heart. What if the next night was just like this one? Nobody knows what it's like to be out all day fighting crime, not knowing when the next rest stop will be. With Metroville there never seems to be a rest stop.
He needed a break from Super work.
As he drifted off to sleep, he recalled some Supers talking about how being a Superhero is a form of escape from their hectic work life.
Maybe he should go to work tomorrow to take a break from all the hero work.