Night Lights
In my dreams, you always play the hero.
In my darkest night, you rescue me, you save my life.
- Anonymous
Chapter 1: Cyanide and Simple Minds
Pitter-pat. Pitter-pat. Pitter-pat. Pitter-pat.
The sound of footsteps, running, alone in the world, terrified, worried, please-save-me-my-hero-please-bring-the-villain-to-justice, scared.
Those were familiar sounds. I'd heard them every night. Of course, it's not like I don't HAVE to. When I was a child, this was just…a game, I guess. Some sort of fucked-up game we played, and somehow successfully pulled it off in real life just as well. Getting older, I realized something important.
The people in South Park, most notably, anyone with any authority, are fucking stupid.
And so, I had to go back, plunge back knee-deep inside my childhood, and pull out my old costume, and touch it up a bit. No one could really blame me, hell, everyone on some level was astounded. Mysterion. The grade-A class superhero. By day, Kenny McCormick, who lives alone, stays alone, and likes his privacy. By night, Mysterion, the mysterious icon of South Park and the mysterious man who saved those in need.
Of course, to demonstrate their stupidity, they turned Mysterion into a corporate icon. Someone, god-knows-who, someone in Denver, I guess, trademarked the name, even, and turned it into a comic book, complete with cartoon tie-ins and all that good shit. Whoop-dee-doo, I got sold out like a corporate whore.
When the rest of the group found out about me taking up the mantle again, it led to a few jokes.
"Maybe I should be Toolshed again." Stan, now the (in?)famous quarterback of the school football team, the South Park Stinging Bees, grinned. "Steal a few tools from my old man's workshop….he'd probably not even notice." It was a well-known fact that now, Randy Marsh, in his old age, had gotten a slight habit of not noticing certain things unless they were pointed out to him – to which he'd always respond 'I know! I'm not old! Jesus Christ, don't prepare my will yet!' That had become a running joke.
"Human Kite, at your service." Kyle opened his arms like a child imitating a plane. "I can fly and get stuck on trees! Most useful superhero ever." He rolled his eyes, slurping up his soup.
Cartman, notably, had shut up when this subject was brought up. I, of course, took the opportunity to poke this – because I don't imagine anyone wouldn't.
"Oi, oi, lest we forget The Coon?"
That earned me a bitter laugh and Cartman laying his head on the table, closing his eyes.
"Like hell I'd revive The Coon. He was a one-trick raccoon, so to speak."
"Oh, come on, you loved playing superheroes."
"Past tense. Loved. Not anymore. I believe The Coon falls into the category of 'old shame'." I should explain that Cartman had gotten his intelligence up a bit for the sheer sake that he didn't want to 'appear like a total retard and have to sit at the table with Jimmy and Timmy' when we got into high school. He had somewhat succeeded. At least, the term 'fatass' hadn't applied to him for a while. Rumors went around about liposuction, but these were neither confirmed nor denied.
"Anyway, Kenny, you entirely sure that Mysterion's the thing you should bring out again? We all remember Coon and Friends, but I don't see Mintberry Crunch running around protecting the city."
To be fair, Mintberry Crunch went back to his home planet, and died on a rocket ride there. Since then, the disrespectful term for it is 'getting Poochied'.
"Exactly. Do you really think that our law enforcement agencies, as it is, seem to be doing any sort of a decent job?"
"When have they ever?"
"When WE were the order that protected this town."
"Look, Kenny…I know you want to be the hero, especially after what happened a year ago, but…" Stan spoke up. "It might not be for the best, I mean, do you want to get yourself killed out there?"
"If it's in the name of protecting the people I love. Besides, I die every damn day."
"You can't be serious." Cartman picked his head up, staring dryly at me. "You can't be."
"I am."
"Jesus Christ. Well, whatever stuff you have, can I call dibs on it?"
"No."
"Damn." Cartman seemed to lose interest, and then scooped a bit of soup into his mouth and swallowed. "Well, you do what you want. Just don't think that The Coon will be out there to clean up your shit if you make any."
"When did you ever? You made the mess, and I had to clean it up."
Cartman smirked.
"Don't sweat the details, Mr. Protector."
And so, here I was, gazing down from the top of a building, glaring down at the streets below with a scowl on my face and an ever-present hand rolled into a fist, ready to strike.
She was alone. No, she wasn't alone; there were two others with her. One of them was a woman, and the other….I couldn't tell. It was too dark. I stared at the group, and watched them, my eyes darting back and forth from the two who as far as I could tell, were a couple, and the young girl.
The woman was speaking. I couldn't hear her. I couldn't hear anything. The man – I could tell, the figure was male, although he wore a…was that a gimp mask? He held a blade to the young girl's throat. The woman was still talking away, and then pressed into the man, causing him to stumble a bit, cutting the girl a bit. She yelped. The woman laughed in a seductive way, and then grabbed the man's hand, running the blade down her arm and making an even bigger cut. The little girl stared, blinking, twitching, tears in her eyes. She was horrified. She was scared.
She was…
"You motherfuckers!"
I kicked the man into the brick wall that he pressed the girl into. The girl had sunk to the floor and was pressing her hands above her head, terrified. The woman faltered for a moment, and then stared into my eyes with the most pathetic look, like I had kicked a dog or something to the like. She began almost to cry, and I pushed the man into her arms.
"You damn well be glad that you didn't do what I expected you to. I'll fucking kill both of you if you try ANYTHING like this again! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?" I pressed both of them into the wall, and took the blade roughly out of the gimp's hands, pressing it against the woman's neck. She moaned, nodding slowly. I tossed the blade onto the ground, and kicked it away. The little girl stared at it as it slid down the alleyway, as if she was stunned. "You make me sick." I pushed the two criminals away, and spat on them as they dashed for their lives.
The little girl stared up at me, as if to question who I was, or where I came from.
"Where did they take you from?"
No answer.
"What's your name?"
Once again, no answer. She stared at me, blankly.
"…Do you have a family?"
She stared at me, and then looked down, almost afraid to speak at all.
"…Look, do you want to go to the police and find your parents?"
She shook her head slowly.
"Then what do you want to do?"
The girl blinked, and then slowly, with trembling steps – I noticed that her legs were fairly cut up already – hugged me gently.
"…You want to stay with me?"
I could feel her nodding.
"I can't, I'm a superhero, Mysterion, there's danger, and…"
A small snore. I sighed.
"Guess I'm stuck with you, at least for a while."
With that, I picked the small girl up and dashed away, quickly, into the night, as I'd appeared only a bit before.