OVERREALMED

Part 1

Prologue

The wind flew past my ears, filling them with a high-pitched whistle. I felt the familiar strain that came with flying at those speeds; the Herofix in my blood was pumping uncomfortably fast. Emergency response from the Abnormals was always a stretch, just due to the fact that there were so few of us and so much sudden crime— Hourglass was working on a solution, but until then, getting the team anywhere took more time than I'd like. And this was coming from the guy who could fly. I couldn't imagine how somebody grounded like Commando S.A.M. felt.

I'd been pushing myself for about half an hour. The usual headache from concentration began, but I ignored it. I'd arrived. That didn't matter anymore.

"There" being the Tartarus National Bank, where there'd been a hostage situation taking place for the last 45 minutes, which the police, and by extension the Abnormals, became aware of a little while after that when a teller managed to activate a silent alarm. The downtown, where the bank was, was famed for being the center for success and wealth in the Supernation. It was completely gated, and around it were massive slums, full of the lower class, desperately trying to get close to the strong economy inside. I guess somebody decided to take a more direct route to the wealth within.

I flew over the gates, the guards recognizing me and keeping their guns holstered. I'd never liked the way the city was set up, but I understood that there's a lot more to the situation than I'm giving it credit for. Superpowers have made policing more complicated, and the city's freelancers seemed mostly on the self-interested-vigilante side. Still, though. I gave my head a shake for getting distracted and refocused on the mission.

I spotted the bank easily thanks of the line of squad cars parked in front of it, officers idling around behind the wall of vehicles. I managed to mostly slow in the air, but it still took me a couple of steps to stop when I landed. Assistant Commissioner Williams turned to me, clearly frustrated. Next to him stood a blonde-haired man about my age hunched over a disposable cell phone, taking notes franticly, but talking slowly and calmly.

"Super I," he grumbled, putting out a cigarette on the hood of his squad car.

"Assistant Commissioner Williams," I replied in my slightly-deeper-and-more-confident-than-normal-because-I'm-a-superhero voice. "We heard about the situation over the scanners. Could you explain with a little more detail?"

"There's a team of four Gammas and one Beta inside, all armed with UHSS weaponry," he explained. With his back turned to the bank, he pointed to a window high up in the bank. "They've got a man at the window, looking at everythin' we're doing. Way to go with the whole flying-100%-in-view, by the way. The other three, including the Beta, are in some room with the 30 hostages, includin' both employees and patrons. That's where the demands are being made from."

I swore to myself. Of course they had a man watching. Now any move I decided to make will immediately be relayed to the men below. On the outside, I had to stay heroic, though, so I simply shrugged it off.

Williams continued. "Those demands being one billion dollars and that the walls be torn down. Now, the Gammas' powers're worthless, far as our intel says, but the Beta says he can shoot acid from his hands, so that's somethin' to watch out for." He hiked up his pants. "Most of the building is evacuated, and all the hostages are on the ground floor, with the criminals. We've got a SPWAT team in that building over there—" he said, subtly pointing in the direction of the adjacent office complex, "—but they've said that they'll kill a hostage if they see anybody enter the building."

"Alright," I said, mind racing through the options. I tilted my head towards the man with the phone. "And I'm guessing the couple on the phone can't decide who should hang up first?"

He grinned. "The kid's got a talent for keeping them talkin'. He's alright by me. The guy on the other end is the Beta I was telling you about. The brains of the operation. Me and him had a little talk over the megaphone, before we got that burner. He's a real—"

Suddenly, the negotiator turned to me. "They'd like to speak with you."

I was absolutely and completely terrified of what could go wrong there, but I didn't let one muscle on my face change. "Alright," I repeated, moving towards him. "Are there any rules to this, or…?"

"I've been stalling, waiting for them to get impatient and give something away," he explained. "He seemed pretty excited a big-name superhero like you is here, so… just try and get something we can use." He smiles nervously.

I took the phone, gave a pointed look to the window Williams said they were watching from, and put an extra bit of intimidation into my voice.

"What?" I growled.

"Super I…" he said back, voice smooth and dangerous. "Superhero extraordinaire. 'Hero of the people!' 'Bane of the criminal scum!' Heh… I'm sure you'll understand why you must provide us with what we ask, as it's us who are truly in the right here."

"I think somebody lied to you about me having a sense of humor." I shot back.

He laughed sarcastically. "Wow. Hilarious. You're hilarious. Also, avoiding a real response." He took his sweet time chuckling at that one. "You're a guy who goes around saving people for absolutely nothing. Not even recognition, with that little mask and cape of yours. But, Super I, I understand you better than any of those people pretend to. I know you like… well, like we've met. You're a man of conviction, with morals and rules. And I know exactly how you feel when you see the big electrified wall keeping the poor away from the corporations."

I'd trained myself not to react to anything anybody throws my way. Being indestructible makes not flinching in fights easy. But the criminals who can really get a read on you? The social-minded sociopaths? They're a whole new kind of scary. Of course he was right about the disgust I felt when I looked at those gates and the guards behind them, and everything they stood for. I hated that this fight against crime had made me somebody inside the walls, somebody who flies over all the poverty and crime and inescapable situations out in those slums, somebody who doesn't walk the streets and doesn't try to understand. But I didn't flinch at his accuracy. I never flinch.

"Your silence is affirmation, 'hero,'" he said, a smugness creeping into his voice. "You want those walls down as much as me. All I want is for the corporations and the billionaires and the politicians to stop hoarding the money that should belong to us, the people."

"Oh, so that billion is going to the people, then?" I retorted.

There was a second of silence on the other side. "It would be too difficult to distribute."

"You're threatening lives to steal money," I said, anger creeping into my voice. "This isn't a social movement— it's an armed robbery. You think you're something new? There's hundreds who've done what you're doing now."

"I'm taking from those who deserve it!" he snapped back. He didn't sound smug anymore. "You're one of them, aren't you? The greedy ones! Maybe you don't do this all for free…!"

"I don't take sides." I turned away from Williams and the negotiator. I didn't know why I was giving this piece of trash the time of day, but it just felt like the right thing to do. "If I start taking sides… well, I'm not that much different from you, then, aren't I? I side with the people you've got guns to the heads of, in that building. I'm with the innocents. I'm against the murderers."

"We won't murder anybody!" he shouted back. He quickly realized his mistake. "Unless we have to, that is. Guhhhhh… just give us what we want, and we'll let the hostages go."

"You're not getting what you want," I told him as firmly as I could. "There's only one way out of this situation, and it's with your hands up walking out the door."

He didn't answer.

"Look…" I started. Why am I still talking? I thought to myself. "You're right. I understand how you feel about the wall." Williams raised an eyebrow. I ignored him. "Now, you have to understand just how complicated powers like mine and yours make situations like these. They're the ultimate concealed weapon. Believe me when I say I've had talks with politicians and businessmen and all sorts of people who are convinced that the only way around such an unpredictable factor is guns and electric fences. We can find solutions, but not like this."

More silence.

"This was a mistake. But, if you and your friends step out right now and put your guns on the sidewalk, I will do everything in my power to make sure you're looked upon favorably in court."

"They listen to you?"

"Most people do when you're flying and wearing tights."

He chuckled, a little sadly. There was two more minutes of silence. The negotiator chewed his fingernails. Even Williams looked nervous, blasting through 4 cigarettes during the quiet. I wanted to do something, anything. Tap my foot. Pace. Fidget. Anything. But I don't flinch.

"I—" he started.

A loud crash echoed out of the cheap phone. The man on the other side suddenly sounded far away, shouting frantic orders.

I put my thumb over the receiver and turned to Williams. "Something's happening. I'm going in. If I don't come out with them in 5 minutes, or you hear gunshots, send your team in."

"You goin' in there could end lives," he argued, eyes glued to the building.

"Or it could save them," I countered, tossing the phone to the negotiator, who fumbled to catch it. "He's distracted. Something's going on in there. It's now or never."

He squinted up at the window. "Ya think he's stopped watching?" He asked, uncertain.

"Sure," I replied, just as uncertain. Then, with a running start, I took to the air.

I didn't go high off the ground, only about a meter up. I kept my body parallel to the street, my fists pointed forwards. The front window shattered around them like a brick hitting porcelain. A man with a balaclava and a large gun was turned, looking down the hall from the lobby. When he heard the glass break, he reared, unloading in my direction. Only three of his bullets landed, and they ricocheted off my skin into the floor and ceiling. I responded by driving into him, tearing the gun out of his hands and punching him in the gut. Holding him tight with both hands, I propelled us both through the ceiling— although it did a lot more damage to him than me. With one last punch to the nose for good measure, I threw the unconscious thug into an abandoned cubicle and dropped back to the first floor.

I heard the commotion down the hall. Assuming what Williams said was right, around the corner were two more Gammas and the Beta, armed, with 30 people who could get caught in the crossfire. They'd easily have somebody watching the door. I stopped in my tracks and thought of what the other Abnormals would do. Strike would super-speed and super-stealth his way in, slicing them up. Commando S.A.M. would just dive around the corner, blasting all three of their heads off before hitting the ground. Animal would've monkeyed his way around the building and smashed himself a back entrance, then smashed the abductors. Nothing like a twelve-foot gorilla-rhino-panther man to take your focus off the hostages. Waterfall could just turn the corner and talk them out of it, or if that didn't work, spray them into submission. Hourglass'd have some genius strategy involving Time Bubbles, lasers, and all sorts of gadgets and gizmos off of his armor. What was a poor, simple, flying, bulletproof, almost-monk, alien-mask-wearing lad to do?

I put my back to the wall and shuffled as close to the next room as I could, crouching behind one of those stupid little office plants at the corner. A quick peek made me realize that attention was very much not on me.

The hostages were in the middle of the large room, their hands behind their heads and on knees to the floor, all huddled together. The room itself was decorated like a second lobby, with more teller stations and a couple doors near the back leading to what looked like either private offices or conference rooms. The three robbers were all clad in identical masks to the man I put through the ceiling in the other room, holding powerful looking assault rifles, and looking extremely nervous.

"Where'd he go?!" shouted a shorter man in a deep green jacket, frantic eyes practically bulging out of his balaclava. I recognized his voice from the phone— he must be the Beta. He swivelled his gun around the room, pointing it in every direction.

"I dunno, he just disappeared!" another masked guy said, doing the same. Both guns looked to be using bullets, but the telltale microreactor on the side tells me that they use conductium propulsion. Which means even more power than usual.

"Devan, you're still watching the hostages, right?" the Beta asked, panic tingeing his orders.

"Huh?" said the man who turned out to be Devan, masked and armed like the others. He's looking around the room, weapon raised and spinning as well, completely oblivious to the panicked group huddled behind him. "Oh. Uh, sure."

Metaphorical gears spun in my head as I pieced together what happened. To confirm my suspicions, I leaned around the plant once again and started counting how many hostages there were. I'd reached about 13 when what looked like a receptionist spotted me.

"It's Super I!" she shouted, pointing to me hunched behind the potted plant. Not every entrance can be heroic, I guess.

I stepped out from behind the plant, flipping my cape out dramatically as I did so. I just hoped I could hero-bluff my way out of it.

"I gave you plenty of warning, criminals," I declared in a loud voice. All three of them have spun to face me, weapons raised. "Now we have to do this the hard way."

"Guess I got distracted," the leader said. "Cover me, boys,"

They fired. I let my reflectivity go as much as I could, so the energy from the bullets was absorbed into my indestructible frame, preventing a stray bullet from ricocheting out into the crowd. Speaking of whom, they began screaming. "SHUT UP!" the man on the right shouted back, gun swiveling to point at the loudest of them.

This was going very wrong, very fast.

I grabbed for the nearest thing, hurling it at the guy still shooting at me. It wasn't a perfect throw, but not many people can hold on to a heavy gun after being hit with a fire extinguisher. As he fumbled his firearm, I threw myself forward, flying the 20 feet between me and the guy aiming at hostages. I tackled him, pushing his gun's barrel into the air as he let loose a dozen rounds. We wrestled over the weapon, his grip being surprisingly tight. It loosened when I headbutt him in the nose. As I emptied the clip onto the ground and tossed the weapon aside, he stood, shaking his head and raising his fists in a boxer's stance.

"You really want to do this?" I asked. I really did feel bad about what was about to happen.

"Why the hell not?" Blood dripped through his nose and balaclava.

The fight ended quickly. He tried protecting his face, leaving me open to drill a fist into his stomach. He doubled over. I grabbed the back of his head and held it there as I kneed it repeatedly. He tried a swing at my leg to provide any kind of relief from the onslaught, but the bones in his hand snapped as if he were punching a concrete wall. Finally, he fell forward, and before he could stand back up, I kicked him hard in the side of the head. Not the most sporting thing I'd ever done, but I was in a hurry.

Waiting just one second to make sure he wasn't getting up, I turned to finish the guy on the other side. Just in time to see the pinless grenade leave his hand.

There were at least 31 people this grenade could kill. My body reacted before my brain could. I stepped back with the grenade, wrapping my body around it. I turned with it nestled in my gut, arms and legs collapsed around it. I managed to hit the ground completely surrounding the explosive. Then, it exploded. I didn't feel it, but I heard it, and out of the corner of my eye a piece of shrapnel flew out from underneath my arm and embedded itself in the wall opposite the hostages. As I stood, pieces of the frag fall to the ground.

The robber stood there, completely shocked. The hostages were finally silent.

"That," I growled, "was dangerous."

He pulled off the balaclava and threw his hands in the air. "I give up."

At that very moment, a team of SPWAT burst in, with their signature deep blue body armor and glowing white visors. They pointed their weapons at the danger zones in the room (props to whoever trained them), before taking the situation in and letting up a bit. I did the same.

The robbers' leader was nowhere to be seen, presumably either having ran up the stairs or up the elevator. The hostages were shaking. The combat was improvisational at best and could've resulted in any number of casualties. Maybe if I tried sounding scary like S.A.M. instead of like some big goofy hall monitor these exchanges would work more in my favor, I thought to myself. It's for the citizens, a different voice in my head maintained. I put the thoughts out of my head. Somebody as disciplined as me shouldn't have been getting distracted so much.

"We, uh… we heard shooting, Mr. Super I."

I couldn't help but grin. "Just Super I, thanks," I said, "and that is exactly what you were supposed to do, men. Good work. Now, is there a roof team or something…?

"They're rappelling down now, sir," the team leader replied, authority in his voice.

"I think I'll go join them," I decided. Addressing the room, I shouted, "Does anybody need medical attention?"

A lot of "no's" and "no thanks," a couple "wow's" and one "is that the Super I?" One "thanks," another "what a tool." Clearly that member of the crowd was suffering from shock. I exited the room, then immediately left the ground. No sense antagonizing the superhumans who ended up with the power to digest mercury, or something along those lines, by taking flight in front of them. I flew through the first lobby, back out the door, and away from the building. Spinning back and relocating the window Williams had pointed out earlier, I used the extra room I gave myself to really pick up speed. From what I figured, the man watching from the window was shouting into his com unit that I had entered the building, but the guy on the other end had misplaced his com in all the chaos. He was still doing that when I crashed through the window at 80 km/h and put my knee into his mouth.

As I came to a stop in the air, I twisted to see him sprawled out on the floor, jaw broken and completely unconscious. I checked his pulse just to make sure I didn't overdo it (which I didn't), then moved into the hallway. It seemed like the rappelling teams hadn't made it here yet, as it was near the middle of the building. If the Beta were anywhere, it'd be here.

I was on edge. I wasn't in any real danger— since power puberty, I could count the number of times my life was truly in danger on one hand. But, although my count of the hostages was cut short, I was pretty sure there were less than 30. One (or possibly two, if my theory was correct) unaccounted for hostage(s), and another unaccounted-for, heavily-armed, acid-shooting hostage-taker. It was worrying, to say the least.

Suddenly, I heard a muffled sob in a room to my right. I stopped in my tracks. The hostage's crying practically confirmed my fears. Over the phone, this hostage taker showed at least a little regret for his actions, and I opened up to him more than I probably should have. Hopefully all that would keep him from doing anything rash. I really, really hoped that this would go better than the sloppiness downstairs.

"I know you're here," I shouted, projecting my voice as much as I could. It echoed through the abandoned office. A moment of silence followed. "Just me," I added, "nobody else. I want to talk, and I want to end this whole thing without anybody else getting hurt."

"Who got hurt?" he shouted back, a clear quiver in his voice.

Wait… was the hostage-taker the one crying?

"Well, I did throw your door guard through the ceiling," I responded, more than a little sheepishly.

He laughed nervously. "Killer's an ass, anyways. Who names their kid Killer? And his 'amazing power' is he has these boils that— y'know what, never mind."

I was still standing awkwardly in the hall, but I couldn't help but laugh back. "I know a couple of guys who really got the short end of the Herofix stick, too."

"It is what it is," he shouted back, "but I guess that's not really saying a lot, coming from acid-hands and Mr. Indestructible, is it?"

"I guess not," I called out. Despite the small talk, every fiber of my concentration was on locating where the sound is coming from. I needed to make sure there wasn't a hostage with him, and if there was, to get them to safety. "Mind if we do this in person?"

"Why the heck not?" he replied. All menace and unsettling intellect was gone from his voice. "I'm in office 708."

I opened the door slowly and carefully. The desk in the center of the room had been melted into a bubbling pile of slag, smelling of brimstone and rot. The various pieces of memorabilia the owner of this office had laid strewn about. On one side of the room sat the Beta, wearing the same deep green jacket, balaclava discarded. His gun was lazily pointed across the room at a terrified middle-aged woman, with the missing balaclava stuffed in her mouth as a makeshift gag. They sat leaning against opposite walls of the room, her eyes wide and glued to the barrel of the gun, his looking out the window.

What caught me off guard was how young he was. He couldn't be older than 17, with ratty brown hair cresting in the middle of his forehead and wide, blue eyes. His hollow face was spotted with pimples and decorated with defeat.

My cape was already draped over me, it's black folds hiding my body beneath it. As subtly as I could, I rose barely a centimeter above the ground, and began to slowly float myself between him and the woman. Although it might seem impressive for on-the-fly thinking, Hourglass had made me practice this dozens of times at the Abnormals Citadel. I talked to keep him from noticing the subtle movement.

"What's your name, son?" I asked.

"Kevin," he replied, voice monotone and sullen. Abruptly, his head turned to face me, and I saw just how close he was to losing it.

"I'm going to prison, aren't I?" he said, voice breaking. His lip quivered. He really was a lot younger than I thought.

"It doesn't have to be that way," I said, mostly avoiding the question. I couldn't find it in me to lie to him. "Just drop the gun, we'll bring you downstairs, and we'll talk to the Assistant Commissioner and get this all figured out."

He smiled sadly. "That's not true and you know it," Kevin sighed. He looked me straight in the eyes, and even though I knew he couldn't see mine from behind the mask, they bore into me. "I'm smart. Everybody down in the slums says so. I could always come up with these plans to get away with stuff and they'd always work, so my dad's friends, they started letting me plan heists and stuff. Then dad died, and they said it was Jared down in the North End who did it. So I melted him. I kept doing stuff for them, even though I knew they were criminals. They told me that we were doing it to bad people, those greedy capitalists, so it was okay."

A tear rolled down his cheek. I was halfway to being between him and the woman. Keep him talking.

"Guess I'm not really that smart, am I? I fell for it. Made the plan that would net us 30 hostages, no more, no less, the real important ones, and make sure everybody else got out of our way, and keep the cops away until we were ready. Then get our pay and get out through the tunnels underneath here. I pulled the alarm. It was part of our plan." He paused. "You weren't. When Jake, the guy upstairs, when he told me you arrived, I was so excited. I'd always imagined what I'd say to you if we ever met. I think every kid in my neighborhood has. And here I am, in a position of power. I could threaten the Super I. That turned around pretty quick."

He looked down at his gun dejectedly. Then, slowly, he looked up. I was between him and the hostage.

"I'm sorry, Kevin," I said, "but this is over. Hand over the gun."

"But you haven't even figured out where we got the weaponry," he protested, sounding more childlike than ever. "I haven't even shot acid at you. You haven't solved half the mystery."

"It's not about that," I replied. "We can do that later. The priority is saving lives. That includes yours."

He looked at me, at the line of police cars, then back at me.

"Heh… y'know, you actually look pretty intimidating with your cape folded over like that. No red, all black. And people say you're the dorkiest Abnormal."

"Kevin—" I started, but he cut me off.

"I'm sorry about what happened, but there isn't any going back for me." He gazed out the window one last time. It felt too real. Somebody his age shouldn't have to be that grown up. "I'm going to jail, and I think I'm okay with that." He looked into the eyes of the woman he'd held hostage for so long. "I'm sorry. I… I really am. I— I just—"

He burst into tears. I reached down, took the gun out of his hand, and disabled it in one smooth movement, like I've practiced so many times. Then I turned, took the gag off the woman, and motioned for her to go downstairs. She nodded hurriedly and does just that.

Then I turned back to face Kevin. His head was in his hands, bawling.

"They'll probably want to put something over your hands," I said, trying to prep him for what happens next.

"I know," he said. "I can handle myself." He looked up at me, and through the tears, he managed a half-smile. "Go stop some more Kevins, Super I."

I walked out of the building through the door instead of the window (or wall, for that matter), not wanting to cause any more property damage than I already had. Not like they couldn't afford it, but the more people thought of the Abnormals as "superheroes" instead of "menaces to society," the better.

A myriad of cameras and reporters surprised me at the bottom of the stairs, shouting all sorts of questions about why I wore a mask while fighting crime and if I had a thing for latex and what I thought about Crown Opus' newest policy, seeing as we'd been seen talking. They asked just about everything, so long as it had nothing to do with what just happened. I kindly asked where the Assistant Commissioner is, and when that didn't work, I simply floated above them, spotted Williams behind a no press line, on the phone, and flew over to him. I smiled at the pack of reporters waving their microphones above their heads, like lighters at some kind of alternate rock concert.

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled into the phone. "I've gotta go now. It's Super I. Yeah, the Abnormal, Super I. Why, you know any others, dipshit?" He tapped the touchscreen and ended the call. The phone collapsed into sleep mode, now that it wasn't being used, and he slipped it into his pocket. "How'd it go?"

"No hostages down. Three people in need of medical attention on the bad guys' side, and Kevin isn't so much of a bad guy, so tell your boss to go easy on him," I recounted. "Oh," I added, just remembering, "and where'd our disappearing boy go?"

Williams gave me a surprised look. "How the heck did you know 'bout him?" he asked.

"Context clues," I replied, a little proudly. "More specifically, how they were acting when I walked in. I guessed some Alpha or high Beta who happened to go into finance had decided to bail. I tried counting to see if I was right, but I got distracted."

"You could darn well be a detective, champ," he said. "In fact, why don't ya? We could use somebody with your, erm, talents on the force."

I grinned. "This isn't anything against you, but I can't work for the government. Only with you guys. Too much power and all that."

"Same with the rest of the boys in your club, eh?" Williams sighed. "Can't tell if I'm angry or jealous. Doesn't really matter." He put out his last cigarette, then climbed into a squad car with another officer. "'Till next time."

I was about to take off, when suddenly a voice cut through the crowd.

"Hello, Dean," it said nonchalantly. "Nice to make your acquaintance."

I flinched.

He knows who I am. This man knows who I am. What does he want? Blackmail? To kill me, like the rest of these villains?

I spotted who spoke with ease. He was wearing a beige trench coat and a matching, short-brimmed fedora, with well-shone shoes and deep gray dress pants. A black necktie and white, collared undershirt were visible underneath the overcoat. In other word, he stuck out like a sore thumb. He was dressed like something out of those weird, old movies from pre-superhistory. He could pass as an old-timey gangster, or some gritty, womanizing journalist, easy.

"Don't worry," he said, "I don't plan on telling anybody who you are. I understand it's importance to you."

I was completely alleviated. If my identity got out, anybody I ever associated with my whole life could be used as leverage against me. It was why I had a whole lot less friends then than when I first tied a bath towel around my neck— I didn't understand just how dangerous and evil humanity and superhumanity alike could be at the beginning. Something in the back of my head wondered why I trusted his word so easily, but it was gone as fast as it arrived.

"Who are you?" I asked. I was fixated on this man. The sounds of the crowd around us began to drown out. Something about him seemed different from anything I'd ever seen. Like you're looking at him, but you're missing something. You're not really seeing him.

"My name, you'll learn later," he explained. "But not right now. There's more important matters at hand."

The minute he said it I knew it was true. This man in the trench coat was something else. The crowd was getting really quiet now.

"I just came to tell you to be prepared. I have a job for you— only you— in the future, that may well throw the existence of… well, existence in jeopardy. In every reality. But I believe you are the only person in any universe who can stop some very bad things happening on a multitude of different realities." He paused, looking me straight in the eyes. "Do you understand?"

"Seems a little dramatic, doesn't it?" I joked. Key word being joke. Every word he said was true. Not "I know it's true." It was the truth, regardless of whether or not I believed it, and I had no idea how I knew that.

I couldn't hear or see the crowd anymore. It was just me in my red-and-black cape and tights, talking to this 1920s-looking man, and he was looking at me with such recognition and knowledge that it didn't even feel like I had a mask on. I wasn't flying, but it felt like I was floating.

"This is the way events need to play out. Including this conversation. By the end of this journey, I hope you understand. Just know I will be coming back another time, bringing you to other worlds, some with heroes and technology like yours. Although I could be wrong. Your technology all seems so similar to… somebody like me." He gave an all-knowing look. It never seemed more fitting. "I cannot tell you the specifics of what you need to do there today, but when I revisit, I will. I cannot do this myself. Consider what I have said."

"I will," I said. Except did I say it? I didn't feel like I had a mouth anymore. Or was anymore. I hadn't had a sense of touch since power puberty, except now I couldn't see, I couldn't hear, I wasn't there, I just knew that this man stood before me, the man in the trench coat, and he knew.

"Until later, Super I. And congratulations on a successful mission. I know what it means to you."

Suddenly, I was back. I was just standing there. My knees felt weak. Swaying and stumbling, I grabbed a nearby police officer by the shoulder.

"Did you see a man in a trench coat walk by here? In a fedora?"

He turned, looking a little annoyed, but then saw who I was and immediately snapped to attention. "No, sir, Mr. Super I. Could you, uh, describe his face for me?"

I thought, and I really thought, I thought back to the conversation I just had with the man in the trench coat, but I couldn't remember what his face looked like.

"I, uh… I can't remember." I didn't even bother putting on the hero voice.

"Well," the officer said, "what color were the man's eyes?"

Did he have eyes? Did he have a face at all? I couldn't remember his face. I remember seeing a face, looking at a face, talking to a face, but I couldn't remember his face.

"N-never mind, officer," I stammered. I couldn't remember his face. I'd seen a lot of unbelievable, sanity-shaking things, from genetic-experiment monsters to physics-warping superhumans to dimension-hopping alien conquerors. But for some reason, not being able to picture the man in the trenchcoat's face was destroying me. I could feel myself losing touch with reality. I couldn't trust anything. What am I but a simple system of memories, and what was he? Something more? I didn't understand! What did his face look like? What did his face look like? What did his face look like? What did his face look like? What did his face look like? What did his face look like? What did his face look like? What did his face look like? What did his face look like? What did his face look like? What did his face look like? wHAT DID HIS FACE LOOK LI

"Mr. Super I, sir," said the cop, "if you don't mind me saying, I'd like to thank you."

I looked at him, intrigued. "What for?"

"Well, a lot of those people in there, they take what you do for granted," he explained. "About 8 years ago, you saved my niece from some 20 foot tall menace, who would take kids and do awful things to them. 'Mega-Shadow-Lord,' or something. Looking at you now, you must be, like, in your twenties. You must've been, what, 17 at the most when you did that? And, well, I just wanted to thank you, 'cause you've been doing this for so long, and you don't seem to get a lot of thanks for it, that's all. Heck, I became a cop 'cause of you, Mr. Super I, sir."

I smiled. "Just Super I, thanks," I said, "and it's people like you that inspire me to keep this up. Knowing there are people who want to make a positive change out there."

He beamed back. "That's real great to hear, Mr. S— I mean, Super I, sir."

"Say hi to your niece for me," I finished, and took to the air.

I knew why I did this. And this man in the trench coat, the man who's face I can't remember, he'd be back. He had a big job for me. I knew it was true; he showed me it was true. It was a lot of pressure.

But I know why I fight.

And I never flinch.