You know, I hate this city.
Brockton Bay. The big BB. The leadin' exporter of criminals per capita for the entire east coast. I mean, we make Detroit look like a gated community. Alright, it's a pretty bad gated community, but, hey, you know what I meant. Why do I hate this city? It's quicker to tell you the few things I DON'T hate about it, but here it goes:
Look, here's how it is - this city is held together with duct tape, broken dreams, and federal funding. You have the PRT - the Parahuman Response Team for all you folks living under a rock - waltzing around like they own the place; and that's probably true considering they answer only to the Feds. The police - you know, the average Joes - they just can't compete with some guy that can throw a car at you. They know it, the gangs know it, the PRT knows it, and if you lived here you'd know it too. For the most part, they keep their heads down and just try to make it to retirement. Now, I know what you're gonna' say: "But that's not true! I've seen them around the block every once in a while, you can't say that!" To that, I'll say: True. Yeah, they can get around now and then.
So what?
They've got a playbook they go by, you know? Basically, it's asking themselves: "Does it look like a Cape? Go call the PRT." That's it. And while that doesn't seem too bad, think about it again when you consider that most crime is from the gangsters. Some two-bit criminal with a piece and a bad attitude. Normally, yeah, they'd deal with it, but when the guy's got a line to Car-chuck McChucklehead, well, they can pull some stuff they wouldn't get away with on their own. The Joes can't raid a gang hideout if they're outclassed by a Cape. This is also the reason why criminal gangs - the ones that matter, anyway - are anchored by serious cape leadership, but that's a story for another time.
Every once in a while you get some poor naive fool who thinks he'll change things, that he'll make a real difference; then you read the paper and find out they got themselves murdered and then all you can do is shake your head, pray it doesn't happen to you, and feel that ball of fear in your belly grow just a little bit more.
So, you got a lot of crime here. Normally, you fix that by making sure every law-abiding guy and gal have a gun on them at all times and the problem eventually solves itself, but I say again:
Capes.
Always with the Capes. Why bother shooting something that doesn't get hurt by it? The ones that can be hurt, well, good luck getting a shot at them. Lately, it just seems like the PRT's content just sitting pretty, twiddling their thumbs while the gangs operate practically unopposed. The worst part is, you take out one, another one moves right in. Years ago, we had this Cape, Marquis his name was - real fancy fellow, high class - basically running his gang single-handedly. Honestly, the guy wasn't too bad; he had this code, you see: don't hurt women and children, don't get the average Joe involved - you know, the fantasy of what the Mob supposedly did back in the day.
Of course, that only works if all the other guys play ball. Say what you will, but crime's an equal-opportunity employer.
Anyway, one day he gets nabbed somehow, gets himself thrown into that fancy cape prison called the "Birdcage", and, I kid you not, not even a week goes by before I see all the schmucks sniffing around their old hangouts. Same game, different name.
Honestly, I don't blame them.
Well, no, I hate the bastards, but I can understand why some of them do what they do. There isn't any other option for some of them, not here. I'm not saying that 'oh, I need to make some cash, but I don't wanna be a janitor or a factory worker or any other thankless job like that, better rob some poor folks', but I mean they really don't have any other options. Business in this city is drier than a desert, due to the fact that some chucklehead got the bright idea to scuttle some ships in front of the docks and jam up the whole thing. What's the point of a port city if you can't use that actual port?
Basically, you've got three chances: you get lucky with having some brains and can either get the hell outta dodge or run a business, you can put on a smile and look good while doing it, or you know a guy who knows a guy.
Don't have any of those?
Too bad, so sorry, my condolences, yadda yadda yadda. Now, either get out or get in line, because it stretches around the block.
Me, I'm a guy who knows a guy, and that guy is Danny Hebert. He's a good man, but with a hell of a temper. Head of hiring for the Dockworkers Union, so he's basically the lord and master of everything in it. In days like these, you aren't going anywhere as a dockworker if you don't have the Union backing you. Words of advice: just like how you shouldn't anger your bookie, don't anger the guy who signs your checks.
Shame about his wife, though; he hasn't been the same since she passed.
But I'm getting off track. Let me just say it again; I hate this city. I hate the gangs, I hate the business, and I hate the costumed clowns that run around either taking whatever they want or pretending that they can punch their way out of a bad economy. I hate the fact that the future looks bleak, and that nobody seems to either care or be able to do anything about it.
But now, that's all gonna change.
Because now, I'm gonna be a Superhero.