Snip #2

Oh shit.

Oh shit oh fuck oh shit.

Oh fuck me, I'm in big trouble.

I could not even do fifteen pushups before collapsing into a twitching heap.

I was weak. I was less than weak. I was at the level of a child, or something about there. I was probably even less than that; I seem to recall the second last issue of the now out-of-print Guinness Book of World Records having an entry about a kid who can lift ten times his own weight… didn't it?

Never mind that, that child was an outlier, a suspected parahuman even, the encouraging half of my brain argued.

Never mind THAT, the traitorous half of my brain countered, I was an outlier in the complete opposite direction.

Oh fuckingly shitingly fuck.

I turned myself over to face the ceiling, choking in large gulps of air. It beats pretending to be a vacuum cleaner on my kitchen floor. I could not even stare at the ceiling, as the bare bulb tried its darnest to blind me. I was so worn out that I could not even sit up to avoid the bulb's glare, and had to shut my eyes.

And in doing so I retreated to the world of thoughts.

I wasn't that weak, was I? Seriously, I could do more than the fail I did just now?

Maybe the slime contained a toxin… Yes that was it. Maybe it would take more than a week before the muscle-weakening properties of the super cape slime would dissipate and…

I forcefully shut down the delusional, excuse-forming part of my personality even as I gave myself a hateful glare. A glare of hate at the negative portions of my mind, which was still gleefully applauding my decision to face the unpadded facts.

I gave him, me, my best glare. The mirror I could see through the open bedroom door helped.

But… at the end of the day, that negativity inside me was… correct. How in the world was I supposed to best anyone at all? I probably could not win in a fight against the ancient grandma in the corner apartment on the floor where I lived. How in the world was I supposed to win against people with powers, who have been gifted to be much better than the average homo sapiens with next to no training themselves?

How in the world am I going to beat anyone at all?

How in the world had I bested the slug cape?

The kid I rescued, that's how.

The child, who had frozen when he realized the slug-man was after him.

The life I had rescued with a flying leap. Who, in turn, had the balls to throw the entire contents of his salt-shaker at the slug-cape when he was standing triumphantly over my bruised, prone body.

The man-in-making, who while openly weeping at his fate, was bravely opening packet after packet, bag after bag, bottle after bottle of common salt, enduring though the repeated beatings after heavy beatings of the irate store owner even as he gave me my only chance of winning…

…

I sat up.

The child I rescued was weak, but he was also stronger than I could ever be.

I turned myself over. Palms pressed onto the floor at either side of me.

I was weak, I admitted to myself. I was a weakling, in every sense of the word.

But not anymore. I thought back to a week ago, when I had so much resolve. I willed myself into having the same resolve, now.

I pushed. A strong, blinding pain hit me, turning my world white even as it amplified with the movement of my burning muscles. It crushed me, forcing me to…

'Not Any More!' I shouted in my mind as I screamed out with my voice. There was no way I was going to quit now. I WILL do twenty pushups by the end of today. I will do thirty tomorrow.

I will do a hundred pushups by the end of the month, even if it killed me!

I pushed again and again and again through the blinding white pain.

…

Maybe a hundred pushups at the end of two months?

Fifteen, Fourteen, Thirteen, Twelve…

It was only half a year into my self-training. It was already half a year into my training.

Seven, Six, Five…

The pain came again and again, turning my world a familiar white.

Three…

Good. It was a good pain.

Two…

I nearly collapsed, nearly stopped there. 'No!' I declared to myself, 'Not when I was so close!'

One…

And…

Done!

I turned myself over, almost too weary to throw my hands up in the air in a clear sign of victory. I whooped and cheered with all my strength instead to compensate, to express my cheer at an impossible task well done!

I have finally done it!

I have finally done Fifty pushups!

At this rate, I will do a hundred by the end of the year! Progress!

The loud banging and shouting on both the ceiling and the floor shut me up quickly. My neighbors above and below me continued to complain sulphurously as the few specks of dust left over from half a year of neighborly complains wafted down and covered my prone form.

Still, I couldn't help but squee where I was.

Silently, of course. It was, after all, about two am at night.

I had no idea when exactly it started. I think it was two years into my own training or so by then.

But for the last month, since February or so, I had been seeing a familiar face. A girl, a fellow jogger, running at around the same times as I did, in the early mornings of the day before the world woke up.

She was probably in her mid-teens, her above-average tallness amplifying her thin and spindly body of an adult not yet grown into. She had long, black curly hair tied in a pigtail during her runs, and a pair of spectacles rounded out the look of the classic introvert.

Introvert or not, she would nod at me as she spotted me in the mornings, recently. Sometimes, she would even try to match my speed.

Some of the times, she would even succeed.

After all, she did not run as far as I did every morning. Without the needs of holding back her stamina, she could burn up her energy at a near sprint every morning, spitting off once we reached the Broadwalk, sometimes even at the Marketplace.

She would not know that my jogging route took me from Captain's Hill through the center of Brockton Bay to the beaches. Her route coincidentally met with mine near the end of this part, which would then continue along the beach near her house, through the Broadwalk and up through to the Market. I would usually leave her behind then, cutting straight through the Docks and back to Captain's Hill.

I figured that route would be about… ten kilometers? Coupled with my hundred squats, hundred situps and hundred pushups, that would be more than enough to make me strong enough, right?

But, again, I digress…

Ah.

There she was, again. It appeared she was waiting for me.

That was a first.

She joined me as we wordlessly ran at a near sprint towards the Broadwalk.