Mrs. Hill's office was everything you'd expect from a high school guidance counselor. The walls adorned with her diplomas. Panther paws—the school's logo—on every inch of every wall. And two bean bag chairs that she and a student were currently sitting in.
"Mason, I'm worried about you," she began. "You're absent more often than you're here and you have so many missing assignments. This isn't your full potential. It's like you're not even trying. Is everything okay at home? Is your mom still-"
"It's fine, Mrs. Hill," Mason cut her off. "She's fine. I don't understand what this is all about."
"Two years ago you had never gotten anything below an 'A' in your classes. You had a perfect GPA and an attendance record to match. I know there's been some... changes at home, but this isn't good. Talk to me. I want to help." She placed her hand on his shoulder.
"It's not my family," Mason sighed, "it's my job. It takes up a lot of my time."
"What kind of job?"
"It's more of an internship than a job," Mason corrected, "but I help out at Ferris Airlines. One of the pilots has kind of taken me under his wing."
"And you like that?"
"Yeah, it's fulfilling. We help a lot of people."
"And it fulfills you? You want to do this for the rest of your life?"
"I... I do."
"Well," she drawled, standing and walking over to her desk. "At least take this," she said as she withdrew a file from her desk and handed it to him.
"A bunch of jobs?" he asked.
"It's a list of the top one hundred jobs in the country and what it takes to get them. You could have any of them if you only tried."
"I already know-" She cut him off.
"Don't live your life the way someone else would, Mason. It's much too short to do that. Look at the list and make sure you're doing what you actually want. You have your whole future ahead of you," she said. "Now get out."
"We're done?"
"Yeah, we are."
Mason stood up and walked to the door. On his way out though, he stopped and looked back, "Thanks, Mrs. Hill."
For the rest of the day, Mason kept the paper by his side. He didn't look at it, or touch it, but it never left his hand. It was in English, his last class of the day, where he took his second look.
The list was extensive. It had positions all the way from chiropractor to truck driver. And some of the jobs were interesting enough. Mason could see himself being a lawyer, or a police officer. But he had this feeling like nothing connected.
When the final bell rang, he was on job number seventy-two: medical secretary. He already scratched that out as a non-possibility.
Mason bundled the paper in his hand as he swung his backpack on and walked into the hallway. He passed Mrs. Hill on his way out of the building and he could've sworn he saw her smile as she caught a glimpse of the list.
It was when he was passing by the bathrooms that he had to stop. On his right hand—the one holding the list—he felt a vibration.
He dashed into the bathroom—it was empty—and he put his hand to eye-level. On his middle finger, a green ring shimmered into existence. It had the unmistakable insignia of the Green Lantern Corps. Carriers of the most powerful weapon in the universe.
From the ring came a voice Mason recognized, Hal Jordan's.
"Mason, there's a robbery in progress at the Coast City Bank. John and I are on a league mission. There are hostages. How soon can you get there?"
Mason's face grew stony. "I'm on my way now."
His eyes shifted from the ring to the paper, then he threw it in his backpack, and in one of the bathroom stalls.
Mason changed in an instant as a green light washed over him. His eyes went from grey to white and his outfit became a black and green uniform with a mask on his face. The standard garb for a green lantern.
In a burst, he was in the air, flying faster than a jet.
Mason reached Coast City—over one hundred miles away—in mere minutes and saw the situation.
The area was lit up in a flicker of red and blue from tens of police cars, more arriving by the minute. A closer look at the building in question and he could see through the clear doors the wall of hostages.
After another sweep of his eyes, Mason saw one of the officers waving him down.
"It's a small crew of three," the officer—a captain—explained. "They have one getting the money, one dealing with the hostages, and one negotiating with us."
"What are they doing?" the green lantern asked.
"They haven't hurt any of the hostages, if that's what you mean. But they were definitely prepared for a situation like this. Before the first car arrived on the scene they already had that hostage wall formed. The first words to the negotiator was that they would shoot at the first sight of green."
"They're experienced," Mason noted, "Any ID?"
"No. The only thing we know now is that they're armed and in a dangerous position. It's not looking good." The captain sighed and gave him a look. "The other guys busy?"
The hero didn't reply.
He flew into the air above the bank. Landing on the top of the building, he knelt, and from his ring came a small green flickering light. A flame.
Holding it against the roof, he burned a hole and climbed in. He was on the second floor, in some kind of conference room.
"Come on, Punk! Let the women and children go! " he heard a man's voice shout from within the building. "You haven't gone too far. You can still get out of this before the guys in prison use you like an old car."
"I appreciate the worry, old man." A thud rang out. "But for now, shut up and stay out of the way."
Turning around a bend in the wall, Mason could the main hall of the bank. He could see that behind the wall of hostages, a man was walking. He was tapping the back of their heads with the end of his pistol's barrel. Off to the side an elderly man was cradling his head on the floor, his blood splattering on the marble.
Another man was behind the bank teller's counter, on the phone. He was reciting a list of demands to whichever negotiator was on the other side of the call. His pistol was still holstered on his hip.
Mason couldn't see the third man—he assumed they were in the back with the vault—but he had enough data to strike. Now he needed an opportunity.
He waited for the man behind the hostages to take his barrel from their heads. Chance happened when the elderly man spoke up.
"I took harder hits in 'Nam."
The gunman turned to the man, but before he could do anything Mason jumped from the second floor. Like a meteor, he crashed into the middle of the main hall. A giant green fist following in his tracks and denting the floor with spider web fractures. A wave shook the building.
Everyone close to him hit the floor and Mason burst into a flurry of movements.
He pointed his ring at the man on the phone and, before he could grab his gun, a green beam hurled him into the wall.
The gunman closest to him tried to get up, but Mason was already mid-swing with another giant fist.
He heard the patter of running feet from behind and a wall of green bricks appeared to stop a barrage of bullets. A man—the third member of the crew—was across from him holding a pistol and a bag with loose cash.
The wall shot forward as the man kept firing at it until it flung him back and off his feet. One more beam to his chest and every member of the crew was unconscious.
"Are there any more?" Mason asked the hostages. A handful of shaken heads and relieved, sobbing faces was his answer.
He went to the elderly man who was already getting up as the rest of the hostages rushed out of the doors.
"Are you okay?"
The man didn't reply. Instead, he walked over to the knocked out gunman who was in control of the hostages and kicked him in the ribs.
"Feeling better already," the old man smiled.
Mason shook his head. "Well let's get you checked out anyway."
The blood was still dripping from the man's head.
"Bah! I've had worse than this pansy's love taps. 'Sides, the girls at home will love it."
"Come on," Mason floated over to him, "How many people can say they flew with a green lantern?"
"Fine, but I'm not going in a bubble. Make me look cool."
Mason went to the doorway, and from his ring he made a green fighter jet appear in the road.
"Cool enough?" The hero asked.
"It'll do." He said.
The flight to the nearest hospital was quiet. The old man's attention was stuck on the floor and the people that looked like ants. But, as Mason handed him over to the emergency room doctor, the old man asked him a question.
"So this is what you heroes do? Fight hoodlums and then carry old bags of bones to the hospital? You guys have it rough."
"I wouldn't say that. Sometimes it's a pretty girl I have to carry. Besides," the teen smiled, "It's all part of the job."