The Spiralling

Chapter 8: Development

By the time I returned home feeling like a champ, it was already two o'clock in the morning. I had never felt this high in my life- I couldn't even feel the pain in my thigh where the bullet grazed me. I couldn't even feel the aching in my muscles where I exerted the most, where I landed on the shelves after pushing it down to pin the gold-tooth gunman. I felt like Superman, and despite my nocturnal activities, it felt like eight in the morning after an early good night's sleep.

As expected, I couldn't turn off like a stubborn schizophrenic computer, and by the time I fell asleep, it was already five in the morning. It was no wonder I was horrendously late for school, missing whole periods at one go. You know the American education system's reaction- I was given detentions for the whole week for it. It never did do away with my sense of victory though, and the feeling that I was reaching the climax of my very own comic series if my life was one.

Remaining a naive and media-fed teenager the line between serious hero's work and fun had become dotted. I went from thinking, 'I'm doing this to take out Demoness so that people won't have to die anymore' to 'Yeeha! This is fun, let's do this again and again!', or somewhere in between usually. Before you judge what goes through my railroad of thought, hey, at least there's some passion involved.

By the time my dad was out for his usual night shift again, I was out- I had to be. My normal life had become something of a cage, and Kick-Ass was in it. I had no other aims in life by then, only to prowl the streets as my alter ego in search of the elusive Demoness. As excited as I was, I had to call in the cavalry. My new nemesis was too swift, too agile, too strong and far too intelligent for her age. The only person who had even the slightest chance to defeat her had to be Mindy.

---START OF MESSAGE---

Hey M, how r u? Have u heard of e news lately? I need ur help. Trying to get Demoness. Call me back soon.

---END OF MESSAGE---

In the meantime, with no chance to form some superhero team as the city's roster pool was depleted by fear, pessimism and death by reasons ranging from stupidity to a bat in the face.

Somewhere Else...

The door of a silver SUV opens in the middle of New York City, and from inside the vehicle an imposing man climbs out, his eyes wandering in every direction. The further he travels down south from Canada, the more the landscape changes towards the strange side- such was the effect of removing one from the world. The city he knew had changed. The city itself remained dazzling and bustling, but on the buildings around him there were numerous subtle changes only a man such as him could detect. Advertisements of previously unheard of products and brands. Gigantic television screens that were flat dominated the walls of the buildings where previously there were none. Stores selling furniture that looked as if they came from science fiction.

"You have my thanks, John. Your vehicle and company had been wonderful, but I must take my leave." The old man bid farewell as he was half-way out. He paused his exit, waiting for a reply.

"No problem, sir. It is, after all, my job to ferry you here as stable master. But why here?" The chauffeur said as he shook his employer's hand. Unlike his passenger, he was not at all awed by the city- he had been here often, usually to transport students and materials back and forth from the city into Ontario or vice versa.

"I feel the need to know the city again. It has changed its face too much that I dare not call it home." The Grandmaster explained as he got out of his transport completely, "Check in my belongings into the lodging of my choosing."

"Farewell, Grandmaster!" The chauffeur drove off- his goodbyes could barely be heard as he did so, "Come back soon!" And with that, the teacher was left on his own, in the noisy, crowded and blinding streets of his old home, now even more deafening, overpopulated and overwhelming than he remembered- or as much as he remembered.

As he stood there staring around the city he used to know, having the time of his life having clichéd flashbacks about his past, admiring or detesting how much the world had changed in his absence, numerous bystanders and pedestrians were staring at the Grandmaster with the same look he was giving the city. Eventually, as he was taking in his new surrounding, an environment completely the opposite of what he was used to for the past twenty odd years, he had attracted the attention of a policeman on foot patrol.

"Snappy fashion there, mister." The officer said as he looked the Grandmaster up and down, judging him inside out on whether he was here to caused trouble of any sorts. It was then that he noticed the two-handed sword hanging on his heavy belt, "Would you explain the reason why you're carrying that around like Aragorn?" At first, the officer was ignored, but the Grandmaster, slow on the intake as he was already taking too much from the city at large, faced him after the official's words sink in.

"Like who? I do not understand your words, officer." The Grandmaster replied, bewildered by the policeman's strange expression. Times have changed, too much. While only twenty years have passed ever since he had set foot into civilization, it might as well be two centuries.

"Your fucking sword, asshole! Don't play dumb with me, Gandalf!" The officer yelled angrily out of the blue unexpectedly. From wonderment, the swordsman's mood became stern as usual from salvo of insults. Slowly, he reached into his right pocket. As though expecting him to be a suicide bomber, the policeman backed away and pulled out his gun.

"What is the meaning of this!" Unused to how society works anymore, the Grandmaster became confused- he could only blunder as he had lost the knowledge of how law enforcement would react to certain actions, "This is an outrage!"

"Take your hands out of your pocket!" The officer shouted. Crowds oblivious to what was happening were starting to form around the two, curious as to what was happening. At a distance, a policewoman was running towards them- she was perhaps the first official's partner, "Everyone down!" Some did as they were told, many just ran away and watched from a safer distance. Despite feeling oppressed without justice, the Grandmaster did as he was ordered to- even an idiot will never forget the killing potential of a gun.

"Quinn, what the hell are you doing?" The policewoman shouted at the officer pointing his pistol at the Grandmaster.

"He's armed, Sarge! He wouldn't explain and he tried to reach into his right pocket!" The newer policeman explained as he remained where he was, training his weapon on the old man. The policewoman's eyes shifted between the two, as if unsure of who the one in the wrong was.

"What's in your pocket?" The policewoman fixed her gaze on the Grandmaster, as though trying hard to stare into his soul and mind.

"License, officer." Being extra careful this time with his movements and speech, the Grandmaster replied in a tone as friendly as possible, not that it matters. With the kind of life he had led, anyone could tell that he could be dangerous if he wanted to be- the scars, his muscles, the way he dresses and carries himself gave him away. The more experienced police officer stuck her finger into his right pocket and pulled out a slip of aged, torn paper between her index and middle finger.

Opening up the folded, moth-eaten piece of paper, the officer read the slightly faded contents of the ancient document. There were license numbers, addresses, signatures, the credentials of the person and agency that issued the license, and many other details that no one cares. The expiration date was constantly renewed for the past twenty years by the Canadian government. The name was stated as Aldan Bonitus- an average name. In a city full of average, boring and unspectacular men, he was just one of them in a Halloween costume.

"What's with the outfit?" The policewoman asked after waving for her partner to lower his gun.

"It is what I am dressed in on a mundane day out." Aldan replied as he took his paper back, folding it carefully back the way it was, as though it was a relic of ages long forgotten, and slipping it back into his right pocket. The officer looked him up and down again, giving him the look that everyone else was giving him.

"Sorry about my partner here. He's new." She gave his partner another wave. For a brief moment they communicated in facial expressions and gestures. The Grandmaster could tell that the Sergeant was angry and frustrated, while the other police officer was arguing, the way one of his more stubborn students would. When they were done throwing faces at each other, he was finally left alone, "Have yourself a nice day."

After that, the police women muttered something about 'one of those costumed amateur crime fighters'. The Grandmaster could not bring himself to eavesdrop, nor to bother with it, as he was overwhelmed with an array of previously rare sensations beneath the skin, beneath the muscle, concentrated around the heart.

Aldan didn't take off after the officers left as if nothing happened- the incident left him with a cacophony of emotional bruises difficult to put into words, even into thoughts. He felt insulted, and yet the insults were somehow justified. He was angry at these children who ridiculed their elder, yet he was enraged by his own stupidity and ignorance. After a dramatic moment of deep thought, the Grandmaster turned around and walked away...