Chapter Two: Heroes v. Heroism
"True heroism is remarkably sober, very undramatic. It is not the urge to surpass all others at whatever cost, but the urge to serve others at whatever cost."
Arthur Ashe
"Heroes are not giant statues framed against a red sky. They are people who say: This is my community, and it's my responsibility to make it better."
Tom McCall
"He might look like a reject from a sci-fi villain audition in that black and green power armor, but trust me, he's the real deal. Under all that metal, he's as genuine as a grandma's cookie recipe."
Tess Theresa "Dragon" Richter to Armsmaster
"Oh, look who finally decided to show up. Thought you were too busy polishing your goddamn halo, didn't ya? Well, let's see if you can handle a real villain for once, you overgrown cosplay disaster!"
Skidmark before his arrest
January 5th, 2011
San Francisco, Earth Bet
Sol System
Milky Way Galaxy
Cycle 10038102
I sat in the corner of the bustling coffee shop, half-heartedly stirring the steaming cup of latte. The frothy swirls did little to entice me; no amount of barista magic could make me like the liquid dirt they called coffee, no matter how many taste buds I fabricated for myself. Yet here I was, indulging a whim to try something new as I put up the charade of normalcy, sipping on the coffee like any other person absorbed in their studies or work, though my distaste for it remained unwavering.
My attention, however, wasn't on the bitter brew but on the scene playing out on the TV screen mounted on the wall. The news channel blared dramatically as it covered the latest clash between the infamous Bambina and the celebrated Lightslinger. Bambina, with her explosive powers and unapologetically lewd persona, faced off against Lightslinger, the epitome of heroism wrapped in gleaming armor and a cocky smirk.
I watched, not as a fan caught up in the spectacle, but with a detached curiosity that comes from knowing too much. My reality-warping abilities afforded me insights beyond what any camera or commentator could grasp. As Bambina launched herself with reckless abandon, bouncing off surfaces and leaving fiery explosions in her wake, I couldn't help but scoff inwardly and roll my eyes. Her antics were predictable, desperate bids for attention and ratings, fueling her twisted celebrity.
Yet, despite my disdain for the superficiality of it all, a nagging curiosity tugged at me. What drove these figures, both hero and villain, to perform such elaborate theatrics? It wasn't mere voyeurism that compelled me to delve deeper into their minds; it was a quest for understanding. Telepathy, a gift or curse depending on perspective, allowed me glimpses into their motivations, hidden beneath the bravado and the carefully crafted personas.
With a hesitant touch of guilt, I extended my telepathic senses across the cityscape, probing gently into the minds of those whose lives played out on the screens before me. Bambina's thoughts were a whirlwind of insecurities masked by bravado, a constant hunger for validation driving her every explosive move. Behind the façade of chaos and danger lay a person grappling with their demons, seeking recognition in a world that thrived on spectacle.
Lightslinger, on the other hand, exuded confidence and certainty. His mind was a fortress of determination and duty, his actions meticulously calculated to uphold the image of heroism he projected to the world. Yet, even within his thoughts, I sensed a weariness - a burden carried not just by physical battles, but by maintaining the illusion of invincibility and moral clarity.
The dichotomy between them fascinated and troubled me in equal measure. Here were individuals wielding extraordinary powers, yet bound by the same human frailties and desires as anyone else. Behind the costumes and the symbols lay complex souls navigating a world that demanded heroism and villainy in equal measure.
As Bambina unleashed another burst of explosions and Lightslinger countered with blinding light, their thoughts intertwined with the chaos around them. My intrusion felt invasive, a breach of privacy that weighed heavily on my conscience. But the desire to comprehend their motivations, to uncover the truths beneath the surface, drove me forward.
Amid the spectacle, amidst the cheers and the flashing lights, I wrestled with conflicting emotions. Guilt mingled with curiosity, empathy with frustration. These were not just characters in a story; they were people shaped by circumstances and choices, their actions influencing the world around them in ways both profound and mundane.
With a reluctant sigh, I withdrew my telepathic probe, the rush of thoughts and emotions fading into the background. The coffee shop buzzed around me, oblivious to the inner turmoil I grappled with.
A different approach seized my mind. I began to analyze Bambina and Lightslinger from a different angle at speeds faster than light through the lens of symbols and their desperate bids for attention.
Bambina's costume, adorned with vibrant colors and playful designs, struck me as a deliberate ploy to capture attention. It was a visual representation of her explosive powers and provocative persona, designed not just to intimidate but to entice. The bright hues and youthful motifs masked the danger lurking beneath, drawing eyes and cameras alike to her chaotic displays. Her every move, every explosion, was a carefully orchestrated performance aimed at maximizing spectacle and feeding her insatiable hunger for validation.
Lightslinger, clad in gleaming armor adorned with glowing bulbs, embodied a different kind of spectacle. His costume was a symbol of heroism and authority, meticulously crafted to inspire awe and confidence. The reflective surfaces and radiant lights weren't just for protection; they were declarations of power and righteousness. His every pose, every dazzling burst of light, was a calculated effort to uphold the image of a noble protector, revered and adored by the masses.
As I delved deeper into the nature of symbols, I realized both Bambina and Lightslinger were engaged in a silent competition for attention. Their costumes were not just outfits; they were strategic tools in a battle for recognition and acclaim. In a world where perception often overshadowed reality, symbols held immense power. They shaped public perception, obscuring flaws, and magnifying virtues, creating heroes and villains out of flawed individuals.
As I continued to analyze their actions and costumes, a wave of disgust and frustration washed over me. The superficiality of their conflict, the orchestrated drama played out for the entertainment of others, left a taste in my mouth as bitter as the coffee. They were not heroes or villains in the truest sense; they were actors in a grand production where authenticity and genuine heroism were overshadowed by the allure of fame and power.
What's worse is that this behavior wasn't just tolerated - it was encouraged.
Bambina and Lightslinger were symbols in a larger narrative orchestrated by the PRT and perpetuated by the gangs. The very institutions meant to regulate and integrate parahumans into society had instead transformed them into icons to be worshipped or feared, depending on the perspective.
The PRT, with its mandate to manage parahuman affairs, played a pivotal role in shaping public perception. They elevated heroes like Lightslinger to near-mythical status, glossing over their flaws and indiscretions in favor of maintaining the illusion of invincibility and moral superiority.
It wasn't just about performing heroic deeds; it was about controlling the narrative, ensuring that parahumans were viewed as indispensable protectors rather than flawed individuals with extraordinary abilities.
And the gangs, with their agendas and alliances, exploited this narrative for their gain. They capitalized on the power of villains like Bambina, turning their exploits into lucrative ventures that fueled the cycle of violence and spectacle. For them, parahumans were commodities to be used and discarded, their powers harnessed for profit and power.
This is best reflected in the terminology used to describe capes. Diction has power, for it can shape perception, evoke emotion, and convey complex ideas with precision and clarity. The words they chose - heroes, villains, rogues - were not merely descriptive labels but tools of influence, shaping how parahumans were perceived and treated by society.
"Heroes," a term synonymous with virtue and valor, conferred a sense of righteousness and moral superiority upon those sanctioned by the PRT. It elevated parahumans like Lightslinger to pedestals of adulation, casting them as defenders of justice and symbols of hope. By aligning themselves with these so-called heroes, the PRT reinforced the narrative of parahuman indispensability, convincing the public that their presence was not just beneficial but necessary for societal stability.
On the flip side, "villains" carried connotations of malevolence and threat. Parahumans branded with this label, like Bambina, were vilified and demonized, their actions magnified to emphasize danger and disorder. The PRT utilized the fear of villains to justify its existence, positioning itself as a bulwark against chaos and lawlessness. By portraying villains as existential threats, they maintained public support for stringent parahuman regulations and surveillance, ensuring that any deviation from societal norms was swiftly punished and suppressed.
And then there were the "rogues," parahumans who operated outside the PRT's jurisdiction, neither heroes nor villains in the traditional sense. This category, though ostensibly neutral, was laden with negative implications. Rogues were viewed with suspicion and mistrust, their motives questioned and their actions scrutinized. The PRT employed subtle tactics to marginalize rogues, portraying them as unpredictable and potentially dangerous elements that posed a threat to public safety.
The terminology used by the PRT wasn't just semantics; it was a form of social engineering designed to maintain control and authority over parahumans and the general populace alike. By categorizing individuals based on their perceived alignment with or deviation from societal norms, they dictated how parahumans were perceived, treated, and ultimately regulated.
The PRT's use of terminology wasn't just a matter of semantics; it was a weapon wielded with precision to shape public opinion and maintain authority. By labeling parahumans as heroes, villains, or rogues, they dictated how these individuals were perceived and treated, perpetuating a cycle of fear, admiration, and suspicion.
Their treatment of "Rogues" is also something to be considered.
Rogues, as they were termed, were parahumans who operated independently, neither aligning themselves with the heroic mandates of the PRT nor succumbing to the villainous temptations of the gangs. They existed in a gray area of legality, their actions scrutinized and often condemned by both sides. The PRT, with its strict enforcement of NEPEA-5 and other regulations, ensured that rogues faced significant obstacles in conducting their affairs. The law, purportedly designed to maintain order, effectively boxed them into a corner, forcing many to choose between compliance or criminality.
Newly triggered capes, fresh from their traumatic experiences, faced a different kind of pressure. The PRT, in its efforts to integrate them into society, often coerced them into joining their ranks as heroes or, in darker corners, nudged towards villainy by the gangs. It was a choice laden with consequences, influenced not just by personal morality but by the societal forces that dictated their roles. The allure of power and protection offered by the PRT was countered by the seductive promises of wealth and influence peddled by the gangs.
The parallels to peer pressure were stark. Just as adolescents were coerced into experimenting with drugs or alcohol by their peers, parahumans were subtly coerced into choosing sides by the powerful entities that controlled their fate. The PRT, with its legal mandate and resources, wielded influence akin to authority figures enforcing conformity. Meanwhile, the gangs, with their promises of belonging and material gain, exerted a magnetic pull that was difficult to resist.
Vigilantes, those who took it upon themselves to combat the gangs and uphold justice outside the sanctioned channels of the PRT, faced the harshest scrutiny and retaliation. The PRT, wary of their autonomy and potential for destabilizing the status quo, actively worked to undermine their efforts. They were branded as rogue elements, threats to the fragile balance of power that the PRT and gangs maintained. Any progress they made in dismantling gang operations was met with brutal retaliation, a reminder of the stakes involved in challenging the established order.
For Villains or Rogues arrested by the PRT? They can "rebrand". The PRT's "redemption" cases can best be compared to the "redemption" case that was Operation Paperclip.
It was never outright stated, of course, but the pattern of powerful capes receiving leniency for their crimes as long as they remained out of the public eye was glaringly evident to anyone willing to see beyond the facade. Villains who managed to keep their activities discreet could undergo a miraculous transformation, shedding their nefarious pasts like old skins to emerge as redeemed "heroes".
The Birdcage was for villains who couldn't hide their atrocities from the public. It was a testament to the PRT's power, a monument to all its sins, a looming structure of intimidation meant to remind both parahumans and civilians alike of who held sway over their lives. Its purpose went beyond mere containment; it was a tool of control, a symbol of authority wielded with impunity.
I couldn't shake the implications of the Birdcage's existence that made me want to fucking puke my guts out at the utter callousness and inhumanity of it. The Birdcage served multiple purposes, each more insidious than the last.
It wasn't just a prison for the most dangerous capes; it was a breeding ground for resentment and despair, both metaphorically and literally. The PRT justified its existence under the guise of public safety, citing the need to protect civilians from parahuman threats. But in reality, it served a far more sinister purpose.
The Birdcage housed capes who had crossed a line, who had dared to defy the PRT's authority or threaten its carefully constructed narrative of heroism and villainy. It wasn't just about punishment; it was about neutralizing potential threats and ensuring compliance from those who possessed extraordinary abilities.
What disturbed me most was how the Birdcage operated. Capes were imprisoned without trial, their fates sealed based on vague interpretations of the law and the whims of those in power. The three-strikes rule, ostensibly meant to curb repeat offenders, became a convenient excuse to lock away anyone deemed too dangerous or too unpredictable.
And then there were the children of capes, innocents caught in the crossfire of their parents' actions. The Birdcage didn't just imprison capes; it subjected their offspring to trigger events, ensuring that the cycle of powers and parahuman conflict continued unabated. It was a grotesque form of inheritance, where trauma and abilities were passed down from one generation to the next.
Justice, as I understood it, was meant to be blind and impartial. It was meant to uphold fairness and protect the innocent. But in the world of parahumans, justice was perverted, twisted to serve the agendas of those in power. The Birdcage wasn't about rehabilitation or redemption; it was about control and coercion, a stark reminder of the consequences of defying the PRT's authority.
Sooner or later, however, the PRT needed to make an example after people started to fear the Birdcage and Rogues less.
Canary - Paige Mcabee, as she was known - was a rogue parahuman, a singer whose power to influence minds inadvertently led to a tragic incident with her ex-boyfriend. Despite her non-violent intentions, the legal system, twisted by fear and the need for control, deemed her a threat worthy of life imprisonment in the Birdcage.
The trial itself was a travesty, a spectacle designed to showcase the supposed dangers of rogue parahumans like Canary. She was heavily restrained, both physically and metaphorically, denied proper legal counsel, and subjected to biases fueled by her Master classification. The parallels to the Simurgh, a mass-murdering thing, only served to exacerbate public fear and prejudice against her.
Dragon, the AI hero who had supported Canary, could do little against the systemic biases ingrained in the PRT and the courts. Despite Dragon's efforts, Canary's fate was sealed - a life behind bars for crimes committed unintentionally, under circumstances where non-parahumans would have faced a vastly different legal outcome.
I couldn't shake the bitter realization that Canary's plight was not just her own. It served as a chilling warning to all rogues, all parahumans who dared to step outside the sanctioned roles of hero or villain.
Her story was a microcosm of a larger truth: in a world obsessed with symbols and appearances, the humanity of parahumans was often overshadowed or outright ignored, while "normals" are sacrificial lambs.
Just the same story as always, the little guy being fucked over by their "superiors" or "betters" or whatever justification people come up with to crush those underneath them.
Disgust churned within me, a bitter cocktail of frustration, horror, and anger. How could a system purportedly designed to protect and integrate parahumans into society so callously disregard the lives of ordinary people?
I felt a visceral pity for Bambina and Lightslinger, caught in a cycle of greed and violence they could never escape. Their costumes, symbols of power and prestige, masked the vulnerabilities and insecurities that defined their existence. Behind the bravado and heroics lay individuals burdened by expectations they could never fulfill, trapped in roles that demanded perfection while being completely blind to their slavery in all but name.
Just... What the fuck is wrong with everyone?
Just... why?
Why would anyone intentionally create this much pain and suffering? Why would anyone be this cruel, monstrous, heartless, and just outright evil?
My grip on my cup tightens.
Peter Parker's timeless quote echoed in my thoughts: "With great power comes great responsibility." It was a maxim that resonated far beyond the pages of comic books and superhero lore. In the world of parahumans, where abilities transcended human limits, the stakes were higher, and the consequences more profound.
For the PRT, responsibility was synonymous with control. They saw themselves as stewards of order and guardians of public safety, tasked with managing and regulating parahuman activities. Their authority was rooted in legal mandates and bureaucratic oversight, and their decisions were influenced by policies and protocols designed to maintain stability.
But beneath the facade of authority lay a darker truth. The PRT's control was as much about power as it was about responsibility. They wielded influence over parahumans' lives, dictating their roles and shaping public perception. In their pursuit of order, they often overlooked the human cost, sacrificing individual freedoms for the collective security they promised to uphold.
The gangs, on the other hand, embraced a different interpretation of power and responsibility. For them, responsibility was a means to an end - a tool to be wielded for personal gain and territorial dominance. They operated outside the confines of legality, exploiting parahumans' abilities for profit and influence. Their loyalty was to their agendas, their actions driven by ambition and survival in a cutthroat world.
In this dichotomy of power and responsibility, parahumans found themselves caught between opposing forces. Some embraced their roles as heroes or villains, seeking validation and purpose in a world that demanded extraordinary feats. Others rejected societal norms, carving out their paths as rogues or vigilantes, challenging the status quo and confronting the injustices they saw around them.
As the battle between Bambina and Lightslinger reached its crescendo on the TV screen, I found myself unable to remain a passive observer any longer. The authenticity of the fight had been lost amidst the staged theatrics and calculated maneuvers. With a sigh of frustration, I decided to intervene - not in a glorious display of power, but in a subtle act that would inject a hint of authenticity into the spectacle.
Focusing on my telekinetic abilities, I subtly manipulated the air currents around Bambina, causing her to misjudge a bounce off a building. She stumbled slightly, a small hiccup in her otherwise flawless choreography. It was a minor disruption, imperceptible to the cheering crowds, but enough to remind her, if only for a fleeting moment, that the battle wasn't just about ratings and rankings.
As Bambina stumbled, her movements faltered, disrupting the rhythm of her attacks. Lightslinger, ever vigilant and quick to seize an opportunity, capitalized on her momentary lapse. With a dazzling burst of light, he unleashed a precise barrage of energy beams that hit Bambina, causing her to fly into a nearby building.
The cheers from the TV screen echoed in the coffee shop, a cacophony of excitement and triumph as Lightslinger's strategic maneuver unfolded.
I frown.
It struck me that people weren't inherently blind to the superficiality of heroism; rather, they were deeply engrossed in the narrative woven by symbols and spectacle.
I recalled an article I once read that argued against the existence of heroes, proposing instead the presence of heroic actions. That idea had resonated with me then, and now, as I observed Bambina and Lightslinger's clash, its relevance echoed in my thoughts. The concept of a hero, I realized, was a construct shaped by societal norms and values, elevating figures like Superman and Batman despite their flaws, their courageous deeds transcending the imperfections of their characters.
Yet, upon further reflection, I began to perceive a deeper truth. While heroes themselves might be mythical, heroism was undeniably real. All humans were flawed; therefore, acts of heroism stood out as rare and precious achievements. To be flawed yet strive for greatness - to demonstrate courage and selflessness in the face of adversity - this, I recognized, was the essence of heroism.
It dawned on me that perhaps the article had missed the mark in its entirety. Yes, heroes did not exist in the traditional sense. However, heroism was not contingent on perfection; rather, it thrived in the courage to act, despite one's flaws, for what is not simply right or just, but kind.
With a determined sigh, I pushed the half-full cup of untouched latte away and rose from my chair. The buzz of conversation and the aroma of coffee beans lingered around me as I navigated through the bustling coffee shop. Each step carried a newfound resolve, a sense of purpose sparked by the clash of ideals I had witnessed on the TV screen.
As I approached the exit, the familiar chime of the doorbell signaled my departure into the crisp afternoon air. The street outside bustled with pedestrians, their hurried footsteps and distant chatter fading into the background as my thoughts focused inward. The urgency to act, to make a difference, pulsed through my veins with every heartbeat.
I adjusted the collar of my jacket, a shield against the brisk wind that swept through the city streets. Each stride forward felt deliberate, propelled by the clarity of purpose that had eluded me moments before. The sights and sounds of the urban landscape blurred around me as I headed toward where my talents could be better used than anywhere.
Author's Note: I made a couple of small changes to previous chapters to up their quality. As for anyone who is displeased with the Blokkat flashbacks, just calm down or don't say anything at all.