This is What Heroes Do | Brandon Schultz Superheroes. Fucking hate that word. Just a bunch of cock sniffers in spandex, cowards, or both. Our van rolled down a barely lit road, bumping and swaying at every crack and pothole. Ad-Block was already annoying. Almost as annoying as it is misfortunate having the name ‘Ad-Block’. The boy fidgeted in his seat, stealing odd glances in my direction, and tapped his fingers against his chair. He really wasn’t a boy, not physically, but with his giddiness I wasn’t about to call him a man. I tried to ignore it, like I would the rest of them: the adoring fans and the aspiring superheroes. Ad-Block cleared his throat, bringing me back to the van and his fidgety nervousness. Finally, he found the balls to speak. “Hey, uh, Solar Flare? Before we get in there and get to work, I just wanted to say that I’m, like, a huge fan and I’m really exci-.” “Cut the shit,” I spit back, “name’s Sarah. Only the pricks at corporate still call me Solar Flare.” The look in my eyes brooked no discussion. His face fell, marring his features. “And don’t get excited about this job, we’re just clean-up. None of that hero shit.” “Okay Sarah,” the kid began slowly, testing the name like one would an unfamiliar food, “w-why no hero, uh, shit? Aren’t we the heroes?” “Got your hero’s license yet?” I ask with a sigh, knowing full well the answer. Without a hero’s license, you were S-O-L on serving ‘vigilante justice’. ZioCorp, its corporate rivals, or the feds hunt you down. Anything to keep their merchandise and sponsored heroes going. Ad-Block’s eyes drop to his boots. “Well, no… ” he answers weakly, apologetically even, “but that’s part of why ZioCorp sent me on this mission, right? To get my feet wet?” I sigh again, but don’t answer. Our van stopped. I clambered through the back doors, taking in a deep breath of the night’s cool air. The van always had been a musty son of a bitch. Ad-Block thanked the driver, who sped off as soon as we had both feet on pavement. Ahead of us stood a factory complex- or what was left of one. It was a wreckage of metal and debris. Collateral damage; just another check and hand wave to fix in ZioCorp’s eyes. The front gate was rent apart, letting us stroll through. “Now that is a lot of damage,” Ad-Block (what an awful name) whispered. “We’re gonna be here awhile,” I sighed, “Octoman makes a mess, no matter what job.” “O-Octoman was here?!” He asked excitedly. “Keep your voice down.” He kept the stupid grin, but fell silent.
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