I Am (Not) Your Hero

1

"Smite stops a home invasion in Poland while proving once again, that he is, the world's hero."

"You have to stop and think about what we're doing here. Putting our lives—the world— into the hands of some...caped stranger! It's lunacy!"

"Smite has reduced crime rates world wide by 22 percent since his debut in America twenty years ago. The U.N states that his plan to eliminate nuclear weapons are, quote: revolutionary."

The TV blared as the muscular man prodded at his eggs with a fork, tearing open the yolk, the yellow liquid gushing out onto the porcelain plate.

His knife scraped the plate audibly, the yolk spreading over the redness of the meat, giving it contrast. He glanced up, looking at the Miriam of televisions going at once.

Smite is on track to take over the world!

We should be glad he's for us and not against us.

I personally feel safer knowing he's always listening.

Isn't it kinda creepy though? He knows when you're sleeping he knows when you're awake type thing? It's an invasion of privacy.

Is he even human? I mean...who is he?

The man stood, turning off the monitors. He stood, discarded breakfast, left as he stalked into his bedroom. He hummed to himself as he pulled on his clothes.

White pants. White armored shirt. Red cape. He stood cocking his head, looking at himself in the mirror. He smirked to himself, his smile gleaming.

"I am listening," he grinned to himself. He turned his back, humming. His bed perfectly made. The window open. He flew out of it.

"Smite!" He was greeted by the citizens below him. He waved back, increasing speed toward a now familiar station.

He landed in the chair, approached by makeup artists who patted powder into his skin.

"Live in three two, one—"

Deborah smiled. "Good morning and welcome to The Daily with Deborah Warner, I'm Deborah Warner and we're here with, you know him, you love him, Smite!"

Smite grinned, giving his patented smile nodding to the camera.

"It's an honor to be here, Deborah," he said gently, finally turning to her.

His eyes narrowed as kept up his grin.

"Now, you've been busy since your erasure of nuclear weapons. The opinions of the public, as I'm sure you know, are mixed. Some say we're giving you too much power. There are some who believe you're becoming something akin to a politician. It leaves the world wondering: where do you fit into the world?"

Was she mentally deficient?

Smite just grinned, his dark hair gleaming under the harsh lights. "I'm twice as honest as any politician, and three times as handsome," he chuckled lowly, reaching over to grab the waiting mug on the table. He put it to his lips, his lips resting, as he looked over the rim at the host.

He didn't look at her, no. That was inaccurate. He looked through her. He set his mug down, placing his smile in its place.

"But really Deborah. I'm a hero. That's my place in this world. It always has been. I am here to protect the people who cannot protect themselves."

She giggled, leaning forward. Smite just smiled.

He wondered if she knew she had a brain tumor pressing against her frontal lobe? Probably not. They'd have to find out in the autopsy. She had a week. Max three.

He leaned in.

"You heard it here first folks! We're going to cut to commercial, but when we come back, Smite's love life? Stay turned!"

"Cut that's a rap! Take 10." The manage stated.

Deborah smiled, adjusting her navy blue pant suit too. "It's really an honor to be sitting here with you, Smite. I know you're very busy."

He smiled, putting his hand on her leg. You're going to die.

"The pleasure is mine, Deborah."

Deborah flushed, shifting in her seat. "We would love to have you back. Next month we're doing a segment on America's heroes."

The man just grinned, leaning forward. "Only if you're there." He winked.

"And we're on!"

• •

Smite zoomed out of the studio, heading toward his home. He couldn't wait to eat. He zoomed into the skylight of his penthouse, pulling out a sandwich from the fridge. His large hands gripped the bread, poised to eat it.

An alarm went off making him frown. A robbery? In his city? Someone wasn't bright. All the criminals who were dumb enough to do soemthing in his city were locked up. He groaned, setting his meal down, flying out the window toward the robbery.

He zoomed faster, honing in on the police scanner.

Robbery in progress at First national bank.

First National. He sighed, zooming faster. His muscles bulged as he crossed his arms, levitating over the crime scene. A bag off money was thrown from the shadow of the alley.

"Wow. You actually came," he heard a raspy voice behind him.

He turned siding wondering why he hadn't heard footprints but was unlike him.

"You must not have heard. This is my city. No one robs my city while I'm in it."

She just cocked her head, looking up and down. She donned black from head to toe, her eyes covered in a black mask.

"Hm...the money's right there, so it's not exactly a robbery is it? Actually, I just have a question for you. Who do you think you are?"

Smite frowned, unable to keep his smile, setting his feet on the ground.

"I'm sorry?"

She just smirked. "You have super hearing and I didn't stutter. I asked you: who do you think you are?"

Smite just blinked, speechless, his brows furrowed. "I am Smite. Hero. And you are a criminal."

The woman shrugged. "You claim you're a hero, but you're breaking several laws right now. Vigilantism, assault, breaking and entering. What makes the things I do a crime, and the things you do, heroism?"

He chuckled with a frown. "Ma'am I don't know who you think I am. I am Smite. I am a hero—"

She narrowed her eyes. "I see. So you think you're a hero. And so does everyone else. But I know who you are, Smite. And you are no hero."

She turned around; walking away. He stared after her words echoing in his mind. It was no secret some people were critics. But no one had the hall to say to his face. Especially not in the middle of a crime.

The police arrived, drawing his attention. Then begin questioning the teller.

"How much was stolen?" The officer asked.

"Two bags," she shook.

Smite frowned deeper. Two? Where on earth did she hide the second bag? She...got away with the money?

How hadn't he seen that? And then he realized. When he looked at her, he hadn't looked through her. Through her clothes, through her skin. He'd been looking at her.

He forced a smile back on his face, nodding at the officers before they could ask him any questions.