We Meet Again

Planet #765

Sunny

I woke up in a gasp. My head turned towards the clock laying on my dresser, 10:00. Fuck. This is my second time being late this week.

I quickly grabbed my white collared shirt and ran out the door. I ran through the streets of Chicago until reaching my job.

I work as a magazine editor right here at TY.

I frantically threw my stuff over my desk and sat down when my boss exited his office, "Amets, my office. Now." My friend, Ricky, just stared at me with shocked eyes, "Looks like someone is gonna use their two weeks vacation early."
"Shut up, Ricky." I walked towards my boss's office.

"Take a seat." He offered. I hesitated, but finally gave in, "You know, Amets, you're one of the best employees I have here. You've edited some of our most successful magazines."
"Well, thanks, sir. I really-"
"But you're also the most irresponsible worker we have. You have been late two times this week, and not by thirty minutes like the other times, but by two hours."

"I'm sorry, sir. It's just that I go to sleep late sometimes, or my alarm clock doesn't wake me up."

"What other things are you busy with that you have to go to sleep late for?"
"Um," Being a superhero, "Just personal stuff."
"Well, sort them out, cause if not, human resources will be on my ass."

"Of course, I'm sorry again, sir."

My name's Amet, and I am Chicago's newest hero. When I was young, my mom signed me up for karate. I reached black belt, but then switched to MMA, and I was a fucking pro at it. After my father left us, he took all the money with him. I fought for money. If I won a fight, my pay would be 200 dollars. I'd never lose so we lived a pretty comfortable life. That didn't mean that my mom was happy though, "Again? Amet, I told you I wanted you to stop the fights."
"And what? Live off the 700 dollars you make a month? With my fights, we make 1,200 dollars a month, and if I fight two times a week, I'll make even more."
"I don't care about the money, Amet. I care about you. You're my only son. You're the only thing I have left."

"I want to take care of you, mom."
"That's not your part to play. You're not the father."

"I know you don't want me to do this, but it's what I like to do, and it gets us money. I mean you could stop working."
"And then what? You get yourself closer to death with every punch?"

"I win every fight."
"I don't care! You come home every time with a bruise on your- somewhere! Everytime. I can't stand seeing you like this." She covered her eyes with her hands as she started to cry. I pulled her close into a hug, and kissed the top of her head. Afterwards, she sat me down and cleaned my lip and eye.

After that night, I decided that I would use my skills for something greater than that, I would fight for those who can't.

My first victim was my mom's boss. He made them work 12 hours a day for a pay of 3 dollars an hour, and sometimes extra time for exactly 0 dollars an hour. I snuck through the window while he was in his office, and slammed his head onto the table. I held tightly to his hair, and whispered in his ear, "I'm home." I let him go, fixed my mask and went to sit in front of him, "I know about everything you have here. Come on, laundering drug dealing money, and still only pay your workers 3 dollars an hour. I thought drug dealers were supposed to be nice to people of their community, or is that just Latin American dealers?"

"Who are you?"
"You'll know, someday."

His hand banged against the bottom of the desk. He lifted his gaze to me, "You looking for this?" I held the gun in my hand. I leaned forward and laced my fingers together, "I'll make a deal with you... You pay your workers fairly, and the minimum, or I will come back and kill you, got it?" I slammed the gun on his desk and climbed out the window. It was that easy. That night, my mom came home, and called my name in excitement, "I got a raise!" She smiled, and threw the money in the air while spinning under it, "I got a raise, son." She jumped onto my arms, "You can stop fighting for money now!" She kissed my cheek.