A Year of Stories

Wolfram and Sandavol, Hero Underwriters

"So, what do you think?"

I find myself sitting in the living room of an attractive bungalow, located deep in the interior of a Suburb so unassuming, that even if I showed you where to find it on a map – gave you directions accurate to a square meter on any side – you'd still probably drive right past.

"It sounds expensive, is what I think..."

Sitting in front of me is a middle-aged man with an aggressively receding hairline, he has a smile that I wouldn't call fake, not exactly, but it's clearly rehearsed – designed to be worn over and over again without ironing – like a pair of slacks. Must work a corporate job. Kindred spirits.

"I understand what you're saying, believe me I do, but can you really put a price on security?"

This is my first time this far out of The City on a job, and it's going exactly like I thought it would. At least he didn't slam a door in my face...yet.

"You haven't proven to me that this 'insurance' of yours is anything more than a new way for you people to gouge us out of our hard earned paychecks."

And this is the problem with leaving The City. Everyone out here assumes that just because I work for Wolfram and Sandavol, that I'm one of them. Which is strange, considering I'm about 140 pounds soaking wet, and the closest thing to a super power I have, is the uncanny ability to work with three Excel spreadsheets at once.

"Sir, I'm not trying to steal your paycheck. I'm just trying to...I don't know, keep you safe."

His eyes flash. He's probably thinking about what happened in the news last week. God, I hope he isn't thinking about what happened in the news last week.

"You mean like Ballisto kept us 'safe'? Twenty-seven dead and two hundred and fifty injured. The news says that it'll be months before Mid-City is habitable again, and nearly a year before you can drink the water."

Low-grade nuclear fallout will do that to a place. Time for damage control.

"Imagine what would have happened if Ballisto wasn't there. Mad Martha and Her Bavarian Death Squad would have frozen the place solid. There wouldn't be a Mid-City to go back to."

He looks at me like he suspects that I might be hiding a second head somewhere inside of my suit jacket.

"I'm sure that one goes over real well with the parents..."

I want to argue, but the problem is – he isn't wrong.

Last year Wolfram and Sandavol handled $2.6 Billion worth of "Special Circumstance" claims. That's the code we use for anything involving, "a creature, human or otherwise, who exhibits preternatural abilities." You see, when a building falls down because Kid Halogen needs something convenient to drop on Dr. Maleficent, someone has to pay for it.

In the old days, the government would subsidize the repairs using money they tucked away in anti-Terrorism bills. Unfortunately, about a decade back, the whole thing got leaked on the Internet, and taxpayers started to balk at $.02 in every dollar of their salaries going towards Super Hero irresponsibility.