By the time I get there I see that I've been beat by another super. (You can always recognize someone as a superhero if they're wearing flashy spandex suits, which in this case is true.) Both the man and the superhero don't see me, but that's because I'm invisible of course.
I don't see any antagonists, so I immediately presume that the antagonist has already cowered and ran away before the presence of Your Highness. I'm not even kidding. He calls himself Your Highness. He'd be more of a joke if he also wasn't a really handsome specimen with a six-pack. The only ones who take him seriously are those attracted to the male gender. He was labeled as "Birchwood City's Hottest New Superhero- Literally," and I guess he really took that to heart. That's not even the worst part. His costume is literally just a pair of black spandex shorts with little gold crown motifs on them. Well, I mean, he also has a black half-mask like he's the Phantom of Opera Goth Edition, but I don't think his IQ is high enough to even get that reference. He probably just didn't want a full mask or it would "cover his beauty." He claims that he's the lost prince of Wales or something, I don't know. So he pretty much just goes around flaunting his abs and his ego without really doing any crime-fighting. All anyone really knows about the "super" part of his superhero title is that he does have the ability to turn any part of the ground into a sinkhole. Which sounds extremely dangerous and I guess it could be, but on him it's actually just kind of lame because most of the time he completely fails and makes a little puddle of quicksand underneath the villain's feet. Not exactly terrifying.
"Please, Your Highness, you have to help me!" The man starts to bawl. He has red-ringed brown eyes and pale skin, and his spiky dark blonde hair is matted to his sweating face. He's crouching against the crumbling brick wall behind him, and he looks terrible.
"I don't get it," Your Highness says irritably. "Where's the bad guy? What... exactly... is the problem here?" The muscular superhero shuffles around awkwardly. He usually just goes for saving the damsels in distress, which is an insult to feminists everywhere. One time a lady actually sued him because he tried to scoop her up in his arms bridal-style and take off with her, when the antagonist in that situation was just the woman's older brother she was getting into an argument with. It was pretty funny to watch on the news, as you can imagine.
"He could be anywhere," the man rasps, his chest heaving with every breath. "Please. You have to do something. He's going to kill me!" Your Highness just gives the man a skeptical look.
"Schizophrenics," he mutters under his breath. Wow. Stigmatize much? Still he forces a smile on his face and bends down to get eye-to-eye with the cowering man. "Why would someone be after you?" He talks too loud and way overcompensates with his enunciation. This is just offensive. Your Highness of The Island of Assholes, maybe. On behalf of all of those actually suffering from mental illnesses, I'd like to give his perfect little face its first scar.
"I--I owe money to this guy. Gambling debts. Poker games. I have a tab running. He was getting impatient. They took my family. His ransom is all of the money that I owe and then some. I'm broke; I have no money to pay. He said he's going to kill me first," the man cries. Your Highness looks a little less annoyed now. He leans forward intently.
"Who is this man, the one trying to kill you and your family?" he asks, all the while flexing his biceps. God, what an idiot.
"I don't know," the man sniffs, "I've never seen his face. But I can hear him watching me sometimes. Rustles in the leaves when I'm out walking in the park. A door swinging seconds after I enter a room. I- I think he's invisible," the distressed man confesses. Your Highness actually facepalms.
"Look, man, I don't have time for this. Here-" Your Highness takes a piece of his paper from his spandex shorts pocket along with a ballpoint pen (...Dude what?) and scribbles something down on it, then thrusts the paper towards the man. "It's the number for a mental illness hotline. They'll help you out. Good luck, man. You're going to need it." He widens his eyes as he turns away and winds a finger around his ear in the universal sign for "cuckoo."
"No, please!" the man wails. "You can't leave me here alone with him! He's going to kill me! At the very least, please find my family and make sure they're okay!"
"You're on your own, crazy man," I can hear Your Highness mutter before the superhero turns his back and walks away, ignoring the cries of the man he didn't even bother to save. See, this is why I don't like superheroes. They're all brats who only save the ones that'll make them look good on a newspaper.
"Hello, sir," I call out softly, dropping my cloaking and walking toward him. "Are you ok?"
"You have to help me find my family," he cries. His shoulders are shaking and he looks completely broken.
"Of course. Do you know where they might be being kept?" I ask, kneeling down so I'm eye-to-eye with him, but not in a condescending way like Your Highness.
"I'm sorry, I don't." He shakes his head like it physically pains him to say no. "My wife, Lila, and my kids- identical twins, both boys. Adam and Zachary. They're only seven years old." He sniffs and wipes his nose with the back of his hand. "He's going to kill them." I can't tell if this guy is crazy or not. Regardless, I'm going to try and help him.
"Let's get you somewhere safe, sir. Then we can figure out where they might be at, okay?" I wait for his response. He nods and sniffs again, looking extremely grateful and relieved.
"Where are we going?" he asks, his voice warbling from the aftereffects of his messy sobbing spree. He looks more disheveled every time I look at him. His eyes are desperate and haunted, his face unshaven. Poor guy. Schizophrenic or not, I can't just leave him here.
"Somewhere safe," I repeat. I take his hand and pull him up with me. He smiles hesitantly but then he looks up and the relief drains from his face faster than syrup from a snow-cone. I turn to follow his gaze, confused, but just then I get a whopping punch in the face that sends me sprawling across the ground. Black spots my vision and once I recover, it takes me a moment to clear my head and attempt to get to my feet again. Blood fills my mouth as I feel a tooth jarred loose in my mouth and I spit it onto the ground. Ok. So maybe the man's not crazy after all. But when I finally get to my feet, there's nobody there but said man. And he's trembling up a storm.
"Oh God oh God," he whispers, bowing his head and murmuring things under his breath. I've never been the praying type, but hey- I'm not one to judge.
"Who's there?" I call out, like every other stereotypical character in a horror film. Wham! Another blow to the back of my head. This time my vision goes black for a few heart-stopping moments after I tumble to the ground and get a face full of pavement, but I quickly recover. And I hear a voice.
"You should've kept quiet, you little bitch," a different male voice hisses. I stay still for a few more moments, playing possum.
"I'm sorry. Oh God. Oh God. Please, spare my family. They didn't do anything wrong. Just take me if you must. Please, don't do this. I'll pay you back somehow. I'll work for you, Lance! Anything, please!" He's sobbing even harder than before, even though I didn't know it to be physically capable. I slowly open my eyes and much to my surprise there is actually another man. He has a severe widow's peak and a long khaki trench coat- classic villain. And he's currently choking my would-be-rescue to death.
I rush upwards and in one fluid motion I punch this Lance in the face, this time sending him flying. He thumps against the brick wall but regains his balance, a deathly look on his face as he delicately wipes away the blood running from his nose. I hear a thump and I turn to see the man I was trying to rescue out cold. Of course he fainted. Because my job was easy enough already.
"Well, well, well. Hello there, lovely," Lance leers, smoke-colored eyes glinting like coal. He doesn't seem afraid in the least.
"Hasn't your mother ever taught you it's rude to hit a lady?" I growl, grabbing him by his pathetic little trench coat and coming almost nose-to-nose with him. I always do enjoy a good intimidation. But just when I'm about to knee him where it hurts the most, he disappears. Literally. Gone. He's invisible. Of course.
I whip around to intercept him but he's too fast for me. He knees me in the back, successfully taking my breath away, and has me pinned before I can even criticize him for his poor choice in clothing.
"You chose the wrong crazy to try and save, my love," Lance whispers sweetly in my ear. Let me tell you- there's nothing more creepy than when an invisible person touches you. You can feel their skin but your eyes are telling you there's nothing there and your brain starts to have a panic attack.
"See, I dunno about that. People used to say the same about me," I tell him. And with that I surge upwards, reaching around and punching wherever I feel something brush my knuckles. I don't see the fist coming to my face, but I can definitely feel it. I think I hear a cracking in my nose. "Jesus. You got a mean swing, pal," I tell him, smiling through the blood and the mind-numbing pain. At least I stayed on my feet. I think that tooth is about ready to come out because more blood is seeping from my lips. Great. I spit the metallic-tasting blood out in his general direction. Much to my surprise, it sticks on something in mid-air. The splatter shapes to form half of his cheek and nose. I watch as the splatter contorts, his face presumably scrunching up in disgust. This is quite possibly the weirdest thing I have ever experienced.
"You got a little something on your face there, buddy." With that I spit again, directly hitting his eye. Now there's a floating blood splatter forming the outline of an eye blinking madly and half of a pair of blood-covered lips. If I wasn't afraid for my life, I would find this vaguely intriguing. He wipes at his face but only succeeds in smearing the blood around. I don't exactly understand how my blood sticks and his clothes aren't visible, but then again I don't exactly understand my illusions most of the time either.
This time I see him coming for me because the blood splatter moves toward me, and I manage to aim a kick right into what I take to be his gut. While he's writhing on the ground, I spit more blood onto him until I can see his neck and most of his face. God... This is so weird though. Invisible people, am I right?
Before he can do anything else, I kick him in the ribs. I do this repeatedly until he groans in pain, until what I can see of his eyes are closing in defeat. And I didn't even have to use an illusion and give myself away. (Well, I mean, my whole face is an illusion but whatever.)
Painstakingly I kneel down and wrap my hand around his throat, dragging him up to his knees with the one hand. (Gotta love super-strength.) He makes a very wet-sounding gagging noise, and I feel something like liquid dripping onto the hand around his throat. Presumably his blood. His invisible blood. Ugh.
"I need to know where you're keeping this gentleman's family," I tell Lance patiently. His eyes are bulging madly. "Seriously. Just turn visible already. You're just kidding yourself." Slowly the rest of his body fades into view, like watching an old video game character respawn. Freaky. I thought I'd seen it all.
"On the corner of fifth and Ridgeway," Lance sputters. When my hand doesn't leave his throat, he gets squirmy. "C'mon, man. I wasn't actually going to hurt the kids or the wife. I just wanted to scare him into giving me the money," he pleads. I pull up an illusion of handcuffs from my hoodie pocket and "lock" them around his wrists. He hangs his head in defeat. Some villain. Where's the monologuing and the last minute attempts of escape?
"You can explain it all to the cops," I tell him. Then I turn to the man and gently nudge him awake. When he sees Lance's bloodied face and (not really) handcuffed wrists, his jaw drops.
"Oh my God! You saved me! Thank you so much," he says, tearing up. Oh, please no. Don't start crying again. Instead he gets up and hugs me, blood and all.
"Do you have a phone on you?" I ask him. He shakes his head. Of course he doesn't. That would just be too much to ask of someone in the freaking twenty-first century.
I haul Lance over my shoulder like he's nothing more than a sack of potatoes, and together our ragtag trio treks to the nearest payphone.
The cops arrive within a few minutes, red and blue lights flashing. I calmly explain the situation to them all the while keeping my hood low. I hope they can't hear the pounding of my heart. Luckily, they don't seem surprised to see this new superhero and they go as far as to say they've been looking for Lance- not for his powers but because he runs an illegal gambling operation. With Lance in custody (I make sure to switch out his fake handcuffs for real ones when the cops aren't looking) and a patrol car going to check out Ridgeway and 5th at my instructions, I decide it's time for me to head out.
The man, who's name is Danny, sits on the curb with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He's already thanked me excessively and it's getting a bit irritating, to be honest, so I try to leave without him seeing me and causing a whole scene.
"Wait!" he yells, just as I turn to leave. Of course. I look over my shoulder at him, keeping a smile on my face even though he probably can't even see it.
"Yes?" I ask patiently, stuffing my hands in my hoodie pockets. These boots are making my feet sore and I want to kick them off the second Dave and Ollie come and get me. They should be here any minute, pulling up on the other side of the street. (I really need to just buy my phone instead of using a payphone. It might get to be a little bit ridiculous with all of this superhero business.)
"Who are you?" he asks me simply. This is where I'm supposed to give him a really epic code name and make a dramatic, mysterious exit that leaves him wondering who could be the woman behind the hood... But that's not who I am. I'm...
"Whoever you want me to be," I reply honestly. He watches, mystified, as I keep my head low and just walk away; the last of the red and the blue flashing lights dappling the pavement create a backdrop for my first ever save as a superhero.
YOU ARE READING
Super?
Adventure"Stop pretending to be an idiot, idiot." Ouch. It burns. "You're starting to sound like a dear old friend of mine," she adds, her tone implying that her "friend" isn't so much of a "friend" as a mortal enemy who she probably also dragged into an all...
