Growing up at the Crossroads of the World

"It's been said that it takes many things to make a skyscraper- steel, concrete,glass, stone...and spirit."

For 45 years I've called Times Square, the so-called Crossroads of the World my home. My name is Astor, well, One Astor Plaza if you insist on getting all formal on me, and let me tell you, during my time here, I've seen some pretty crazy shit. Times Square's had a long and rich history, even before you humans started calling it that. But when I and a few of my skyscraper neighbors were built, it had spent the last couple of decades going straight to hell. The theaters of the Great White Way were becoming an endangered species, replaced by porno movie theaters, sex shops, adult bookstores, strip joints, and the like. This slide into neon drenched depravity was showing no signs of letting up, and then somebody got the idea to try and revitalize the neighborhood by encouraging real estate developers to build us- shiny new office towers, complete with our own theaters, in an attempt to recapture the area's fantastic past. Even my name's a nod to history- before I went up, my little patch of earth was occupied by one Hotel Astor. Apparently he used to be a grand and beautiful hotel, until he succumbed to the same sleaze and neglect which poisoned the rest of the neighborhood. So when my developers named me, One Astor Plaza it was. Over the years I've been given a few names by both humans and my fellow skyscrapers, but Astor's the one I like best. Not the name of my first major tenant, who went belly up shortly after moving in, but not before they defaced my crown with their ugly signage. I don't use me skyscraper-given name publicly either- I'm sure most of you humans would mangle it either in spelling or pronunciation, and I certainly don't embrace the damnable human custom of naming buildings after nothing more than their street addresses. Bleh, how impersonal can you get?

It wasn't just Times Square that was fraying and falling apart at the seams, it was my whole city. Parts of New York looked like something out of a post apocalyptic movie, or some far-off country in the middle of a violent coup. These days we tell our younglings that the soft background roar you can always hear, an undertone to even the quietest of moments-it's the sound of the city breathing. But back then, as people and jobs were fleeing, it was more like the sound of the city weeping.However, there were those who believed that things would get better-after all, they were building plenty of us! No word of a lie, the early 70's alone saw so many new skyscrapers go up (Including yours truly!) that our elders had their hands quite full. Even skyscrapers built a decade or so earlier found themselves serving as impromptu teachers and mentors. But of course, at the time you humans were clueless about all that. It was only a few years later that we found a way to show you the truth- that we were not just dead piles of glass and metal, but beings possessed of spirit as well. In addition to our constructed forms (The ones you see when you look at any city's skyline), we also have our manifested or incarnate forms,nothing less than spirit made manifest in flesh and bone- humanoid,with some distinct features. In our incarnate bodies, we're taller than humans, anywhere from seven to over nine feet on average. We're known for our complexions too, shades of grey with a bit of a silver shimmer. But far and away, our most distinctive features are found from the shoulders up- it's our cranial structure that bears the greatest resemblance to our original bodies. In my case, the sides and back of my head inherited the glossy black and silver pinstriped markings of my constructed body, and I've got a perfect flesh and bone replica of my finned and spiky crown. In my constructed body,I'm 745 feet tall. In my incarnate form, I'm a little over nine feet before I put my boots on. Oh, and one more thing- we're psychic.Feats of psychokinetic power are as normal to us as breathing.

I remember how freaked out a lot of people were when we came out- some were afraid that we would eat them, chase them away and claim the cities for ourselves, spy on them in the bathroom, you name it. Convincing humans that we weren't an existential threat to their way of life or very existence took some time. Yes, we had our share of demonstrations and marches, some of which took place practically outside my front doors. I've still got a copy of a picture from the front page of the New York Times- One Penn Plaza (one of my brothers)and I staring down some fear mongering street preacher, drowning out his hateful words with our own voices, singing a hymn to the Architect of the Universe. Sure, we could just as easily have yanked the hateful sign he was holding from his grasp, ripped it to shreds,then used the pieces to stuff that lying mouth of his. But what would that have proven? To many, it would have proven the hate and scare-mongers right- that we were violent beings who hated humans and would use any excuse to hurt one. Now don't get me wrong- sometimes things happened that no amount of singing could stop, and we had to throw some hands. Talking trash about us was one thing, but outright attacking us simply because we existed? That's where we drew the line and set hard limits. Yeah, every now and then somebody would try something really stupid- members of some white supremacist group decided that we were their new targets and and a few of them tried to jump One and Two Penn Plaza one night, then a handful of religious fanatics tried to storm One New York Plaza's lobby downtown,intending to lure her out and kill her. I guess they thought they were doing their God's work. In both cases, it ended badly for the humans. The racists who picked on One and Two Penn couldn't decide afterwards which sucked more- telekinetic body slams or eating skyscraper boot leather and knuckle sandwiches. And One New York is a fire survivor- when those fanatics started to scream about hellfire,she decided to share her memory with them through a forced mind link.Suddenly they found themselves experiencing her memories, feeling her pain as though their own flesh was burning.