Savior Syndrome

You’re sitting inside the train station, tapping your foot. Time really passes slowly when you’re not having fun, doesn’t it? You laugh and shake your head. You just need to wait a little longer. If you’re too late, it won’t be fashionable at all, because there probably won't be anyone alive to see it. But if the city is in just enough chaos, you’ll have a perfect, fashionably late entrance.

“What are you staring at?” You yell at one of the passersby. He’s not staring at you, but you’ve always wanted an excuse to yell that.

“Aah!” The man jumps. “I’m not staring at you, you weirdo. . .” he trails off. “What . . . what are you wearing?” He bursts into laughter.

“Are you laughing at me? I’m the weirdo! Sure.” You snort. “You’re the one who’s the weirdo! I am your savior! You’ll see! Just wait.” You grab the man’s collar and throw him a little ways. Not very hard, though, because you don’t want to hurt him too much. For good measure, you throw your bag at him. As soon as it’s left your hands, you realize that was a stupid decision. You needed that bag, and getting it back will cost you your dignity. You leave the bag there.

The man gets up, shoves the bag away, and walks off like a mom going to the grocery store. As he passes someone walking the opposite direction, you hear him whisper to them, “Watch out, crazy psychopath claiming to be our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ over there.”

You scowl. Now you’re being taken for an insane person. Hm. Maybe. . .that’s a good name. Insanity. . . .nah. Insan. There! That’s my name. Got it. Actually. . .nope. How about something more. . .chill? Yeah, I like chill.

“Attention. The 10:45 train has been delayed. Thank you for your understanding,” the PA system calls. Perfect. You relied on the delays you set up to tell you when your entrance would be appropriate. Of course, that’s assuming the robots didn’t become self-aware and deviate from the scheduled destruction you set up.

You stand up and, to your satisfaction, dramatically run up the stairs, all thoughts of names gone. Your cape flaps behind you. Your chunky belt goes chink! Chink! Chink! every time you take a step. You emerge into the sunlight, your sequined vest and matching hat shining like a star. Fashionable and fashionably late.

Just as you’d hoped, the city is in chaos. People run everywhere, yelling, while the police try to control them. Their efforts are in vain, because of you. It’s working. . .! You didn’t actually expect your plan to work, but since it did, it’s time for Phase 2.

You lift off, gliding through the air. People stare. Their attention, miraculously, is drawn away from the giant robot army ravaging the city. From the way they’re looking at me, you’d think they’d never seen anyone fly before. You snort. People are ridiculous sometimes.

You fly as high as you can before reaching into your bag. Except your bag isn’t there anymore, because you left it in the station. Darn. Now I’ll have to lose my dignity. Everyone’s staring at me, too. You roll your eyes and fly back into the station. Everyone is watching you. Even your robots. You programmed them to watch you. This is embarrassing. Your face is slowly turning red.

You grab your bag and fly back out. 

Slightly worse for wear and without dignity, you whip out the contents of the bag. You hear a collective intake of breath from the crowds below. As they see that you’re only holding a megaphone, they let out their sighs. “ATTENTION, CITIZENS OF PEACETOWN! IT IS I, YOUR SAVIOR! I HAVE COME TO SAVE YOU ALL FROM MY- I MEAN, THIS GIANT RANDOM ARMY OF ROBOTS THAT I ABSOLUTELY HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH!” You press a button on the megaphone, and it plays a little fanfare. You bow, still flying high above the crowds. 

You hear a voice from below. “Who. . .who are you?”

It’s a girl. “Your savior!” you call back.

“I don’t need a savior, I was managing just fine on my own, thanks!” she calls.

“You need a savior! I know it! Who needs a savior?” You yell at the rest of the crowd.

“We do!” they yell back.

“Well, here I am! I am your savior! And I will stop these robots from destroying the city!”

“Are you a cosplayer!” someone shouts.

“Um. . .no. I am your savior. . .?” you’re starting to question the sanity of these people. Don’t they need saving?

“But you’re basically recreating the plot of the movie ‘The Incredibles!’”

Crap. That’s where I got the idea from. You think. They’re smarter than you.

“No, I’m not. I’ve never ever ever had the inclination to remake ‘The Incredibles.’ I don’t even-”

“Wait! You’d be a great Syndrome!” calls someone. “Come down here.”

You don’t listen to them. A name just popped into your head! “MY NAME IS. . . URSAVIER!” You play the fanfare again.

“Ursavier, with all due respect, you’d make a better Syndrome than an actual villain,” calls the same person. “I work for Disney, and I’ve been pushing for an Incredibles live-action movie for years, but we could never find a good Syndrome! Now we’ve got one! Come here, sign this contract that I happen to have.”

What? Why aren’t they scared of the robots? What’s happening? 

“But aren’t you scared? There are giant robots ravaging the city! You need a savior. Specifically me, Ursavier!”

“I could only hear that last part, but you’re sounding like Syndrome more and more! Come down here!”

You grunt and fly down to them. “What are you talking about, mortal?”

You’re mortal too, but it sounds cool to pretend you’re not.

“How are you flying?” someone yells.

“Rocket boots!” you yell back. “Invented by the one and only Ursavi-”

“You. . .you really are Syndrome. Sign this. Here.”

Maybe this dude will leave me alone if I give him my autograph. You sign the paper. He whips out his phone and takes a picture. Why does he need a picture and the actual autograph? Weirdo.

“Wow! Thanks, you really are my savior!”

Finally! Someone admits it! I mean, it was a little unexpected to be called a savior for simply signing a paper for some dude who works for some famous film company when I was expecting to save the city from giant robots, but I’ll take what I can get. No dignity can spare me now. You clap your hands like a little girl seeing a puppy. “Yay! You’re welcome for the autograph, by the way. Now, everyone, please, freak out about the robots so I can save the rest of you!” You hover above the crowd just a little bit expectantly.

Nobody freaks out.

“Actually, Ursavier, you have a meeting with Bob Chapek and a casting director. We’ve got to get going.” The man steals the megaphone. “Hey, everyone! The robots don’t seem to be causing much destruction anymore, so you can go back to your normal lives. This person here is going to be in a Disney film!” He gestures to you. You frown. Disney? I don’t remember agreeing- ah. The paper. What did he say? Sign here. . .Syndrome. Oh, boy. What did I just do.

“Listen, I’ve got to save these people from the robots! They’re causing so much damage-” You look up at the robots. They aren’t causing any damage at all. Oh, dear. You forgot that you programmed the robots to stop causing destruction when they spot you. Whoops. . . “Alright, maybe they’re not, but you all still need saving, right?”

“No!” the crowd roars back.

“Oh. . . Why not?”

The mayor steps forward. “Well, Ursavier, as you can see the robots aren’t doing much anymore, and all they really did was destroy the part of town that needed renovation anyways-” Of course, destroying residences would be mean, wouldn’t it? You think- “Really, we were just screaming because they startled us. Nothing big. And if you squint your eyes quite a bit, they actually make a nice sort of centerpiece-landmark thing. Thanks for stopping by. Maybe you can take a train back, as you seem to have come out of the train station.”

“No, no, Ursavier can’t just leave! He signed the contract! Come with me, Ursavier.” The Disney man grabs your arm and leads you off.

I guess this is my life now, huh. This plan totally backfired. I’ll never become famous this way, you think.

Maybe being casually evil was just fine, and this whole plan-to-become-famous was a total waste of time. Maybe there are other ways to become famous and loved by the people. 

Wait, am I a villain or a hero? Man or Muppet? What am I even-

“Excuse me, Ursavier. Pardon for interrupting your thoughts, but we’re driving to Mr. Chapek’s office right now, and I just wanted to let you know that you might become famous for this. I’m not sure if you’re aware of how famous Disney is, considering your little stunt earlier today, but we’re-”

“Wait. Did you say I might become famous?” Maybe this is the way to do it. . .

“Y-yes, that is what I said.”

“Sign me up!”

“Ursavier, you’re already signed up.”

“I don’t care about the side effects, just do it!” You clearly aren’t listening to the man.

“Alright. . .we’ll. . .uh. . .sign you up.” The man takes out his phone. You see the text he’s crafting. It reads:

Mr. Chapek, about the person I found to play Syndrome. . .they’re perfect. Also, slightly insane. . .and kinda chill.