Live Long Enough as a Hero.

Pebble sized fragments of broken concrete clattered in bursts down the walls of the crater. Ethan ignored them. He likewise blocked out the sound of the sirens above, the shouts from all around, and the constant splashing of water. The broken pipes would continue to gush torrents into the hole until someone thought to turn off the supply. He refused to remind them. Mosaic shards of man-made stone decorated the sloped walls. Wet dirt, wind-blown dust and twisted metal added their own sculptures to the gallery of destruction. Ethan had seen it all before. Sitting at the centre of the chasm rent through the city centre, his focus was reserved instead for his own hands. The charred remains of his outfit clung to his arms and chest only by the determination of a few threads. Yet, those threads still proved greater than his own ability to hold the city together. No matter how he looked at them, or how fast he tried to move, he still only had two hands. Despite all his strength, all his speed, he could only be in one place at a time. He had come so close to failing, only arriving at the last second, that he was left struggling to force his thoughts into order. A blankness dampened his mind. His heart still threatened to rip from his chest and his breath was reluctant to repeat itself. If he hadn’t made it in time, if he hadn’t thrown his body over this latest improvised explosive as a last resort, all of the people lining the crater above and beginning to cheer would be dead. Then they would have blamed him. Worse...he would have blamed himself.

When the din from above grew too loud, and his wayward thoughts could not protect him from reality any longer, Ethan stood up. His mind was still foggy, his movements felt unreal. The water was endlessly filling the hole. He could feel it seeping over the edge of his boots and wetting his toes. His gifts did not extend to repelling discomfort. With a sigh and a swift shake of his head to attempt some clarity, he ignored the expectant crowd and launched himself skyward, flying into the air at speed and drawing with him a dramatic sweep of water droplets. Ethan just wanted to go home. He ignored the cheers. He turned away from the raised hands, and he forgave himself the guilt of leaving the broken city behind. He wasn’t a maid's service for its infrastructure. He wasn’t a handy tool to quickly fix their broken toys. Let them clean up their own mess this time. He intended to take care of himself for once.

A hot bath did little to raise his spirits. A warm meal, cooked for one, only further soured his mood. Instead, he found himself sitting on his cabin porch, blankly looking to the remote mountains, lost in thought. Far away from all the noise, the demands and attention, the rocky scene and smell of pine forest was meant to calm him. These days it was just a reminder of his solitude. Ethan found himself repeating on a loop the same ideas that had captured him at the base of that crater.

“When will it end?” He muttered aloud to himself, turning his eyes to the stars, “When will they ever stop?”

He already knew the answer. Finding himself unable to bear it, he dragged himself to his feet with a heavy sigh, wandered inside and fell into bed. Lazily pulling a blanket half across his body, Ethan, the hero of Levity City, fell into a reluctant sleep.

Incessant beeping tore his eyelids from each other. His unnaturally bright blue irises, met with the stabbing, full light of a crisp mountain day. It was too strong for it to still be morning. With a groan he sat up, ran a hand over his stuffy face and scraped his fingers through his short, dark hair. The cabin was a single room, built easily by his own hand, and was as far from civilisation as possible. The strength of a hundred men and the ability to fly was useful for that kind of thing. He stumbled over to the powerful transmitter, which took up most of the dining room table, and stopped to look at all the unused chairs that surrounded it. Why he had chosen to make more than one, he had no clue. Snatching up the receiver, if only to make the obnoxious sound and red lights cease, he was greeted with a familiar voice.

“Finally! Where have ya been!?” Detective Hanson screeched, she was nothing if not insistently passionate, “Never mind! Mayor wants to do the public relations thing. He needs ya on screen. The way you just left yesterday has the media kicking up a storm. Then I’ll need any new information you have on these bombings. Get down here would ya?”

“Sure, Hanson. I’ll be there soon.” Ethan mumbled, before hanging up abruptly. He was in no mood for small talk. Rubbing his neck, he sighed. Time to get dressed and back to work. The work that never stopped. Not for a minute. Still, he had to carry on. There was no one else. He trudged to his wardrobe, donned a fresh suit of red and blue and splashed some water on his face. Downing a coffee and balancing the mug on top of an already full sink, he stepped outside and shot into the clear skies like a bullet from a gun.

“Good, you’re here.” Detective Hanson said, falling into step with him and avoiding getting tangled in his cape. Ethan didn't slow. It was an absurdly long way through the maze-like corridors of city hall to reach the mayors grand conference room, and he wanted it over with, “What's wrong? You look tired...I didn’t think you could get tired…”

“Not physically.” Ethan said.

“What does that mean? What's going on with you? I’ve never seen you just bail like that yesterday.”

Ethan stopped mid-stride and placed a gentle hand under the arm of the only person he could call any kind of friend. He pulled her to the side of the ornate hallway.

“Don’t you ever get sick of it?” He asked, keeping his voice low and glancing suspiciously at those passing, “The never-ending cycle of it all? There’s always another psycho out there. We put one away and another just pops up with a new bomb, or a bigger gang, or a more complicated scheme. There seem to be more every year, as if I’m making it worse rather than better! It's getting to the point I can't keep up. Is there some endless supply of damaged people out there, who all want the world to burn? For everyone else to pay for their personal misfortunes?”

“Well, yeah, kind of,” She said with a shrug, as if it were an obvious fact of life, “A broken system breeds broken people. I guess you just gotta focus on the one in front of you. Unless something changes, there’s always going to be some who fall through the cracks. And hey, without them we’d be outta the job, right?”

“Would that be so bad?” Ethan asked, not returning her lighthearted smile, “and why hasn’t anything changed, in all this time? I thought I was fixing things, taking these people off the streets. But no one seems to be preventing more joining their cause. Don’t you feel trapped by it? Even if we somehow got them all, how long till they get released and we would have to start all over again? Don’t you want a life of your own? Away from your badge?”

“What's with you?” She asked again, “Is this some kind of crisis? Should I be worried?”

“No, no. Nothing like that. You’re right...I’m just...tired.”

“Look, I get what you're saying,” Hanson whispered, moving closer and putting her hands around his, a warm touch that meant more to him that she could ever imagine, “But what are we gonna do? Just sit back and let them win? What can we do but keep giving our best? Giving our all? You gift light and life to so many, don’t give up on us now. Things might change, there’s always that hope.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Ethan said, looking away, but keeping his hands right where they were.

“Come on, lets get this over with and get out of here. I’ll buy you a coffee and you can vent to me as much as you like. Just…in there? Show them the hero they want to see? Please? I don’t need the mayor on my case again…” Hanson pleaded, pulling her hands back and leaving Ethan alone in the cold air once more.

He smiled through the speeches, waved companionably at just the right speed, shook hands with people who were undoubtedly very important and read out a prepared apology for not attending the clean-up. Somehow without ever saying the word sorry. The entire time, he bit his tongue and withheld the rant he wanted to spew out at them all. Perhaps instead of highlighting his slight, they could be grateful one of their own citizens hadn’t been allowed to vindictively kill the rest? Perhaps if they had done more to prevent someone building a super bomb, then his intervention wouldn’t have been necessary? Perhaps they could take responsibility for the mess they had caused? Or better yet, allocate enough funds to repair the damage? How about that? No? Don’t worry then. Ethan will do it all, with a smile and sporting whatever daft nickname they had decided to assign him lately. At the first opportunity, he stormed from the room, desperate to escape its suffocating closeness. His blank expression and tight shoulders working in direct contrast to all the false pleasantries he had been forced to display.

Too many people followed him. They swarmed about his ankles like some immense gaggle of ducklings trailing their mother. All of them entirely blind to his mood. He was a hero, so of course, it was expected that he was always happy. Detective Hanson pushed her way through them and placed herself at his side. Her expression at least, proved she saw him as he was. Human, and frustrated. The rest, they continually assaulted him with a barrage of inane questions and demands.

“How long until you nab this bomber?”

“Where do you think he will strike next?”

“Can we expect you at the children’s hospital this month?”

“Will you be helping with the re-building efforts moving forward? It was your actions that damaged downtown after all…”

“What would you say to all those who dispense vigilante justice in your name?”

“What’s your opinion on town spending?”

“Do you agree with the prison expansion plans?”

“How about sentences for the villains you bring in, should they be longer?”

“What diet should I follow to look like you?”

“Any tips on living a more super lifestyle?”

Ethan thought his scowl and silence would eventually act as an answer to their questions. Better that, than him rounding on them all, and snapping that maybe they should figure these things out for themselves. It didn't work. They never stopped. None of it ever stopped. He was almost grateful, as messed up as it felt, when they all gasped, pointed and froze in fear behind him. He stood tall, plain faced, and stared down the man who had turned the corner ahead. Strapped to his chest were the tell-tale tubes of explosive purple liquid that had plagued the city for weeks. He almost thanked him for the relief of it. It was a far simpler problem to face, than the morons cowering behind his cape, waiting to spring forward with more requests.

The bomber had finally shown himself. Although, assuming he succeeded, no one would ever see him again. Which didn’t make much sense to Ethan, but these criminals were becoming so radical he didn’t follow much of their thinking anymore. He watched realisation spread over the criminal's face. It seemed he had not expected to find them coming the other way. But then he smiled. The nasty, cruel smile of someone who thought they had stumbled on something they could turn to their advantage.

“I have strapped to me, the most powerful explosive the world has ever seen!” He squawked.

Ethan hardened his eyes, clenched his fists and ground his teeth. The days pressures were reaching a boiling point. His anger was ready to spill over. It was true what he’d said to Detective Hanson. He was tired. So very tired of going through the motions and nothing ever getting better. Exhausted with formulating rescues that left the criminal alive, and available for a prosecution, that was always too light. He glanced at her now. The fear was vibrant in her eyes. She looked back at him, desperate for help. It was a look he’d seen a thousand times, but from her, it actually stirred something to life inside him again.

“Take one step, hero, and I will blow-”

Ethan exploded forward at speed. He didn’t even bother touching his feet to the ground. Papers swirled into the air, paintings swept aside, the carpet rucked up and he was on the attacker within a blink. He grasped the man's hair, and feeling every rip and tear of his thick flesh, tore his head from his shoulders. Blood sprayed the walls as he kicked the rest of his limp body, bomb attached, through the end window and into the sky. It detonated in a cloud of purple fire and smoke, well beyond the distance it could do any harm. With blood splattering his boots from the severed head in his hand, he turned slowly back to the officials, the reporters and the police who were watching slack jawed. Ethan spoke with more calm and purpose in his heart, than he had felt in a very long time.

“Things are going to be changing in Levity City. I am done wasting my time.”