1.
I never wanted to be a hero.
I never wanted to be much of anything, but that was always non-specific. I was a typical, listless teen. I floated through life. I did decently well in high school. I was smart, but a loner. I didnt have a direction, because there wasnt anything that especially stood out to me as worth doing. I never wanted to be a hero. But it sure as hell wasnt up to me.
Lets back up just a little bit. My name
eh, well call me Chas. Thats a nice, non-descript name, isnt it? I grew up in a little hick-town next to the ocean. My dad was an engineer by trade and a sailor by hobby-slash-lifestyle. I grew up with more afternoon naps in boats than in a bed. My mother worked at the local family practice office, until it closed. Recession, huh? But she landed a nice job at a University, working in a urology clinic. Heh, she works with pee. I, like most kids who arent innately gifted at being cool, spent my childhood reading books, and my teen years reading more books. In high school, I was a smart kid, but I kept to myself, and I never really tried. I got accepted to a college, and I moved out. I studied liberal arts, and I had planned to attend medical school. Remember that hero thing, though? Yeah, it came along. Suffice it to say, Im not a doctor.
See, I discovered I had powers near the end of my sophomore year in high school. And, if Gregory House is any indication, I did what most people do when they discover something life-changing and important. I kept it a secret. Oh, I told my parents I discovered I had some powers, but I didnt tell them what, and I told them I had no interest in hero-ing. They were justifiably relieved by this, and I made sure to periodically reassure them that I wasnt doing anything important with them, and that I wasnt picking any fights with any classmates, as that wouldve been all sorts of bad.
Bad, not just because of all the legal trouble I wouldve been in, but also because of the specific nature of my powers. I have the ability to create links, which, when attached to other people, can drain their life-force, and transfer it to me. These links are malleable, which means I can form them into all sorts of weapons and the like- think the evil terminator from T2, and drain the life from folks in the middle of a battle. Its limited- at around twenty feet, I cant hit a person with a link much wider around than a finger. As you might figure, the speed of transfer is pretty slow through something so small, but my links arent just conduits. I can choose not to attach them to a person, which has about the same effect on a body as a blade of finely-honed steel. So, in short, I can project all sorts of glowing-blue energy weapons from my body, which might drain your life from you. How cool is that? Of course, the converse is that I might accidently kill you when I shake your hand- direct contact can make links so big, all thatll be left is a pile of dust. After a second and a half. But I tend to wear gloves to eliminate that possibility, and anyway, Ive never had any real problem controlling my powers.
Not lacking control doesnt mean Im lacking foresight, either. I know what heroes do for a living. I may not have grown up in Paragon City, but we still know what theyre like out in the boonies. San Francisco has a thriving hero community, and we hear things from them every day. So, youll excuse me if I dont run to pull on a pair of spandex tights and start stabbing people- I know about the other ones. The ones who dont make it. Some are simply beaten too hard, and decide to try a safer line of work. Some are depowered, or killed. Some few unfortunates are shown first-hand the depths humans can fall to. At least Hyenas are relatively quick about killing their prey, no? So, yeah, I wasnt that eager to go out, risk death, and possibly find it. I figured Id join the ranks of metahumans who simply lived out their lives in other occupations.
This isnt to say I didnt practice, of course. I wasnt going to make an occupation looking for fights, but I sure intended to survive one if it came looking for me. I practiced- at first in the garage at home, which was both wide enough to accommodate my needs, and closed off from neighbors view, and later at the University gymnasium, which had some private rooms that served largely the same purpose. I also took a series of martial arts classes, all sorts of different styles, so I knew how to use the weapons I could create. I wasnt stopping crimes, but I was quite skilled, if I do say so myself.
For a while, it seemed like that would be the extent of it. By day, I was an undergraduate studying at a liberal arts college, by night I was young man in good shape, with powers, but no intention of using them. And then fate came a-knockin.
2.
The actual first time wasnt that bad, all things considered. My Uncle and Father-Figure Ben Parker wasnt killed by a mugger I failed to stop, while working at a wrestling ring to earn enough money for a car, or anything melodramatic like that. Instead, I was coming home at the end of a term of school. Since, like a fair number of college towns, I wasnt actually located near a large airport, ticket prices were exorbitant on a regular day, blatant robbery around the holidays, and subject to frequent cancelation no matter what. So I, not really having the money to justify the cost of flying, elected to take a much cheaper method of transportation- train ride. All things considered, trains arent that bad. They give you a decent meal, a fair seat, and they leave the heat on. Also, if youre like me, and utterly incapable of sleeping the night in an upright position, they dont mind if you spread a blanket on the floor in the observation cart and sleep there. It took me a few tries to figure that one out, but since then, I havent minded the fact that its a fifteen hour ride from school to the stop closest to home.
Where was I? Right. Becoming a hero. So, I was taking the train home. Now, big cities tend to have nicer stations, but I went to school in Bum-[censored], Middle o Nowhere. So, the passengers show up about a half-hour early, and then stand next to the rails with a ticket and wait for a train with the same numbers printed on it. I showed up, as a dutiful person might, got my ticket, and headed outside. Along the way to where the train was supposed to stop moving long enough for people to get on board, I passed a young boy and his father. The boy, around six, was one of those wonderful little boys who has a hyperactive imagination and lives every second of his fantasies out in the real world. To adults and people around him, hes usually precocious, cute, and more than a little irritating when youre trying to sleep. To anyone whos ever worked childcare, hes hell on wheels. But thats neither here nor there.
As I walked past, he was running around, whooshing and swooshing, and talking excitedly about how great it would be if he could run on walls, which the father nodded distractedly to, and made that sort of non-committal agreement. You know, the one parents make when they know the child is wishing for the impossible. In a world where super-powers are as easy as walking down the wrong alley one night, Im not sure how he could hold such an opinion, but thats irrelevant to the story. He let the question slide off, and went back to thinking whatever adultly things he had been prior to the interruption. Perhaps I was feeling giddy because final exams were over and I was going home. Perhaps I was a bit sympathetic because the young boy reminded me of myself, fifteen years ago. Whatever the reason, I spoke to him. Of course its possible, young master. I said to him, with all the kind wisdom of that bigger kid who knows what its like being six. It just takes practice. I smiled, and he smiled a bit, and went back to his whooshing and swooshing. I felt good about myself for a few minutes, and then settled in to wait for the train.
As it happens, the train was running a bit further behind than it should have. Dusk turned to dark, and while I wasnt too worried about that, I did make sure my bags stayed close to me. Passengers continued to line up for the train. I checked my watch every couple minutes, and fiddled around with my iPod. And then, they showed up.
3.
I didnt know who they were, and at first, I didnt really care. All sorts of people went to the same college I did, and I quickly learned that people who would have looked quite intimidating in high school were quite probably decent people in college. So, I initially ignored the couple of toughs as they walked up and down the line, discussing loudly how great they were. The problem with my initial assumptions was, these thugs didnt go to the University. They had every right to be just as intimidating as they looked- and they were just smart enough to realize it. Of course, this means they were quite stupid on the whole, but an idiot with a gun is still a person with a potentially lethal weapon, and calling attention to yourself just makes a target where there wasnt one before.
I hadnt been paying attention to them, but I started to. Stupid as they were, they knew what they were doing. They started off by getting louder and more rowdy- until pushing each other, making more and more obscene claims, until it hit a crescendo, and one of the thugs pushed another into one of the passengers. The passenger apologized, and began to right her belongings. The thug, who was playing a part, didnt accept the apology, and instead began a verbal tirade completely unsuitable to be transcribed -but nonetheless made numerous references to the womans likely status as a promiscuous sort who accepted legal tender in exchange for exchanging some biblical knowing- and ended by slapping her around, and ripping a fairly valuable-looking golden chain necklace from her neck. Anyone paying attention was stunned by this. A man nearby reached out to persuade the thug to give the woman her jewelry back. He stopped, and everyone not paying attention sharpened up real quick-like when a crack echoed through the air. One of the other toughs was carrying a gun, which was pointed upwards and very much smoking. For my part, I couldnt believe they were actually going to rob a line of people getting ready to board a train.
They were, though, and theyd apparently done it a few times. The one with the gun explained in clear, curse-laden terms how we were going to present wallets and jewelry to them as they walked past. I didnt especially mind, since I only had a couple twenties in cash on me, and my debit card was worthless without the pin. As for jewelry? My watch was a twenty-buck affair from Target. I could get a new one. However, some of the people around me werent as willing to part with their possessions, so a few gut punches and a screamed obscenity were necessary to facilitate the process. I was getting ready to relax and give my stuff up, when the event I was hoping to avoid happened.
4.
There were three toughs. They had split up. One on each side of the line, heading towards each other, and the gunman in the middle. I was around two thirds of the way down the line, so I was able to watch this entire process as it transpired, and pray we all walked away alive. We being the passengers, of course. I couldnt have cared less if a meteor fell on the three Muggers Extraordinaire, as long as it didnt hit any of us in the process. Anyway, the mugger closest to me got to a passenger group he didnt quite believe. I looked down the line, and noticed it was the father Id seen earlier. And despite his insistence that hed given everything he had of value, the tough just wasnt buying it. As you might figure, the thug started hitting the dad. He started beating on him good. And the kid, who didnt quite understand what was going on, decided he didnt like seeing his daddy getting beaten up. He threw a rock at the toughs head. Wonder of wonders, it connected, right along the eyebrow, and cut the guy up something good. Head wounds bleed pretty good, and, as Ive said, this guy really wasnt very smart. He started screaming bloody murder about how the kid had just killed him, and how he was going to gut the kid.
Unfortunately, it wasnt hyperbole. He produced a knife from somewhere, and began walking towards the kid, who was standing still out of some misplaced sense of defiance. Perhaps he was expecting a hero to show up, which wasnt going to happen. We were, as Ive said, standing at a train stop in Bum-[censored], Middle o Nowhere. Hell, the people with any sort of power whatsoever couldnt fill up a single professors office. Heroes didnt work here. They came from here, and then went to work in cities, where the media actually gave a rats [censored] about them. The only thing that was possibly going to save this kid was a cop showing up, which I wasnt counting on. The damn trains couldnt even show up on time.
There was actually something I missed. Something that could save the kid. The father stood up, having figured out what the tough was about to do, and managed to grab him. Of course, the dad wasnt a martial artist, or a wrestler, or anyone who would reasonably know anything about grabbing. He did what most people do. He lunged out with one arm, hooked the thugs shoulder, and pulled. The thug spun around, the father attempted to make the knife go away, and in the ensuing scuffle, it was planted somewhere in his stomach.
Time froze.
5.
The father crumpled to the ground, but I wasnt watching him. Contrary to Hollywoods belief, it actually takes a really long time to die of being stabbed in the innards, and even in Bum-[censored], we knew what hospitals were. No, I was watching the guy with the gun. Who was watching the now-knifeless thug. Who was looking around to ensure none of us were moving. We werent. We were quite shocked that the father had been stabbed. Or acting like it. I was waiting for the man with the gun to get close enough for me to touch. A realistic blow knocking him out would mean no one would find out about my powers. Blue lights flashing across the way are a bit harder to rationalize.
So I waited.
Ten feet. Get over here. Please dont shoot anyone.
Seven feet. Faster. Faster. Please dont shoot anyone.
Five feet. Stay calm. Stay calm. Please dont shoot anyone. Stay calm. Stay calm.
Three feet. Staycalmstaycalmishecloseenoughpleasedontshootany onecalmcalmcalm.
One foot.
Its the end of the world, fool.
I moved. Not some great heroic leap, or a lunge, or anything overt. As he stepped past me, I fell into place behind him, and a bit to the side. He turned, over course, but I was in far too close for him to do anything. My right hand drifted up to the small of his back.
It happened.
Thats the best I can do to describe the sensation of a suddenly forming such a massive link. I can tell you what happens in technical terms- muscles lock up, the body stiffens, and Im told I feels vaguely like a bunch of short needles being plunged into your skin, and then past it. Not into your body, but into your you-ness. (A couple people call it their soul, but I happen to know for a fact that that isnt true.) The link, which Ive always mentally conceived as some massive, horizontal shunt enters a person, and root-like tendril spill throughout them. At this moment, were I to will the link to disconnect from the person, Theyd die of massive internal injuries, and quite possibly trauma to the brain or heart.
Instead, I pulled on the link.
6.
Not literally, of course. My hand hadnt moved from the thugs back. He was still partway turned around. A few quick people might have noticed what Id done, but it was still barely a second after hed walked past me. I pulled on the link, with the core of my body. With my will. And his energy rushed into me.
The world shuddered just a little bit.
The thug collapsed. Not like the father did. The father had a knife in him. This man had nothing in him at all. He just went from rigid uprightness, to a liquid-y comatose state on the ground. He was still alive, but I wasnt gentle. I know the limits of the human body. Hed be on the critical condition list for a day or so, and then he might live the rest of his life as a vegetable, or he might go to prison. I didnt really care either way. I had much bigger concerns. Like getting to the second thug before the third could figure out what was going on.
I did manage to get close. The second thug, the one who knifed the kids dad, was actually a bit faster on the uptake than I had thought. He managed to throw a punch at me as I got close to him, which actually helped me significantly, as it meant I didnt have to get past his guard to land a hit on him, and thus create a link. I easily caught his punch, and blasted a link up his arm and into his body. A little bit of flexing to make it look like I was doing something karate-like, and he was on the ground in a similar state to his cohort.
Something whizzed past my ear.
7.
I turned to look.
Number three was carrying a small pistol. Blast dammit, that was quite careless of me. He was clearly terrified. The pistol was waving all over the place. Still, he had a little presence of mind. He reached out, and pulled a moderately distressed woman in front of him.
Get away from me, freak! Youre gonna die good, you [profanity is overrated, no?]!
I let out a mental sigh. That was it. There was absolutely no way I was going to get to him without either the woman or myself taking a bullet. I held up my hands to show I wasnt carrying anything, and let my posture slip a little bit. Instead of facing him with squared shoulders, I rotated so that I was looking at him from the side, across my shoulder. And down my arm, as it happened. I spread my index and middle fingers apart, and retracted the rest into a loose fist. An onlooker might have thought I was aiming a peace sign at him.
I cant shoot links at people like bullets. Links, to their benefit as ethereal things, are fairly indestructible. Which means I cant break them into small bits, or shoot them out as bursts, or any number of other fun things. And, they always have to be attached to me in some way. Not like, if I let go of one, itll fizzle out. Links are physically connected to me. If I opened my hand while I had a sword!link in it, the sword!link would stay connected to the palm of my hand, in the exact same position it had been in. Links behave largely how I want them too, though, and it allowed me to develop a rather novel situation to the problem of needing range and speed.
I created a link along the inside of each finger. Theyd serve as guidelines, handling minute adjustments by reflecting the fired link. Kind of like a magnets. In the palm of my hand, I created a much larger link. And I began to spin it very tightly in a circle. Imagine a spring that wont possible overwind, or break, being condescended into a tiny spiral. I made something like that. And I kept pulling it tighter and tighter.
All the while, the thug was staring at me. His gun was wavering a bit, but as he was building a bit of confidence by my seeming inaction. A few people next to me, looking closely, might have noticed my hand was glowing slightly, but it wasnt blatant yet.
And finally, it was tight enough. I squinted down my arm, angled it a wee bit higher, and let go. As the spring!link unwound, the end was flung upwards, between my fingers. It was reflected down the barrel Id made, and straight outwards. I flung a burst of energy into it as it went, and suddenly, a flash of blue lit the night.
Bang!
8.
Bright lights startled nervous people. The final thug had shot at me, but he shot with a shaking hand, using cheap bullets, from an old gun. It went wide, off into the night.
I was launching a narrow blue link into his face. Links are weightless. Theyre incredibly easy to aim, because they go exactly where you point them.
At this point, you might remember that I cant make a very big link go that far, and that the size of the link determines the speed of the drain. The link I sent at him tapered from about the width of my thumb to the tip of a ballpoint pen. It would have drained him to the point of fainting just fast enough for him to empty his gun at me, and then walk away. I knew this. Of course I knew this.
I didnt bother connecting the link to him. It hit his eyeball and went right on going. They told me later he was paralyzed almost instantaneously, and dead a few seconds later. Im not terribly surprised. I watched as his arm dropped to his side. The gun fell out of his hand. And then he collapsed. The woman between him and I wandered back to the line, sat down against her bags, and promptly went into hysterics.
People looked at me in shock. I realized then, that what had felt like several minutes of heated work to me, had appeared to God and the world as the disabling of several armed and threatening men inside of thirty seconds. A couple of the really bright ones also figured out that I used powers to do it.
I managed to call my parents and tell them Id be missing the train before the long arm of the law reached out and [censored]-slapped me into unconsciousness with legalese and bureaucracy.
9.
No, not literally. The long arm of the law reached out and [censored]-slapped
Of course its a metaphor!
Lets return to what actually happen. The train arrived first, and some people got on it. The police arrived second, and created as much pandemonium as they quelled. The ambulances arrived third, and took the father and two of the thugs to the hospital. Finally, a truck from the morgue showed up and carted off the last tough. Apparently, Id done a good enough job on him that they werent going to bother trying to see if he could be brought back.
The good news was, the father survived. He went through a couple of surgeries, spent a few weeks in the hospital, and then was discharged. As far as I know, he and his son lived happily ever after. I never found out what their names were.
I was given the bad news in pieces over the next weeks. The first part was given to me straight by the cops, while I was giving my statement. I had powers, and they needed to be registered. The government wasnt going to require that I get a license as a hero, but they would be able to call upon me in times of war, and things like that. I wasnt especially happy, but I figured Id gotten off easy enough. I was going to have to do some slap-on-the-wrist classes to prove I had enough control of my powers to be allowed to walk around the streets, stuff like that.
The middle part of bad news, which I largely managed to avoid on account of the last bit, was some local media coverage which ranged from painting me as a bona fide hero, to a depraved killer no better than the toughs whod tried to rob me. The attention was irritating, but it would have died away given enough time, had the last big thing not happened.
One of the toughs Id hit with a link didnt stay in a coma. He was awake. And a hotshot young lawyer out to make a name for himself was out to make a name for himself by suing me bloody stupid for all sorts of things that shouldnt be legally possible. Unfortunately, they were, and he managed to build up a decent following, which got him more network exposure, which in turn got him more followers. Before a trial date was even set, it was national news. The man was going on talk shows decrying me, bemoaning the future of the United States of metahumans were allowed to assault normal humans like this, and generally murking things up. I hadnt a clue how to deal with any of it. Neither did my parents, nor anyone else I knew who was still willing to talk to me.
Until, one day, I got to meet my first group of men in black suits.
He said his name was Agent Someone. He showed me a couple of badges that meant absolute bully to me, and invited me to sit in his limo with him while we discussed my legal troubles. Feeling I had absolutely nothing to lose at this point, I accepted.
Larson laid it out to me. The case against me wasnt just morally wrong in a couple ways, it would also set a really inconvenient precedent for metahumans everywhere, and parts of the federal government didnt want that. They really liked having heroes running around, and they were willing to take care of this entire fiasco. In exchange, I was going to drop out of the public eye, and start doing some hero work for them. I agreed. The case was dropped, and disappeared from public consciousness. And I became a hero.
I never wanted to be a hero. It happened. And as it happens, I dont regret it.
Funny how that worked out, no?
((So...
It's been a while since I've been on the sharing side of this board, and I've got a little something. The basic idea was, what would an average person living somewhere in the United States act like, if they discovered they had powers, but didn't really want to be a hero. This is what came of it. I'd love feedback.))