Kaemgen's Journal

“She wants me to keep a diary,” Kaemgen said lowering his forehead to his arms which were resting on the back of the wooden chair he straddled. He’d been watching PNN (Paragon News Network) while eating take-out from McKings, a local fast food joint with a fly-thru window. Heroes Tonight had just ended and while they had extensively covered the ceremony of Statesman receiving yet another award from the city the only mention of Kaemgen’s single handed defeat and capture of the new Nemesis armor prototype dealt with how scientists were eager to examine it to look for clues as to whether or not it was made by the original or an imposter. Kaemgen’s name wasn’t even mentioned.

“Who does?” a voice asked from the corner.

Kaemgen lifted his head to glance at the speaker. “My therapist. Who do you think?”

“Ah, Sister Agnes,” he said with a soft chuckle. “The blind nun who makes weekly pilgrimages to Dark Astoria to pray for the souls trapped in limbo due to the presence of the Forgotten Pantheon. If anyone needs a therapist it is she.”

“Whatever. She helps me.”

“She preaches to you.”

“She listens to me,” Kaemgen insisted. “She talks to me about my issues and problems and she gives me good advice.”

“In other words: She listens to you whine and then tells you how to be a good Christian Soldier.”

“It’s more than that,” Kaemgen whispered with a distinct lack of conviction, his arms moving to wrap around the chairs back, his chin resting on the top of it. He thought briefly, for the millionth time, what a pain it was to have wings when all you wanted to do was to sit in a chair (or, God forbid, on a couch!) and slump down into yourself like a normal person would in a situation like this.

“More?” the voice asked. “What more? Perhaps the fact that she’s blind?

“Wha? What’s that got to do with any…” Kaemgen started.

“Please! Don’t tell me that you told her what you look like?”

“I’m sure she knows.”

“And how would she have that knowledge? You meet secretly in Moth Cemetery for your little impromptu ‘therapy sessions’ and you haven’t even told her your name so it’s not like she can ask around about you.”

“How do you know what I have and haven’t told her?” Kaemgen asked, annoyed.

“If you don’t know the answer to that,” the voice answered in its best smug tone. “Then you really do need therapy.”

“Whatever. My looks have nothing to do with anything.”

“And if you truly believe that I once again say you really do need therapy.”

Kaemgen growled in annoyance, jumping off his chair and striding across the room to stand in front of the curtained window. His tail swayed restlessly and his wings briefly twitched. He took one deep breath after another until he was finally able to reply, “You’re right.”

“I always am.”

Kaemgen turned to look at his conversation partner while continuing to try to calm the inner annoyance which had been building all day. The man sat in a plush leather chair that had no business being in Kaemgen’s small, dingy and very untidy two room “utility flat.” The man sat with perfect posture, shoulders back, arms resting easily on the arms of the chair and one ankle resting on the opposite knee. He didn’t look like a king on a throne exactly, more like a confident business tycoon or something. Whatever, it was a far cry from anything Kaemgen could replicate.

As for the man himself, once again it was almost the exact opposite of Kaemgen. Instead of looking like a down on his luck, stereotypical hell spawned demon from hell complete with red skin, leathery wings, horns and pointy tail, the man sitting so easily in the comfortable leather chair appeared to be in his mid thirties, well groomed hair and goatee just starting to show some properly distinguished looking gray hairs, his green dress shirt and black slacks and vest perfectly tailored and probably designed by some fashionista Kaemgen never heard of (which would be any of them really, but that’s besides the point.) Hell, the guy even had the start of a gut forming on him but he was so relaxed and so comfortable with himself that he even made that look good!

“I… I just need someone I can talk to. To help keep my head straight. Someone who doesn’t judge me.”

“And Sister Agnes doesn’t judge you?”

“Not on appearances, no.” Kaemgen answered.

“Therapy through delusion. How special is that?”

“You’re the delusion here, not my therapy! You’re just a figment of my imagination. You’re just who I wish…” Kaemgen turned away from the man to once more look at the curtained window.

“I’m just who you wish you were. Who you wish you could have been.”

“Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know. Doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“No. Face it; I never would have become anything even if I was born looking like everyone else. This,” Kaemgen said turning back to the man, spreading his arms and gesturing with his hands to indicate his own appearance. “This is just an excuse. There’s plenty of freaks out there these days making a name for themselves, making their differences an asset instead of a reason to hide out in their hole of an apartment and shunning any human contact.”

“Is that your only excuse?”

“What do you mean?

“Your looks. Is that the only reason you hide in your apartment day and night except for your occasional forays out to save the world?”

Kaemgen sighed and paused to take a moment to think about it. “It wasn’t easy, you know. For any of us.”

“I know. I was there.”

“Yeah, I guess you were. But you know, it was hard enough growing up looking like this, dealing with the teasing and the taunts and the bullies…”

“You were born with your strength,” the voice reminded him.

“True but mom was good about teaching me the repercussions of using it real early. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t know I couldn’t use it against other people.”

“You still have nightmares about the image of villagers coming after you with pitchforks and torches.”

“Yeah. But hey, she had to teach me somehow. Maybe scaring the hell out of me wasn’t the best way she could have done it but it’s not like that Nimoy guy wrote a baby book about how to raise a newborn that looks like a hell imp and can bend the bars of a baby crib even if they’re made out of steel,” Kaemgen replied defensively.

“And it wasn’t just the other kids, either,” he added. “Their parents, the teachers… None of them ever really accepted me.”

“Thus the home schooling.”

“She did everything she could.”

“She kept you locked away.”

Kaemgen winced. “Not like it was in the cellar or anything. It’s not like I wanted to go out and endure dealing with people. I had my computer, my T.V. I had my books.”

“So do prisoners.”

“Screw you. She did everything she could while raising the three of us and working non-stop to pay the bills and put food on the table.”

“Your father…”

“Don’t,” Kaemgen said harshly. “Just… don’t.”

“So you were kept hidden away as a child, choose to stay hidden as a teenager, and now here you are an adult – Hiding away still.”

“It’s not like I’m missing much…”

“No,” the voice agreed. “Just life.”

“I have got a life!”

“You have an apartment. There’s a difference.”

Kaemgen just stared at the man.

“Friends. Relationships. Dare I say a date? These things make a life. You’re closest relationship is with that kid who delivers pizza and fetches you stuff from the store.”

“No shirts, no shoes, no service,” Kaemgen mumbled.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s tough to throw a t-shirt on over my wings, you know. They’re freaking huge! It’s not like I can just pop into a gas station and buy a pack of smokes.”

“You are missing the point entirely. You need to go outside of your dark little hovel here and meet people. Socialize.”

“How?” Kaemgen asked.

“By doing it,” the man answered from his comfortable chair. “By going up to someone and starting a conversation.”

“I wouldn’t know what to say. I never know what to say.”

“You could start with hello.”

Kaemgen parted the curtains and looked outside the window for the first time since the conversation started. He watched people walking by on the street below, going about their daily lives. Some alone, many walking, talking, perhaps even joking with others. There was no telling how many of these people’s lives he had saved either directly or indirectly but he couldn’t help but wonder if that would really matter to them… What their reaction would be if he walked up to them and asked them about last night’s ballgame or what they thought about the latest War Witch biography… They’d answer. He had no doubt of that. But what would the looks in their eyes be? What would they really be thinking?

“It’s not that easy for me. Some people just aren’t meant…” He paused and thought for a second about what he was going to say. “Anyway, the vast majority of them are idiots. I mean c’mon, I saved the same woman from having her purse robbed three times last week. How long will it take her to figure out she shouldn’t take that back alley short cut? Why would I want to talk to someone that stupid?”

“She’s attractive, isn’t she?”

“Yeah. So?”

“Just pointing out that there’s some reason you’ve been watching over her. Ever think she takes that shortcut hoping to see you again?

“No,” Kaemgen shot out immediately. “You think? No, that’s stupid.”

“What if?”

“If so then it just proves how stupid she is.”

“Still, she really was quite attractive.”

“Totally hot,” Kaemgen said.

“So ask her out. Even if she proved as dull witted as you suspect you might at least get a happy ending out of it.”

Kaemgen considered it for a while but even while doing so he knew he would never work up the courage to just ask someone out like that. He just couldn’t. “If getting a piece of action is all I wanted I could just hook up with one of those Goth chicks you see around everywhere these days. They all seem to be into the dark and evil look.”

“Please do. It’s about time you gave in to your instincts.”

“Not all my instincts are harmless,” Kaemgen said. “Besides, it’s not fair to take advantage of someone just because their infatuated with how I look.”

“Yet you let how you look keep you from anything else.”

“Besides, you should have heard what the one chick a zillion piercing that I could see wanted me to do with my tail!” Kaemgen said, ignoring the previous comment.

“I did. I thought it was… Intriguing.”

“Yeah. Well… Anyway. All this crap, the emotional, social, everything… It’s why I need my therapist.”

“Sister Agnes. Let me guess, she advises you to pray on it. To seek guidance from above. To have faith that one day your purpose will be revealed.”

“More or less,” Kaemgen admitted.

“That’s not therapy, that’s recruitment. I know you do not buy into all that religious malarkey.”

“Some of it’s not bad. I like the concept of it.”

“But not the practice.”

“It get’s me out of the house. That’s kind of what you’re driving at here, isn’t it? Kaemgen responded.

“To socialize. God forbid to meet a woman. Not to learn how to keep a diary!”

“She says that putting my thoughts and feeling down on paper will allow me to open up in a way I’m not ready to do with other people yet. She says that until I can be open and allow me to see my own problems that there is no way to face them. To confront and change them.”

“You talk to me about them all the time. If I didn’t like you so much I wouldn’t put up with it. You have a tendency to be very… What’s the phrase the kids use these days? Emo?”

“Great. Now my own damn imaginary friend is insulting me? Really? And you wonder why I need therapy?”

“I never wondered at all. I would have just preferred you got it thirty years ago before you got this messed up. I would prefer you also get an actual therapist instead of some God-nut nun you have some crazy ‘naughty librarian’ crush on.”

“I do not!” Kaemgen said incredulously.

“You cannot lie to your own thoughts. Give it up. Besides, it’s not that weird. It’s been so long you have the hots for just about anything that slips into a skirt. If I was you I would consider giving up the crime fighting and just grabbing whatever tail you wanted.”

“You are me,” Kaemgen said curiously. “And I would never consider that.”

“Oh really? Tell me that the idea of ruling your own little piece of the world doesn’t appeal to you. The power. The glory. The women…”

Kaemgen thought about it. He though about it for long enough that the man and his chair some point disappeared.

“It wouldn’t suck. Too much responsibility though. Easier to just beat up the morons and let the cops and lawyers deal with the paperwork,” he finally said to himself before grabbing up a couple cold French fries.

“True enough,” the voice, now residing only in his head, replied. “Just do me a favor and call it a journal. Little girls keep diaries. Men keep journals.”

“Yeah, ok. Whatever.”

Journal Entry 1: A typical Day

I’m not sure what Sister Agnes wants me to write in this thing. She just says to put down whatever comes to mind, whatever I’m thinking. It’s supposed to help me deal with my issues I guess but really, who doesn’t have issues? Self image problems, money worries, grief with family, nightmares of hordes of Rikti Monkeys rampaging through the streets pillaging citizens and [censored] businesses… Doesn’t everyone have issues??

Still, Sister Agnes says that first we have to recognize our issues before we can overcome them. She says it’s like my life – It’s not enough for me to know there are villains out there; I have to be able to identify them, locate them and come up with a strategy to take them on before I can defeat them. Usually I just let one of my street contacts point me in the right direction and then go smack around everything that moves… But I suppose I get what she’s saying.

I’m actually feeling kind of content today though, least ways as much as I ever do, so the only real problem I’m obsessing with at the moment is what to write in this journal. It’s better calling it that than a diary but I still feel a bit silly about this. At least she promises that nobody ever has to read it, not even her. (Would be hard with her being blind and all… Not like I’m learning Braille any time soon!)

“It’s the act of doing it that makes the difference,” she says. “Not the way others see it.” Again she compared it to my life saying the worlds a better place because of the evil doers I fight whether or not the world sees me do it. True, I guess. Still would be nice to get the occasional cheering crowd or rewarded with a kiss from some damsel I saved like Statesman gets…

For lack of a better idea I figured I would just write about my day. Today was pretty typical so I’ll just write about that and see where it goes. Hopefully it’s what Sister Agnes had in mind. I’ll have to ask her next time I see her grooming the graves in Moth Cemetery…

I woke up when I crashed into the floor having lost my grip on the water pipe that runs the length of my bedroom. I’ve got a perfectly fine bed but the wings make it a bit tough to get comfortable in it so I generally sleep hanging upside down from one of the pipes. I imagine it looks kind of creepy and bat-like but I tend not to have guests over so it doesn’t really matter…

So I landed on the floor in a heap, my tail getting bent underneath my awkwardly (which hurts almost as much as a kick to jewels) and I laid there for a moment trying to figure out what the heck woke me up. A moment later I figured it out when I heard gunfire coming from the street outside.

I grabbed up my pants and tried putting them on as I ran to the window to see what was going on. It is not easy to pull on tight leather pants with that many buckles and snaps while running but I did manage it without falling again. Still, I had stopped a moment and carefully slip my tail through the customized hole in back. I’d bent it already this morning; I was not going to catch it in a zipper too!

Finally throwing open the curtains and leaning out the window I saw there must have been yet another escape from the Zig – Either that or orange overalls had finally become fashion statement and nobody told me. I quickly powered up, crawled out the window and leapt down into a knot of escapees who were having a running battle with some seriously out gunned members of the Paragon Police Department. (AKA Paragon’s Finest… or at least Finest who weren’t able to pass the detectives exam.)

Soon my gauntlets were all about the jabs, left hooks, uppercuts and knockout blows – repeating as necessary. These guys weren’t exactly pushovers but they were definitely below the notice of the Malta Group’s recruitment officers. Still, one did get in a lucky blow and nailed me in the gut. Yeah, it hurt and everything but more than that it reminded me I hadn’t even had a chance to take a leak before this all started.

Mr. Lucky Shot was hightailing it down the street thinking he had distracted me or something. Not a chance. I reached down and grabbed a chunk of pavement out of the street and heft it at his head. He was laid out with little cartoon birdies circling his head after that. Sure that left yet another pothole in Brickstown for the city to deal with but I figure if I have to clean up their messes they can clean up mine.

Once the battle had ended I was about to fly back up to my window and finally visit my bathroom for my morning relief but suddenly some Susie Q. Public was running up to me. Some well deserved praise? A thank you? Nah, started yammering at me how a real hero like Manticore or Miss Liberty would have stopped the escape in the first place. I stood there listening to her complain for what seemed like hours. The whole time I was debating if I should relieve myself on her shoes or just punch her in the mouth. I have enough public image problems already though so in the end I just apologized and promised I’d try harder in the future….

It made me sick.

On the plus side, a delivery van had been tipped over and the weasel eyed driver offered me all the dented cans of Crey Cola I could carry if I’d upright it for him. Ok, this wasn’t exactly being presented the key to the city by the mayor or even being brought out a nice bowl of pudding by a soccer mom ever since I caught their first commercial I’ve never been able to say no to a Crey Cola.

Once the van was back on all four tires and I had guzzled two cans of my favorite caffeinated beverage, I was shifting from foot to foot like a first grader waiting in line for the little boy’s room. I grabbed the plastic circle which linked the rest of the six pack together (they were all dented, Weasel Eyes checked) and launched myself towards my window and, dare to dream, my bathroom.

That was when my communicator beeped. Hovering just ten feet from my window and sweet, sweet release I tapped a button on my gauntlet to answer the call. I actually tapped the wrong button and shunted the call to voice mail (mistake, I swear!) but it was angrily beeping once more before I even made it to the window ledge.

It was Anton Sampson. It was a huge mistake giving him my number. He has a bigger bug up his butt about Nemesis than anyone I have ever met. I don’t know if I’m the only hero stupid enough to give him their direct line or what but this guy called me day and night with any little rumor he picked up.

“Hey Anton. Just let me take a leak and grab my smokes and I’ll be ready for whatever you got,” I said reasonably enough. Mr. Sampson is not a very reasonable guy.

“No time, Kaemgen. This is life and death!”

Isn’t it always? I mean really, we’re not playing Nerf Ball here. I’ve yet to hear of a group of villains who planted smoke bombs instead of well, bomb bombs. Never noticed any of the groups robbing arms shipments just to point out the weaknesses of the security and then give them back. None of the evil doers ever kidnap high level politicians just to tap them on the shoulder, yell “Tag, you’re it!” and then run off….

Anyway, it seems thirty seconds tinkling joy would be the difference between Yellow Rose Cosmetics and its employees being consumed by something called a Macro Assembler or me saving the day. *Sigh* Ah well, I figured I could hold it a little longer. If nothing else, once I mopped the floor with these Nemesis creeps this cosmetics office was sure to have a bathroom, right?

Dropping once more to street level I punched in the right keys on the rim of my left gauntlet to activate a portal to Ouroboros. (These gauntlets Crey Corp had made for me were life savers… Literally. But that’s a story for a different entry I guess.) As usual stepping through the portal really gave me a queasy feeling in the bottom of my stomach. That, added to my already pressing needs and the two Crey Colas I had just chugged and my distinct lack of nicotine boost yet this morning and I was really starting to have a bad day.

The first sight I saw once in Ouroboros was that calm, serene, shimmering pool of water. I couldn’t stand it any longer, it was just too inviting… But before I could take three steps towards it The Pilgrim was rushing towards me with a scowl upon his face. This was undoubtedly going to be yet another rehash of an argument we’ve had at least a dozen times already.

I don’t know what The Pilgrim’s problem with me is. It’s not like I’m the only one who uses the power they earned to create a portal to Ouroboros as quick transportation instead of always catching the monorail from one section of the city to another yet he’s always complaining that it’s the only reason I ever use it. Sheesh, he’s like a mother complaining I only stop by to do laundry and get a free meal! Can I help it that I don’t want to meddle in time until I figure out a way to do it just right so as I’m born normal? But nooooooo, he’s all about how we heroes can help him and his cause and he cares little about us fixing our own lives! Oh sure, we can go back and fix minor dustups we could have done better but can we go back and make sure our sister doesn’t burn her face trying to do an extra special cheerleading routine? Not on his watch!

Besides, taking the monorail is just embarrassing. Once again, that’s a diary entry or two in and of itself… Err, journal. This is a journal, not a diary.

Anyway, I quickly tossed The Pilgrim my four remaining Crey Colas, about faced and jumped into the portal once more, desperately squeezing my legs together trying to hold in the colas I’d already chugged. Next stop, Talos Island!

It was only a few blocks from where I materialized to this cosmetics place I had to save but I looked down every alley I passed hoping to find a chance for a moment alone (and hostages be damned!) but everyone seemed to be occupied members of the Tsoo, Circle of Thorns or the Freakshow. At this point I wasn’t opposed to seeing if I could short circuit one of those Freakshow freaks but with my luck Paragon News Network would somehow get video of my experiment and it would end up plastered all over Heroes Tonight.

Finally slipping through the door of Yellow Rose Cosmetics, I thought what with Nemesis holding the workers hostage and all I may be able to relieve myself just inside the doors with nobody noticing. They’d want to keep the entrance clear so passerby didn’t notice anything strange, right? Wrong. Before I was even in the door I had a Jaeger spitting bullets in my face. Prussian Prince of Automatons? If Nemesis himself was there I planned on making him the Peed on Prince of Automatons!

I’ve fought better fights and I’m not afraid to admit it. Face it; I wasn’t at my most focused. Still, I destroyed about a dozen Jaegers, knocked out twice as many Amigers and Lancers and even took out a few Carbiniers and Grenadiers. During the skirmishes I had spotted the four pieces of the Macro Assembler and deactivated them each before moving on. At the end of the battle all hostages were safe and free and my dignity was intact.

Finally I had a moment alone (not counting unconscious Nemesis Soldiers) and there was actually a door marked Men just across the hall. As you’re probably guessing by now, that is when I was once more interrupted! It was the Macro Assembler. It was running again.

I went over and once again deactivated it. Just to be safe (and heck, I’d been holding it in for days now, what was another five minutes?) I went back and checked the other pieces of the Assembler. All had restarted. Once more I shut them off but just as I turned one off in one part of the building another piece on the other side was restarting. This was just plain wrong..

I tapped Anton Sampson’s number into my gauntlet phone and started screaming at him. I’m no tech guy, not by a long shot. You move past TV remotes, cell phones and pictures of cats saying cute things on the internet and I am totally lost! Finally Anton yelled at me to shut up and I decided I better listen to what he had to say…

“Weren’t you listening to me?” he asked. “I told you that there’d be four parts that all had to be deactivated simultaneously. You do know what simultaneously means don’t you?”

Now there was no reason for him to get all sarcastic about this. Sure, I missed that little part of his mission briefing but for God’s sake I’d been trying to get him off the phone so I could take a leak. A leak I still had not taken, mind you!

“You know I’m a loner!” I shouted back at him. “What you think you’re doing sending me on a suicide mission like this if I can’t complete it myself.”

“You moron,” he answered me switching from sarcasm to outright insults. “I figured even you could scrape up a couple of heroes to help you out for a minute. What’s wrong? They all already know that incident you had in Galaxy City?”

That he had no right bringing up. How he even knew about that I still don’t know. Still, I kept my cool. I explained to him my theories of about the proclivities of several choice members of his family tree, wondered aloud about why his dog walked funny and offered him several well thought out suggestions as to where he could move, where he could put his head and exactly what he could do with a power sander…

I went to the door and shouted out onto the street looking for a little assistance. There was nothing to it now, little more than the synchronized flipping of a few switches. The people of Talos Island did themselves proud that day and lived up to their reputation of ignoring anything and everything which doesn’t kick them in the shin or crap on their head. Just then, inspiration hit. I called the cops! Surely they had a couple officers that could get over here on the double. They were hesitant at first but I lied and told them I was a close personal friend of Positron and they told me they’d have people here to assist within minutes.

Finally, one problem solved and one to go. I even had the time to fix that one. With a huge sigh of relief I wandered over to the Men’s room and the door open….

Seems there weren’t minutes to spare. The Macro Assembler kicked into high gear and the whole place went up in explosions and blasts. Seems the Assembler disassembles before it reassembles.



Ten minutes later and I was once again on the phone with Anton Sampson. We were each a little more civil this time but there was a deep, cold, disappointed bitterness in his voice. He told me that Yellow Rose Cosmetics would just have to find a new home office. At least the hostages got out alive, he said and added that they couldn’t expect their jobs to last forever anyway. The city was already sending re-construction teams over to try to reclaim what was left of the building before the Nemesis machines could get an insurmountable head start and remaking the rubble into whatever they had planned. The way Anton Sampson said “Good job” at the end of his little diatribe really let me know just who he felt was to blame for this….And that I should get myself another contact if I was going to continue on in the hero business as he had no more help for me.

That made me feel low. Really, really low. The only thing that could possibly make me feel lower was having to ask for his help again. Which, unfortunately, I had to do.

“Anton, I’m sorry,” I said and took a quick puff off the cigarette I had begged from the bum who had woken up when the building he was sleeping against exploded. “I understand. But… could I ask you for one last small bit of advice?”

He didn’t say “Sure, anything!” which would have been the ideal answer but then again he didn’t laugh and hang up on me either.

“Do you have the name of a good dry cleaner?” I asked sheepishly. “See, there was a small accident during the explosion and I’m worried about the smell seeping into the leather….”