I F***ing hate Grey Wolf!

[Fenwick]

A story I've written on and off for a while now. Not the best, but I like it.

Enjoy.....



“I hate that guy so much!”

“Why?”

“He’s a jerk!”

“You’re a jerk, and I don’t hate you.” Fenwick hated to admit it, but Agent Dark had a point. The two sat quietly in the waiting room of the New York Federal Metaphysical Human Department. A single wilting plant sat beside the door. The paint on the walls was stark white, with black and white tiled floor. In short it looked like every government office ever. Above the entry way was a small plaque from the sixties which read, “With great power come great responsibility.”

Fenwick was wearing a long black trench coat, with thick glass like the kind wielders use, and a fedora atop his head. Agent Dark wore a full mask that was bright red, that went down his costume to around his waist which ended in black. His costume made him look like his top half was on fire, and in Fenwick’s opinion a much better costume then his. Of course it covred him up, so sometime it was hard to know if the guy was angry.

“True, but at least I'm funny. It’s just stuff like that which pisses me off,” Fenwick replied pointing to the television. Standing atop the latest robotic creation of Max Sinister was the Grey Wolf. He was strong, fast, could jump five city blocks, and the media loved him. Of course as a Class AH-1 metahuman who wouldn’t? On the television he smiled at the camera and spoke in his confident voice, “Why do I do it? It’s because I need to help people. With great power comes great responsibility you know.”

The room let out a collective boo, Fenwick shaking his head, “What a shmuck.”

“ So what? He saved the day, big deal!” Agent Dark said pointing at the screen.

“He always saves the day! He gets to go after that stuff and get those fat checks, while you and I get stuck with purse snatchers, Oddball, and Pyro.”

Agent Dark grunted, “Don’t get me started on Pyro! Why I cannot have that name is beyond me. I mean I have the ability to create fire, so what does the government codename me? Firestar? Match? Noooo, I get to be called Agent Dark!”

“Well I mean isn’t cause you’re black?”

Agent Dark turned to face Fenwick, with mask covering every inch of his head it was hard to tell the mans reaction, “What makes you think I’m black?”

“I don’t know. I mean I’ve never seen you not wearing that costume. For all I know you’re green,” Fenwick said with a grin.

“Good point. Well no big deal. So here for a check or looking for work?”

“Work. You?”

“Check, and work.”

Something that many did not understand was that government sponsored superheroes lived paycheck to paycheck. Fenwick was given three thousand dollars a month for rent, and utilities, plus whatever commissions he could pick up by fighting crime. Anyone who lived in New York knew three grand was nothing. So most days Fenwick would sit in the small waiting room drinking bad coffee, watching TV, using his x-ray vision to peek at the new receptionist, and praying for a job.

Around the waiting room were eight clusters of chairs, a brightly, darkly, or oddly clad hero sat, all of them most likely in Fenwick’s shoes. For AH-4’s, which meant Augmented Human Class 4, life was difficult. By law they had to be superheroes, and like most government jobs it was a big waste of time. It wasn’t like Fenwick was weak, he had super strength, and X-ray vision. Yet with guys like Grey Wolf, Count Dearborn, and The Amazing Ion moving about Fenwick looked pathetic.

Turning left Fenwick saw Archangel Michael, a guy who could fly at mach one, and create a flaming sword. He used to have a very solid set of commission’s in Spanish Harlem. Robber’s, muggings, and general crime went down 20% in the months he worked the region. Now the poor guy was stuck in the waiting room with guys like Fenwick. It seemed community leader felt they where being wrongly persecuted, so the government responded by pulling most heroes from the area. Same thing happened in Harlem, the Bronx, even the upper class regions. It seemed no matter where crime was, politicians wanting to get voted into office counted for more then walking safe on the streets.

“Hey Fenwick.”

“Yeah?”

“How’d you get your name?”

“Oh god, you know the Name Designer Plus 2 program?”

Agent Dark let out a laugh, “I get it.” Most heroes, well first generation heroes anyways, had it easy they picked a name and enjoyed it. Nowadays every single hero had to be registered, codenamed, and categorized. A genius some time in the early nineties made a program that looked through available code names, looked a powers and made brand new names. The simple fact that Fenwick was sitting next to a human flamethrower named Agent Dark, a shape shifter named Susano, and a man who created Sonic waves by screaming named Quiet Man, spoke volumes of how well the program worked.

“Fenwick, report to the front counter please.” The single speaker besider the television blared out the monotone voice. Leaping up and smiling Fenwick made his way forward, “Hello Janine.”

“Are you Fenwick?” the woman said looking bored with her job entirely.

“Yes I am,” he responded holding up his ID card.

“Alright, we need you to go to Queens and do a patrol around Long Island City, Jamaica and Flushing. Any crimes averted need to be documented, and signed by police officers who take custody of any criminal, or criminals. Are these facts understood by you as I have said them?”

“Yes,” Fenwick said nodding.

“Make sure to mark the sign out sheet, so we can reimburse you for any travel expenses on your return.”

“Thank you Janine,” Fenwick turned around smiling and heading out the door. It was time to be a superhero! Of course to do such he had to take the subway. It wasn’t a long trip, Fenwick just had to take the IRT Ninth Avenue Line, get off wait for the Lexington Avenue Line, and then Archer Avenue Line all the way to Queens. Now it was time to be a superhero!

“Maybe after a slice,” after a slice of pepperoni, a coke, and a trip to the restroom, it was time to be a superhero! Like any good hero Fenwick, turned his police scanner on, and simply walked the streets waiting for something to occur. People tended to get out of his way, and Fenwick enjoyed that, sometimes you’d get people wanting to fight, demean, or in some cases save him. It was never like that in the comic books, it was always fighting, pretty girls, and the public loving you for it. Fenwick had an ex-wife, a soon to be ex-girlfriend, a dump for an apartment, and a Masters degree in Post-modern History he could never use.

Like many heroes Fenwick blamed George Bush for his life being so bad. The first Bush, not the second. In the late eighties Bush and a bunch of other politicians got together and decided that people with superpowers needed to work for the government. When the seventies ended, and superheroes seemed to really turn the tide in the growing drug trade, gangs, and random SVV (supervillian violence), it looked to be a good idea to have a permant group of metahumans on the payroll. It also seemed to be a way to keep the public safe, "just in case." After all in normal jobs they would be wasting their gifts, and depriving America of the safety its citizens deserved. Until he was twenty-four Fenwick agreed with such thinking, for the most part. One day while driving home in 2005, he was sideswiped by a semi-truck. Such a thing would have killed Fenwick, but instead he discovered he had superpowers. His life has sucked ever since.

The borough of Queens is the most ethnically diverse region in the United States. With a population of 2.2 million it is the second most populous borough in New York City, just behind Brooklyn. All Fenwick knew was that people who lived in Queens often closely identified with their neighborhood rather than with the borough or city as a whole. Postal addresses are written with the neighborhood, state, and then zip code rather than the borough or city.

Walking up 49th Street Fenwick knew he stood out a great deal. Flushing had one of the largest Asian populations in all of New York. Fenwick, a 6'4" white man was walking down one of the many roads which separated the patchwork communities of Chinese, Korean, and Filipinos. Well and the fact that he was wearing a floor length trench coat, fedora, and had a bright yellow utility belt on certainly did not make him fit in. Despite everything the superhero was enjoying himself. School was just getting out, so the various kids walked by and they would smile, wave, some even stopped to thank him, something many parents taught their children to do to superheroes.

Walking up a side street Fenwick noticed a beat cop heading his way. As they passed the officer stopped, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Fenwick looked down at the man, at 6’ 4’ he normally had to look down at people. Fenwick had a theory that he had gotten taller since gaining super powers, he noticed that a lot of his peers were all tall, so there must be something to that.

“I’m Officer Mitchell. Ya patrolling this month?”

“No I’m a day shifter, for The Dean and his sidekick what-his-name.”

“What’s yer name?”

“Fenwick,” The look on the officers face said he never hear of such a man.

The Officer grinned, “So you ever meet The Dean and Dean the Young before?”

“Oh yeah. Those guys are great.”

“Super intelligent right?” Mitchell asked lifting his hat off to scratch his head.

“I know The Dean is. He has an IQ of like 400 or something. Dean the Young,” Fenwick looked up thinking for a moment, “I think his sidekick just is good at fighting to be honest. Not saying his dumb…”

“I know what you mean, pal. All I want is those two to just sign the freakin’ paper work and not explain what a Atomic Cheerio field, or some **** like that is.”

“Tell me about it. I beat guys up, and wait for someone to take them from me.”

“Ahem at that brother!” the officer shook Fenwick’s hand, “I’ll see you around.”

“Anything I should look out for?”

“Eh, nothing right now. We got a few stickups but nothing major.”

Fenwick nodded, and started walking off. After awhile he tired of walking the sidewalks, and climbed onto the nearest roof. Most of the buildings where two to four stories tall, so it was quite easy to jump from one to another. The truth is the man just needed to find a place to hide so he could smoke, and eat one of his high calorie protein shakes before continuing on. Something that always annoyed the man was that his body burned up calories fast. So fast in fact that every day he needed at least six thousand calories in order to stay at a normal weight. Well, as normal as a superhero got. After chugging a chalky shake, and quickly huffing down his camel, Fenwick was off. Leaping from roof to roof, scanning the streets, listening to the police, and emergency channel scanner in his ear. For someone who was rather indifferent to his job, the man did it rather well.

As the day rolled on, all Fenwick had to show for himself was one pickpocket, who punched him in the nose rather hard. “Well at least that’s sixty bucks.” Sitting on the ledge of a Old Navy store at the intersection of Main Street and Roosevelt Avenue, the superhero looked out at the city. Soon the work day would end, and he could head home and try his best to get his girlfriend to stay with him. Work took up most of his time, he never had money to really take her out, and to be honest Fenwick was simply dating her to have something to do on Friday nights.

His thoughts quickly came back once the screeching of tires echoed down the street. A black Lincoln, a sedan, no it was a Town Car. It was driving away from a small bank. The two men running outside in obvious panic told Fenwick all he needed. It was a big commission.

Without thinking Fenwick ran after the car, on the streets he would never catch up with it, but going across the roof let him cut over traffic, and all obstructions. Leaping from the roof top, twisting his body so his knees almost touched his chest he grabbed a streetlight post, and tried to flip onto the roof across the street. Try was the key word, for Fenwick missed the ledge by a good two feet, he feel to the ground hard, so hard a normal man would have broken bones, he simply stood up and kept after the car.

Running, jumping, knocking people out of his way Fenwick kept the car in his sights. Slowly it was getting closer, not cause he was fast, but because for some reason the robbers had slowed down for a stop light. The light changed to green as Fenwick grabbed the rear passenger door handle. Inside three men looked at him, one started screaming, another slammed his foot down on the gas, and the last one pointed his gun at Fenwick. Gripping the door handle tight, he was dragged along the road with the Town Car. He was lucky for the force of the car moving sent him down just as the bullet shot an inch from his face.

The car swerved along the road trying to get rid of the unwanted hero. Now was the time when the Grey Wolf would make a snappy come back, plant his foot in the ground and stop the car. All Fenwick got out was, “Ow ow ow ow ow.” He knew his coat was getting torn up, but luckily he wore light chain mail under it. Being super strong didn’t make him invulnerable, just tough.

With a shout Fenwick punched at the door with his free hand. His arm broke through the door giving him something to hold onto. With all the strength he had Fenwick swung his feet up smashing into the passenger side window. His right foot kicked the driver in the head, his left knee was at the throat of the man in the passenger seat, and the final robber in the rear got a punch to the face.

The car kept driving, Fenwick did not move at all, “STOP THE CAR!”

An hour later, two patrol cars, and a single reporter deciding it was nothing newsworthy cause no one was hurt, and the hero saved the day, Fenwick sat on the side walk doing math in his head. Base commission is 50, plus three perps is at 15 each for carrying weapons is 45, so that 50+45=90. Add to that the 60 from earlier that day and Fenwick had made an amazing $150.

“Fenwick?” An officer stood beside him holding as clipboard. Standing up Fenwick took the clipboard and checked over the facts, making sure to sign it at the bottom.

“Anything else?”

“Not a thing. Thanks for the assist.”

“Not a problem officer. You guys find a hat by any chance?”

“Nope,” the officer responded walking away. Fenwick sighed, his coat was thrashed, his hat was gone, and the strap to his goggles was being held together with duct tape.

“Why do I even bother?" he looked around frowning "Who the hell and I talking to?” Fenwick shook his head and looked at his watch, not the broken one on his wrist, but the one he kept in his utility belt. His work day was over, he made $150, most likely $120 after taxes and he needed new gear. “This looks like a job for… booze!”

“Pardon me?” the officer looked over at Fenwick standing on the side walk hands on his hips in a traditional heroic pose.

“Good bye officer.”

“See ya. Oh,” the officer walked over smiling, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“You superheroes all hang out together right?"

"For the most part. I mean we all get together for the staff meeting, so yeah."

"If you see the Grey Wolf tell him the boys of the 17th precinct appreciate all the work he did for the city,” Fenwick wanted to tell the guy off, point out that Grey Wolf defeats one villian every month, sure they are AH-2 and up, but most guys like Fenwick get six, seven, some guys twenty commissions a week.

What came out was, "Sure."

"Thanks buddy. You did good today, but next time try not to tear the road up so bad we gotta use it ya know." Fenwick nodded and walked away. He was in New York city, it was almost six o’clock, somewhere there was a bar calling out to him. Taking his tattered coat off he dumped it in the nearest trash can. Fenwick hoped no one would give him trouble for wearing his costume in a bar later.

 

[Fenwick]

It took thirty minutes, and six dollars to get from Queens to the New York Federal Metaphysical Human Department. Fenwick simply sat back in the hard plastic seat of the subway car, it was crowded, a large man and a old woman pressed close against his sides. Normally people would avoid him, but at the end of the day everyone just seemed too tired to care. The subway stopped four times, and as it got closer to Manhattan the more room the superhero had.

Across from him sat a blonde haired man, looked like a college student, the only reason Fenwick noticed was because the man kept staring at him. He was kinda creepy to be honest, never blinking, simply staring.

“Can I help you?”

The young man smiled, “ Hello. You are a superhero are you not?”

“Yeah,” Fenwick replied.

“What is your name?”

“What’s yours?”

The man smiled, “Oh I’m sorry. I’m Jerry Robertson.”

“I’m Fenwick,” the brief silence that followed, meant the man had never heard of Fenwick. What was odd was the man standing up and sitting beside the hero. Using his X-ray vision Fenwick say no weapons, or even magical items, he got an eye full of other things that shall haunt him to the end of his days.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Fenwick. Tell me are you missing something in your life?” Jerry smiled. It was that empty, hollow smile, that showed there was something behind the unwanted conversation. Most heroes would be concerned, are my kids in danger? My girlfriend? My wife? Is the city in danger? Fenwick simply wondered how on earth a guy like Jerry wore sock with sandals and didn’t get his ass kicked.

“Nope.”

“Are you sure? Most people in your line of work find something missing at the end of the day.”

“Positive.”

Jerry kept on smiling as he spoke, “You say that but you don’t really mean it. Have you accepted Jesus Christ into your…”

“GO AWAY.”

“But sir, the love of Jesus in your life can…”

Fenwick turned and eyed the man with nothing but scorn. For years now it seemed like every single church in America wanted their very own superhero to join the flock. Fenwick was not sure what existed out there, with aliens races, omnipotent beings from other dimensions, demons from the ninth circle of the underworld, and every thing else that has happened to the world. Fenwick grinned, “I’m an atheist.”

“Only because you have not heard the word of Christ.”

“I gained my powers by sacrificing a goat, and three virgins to the devil.”

“What?” Jerry looked on with wide eyes.

Fenwick leaned forward, “Oh yes. I called upon my lord and master Satan, and consumed the heart of a human child.”

“Wha… w…”

Fenwick started laughing, slapping Jerry on the back, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Now get the **** away from me.” The young man moved down the subway car, after making a most unchristian gesture to Fenwick. Despite everything, that made the superhero feel better. Having an odd sense of humor somewhat helped in Fenwick’s line of work. After awhile fighting gets dull, so most heroes rely on a series of snappy comebacks. Fenwick did not have to try very hard seeing as how the only supervillian he ever fought was a disgruntled French chef named the Black Coq.

When the subway made its final stop, Fenwick got out and headed up to the street level. I was still daylight out, which the man was thankful for. Moving across the street to the dull gray concrete build of the New York Federal Metaphysical Human Department, Fenwick was glad to feel the cool air conditioned breeze inside. The entry way was a single hall, with a bank of elevators, a reception desk, and at the very end where the Ten. As he waited for the elevator to come down, Fenwick looked at the statues of the first government sponsored heroes. Strong men, a slender woman, and some guy in bulky armor, they where to be the men all heroes look up to.

They started when it was World War Two, everyone wanted to win, and nine men, and one woman took up the call to fight. Rumors swirled around the Metahuman community as to way no one just assassinated Hitler and end the war in a week. Some pointed to most of them being sympathetic Nazi’s themselves, others look to the Spear of Destiny and the hold it has over superheroes, and still others, Fenwick included, look at the fact that America did not want to turn Hitler into a martyr.

Fenwick stepped into the elevator, and pressed the button for the third floor, and thought about why the world seemed to let such bad things occur. The world was always like that though, good people set out to do good things, and politics get in the way. It was not the ends justifying the means. It was not detaining people for being enemy combatants. It was not starting a illegal war, it was none of that. Superheroes helped people, and captured people who committed crimes, yet for some reason they could not help everyone. A superhero wasn’t supposed to go fight the KKK cause they have free speech, a man who had a garage filled with assault rifles was allowed to bare arms, a Fortune 500 corporate mogul couldn’t not be arrested for bankrupting a company’s pension.

Walking into the brightly light hallway for the AH-4 offices, quickly reminded Fenwick that he wasn’t really a hero, he was doing all this for a paycheck. Standing in line behind other heroes doing the same thing as he, Fenwick wondered what the offices on the tops floors look like. Rumor had it that the AH-1 level had a restaurant, a gym, plus masseurs. AH-4 had a coffee pot, a leaky water fountain, and a 20” TV.

“Change your costume?”

Fenwick turned around and grinned seeing Hapsburg, a sword themed superhero, who used an electro-magnetic rapier, and wore clothes similar to Austrian monarchs. He was an okay guy, but Fenwick always thought cape wearers where kinda weird, then again he was part of the trench coat cliché so he couldn’t really talk.

“Nope, got dragged six blocks by a Lincoln.”

Hapsburg winced, “Dude! That had to hurt.”

“Oh my yes. You have a good day?”

“Eh, I could of down worse. One mugger, a few smash and grabs. You?”

“Not bad, but I took out a 4 with a Sonic Distortion gun last week so my check should be good.”

“Sweet,” Hapsburg looked like he wanted to say more but he pointed at the empty front window. Fenwick quickly walked forward and leaned down to speak in the small opening in the bullet proof glass, “Fenwick, ID number NYC-188, I’m…”

The woman, whose name always seemed to escape Fenwick, raised her hand sternly, “Stand behind the white line until I call for you, sir.”

With a sigh Fenwick did as he was told, until the woman motioned him forward, “Are you signing out?”

“Why else would I be in this line?”

“There is no need to be sarcastic. Are you signing out?”

“Yes.”

“Name?”

“Fenwick. ID number…”

“Just your name,” she said typing on her computer, “ID number?”

“NY-188.”

“Alright, according to our files today you captured one purse snatcher, and captured three men involved in a robbery. Is this information correct?”

“The three men where armed.”

The woman tilted her head with a frown, “I shall correct that information.” Fenwick leaned down resting his head against his fist, watching as the woman typed at the keyboard. “All right Fenwick, you are checked out for the day. Any crimes to stop, or criminals you detain shall not be recognized by the State of New York, or the Federal government and you may be prosecuted as such. Have a nice day.”

Fenwick tapped on the glass, “Excuse me. It’s the 30th.”

“No sir, it is the 27th. Now please…”

“I have a check coming to me,” Fenwick said with his best smile on.

“Oh, I thought you knew. The AH-4 director wants to speak to you, your check is withheld until you talk.”

“WHAT?”

The woman pointed to the door to her right, “Down the hall last down on the right. NEXT.”

Fenwick did as he was told, and walked down the hall, hoping his paycheck was not in bureaucratic limbo. Wondering just what he had done. Shrugging, Fenwick stopped at the directors office door, “At least I got beer in he fridge at home.”

 

[Fenwick]

Sitting behind his desk was the director of the AH-4 department of the New York branch office. Fenwick lightly knocked on the door, “You wanted to see me, sir?”

From behind a computer screen, Max Weinberg’s head peered out, “Oh hello,” Weinberg cocked his head to the side looking over the tattered costume of Fenwick, “What happened to you?”

“Got dragged six blocks.”

"On the job?"

"Yep. Bank robbery."

“Jeez, have you filed a costume retrieval/replacement waiver?”

“I’ve used them up this year,” Fenwick said. The Federal Meta Human Department for the most part took good care of the superheroes who worked there. Full dental, medical, traveling expenses, and in some cases costume design, repair, and retrieval. Of course like any government job there was a loop hole as not to pay. Chipping a tooth? Well fixing that would count, except said tooth is not made of bone but metal. Broken arm? Almost always someone asked if a person with healing powers was sought out, and if so then the government doesn’t have to give treatment. As for costumes, some congressional committee, or maybe a supervillian in disguise, thought it was a good idea to only allow a superhero two costume replacements a year. Sure they’d repair minor tears, or replace small articles, but it was done at a cost to the hero in question.

“Yeah…uh…that’s too bad. You always had a good look,” Max wheeled his chair over, as not to talk with a computer in his way. “Now…uh,what are you here for?”

Fenwick rolled his eyes, which where thankfully covered by his goggles, “The lady at the check out counter says my check is on hold.”

“Oh Becky? Hmmm…uh… let me look this up for you. Had a lot of work today,” Weinberg hummed to himself, as he checked the computer, “Okay: three guys out sick, four injured, one in some kinda space time vortex, and those guys up on AH-2 want all my extra 4’s for some kinda training exercise. Really a ***** you know… oh here we go.”

The printer behind the director started up, Fenwick turned to look and as always was taken by the tattered costume above it. Back in the seventies and early eighties AH-4 Director Weinberg was Zarth. Fenwick believed the guy had something like either fire manipulation, speed, or he was the guy who shot brightly colored balls of light. Zarth supposedly fought beside the Techrat before and after the laters' legal troubles. Did some good in his day, and went on to work with the government once superheroes had to work there. Weinberg lifted up the print out and read it over, “Oh.”

“Something wrong?” Fenwick quickly saw his weeks filled with mac and cheese, and really bad beer. Of course he could survive on good beer and really bad mac and cheese.

“Not at all, your check was withheld until next week due to excessive back pay for an old commission,” he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a few papers, “Read through the Time Card readmission waiver, and sign at the bottom.”

Without a second glance Fenwick signed at the bottom, “So what did they forget?”

“Let’s check,” once more Weinberg dove into his computer searching for whatever the commission in question was. “We…uh… don’t really make mistakes like that. I know how important the checks are to you guys. I…uh…” Once Max found the commission, he narrowed his eyes and looked at Fenwick. Concerned the superhero leaned forward, “Well?”

“You got a Straha commission,” the room was silent between the two men.

“BULL****!” Fenwick stood up leaning over as far as he could to try and read the screen. Straha was perhaps one of the most-recognized supervillians of the world, at that point. An imposing, fifteen foot tall, purple headed, dimension hopping warlord, who seemed to love shouting out "Punish Him!" He found the Earth in 2004 after Straha successfully destroyed all existence on a parallel dimension. His actions are recognized around seemingly all dimensions for his love of destruction, and altering the worlds he conquers. Of course accoridng to Straha slavery, mutants, and secret police spiced the world up.

“No it’s…uh…true. I’ll print out the information for you.” Weinberg started typing away as fast as he could, Fenwick eagerly awaiting to hear what he did to deserve such a thing.

Around march of 2005 Straha attempted to take over the world by, well to be honest Fenwick had no idea what the supervillian was making, It was just a massive spire in the middle of Arizona. The US government got together all the AH-1’s, and 2’s, a lottery was held for the 3’s and 4’s to decide who would fill up the remaining eighty-three slots open. Fenwick was “lucky” enough to be one of those chosen. What followed was a summer long, seemingly epic battle, in which superheroes fought the seemingly endless supply of Straha’s minions. Fenwick himself traded blows with the Poison Frog, and Fungi of Yuggoth, without much success. In the end Grey Wolf, Dr. What, and Count Dearborn where able to defeat him.

While the general public celebrated, the superhero community sat back waiting for a commission. As over two hundred heroes fought a AH-0 the paycheck could be in the billions over all. President Bush created a Senate subcommittee which quickly deemed $500,000 enough money to pay for the heroes actions. Of course that was only to go to those who actually helped fight Straha, and not his minions. Also, as Fenwick was quick to point out to all who would listen, since the minions where mental creations they did not count as separate commissions.

“Oh…oh my,” Weinberg started laughing. He laughed so hard he buried his face into his hands. Fenwick frowned, “What?”

“Well…” the man started laughing once more. Weinberg looked to collect himself, yet one look at Fenwick sent him into another fit of laughter. The superhero looked ready to pounce when Max turned his monitor to face Fenwick. A picture of Straha took up much of the screen, he looked to be attacked by various heroes, in the dead center of the image was Fenwick. He wasn’t attacking, distracting, not even annoying, it was quite obvious that Fenwick had been hurled at Straha.

“What the hell…” Fenwick rolled his eyes, and let out a groan.

“According to the higher up’s you actually landed a blow upon Straha, and according to the criteria you are entitled to a cut of the commission,” Max bite his lower lip trying his hardest not to laugh.

“You mean I’m getting money cause I was punched by some jackass named Poison Frog?”

“You are getting $2362.20 after taxes.”

“I don’t… whoa. Seriously?” Fenwick threw his arms in the air, “YES!” Standing up the hero smiled ear to ear, “Excuse me I’m off to get my check.”

“Alright,” as Fenwick was half out the door Max yelled out, “Oh I need volunteers to visit some high schools next week, you want in? Pays minimum wage for six hours.”

“Oh…uh, yeah sure.”

Fenwick was almost out once more before Weinberg started talking again, “I also need you to pull a double shift tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is Saturday.”

“I know but you haven’t done a double shift in six weeks, now hurry up. The front desk stops handing out checks in twenty minutes.”

Fenwick moved down the hall, trying to move as fast as he could without running. The line, as always, was long to check out. With care, and tact Fenwick moved forward, “I got a Straha check! Outta my way!”

Normally a superhero shoving his way through line would end in a fight, a tear in the fabric of space time, or disappearing only to reappear years later wondering why everyone thinks they are dead, but the words Straha made everyone move out of the way. The men and women in the room stared as Fenwick went through the motions they all had gone through a hundred times. Fenwick looked out at everyone and held the check up. Some cheered, others looked on in awe, and the few cybernetics’ let out loud hissing noises that passed for laughter.

“How much is it for?”

Fenwick looked at the check and grinned, “It’s for… $1464.” The room collectively grunted. Fenwick flipped the corporate check out looking at every line of deduction. “Okay… 20% for state, and federal taxes. 37% for Arizona restoration fund?! What is that ****?”

Turning back to the check out counter the girl, Becky he remembered, simply shrugged. Collecting himself Fenwick smiled, “Okay, okay. That's okay, I still got the check, didn’t I?”

A few heroes clapped, others simply got back in line smiling at the good fortune for a fellow AH-4. Fenwick walked out into the hall and towards the elevators. He had some extra money. Enough to get a new refrigerator, a good television, he could blow it all on an Xbox 360 and a PS3, maybe take his girlfriend out for a nice date. Stepping into the elevator his smile disappeared once the mirror along the elevator car caught his reflection. The tattered shirt, little bits of the chain mail underneath sticking out, a rip up the left side of his Kevlar pants, no fedora, no trench coat, duct tape holding his goggles together and the third pouch on the right of his utility belt had a hole in it. His check was going to a new uniform.

“A new uniform and a steak,” Fenwick said to himself. At least he was going to get some enjoyment out of his check. Now all he had to do was make up a better story then he was punched and flew into an near omnipotent being from a parallel world.

 

[Démon]

Aside from a couple of minor spelling mistakes, I thought it was quite a well-written story. t: Sort of like The Incredibles in that it points out a lot of the stereotypes and inner workings of a world of superheroes. Great job.

 

[Fenwick]

When Fenwick arrived home he was tired. Tired, stiff, and sore. Not just from the long day, but tired of life in general. Seeing his one bedroom apartment, with rusty pipes, and in desperate need of cleaning only compounded the superheroes feelings. Fenwick walked about shedding his civilian clothes, his uniform safely in his locker in the AH-4 shower room, and carefully setting his paycheck on the kitchen counter.

Heading into the bathroom Fenwick looked at himself in the mirror. Various scratches, bruises, and cuts all about his chest. He was glad it was not anything serious, but still greatly annoyed by the sight. Without thinking Fenwick could lift up a car, well not a large car, and certainly not a truck, but a car nonetheless. Yet he was still vulnerable to all the aches and pains of regular people. Some days Fenwick felt like he was touched by the finger of gods, and others days he wondered just which finger that were.

Turning the shower on, Fenwick continued examining himself as the water warmed up. Sighing he spotted a large bruise on his right side. Leaning forward with his elbows on the sink Fenwick rubbed his temples groaning to himself, “****ing day, man.” Almost forcing himself up, he went into the shower. The warm water felt good upon his skin, the little knots of tension slowly melting away. Fenwick closed his eyes, and let his mind drift to happier times.

It was spring, and the sun was shining. Married to a pretty girl named Catharine, or Cat to her loved ones, was almost done with college and the whole world was opening to him. Of course Fenwick had to be a jackass and try and pull a man out of a burning car, only to be hit by radioactive waste. Why such a thing was in the suburbs the hero could only guess. Just like in the public service announcements Fenwick was endowed with amazing abilities, far beyond normal blah blah blah.

Now in his late twenties Fenwick was standing in his cramped shower looking at his rough hands wondering where everything went wrong. Perhaps the worst part was that compared to most Fenwick’s life was easy. Crappy apartment and working paycheck to paycheck was a blessing to some heroes. Bionic Cobalt Organism or BCO to most people liked to drink, and was almost positive he was the reason his father had cancer. Agent Dark had two kids, a marriage quickly going downhill, and thanks to a costume change in public not allowed within one hundred yards of a school. Another hero called Ward was truly inspiring on the streets, using costume made disks to disable a foe long enough for the agile superhero to make an arrest. Ward was always happy on the job but his life was hardly any better then Fenwick’s. Stuck with an alimony payment, a lawsuit, and quite possibly loosing his car, all because the guy was late to every court date.

Fenwick wondered if the Gray Wolf, or Count Dearborn went through such ****. They made big money, where popular, probably had everything they could ever want. As such thoughts bounced around the admittedly thick skull of the superhero, the sound of flushing was heard from the other side of the wall. Using his superhuman reflexes Fenwick turned to his side as the scalding hot water hit his back.

After the shower Fenwick changed into his sweat pants, never bothering to remove his goggles. The superhero went into his kitchen and opened the fridge. Biting his lower lip Fenwick stared at the three containers for left over Chinese food, and a small lump that at some point may have been food. Of course surrounding this all was beer. Good cold MGD always made Fenwick feel better at the end of the day. After putting, what he hoped was fried rice into the microwave; Fenwick took a bottle of beer and sat on his couch watching TV.

Flipping through channels Fenwick was unsure if he wanted to be angry, or just annoyed watching television. Deciding on the former he clicked the remote to Fox News and opened his beer. “God damn it!” Fenwick shouted as foam poured from the mouth of the bottle and onto his sweat pants. Looking about for something to clean it up with Fenwick did his best to lick all the foam from the side of the bottle. Waving his hand the man simply sat back deciding to ignore the spill for now. One look around the apartment told just how often Fenwick did such a thing.

As the TV showed “fair and unbalanced” news, Fenwick laid back letting his mind shut off. Images of Iraq filled the screen, one dead, and eight wounded in roadside bomb, followed by a man in a five thousand dollar suit talking to a large crowd, Presidential hopeful shows his country roots speaking to local farmers in Kansas. It was all the same crap Fenwick expected, he tended to filter it out and only watch for the hot news anchor that never buttoned her shirt all the way. Yet the words Hero fallen got his attention. Turning the volume up Fenwick leaned forward.

Today the Committee on Metahuman actives has called for, no less then, fifteen so-called heroes to speak before congress. The large hearing room was filled with aging congressmen who looked to be yelling at a shirtless muscular black man with golden gauntlets on his wrists. This of course is in connection with the claims by Congress, that over eight billion dollars of federal spending has been wasted by the Metahuman community. A pudgy, balding man with thick glasses stood before a platform looking rather grim, “It saddens me that these individuals who are allowed to live on the government die would abuse their power so.” Congressman Snyder is hoping to run for President next year, and seems to be growing in support with his calls for harsher regulation, and punishment of Metahuman.

Fenwick rolled his eyes and threw the remote down. Ever since 9/11 people have had it out for Superheroes. Fenwick remembered that day, he remembered the funeral for six of his peers, and he remembered waiting in the long line to explain why he was not in place to stop the airplanes. In retrospect asking a non-flying hero such things was ridiculous, but in the weeks following Congress in particular seemed to want the blame placed upon the Superhuman community.

Feeling the aches in his body return, Fenwick stared down into his empty beer. Reaching under the couch he pulled out a thin brown box. Getting the remote off the ground he changed it to Cartoon Network, and waited for Robot Chicken to start. As credits rolled Fenwick opened the box and pulled out some rolling papers, and a little something he took from a drug dealer a month ago. The rest of the night was a blur, but a happy one.

 

[Fenwick]

The mild beeping slowly got louder and louder, until Fenwick felt his head was going to burst. Sitting up the hero looked about seeing the bottles, cans and open box trying to find the source of the beep. Moving about his apartment he looked rather ghoulish, bags under his eyes, a deathly wail passing as a yawn, and the shambling movements of his feet.

Fenwick narrowed his eyes and stared at his most hated of enemies the alarm clock. The bright red numbers flashed with each piercing beep of the alarm. Fenwick’s hand came down turning it off. For a split second the thought of sleep consumed the superhero, but in the end the weak sense of responsibility won out in the end.

Taking the subway, or bus would get Fenwick to work in about ten minutes, walking made the trip twenty. The superhero needed to walk off the night of drinking, and do his best to wake up. Looking about his bedroom the superhero got together his civilian clothes. To many superheroes the thought of a secret identity was one of the more interesting aspects of the job. Look like anyone you want, act however you want, then dress up in brightly colored uniforms and fight crime. Who wouldn’t be tempted by it?

The downside of course was realizing just how stupid it was. One glance in the mirror proved such to Fenwick, baggy pants, a black t-shirt, and a oversized flannel shirt made him the peek of fashion in the early nineties, as it was 2007 he simply looked like a college drop out, or a recently divorced man. Topping off the amazing disguise was a single ball cap.

Fenwick made a noise that somehow mixed the intensity and anguish of a sigh, and the utter hatred of a grunt. He walked from the bedroom and stopped by the kitchen counter collecting his wallet, keys, and most importantly his Straha check. Glancing at the clock on the cable box, Fenwick had about two hours before the first shift would start, plenty of time for the bank, and some breakfast.

Outside the bright sun struck the hero first; it was quickly followed by the sounds of New York. Fenwick slide his hands into his pockets and walked down the street, not paying attention to anything in particular. Moving up one street, going across to another, almost getting hit by a taxi, being handed flyer’s for strip clubs, and parties he would never attend, it was a typical walk to work.

When the New York Federal Metaphysical Human Department showed itself from behind a building, Fenwick spin sharply on his heels and went up two more blocks to the American National Bank and Trust. “Where Apple pie, and the Red, White, and Blue mean something!” Fenwick felt his stomach lurch every time he passed that advertisement. Smiling he saw the bank not full at all, and walked to the first open teller he saw.

A pretty young woman smiled brightly at him, she was hot. Maybe 5’ 4”, bright blue eyes, and a blouse that was doing its hardest to stay together in all the right places. “Hello sir! How can I help you?”

Fenwick stared, and his shoulder drooped the slightest, her voice was like every bad Saved by the Bell, so all of them, episodes put together. The odd mixture of peppy, and high pitched at tore away at ones eardrums. Fenwick smiled nonetheless, and produced his check, “I’d like to deposit this please.”

After swiping his card, signing his name, and writing out a deposit slip the woman smiled once more, “Oh my! We have been working hard haven’t we?”

Fenwick put on his best smile; scratching the back of his head “I try.”

“Alright, everything is settled here. Have a nice day!” Fenwick nodded and turned around. His size always forced him to duck to his side to get through metal detectors, most superheroes had to do that. Fenwick wondered how the cybernetic ones moved about, but he never could bring himself to ask one.

Heading back to Metaphysical Human Department the superhero looked about spotting a few tall muscular men, and athletic looking women no doubt in the same business as Fenwick. What really concerned the hero now was whether to eat at the diner across the street, or the cafeteria inside the AH-4 division. As always Fenwick took the road most traveled and walked to work.

The familiar statues of the Ten greeted him as always. The Man’s immortal words of “with great power comes great responsibility” hung above the elevator as always. The elevator made three stops, and right before Fenwick’s floor it shook, as always. Everything seemed like a typical day, but that wasn’t always bad.

The cafeteria always had the best hash browns in town, and the prices where cheap enough to let most superheroes eat as much as they wanted. The fact that Fenwick needed almost six thousand calories a day to keep weight on meant the place was perfect. Sitting at a long table with various other heroes, some in costume, some in civvies, Fenwick started eating. As the Bill O'Reilly buzzed about in the back the superhero finished his food as fast as he could. He looked up from his meal only once.

With over six thousand dollars in damages done to the city many wonder if the arrest was worth it. A overwieght man stood before a torn apart home, "You see? A single costumed hero did this, trying to capture a man who had stolen three hundred dollars. The damage alone is well in the thousands." While many point to how the man captured had shot two people in the course of the robbery, it should be noted that, at least in this reporters view, that had the police made the arrest there would be no damage. Wake up America.

"Would someone please turn it to the Today Show?" A hero, in a massive armoured exoskelton, said from the far side of the room.

As the newest recipes from Wolfgang Puck flowed through the room, Fenwick picked up his fork and dug in to his breakfast. Two hash browns, four pancakes, three eggs, a slice of ham, a bowl of cereal, and two cartons of milk was not the typical breakfast, but Fenwick wanted to keep it light that day.

 

[Fenwick]

After busing his tray, he got back on the elevator and went to floor B3. While on the outside the Metahuman Department was sixteen stories tall, it really went as many as ten stories underground. AH-4’s where allowed to go as far as B4, which was only for emergencies. Most of the time Fenwick stayed near B2, the gym, and B3, the AH-4 locker room.

Walking along the various rows, the hero stopped at locker 867. Fenwick let out a small curse seeing his tattered uniform hung with care on the inside. Closing his eyes, he rubbed his temples and went back to the elevator, “An hour till the shift starts, I’ll be fine.” With trembling hands Fenwick pressed the button for the 13th floor. Technically there was no thirteenth floor, the numbers went from 12 to 14, but most had determined that those who worked on the 14th floor where sent from the devil to torment the mere mortals of the world.

When the elevator stopped Fenwick stepped out and looked at the only door in the area. Well there was another one but that was for the electrical room. Against stark white walls were the words “Internal Finances Department.” The IFD was where the DMV went to die, Fenwick believed. Government employees, with no background in law enforcement, the military, or even the boy scouts ran the floor like tyrants. A few years ago it was decided that superheroes where spending too much money, and their superiors where too blind to notice, so Hillary Clinton, and a few dozen other Democrats got together to create the IFD nation wide.

Walking into the office instantly told Fenwick he was not wanted. The room was the picture of conformity: cubicles spaced neatly together, no personal effects anywhere, and everyone seemed to wear the same black suit and white shirt. What really hammered home the fact that Fenwick wasn’t welcome were the stares he got walking in.

A single reception desk was in front of the cubicles; an elderly woman sat behind it her fingered laced together, “May I help you?”

“Um…yes I need to get…I mean I need to requisition some gear for the day.”

The woman sighed and stood up, “Follow me.” She led Fenwick on a long winding route stopping at a cubicle where a short, balding fellow sat typing away at his keyboard. The receptionist smiled knocking on the wall, “Robert? A cape wants to talk to you.”

The man whirled around on his chair and looked at Fenwick, “I’m busy come back in three hours.”

“I have a shift in forty minutes.”

The man groaned and pointed at a chair beside him, “I’m never gonna finish this crap today.”

Fenwick sat down, and did his best to ignore the scowl from the woman as she walked away. Looking about the cramped little workspace Fenwick wondered how anyone could work in such a neat and orderly place without going mad. A placard on the wall read Robert Judge. As the man worked on his computer Fenwick sat waiting to be noticed.

“Alright what do you want?”

“I need to use the Kevlar gear for today,” Fenwick replied, going over everything he needed in his head. His chain mail was okay, as where his goggles, and he could live with a small rip in his pants so he really just needed something to wear over his chest.
Judge rolled his eyes and opened a drawer beside him. He took out a form and clicked a pen, “Alright I need to know your name, your ID number, how you lost the gear previously given to you…”

“I had to buy my old gear,” Fenwick cut in quickly.

“Excuse me?”

“My uniform, I had to buy the whole thing.”

“Have you used up your costume replacement waivers?”

“Well yeah, that’s why…”

“Request denied, good day,” the man opened his drawer and slide the form back in. Without a second glance he returned to his work.

“I need the gear to go patrol today,” Fenwick waited for a reply but got none, “Hey I’m…”

“Still here?” the man looked back and grinned loving the control he had, “Listen I’m sure you think you request is important, but we here in the real world know these things cost money. So you want more equipment, go buy it, or wait until the next fiscal year in which we will give you some. Until then go away.”

Someone close by snickered. It wasn’t Robert so Fenwick was positive it was someone in another cubicle. Even sitting the superhero was taller then the other man. It wasn’t the way he acted that angered Fenwick it was the smile, that smile that said he was better then him. Fenwick looked ready to pounce, the expression on Robert’s face said he was used to such things.

“Alright, I’m leaving,” Fenwick, said as he stood up.

“I’m glad you superheroes can at least act civilized once in awhile,” Robert replied. Looking around Fenwick saw a few people standing and smiling, no doubt the tale of the big dumb hero would be the water cooler talk for days.

Fenwick walked out of the office, and through the little door leading to the elevator. He waited till the door closed and made a quick turn to the electrical room. The door wasn’t locked, and there weren’t any cameras on the floor, some say it was petty revenge for stiffing the security staff out of their pay raises. Of course Fenwick did not think of any of this as he found a circuit breaker and rather calmly shut the power off for the floor, and just as quickly turned it back on.

As the elevator made its way down to B3, the Superhero smiled. So what if he had to go costume trolling? The yells, and cursing from the 13th floor would no doubt keep him happy for the rest of the day.