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Intro to a Super Hero Story
Apr. 18th, 2005 08:56 pmThis is no way to make a living, thought Alex to himself. The evening was cold and cloudy and unpleasant, so cold that it hurt the skin, yet inexplicably threatening rain. Wondering vaguely if Tempest was messing the weather up again, Alex sighed to himself. Knowing his luck, it was just random misfortune. Snow was vaguely pleasant, as opposed to ice-cold rain, which was simply depressing, especially when he had no choice but to wait it out. Holding the binoculars up to his face, he watched through the window across the street and waited.
Years of careful investigation and research were finally bearing fruit, or so Alex hoped. The evil Anarchist had been his target for so long that Alex sometimes felt he knew the villain better than he knew himself. In all those years, though, Alex had hardly even gotten close to victory. The Anarchist was too slippery, too good. Everyone makes mistakes eventually, though, and Alex was pretty sure that the Anarchist had finally made his. Alex was pretty sure that the Anarchist, feared by thousands, killer of hundreds, and nemesis of all civilization, was actually Reggie Winthrop, a banker at the First National Bank on South and Main. Now, he squatted, freezing, on the roof of the building across the street from where Mr. Winthrop lived, and waited for the Anarchist to make a mistake.
Alex wasn’t really sure what he would do if he were wrong. At least he wasn’t overly impulsive – he knew enough to know that he needed proof before he could move on the alter ego. Still, given the differences between the two individuals, it seemed likely that Mr. Winthrop was mentally disturbed in some fashion. The Anarchist acted erratically, at best, and completely insane at worst, whereas Reggie’s coworkers all agreed that he was so hopelessly ordinary that he was difficult to spend time with, yet he always seemed happy with his lot. None had ever seen him do anything even vaguely out of the ordinary in the fifteen years that he had worked in the bank. I hope I’m right, hoped Alex.
This is no way to make a living, he thought again, as the presence of the rain and the temperature differential between his face and the outside world caused his binoculars to fog over. He unzipped his coat, feeling the warmth depressingly leave his carefully layered clothing, and wiped the lenses off on his dry sweatshirt. He struggled to hold back a yawn. He’d been on this roof for 12 hours without even a bathroom break, hoping that his break would come tonight. He was starting to have trouble convincing his employers that this stakeout was worth while. Mr. Winthrop had yet to do even a single out of the ordinary thing. On the other hand, in the two weeks that Alex had camped out on this roof top, the Anarchist hadn’t made a single appearance. There was still a chance. He kept pointing this out to the Coordinator, and the Coordinator kept giving him one more night. Alex just wasn’t sure how many more nights he could talk his way into.
Alex pulled his attention back to the present. He’d never forgive himself if he missed something important because he was worried about explaining himself to his boss – that’d give him something to really worry about. Something strange was happening across the street, he realized. Reggie’s light was back on. This hadn’t happened any other night that Alex had watched. Reggie, being a proper and normal person, went to sleep at about 10 o’clock every night, and except for a bathroom trip or too, always made in the dark, slept uninterrupted until 6:30 AM every morning. It was almost 3:30 in the morning now, though, and the light had just been turned on in Reggie Winthrops’ bedroom. Praying for his big break, Alex readied himself on the roof, prepared, he hoped, for anything that might happen next.
Years of careful investigation and research were finally bearing fruit, or so Alex hoped. The evil Anarchist had been his target for so long that Alex sometimes felt he knew the villain better than he knew himself. In all those years, though, Alex had hardly even gotten close to victory. The Anarchist was too slippery, too good. Everyone makes mistakes eventually, though, and Alex was pretty sure that the Anarchist had finally made his. Alex was pretty sure that the Anarchist, feared by thousands, killer of hundreds, and nemesis of all civilization, was actually Reggie Winthrop, a banker at the First National Bank on South and Main. Now, he squatted, freezing, on the roof of the building across the street from where Mr. Winthrop lived, and waited for the Anarchist to make a mistake.
Alex wasn’t really sure what he would do if he were wrong. At least he wasn’t overly impulsive – he knew enough to know that he needed proof before he could move on the alter ego. Still, given the differences between the two individuals, it seemed likely that Mr. Winthrop was mentally disturbed in some fashion. The Anarchist acted erratically, at best, and completely insane at worst, whereas Reggie’s coworkers all agreed that he was so hopelessly ordinary that he was difficult to spend time with, yet he always seemed happy with his lot. None had ever seen him do anything even vaguely out of the ordinary in the fifteen years that he had worked in the bank. I hope I’m right, hoped Alex.
This is no way to make a living, he thought again, as the presence of the rain and the temperature differential between his face and the outside world caused his binoculars to fog over. He unzipped his coat, feeling the warmth depressingly leave his carefully layered clothing, and wiped the lenses off on his dry sweatshirt. He struggled to hold back a yawn. He’d been on this roof for 12 hours without even a bathroom break, hoping that his break would come tonight. He was starting to have trouble convincing his employers that this stakeout was worth while. Mr. Winthrop had yet to do even a single out of the ordinary thing. On the other hand, in the two weeks that Alex had camped out on this roof top, the Anarchist hadn’t made a single appearance. There was still a chance. He kept pointing this out to the Coordinator, and the Coordinator kept giving him one more night. Alex just wasn’t sure how many more nights he could talk his way into.
Alex pulled his attention back to the present. He’d never forgive himself if he missed something important because he was worried about explaining himself to his boss – that’d give him something to really worry about. Something strange was happening across the street, he realized. Reggie’s light was back on. This hadn’t happened any other night that Alex had watched. Reggie, being a proper and normal person, went to sleep at about 10 o’clock every night, and except for a bathroom trip or too, always made in the dark, slept uninterrupted until 6:30 AM every morning. It was almost 3:30 in the morning now, though, and the light had just been turned on in Reggie Winthrops’ bedroom. Praying for his big break, Alex readied himself on the roof, prepared, he hoped, for anything that might happen next.
