Post by Comet on Oct 22, 2022 17:23:40 GMT
"Please, that's not necessary. Just try to get to a medical professional. There are a few over there."
Tipping culture and superheroes made for an odd mix. One of the people that Comet pulled out from under the rubble tried to pass him a $20 bill, which he declined, holding up an open palm to say stop. The beleaguered civilian, possibly in shock, stumbled off to find their family as the famous high-flyer stooped low to clear away a fallen stone archway with his bare hands. Masked firemen ran by him as he held the concrete mass aloft over his head, barely breaking a sweat.
Infrastructural collapse had caused an entire office building to come down. Of course, he'd been over a hundred miles away when it happened, arriving on scene after the first responders to help clear away debris. Unlike so many who had come before, he lacked superior senses - no prescient awareness of danger, no vision or hearing enhanced beyond that what was necessary for him to sustain high-speed flight. Thankfully, the structure had been mostly empty. So far, no fatalities, and no sign of foul play.
His vermillion cape stood out in the drab gray of the ruin as law enforcement officials rushed past to clear people out of the rubble. The cape, in some ways, was a relic of a past age. It wasn't practical - some even went so far as to call it arrogant, regal, like Comet thought he was better than others.
With a light shrug of his shoulders, the immense weight was hefted up off of him and onto the pavement below. It cracked apart; heavy as paper to Comet, but enough to kill an ordinary man if he so much as dropped it on him.
It'd be bad luck to wish for more excitement. Unprofessional. It'd put people around him in danger. But was it so much to ask for a little action? He had laser eyes, dammit. But the age of grandiose heroes and villains had passed. They were all grateful for peace and quiet, no imminent alien invasions to conquer, no villain-of-the-week holding cities hostage. By all accounts it'd been a more terrifying time - but it was also the New Frontier.
Nowadays heroes were weaker, including him. The threats weren't as bombastic. Supes were integrated into public consciousness. They had 401ks and mortgages. Comet was no different. Somewhere between contractor and public servant, paid to help out with disaster cleanup and the like - but he wasn't the kind to be able to avert a hurricane, only hover over the water and pick people out of it. That was the most realistic approach. He had endless stamina and could move with more precision than a helicopter, so they had him fly about and pick out where people were, relaying it back to them by walkie-talkie. That was more efficient than zipping around lifting people off their rooftops.
And then there was the 24/7 spew of trivia-celebrity bullshit that followed him everywhere. People taking pictures of him with their smartphones, which was at first gratifying, but now grated on him - the ever-present threat of lawsuit if he lost control of his strength, flew too fast and broke the sound barrier, et cetera - and even beyond legal threat, he had to watch his behavior. Everyone in America wanted to see him crack up and choke.
"No pictures, please. Come on, now is not the time," he muttered, lip curling at one of the younger EMTs who'd stepped a little closer with her smartphone out, already expecting what she was about to say.
Disenchanted with the superhero lifestyle? Sure, you could say that. But he wasn't about to go full villain, either. Nobody did that anymore. It was a one-way ticket to Facility X.
The Wild West was gone, Comet thought, and he had just barely missed it.
Man.
A metahuman god among men, and now he was just part of the show. Just as normal as everyone else. When he was young, and his powers developed, it was supposed to be the golden ticket. Now he was just another flying brick.
Another day saved. Another job. Meh.
Tipping culture and superheroes made for an odd mix. One of the people that Comet pulled out from under the rubble tried to pass him a $20 bill, which he declined, holding up an open palm to say stop. The beleaguered civilian, possibly in shock, stumbled off to find their family as the famous high-flyer stooped low to clear away a fallen stone archway with his bare hands. Masked firemen ran by him as he held the concrete mass aloft over his head, barely breaking a sweat.
Infrastructural collapse had caused an entire office building to come down. Of course, he'd been over a hundred miles away when it happened, arriving on scene after the first responders to help clear away debris. Unlike so many who had come before, he lacked superior senses - no prescient awareness of danger, no vision or hearing enhanced beyond that what was necessary for him to sustain high-speed flight. Thankfully, the structure had been mostly empty. So far, no fatalities, and no sign of foul play.
His vermillion cape stood out in the drab gray of the ruin as law enforcement officials rushed past to clear people out of the rubble. The cape, in some ways, was a relic of a past age. It wasn't practical - some even went so far as to call it arrogant, regal, like Comet thought he was better than others.
With a light shrug of his shoulders, the immense weight was hefted up off of him and onto the pavement below. It cracked apart; heavy as paper to Comet, but enough to kill an ordinary man if he so much as dropped it on him.
It'd be bad luck to wish for more excitement. Unprofessional. It'd put people around him in danger. But was it so much to ask for a little action? He had laser eyes, dammit. But the age of grandiose heroes and villains had passed. They were all grateful for peace and quiet, no imminent alien invasions to conquer, no villain-of-the-week holding cities hostage. By all accounts it'd been a more terrifying time - but it was also the New Frontier.
Nowadays heroes were weaker, including him. The threats weren't as bombastic. Supes were integrated into public consciousness. They had 401ks and mortgages. Comet was no different. Somewhere between contractor and public servant, paid to help out with disaster cleanup and the like - but he wasn't the kind to be able to avert a hurricane, only hover over the water and pick people out of it. That was the most realistic approach. He had endless stamina and could move with more precision than a helicopter, so they had him fly about and pick out where people were, relaying it back to them by walkie-talkie. That was more efficient than zipping around lifting people off their rooftops.
And then there was the 24/7 spew of trivia-celebrity bullshit that followed him everywhere. People taking pictures of him with their smartphones, which was at first gratifying, but now grated on him - the ever-present threat of lawsuit if he lost control of his strength, flew too fast and broke the sound barrier, et cetera - and even beyond legal threat, he had to watch his behavior. Everyone in America wanted to see him crack up and choke.
"No pictures, please. Come on, now is not the time," he muttered, lip curling at one of the younger EMTs who'd stepped a little closer with her smartphone out, already expecting what she was about to say.
Disenchanted with the superhero lifestyle? Sure, you could say that. But he wasn't about to go full villain, either. Nobody did that anymore. It was a one-way ticket to Facility X.
The Wild West was gone, Comet thought, and he had just barely missed it.
Man.
A metahuman god among men, and now he was just part of the show. Just as normal as everyone else. When he was young, and his powers developed, it was supposed to be the golden ticket. Now he was just another flying brick.
Another day saved. Another job. Meh.