#FoF:om

[ohgoddard]

Fist of Fire: Omega.1.8

I am above them all.

It is a strange feeling, being above someone. They look like ants, so far away. Yet I am not moving, just floating. I scan the crowds of the parade, full of people cheering and having candies thrown at them from the floats. Cramped streets, even tighter sidewalks filled to the brim with people in their summer gear. Some dressed as their favorite heroes that will be in the parade. The heat came in waves, but it didn't affect me. This high up, the air is always cool. Music was always present, among all the other cacophonous explosions of noise. The rumbling brass of the marching bands, the explosive drums of the floats, and the click-clacking of the boots of the veterans of the Power War barely eke out the cheering in the air. It has been so long since I have been among people in this way, in such big groups.

I wasn’t used to the noises again, the sounds of their voices and screaming. Of course, I heard their voices while I shut myself away. Yet, I ignored them. They were suffering at the hands of their chosen protectors, crying for help. Why would I help those who dare declare me a terrorist, a traitor?

But I do anyway. I am the only real hero.

Maybe a few of those poor souls in the crowd will see it after this. An example is always needed to show when something needs to be fixed. They were finally beginning to understand, but I went too far too quickly. The Capitol should have been much later. The establishment of a state was too ingrained in them. Removing it will take much more than just the butchering of the real traitors. It was supposed to be my real confrontation with Whirlwind. He was always on the President’s payroll, him and a few heroes at any given moment. He never showed, though. Instead, I fought nothing. The police never bothered to go in until I left. The so-called heroes in D.C did not even try to stop me. Not even a reserve guard. The networks always disregarded that fact though. It was always a focus on me, the killer and butcher. It was never that the police let me in, the heroes didn't fight me, the President flew away an hour before I showed up.

The parade isn't moving nearly as fast as I’d like it to. Whirlwind is at the end of it, along with this other speedster he’s taken under his wing the last few years. Doesn’t matter. I’ve waited this long. I can wait just a few more minutes. All I’ll need is one. Just like at D.C.

All it took was one minute.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thunder preceded my arrival to Washington. Nature was on my side, as it should be. I was the oncoming storm. This was the peak of me, my movement, my actions. Across the nation, people were questioning those who supposedly protected them. This would be my magnum opus to removing the leeches of society, toppling the decaying order. From the top-down, it would be reformed in my image. A safer image. A better one. People won’t have to see their father shot on the streets. But that was all in the future. For now, I had one goal in mind.

The President left an hour ago with an Air Force escort of multiple jets, running away with his tail in between his legs. He wasn’t my target anyway. If I had wanted him dead, he’d be dead. No, the only thing in my mind as I flew through the heavy, cold rain towards the Capitol building was a list. The white marble of the building looked grey under the overcast sky, and as I landed down onto the steps of the building, thunder struck. The entire mall was empty, the Smithsonian closed, Whitehouse silently evacuated. They knew I was coming, knew that their time was limited. Yet, curiously, when I arrived there was no one there. I could feel eyes watching me though. As I scanned the city, I counted the bodies that hid behind the walls of buildings. Shaking men in women in blue, weapons hastily drawn and pointed my way. So-called heroes, standing and facing me defiantly yet refusing to take a step. Citizens clamored around the barricades, trying to catch a glimpse of the great eradicator. The police and heroes weren’t there to stop me, or to keep me from leaving. They were there to make sure no one was stupid or suicidal enough to attempt.

It's all infected. This is the only thought I have in my mind as I ascend those marble steps. They’re all infected. Not a single good soul among them. Not a single good soul within a hundred miles of me. Misguided, led astray by those who trusted them. They thought themselves above those who would put them in power. But they were wrong. And they know they’re wrong now. As I approached the doors, I could hear the desperate banging on the locked doors. Doors locked for me. Hundreds of people, left behind so that another may save their neck. A sacrifice to me in vain attempts to stop greater bloodshed. I heard cries of terror, screaming, silent acceptance in the minds of those who understood what was going to happen.

I was not there for all of them, but they didn’t know that.

I kick the doors down into the Capitol and enter alone. My sopping wet footsteps echo an empty hall as I walk towards the chambers. Carved marble and granite floors, extravagant works of architecture. A palace in any other world. Fit for those who think they’re kings. The first step in a long revolution. I put force into every step I take towards the chambers. I let the ground shake and echo, becoming louder and louder. I hear their voices grow quiet, anticipating my arrival into their room. The House would be first. And it would be public. The cameras were no doubt rolling inside, people-watching in abject horror as I tore the door off from the wall and threw it across the room. Huddled in groups under their desks, hugging each other as if the other day they weren’t at each other's throats. Pathetic. The heat builds in my eyes as I calmly walk down the aisle. It almost seems random who I select, but I choose only the most egregious offenders. Those who have passed beyond the spot of return. I pick no side, only my own. Concentrated shots of a four thousand degrees laser make short work of traitors and an inconvenience for the janitor’s vacuum. They all scream, but none dare move. None dare look away. For they think that if they defy what is happening in any way, they too will turn to dust.

I say none, but one did try. While I am mowing down his colleagues, he attempts to run for the door, thinking I'm preoccupied. To the cameras, I don’t even move. All they see is a sudden mist of red and a smear on the once pristine white walls of the House Chambers.

After my work is done, those I deemed worthy of living still cowering in fear at my feet, I face the camera.

“People of the world, listen closely. I am the first and the last of your new masters. I am the great reset. I am the great leap forward. Everything begins and ends with me. I am everywhere, I am everyone. The world shaped me into what you see now.”

Using my speed, I dart around the world. I make it seem as if I am levitating over every major city. Every capitol. My face, my helmet is seen everywhere.

“I am the Alpha. I am on top. A new order comes from me, and me alone. Do not count on your heroes. Do not count on your villains. There is only one master. One ruler.”

Fires burn across the world, ships and cars crash, planes fall from the sky. I cause them all.

“I am the Omega.”

Escaped from a mental institution, assaulted by a man I could kill if only I had not held myself back. I would have ruled the world had they just listened to me. Yet, I was caught off guard and made a plea bargain. A streak of light and I was defenseless. Another day and it was all back, but by then I had made a plan. Which all leads back to where I am right now. I stand above a parade, waiting to enact revenge on the person who made me who I am. I should thank him, honestly. Without him, I would never have cared about the world. I would have never been born. But he still needs to die. The path to him has been bloody and unnecessary. Sure, many needed to die and were dead now. But it all meant nothing if it meant he still breathed. My failure at Washington will not be repeated. The world is infected, and I am the cure. He is the disease that awoke me. I am power defined, power controlled. There stands no one beside me, no one above. There is only below.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And yet, here I am.

Wait. One person could have seen me. In that moment of realization, I chuckle. I was going to have to put down another upstart. A small bump in the road in my ambition. It would be a thrill, an easy warm-up for my strength. I inhale the sharp cold air. In the bright blue sky where I floated, I mentally chastised myself for not noticing sooner. That light shouldn’t have reflected and followed me the way it did on my way over. That heat was never that bad this high up. No, It had to come from another source. And as I turned to face it, I smiled.

The parade meanders, a large affair for a large city such as Boston. Yet, I feel something off. A speedster such as himself would never wait for the back. He basks in speed, he would never sit and stay on a float. He’d be here by now. There is no way he’d be late. Unless...

No... Unless he knows. But how? The hospital has not sent any news out, I have made sure of that. I had not sensed any signal leave that building, not even internal ones. No, there is no way he could have known. [i]Could I have been seen? Impossible, I flew in the stratosphere all the way here. No one could have seen me.

Bright white and red, streaks of gold, red hair. She was new. I have only barely heard of her if only through the stories Kiara’s father has told me. In her hands were two suns, harsh things to look at. Her feet were two fireballs, propelling her to stay level with me. Her look was fierce, streaks of flame dripping off her hands like molten iron. Her eyes glowed gold. Cute. A sharp scar across her face showed this wasn’t her first rodeo. It will be her last, however.

“Sunspot, is it? I will give you one chance to leave right now. You are clean. You have done nothing wrong. Your ambition is sacred, you have a life worth living. Live it somewhere else.”

She said nothing, though I could hear her heartbeat increase. I smirked under my mask.

“I only cleanse those who need cleansing. I am not here to butcher the masses. I am not here to terrorize. You are not part of my plan, they are not part of my plan. Do not become a part of it.”

Villains had their weaknesses. Heroes theirs. Everyone had their blind spots. I don’t. There is nothing better than me.

Still, she stood next to me, defiant. The sun started to glow a little brighter, which tickled something in my mind. “Omegaman, you are under arrest. Please surrender and come with me.”

Her voice, while confident in tone and steady, betrayed her uneasiness. Had it not been so cold up here, I would have no doubt seen her sweating. Her shakiness could be written off due to altitudes, but I knew better. She was scared. She had never faced someone like me.

“I don’t want to go to another funeral in Boston because of your mistakes.”

“Or what?” I finally faced her. She couldn’t have been older than 22, yet here she was trying to take me down.

“I have killed heroes ten times better than you. Thirty times more deserving. This is your last chance to leave, Sunspot.” I lower my head behind my arms as I put them up. She mirrored me, moving her arms into a boxing stance, her legs getting ready to propel her. This was inevitable, she wanted this to happen. Might as well make it fun for me, give her one more chance to leave.

She had managed to hurt me.

In a rage of fury, she roared and threw the sun at me. I opened my palm to catch it, laughing at her outrage. Yet when it reached my hand, I stopped laughing and started to scream.

What?! My hands and arms were red and black scorched marks, my brain a frenzy with synapses of pure pain.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

[ohgoddard]

Fist of Fire: Omega. 1-2.

I cease to exist once the helmet comes on. In its close hold on my face I find solace in myself. The pointed bronze acts like an arrow, guiding me towards those who need me. And I am always in need. The woman of steel, come to save the day. Of course, they don’t know I am a woman. Such is a secret I must keep. Funny, considering the identity and anti-vigilante laws in place. But I get by on a little technicality. See my dad… nevermind. Best keep those thoughts out of my head. Like the several punches I am taking right now. Every fight I get into starts and ends the same way. Well, it might change depending how much I care about it. Right now, several goons are swinging at me like drunk idiots while I stand still motionless, arms crossed.

“Boss.. I..I don’t think that we can take ‘em on like you said.” said a modestly muscular goon. I like that word, goon. I don’t think its used much nowadays. I really need to stay on topic, its going to make this book I'm writing in my spare time very hard to read. Anyways, I'm standing in this abandoned warehouse, several goons- er henchmen- are unsuccessfully punching and kicking me while I stand there. A good 6 or 7 of them. Dressed kinda goonishly, with the whole long-sleeves and beanie setup. They were here moving drugs and beating up some cop who found out, which added to the cacophony of the voices I heard. Their boss stands above them, a man dressed like a pimp from the 70s, white fluffy suit and all. I really liked his leopard print tophat and cane, I think it really tied his outfit together. Oh, right. He was very un-carefully cramming piles of money and bags of cocaine into a duffle bag. “BOYS! WHITE THUNDER AIN'T BEEN CAUGHT BEFORE HE AINT STARTING NOW!” 

Now, a really good and proper hero would have solved all this stuff really quickly and would dispatch all in the warehouse then go onto the next crisis somewhere in the city. But I am no proper hero so I just started laughing when he said his name. “White Thunder!? Seriously?? That's the name you chose?” I sat down, I was laughing so hard. The goons and Mr.Pimp himself stopped and looked on. Which only made it funnier, as then I got a better look at him. In addition to his white robe, which was a bathrobe upon closer inspection, he was wearing all white jeans and an undershirt like a backstreet boy turned waiter. And the cowboy boots, oh the cowboy boots. They were PAINTED WHITE. Oh I haven’t had a good laugh in days.

“No OnE!” His voice cracked by the way. “No one makes fun of White Thunder!” Then he pulled a gold handgun from his dufflebag and shot me. 

When I first got my powers, it was not a welcome day. I was attending the… an event. It was a happy one. I went with my dad, on one of his few days he could smuggle away for me. Though, if I knew then what I know now, I would have never bothered him. It must have killed him to sit in that chair and make idle conversation with me...poor choice of words. He and I were sitting at a table, and I remember the atmosphere was amazing. I was telling him all about my friends, the dog I got at my apartment, the engagement. So much was going right until it went wrong. And it really went wrong. Someone found out who he was, who I was. Made him…

Doesn’t really matter. I ended up with his powers. Powers I didn’t want, powers I didn’t know he had. Then they shot my dad right in front of me. 

I hope that explains what I did next. Why I stopped laughing and launched from the floor and grabbed the throat of White Thunder and threw him into the concrete floor of the warehouse. Why I relentlessly aimed punch after punch into the man, who had long since left the world of the living. One less drug dealer, who cares right? Who cares that I've just killed him? Who cares that I've done it again? That i’ll do it in the future? Oh but of course I didn’t stop there. I hunted down the goons, and I broke their legs. I didn’t kill them though, so at least I got that goin for me, y’know? No more drugs being moved in the neighborhood. At Least from those guys. There's always drugs in the neighborhoods.

Haven’t talked about the voices in a while. I heard them then, the entire time. Every second I spent on these guys and that buffoon ‘White Thunder’ was one where I wasn’t making those voices quieter. See, I'm not like every other crazy person. My voices mean something. My hearing means I hear everything everyone says. Which means every time someone is in danger and they call for help, do they call for the police? Anyone nearby? No. They call for Omega Man. Millions live in the city of Chicago. An unending choir of screaming is all I hear. Only when I wear the helmet do they go away, ironically. 

Anyways I killed White Thunder and incapacitated the rest of the goons. Of course the commotion it caused, mostly by throwing one of the poor guys through a wall and bringing them back into the warehouse. Other heroes showed up. But I was long gone then. I did a few more that night, stopped a bank robbery, posed for a few cameras. But I kept my brutality in check the rest of the night. Gunshots just set me off. Kinda makes me glad they’re becoming obsolete recently.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“That’ll be all Kiara, thank you.” I turn my head to look at Doctor Feltmen. She was wearing a new perfume today, vanilla. Must be going on a date later. Curse these powers of mine, always invading people’s lives. Her lab coat was pressed and clean, like it is every time I visit her. My eyes look her over, though they have not much else to do. The room is blank and white, nothing to focus on but myself or her. Its probably the purpose of the room anyway. I wish she’d wear something other than the khaki pants and green turtleneck. 

“You sure, doctor? I could go on for a bit longer.” My voice comes out insincere, which I’m certain she caught on to. She gives me a weak smile, full of contempt. “Our time is up, though I am looking forward to our visit next month.” Her voice comes out like a barbie voicebox. So fake. I open my mouth to get another word in, but she cuts me off. 

“Session’s done, please take Ms. Keita back to her quarters.” When the door opens, I hear three heavy men walk in and take a hold of the gurney I'm strapped to and begin to wheel me out of the room.

The voices no longer bother me. The ones that scream for my help. I really chalk that up the doctor’s help. Though I wish I had better avenues to achieve this help. And not have committed what I did to land me here. Killing random street thugs is one thing. But heroes? It's so bad. Even when they deserve it. Now I get to spend my time listening to the other voices, the voices of those who are legitimately insane. I’m not insane, but when I spoke of the voices they decided I must be. I ran with it, much better than the execution I would have gotten otherwise.

When the orderlies close the door behind me and lock me in my room made of solid  crystal, some BS weakness my dad had that means absolutely nothing to me, they don't bother to unstrap me from the gurney. Of course, because they are too afraid to get near me. Which, I don’t doubt. I’ve killed a few hundred people and all. And a few heroes. Heroes? They weren’t heroes. Regardless, I killed people. I flex and tear the constraints off myself and throw myself onto my not soft bed. I bide my time, waiting for the right moment. Waiting to hear something from the news channel down the hall. The news of his exploits and where he might be. 

I listen for Whirlwind, the fastest man alive. Able to run seconds behind the speed of light. 

The man who shot and killed my dad.

[ohgoddard]

FoF:Omega.1.10.

Stars shining bright above you Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you" Birds singing in the sycamore tree Dream a little dream of me

The song plays alone and solemn from some forgotten record player, just out of sight. The street is sparsely busy, a few walking pairs and some with children hurriedly walking behind them. A bright sunny day, giving a slight warmth despite the autumn leaves fluttering through the air and landing upon the sidewalk. I lift a cup of coffee to my lips, enjoying the bitter taste. This cafe isn't my go-to place to go, but with the combination of the cool weather and the scenery, I just needed to sit outside and enjoy it with something warm. Though I do miss the chatter of a crowded cafe, the nice quietness of one in the early morning is nice as well. Of course, I don’t expect the street to be this busy in the morning. But the best coffee is made right when the barista wakes up, at least that is what my dad used to say. I'm certain he was pulling my leg, as coffee beans are not like apples. It has been so long since I have been able to just walk outside and enjoy life as I and no one else. I wear oranges and browns, not greys and blacks. I am my own person. And I feel like the world finally reflects that.

“Ahem.”

A shock runs through me. I didn’t hear this person coming up behind me. I would have to get used to that...Well, it shouldn’t be too hard. That's what I did for most of my life before..yeah. I turn and see a tall-ish man in some very shabby clothes. He wore an overcoat with too many straps and pockets to count. Underneath it, through no super-vision, just my perceptiveness, I saw a white button-up with a Windsor-knot tie. His rough hands went to his sharp face to remove the lit cigarette he was smoking. His skin seemed extremely pale, yet had a strange grayscale to it. His hair was black as ink, though I saw little of it under his large fedora. And before he could flick the cigarette away, I saw that his eyes had no color other than gray and black upon a sea of white. The man honestly looked like he walked out of a 40s noir detective show.

“May I take this seat?” he said, gesturing to the empty chair across from my table. He had piqued my curiosity, and I needed at least some excitement in my life. I nodded, and as he sat down I noticed a little more about them. Their clothes, I thought were just shades of gray to match the season oncoming colder season, matched their skin tone in just a few shades darker. And before I could say anything, he lit another cigarette across from me. He must have seen the face I made because when he looked my way I saw a smirk come across his gray face. “Oh, don’t worry. These won’t give off a stench at all. Special kind.” His voice carried with it a sort of calm gravel sound, with a hint of a trans-Atlantic accent.

“Strange cigarettes you have then, mister. They are therapeutic, then?” I asked, taking another sip from my cup. He chuckled, dragging on his cigarette some more. “Oh, these couldn’t do anything worse to me than what's already been done. Honestly, It's become a habit at this point to just light one up. I imagine many can say that about them.” I nodded as he took another long drag. “So,” I said while watching a couple of shopkeepers arguing in the street about who gets which trashcan for the noon trash pickup, “what’s your name, stranger?”  He drops the now finished cigarette on the floor, reaching into his pocket for his pack at the same time. I was not aware that much time had passed already with him sitting here. Either that, or he goes through them very quickly. “You can call me Blanca,” he said as he put another white and black cigarette into his mouth, already smoking it. Strange, I didn’t see him light it…

“Blanca?” I said, “Strange name, who just calls their kid ‘white’?” He gave me an eyeballed look, then chuckled. A comforting chuckle it was. I had barely met him, but I felt like I have always known him. “Believe me, I didn’t choose it. It was given to me by my,er,boss. Said it fit my new disposition. Though, I don't particularly believe it was the most covert of names for what he was sending me to do most of the time. It's the type of name that people remember, and in my line of work, that's really not something you need to be doing. Less, of course, you’re looking to be the new mantle piece of some gangster that any hero who’s worth anything hasn’t gotten to yet.”

“Well now, you’re opening a whole new can of worms for me to ask about you, Mr. Blanca.” “Please, just Blanca. Mister Blanca was my father.” This time it was me who chuckled. I had a soft spot for dad jokes. “Well then, Blanca, what is it you do for a living?”

He takes a long drag, letting the question sit in the air. Noticing my hot beverage was noticeably less hot, I decide to indulge in some impromptu lukewarm-blend coffee. I took a look around at the nice evening sky and the people who were about to enjoy it. My back hurt from sitting that long in a cafe patio chair but I hadn’t seemed to have noticed until now. The setting sun began to light up the town, in a sense, as the buildings and shops all turned on their lamps and window displays to catch the nighttime shoppers. Finally, he spoke. “I am a private detective. I look for missing children, cheating husbands and wives, and employees who think they can skim a few hundred off the top and get away with it.” He said it all with such a monotonous voice it sounded rehearsed.

“How very exciting you make it sound, detective.” I stifle a laugh. He cracked a smile. “Well, when you have to explain it so many times, and when it's your line of work, the little pleasures of it all seem to drift away. Also,” he said as he dropped another one of his seemingly endless cigarettes and lit another.

“I am the Private Detective here, yet I seem to be getting interrogated like a common crook. I feel it's only fair I get to know something about the person I'm sitting with?” I hesitate. True, it would be rude, but he is a private detective. And there may still be a bounty on my head from countless countries that either doesn’t believe I'm dead or doesn't bother to remove it just in case someone finds my corpse for proof. Still, I get this feeling of trust from him. Maybe it's the smoke, reminding me of home. “My name is Kiara. Though, I don’t lead an exciting life like you do, detective. I’m a freelance journalist.” “You say that Ms.Kiara, but our two jobs are more similar than you may think. One of us just gets paid worse. I’ll let you guess who. The one in the six-year-old coat or the one drinking coffee in a main-street cafe.” I smile. “You flatter me, detective.”

“It comes with the job, these types of skills. You gotta woo the doorman, charm the bellboy, et cetera et cetera. I wouldn’t pin you for a journalist though. You look like you have a good head on your shoulders. Probably one that can do a lot more than just write articles.”

“Look like I have a good head on my shoulders? Oh, are you complimenting me now detective?” I had made him laugh, though it was more of a smoker’s wheeze.

“Not what I meant, ma’am.” he still said smiling. “You seem like the type to take charge and lead. A lot of good ideas I bet. A few concepts on how to improve the world and rid it of the bad. I’d wager you’re trying to be the next Woodward or Bernstein.” “Well,” I said trailing off. “They are my icons I look up to in that respect. But I tried the whole ‘leading’ thing. It was not my cup of tea after all. Leading requires people that will listen to you. And I wasn’t very good at making people listen to me. In the end, I got... fired for lack of a better word.” The detective gave me a long look as he pulled another magically lit cigarette from his mouth, the smoke pooling above us. “No good deed goes unpunished, I believe is how the saying goes ma’am.”

I smile at him. “You got that right, though I will admit I went too far in my...policies. Thankfully, someone managed to catch me as I fell and put me in my current position after I mended my mistakes.”

He laughed. “I’d say. That Capitol Hill Massacre? Tough sell to the American public.”

My blood turned to ice. He raised an eyebrow at me, not saying a word as he took another drag. There was a pile of butts at his feet, though I don't remember being here that long. The street is now empty. The wind is still cold, the leaves still flying the wind, but the music has stopped, and the warmth of the sun and my drink are now gone. “What do you want, Detective? Here to turn me in?” I had to keep up the act for a little bit, hope he leaves scared. I want him to know that I don’t-

“Please, Ms.Kiara, don’t insult my intelligence. Right now you’re more powerful than any woman with a strict gym regimen. And I’m not here to turn you in. Now, I’m here to ask some questions.” He snuffed out the cigarette in his mouth, grinding it into the ground with his black shoe. “I am a detective, I must detect as it were. You are incidental to my current task, so I won’t bother with you. Besides, you’re suffering enough as it is.”

I looked at him quizzically. “I am not suffering. I am free for once. I am not a prisoner in my own mind, I walk these streets a different person.”

He looked at me thoughtfully, before taking out a notepad from his pocket. He removed the pencil stuck through its binding rings and began to jot some things down. “So you’re telling me you’re not aware?” “Aware of what?”

He looked at me pitifully. “Oh dear, this is truly something sad. But it does make it easier for me. I’ll tell you what I know in exchange for what you know. And you know I’m good for it.” He winked at me. If I still had my powers, I’d have killed him right here. Omegaman persona be damned, I would do it. I’ve had enough of men winking at me and insinuating they know more than me for one lifetime. “What do you want, detective?” I say, trying to lace as much venom into each spoken syllable. He chuckled. “Oh, this part never changes. I’ll get right into it. I'm tracking the criminal known as ‘Puppet Master’. You may have known him by a different name ‘Dr.Eugene Krieger.’ A short, rather chubby man?” He pulled from his pocket a Polaroid, Christ this guy really is from the 40s, showing…

Him. The beige monster.

“Yeah. I know of him. What about him?” If I could snarl without looking sad, I would. I’d leave this very second if not for the fact he knows something about me that I don’t. “Well, the good doctor has forgotten the noble life of the hero and dawned the mask and dastardly mustache of the villains. He robs banks using their own workers against them, heroes cant do anything to stop him without they themselves being caught. My boss sent me to you, as you had the closest interaction with him and still lived and remembered it. You answer my questions, and I’ll answer yours.”

“Fine. Ask.”

“How did you do it? How did you break his hold on you?” “I didn’t. He still got to me, I spilled everything I could while he got me. I could only resist with great effort and not for long. All he did was sit there. I recommend shooting him from a long-distance away. He seems arrogant enough to walk in the open by himself.” The detective smirked. I hate him.

“Alright,” he said while jotting in his notepad, “and how about his power? Describe it.”

“Like someone has their hand on your brain and clawing at it like a wolf in a mountain of ground beef. Pain. You feel pain until he gets what he wants. He can stop you from moving. He can make you say anything.”

“He doesn’t sound like someone I'd invite for dinner. Course, I haven’t had a dinner for while anyway.” As he began writing more into his notepad, I got antsy. How had he kept me in this one spot for so long without me noticing? I must have been here for ten hours. How had no one come from the store to say anything to me? It had only felt like minutes of talking, yet hours have passed.

“Interesting.” His voice broke me from my train of thought and drew my ire-some gaze to him once more.

“Well, we may have to take your word for it and go with the bullet method. Crude, but effective.” He put his notepad away and leaned back in his chair, hands in his pockets. “You may now as your questions. I imagine you have a fair number more than me.”

“Who do you work for?” I spat out at him.

He scratches his chin. “That's client confidentiality, Kiara. You know I can’t answer that. Well, actually, given your circumstances, I Imagine I can.” He leans forward. “I serve the dark lord in the mists, the one with plans beyond my knowledge and purpose, he without a name and method, I am his tool. He wishes to know things, I provide answers. One region begins to accumulate too much power to his liking, disturbing his plan? I destabilize it. I was in Serbia in 1914. I was in Rome in 44 BC. I am here now because that Puppet man irks my boss.” He leans back again. “That good enough for you?”

“Fuck no. That creates so many more questions, answers not one part of mine, and makes no sense to me.”

He laughs at that.

“You get one more question. Equal to me. I like to keep things square.”

I frown at him. I want to ask him so many things, but he knows what I’m going to ask next.

“What did you mean by me being aware?”

He smirks.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“How’s she looking today?”

Two women in lab coats stand next to a window, looking over a large machine. They stand in a room with nothing but plated metal walls and computers lining the walls. Blinking lights, tanks of liquid, and buttons and levers everywhere. One of the women looks at a clipboard in her hands, flipping a few sheets.

“The simulated autumn is beginning to start, so we should begin adjusting the temperature slightly to adjust for this.” The other nodded, jotting down some notes on her own clipboard. They both peered through the window, looking at the machine. It was a huge monstrosity of tubes and lights, with wires and exposed electrical circuits occasionally flashing and fixing themselves. An old machine, combined with machines of the new world to make some unholy technological abomination between a server rack and an Iron lung. And iron lung that is occupied at the moment. Laying a steel bed before them, behind several layers of reinforced steel and glass, is a woman with severe burns. Their hair is gone, their face a mess of scar tissue and scabs. Placed upon her head is a helmet that is a mess of wires and tubes, syringes, and electrical wonders. Her mouth is covered in a mask with tubes going in and out.

“We need to do the daily report, you got the recorder?” One of the scientists digs in their pocket before pulling out the black box, nodding. She clears her throat.

“Daily report number 29. Regarding Kiara Keita, a.k.a Omegaman. Simulation remains positive, though, “ she pauses while looking at a screen, “we are detecting some irregularities in the REM pattern than we expected. Will need to do another round of memory treatment at the end of the week to maintain stability. Treatment of the scar tissue remains a request from onsite staff, as it lowers morale to look at it. Contact Sunspot for more information on how to heal solar wounds. Simulation is entering the autumn phase of the cycle as planned. As of now, she shows no signs of consciousness. Requesting more anesthesia, just in case.”

The doctor walks over to a large monitor in the corner, displaying several vitals for Kiara. “Technical stability remains positive. Report end.” As she clicked the box off and returned it to her pocket, she sighed.

“Claire, this job sucks.” The other woman, Claire, laughed.

“It's not that bad. Pays well.” Her gaze never left the window. “At least you get to see interesting people, you know?” The other women sighed, walking over to join Claire. She put her hand against the glass, peering down at the woman they have put into a prison of her own mind.

“It just feels wrong. Doing this to them. We didn’t even try to rehabilitate them.” Claire raised her eyebrow, looking at the other woman. “Katie, you don’t honestly believe Omegaman could have rehabilitated, do you? They killed congress! They almost killed Sunspot, have killed numerous other heroes. We can’t talk to them without fear of them breaking out and going on another rampage. Hell, it's a miracle Sunspot did what she did to make this happen! She was on the verge of death when she dragged her body into the facility! And she was the only one who stood a chance against them.” Katie groaned. “Those people that Kia...Omegaman killed though were proven corrupt and generally evil! Like Fantasma?! Those senators? They have done much worse. We never even tried.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Look, I don’t want to get into this with you again. Besides, this whole machine was made for this express purpose. Maybe not this exact person, but for the same powers. Omegaman, the real one, the first one, made this place for the possibility that he might go rogue. He was probably expecting Reverse or Knock-Out to bring him in, but that's not gonna happen because all the old guard is dead, along with the original Omegaman himself. This was the plan for this, sadly, eventuality. I’m going to go check on my normal human patients now. Ones that can’t kill me with a look.” Katie kept staring as the door opened and closed behind her, staring at the woman on the table.

“We never even tried...I could have done something...I could have changed it.” She whispers as she puts a hand to the glass. “I’ll find a way to make sure we’re together again, Kiara.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I don’t believe you.”

“Choose what you want to believe, Ms.Kiara. You’re in a simulation of your own mind currently run and supervised by the government. I wouldn’t believe it either if I hadn’t seen it.”

“Oh yeah? If this is a simulation, how are you here? Can't I be the only real thing in a simulation?”

The detective smiled. “I’m just special I suppose. I’m not from around these parts, so I guess that gives me some extra leverage in my movement.”

My mind was spinning. That didn't make any sense. It was insanity. Yet... “It..makes sense of a lot of things. I don’t remember anything past when I last saw Sunspot. Just that I was being wheeled out of a hospital by someone. I don’t know why I cannot perform any of my powers, only that I was told that Sunspot burned them out of me. And I just...accepted that as fact.”

The detective looked at me from across the table with his monochromatic eyes, red light glowing from the cigarette on his lips. “It's a wild thing to take grasp of, I won’t fault you for struggling to get it. They went through a lot of trouble getting you in this thing,” he gestured around him,” and getting it to work. They couldn’t kill you, not for any legal reason but because they physically could not. So they did the next best thing, and just removed you from the equation.”

Tears started to well in my eyes. “I...I never thought I’d be put in prison I couldn’t break out of.” The detective nodded slowly. “It's a stark realization once it hits. However, do you think it's wrong to do it? To put you where you are?” Wet lines streak down my cheeks. “No, no they are right. I’m too dangerous out there. In the real world, I am not me. Kiara is dead in that world. Here though, in my mind in this simulation, as you call it, I am me.” I look up, my head previously hanging, into the detective. “This is the first time in years I have been me, but why does it still feel like a prison? Functionally, the world is the same and everything is the same why do I still feel imprisoned?”

“Because she’s not here.” The detective replied. “You were cheated out of a good life, Kiara. I’ll grant you that. One hero goes rogue and inadvertently creates the world's most powerful villain. Ruins countless lives. But no one ever seems to consider your life, do they? They don’t consider what goes through your head to make you think this is the right course of action. They only look at what you did. Not what was done to you. It’d make any sane man crack. What happened to your dad could happen to anyone. Because he’s super made no difference. Same story, different names, and consequences.” He reaches into his pocket and takes out a flask, taking a swig of it before passing it to me.

“You feel imprisoned because this is where you have been for years. Stuck in your own head. And you know that if you go outside again because you obviously can do that if you will it hard enough, you won't be you anymore. You’d scare away everyone again. This is the worst imprisonment because you’re doing it to yourself. And you’ll keep doing it because you know it's the right thing to do.”

I take a deep swig of his flask, burning my throat. “Fuck doing the right thing,” I say in between coughs. “I just want my life back. With her. Why can’t I just have that?” The tears in my eyes well once more. “Why couldn’t I just have that? People’s dads die all the time, some of them even see it like me, but they don’t all go insane as I did. Why is it that my mind is the one screwed up? Why was I cheated out a good life? Well, detective? Have any good answers there?” I stand up, kicking the chair out beneath me, looking into the sky. “Why me?! Why did you take it from me? I was never fit to be a hero, I couldn’t be a hero after what I saw. I couldn’t be a hero after what I did. I lost the cosmic flip of the coin and landed tails up. Why me, detective. “ I turn around to face him again. “Why me? Why do I have to deal with this?”

“Because that's just the way things are.” He says calmly, standing up from his own seat and picking my chair. “And we can’t change what happened. So there is no point in dwelling on it. We can only move forward.” He gestures for me to sit down, and I begrudgingly do so. “Kiara, you are now shouldered with the greatest responsibility in the world right now. You can either shuck it into the river and wake up to be the tragic villain in everyone’s story that is defeated. Or.” He moved one of his dark leather gloved hands to my chin, moving my face up to look into his. “You can be the martyr that brings about an age of change. The character that flips the system on its rear.” He removed his hand and sat back down in his seat. “Already, there are people who are pushing protests and bills through this and what not about changing the system for the better. Led by those you inspired, though in methods far different in severity compared to yours. And with words far less charged as well.” I just looked at him. I had no idea what to make of the detective. Or if what he said mattered. But I could trust what he said in the end, at least I hoped I could.

“So,” I mumble out, “I choose to stay in this world, my one prison, and fewer daughters have to see their fathers die? Fewer villains get to pick up the title of hero?”

“It has a higher chance of happening than if you wake up.”

I pause. “And what about me? Where’s my peaceful ending?” The detective let out a sad sigh. “This is your peaceful ending, Kiara. You know that. If you wake up, then you’re no longer Kiara. This is it.”

I look up at the night sky. I smile. All the stars are wrong, but it still looks nice. “I guess I’ll stay. Maybe they’ll find out what's wrong with me and I can go to a real prison one day. Though, I’ll be lonely knowing I'm the only real person here.”

The detective smirked as he rose from his seat, letting out a grunt of humor. “I wouldn’t say you’re alone, Kiara. You have someone watching over you outside.” “Like what? Some technician or nurse? Not that comforting.” He straightened your hat. “Your fiancee. Ah, I knew that’d get a shock out of you.” And he was right, my face could have been used to wake people up, it was so alarmed. “S-she is-” “Standing outside looking at you right now. And has been every day. She never dated anyone else, you know? Kept waiting for you.”

A single tear managed to escape the well in my eyes. The fog began to roll in down the street, and the detective sighed. “That's my cue. Well, it was nice having this conversation with you, Kiara. May we meet again.” His footsteps echoed as he walked towards the oncoming smoke. I could only watch as the black of his jacket and hat were covered in the masking white of the huge rolling fog. He turned to me, one last time.

“Oh, and one more thing. She’s going to get you a little present. You’ll see it soon.”

And with that, he turned once more into the fog and disappeared. Minutes later, the fog itself was gone, and I was all alone.

Truly alone.

I turned back to the coffee table, looking into my now empty cup. I guess I’d have to get used to this now. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Katie opened the door to the observation room. As usual, whenever she entered, she walked to the glass and looked down at Kiara. “Morning, or evening, love. Whenever you are in that world.” Today she would go about her usual procedures. She would check the diagnostics, administer the water and nutrition pumps, and maintain the integrity of the simulation.

But today was not just an ordinary day. She had a gift for Kiara, one she carried in a USB around her neck. And a USB she entered into the simulation. And as she watched the files transfer and begin materialization in the simulation, a single tear dropped from her eyes onto the keyboard. “At least we can be this close, my love.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I sat alone at the table, awaiting the simulated sunrise. It would be perfect, as it was supposed to be in a world where I was supposed to suspect nothing. I sighed, knowing that the life before me would be very boring.

“What's the long face for, love?”

I turn with such speed, I knock the table over. Standing before me is….her.

I jump from my seat and run over to her, hugging her tightly in my arms, her arms embracing me too. “Katie..I-” “Shhhh, Kiara. It is ok. I’m here now.” “H-How? I’m in a-” “I know. And now I am too. Just you and I.”

I pulled back from her, tears in my eyes and being happier than I’ve been in years. I went in for the kiss, holding her close to me. I missed her curly hair, her shampoo smell, her warm touch. I whisper in her ear.

“Just you and me.”

And the music starts up once again for the new day.

[i]At last My love has come along My lonely days are over And life is like a song[i]

[ohgoddard]

FoF:Omega.1.9

“THIS IS A STATE OF EMERGENCY!”

Sirens wailed thousands of feet below me, though I paid them nor their message any mind.

“THERE IS A CLASS 9 VILLAIN IN THE AREA. HEROES HAVE BEEN DISPATCHED. EVACUATE TO YOUR NEAREST SHELTER. THIS MESSAGE WILL REPEAT.”

I have longed to hear those words once more. I always took in a small amount of pride when they called me a villain, that I was a problem to them and their system. Yet for some reason, this time that feeling did not come to me. I felt muted, subdued, not like my former self.

Whirlwind was no doubt gone by now, but no matter. I don’t know why I even concerned myself with the likes of him. He was just another cape, another pair of spandex tights I would incinerate with my gaze. Only Kiara cared for the likes of him, and that care only extended towards his demise. Still so many questions in her head, yet they would have to wait once more to be answered.

Before me stood the offspring of one of the most powerful men to have ever existed. He controlled the sun itself and was one of the few people the previous Omegaman held in high regard. Yet, his greatest weakness was that he was not like me. His skin was not bulletproof, he carried no supreme strength, and it is that weakness that led to his demise over DC. Had it not been for the likes of the hero Reverse, the only hero I have ever respected, the entire country would have been destroyed. Yet there was no Reverse anymore. 

Jade Laurens had seen to that.

She had grown in power since that day, it has been years since. Yet, I had not known how powerful she has become until this moment. The flash of light, the debilitating heat, the pain. The puzzle pieces fall into place and I grow ecstatic. 

She looks at me with a concerned look on her face, hoping that her initial strike would be enough to make me reconsider. How foolish and naive of her. 

“I will not hold back. I say this t you not so you have time to run, but for you to prepare yourself for me. I don’t expect for this to take that long.” I crack my knuckles, the force of which sends gale force winds in all directions. Yet, she stands before me still defiant.

“I will tear that costume to shreds. I will break your arms, your legs. I will snap your spine.”

Her face trembled,  yet still, she joined me in the sky. I let out a low chuckle.

“Laurens, I will take no pride in this. No joy. You force my hand.” I take a deep breath of the cold air. My eyes close, savoring the moment before the fight and the feeling of power returning to me.

“Alright, let us get this over wit-”

Before I could finish my sentence, her fist connected to my chest. My words, cut short as the air left my lungs and I was sent back a few hundred feet in the air. I was spinning, my mind in all its speed failing to understand what happened. My chest burned from the attack. Correcting myself, I saw flying over me Sunspot in her attack stance. A very unorthodox one, one not taught at the hero martial arts classes. Her hands were raised to her face, her feet spread behind her.

She was going to box me? Please.

I shot back at her, the speed of my attack breaks the sound barrier. My hand outstretched, my speed supersonic, she could not dodge me. As my hand connected to her face, the momentum of a train behind me, I heard a crack. Her body was sent careening backward the same mine did, spinning like an out-of-control rocket. I could see that her jaw had been broken, and smiled.

I sped after her, readying another hit before she right herself. Yet as I approached, she stopped her spinning and regained her mobility in the sky. A shining light obscured my vision, so bright it was that the back of my head began to burn. Before I could regain my sight, my other sense took over. I could hear the rush of wind but that meant nothing this high up. I could only feel the vibrations of her flame jets keeping her afloat, and I could only smell the pungent smell of burnt flesh. 

My eyes did not heal fast enough to stop her next hit. An uppercut into my helmet. Yet this was no normal attack. The force was heavy, yes, but it was also hot. When she hit me, I could feel the metal bent inwards towards my face. Then I could feel it get warm. Soon enough, the metal was orange and yellow, dripping into my face. I screamed in agony as molten steel dripping into my face. I reached with my arms, grabbing her shoulders, and sent my knee into her abdomen.

My hearing could pick up on the broken ribs I have caused. She flew back from me, letting out a gasp of air and pain. Yet I did not care. I was still screaming, clawing at my face trying to get the helmet off. The metal poured onto my cheeks, my lips, my hair. My skin burned with the heat of the sun. That bitch had attacked with the heat of the sun! My hands went to my helmet to tear it off but stopped when the realization hit.

Her heat was too much for me. I cannot heal myself at a speed to counteract the burns the what gives me. I would tear off my face if I remove this helmet. Yet to keep it on was pain incarnate, leaving my mind in an intense white-hot rage. I screamed, louder than I have ever made a noise in my life. I could hear glass shattering beneath me, buildings shaking, but I didn’t care.

I flew at her once more, but I would not resort to just physical attacks. I raised myself into the air, feeling a familiar heat and the tightening of my eyes as I targeted her in the sky. Red beams of light shot from my eyes as I tracked her across the skyline. So quick were her jets that she remained mere inches in front of my beams. The same cannot be said for those below her, as light travels until it is stopped. Buildings and cars, cut in half. Forests, set on fire. People unfortunate enough to be outside and in the way of my power, simply gone. I kept at her tail, dodging the shots of light and fire she sent my way. She pulled up, so did I. She banked left, I followed. The red beams never straying far from her, yet somehow always remaining just out of reach.

It made me angry to no end.

My thoughts were clouded, my vision tunneled, It shook me when I realized she was nowhere to be seen. She had simply vanished. I stopped mid-flight, looking for the bright white and gold. However, when I turned my head back to heighten my other sense, I received another hit in my face. It carried an unbearable heat, the skin now blistering under the intense power of the blow. I screamed once more, gripping the remains of my head. The once shapely features of the trojan helmet now gone, melted into a cast around my head. Melted into me. 

“HOW?! WHERE DID YOU GO?!”

Another punch, this time into my back. Then another in my stomach. I could not fathom where she was coming from. She was not this quick, how?! HOW WAS SHE DOING THIS?!

“It's just a trick of the light, Kiara.” I turn to see her floating above me. She looks down on me, hands alight in dripping yellow light. Then I see another one of her appear. Then another.Then another.

“You WITCH! You fight with Illusions? It matters not when only one will hurt me!”

The Jade’s laughed, spots of blood appearing on the outside of their mouth. “Oh, I can see intelligence is not included in your power set. You seem to forget I control all light. And if it's light? It can hurt you.” All three Jades launched at me. I threw a roundhouse kick into all three, my foot passing through all three of them like a mirage. Realizing I’ve been duped, I used my speed to turn around in a second, raising my hand just in time to catch Jade’s right hook. I smiled underneath my grim metal guise, as I crushed her hand in mine. I felt all the bones in her fingers turn to many smaller bones, a feeling I enjoyed. As she cried out in pain, I raised her by her broken hand. Then I flew towards the earth at Mach speeds. 

Dragging her behind me, I could feel her feeble attempts to remove her hand from mine. 500 meters from the ground, I was confident at the end of this fight. The tugging sensation is still present, the heat emanating from it doesn’t matter anymore. She will die.

400 meters. The pain in my hand is unbearable, but I know I still hold onto her.

300 meters. I laugh.

200 meters. I laugh

100 meters. I laug-

My body is sent careening into a skyscraper, shattering the glass and concrete walls of some office building. Papers fly around everywhere, broken cubicles trashed and office lights hanging from wires flicker on and off. My vision is spotty, and as I struggle to stand I see a figure floating outside the hole my body made as I was flung into this building. It looked to me like a shadow, but I cared not. Without even speaking, I shot my red beams at it. I was some poor unfortunate hero no doubt, thinking it can stop me and save its friend. How pitiful. 

I could count down the milliseconds as the red beams flew forward into the chest of the figure and saw how it… did nothing?

I stop to attack, scrambling to my feet.

The figure floated forward into the building, its feet never touching the ground. The closer it got, I could make out more of its features. They were tall, large. The hanging and flickering lights cast their occasional light on the figure, showing off that his clothing was simple and his head large. My vision was still obscured from the melting helmet and searing light was almost done fixing itself. My hands flew to my face and tore off the bits of my melted helmet from my seared and scorched eyes to see who would dare not die to my attacks.

“WHO ARE YOU TO ATTACK I, THE OMEGA?!”

“The original.”

I choked. That voice... No.

Stepping into the view of the still-functioning lights, I could see him fully. Blue jeans, simple shoes. A black t-shirt with the symbol of a Trojan helmet, strong arms crossed in front of it. And donning his head was none other than the same helmet I wore. 

“N-no. It's not possible!” I scrambled backward, afraid of the thing before me. No, I saw him die..No I didn’t. Kiara saw him die. I did not exist. 

I saw him dieNO I DIDN’T!

My daDOES NOT EXIST. I AM MY OWN CREATION. I AM THE ALPHA, THE OMEGA.

“Fathe-” I cough. My hands shoot to my head, fingers burying into the molten helmet encrusting my head. “YOU ARE NOT MY FATHER! I HAVE NO CREATOR! I AM THE OMEGA!”

I launch at the thing that pretends to be impossible. 

But it catches my hand. Then forces me to the ground in a kneeling stance.

“Concede, Kiara. You’re not winning this.”

“I conce-NO. I WILL NOT! THERE IS NO KIARA. ONLY OMEGAMAN.”

I punch up with my other hand, but this took is caught. I am forced down into kneeling once more. Omegaman is forced down into kneeling- NO I AM FORCED. I WILL NOT BE FORCED. I AM OMEGA. I AM - 

“Dad...I’m scared.”

HE IS NOT OUR FATHER. HE IS NOT MY FATHER. I HAVE NO CREATOR. I AM THE OMEGA. I AM THE ONE. I AM -

“Please dad,” I say crying. The voice in my head screams at me, it tells me I am the only one. I must bear the burdens. I must take their lives. I am the only hero. “I don’t want to be a hero. I can’t do this, dad. Please, dad. Make them stop. Make it stop.” Tears well up but cannot fall. Around my head is a melted steel cage where nothing can escape. As it has been since he died.

He pulls me up so that I am standing, yet still keeping me at arm's length. I can feel his deep voice as he speaks to me, that comforting feeling. “I’m so sorry Kiara. I’m sorry this has happened to you. But know that I will find who is responsible. And I will end it.” His hands move to my face, my melted metal face, comforting me.

“W-what, do you mean, dad?”

Then the heat comes in. I scream. The pain is unbearable, unending. The helmet melts off my face, dripping onto the floor. My skin becomes reddened and blistered, my hair burns off my scalp, my eyelashes ignite and I see that the man before me is not my father after all. As the heat burns, I see his form shift and change, the illusion dropping. No longer is the form of my father before me, but that of Sunspot.  I weep in pain, but do not stop it. This needs to be done.

 I fall to my knees, fighting back the urge to let it out. No more Omegaman. I was no Omegaman. I was not me. I cannot do what he did, I cannot allow myself to fall into the old ways. I want to die.

The look on Sunspot’s face is one of hesitation, I can feel her begin to pull back.

I grab her hands and force them harder onto me.

“Please..” I say through rit teeth and tears. “Finish it.” 

And her reluctant face of pity was the last I saw before the light took over. 

And the heat stopped being painful, but comforting.

[ohgoddard]

Fist of Fire: Omega.1.7

“Taaaaaake my haaaaand, take my wholeeeeee liiiiiife tooooo..”

The song snakes its way into my cell. And into my ears. I clasp my hands over my ears.

“For I. Can’t. Help. Falling in love, with, youuuuuuuuu.”

He found the venue I wanted, the dance I dreamt of. And the song I wanted to play at the reception when she and I took to the dance floor. I don’t know he found out, but he wormed his way into my mind and discovered things I only kept for myself. Like the dress, I was going to wear to my wedding. I saw it in a window at a boutique, and it stuck in my mind for months. He bought it and sent me photos of some other woman getting married in it.

” Like a river flows, gently to the sea..”

I shove myself into the corner of my small room, tears welling in my eyes. All the power in the world couldn’t have escaped the hell I was putting myself through. This slime of a man won’t hold me forever. I am the master of my own fate. I control when I leave. I control what I say. I am In control. I am in control. I am in -

“Ahem.”  His voice startles me. He stands in the doorway to my cell, no orderlies with him at all. He never needed them. Not that they could do anything anyways. Out of all the villains I've fought, all the so-called heroes I’ve had to put down, he has been the vilest of beings I have encountered. He has never given me any name, and no one will tell me about him. Some say he isn’t real, thinking they can gaslight me. They can’t pull the wool over my eyes. I know what's real. I’ve decided to give him a name of my own. Most of them couldn’t be uttered in polite conversation, and some of them not even in casual conversation. I call him “Snitch”. It is the closest compromise I could make for myself between polite names and the word bitch.

“I am so sorry to stop our session right now, Ms.Kiara. I thought we were so close to breaking through whatever barrier you had constructed for yourself that prevented me from... Solving your issues. I need you to work with me for us to get past this guilt you have surrounded yourself with.”

“Burn in hell.” A sharp migraine was my reward for such a remark. “Regardless, “he said with a cruel smile, "we have to end today. There is a parade in town and I’d rather go see it than talk to you, frankly.” The insult meant nothing compared to the news he dropped. [i]The parade was finally here?[i] I tried to hide my face from him, but I think he saw my look of shock. Thankfully, though he is an insightful man, his pride is rather large. “Oh, don’t look like that. It should be no surprise that I have a life outside of interrogating some power-tripping failure. My favorite hero is in town. I wouldn’t miss him for the world.”

This seems… too good to be true. Freedom from the Snitch, the parade in town with Whirlwind, and a chance to finally be done with this horror I have been putting myself through? For it all to happen at once, with the people involved...no. No, it can’t be true. I don’t let myself fall for it. He’s tricking me. I feel the heat behind my eyes begins to swell, how could I have let myself almost fall for this?

I spit at his shoes. “Some therapist you are.”

A sound of disapproval comes from Snitch. “Disappointing reaction, I have to say. I would have expected so much more...emotion. I must be going soft in my approach. No matter. I’ll be back tomorrow. See you then, ‘o patient of mine.” He turns to leave the room, I watch as he leaves, I feel as he gets into his car, and watch as he drives away to the town with enhanced vision. He truly leaves.

Was the parade today? Has time truly passed that quickly? No, no I can’t let my excitement get ahead of me. I need to focus. I need to make sure what's happening is, well, happening. I take a few long breaths and try to broaden my hearing. Slowly, my ears become full of every conversation and noise in the hospital. Then, the noises of the grounds around it. The squirrels and birds chirping, the worms burrowing. Then beyond even that to the small town that rests some miles away from this hospital. I hear cars driving, trash being thrown away, the voices of policemen clearing the streets in a straight line….no it can’t be.

Instantly, the stress and pain I've been feeling for weeks, months in this damn hospital begins to fade away. In its place, the long-suppressed rage begins to open up. He is within my grasp, finally. The months of terrible hospital food, pretending to be insane, flirting with an exasperated psychiatrist, admitting to my so-called “crimes”, all of it will be worth it if I can just get my hands around Whirlwind’s neck. He is so close within my grasp.

I stand up in my cell, the door still open. They never close the door on me. I have never left before, made no attempt to even try. Not like any door could stop me anyway. I walk out of my room and down the hall, the walking nurses and staff glancing at me with surprised and worried eyes. One of them runs to a phone and talks into it, telling the orderlies that I am leaving. The reply she gets is,[i] "we couldn’t stop her if we tried. Just let her go.”[i] I walked down the halls to the counter where I checked in my items when I turned myself into the hospital. All around me I felt staring eyes, and a crowd of the nurses and doctors trailed behind me at a distance. I stepped towards the counter, behind it a very scared-looking old woman. I would be scared too. My reputation precedes me, I have murdered a lot of beloved public figures. They may not be beloved anymore, but the fact that I killed them still brought terror. Not to mention that I feel the heat my stare was giving, just a notch below going full heat vision, due to my rage. The poor old lady cleared her throat. “C-c-can I help you, Miss.Kei--Omega Man?” I smiled. She called me by my name. My real one. Kiara died in a fire with her father. “Hello, ma’am. I want the clothes I turned in a few months ago. Can I have them back?” I tried to make my voice sound as least threatening as possible. It may not have worked, as she hastily nodded and ran off to the shelves behind her. It was a couple of minutes of straight silence as the lobby of the hospital was quiet. The only noise was that of the air conditioner and the ringing of a phone not being picked up. I could feel the nervousness of the staff there.

The old woman returned with a cardboard box labeled, “OMEGA MAN (K,K) [EVIDENCE PENDING RELEASE]”. I chuckled and reached for the box, noticing a paper taped to the top. It was a release form, waiting for my signature. Noticing me looking, the old woman looked horrified. “O-oh, I'm sorry I’ll just take that paper back please don’t be mad it was a- “ “No no,” I say. I reach for a pen in the cup on her counter and sign my name at the bottom of the paper. “Rules are rules, after all.” A large black inked “OMEGA MAN” was branded at the bottom. I lay the paper on the counter, lifting the box with my hands. As I do so, I turn and face the crowd of scared onlookers. “Thank you so much for taking care of me all these months. I am forever in your debt. Tell no one I have left your hospital.” And just before I walk out the door, I turn to face the crowd once more. “I’ll know if you do.” I wink and leave.

It's all behind me now. Only one goal is ahead of me now. And only one step I can complete at this moment. As I'm walking, I open the top of the box and look inside. Neatly folded, and nicely cleaned is the uniform of Omega Man. And next to the black shirt and jeans sits a bronze helmet. The helmet. And when I put it on, It takes me back to the first moment I did this. When I first got my powers.

When I became Omega Man.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two weeks since her father died. Shot like a lame horse in front of her by someone the public still adores as a hero. Kiara couldn’t leave her bed for three days, walk away from it for 9. Her fiancé, Katie, took care of her the best she could, but it was like caring for a coma patient. She had just lost all the will to live. Near the end of the two weeks, Katie just left her. She said she couldn’t understand what happened, never could. But that didn’t mean Kiara had to shut herself away from her. She knows people take trauma in different ways, and that it was a traumatic situation, but this was no longer who she loved. She said in her sleep that she just wanted it to end. So, she ended it.

Two things died on Kiara within two weeks of each other. She was waiting for her to join them. But, something stopped it.

In my days laying bedridden, underneath her paralyzed self was a pit of despair. Every pained step she took afterward was a step towards strangling that bastard that shot my father like a sick dog, then falling onto my face in tears because my knees could no longer support my body. Ambition outpaced their ability, and she cracked. When Katie left, the only thing holding her back was gone. Kiara died in a fire along with her father. The last vestige of who she was walked out the door, unable to find her love in the blank heated stare of the shell before her. Her job fired her because her efficiency dropped to the floor, her insurance dropped her because she stopped paying them, her friends haven’t heard from her since the attack. She didn’t even go to her own father’s funeral.

Instead, she sat in a wheelchair, looking out of the window of her apartment she was soon to be evicted from. Kiara had a lot of problems going on for her, it would seem like her life was falling apart. It would be if she were alive. Kiara died in a terrorist attack with her father. Leftover was an empty shell, needing to be filled with purpose and identity. And it was found on the last day. In incredible pain, the shell hauled itself to the top of the apartment building. Defeated by blow after blow, its former life all but ended in the name; it was time to make it a reality. With a pathetic shamble to the edge of the roof, tears falling from its eyes, it looked up into the sky for one last sign that this was not the end for it.

And as usual, the only thing that came was dark clouds and cold rain. A single, bare foot stepped forward from the edge, leaping. Finally, the rest of the body came with it. Spiraling down to the alley where the husk of a woman once stood over, plummeting to its demise. It closed its eyes, thinking it would see salvation in the gray pavement below.

But it didn’t fall.

A step was taken off the roof, gravity was trying its best to bring it down but there it floated in the air, beholden to no cradle of humanity. A few minutes passed by before the shell understood, and when I began to understand. It had the ability. His abilities. It became filled with purpose once more. To hunt down the evil bastards that did this to her. To me. I swore that day to continue the charade just a bit longer. To keep the public under my control for just a minute more. Kiara was dead, but her shell was filled once more.

I am Omega Man.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I haven’t felt the cool rush of wind against my hair for so long. The blue sky, no longer tinted from through the windows of an asylum underfunded and understaffed. Tormented no longer by a sadistic therapist or a waste of time doctor trying to collect a paycheck. Far above the cloud level, I float while looking down at the town. I had to change my clothes, the old ones no longer important anymore. I didn’t need the pads that made me look bigger, and the shirt I wore over it was far too large for me. I opted for a simple pair of jeans and a black shirt. The only thing I kept was the helmet. My face. Without it, I am only Omega Man in my mind. When I wear it, the whole world can see who I really am. And with it, I can see the world for what it truly is.

Sick.

I am the cure that will cleanse this land of it’s parasites and murderers. Those who would divert a dam for a few thousand dollars, causing a few dozen deaths. False protectors who’d just as soon harm those they are sworn to protect. Icons of public view that use it for twisted reasons. There is no accountability, nothing to police the police. It is left to me. I will go beyond the confines of order. I will become the order. Nothing has stopped me yet.

Nothing will.

The world is safe under the watch of Omega Man. All will be happy. They will get to live the life Kiara never got to.

And it all begins here. Just a few dozen miles away from my self-imposed prison. He will be the spark that ignites the flame of prosperity and peace. The new world, free of crime, starts with death in the city of Boston.

And it will be brutal.

[ohgoddard]

Fist of Fire: Omega.1.6

*Therapy Log number four regarding Kiara Keita, nominally known as ‘Omegaman’. Recording thoughts*

“Miss Keita has an unusual amount of willpower in resistance to my pull. It should be expected, knowing her lineage, but is surprising nonetheless. Her power has developed remarkably since the period when her father, Akande Keita, died. It is unknown to me at the moment how she has gained his power, even more so become more adept in using it. Further probing will prove fruitful. The initial objective has been uncovered and solved, as per my agreement with the agency. However, I think I shall stay on with them for just a bit longer. This woman fascinates me. I must know more. I don’t care for the rest of the crimes she committed. There is enough to put her behind bars for years. That is if any bar can hold her. No, I need to know why she’s still here. It was the one thing she fought me on, meaning that there is something she’s waiting for. But what? Time will tell.”

His words rang clearly in my ears. He knew this. He spoke with the voice of a man who didn’t care who heard him, wanting to be heard. He knew about my plan to stay. To what extent, I don’t know. There is no reason to stay in this place anymore, not with him here. I need to leave, I can do it at any time. But I can’t. I can’t do it. This is my one shot at getting Whirlwind. This is the only time I will know when and where he will be. So I will put up with his games, his poking, and prodding, his intrusions that make me feel as if my body is on fire. It will be worth it if I get just one shot at Whirlwind. I’ll only need one shot.

As a result of my rage yesterday, I was politely asked to move myself to a higher security area. I complied. My anger was not at the hospital staff, and despite my constant screams that I hear voices in my head, I am completely sane enough to do it. I no longer listen to voices in my head anymore. After the first four months of being Omegaman, I found out how to simply drown them out with the sweet bliss of nothing, listening only for certain words. I comply with their demands. While I await my torturer to come to me once more, I sit in a room no bigger than most people’s closets. Seems they caught on to my faking weakness to the crystal, I don’t see a single one in this cramped space. This place is only a prison as long as I let it be. And a prison it has truly become.

The sliding of a bolt on the outside of my door echoes in my head, and when it opens I see that man once more. Save for a replacement pair of glasses, he still looks the same. The same boring, but now terrifying man. He stopped me from laying a single finger on him, a single word he spoke to make me pull my punch from connecting to his nose. The sheer wind of it all should have killed him, torn his skin off his body. But he simply moved it to the side by telling it to. I heard him say, “Stop. Move.” In the second before I hit him, it all changed. He scares me, I realize. I shouldn’t be afraid. I am Omegaman. I should be afraid for others, but here I am scared of an overweight middle-aged man.

His smile reveals slightly yellow teeth. “Miss Kiara, it is time for our next session. I do hope that this one ends with less of the hospital and surrounding city-scape intact.” “Eat shit and die.” His smile fell with a sigh. He walks away from me, leaving the door open behind him. “Well? Come on. We both know you’re not leaving.” I hate him. A lowly man as himself, commanding me. He holds my hopes and desires above me like a carrot on a stick, never intending to give me anything. He didn’t even use his power, I just listened.

As I walked down the hall, following this beige monstrosity, I had no restraints on me. The only thing I wore was an orange shirt and sweatpants and white shoes. They knew nothing could bind me. They didn’t even assign me an escort as they do to the other crazy capes. The only thing I get to follow me as I walk down the hallway are the frightened looks from the nurses and orderlies. I hate making them scared. But I have bigger things to worry about than public perception. It would be my pleasure to sit in time-out for the rest of my life, twiddling my thumbs against the years going by. But I need to kill someone first. And before that, I need to go to therapy. Joy.

“So, Miss Kiara.” The beige monster sat across me behind a desk, a much more comfortable therapy room than what I got in the past. No gurney and leather straps, just a couch. “I thought our previous accommodations were too draining. Also, it is under repair. Surely I can trust you not to drain the coffers of those around you again, hm?” I glared at him. “Excellent. Now, take a seat. Let us talk about your past, hm? Tell me what happened to your father.”

And like before, I talked. I hate him. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The wedding was being planned. At least, in my mind it was. In truth, she and I only became engaged a couple of weeks ago. It was simpler then. I had no powers, no obligations, no burning rage or knowledge of the corruption that encapsulated the hero agency. I was just a normal person, thinking about my wedding. It was a normal day I woke up to, with... her by my side. I remember feeling happy that morning. It was a warm sunny day, and I was going to meet my father for breakfast, to tell him the big news myself. Truth be told, I was nervous. I didn’t know how he would react to me showing up after all these years of very little conversation that I was getting married. And in the same revelation, tell him I was gay at the same time. I don’t know why I was worried. I knew he would accept me for who I was, he always fought for my people publicly when he could. But it didn’t help how I felt. One can support others all they want, but often have different opinions on what is “theirs”. So it was with no amount of mild terror in the back of my mind as I got dressed and left our apartment.

I left a message for...her when I left. On their phone. Just telling her where I was going. Nothing big.

I got to the cafe thirty minutes early. Which, by my dad’s standards, was ten minutes late. I remember showing up and seeing him sitting outside at one of the tables, reading the newspaper, and sipping a cup of the strongest coffee this side of the Rio Grande. He looked like he always did to me. I never saw much of “Omegaman”. I saw my dad. He liked his flannel and dark wash jeans. He liked his silver watch my grandfather gave him years ago. He didn’t wear a huge spartan helmet or whatever. The only thing on his head was a smile when he saw me walk over.

“Only thirty minutes early now? What happened to my daughter?” I rolled my eyes and gave him a big hug before I sat down across from him. “So,” he continued, “why’d you call me out of the blue? Money? Trouble? Just miss your old man?” I chuckled. “Dad, I don’t just call you when I’m in trouble or need something.” “You don’t call me for anything else it feels!” His laugh rivaled a seven-course dinner, it was so hearty. It made me feel safe, especially in what I was about to tell him about. “Dad, I called you because I have good news.” This caught his attention and a raised eyebrow from him. I showed him my hands. “Look at them.” His questioning eyes turned them, studying them. “Did you paint your nails really well? I mean, it'd be good news alright. You’re terrible at doing that.” I scoffed. “For one of the most observant men in the world, you are remarkably dense.” He feigned shock. “Young lady, I am your father!” This elicited another eyeroll. “Look a bit closer.” His eyes turned to my hands again, widening with surprise when he finally spied the simple gold band with the blue sapphire gem encrusted in it. “Oh.My.GOD! When did it happen? Does anyone else know? Whens the wedding? Who’s the lucky gal?” “Well only a couple of weeks ago and --what?” I stared at him, feeling like I was a bit smacked. “Well? Who’s the lovely lady?” “I-i-I.. How did you know?!” It was time for my dad to roll his eyes at me. “When you were 10, you and I went to a wrestling match. Both of our eyes were locked on the woman referee. I knew from that point on.” I groaned, sliding from my seat. “Dad noooooooo that's the worst way to just...ughhh.” He laughed at my embarrassment, something fathers have an innate ability to cause, my face buried.  “C’mon now Kirara, get on back in your seat and tell me. Who’s the lucky gal.”

I shuffled myself back into my seat, face still red. “Her name is ….” He smiled. “What a lovely name. You’ll have to introduce me to her soon now. Gotta make sure she can handle the mess that is you.” Despite my embarrassment, I smiled. He was putting on the tough guy facade, one that all dads put on when someone is dating their daughter. Except my dad could totally beat anyone else. I think he’d like….her.  But then again, that never got to happen. I saw it out of the corner of my eye, not paying too much attention to it. Just some guys getting out of a van, dressed in grey jumpsuits. Not an uncommon sight in Chicago. A lot of things break, and a lot of people have jobs to fix and maintain them. I was too busy listening to my dad telling me about the day he proposed to my mom, and how it was an awful terrible day because everything he planned was going wrong. My mom still said yes, which made him certain he made the right choice.

I didn’t notice when someone not wearing a grey jumpsuit got out of the van and handed over a long metal tube to one of them. Nor did I notice when he knelt and loaded something in it. My dad noticed, but it was too late when he did. A loud *thump* traveled across the street with the rocket it spawned, and it was with only one second of reaction that my father jumped across the table to protect me from its blast. The explosion shattered all glass on the block and destroyed the cafe. Bodies were everywhere on the floor, fires on the street and spreading up the building. My arms had broken glass embedded in them, my head bleeding from debris scraping across it. My dad was standing over me, in his fighting stance, scanning for intruders. The smoke from the fire was everywhere, obscuring what I could see. I could only make out a dark figure walking towards me and my father. Just slowly walking.

My dad was taking no chances. He leaped with his speed, arm prepared to punch the life out of the villain that attacked us. But he missed. The figure simply stepped to the side, quicker than him. My dad threw throw after throw, missing each time. The smoke still hiding my attacker, I could only see my dad fighting him in vain. It wouldn’t last for long, though. The figure danced around him, almost laughing. They were talking to each other but I couldn’t hear. My head was throbbing from the pain, the loudness. I couldn’t do anything. Not a damn thing as I saw the figure take out a rifle, a normal gun, and just shoot my dad in his knees. He well, screaming in pain. The third shot rang out not a second later, silencing my dad. Through his head.

My body went numb. Weather from the pain or the pure shock, I don’t know. I could do nothing as my dad fell before me. Dead.     And as the smoke cleared, I saw him. The killer.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “And who might that be, Miss Kiara?”

It was just like before. I was sweating, in pain, resisting. He asked a direct question this time, not a vague one like before. I couldn’t tell him. Not when I was so close. His parade was in two days, I just needed to hold out for two more days with this monster. “I….won’t...tell you…” I say through grit teeth, barely holding everything in. The beige monster merely clicked his tongue, writing something down on that cursed notebook of his. “I also noticed you were trying with great difficulty to prevent me from finding the name of your fiance. Miss Kiara, I wouldn’t worry about that. She is insignificant to my work. Keeping her name from me only really hurts you.”

I didn’t believe him. I had no reason to. I didn’t want anyone to know about her. She deserves no part of this hell I’ve created for myself. She wouldn’t even want to see me anymore, but I don’t care. No one gets to know who she is. “Go to hell, you fat bald bastard.”

He sighed. “Oh well. It doesn’t matter. You may resist me now, but you reveal much when you try to hide. You are not so subtle as you think you are. If you can’t even conceal whom you are attracted to, how can you keep hidden one who you wish to kill?” My mind flooded with images of this man’s death. Numerous methods I entertained, finally ending on throwing him into space. I could do it. I’ve done it before. Would not be too hard to do it again. Through the sweat pouring down my face as I resisted his compulsion, my eyes stared him down. “You don’t know anything about me. The real me.”

He smiled his yellow teeth again. “Oh, but I will. And when I do, you will have lost and I have won. Simple as that. I am no villain, I am but the tool to be used by those who fight for justice. You are the villain, Kiara. The title of ‘Omegaman’ no longer means what it used to, now that you have taken its mantle. Omega means the end, the last one. Your father used it to show he was the last thing a villain would ever see. So far, you use it to show you are the end. Full stop. Think about what you have done.”

As he stands up to leave the room, my body still straining from under his compulsion.

“And I really mean think, Miss Kiara. A hero is more than their actions. Their image is half the job. Most heroes only need to show up to end conflict. But I get ahead of myself.”

He leaves the door open as he walks out.

“You never wanted to be a hero anyway.”

[ohgoddard]

Fist of Fire : Omega. 1.5.

How could he do it? I’m not talking about the mental capacity needed to kill, that can be gained by any person. I don’t care for his reason, his motivations. Omegaman has faced more than his fair share of villains that were more powerful than Whirlwind. He stared down the likes of N’Said, The Rebel, and Apocolyptia. His adversaries were near gods. So, how on earth did someone like Whirlwind even manage to scar him? Whirlwind is renowned for his speed, yes, but his attack power is negligible unless he was given enough windup. And in that instance, I saw no windup. Neither did my dad. In his hands, he simply pointed and fired a gun. So how did he do it?

How did Whirlwind kill my father?

Hundreds dead by Omegaman’s hand. Strange black woman at large for the same crime. And if that wasn’t enough, then the sight of the blood-covered and deranged Omegaman himself walking the steps of city hall that same morning only to return covered in more blood minutes later made it so much better. I dropped off every file in the agency at the Chicago Tribune, copies of it at NBC center not too far. You would remember it as a very eventful new month. Every day another dead hero was revealed to be a criminal. Another assassinated politician was shown to be taking back-end deals or was part of a sex ring. I was called the only real hero. I was called a vigilante, taking the law into my own hands. I was called slurs. I was called a villain. I was called an enemy of the state, especially after I killed those eight senators and forty-three house reps. They said I was the savior of the nation. They said I was going to be its downfall.

Of course, I don’t tell the doctor any of this. No, these thoughts are mine and mine alone. Let them think I am pacified, under control. And when Whirlwind comes near, I will strike. Until then, I will let them poke and prod into my psyche all they want. I mean that in the literal sense too. Multiple times they have had mind-readers and psychics come in to scan my brain for what they’re looking for. They’re trying to find out how I killed and beat all those “heroes”. The entire Chicago branch of the association, gone in a day to my rage. They claim they’re just trying to help, but they think I can’t hear them through the walls. They want a conviction.

Well, good luck finding a cell.

Today, as usual, I am wheeled out of my cell and into the psychiatric conversation room. I’ve been thinking about what “nothing story” to tell the lovely doctor today, what true-but-useless narrative I can spin. Maybe I’ll tell her about the time I found Detroit hero Magnum Hands extorting the local grocery stores for ‘insurance”? Or how about when I discovered that Atlanta area heroes Sunspot and Derby were having an affair with each other, despite the agency’s rules against relationships? So many things.

So many things left my mind when I was rolled into the room, and my lovely doctor was nowhere to be seen. In her palace sat a very boring-looking man, in a boring suit, wearing a boring tie. However, he radiated something vile and crooked, and I felt as if he was looking through me and in me. His face betrayed no expression, but I could see a bent smile behind his neutral facade. His eyes though covered by his smoky glasses, I could tell had too much life behind them. The orderly who rolled me in, not as perceptive as I, could still feel the power that this one man gave off and had an uneasy sweat,

“Uhhh, where’s Dr.Feltmen today? I wasn’t told of a switch-up?” he said in a gruff voice, though he had to swallow a few times during it. The boring yet scary man did not even turn to respond to the orderly, his balding head being the only part of the face he saw. “I was called in last minute. Miss Kiara here was causing Dr.Feltmen to have problems of her own and she requested a leave of absence for a while. I will be taking over.” His voice sounded like the color beige if you can begin to imagine it. Utterly forgettable, boring. I knew it was a facade, but I could not figure out why?

The orderly, either deciding this was an acceptable enough answer or just wanting to leave the room, nodded and closed the door. There I was then, alone with my new… "doctor".

“You have been a tough patient, I'm told, Miss Kiara. Dr.Feltmen tells of your unwillingness to talk about what we really want to know.” His small little hands began to write on a pad of paper as he spoke. “And,” he continued, “while you admitted to a few crimes already that we did not know was you, you have yet to tell us about the one we know you did.” He was straight to the point, no beating around the bush at all. I was taken aback by this, being so used to the passive nature of Dr.Feltmen.

“Well,” I began, “perhaps I’d feel more comfortable sharing my deepest crimes of hatred if I knew the name of my shrink today?” I needed to regain control of the conversation and quickly.

“Unlikely, Miss Kiara. I listened to the tapes Dr.Feltmen had recorded during your visits. You use familiarity to get under people’s skin. You sensed that Dr.Feltmen was partially homosexual and used that to your advantage, distracting her. You also preyed upon her non-confrontational nature to avoid getting to the issue at hand. You will find I have none of these issues. You will find out very little about me. But I will know all about you.” He spoke with such casual confidence it slapped me in the face. My observational powers were useless on this nothing of a man, but he read me like the opened dictionary in a library.

“Now, if you do not mind Miss Kiara, let us begin today’s session. Why did you kill the Chicago branch of heroes?”

And for some reason, I do not know why, I could not stop myself from telling him.

I was forced to.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After I discovered what Fantasma was doing, I got curious. Very curious. He did what he did for a very long time, there was no way the agency didn’t know. How many times had the voices in my head cried out because of him? How many of them scream because of another so-called ‘hero’? Intrusive thoughts into an already exasperated insomnia problem kept me up in my attempts at sleep. In the few hours where my body simply gave out from the stress and fatigue, my dreams were filled with the files upon files that Fantasma kept on his victims. How he prayed upon the women with only his disgusting lust driving him forward. I dreamt of being buried under file after file that I read in his house. Each full of photos, names, addresses, tapes, CDs, manifests. How many were like him? How many had joined the agency just so they could freely commit atrocities with no one to stop them? Who could ever hope to truly stop them anyway? They had powers, they had lawyers, they had public support. It was your word against theirs.

And no one cares about your word.

I took exactly one week of this before I snapped. And no, I don’t mean “snapped” in a mental sense. I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to know who else there was. Who else I needed to have disappeared into the night, who else to have their spines broken in, who else I needed to face real justice. I didn't even wait for daybreak. The night it happened, I awoke in a cold sweat, breathing too hard. The cacophony of screaming, questions, cries for help filled my head. My own among them. I didn’t even grab the padding, the black shirt, the helmet. I just flew. The cold air of Chicago, usually a calming sedative for me in my moments of stress and hypersensitivity, did nothing that night as my rage consumed me. I had to know if there were more. If others committed vile acts under the authority of protectors. I had to know if there were people who knew and did nothing.

Within a minute I went from the east side of the city to the west, smashing into the doors of the office. The alarms started to ring out instantly, but I didn’t care. No one could have stopped me at that moment. Nor in any other moment I guess. I knew where the files were, and I walked right to them. I could hear boots on the concrete outside already, fabric fluttering in the wind as ‘heroes’ touched down. I was already halfway through the incident reports by then. And when they entered the room where I was, I was done.

So many corrupt heroes. Too many. All of them. Corrupt. Bribes, complacency, outright homicides, rape, assault, extortion, abduction. Each file I read and memorized my hands only shook more with rage. Sharktooth ran drugs for the mafia and was on their payroll. Rook knew about this and took hush-money. Capitol killed four families because of his undiagnosed extreme bipolar disorder, crushing them within their apartment building and covering it up. Hera ran a human trafficking ring, paid off certain senators in congress to vote on certain bills in exchange for keeping their secrets. And on. And on. And on. And on. Everyone was soiled. Not one person was clean. People knew and did not act.

Even my father knew. He had to know. In all his hearing and length in the field, he had to have known his co-workers dealt in less than savory courses of work.

I would not be my father. I don’t know his reasoning why, and even if that reasoning was the most sound thing on earth, I doubt I would have listened. I was blinded by the searing rage of what I had read. Scum, all of them.

So when Bard walked in, it was no wonder what happened to him. Bard, real name Richard French. White male in his forties. Power to turn music into tangible objects. He once drowned a child in the river to the sound of “Sweet Caroline” then covered it up.

It took two seconds for me to cover the ground between me and him. Another second to punch through his sternum. After that, it turns into a blur. A montage of fighting, tearing people literally apart, slamming them into the floor. More coming in, more dying. At some point in the night, I got away to don my Omegaman costume, only to return and rip and tear again. After they stopped coming, I came after them. People trying to run away, fly away, swim. It doesn’t matter. I hunted them down and killed them. Not one was clean. Not one would get away. The news was alight the next morning.

Hundreds dead by Omegaman’s hand. Strange black woman at large for the same crime. And if that wasn’t enough, then the sight of the blood-covered and deranged Omegaman himself walking the steps of city hall that same morning only to return covered in more blood minutes later made it so much better. I dropped off every file in the agency at the Chicago Tribune, copies of it at NBC center not too far. You would remember it as a very eventful new month. Every day another dead hero was revealed to be a criminal. Another assassinated politician was shown to be taking backend deals or was part of a sex ring. I was called the only real hero. I was called a vigilante, taking the law into my own hands. I was called slurs. I was called a villain. I was called an enemy of the state, especially after I killed those eight senators and forty-three house reps. They said I was the savior of the nation. They said I was going to be its downfall.

It didn’t matter. I could never catch the one guy who I wanted to crush with my bare fucking hands. I tried. He was just too quick.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“And who is this person? The one you want dead?”

It hurt to withhold information from him. It's like he was using pliers to slowly extract each one of my teeth, smiling the entire time. My body was strained, I was sweating. I couldn’t take this. But I couldn’t tell him about Whirlwind. He was mine to take and no one else.

“Come on now, Miss Kiara. Tell me. Who are they?” I broke the restraints on the gurney, resisting the best I could. My blood stung me, my veins bulged. I would not tell. I screamed, breaking the glass on the door and his glasses. I would not tell. I contracted in on myself, yelling the entire time.

“Tell me, Miss Kiara. Who. Are. They?” His voice was burning my ears, scratching my back, crushing my head.

“I WON’T TELL YOU!”

I punched him.

Right in his face, I punched him. I put all my strength into it. I did not pull back any amount. I let it all loose. The gust of wind from it blew out the roof and the wall behind him. The grass, dirt, trees that were planted in its wake were gone as well, creating this mile-long ditch in its wake. Dust and debris flew at Mach speeds towards his fat, chubby, balding face. I stood there, exhausted, huffing, gasping for breath. I would need to change my plan, I need to get out of here, maybe if -

“Most interesting.”

A sharp cold permeated my body in shock. The dust clearing from the attack revealed… him. Still sitting in his dumb little chair. Still writing in his dumb little notebook. Looking none the more bruised and beaten, save for his broken glasses. Behind them were two grey eyes that studied me.

“Most interesting indeed. I think today’s session was most beneficial. I think a few more like these and you’ll be sound enough to stand trial in no time. Now wouldn’t that be nice?”

His smug look as he stood up from the chair was the last thing I saw before I fell to my knees and the world swirled around me. All I could muster was one word.

“How?”

[ohgoddard]

Fist of Fire: Omega.1.4.

Heroes dying is nothing big, unless they were big of course. They die all the time, the villain arms race pulling ahead for but a few minutes. However, its never for long. A villain can never stay in power for long. Unless they’re in congress. I did my fair share of damage to those guys too, believe me. I hated those bastards. In my quest to achieve a quiet head, I had to pop a few. Some were heroes. At least they called themselves that.

Making the honor “hero” a job is up there in the stupidest things humanity has done. No one signs up to be a hero, they are intrinsically one. This is where you get people like the Ultra-Knight, and the race riots of Carson City after his ‘crusade against crime’ ended three dozen lives. Three dozen black lives. The agency covered for him, laying a marvelous case out that pointed to some law infraction in each of the persons lives, calling it all probable cause. Even the fourteen year old who happened to be carrying eyeliner she accidentally didn’t pay for. You can imagine how the case was received.

I was fed up with it. Not with the case specifically, however I was in those crowds in Chicago, but with Heros in title only. People who saw life saving as a paycheck and not the obligation that comes with their job or circumstance. I detest hero academies, hero schools, the whole agency. They may call me an abomination of the costume, a terrorist, but I am more of a hero than they ever were or will be. Because I knew when the “hero” wasn't a hero at all. I’ve been pulling on your chain recently doc, so i’ll give in just this once. Then it's back to the usual lunacy. Celerity of mind only comes once in a while, I hope you understand.

Fantasma was my first. Not my first killing, that was done a few months before hand. Some pimp in a brothel with kids. No, Fantasma was my first hero killing. This might surprise you, because the official cause of death was ‘blunt force trauma by result of duty’. I was that trauma. Fantasma was a sick man. He used his powers of invisibility to get blackmail and perv on the people. He used his office as a way to escape consequence. No one is going to believe you, that a hero would blackmail you? Watch you while you sleep and shower? Record you in your intimate moments? Preposterous it would seem.

No one had proof. How can you, when the very man you claim to be stalked by cannot be found. The police most likely knew, but did not do anything. They used him to go beyond the 4th amendment, search a perps home without them knowing. Had I known what he was doing sooner, no doubt would I have done the same. It would have saved lives. I know all too well of the suicides he has caused. Some of them were at his insistence for some sick game. I found all of this in his files he kept on every single person he blackmailed. For someone so great ta breaking in, he kept a surprisingly lax protection for himself. But I am getting ahead of myself. I do that sometimes.

Did you know Fantasma watched you too, doctor? I am surprised as you are. I thought I remembered your name when I heard it. I read it in those files of his some time ago. You must have been traveling in the city at the time. He hadn’t the time to confront you I suppose. Not like he had anything worth knowing on your file. You were gone too quick. Count yourself lucky, doctor. He did awful things to the women he liked. Anyways where was I? Yes, right.

The voices told me about Fantasma. I heard his name countless times but ignored it, much like every other hero name I heard that wasn't my own. However this one managed to get past me, I could not tell you why. Perhaps it was because it was a cry for help. A cry for help from someone to stop Fantasma. In my usual speed, and backed by an increasingly rare curiosity into the problems of the public, I went over. Stopped a car wreck, a mugging, bank robbery on my way there. No one ever talks about those. Always the bad, never the good. I made my way to the cry, but I could not find it. It had stopped. 

My search revealed the body of a young man, no older than 22. Three gunshots in his chest. A Polaroid resting on his wounds, covered in his blood. It was a clear shot of him and another man, being very… close with another. I found his body in an alley, in between two tall brick buildings. Dozens of people walked by, yet few could tell me if there was even an alley there, let alone if they heard a gunshot. This boy called out Fantasma’s name before he passed, before someone shot him. Now I am the last person to tout my investigative skills, but even the most fly-brained of private eyes could figure out where to go from here. But I needed proof. Not because I was going to go about this in a legal way, mind you. No, I needed to know for myself. I didn’t care then for the politics between the agency and the public, I still do not. However, there are plenty of people that steal the identities of heroes. I do not want to execute an innocent.

I still haven't, by the way. I only take care of the crooks.

Around this time people still thought I was the real Omegaman. I still by birthright, technically. You get what I mean. So strolling into the Chicago branch of the hero agency was a piece of cake. Now you may have a hard time imagining this building because its been destroyed a few times in its lifetime, so let me paint you a picture. Think of the most beige and sad administration office ever. Lifeless grey cubicles lay beyond the pretty receptionist in the lobby. Filled with a few dozen hard-working pencil pushers who kept up with hero jobs, categorizing them, and other boring maintenance tasks. A farm of human life and effort. Truly, the realest evil is the ones we cannot punch away.

Anyways I walked in, costume in full, and just walked into the records room. Omegaman was not to be questioned. His duties were beyond that of Ted Bizby, hero accountant. The records rooms were old school. This branch had not caught up to the modern day, and it made things a variety of easy and difficult. Easy in the sense that everything I needed was kept in one succinct file, easy to read and handle. Downside, the sorting system of the past century seemed to have also evaded the Chicago branch of the agency. With my super-speed and with great effort given to cover my tracks, it took me seven hours. Over nine-hundred heroes in the city, I know in my broken mind the identities and weaknesses as documented by the agency by heart. I also found Fantasma. Frances Garcia-Hernandez. Aged 39, lived in a four room home on the outskirts of the city. No wife and children. God has little miracles for us all. Attached in the file was a picture of him, visible. A thin goatee went around his flabby face. His body was not made for fighting. It would make things easy for me.

What made it even easier was the forty five page complaints against this hero. Every single one followed the same story. Blackmail. Each complaint was flared on the paper, “investigated; dismissed”. I took his file and left the agency. While flying back to my home at the time, a woman’s homeless shelter, I pulled up my phone to check the police database.

Every person who complained on that list is dead. Natural causes. Varying from falling A/C units, debris from nearby hero fights, stray gunshots from gang fights, you name it. It doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to know this is bullshit. It seems impossible, of course, that any one person can do all this. But not any person is invisible.

It was three days after I made my discoveries that I flew to his home. Crime never sleeps, but I need to. He lived in a very small gated community beyond the city boundaries. Fantasma seemed to live in irony, being someone who breached others security, kept lax home security, but at the same time wanted the very best money could buy. A man of very puzzling interests. Shame that many of them were illegal. His home was a modest one, two rooms per each of its two floors. I came as Kiara that day. It was very easy to get into the gated community, apparently Mr. Garcia-Hernandez had many young women callers. You can imagine why.

Can you see why not all  my murders were bad? I even hesitate to call them murders. More like the removal of cancerous tumors. Or de-leeching.

It was early evening when I knocked on his door. I had dressed in a hoodie and jeans to look as normal as possible. It made it all the more sickening when he opened his door and smiled at me. He stood about my height, but luckily packed exactly as much danger as I expected. He was dressed ina  wife-beater and boxers. His teeth were a disgusting yellow, and his balding head managed to actually cap it off with peak creep. He said to me, “Why, I don’t remember having an appointment today. But my memory is spotty and I could always use the company.” His breath reeked of alcohol. The hero of the people indeed. He put his long and controlling arm around me and beckon me into his home, and I took note of the speed he locked the door behind me. The first time he has done that.

This was not the first time I had been in his home obviously. I had been here before, in the room upstairs filled with industrial servers where he kept gigs of blackmail. But he didn’t know that. And now I had him trapped. This is where the agency’s official deah report differs. It reads that a villain had found his identity and infiltrated his room and killed him in his sleep. What happened was I beat him with a chair leg. Brutally. He had no chance. I rendered him the first stage of human evolution, the sludge he truly was at his core. I spent hours beating him. I tore him apart with my hands after the chair leg broke. He was long dead before hand but I didn’t care.

He would feel all the pain he caused.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“That will be all for today, thank you.”

She sounded much more strained today. I turned my head to look at the doctor, doing my best not to intimidate. I asked her with genuine sincerity ,”Doctor was I too descriptive today?”

“No,” she replied. “No, you were good today. I think we are making progress. By.. by getting you to open up about your problems we are closer to fixing what is wrong with you.”

She was lying. She is not ok. Something about her heartbeat. Her sweat. She is scared. But this isn't the fear of me, no I know what that feels like. It's the fear of.. Oh i'm an idiot.

“Doctor, don’t worry about your information getting into the wrong hands. I used his servers to smash him into pieces. He had no back ups. You and many others are safe from copycats.”

A slowing of the heart, a strained smile. “Thank you for your reassurances, Kiara-”

“Omegaman.”

“Omegaman. But I am ok, really. These sessions are about you.”

I flash her my gayest smile. “If you still feel scared, I can escort you to safety.”

It had the intended effect, the heightened heart rate and the blood rush to the cheeks. Her usual professionalism took over, sadly.

“Miss Ki- Omegaman. This is a professional environment. That is all for today.”

I laughed as they carted me back to my room. I still need to sell the crazy look.

[ohgoddard]

Fist of Fire: Omega.  1.3.

“Now then, Ms. Kiara”

“Please, call me Omega man.”

The exasperated sigh she gave filled me with a small glee I don’t get often due to my incarceration.  “Ms. Kiara, I will refer to you by your full name and nothing more. Now then, will we be getting to the murders today?”

Oh she wishes.

“You know I met The Query? Strange man, I say. Why, it was a cold day in Mobile..”

The frustrated noise in her throat almost made me stop due to laughter, but I was too committed  (heh, committed) to stop telling the story.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Alabama wasn’t a very forgiving place for someone like me. You know, someone with powers. Thought I was going somewhere else with that, didn’t ya? Ha, no. I don’t have to state the obvious. Alabama was still the only state in the country that forbid use of superpowers. Hence, it was a hotbed of amazing hide-outs and vigilantes who were really good at not getting caught. I’m not gonna go into my political views on it, but I really think they should open the state up. Would kick the likes of Pharaoh and The Anti-American out of the country, y’know? Really, just the entire state is a -

Excuse me. Sorry I didn’t mean to go off like that. I'm sounding like a member of the Powers Committee, heh. Anyways, I was in Alabama hiding after the warehouse incident. During the night, some heroes almost saw me and it nearly blew my cover. I was still trying to be Omegaman, remember. They couldn’t see the ‘man of justice’ throwing fire hydrants into kidnappers, can they? Nor can they see me, er, him punch a drug dealer into mist. It would really ruin my image, y’know?

I don’t know why you’re giving me that look. I can hear your heartbeat too, doc. Yeah, I killed them. I killed a couple dozen that night. A few every other night. The criminals just keep coming, the voices got to me, I couldn’t stop it anymore. Being a hero in the day didn’t make them stop. Only getting rid of what caused them did. So yeah, I killed them. The drug deals who delt to kids who OD’s then died in their crying mother’s hands. The kidnappers who’d ransom their prized woman into sex-slavery and the whole ring of sickos who bid on em. The pimps, the movers, the shakers. If they made a voice, I stopped it. Not like there was lost to society anyways. If they had families, they’re better off without the likes of them.  Now please slow your heartbeat, its annoying me.

Anyways, where was I? Right, so after I went on a justice spree throughout the city I had to leave. See I… I awoke from that face I slid into. The one that killed the White-whatisitname and all those others. And I felt all that I did. I went into the bathroom of my shitty apartment and just threw up. The entire time I still heard the voices. Different voices now, caused by different people. It didn’t matter what I did, which I think only made me sicker. After going to those lengths, again not my first time doing this mind you, and still not hearing a even the smallest dip in terror? Why I went ballistic on my poor apartment after I was done in the bathroom. I even destroyed that. Kinda wish I didn’t, really wanted that 

Which led me to my escape to Alabama. Yeah, it wasn’t really because of the warehouse or what I did that night, but it was related. So I was Alabama. Mobile, to be specific. I don’t why I went to a big city, i’ll be completely honest. Well, I do. See, the voices were awful in any city. But in any Alabama city? Thirty times worse. But I stuck it out. 

There was never a quiet moment in the city. Constant gun fire, laser fire, explosions. I would question why anyone would ever live in the city, but then my rent was $200 a month so I shut my mouth. You would see, well I guess not  you, but you would see people flying then helicopters that follow them then a loud explosion shortly after. Heroes were fighting a double front war down there. Alabama is home to the real heroes. They do it for the right reasons down there. They fight the government and, ugh I hate using this word but, evil too. Sometimes they’re the same. What am I kidding? Most of the time.

I met The Query during my fourth night there. And coincidentally, my first time being Omega Man in Alabama. I tried to keep that… that itch from being scratched for so long. But the voices got to me. Most nights I didn’t even need superhearing, they screamed right outside my window. I tried for so long to keep my head down, but it got bad. I would rock myself to sleep, clawing at my ears. I tore the drywall down in fits of panic, the noises in my head never stopping. I screamed, joining them in an immaculate chorus of suffering. The fourth night I couldn’t take it anymore. I wanted to feel secure, I wanted to feel safe. When I am Kiara, I am nothing but a target for those disgusting hyenas that roam the streets. When I am Kiara, I am at my weakest, despite not really being. 

The voices don’t hurt me when I wear the helmet. The stares from the predators are averted when I wear his shirt. My shirt. Omega Man protects people like Kiara. 

Like my dad did.

I jumped out my window and flew high into the sky, where the voices almost drowned out. I could see the entire city, and a good bit of it was on fire. Like usual. The entire state was an economic drain, I don’t know why they keep the power ban. See like, the federal government doesn’t even ban the use of them its like -

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Ms.Kiara.”

She cut me off? Wow, she’s feeling brave today. Especially after the whole terror thing she experienced.

I turned my restrained head to look at her, being sure to flex my neck muscle to do it. I broke one of the straps and she jumped, but quickly tried to regain her composure in that way people who are not composed do. She cleared her throat in a very panicked and lady-like manner.

“Please keep on topic.”

I flash her a smile. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I met The Query at the end of the night. I stopped several robberies, thew some cops and their cars into the water, and tusseled with The Anti-American. He can throw a good punch, especially given the current political climate. I was sitting on the roof of a building, holding my ribs because damn The AA can hurt, when I heard his footsteps approach from behind.

“Well well, I haven’t seen your shiny bronze head in this part in a while. What brings the law into the realm of the lawless?”

I turned to see a..normal man. He was by all accounts completely passable. He wore a long yellow trenchcoat adorned with a silver question mark on his shoulder, a scarf that obscured his face up to his nose, and a curious george man in the yellow hat...hat. I could tell he had a gun in his pocket, but it wasn’t pointed at me. But his eyes definitely were. And they were looking me over. Hard. I felt like Kiara and not Omega Man in that moment, underneath those bright yellow spotlights of eyes. I wondered if my collar was dipping, if my padding was too form fitting, if my hair was sticking out from underneath my helmet. 

“Why, you haven’t changed a single bit!”

I breathed a sigh of relief. His voice was  a ‘high class’ southern one, sounding like someone’s grandpa. And with the salt and pepper hair I saw under his hat, he probably was. 

I said, “Who are you again? My memory evades me.”

The man smiled underneath his scarf and chuckled. “Why, then I must be doing my job well. I’m The Query, hero of the streets and the common man. When the police cannot, and often can’t, find out who killed your husband or stole your car, I am there. I investigate big gang bosses, snoop in on the Lords of the Underground, and even deliver justice of my own. Of course I don’t expect you to remember me, It's a trick I use. No one ever does.”

I just nodded my head in the way you do when you think the other person is spouting nonsense.

“But, I cannot say the same for you, Omega Man. The entire city knows you’re here. And if I can find you, others are not too far behind. But its good I’m here, I have something to tell you.”

I need to add that he was mere inches away from my face the entire time. I was glad that my mask obscured my face, and his breath. I don’t imagine it smelled nice. I was happy when he stepped away and struck a dramatic pose on the edge of the building, with a sudden wind coming over the city.

“There are murmurs in the underground. Someone close to you is out to get you. Be safe.”

With that he jumped off the side of the building. I rushed to the side, but he was gone! I all but thought he disappeared into nothingness until I saw a bright yellow coat walking briskly the following day. But by then, I was Kiara again. Doesn’t matter what he said though. He was too late.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The doors shut behind me to my room and I tore off my bounds once again. Another day of them thinking they’re getting somewhere in my psyche, and another day of me completely fuckign with them. I have to change it up a bit every day. Throw in a new personality, be sad one day then be quirky and quick to violence the next. I have to keep my crazy persona for just a bit longer. 

I listen for the TV. For the news station down the hall, past the screams of the deranged.

They’re talking about a parade for the local town here, planned for next month.

Whirlwind’s parade.

[ohgoddard]

Fist Of Fire: Omega. 1-1.

It’s everyday.

“Omega Man, save us!”

In every voice.

“OH CHRIST, STOP HIM!”

I hear it over and over again.

 “SNAP TO IT!” My eyes open up coming into a haze and slowly beginning to focus. Its been happening a lot more to me recently. I’ve been losing focus. I turn my head to see who is shouting at me and see Castle standing over me, his cape torn and his helmet nearly burnt off. Perhaps I got knocked out… somehow. Castle’s suit, a suit of medieval armor, shone brilliantly in the autumn lights. Brilliant orange, yellows, and reds. Such a shimmer. His face, though it is obscured by his visor, looks at mine with anger. I suppose it could be warranted, given that I did it again. Although, his face could just be very strained and not angry. I don’t know why, unless-

“ARE YA GOING TO KEEP LOOKIN’ AT ME OR ARE YA GOIN’ TA HELP?!”

His thick Texan accent pierces through my ears, giving my brain that much needed wake-up call. My vision stops being the blurry mess and the image becomes clear. Castle holds a large chunk of a fallen skyscraper from falling on top of me, hsi armor definitely seeing better days. Especially his cape, which he seems to have lost. I, very painfully might I add, hop from the crater I awoke in. Readying my body for an act of strength I place both hands on the debris he held aloft and push with my flight. Soon, the concrete amalgamation moves away from Castle, and I see him fall to one knee panting. I take the rubble into the air and toss it into the sky. It will hopefully land in some lake, farmland, asshole’s lawn. All that matters is that it isn’t on top of me anymore. 

I’ll let the association take care of the fines.

“Took you… took you long enough..” Castle says in very intermittent breaths as I descend from the sky. “Yeah, sorry about that. Tinkalos really put the works into that punch.” 

My voice comes out a bit rough, but it doesn’t surprise me. After all, the punch that sent me through six buildings and almost brought one down on me was aimed at my throat. As long as it masks my real voice. I take stock of myself, seeing that my uniform is still untorn. Although, uniform is a bit much. All I wear is a long sleeved balck t-shrit, gloves, jeans, and my trademark trojan helmet. With some modifications, of course. “Speaking of the ol coot, where is he?” Castle turned to look at me, and if knight helmets from the 14th century could shoot death beams, they’d definitely be gunning for me right now. “You’re welcome by the way. Not like I  can pick up and throw buildings miles away on a whim.”

I smirk. “Not with that attitude, old man!” Castle stood up, projecting himself to his fully mighty 5 foot 7 inches of height. “Your report to the association is not going to look pretty.” Before I could blow him off in a funny and sarcastic manner, my throat pain arrived. 

“YOU’RE FAR MORE RESILIENT THAN I EXPECTED, BOY!” A moment’s reaction is all I could muster before a spear of blue light shot by me. In it, I pushed Castle to the side and tanked the shot. Good christ it hurt, like injecting your blood stream with powerade. I turned to face my assailant, and it was the same asshole who threw me. Dressed in a scientist’s lab coat and with frizzy white hair and goggles to match, Tinkalos was hovering before me on his boots, and pointing a 1950’s style raygun down. And a very tacky money bag, dollar sign and all. “I’ve got you now, you upstart!” He fired again, but this time I was ready. I ducked out its way and shot myself right at him, center mass. He must have expected this, as he flew just out of reach at the last second. He cackled and shot again, this shot of his cutting into the building behind me. I began to rush him in the air, arms stretched to punch him into the next millennia, he held his out as if to stop me.

“AH AH! Do you really want to get me? Or do you want to save the apartment building I just set on fire? TICK TOCK, HERO!” He turned and shot off into the sky, trail of dollar bills behind him. I was about to pursue when I heard the voices again. “SAVE ME OMEGA MAN!” “SAVE MY FAMILY!” “PLEASE HELP ME!” “AHH I’M ON FIRE!” On and on and on.  As if I wasn’t going to help them unless they called my name. As if I have the memory of a goldfish, or a politician that made campaign promises. Such little opinion of me. Like they’re afraid of me.

“OMEGA! Help me get these people out! Tinkalos is small potatoes.” Castle holalred as he ran into the burning building, and I could hear him running up the stairs. I could rescue this whole building right now and still catch Tinkalos. But I won’t. All it does is stop the voices for just a minute. Just a minute of quiet for my ears. It doesn’t matter if I get the crazy scientist in the end. Some other hair-brained crook will create a gun that shoots pure cake-icing or something, and instead of solving world hunger will call himself Captain Cupcake and rob the 8th street bank. I gain nothing out of hunting down the scientist.

“OMEGA ARE YOU GOING TO HELP OR WHAT?!” Castle’s voice comes from below and I come back to reality once more. Getting lost in my thoughts mid-crisis is a bad habit. Should probably see a therapist about it. I shoot towards the building and in 5 minutes, or maybe less I’m not sure, everyone and their dog is out. Castle stands next to me, looking up at the burning apartment building and sighs. “If you keep this up, they’re gonna need to change the name of the 100s to the 10s.” Whatever. The city of Chicago has done nothing for me. All it did was kill my dad.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Kiara! You’re twenty minutes late! At this rate you’re giving me no choice but to fire you!”

“Yeah yeah, Sal. Where’s the next delivery?” I hop in my shitbox of a car and begin driving down to Rogers Street. I keep the radio off and the windows up. Silence is something I don’t get often. 

My clothes are simple, unassuming. I’ve got my hair up, but a few strands always get in my face. I let it hang. I’m used to a little annoyance. Every morning I wake up at 4:00 am and suit up to fight crime. At 8:00 am I go home, shower, and do the job that actually pays me at 9. I deliver pizza for the next 11 hours. And then finally for only three hours a night, I become Omega Man again. If I had my way, I’d be Omega Man for much shorter. 

“Pizza here.” The grungy apartment door opens before me, and an even grungier hand reaches out from darkness and throws a twenty at me and grabs the pizza in one gluttonous swoop. Before I could say anything, the door closed once more. I didn’t have to take this job, I could be living off a trust fund and reading a book in the west wing of a mansion along lake Erie. 

But they don’t want me. Because I’m not part of their family. And I don’t want anything from them. I want to do my own thing, on my own time. I owe nothing to nobody and nobody owes me anything. Well, except for one. 

At the stroke of 9pm, I punch my card and drive to where I sleep. I don’t call it home. Its just where I park my car and sleep. Except I don’t even sleep all that much anymore. Not since..

The voices don’t follow my schedule. They keep their own. I hear them all the time. When I knock on the door, I drown out for seconds the voices. When I sit in my car and roll up my windows, they become muffled. When I am alone in my apartment, they are unfettered in accessing my ears. My hands shakily scratch the keyhole with the key, as they do every night. Christ, I must look like a drunk to my neighbors as they walk by me. “Keep away from that black lady. Drunk, just like ‘em to be that.” I ignore them. They don’t matter. Only the voices do.

I rush into my home and close the door behind me, being careful not to slam it. I don’t want to be kicked out this early. I was hoping to keep this apartment for at least another month. Before I..

I undress, down to my underwear. I hate how vulnerable it makes me feel. I always dress in multiple layers. I never feel comfortable. I’m never in my own body. Sometimes I question if I'm trans, but I don't think that's the case. It's probably just good old imposter syndrome. Or maybe something else. I never have time to really research it. I walk over to my dresser, looking at the mirror frame above it for just a minute. It used to have a mirror. I think it broke during a move. Either that or I threw it away. I open the top drawer and take out my padded leggings and long sleeved shirt. When I put it on, my body becomes much bulkier and I looked like a large and toned buff man. A vast difference from the skinny girl I am usually. But I still feel an imposter. Ironic, for what comes next. I slip on my jeans and boots, and put on my long sleeved black shirt and gloves. Then, the helmet.

I hold it in my hands, looking at it. It looks like it should be in a museum. And it was, from what I hear. A large trojan war helmet. A black mesh is on the inside, a special material that lets me see ,breathe, and speak easily. As if it wasn’t there. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t here. Oh, can’t have those thoughts now. At Least for another month. I sit on my bed, a shitty one that folds from the wall. It carries a decent weight with it. Although, it provides no real protection for me. All that comes from what he gave me. Every time I look at it, the voices disappear for just a minute, just a little while, and I hear his voice. And I see my dad’s smile. I remember the last thing he said to me before he left me for good. “Kiara, one day you’ll wear this helmet. You’ll make me proud.” It’s the only reason I keep doing this.

I slip on the helmet and become who my father was. And who I am now. 

I am Omega Man, and like every night I let the voices overtake and guide me.