Puppetmaster

A high school boy around sixteen years old is thrown to a wall in an alleyway. He grunts in pain. His assaulter is a boy not much older than him wearing a common cold mask with a crude skull emblem drawn on. The assaulter takes out a pocket knife and puts it to the student’s throat. He stares at it, mortified.

“H-Hey bro. J-Just chill, okay?” His lip is trembling, his words hoarse.

“I am chill, bro. I saw you livin’ it up in that arcade. Daddy’s money?” The boy in the mask growls back.

“Come on, it’s not like that at a-all. I’m working at the corner store. I worked hard for this money, man.”

“Does it look like I give a single shit? Stick ‘em up, as someone in one of your crime games would say.” The boy hesitates, looking around desperately for help. “Are you deaf or just stupid?” The mugger warns, pressing the blade’s tip ever so lightly into the boy’s throat, enough to draw a single drop of blood.

“Sh-Shit! Okay, okay! S-Stop it, please…” The boy slowly reaches into his pocket, taking out a wallet. “J-Just don’t take it all. Please. I want to buy my little sister a present for her birth-”

“Shut up!” The mugger yells, yanking the wallet out of the boy’s hand and slapping him across the face with the back of his hand. Hard. The boy falls to the ground, whimpering and rubbing his cheek, not daring to say anything. “One fifty...two hundred...hey. You screwin’ with me?” The boy’s eyes widen and his face pales. His bluff has been called.

“N-No, of course not!”

“Lemme see your other pocket.” The boy shakes his head, tears forming in his eyes. “I saw you put something in your back pocket earlier. Show me!” The mugger screams, grabbing the boy by the collar of his shirt and shaking him around. “You think I don’t have people I need money for! Every damn place here that’s hirin’ shut me down because I beat a kid up once for touchin’ my sister! And he just got a slap on the wrist while I wasted away in juvie for a year?! Can you even comprehend how shitty that is?!” The mugger reaches into the boy’s back pocket despite his pleading, yanking out another hundred dollars.

“P-Please, man! Pl-” The mugger throws the boy into the wall, satisfied. He slumps to the ground, dazed.

“Piece of shit nobody…” The mugger counts up the money, shoving it in his pocket. As he’s leaving the alleyway, he sees somebody and stops dead in his tracks. A man on the taller side is standing at the alley’s entrance. He’s wearing all black, a hood and mask covering his face. The only thing exposed is a bit of his black hair...and his gleaming red eyes.

“Oh, shit. What the hell is a hero doing here…?!” The mugger whispers.

“I’m feeling generous tonight. Give the money back and you can go.” The hero commands, pointing a finger at the slumped over boy. “You have ten seconds before-”

“Shut up!” The mugger screams. “You damn heroes think, just because you were born with some freak power, you can stomp all over the little guys whenever you want! I’m just trying to make a living, man! I need this, my sister needs it, my landlord is hunting me down! Please, man!” The mugger grips his switchblade tightly, eyes closed as he pleads.

“...ten.” I say. I tried to give him a chance.

“...You heroes really are assholes.” The mugger takes a moment to gather his courage then charges at me, screaming. As he’s running, I take a moment to analyze the situation. He was mugging a high school boy, and he seemed proficient at it. Is he used to this? Muggers tend to like picking on targets weaker than them, therefore this person should be around the victim’s age. Probably eighteen, nineteen years old. He has a pocket knife, meaning he prefers short, brutal skirmishes where his opponent is at a disadvantage. The best course of action here would be to…

“Die!” The mugger screams, thrusting his switchblade forward. I easily sidestep his reckless stab, taking advantage of my opponent’s forward momentum to kick kick him in the shin and deliver a sharp blow to the back of his head. He trips, dropping the switchblade. Due to the strike on his head, it takes a moment for him to stand up which I use to safely take his discarded weapon.

“Hey, you wanna go? C’mon then!” The mugger stumbles back, raising his fists and hopping around like a drunkard would.

“Seriously? I would think a thug like you would be better at street fights. You must be new to this.” I scoff at him, hoping to provoke.

“Just shut up!” The mugger yells, throwing a wide right hook. It seems I got in his head after all. I duck the blow, thinking of my next move. What kind of advantage do I have on him? ...Ah! Of course. My height. He’s around three or four inches shorter than me, meaning I can easily win a grapple contest. As his wild hook goes above me, I throw my arms around his waist and hoist him up. He yells in surprise then delivers a sharp elbow to my back. I grunt in pain, knowing that will hurt in the morning, but it’s a necessary trade in my favor. I heave, then slam him down on his back into the hard concrete ground.

“Ack-!” He grunts as his head hits the floor. While he’s down, I pin his arms down with my knees, squatting above his chest.

“Are you done yet?” I ask. He doesn’t respond, instead answering my question by struggling. “Have it your way.” He can’t fight back, so I punch him in the face with my right fist. He takes the blow then looks back at me, blood oozing out of his mouth, his eyes ablaze with hatred. He’s still fighting my grasp, so I deliver a left hook to his face. I switch between right and left punches until he finally gasps in defeat, passing out. I take a moment to catch my breath, standing up. I wipe the blood off my gloved hands onto my sleeves, feeling a tang of guilt that I had to wail on a fellow Giftless.

“Th-Thank you so much, sir!” It seems the victim had recovered while I fought his mugger. He’s leaning against the wall, dazed but smiling. The boy stumbles over to me, falling on top of the mugger and taking his money back out of his pockets. He slowly looks up at me, a look of disappointment on his face. “You probably want a reward. Here.” He takes a one hundred dollar bill out of his recovered goods and shoves it towards me. I slap his hand away.

“Real heroes don’t take money.” He stares at me, then bows, tears forming in his eyes. Is this the first time a hero didn't take his money...?

“Th-Thank you so much, hero!” I don’t care much for groveling, so I look away.

“All I need from you is a decision. Either call the cops and have them lock this kid up, or take him to the hospital and say he’s your friend that got jumped. Think carefully about your choice.” I turn away from the confused kid, walking out of the alleyway.

“W-Wait! I didn’t catch your name, hero!” He calls out after me. I don’t turn around.

“...Puppetmaster.” I say, then walk away. Of course, that’s just my hero name. I need to remain anonymous. After all…

Spencer Dark doesn't have a Gift.

I duck into another nearby alley, climbing a ladder leading to the roof. Up here is where I keep watch over Sadenburg at night. Just this block, to be precise. ...Hey, it’s a start. I rip my mask off, taking a deep breath of the night air. Today marks the third month since the incident in the coffee shop...the day when I defeated Hardhat. For a week after, I barely moved. I went to school, did my final exams, and ran straight home to spend the rest of the day in bed. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t eat. I was a nervous wreck. Then, one night, I thought about it more. I hadn’t done anything wrong. I saved that coffee shop. I put a dangerous villain behind bars.

The only thing I regret is taking the money from that barista.

And that’s when it clicked; I could become a hero. Not the type of hero that cowers behind a prestigious name and only saves people when it’s good for their reputation.

I could be an actual hero. One that wouldn’t need money or praise. Just a man who enacts his own personal justice.

The first obstacle I ran into was being Giftless. No villain would take me seriously if I didn't have one.

Suddenly, I hear a rustling coming from the ground below. I leap to action, peeking over the edge of the roof to see what’s going on. A stray dog is rummaging through a dumpster, looking for scraps of food. I sigh in relief, then sit back down. I yawn, then take my colored contacts out. They’re pretty low quality, so my eyes hurt if I wear them for too long.

Everyone knows that red eyes indicate one having a Gift. If a criminal saw that, they wouldn’t need further convincing. So, that day, I took the barista’s money and walked to a cosplay shop downtown. I told them I was going to dress up as my favorite hero and needed red contacts. While I was there, I picked up an all-black costume as well. I was on a budget, so I couldn’t afford armor or anything. It’s essentially a Halloween costume. Using the last of my money, I walked to a nearby antique shop to look for a weapon I could easily conceal in my costume.

Finally, I found a tantou, a small dagger of Japanese origin. It was still in decent quality and fit my price range, so I purchased it with the last of my money. The owner was a bit skeptical of handing over the weapon to a teen like me, but I told him I was but a simple collector of ancient weaponry. Happy he found a fellow collection enthusiast, he allowed the purchase. He was so gleeful I felt a bit guilty about lying.

I take my tantou out, admiring the intricate art on it’s sheath. It’s a hand-painted oni with sakura blossoms around it, perhaps indicating that beauty can surround horror. Or maybe I’m overthinking it and the artist just painted random things. I unsheathe the short blade, rotating it and observing from every angle I can. It gleams in the moonlight and, although I haven’t been forced to use it yet, I know it must cut deep. My thoughts are interrupted as an alarm from my flip phone goes off. I check the time; midnight. I need to head back home soon or else my mother will be suspicious. I slide down the ladder and begin riding my bike home, turning on a headlight to stay safe on the dark streets.

I trained hard for two months. I went to the gym at least five times a week, trying to get as strong as I could. I’ve always been skinny, so it was like hell for me. There were dozens of times when I would break down mid rep, reconsidering the life decisions I was making. Can I seriously be a hero if I’m getting my ass kicked this hard? This is nothing compared to fighting villains. I can’t do it!

And then I would see the face of the old war veteran who stood up to Hardhat at the coffee shop. He was seriously outmatched, and he knew that. He knew that and still stood up to him, staring death straight in the face.

Every time, I would grit my teeth and get through the remaining reps.

After a month, I took a shower then looked in the mirror. For the first time in my life, I could see muscles forming. It wasn’t much, mind you, but it was more than I’d ever had in my life. Every day, I had to make my workout routine harder. When I got home, I studied wrestling and boxing techniques until I was too mentally drained to continue. I watched videos of heroes and villains alike to see how they fought. I listed their strengths, their weaknesses. What could I learn from them? Hold on, rewatch that part. How did he dodge that? How do I make the most out of counterattacking?

Then, the two month mark passed and I was ready. I donned a black surgeon mask, put on a hood, and roamed the night streets as a hero for the very first time. It was my second night out when I saw someone getting mugged. I stepped in, telling the culprit to stop.

I got beat within an inch of my life.

When I woke up from being unconscious, it was raining despite it being the middle of summer. Fitting, I guess. I slowly got up, feeling every bone and joint in my body aching. I was wet, in pain, and felt like I could just curl up and die. Then I noticed that the teenage boy who got mugged was sitting close by, also in pain. He smiled at me, then pointed to his wallet.

“I know you got beat up, but I just wanted to let you know that the mugger was so freaked out by you that he forgot my wallet. I wanted to say thanks.”

My eyes widened with shock and life flowed back into me. I slowly stood up, woozy.

“Of course. That’s what heroes do.” I said. I know how cringe-inducing it must’ve been. I was bleeding, bruised, barely standing and spitting out lame one-liners. The boy laughed, but he wasn’t making fun of me. It sounded like he was relieved.

“I can tell you’re new. What’s your name?” He asked. I hadn’t thought about it that much. I had around four or five names floating around in my head, so I picked the one I liked the most;

“Puppetmaster.”

I shove my mask and tantou into my backpack, splashing some water from my water bottle onto my face to wash any grime off. I quickly change into my normal school uniform and take out my key, turning it and opening the door to my house. The lights are still on, meaning my mother is still awake. She’s sitting on the couch, her long, brown hair messy and her work clothes still on. Wait...she’s not awake. She’s passed out cold, snoring and all. I walk over to her, gently shaking her awake.

“Hm? Oh, Spence. Did I fall asleep on the couch? Sorry, honey. Long day.” I sit beside her.

“Why are you apologizing to me? It’s not a big deal or anything.” I sigh.

“How was night school, honey?” She asks, smiling gently. Just like me, she’s not very good at forcing smiles. It looks like she’s in pain. I raise an eyebrow at her, and she sighs, dropping the happy face. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“School was fine. Nothing special.” She checks her flip phone.

“Oh my. It’s past midnight. Do your classes really go that late?”

“No, I just stayed there for a bit to talk to my professor. I’m a bit stuck on a mathematical concept.”

“Engineering sounds difficult. I’m so proud of you, honey. I know you’ll make it through.”

“Y-Yeah.” I stare at my feet. That’s right. This whole hero thing only has a week left before I head off to whatever generic university I chose. And, worst of all, I’m lying about night school to explain my absences at night. I wonder what my mother would do if she found out I was roaming the streets at night like some kind of vigilante you see on TV shows.

“Something wrong, Spence?” I cringe at the nickname.

“N-No. I’m just thinking about how college starts in only a week.”
“Are you nervous?”

“That’s not it. It’s just...this is my life now. It’s a lot to take in.”

“I know, honey, but you’ll be fine. You’re smart and handsome. Girls will love you.” She puts a hand on my head, ruffling my hair. I gently smack it away.

“You know I don’t care about that.”

“Oh, you will.” She laughs, then turns to stare at the picture of my father in military garments she put on a shelf. We both go silent. I never got to meet my father, but my mother constantly tells me how I’m just like him. I got my eyes from her and everything else from him, apparently. She used to tear up every time she talked about him, but she doesn’t do that anymore. Instead, she just goes dead silent.

“I’m going to bed.” I say. She nods, still staring at the picture. I take one last glance at my father. He’s smiling in it, his thick black hair exactly like mine. Of course, he probably had a military buzz cut when he died but I’d like to imagine he didn’t. A wave of anger washes over me. Heroes took him away from me. I...I’ll change the world for you, mom. I promise, Stephanie.

The next morning, I perform my usual routine. My alarm goes off at nine on the dot, and I’m out the door by nine thirty. I’m at the gym in fifteen minutes, where I flash my membership card at the middle-aged receptionist. She laughs.

“Spencer, you come here every day at the exact same time. I’m not so old I’ll forget your face.” I shrug.

“Better safe than sorry.”

“Words to live by.” She laughs. I head inside, waving to the various burly men and women who are in the middle of some herculean reps. I feel so scrawny in comparison, but I’ve long since learned that everyone has to start somewhere. I get through my usual workout, which takes around an hour. By the end of it, I’m halfway dead and out of breath. However, I’m still not done. I walk over to the opposite corner of the gym where they have a few punching bags. I begin to punch and kick, working on the techniques I saw in the hero videos.

“No, no! This is why you shouldn’t train by yourself. Your mistakes become muscle memory if you do that.” A familiar voice comes from behind. I flip around, embarrassed that someone is calling me out. Behind me is a boy. He’s wearing sunglasses and has his dark black hair up in a bun, so it takes a minute for me to realize it's-

“Atlas. Remember? From the coffee shop? You’re Steven-Shaun-um, it’s an S name...come on…” He snaps his fingers, looking at me for help.

“Spe-”

“Spencer! Yeah, that’s it. I was getting there.”

“I’m sure you were…” I sigh. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, like any self-respecting hero, I work out. Lately, though, my personal trainer has gotten pretty damn annoying. Always trying to suck up to me to get on my good side, so I went undercover here.”

“Wow. How horrible.” I don’t roll my eyes, but I want to. Is this seriously a hero’s biggest concern?

“I know, right?” He sighs dramatically. So he can’t detect sarcasm. I can tell we’ll get along great. “Anyways, is it okay if I teach you how to punch right? I was watching you for a solid five minutes. It was driving me crazy.”

“You were stalking me?”

“Oh, jeez. That sounded super creepy, didn't it? My bad. It’s just...I was surprised to see you here. You looked seriously traumatized from the Hardhat incident. I was worried you’d have to check into a psych ward or something.”

“Please. How weak do you think us Giftless are?” His eyes widen and he waves his hands around apologetically.

“N-No, I don’t mean it like that! I was just seriously worried about you.”

“Well, I’m glad that you heroes somewhat care about us common folk.” I throw a mean straight at the bag. Atlas sighs.

“You’re locking your elbow, man. You’ll break your arm if you actually hit someone with that. Look.” He stands in front of the other bag, raising his fists in a boxer-esque stance. He jumps back a few inches, then lunges forward with a straight he puts his entire upper body into. A heavy thud rings out through the entire gym, which everyone stares at for a second. Atlas smiles awkwardly, waving. He turns to me, a satisfied smile on his lips.

“See? If I activated my Gift, that bag would’ve been decimated.”

“So you have a physical type Gift akin to Iron Fist’s that just enhances your strength.” Atlas nods, rubbing the back of his head.

“Y-Yeah.” Now that I think about it, he punches a lot like Iron Fist, the world's number one hero. He can do just about anything; punch through stone, deflect bullets with his thick chest, and leap through the skies with his leg strength. In my opinion, he’s everything wrong with this hero-infested world. He only saves people if it makes him look good, and he knows nobody can ever dare to stand up to him. I ball up my fist, staring at the bag. I do what Atlas did, raising my arms in front of me. I jump back, then-

“Woah!” I hop back too far and completely lose my balance, bracing for impact before I hit the ground. But...that never happens. I see a flash of movement in the corner of my eye then I’m in Atlas’s arms, safe and sound.

“You good?” He asks. I stare at him for a moment, wondering how he got to me so fast. Then I realize he’s cradling me like a baby. I push him off, landing on my feet feeling embarrassed.

“So you have super speed, too?” I ask. No normal person would be able to move or react so quickly. Atlas chuckles.

“Excellent deduction, Spencer. That side of my power only awoke recently, so you’re part of the few people that know about this. I haven’t even told my father yet...can you promise not to tell anyone?” He puts his hands together, pleading. I sigh.

“Why would I tell anybody? I don’t care that much.” He looks at me, confused.

“Um, because I’m…” Then, he looks away. “Nevermind. Hey, try the punch again, will you?” Sensing I shouldn’t pry for more details, I raise my arms and leap back again. I throw my shoulder into it and…

Wham.

The bag flies back at least twice the distance it was going before. Atlas gives me the thumbs up, and I turn away, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing me grateful.

I stay an extra hour at the gym after Atlas leaves, practicing all the punches and kicks I learned. It’s humiliating to admit it, but he taught me a lot. It was more useful than just watching heroes fight. I’m feeling extra confident in myself when night comes and I set out on one of my last nights as Puppetmaster. As I sit on the rooftops, I think of everything I’ve done this summer. It’s bittersweet. I’ve saved so many people, was content with myself...I’ve never felt this way before. But it’s time to face reality. If I can just accept it now...It'll be easier when reality comes crashing down.

“Help me!” A voice calls out from below. I snap to attention, peering out. A mugging! I slide down the ladder, running to the alleyway. Someone in a mask and hoodie similar to mine is standing over a defenseless man with black, curly hair cowering away from his attacker. My hand shoots out in front of me.

“Stop it. Now!” I yell. The mugger turns to face me.

“Are you Puppetmaster?” They ask. Wait, that voice...it’s a woman. And that’s when I see it: red eyes. She has a Gift. This catches me off guard. What the hell is someone with a Gift doing here? Using her power on some helpless man…

“Unforgivable.” I mutter to myself. Without even realizing it, I’ve reached into my back pocket and taken out my tantou. I slowly draw the blade, holding it out in front of me.

“Is that a yes?” She asks in a condescending voice. My vision goes red. This woman...a selfish, arrogant villain! Usually I wait for my enemy to make the first move, but-!

“Die!” I yell, rushing at her with my blade. I’ll cut you to pieces, you bastard-

“Come on…” She avoids the dagger and grabs my wrist with ease. I snap back to reality.

What the hell am I doing?! Of course I lose if I charge in without thinking!

I struggle, trying to escape her grasp. Then, she bends my wrist back as far as it can go. I yell as pain shoots up my right hand and I reflexively drop my tantou. She lets go and I jump back, raising my fists in the position Atlas taught me. The woman raises an eyebrow.

“That definately isn't self-taught...someone is training you.” She mutters, narrowing her eyes. Then, in the blink of an eye, she’s right in front of me throwing a roundhouse kick at my head. I duck just in time, and I can feel the air of the missed swing go past my hair. Then, just like Atlas taught me, I leap back and throw all my weight behind a straight punch towards her chest. It completely misses as she jumps to the side, using my forward momentum to grab me and throw me to the wall. I bump into it, getting the wind knocked out of me. I turn around and see that she’s goes in for a punch to my gut. What should I do? I could dodge, but...wait!

I flex my abs and the punch connects. It hurts like hell, but I manage to absorb most of the blow. Right after it hits, I grab her arm and reach around her waist with my other one. Of course...I still have the height advantage! She struggles, but it’s too late for her. I charge at the wall with her in front of me, preparing to pin her to it.

“Nice...try!” She grunts, then slams her feet into the wall I was about to throw her into, pushing off it and completely knocking me over. She lands on top of me and the world goes fuzzy as my head hits the ground. As I recover from this blow, the woman grabs my discarded tantou and admires it. Before I can get up, she’s pointing the blade at my throat. We lock eyes. Do I look scared? Angry? Sad? I can’t tell.

All I know is that I led a completely meaningless life.

I tried to fight a God. What was I thinking?

I close my eyes. I don’t want to see the blade slash my throat open.

A second passes. Then another. Then...another?

I open my eyes. The woman is looking at me with disgust.

“You give up that easily?” Then, she puts the tantou back in the sheath and tosses it on my chest.

“Come on, Bruno. Get up.” She waves at her victim dismissively.

“Y’know, you didn’t actually have to shove me against the wall.” He says, rubbing his head.

“Please. Your acting is abysmal. He totally would’ve called our bluff if I didn’t smack you around a bit.” The man, apparently named Bruno, shrugs. I watch these two talk, feeling the confusion in my mind inflate like a balloon. He looks towards me, then smiles.

“Hey, you’re okay. We aren’t gonna hurt you.” He approaches me, hand outstretched.

Wait...of course! This is some elaborate trap! He's in on it too...I need to run! I draw my tantou, getting up as fast as I can and backing into a corner like a scared cat. Bruno retracts his arms, holding them up like he’s getting robbed.

“Woah, woah! Calm down, tiger.”

“G-Get out of my way.” I stutter out, trying to stay calm. I won’t be provoked again. That’s why I lost the fight. The woman sighs.

“Maybe this’ll help.” She takes off her mask and hoodie, letting her long, black hair spill out over her shoulders. And that’s when I realize;

“H-Hansha…?” I utter out in disbelief.

“So you do recognize me. That makes this a lot easier.” She smirks and my eyes widen. This is Hansha, AKA Kana Kiryu, a relatively famous rookie hero. She’s the reason I started using a tantou in the first place. She was famous in Japan for her skills with all kinds of weapons ranging from katanas to nunchakus. I’ve studied her techniques for countless hours. Her Gift, Glass Edge, isn’t all that powerful; it simply enhances her reaction speed. She’s one of the few heroes I respect. How did I not realize it before…?

“Ahem. So, anyway.” Bruno clears his throat. “Sorry about Kana roughing you up. We had to test if Puppetmaster was the real deal. I dunno about Kana, but I think you passed with flying colors. Well, maybe not flying, but colors, definitely.”

“I see potential. He gives up too easily, though. I give him a pass. Barely.” Kana’s arms are crossed and she’s looking me up and down with her intimidating red eyes.

“I-I’m confused. Why are you ‘testing’ me in the first place?” I ask, my guard still raised.

“Well...maybe this will explain it best.” Bruno tosses a business card which lands in front of me. I crouch down to pick it up, holding my tantou in one hand and not letting them out of my sight. I take a quick glance at the business card, which reads “CENTRAL HERO UNIVERSITY- BRUNO NAVARRO, RECRUITER”. Wait...recruiter…?! I look up from the card, shocked. Bruno resumes his speech.

“We heard about a vigilante known as ‘Puppetmaster’ in this area, so we decided to fake this mugging to draw you out. ...Sorry.” He smiles sheepishly. “It was the only surefire way to bait you out. And, hey! It worked perfectly.” Kana smacks him on the back of his head. He yelps.

“Are you here to gloat or let him know why we’re here? Anyways, Puppetmaster. We’re here to ask you...do you want to become a professional hero?” Kana and I lock eyes. Become...a hero? Me? “Ah. Hesitation. I could’ve guessed that. After all, if you were enthused with becoming a hero, you’d never draw a tantou on someone.” I put my dagger away quickly out of shame.

“I only did that because you have a gift. I-”

“Did I say that was a bad thing?” She cuts me off. “I do the same thing. What you need to realize, however, is that the blade is a sacred thing. Always make sure your opponent is worthy before you draw it.” I don’t really understand what she’s saying, but I nod anyway.

“I was just like you at your age. I had a Gift and didn’t know what to do with it, so I wasted the years away taking my anger out on small time thugs. I know what it’s like to hate those with Gifts. But I implore you to reconsider your ideals.” She stares at me. Without noticing, a wave of anger and sorrow has snuck up on me.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not interested in becoming a hero.” That’s right. I’m a Giftless weakling. Realistically how far could I get in a hero’s world? Kana frowns.

“That’s okay. If you’re truly satisfied with staying a vigilante your whole life, that’s your decision to make. Who knows. Perhaps you’re just what society needs. But I can tell from that look on your face that you’re fed up with the way this world is. Puppetmaster...life isn’t a straight line determined from birth. It’s yours to control.” Kana turns around, “If you change your mind, we’re having tryouts tomorrow and the location is on the back of the card. Goodbye.” With that, she and Bruno walk away, leaving me alone in the alley.

Life isn’t a straight line? That’s easy for a hero to say. I’ve been fed the same lies my entire life. I look up into the night sky devoid of stars due to pollution, feeling anger. I had finally accepted a meaningless life. Why did Kana have to give me hope? It’s like poison to someone like me. I grab the business card, tossing it in a nearby dumpster. This is pointless. Dammit...I hop on my bike, riding home as fast as I can. As I’m doing this, a drop of water hits my nose. One drop turns into many until a storm forms, a reminder that fall is almost here.

“If you’re truly satisfied with being a vigilante your whole life, that’s your decision to make. Who knows. Perhaps you’re just what society needs. But I can tell from that look on your face that you’re fed up with the way this world is.” Kana’s speech repeats in my mind over and over again.

“Life isn’t a straight line,”

I slam the brakes on my bike, skidding forward a few inches on the rainy sidewalk.

“-determined from birth.”

I hold still for a moment.

“It’s yours to control.”

...Dammit. 

I turn around, pedaling as fast as I can back to the alleyway. When I get back, I leap into the dumpster, desperately searching through the trash for the card. Finally, I find it underneath a half-empty can and clutch it to my chest, relieved.

“What the hell is that racket?!” A man a story above me yells out of his window. I wave in apology then bolt off, my heart racing.

I’ve been sitting still for an hour now staring at the card lying on my desk. It's soggy from the rain but still readable. I haven’t flipped it over yet, as I know my life will change forever if I do so.

Or maybe it’ll stay the exact same.

Who knows.

This is the night I make my decision. Either path is correct.

I can lead a perfectly normal life as a hero engineer. I’ll make enough money to support my future family.

I’ll be happy.

My mother will be happy.

I can lead a nice, peaceful life in this world and die at a ripe old age, leaving no trace of my existence.

Or I can flip the card over and do something I never would’ve done in my wildest dreams.

What would my father have done?

I take a deep breath in, closing my eyes.

I don’t know. Why am I thinking about him at a time like this?

I open my eyes and flip the card over.

Chapter II: Puppetmaster

End