Lawnmower Boy

Supposedly written by a bot.
 

"I think I dislike this part of your plan," Mayo muttered to me.
"Sorry, Buddy, but you're a bit conspicuous in or out of costume," There, I said it, "you're not human, or at least, not the boring mainstream version."
"Ah, so I am a victim of profiling," Mayo shook his head sadly, "I had heard of this but did not expect it to come for me."
I raised a brow and hope it showed as a crinkle in my aura or something, "While it's great to see you're catching up with surface culture, I hope you're pulling my leg?"
"Why would I seize your limb?" he asked confused.

"You know what profiling means but you don't know what pulling my leg means? It's a figure of speech," I explained, "It means you're faking in order to have fun with me."
"Ah, I see. Perhaps," He grudgingly confessed, "I do worry about you going in alone to find this goon you were told to seek out. Particularly since your disguise while well set, is not perfect."
I had seriously considered shaving my head or trying to at least dye the hair, maybe trying to mess with make up to make my complexion look different. But I didn't want to lose all my hair yet, thanks. And I wasn't good enough with make up or dyes to really pull off the other stuff. Instead, I had raided Tornado's room and borrowed a few things which I pay for if they got damaged. Chiefly? A wig, shades, and , god help me, a mustache. I looked up a video on applying such things, and was soon done. The effect was not perfect. I ended up looking like a young Tom Selleck imposter but it did obscure my real identity. 
 
Honestly, I didn't think anyone in this place had the chops to tear off my mustache or wig, so I wasn't too worried. Yes, it's arrogant, but the odds of a genuine supervillain in this little henchman hiring hot spot was low. Most supervillains with any connections at all ended up in better places than this, or a super-prison like the Tank. Or as Pinprick told me once "Five stars or prison bars."
"I'll be okay," I assured Mayo, "And yes I still need you in case something does go wrong."
"I cannot read aura's accurately from out here," he frowned behind his rebreather.
"Yeah, but I know the target looks like. Who knows, maybe I can talk him out here close enough for you to get a read on him?" I tried to mollify him. Here was a back alley that smelled of vomit, beer, and trash. The building it was connected to? Well, it looked like a degraded and dirty sports bar that had seen better days; and it was. It was also a major hiring area for muscle of the non powered kind. These were the guys who, for the right price, were willing to wear some want to be mastermind's goofy uniforms and shout the slogans while waving the blaster you hand provided around. Need some skulks and sneaks who would report to you or call in if they saw a superhero closing on your secret lair? Some of those too. And yeah, you could get hackers or techie types if you were very lucky. Far from brainless muscle, much as I might scowl at their lack of morals, these guys were not desperate. Or at least, they were not just desperate, they were tougher than your average scumballs and had some useful skills.
"mmmph" My mystical friend thought about, "Very well, but remember what you said to me. I would be allowed to take part. You gave me permission to rescue you."
 
"I remember," I nodded.  And in this, I don't think he was joking. Mayo had a unique perspective of the universe, a way of seeing things from angles many of us wouldn't consider. I guess that's one reason he'd been picked as Salem's apprentice.
"If you weren't blind," I continued, "I'd ask you how my mustache looked."
At that, the touched the new fixture to my upper lip, "Well, I don't 'see' it no, but if it were a Sea anemone, I would worry it had caught ill."
"Thanks," I responded dryly, "Wish me luck and stay hidden."
"Good fortune, friend," He nodded and backed away.
 
I slipped into the the goon hangout and scoped out the place through the thick shades I wore. A half dozen heads glanced my way, some openly, others more circumspect. For my part I took the advice I'd been given, and acted like I belonged here and had been here before. You'd be surprised how well staying calm and acting like you belong in a place and know it can work for you. I went straight to the bartender, a scrawny kind of guy, who had tattoos all over his body, mostly of spiders and snakes but a few skulls, and, oddly, a poinsettia flower that didn't seem to fit the rest of the theme. 
 
"Beer," I said. He poured a tap and handed it to me cavalierly and jerked a thumb to the prices on the chalkboard behind him. I paid him, threw in a reasonable tip on top of it, and looked around as casually as I could. The place had, ambiance, I'll give it that much. Almost everyone here had a hard scrabble made good look. Or maybe the proper term would be made bad but successful enough? A few were getting on in years, and the wear and tear of facing the forces of the law had taken their toll on them, yet they were still here, not in prison, at least not now, and that counted for something in their world.
 
I could respect their 'can do' attitude, if it weren't for the 'did do' criminal lifestyle.
It was interesting to note that some conversations, the ones who hadn't died, were about my team. Most specifically the new trainees, and their current test against the Miscreants. To my surprise, they were rooting for us.
"The Miscreants? Now there's a reality show that should have been canceled after the first three years," One shaved headed guy grumbled.
"They're working the system, I'll give them that, " A guy with a pink COEXIST shirt and a machete attached to his belt shrugged, "Win or lose they make money."
 
"Yeah," came a gravely voice from one of the few women in the room, "But they draw too much attention. And they don't hire local, when they do they treat us like we're supposed to fetch their drink orders. Bad for our economy, gets the supers riled, and then they run like chickens**ts leaving the cops eager to throw ANYONE in jail they can find to appease the town council. I hope the New Samaritans kick their asses."
"Oh the old team would take the Miscreants down no problem, these new guys? Not sure so sure..." another person joined in.
"Oh hell, the new ones have more to prove. Trust me," said an old timer, "The veterans are easier to deal with. They know we're small fry, some rookie will go after you like you shot the president and forget about the big fish."
This started a bit of a side discussion on  which heroes were better to get your assed handed to you by. I was a bit amused but I really needed to focus.

Finally, I got a glimpse of the one who fit the description of the man I wanted. I figured I'd try the friendly approach and see how it played out. He was one of the few guys there in a suit. Mind it was an off the rack, seen better days, I had to wonder who he rolled to get it kind of suit, not some tailor made high end thing. He looked like he tried to shave, but it was irregular, leading to a rough 'what o clock is it?' shadow on his face. I was no expert on hats, but I think that was a porkpie type on his head. I glanced at his own nearly empty drink. Yeah, that was the guy, or at least a guy who fit his description-The man known as Clamdigger. 
 
Honest to god, when Tornado gave us that suggestion as a contact, I thought he was having fun at my expense.
 
I turned to the bartender, "Another beer, please." Of course I had barely touched mine so he got the hint and gave me a new glass. I paid once more then, with two beers in hand, sat down next Clamdigger like we were poker buddies "Hey, Clamdigger, there you are. Long time, no see."
See how subtle I was?
 
Clamdigger's eyes ran over my face, searching his own memory, and perhaps trying to decide if he wanted to rip my mustache off.  Instead, he took the offered beer, "Very long," Almost agreeably, "How's tricks?"
"Not bad," I answered, gratified when most prying eyes grew bored and turned back to their original conversations, "I got lucky. A guy passed on a his poker winnings to me as a favor. See?" I put the poker chip down. It was pretty standard, except, of course, for the magic-markered T on the side. 
 
Clamdigger's eyes went wide, and he gave a look to the windows and door as if expecting Tornado to break through them any second. Seeing that wasn't the case, he continued our charade, "Ah, that old thing. Come on, let's got to my office" He offered but I noticed he took the chip as well as his beer ,and lead me into a private room in the back for either more detailed information and open talk, or an ambush.
 
Either one was entirely possible.

 

In my career, most of the fastest speedsters I've seen have actually been villains. Tornado is grace and power, agile as hell, but he's not the fastest guy in the air compared to other speedsters. He supplements this 'lack' (Though he's still a whirlwind compared to the rest of us on the team) with with some martial arts skills adapted to flight. After all, when you don't have to worry about standing on the ground, you can kick and punch pretty easily. 
 
Trailblazer wasn't near his league at accuracy or agility, but she was still damn quick and the plain truth of it is, for every punch a guy like me landed, she got down three. So the passage between her informing me I was next, and then making me next was now. As if... she sad it on the N... and hit me on the ow!
 
I didn't just stand there, of course. My attempt to weave out of the way was what led to her getting a blistering strike to my thigh rather than the flaming punch to my family jewels! I suppose that was a fair and just shot, considering she was probably thinking I was about to aid Scrufian in his sexual assault attempt of an innocent woman rather than the sneak attack on him I'd really been winding up for. 
 
But it was still a near thing. Less than a half second difference and I would have been singing 'Chestnuts roasting on an open fire' possibly in soprano. There was no performance anxiety here. I imagine part of it was whatever tune she was listening to helping her not to overthink it, but I suspected another large factor was righteous fury! 
 
While athletic, she's not super-strong, but the speed at which she hit me added more than enough  power to make sure I felt it. Worse was the flames! I can shrug off low caliber bullets casually, heck, I've waded through shotgun blasts with a smile. Fire goes a lot further and hurts a lot more. I registered the force of the punch, the heat of it? That's what caused real pain. And she was already coming in with an uppercut. 
 
This disguise had backfired, it was time to talk, "Trailblazer, stop, it's.."
 
Eel's not a big word: One syllable, three letters. I have been told I talk too much in fights, but always prided myself of talking quick enough (by Southern standards) to have my say. As Trailblazer's uppercut struck my jaw square and blazing, actually lifting me off my feet, I realized in my fast, furious, and flaming apprentice, we'd found someone who shut me up.
 
Not only did the combination blast of fire/uppercut lift me up, I bit my tongue! The fire hurt the most, but the latter was definitely insult to injury! Adding insult to insult, I swore I heard a Girl Power song playing as she did it! Entirely possible given her approved playlist.
 
I landed on my ass, and said something like "Sthopf, iz me, Eeeel!" which she did not seem to understand in the slightest! What she did understand was that I was tough, and taking her hits well. I  could see it in her eyes. She'd decided then and there that she didn't need to hold back anymore.
Again, I felt a flush of pride. She was really on her game today, accessing her foe so quickly. Rather than talk, I decided it was time for something she might not expect. No clever words now, or even not clever chatter, from my sitting position I kicked out and downward, not at her, but at the section of floor she was standing on. If she suspected this was coming, she'd be able to move to the side!
 
Luckily for me, youth and power will never defeat slightly older power and treachery! Especially when gravity decides to join in on the treachery. The floor boards beneath her broke wide open, her forcefield and my thick hide protecting each of us from the flying debris, but not providing her with the gift of flight. Down she went through the rookie sized hole. Her friction field would protect her from such a short drop as one floor down.
Confirming that, I heard a light thump, and a blue streak of curses that I never suspected she knew. An idea came to me, and I grabbed the still out cold Scruffian, and dropped him down after saying "Thith ith yours"
 
My tongue was obviously still swollen, but as I heard another blast down there , and I wasn't the target, I was pretty Scruffian wouldn't be getting up again for a few hours at least. Normally I might give a speech about hitting a downed opponent, but given my swollen tongue, Scruffian's attempted crime, and the fact Trailblazer had rated well on respect for life, I trusted she wouldn't kill or torture him.  It just wasn't in her nature.
 
Wondering where Mayo had been through all this, I turned and got my answer. He was freeing the Channel 3 employee from her bonds. She was understandably shaken, and frankly, Mayo doesn't look human so despite his liberating her, she pulled away as soon as she could, turned, perhaps to run only to face me. My generic low budget ninja look was further diminished by the fact it now had burn marks on thigh and chin. 
 
"Please, don't hurt me," She whimpered. 
 
I said as gently as I could "Nubudy vill hurt oo.. go outhide to.." A swallowed, trying "Nobody will hurt you, the good guys are here and coming in force. Go outside to safety, but move quick." 
 
I did not need to tell her twice. She actually moved in a pretty impressive sprint down the halls and to the stairway.
 
And I? I grinned, "Did you see her? Did you see that?" I asked Mayo, who, if he was feeling offended at not being thanked, didn't show it.
 
"Who, the employee I just unbound? Yes, she makes good speed," he nodded.
 
"Not her," I said with a scoff, "Trailblazer! Did you see how on her game she was? She took out Scruffian with one punch and kept going to her next target-"
 
"That next target being you," He pointed out.
 
"Not important," I waved it off, feeling too proud to dwell in the petty details. Indeed, I was positively filled with a pleasure of a sort I'd rarely felt. Trailblazer had been one of two problem children for our group, and now she was showing her true potential!
 
"It feels important," Mayo observed, "You're injured."
 
"Feh," I waved it off, "Nothing a shower won't speed heal. She was so timid and and unfocused just a short time ago, but she nearly paddled my ass and hung me out to dry just now." As we talked I kept moving with him to get out of the building ourselves.
 
After all, there was a very fast, possibly still angry, flaming woman who might be coming up here any second (literally) for a rematch. Now that I knew the New Samaritans were here, and my little adjustment to a certain drone was underway, it was time to keep moving. 
 
Didn't stop me from gushing though, "And she was gauging the effects of her blows. Upping them as needed! At the same time, not a single accidental fire about. Now that is control!"
 
Mayo's unseeing eyes turned my way, "Friend Eel, you are almost revoltingly pleased with yourself. If Pride were energy, I could use you to jump start one of your land vehicles."
"Not with myself, with her," I corrected him, "This was her progress," Then I confessed, "Okay, I am proud to have helped her get there. And Valerosa would be too if she saw what I did. Heck, Lady Obsidian would smile at that performance. She's the one who saw the potential in the woman and got her the booster."
Mayo smiled a bit "it is possible your mentorship has paid off, yes."
"Yeah,"  I smiled, "It wasn't for nothing."
"Well, if it makes you happy, gush on," Mayo allowed with a gentle tone, "I hope when the time comes to take an apprentice of my own, which maybe many years, I can find as much joy as you have in it."
"Oh," I remembered what Dr. Salem had once said, "That's right, every mystic's duty at least once in their life."
"Just so," He agreed, "Of course, I plan to take just one, certainly just one at a time, unlike your small group."
"Ah ,they're all good guys," I said, "Even Hussar is coming along. You wait. After this program, they'll be fighting crime with the best of them, saving the day whether they're in a team or struggling solo."
 
"Hopefully they will be a part of a team though?" He inquired.
"Yeah," I had to agree, "as a rule, doing it on your own can only go so far in the hero world. Some threats are just too great for one man.  Hitting it solo when you don't have to is kind of dumb."
Mayo stroked at his chin like a proper wizard, even if he had no beard, "Yes, for example, to hatch a scheme of plans behind the scenes hoping to catch the mastermind at a time when you are shaken to your core? Probably not a wise idea to do THAT alone."
I shot him a dirty look, "My aura is glaring at you now. Just wanted you to know."
"I endure this dire situation with fortitude and zen," he replied looking a bit pleased with himself "What is next?"
"Next? We talk to some seedy unpleasant type," I told him.
"Pinprick is back already?" He asked deadpan.
I laughed. Weird as it was, nearly getting my ass kicked by one of my own students had been almost therapeutic. Dad's situation was still needling in the back of my mind, but, it wasn't ALL that filled my world. I don't know if that was a selfish thought or not but the pride in Trailblazer still lingered anyway.

So Antarctica is on the way to getting the Pluto treatment?
 
Serves it right. Antarctica knows what it did.

Top ten MCU releases sorted by returns at the Chinese box office (per IMDb data):
"Avengers: Endgame" (2019) — $629.1 million "Avengers: Infinity War" (2018) — $359.5 million "Avengers: Age of Ultron" (2015) — $240.1 million "Spider-Man: Far From Home" (2019) — $199 million "Captain America: Civil War" (2016) — $180.8 million "Captain Marvel" (2019) — $154.07 million "Ant-Man and the Wasp" (2018) — $121.203 million "Iron Man 3" (2013) — $121.200 million "Spider-Man: Homecoming" (2017) — $116.3 million "Captain America: The Winter Soldier" — $115.6 million  
Shang-Chi isn't going to be on the list because Shang-Chi wasn't released in China. 

I like hamburgers, and I like Oreos.  But I don't like either of them that much.

"Could a machine be memorized?"  Or did you mean mesmerized?   (Did Auto-Incorrect rear its ugly head there?)
 
I'd suggest adding a bit of how the woman hostage was reacting to Scruffian - screaming behind the gag, struggling, looking terrified.  Or was she unconscious?  If the former, a bit about her reactions would help build the tension.
 
Other than those two minor hiccups, another good installment.  I especially loved Trailblazer saving the day while simultaneously screwing up Eel's plan, and am really looking forward to how this plays out.

Living proof how weird my life is, I was going into the lair of my most hated enemy. By that, I meant News Channel 3. How many times had I wanted to take one of their news vans and fold it like a lawn chair? 
 
Not while anyone was IN  the van, of course. That would be murder.

Yet I really did have a a strong dislike for these sensationalist muckrakers in reporter clothing. They hadn't just trashed me, but every superhero who tried to help the city. They stoked anti-Super sentiment, and played so fast and loose with the facts it was almost an art form. I wouldn't want them harmed, but I admit, the fact they were bound and gagged right now wasn't inducing a lot of sympathy. Finally, someone had found a way to shut their anchorwoman up.
Of course, for all my mental carping (No pun intended) if any of them got badly hurt or even killed when I could have rescued them, I'd feel like dirt. But rescue wasn't the goal.
 
It was sabotage. I did my level best to evade the Miscreant drones and cameras they'd taken to using while searching for one that would lead me to Ophiotaurus. In theory, anyway. Mayo was with me and it may have helped my sanity, but it threw my tactics off. Mystics do not like giving a list of their powers. Heck, some deny having powers. No, it's stuff like "I have the knowledge arcane."
 
Dandy. Can you measure that in foot-pounds? Wattage? At least give me some Twinkie size comparisons; I've seen it done in movies! Nope. Even my buddy Mayo insists on being cryptic.
 
"Are you sure this is the safest path to our goal?" I whispered as we moved through the hallways, "I mean, we're looking for a drone camera of the sort you've never seen before but you said this is the way we need to go," I didn't point out that Mayo didn't know the layout to this building any better than I did.
"I've read the portents of the currents of chance as best my knowledge arcane, allows, Eel," Mayo informed me, "The best chance  lays on this path."
"If you're sure," I said cautiously. The halls we took were at least dark. I have an  edge in the dark though I don't advertise it.
Mayo sighed at my skeptical stance, "If you know of another mystic in the immediate area and would like to get a second opinion, I can write you a referral."
"Sorry," I winced. Okay, I had that coming, "Hey, what happened to the ornate Chinese style robe with Greek designs and that scrimshaw torc you wore? Why back on the breather?"
"I'm holding them in reserve," He whispered back, a touch melodramatically I thought, "Like you, I decided to do this not in costume so I could throw many enemies off to my regularly chosen identities."
 
I resisted the urge to point out that as a snow white obvious non human, I had serious doubts as to how much a 'he could be anybody' trick this was. Then I realized it was possible Mayo was having fun with me.
"Fine fine," I muttered, "I'll shush and search..." Then my eyes pierced the darkness and saw what I was looking for. In the corner at the end of this hallway looking down the hallway to the side was one of Ophiotaurus' drones, "There" I whispered, "now, to attach this with out  being noticed, this could be very very tricky."
Mayo nodded and extended a hand, the shadows in the hall took on vague shapes that one couldn't be certain of , and, the camera held.. still. Could a machine be mesmerized?  I didn't have times for these questions, racing forward and behind it, I hastily used the glue I purchased to affix the tracker I had taken from my communicator. It was a long shot, but when the drone returned to it's homebase, It would be my own little trojan horse into his gates.
That was the idea anyway and it seemed to work. I did the deed, backed up. 
 
Mayo was frowning.
"What's wrong?" I asked him.
"I sense approaching auras, one filled with resentment, bitterness, and lust, the other... terrified," Mayo answered as he rubbed at his arms as if fighting a chill. 
I turned an ear that direction, and tried to make out noises.
I heard a muffled sound, and saw a woman bound and gagged being dragged along by a very visually unpleasant individual. The woman looked about my age, her outfit professional screamed office assistant. While she was gagged, I could still hear the muffled cries of terror  as she flopped helplessly but unable to shake free of her assailant as he continued to pull her along.
 
The man? One should not judge by look, but the guy was ugly. Asymmetrical features, tuffs of coarse hair all over his body. And he was pissed.
"You're just not miscreant material, Scruffian. You don't have the sex appeal," He was talking to the terrified woman, "I helped break into this place and then, just to keep the drama going, they fire me on the show. " Scruffian pawed at her causing her to visibly flinch, "That seem fair to you? don't I deserve something?"
This time, she tried, to no effect to scream louder, choking at the end as she broke out in sobs behind her bindings.
I did NOT like where this conversation was going. I had wanted to plant the tracker, back out, but no plan was worth this. I just hoped I didn't kill the guy. I took a long quiet breath, and began to sneak closer.
Which, of course, is when a hurtling human locomotive wreathed in fire came charging through. Scruffian turned from whatever he was planning to do and caught a flaming fist on the chin! The flames made it look awesome, but it was the velocity of the powered punch that sent Scruffian into the wall with a resounding WHAM!
I was proud as hell. That shot was a textbook example of speed, precision, and power. There was no hesitation and no self doubt. 
Then she turned on me, "Your turn!" She declared.
The shadows I'd been hiding in were gone, cast aside by the light of the flames around her form. I was exposed. And I was not in my usual Eel jammies. She thought I was a bad guy!
Well, yippie, my 'disguise' was working.

 

Mystery solved: Theodore Conrad vanished after robbing Cleveland bank where he worked in 1969; marshals traced him to Boston suburb

Not so much creepy as crepe-y

I just learned this existed. Edvard Munch, The Murderer

Okay you guys can talk now.
 
Shang-Chi greatly exceeded my admittedly low expectations.  It worked as both a wuxia film and a MCU movie, and managed to tell a new story on top of that.  If I try real hard I can think of imperfections, but nothing that pulled me out of the movie or is otherwise even worth bringing up here.  Simu isn't Jackie or Donnie but he held up the action sequences surprisingly well, and I liked all the callbacks to classic martial arts movie tropes.

Today in mixed messages...
 

https://harpers.org/archive/2021/09/the-third-force-stupidity-and-transcendence/
EDIT: I'm sorry, I can't make the link work even though I'm sure I typed it correctly. Strangely, AOHell doesn't let me copy and paste links anymore. Try Googling the article title and Keizer's name.
 
As Parieah says, fear makes people stupid. But what's going on in the US right now goes far beyond run of the mill stupidity. As Garret Keizer says in his essay "The Third Force: On Stupidity and Transcendence," ordinary stupidity falls in a pit because it isn't paying attention. Aggressive stupidity goes looking for pits to jump in. It's a denial of reality and a concomitant lust for transcendence, a yearning to escape the murky, tangling, complicated world of fact and fly into a fantasy world that seems clean and simple by comparison.
 
Iwould call this "magical thinking" rather than "stupidity," but the result is the same. Denial of realities that seem too painful or humiliating to one's pride *will* catch up with you eventually.
 
(And I am not sure I agree with Keizer's diagnosis that the ultimate cause is alienation from labor, with cure of better wages, that he tacks on at the end. Better wages would be a Good Thong anyway, but I see American neofascism as growing far more from dissonance between myth and reality than from anything for which government might find a material policy solution. As Arlene Hochschilde found in her sociological examination of Louisiana Tea Party Trumpists, Strangers in their Own Land, these tend to be materially comfortable people who merely feel that other people -- especially minorities -- are getting greater rewards than they are, without having earned them; and behind that, a loss of their own sense of prestige.)
 
Dean Shomshak

"You know," Mayo said, looking with blind eyes at the beer in his hand, "I don't really like these things."
"Just hold the can while we talk," I told him holding my own which I had barely sipped. You would think a guy who was almost born for ocean depths wouldn't show when he'd been crying but I was pretty sure my face had betrayed me by being splotchy.

"Because among your tribe, the carrying of this allows a man to share his feelings freely and with no shame?" Mayo inquired as if taking notes.
"Pretty much," I told him.
He rotated the can in his hand and made one of his comments, "For a man who is weirded out by mysticism, you certainly do engage in some very odd ceremonial rites and even fetishism."
Mayo couldn't see me shoot him a dirty look, but I trusted my aura was bristling appropriately to get the point across, "Don't lock this bridge."

He sighed, "I am sorry to mock, friend Caleb. I thought that you are hurting, and sometimes, not always, humor can be a balm where logic or supposedly wise words fail."
"Not going to tell me how this isn't my fault, not really. How I made the right choice? How I couldn't know my dad would get cancer years later after I threw away the cure?" I had told him everything, and mostly he had listened, "Not going to tell me I'm retreating into some crazy solo action in order to hold onto what few ideals of right or wrong seem solid?"
"I'm not in the habit of repeating, others no, though sometimes, it is a comfort to hear someone else say them. Do you need me to?" he asked.
"Nah," I said taking a light sip of the beer, then I paused, not really so certain now that I thought of it,  "Maybe. I don't know."

"You made the right choice at that time as best you knew with what little power of choice you were allowed. I know you. You are forever searching for ways to give of yourself," He tilted his head at my direction, "You do not gracefully accept your limitations. This has sometimes let you go beyond the realms of sense and into the realm of heroism."
"Thank you," I said cautiously, "I think? I mean, it almost sounds like you said the key to my victory was idiocy."

He gave a thin smile, "either that, or I was saying your moments of idiocy have made your victories all the more impressive," Before I could decide whether that was better or worse, he went on, "But let us not dwell on that. Let us instead dwell on the fact you are a good man who is not used to being powerless, and even then you try to do what is right. You try to do what helps. And you despise when the only choice is not between what might help others more, but rather, what will do the least harm? You were put in such a choice, and you made it. You carried the guilt for it,  and picked lightly at that wound. The fact it happened to your father has merely cut that improperly open wound wide open again. It is gushing. Logic, reason, even truth itself, are not going to heal you. They may sting and do you some good so the wound is cleaner this time, but it must heal on it's own."

"Yep, that sounds truthful, and not helpful," I told him glumly.
"How about this then? I give you permission to hurt. I give you permission to give yourself permission to hurt. It is not my place too, but as logic has failed, then allow me to absolve you of the crime of being a person." He sat the can down, "You want suggestions? Talk to your father when you can. Tell him of your feelings. If he is as good a man as you? He will set you right that there is nothing to forgive, and then forgive you anyway. Talk to Ariana, who loves you and feels helpless to help you. Talk to them and trust them not to think less of you." A pause "if it helps, bring your aluminum  can fetish."
I snorted and winced, "I really wish you wouldn't word it that way."
"The metal is soft," He went on poking at my own can now, "We could mold it into the shape of a dollar sign like that object your god was slain on before returning."
"Cross" I corrected, "He died on a cross and..." I stopped and gave him a look, "Was that a social commentary dig meant to distract me from my emotional crisis?"
"Not necessarily," my fellow water breather said with exaggerated innocence, "But if it was? Did it work?"
I smiled despite myself. I needed to smile just a bit, and it almost hurt to do so, "I'm not going to reward you for trolling me. Not when I have so much to do."
"What do we have to do?" He asked and I noticed I'd had my choice of pronouns corrected.

"I need to steal a camera from the bad guy, then then after I tinker with it a bit, release it back into the wild as it were. I need to question a few sources who are in the henchmen for hire business, and I need to find a man, " I told him "I'm just not sure which order to do in is best."
"Who do we need to find?" He inquired.
"The guy who was there when the choice was made and chewed us out for it. The man who had the cure in his hands before we surrendered it. The guy who accused of playing Gods as if we were above the rest of humanity. One Doctor Bench. And currently, he's on the top of my list as the real name of the villain calling himself Ophiotaurus."
 
"I remember him," Mayo nodded, "Yes, he would be a good candidate."
"I just wish I knew how he had advanced so quickly in a mere two years. I mean, yes, he was a leader in Cancer research, but the things he'd have learned about not just us, but some tech outside his specialty so fast? Revenge can drive a man, but even there, if I'm right? How did he learn of all these villains in order to use them? How to contact them? Where they were?"
Mayo pondered this , then his blind eyes grew a bit wider, "Eel. If you're right. I don't think it is your doing, certainly not chiefly. I think it falls more on Doctor Salem and myself."
"You taught him magic? THAT quickly? Come on." I snorted.

"No, but we did shield him in the Balance, a place where time and space are open, infinity cascading into finality. A place where one can see it all and..."
I remembered the Balance, how your focus could send you thousands of miles away, or make you feel up close as a spider on the wall. It was dangerous to over reach yourself, something Dr. Bench would have been told. But maybe Doctor Bench and I were more like than I wanted to admit. Would I risk my sanity for the knowledge I thought I needed for Justice?
God help me, yes. "learn very quickly, if it doesn't break their sanity," I finished.
"Or even," Mayo pondered, "Even if it does. Yes. We warned him  not to open himself up. We thought he had listened. I came to help you because you are my friend. Now, I must insist for more selfish reasons than that. I once told you you should thank people for letting you save them. Please, let me help save you."

I looked at him "And save Dr. Bench?"
"If he can be saved," Mayo turned his head away, looking ashamed, "I am not sure he can be. Please, Eel, Caleb, let me help before his attempt to heal the world spreads and kills more than superheroes."
"I'm not going to understand all of his until the dust is settled, am I?" I asked even as I answered.
"Maybe not even then," Mayo told me "May I please save you, Caleb?"
"Yes," I put a hand on his shoulder, not sure what I was agreeing to. I only knew that he was feeling the same guilt I was now. Maybe on some level a far less selfish version of it. "yeah, you can save me."
He patted the hand on his shoulder, "Thank you."