#and if you go on a bigger scale-corporations the gov pre-existing heroes etc.

[isanyonetoknow]

Superheroes?

alright. superheroes. where do I begin.

let’s say you’re an average citizen. you have your problems, you have your conflicts, you have your life and then something (a science experiment gone wrong, a gene becoming expressed, some accident) happens and you have these powers now. they make you special and unique (and scared and concerned, but maybe you’re a kid and not thinking about this). maybe you just do fun stuff with your powers at first. maybe you don’t do anything. you got work/school/obligations/responsibilities and as much as you want to test out your powers, you can’t just drop everything to do so. maybe you want nothing to do with these powers. if you close your eyes hard enough, maybe you won’t see what’s changed, and you’ll be able to live your own life.

but then something happens.

you were too late, or you didn’t act at all, or you did act, but that way you tried to help just wasn’t enough. and the consequences? that’s on you. it doesn’t matter how much others try to rationalize it to you, you feel—you know—that it’s on you.

what can you do? what can you do that will actually make a difference?

well, there are these powers you have…

you keep your face masked, or mostly so. you can’t just show the world who you are, especially since you’re acting as a vigilante, even if little kids call you a superhero. besides, you have powers, and they’re not normal, and the minute you’re unmasked, the people have to confront that there’s someone who can do what you do living among them and the government/secret agencies get to know the identity of a threat/asset/experiment. you wanted to help fix things but the further you delve into being a superhero, the more problems seem to arise. the balance between being a citizen and being a hero is one that’s hard to straddle, and there is a part of you that no one knows of now. that no one, not even those close to you can know of. there are problems that you have that no one else has and it’s—it’s lonely, damn it. it’s so lonely.

but at the same time, you wouldn’t give it up for the world. even through all the injuries and the mistakes (and don’t they just pile onto your conscience?) it’s exhilarating. this is something that is so uniquely you and you are actually making an impact now. you’re getting people’s attention, you’re learning so much about the world around you, and you’re making enough of a name for yourself that people know that they have someone to turn to, if they can’t trust anyone else.

except you don’t have a name for this alter-ego. not yet. but once you do, that becomes a struggle in and of itself—how much of you is each side? which side do you really want to be? and what does it say that people who hate you love your alter-ego, and people who love you hate your alter-ego? what does it mean when people love your alter-ego and showered you with praise and yet, as a civilian, you draw no eyes? what does it mean that if you ever were unmasked, the people would… well, you don’t even want to think of what the people would think. everyone has their own idea of who the savior of this neighborhood/city/district is, but what would they think when they realize that idea doesn’t align with reality? what place does your alter-ego have in reality?

you are a superhero. you were previously only the stuff of children’s stories, but now you’re real and here to stay. except, does the world recognize that? would they care to? what does it mean that the people you give everything to serve—and true, some of this is for your own thrill, but most of it is for the love for them, your community—don’t see you in the same depth as you do for them?

you are a superhero. you learn to manage, even though no one knows that that’s what you’re doing, and your life is dictated by your alter-ego. you have to help the people because so few people are, and injustices don’t sleep just because you do, or because you’re busy with your civilian life. you are a superhero and have been for years now, except when do you know when to stop? there will come an age when you can’t do this anymore—age humbles and death defeats all—and what then? what would people think then?

your mom asked if you could come and visit her. It’s an hours long drive/flight to see her, and you’d have to be there for days/weeks. can the city survive so long without you?

can you remember the last time you made a choice without evaluating how your life as a superhero would work?

but it’s fine. you are a superhero. you are helping. and that’s all that matters.

or, you were created with a purpose. maybe you were an experiment, maybe you’re meant to be a weapon. whatever the reasoning, you’re not like other people, not just because of your upbringing, but because there is something distinctly not human about you.

maybe you hurt others, maybe you are meant to, maybe you’re treated as you’re perceived—not a person. but you break free. literally, figuratively, you get out of that place, that mindset, and you want to help. you want to help this world that hasn’t done anything to help you, but you’re willing to reach out and break the ice. you’re willing to start laying the first foundations for a bridge.

it’s not that simple though. you didn’t exist legally, and now you have to carve a life for yourself. you have to learn how it is that people act, what it is that people do, and you’re baffled and overwhelmed, and you just want to retreat into the shell of what some people are calling “hero.” you know how to act like that, but it’s only as a civilian that you see more of the world. sometimes, people like to hide the truly ugly stuff when there’s a hero around.

though your faith gets tempted again and again, even as you see the worst of humanity, you also see people. you see a stranger helping a struggling parent with the groceries as they handle their children. you see someone help calm a stray and later, adopt it. you see children at play, you see friends hanging out on the park benches. and you think that it may just be worth it. as someone offers you a hand after you fell, after someone offers you a cold drink of water for running around so much, you think it’s all worth it.

or, you’re a part of the new generation. you grew up with heroes in the streets, even though most call them vigilantes. when your friends say they wanted to be a hero when they were an adult, that wasn’t such an implausible job—there were much more around than there ever have been. so, of course, when you get your powers, whether innate or accident-caused, you know what you're going to do. there’s no other course of action.

except here’s the thing about being a hero: it’s hard. It’s hard, because despite all the role models, you don’t know what to do or how to do it. you don’t have anyone helping you and you’re hiding it. it’s overwhelming and you’ve kid yourself into thinking that because you’re a hero, it means you aren’t a child. that just because you have powers, you’re qualified.

and it hurts, it really does, to be proven wrong. because this is your dream, this is how you thought you could help, but it’s not. and to give up, after everything you’ve put into this? it feels wrong, too wrong.

so you pick yourself back up from the ground. you start out new, and maybe you have a new mask to go along with it, maybe you use the same one, not rebranding yourself up to own up to your mistakes.

and as you do so—which is slow going, almost slower than you have the patience for—you pick up the scraps of what you’ve been missing, what you’ve sacrificed to be out here (your health, your friends, your family—any sense of connection to someone outside of the mask). your origin story is this, you suppose, and maybe you’d draw the narrative parallels—the exposition, the climax; the mentor, the underdog—and maybe one day, you can look back and how you used to be—this kid who was eager to make any change they’d bark out ode to joy in the middle of a crowded street if they thought it’d help anything—and laugh. but for now, you can’t get over how damn sorry you are. you have a hard time believing you ever will.

or, you don’t have superpowers. you don’t have enhanced senses. you don’t have inhuman athletic abilities. but still, you want to be a hero. all other avenues have failed you, so why not this one?

except you don’t fail, not at first. sure, you’re not as well known or popular as the other heroes, but you’re not hated, and it’s not as if you’re failing.

of course, no one actually knows “your power.” you want to laugh at the presumption, but you keep your mouth shut. society loves the idea of powered heroes, as long as they stayed heroes and not people. so doing the opposite—of playing along with the expectation even though you aren’t actually it—is merely logical to you.

you even find it funny. you flip through newspapers and the speculations of power. some say invisibility, some say powered jumps, some say ultra strength. the closest thing you have to a power is the mixture of raw spite and being monstrously bullheaded. you’re fine with that, though. as long as you can help.

except you, the hero, is becoming even more popular, and the thing is that the other reason you were glad to not be well known was so that no one would come sniffing in your business. you’ve seen unmaskings play out before and they’ve never been pretty. and those are the heroes that have powers to protect themselves. you don’t have that.

it’s this tightrope walk you’ve been doing now—don’t slip up to have anyone suspect you as a civilian, don’t slip up to have anyone suspect you as a hero, but one of these days, you’re going to fall.

the only questions are when and will it have been worth it?

you honestly can’t say you have an answer.