#those three yetis with identical eye scars

[howtohero]

#127 Superhuman Civilians (and also a few tips on how to fight robots I guess)

While many superhumans see their great powers as indicative of a responsibility of equal or greater greatness to the greatness of their powers. There are a great many who don’t! These people don’t see their powers as an inherent responsibility to do something for the betterment of society. They see them as just sort of something they have. Like the ability to touch your nose with your tongue. You wouldn’t feel beholden to stop bank robberies or try to swashbuckle with sword-wielding mothmen just because you could touch your tongue to your nose. So why should they feel that responsibility just because they can melt metal with their acid hands?

These superhuman civilians can be very frustrating to those superhumans who do feel the need to spring into action whenever those three yetis with identical eye-scars roll into town. (Why do they all have the same scar? Is it part of some sort of ritual? Are they all clones? Who gave them the scars? Did it hurt? Are these yetis just lashing out because somebody slashed their eyes? Perhaps they’re not really evil at all! Oh wait, one of them just ate a baby. One second we have to go deal with that now.) See, superheroes are constantly putting their lives, their relationships, even their sanity, on the line to protect the world and everyone and everything in it. Meanwhile these guys can create force fields and, heck, there’s that one guy who can control gravity and they’re content to just sit on the sidelines eating cheese puffs and watching epic fail videos on the internet instead of lending a hand. The gravity guy wouldn’t even have to put that much effort in. All he’d have to do is like pay attention for maybe four seconds and crush the threat under its own weight. We wouldn’t even need anybody else to do anything ever. Any time there was issue this guy could just take four seconds, deal with it, and then go back to eating his cheese puffs! Selfish. He’s really bringing everybody down that guy. 

But it’s important to remember that it’s their life and they can do what they want. Just because you’ve decided the best way to spend your time is to leap around in a leotard fighting sentient uranium rods from the Volski Quadrant, doesn’t mean that everybody like you has to do the same. In fact, maybe they’re doing other worthwhile things with their powers. Fighting bad guys isn’t the only thing superpowers can be used for. Maybe these people are helping to advance science, perhaps they’re spending their time dazzling the public with their fantastic ability and making people happy, maybe they only use their powers to help the people they care about. I think that’s all right (and I am the expert). There are other guys who are protecting the world (so many that we’ve had to separate you all into your own territories) let these people just live their lives. 

Really the only time superheroes should need to worry about these superhuman civilians is when they actually do decide they want to help. If you’re in the middle of fighting… let’s say… The Dead President Society… Which is… A bunch of animatronic zombie versions of American presidents… That destroys banks... because banks hold “dead presidents” (that’s a cool old guy way to say “money”). There’s no specific reason why whoever built them made them zombies. That’s just what they decided. So you’re fighting the Dead President Society, and you’re in your zone. You fight robots all the time. This should be easy. All you need to do is slap a How To Hero Brand Technology Neutralizer™ on their chests and they’ll shut down. But then all of a sudden some guy in a hoodie (superpowered people without real superhero identities always just wear a hoodie when using their powers, as if that covers any part of their face, for shame) jumps into the fray and starts trying to help. It turns out the fight has gotten too close to the barber shop he owns. If it were a trained superhero, you’d welcome the help. But this is an untrained civilian. They don’t know what they’re doing. They haven’t read this blog! (You’d better hope you have the pocket sized version in your utility belt. And that you have the entry on mitigating collateral damage chapter bookmarked.) So now you’re tussling with all the presidents and you’ve got to watch out for this guy with his laser eyes. Who has only ever used them to heat up food. Heating up food and fighting robots are very different activities? Don’t believe me? Go microwave a pop tart. Then, go fight a robot. You may notice that there’s not a lot of crossover between those skills! Ok, yes, technically you could use a microwave to beat a robot in a fight. All right, let’s just run through that real quick. Robots will explode if exposed to too much radiation. Especially if it’s in a confined space. Like a microwave oven. So if you shrink your mechanical menace, or you enlarge the microwave (Making it a macrowave oven presumably.) and then put some really tasty nuts and bolts in the micro/macrowave to entice and entrap the robot, viola, you’ve destroyed a robot. 

But this untrained civilian doesn’t have that knowledge or those skills. They’re just a massive liability. They’re going to get in your way and probably endanger other (non-superpowered) civilians. So you need to shove them out of the way and wrap up this robot president situation super quickly so you can politely explain to Laserface (what are the odds that their last name was actually Laserface! Wow! This character I’ve invented sure is whimsical) why you shoved them so they don’t retaliate by shooting you with a laser (from their face!). When you have to rush through a takedown like that you run the risk of being sloppy and making a mistake. The robot might upload itself into the internet or release nanobots into the city’s water supply. You’re not going to have the time you need to carefully disable and dismantle the robot and take possession of and destroy any electronics it might’ve touched. All because this turbo-revvin punk thought that they could do your job better than you with zero training or experience. Let them know that you’d be willing to train them, or at least put them in contact with someone who would be willing to train them, and that if they don’t want to go through the proper training then they need to stay on the sidelines. 

At the same time there may be a time where you actually need these superhuman civilians’ help. Sometimes there are threats that are so grand and sprawling and terrible that it absolutely requires all hands on deck no exceptions even the guys on house-arrest. Or perhaps you’ve found yourself in a situation where only this one civilian’s very specific powers can diffuse the situation. When approaching a superhuman civilian for assistance try to be respectful. Don’t yell at them saying they’ve squandered their potential until now and that now is the time for them to finally make something of themselves. That’s not how you get someone to help you. Hate, yes. Help, not so much. Instead you should make sure to make clear to them exactly what is at stake, maybe emphasize the fact that their loved ones are also at risk (or their barber shop, basically just find out what’s important to them). You should also make it clear to them that this is a one time thing. That if they help you they won’t be drafted into some sort of superhuman army or be forced to protect the world all day every day. If you’re charming enough you might be able to get them to sign on before the planet is paved over and turned into an intergalactic parking lot.

While for many being a superhuman superhero is a dream come true there are others who simply want nothing to do with that kind of lifestyle. As a superhero it’s your job to protect them and defend their right to that sort of lifestyle just as you would anybody else. Maybe you’ll find yourself fighting alongside them one day, maybe you won’t. What they do shouldn’t concern you, those yetis are still eating babies go do something about that already!

[whimperwoods]

29-Day Whump Challenge - Day 9

Day 9:  Car Wreck || Starvation

I did a vampire whumpee last time so I thought I’d do a werewolf whumpee today? Day nine of @yuckwhump‘s 29-Day Challenge. This one’s... uhh... long. But I couldn’t not get to some kind of reasonably comforting resolution.

tw: starvation, tw: trafficking, tw: incarceration, tw: neglect

****

Matt kept his chin up and his feet steady as he walked down the corridor, trying not to show his hand or blow his own cover. The button camera on his shirt would catch all of this. The people who watched it would know everything he said was faking. He just had to get through without getting caught. That was all. He could do this.

The woman leading him on his tour was appallingly cheerful for someone working in a place like this. He knew his own smile wasn’t so convincing, but as long as she kept talking, as long as she kept gesturing toward the open bars of the small cells so that he’d have an excuse to look at them, his smile didn’t have to be real.

There were rows of identical cells, tidy at first glance, but with no rhyme or reason to how their inhabitants were organized. Yeti stared out at him through badly matted fur, gremlins and goblins cowered in the corners of their cells, and vampires glared at him over tight muzzles, the ones who didn’t look at him pleadingly and make his heart half break. He kept careful control of himself, focusing on getting the footage. He just had to get the footage. That was it. Then he could do something about this.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever get the sight of filthy fur and tattered feathers out of his head, but then they started passing a set of doors on his right that were almost entirely closed, solid metal with small windows instead of open bars. The only thing worse than knowing what was happening to the beings in the cells was not knowing, and he drew to a halt, pointing toward the set of doors, four in a row.

“Hey, wait a minute,” he said, trying to sound jovial, “Don’t hold out on me! What do you keep in there?”

For the entirety of this hellish tour, his guide had been nothing but upbeat and relaxed. Now, for the first time, he saw a hint of hesitation cross her face before the big smile came back. “Oh, that’s nothing, Sir. You’ll be wanting something ah - better behaved, I’d imagine. They’re only in there if they’re too dangerous for the regular guards to handle.”

Shit. He’d been careful. Intentional. He’d dressed the part, trying to look casually rich, shallow enough to like the idea of a ‘monster’ pet without ever thinking too hard about it. He looked harmless. Naive. Weak.

He puffed his chest out anyway, grinning more broadly and hoping he wasn’t too transparent. He faked a laugh. “Oh, come on. I’m sure I can at least see, right? It’s my money, after all.”

It wasn’t. It was the group’s money, raised over the course of two months, and it was only sitting, hot, in his jacket pocket because it had looked legitimating for when he got here.

The woman bit her lip.

He pouted, trying to look like he imagined someone would who’d been spoiled their whole life. “Come on. Just a peek! I won’t go in or anything!”

Her fake smile came back, but something in her eyes was still tenser than it had been before. “Of course, Sir,” she said, her voice cheerful as ever, “I didn’t mean to offend you, it’s just - anything in here is, uh, shall we say less than top-of-the-line? Not permanently, of course, or what would you need us for, but those rooms are more for people looking for - labor. Not really anything to show off to your neighbors yet.”

You have that on tape, he thought to himself, you have that on tape and now you just need a look inside. Stay calm.

He started moving toward the window in the first door, keeping his voice light. “Oh come on, that could be fun! Show off how tough it is to the guys? Maybe get some free gardening out of the deal?” he barked a laugh, “I bet something like that would make a pretty impressive pool boy. And keep all the girls from getting distracted from me.”

That might have been too much. It might have been too much, and he might have overplayed, and she might be about to realize he was pretending all of this. His palms were sweaty. He peeked in the door while he still could and found nothing behind the window.

His guide sighed. “Very well, Sir. I still think you’d do better with some of our higher-end stock, but if you want to see - we’ve only got one occupant in progress right now. But you should be warned, he’s a dangerous one, and it’ll take some serious work to make him safe.”

He waved her off, moving on to the next door and trying to look eager instead of terrified.

Her keys rattled, and she opened the third door.

*****

Drew listened to the voices outside, too tired to do anything about it even if he’d known what to do. He remembered being hungry. No. He was still hungry. He remembered thinking about hunger, but that had been - well, it had been two or three ‘guests’ ago, and he was pretty sure buyers weren’t here every day.

Now, he was just tired. Tired to his bones, which felt like all he had left. He shivered, cold even in his werewolf form.

It was hard to imagine he’d once pulled at his chains and tried to get free. It was hard to imagine being the person who’d struggled so hard he’d raised bruises around his neck from the collar, around his ankles from the shackles.

Every part of him hurt. It hadn’t, at the start. At the start, he’d had a little fat, a lot of muscle, and the hunger had lived in his gut, twisting and painful, but now all he had was bones and the hunger was beating at them, radiating through his body the way heat used to, the way it was supposed to.

He was so cold.

He was so tired.

He listened to the woman talk, as her voice got closer. Dangerous, she said. He wasn’t dangerous. He wasn’t anything. He might have been, once, though he’d never meant to cause anyone any harm, but now - now he was nothing, lying dizzy on the floor and trying to stay warm.

He expected the man to buy her excuses. He expected the footsteps to start up again, a laugh ringing through the hall as they left him behind. Instead, a set of keys rattled, and the door to his prison swung open.

If he raised his head, he would get dizzy. He’d learned that - some time ago. He didn’t know how to measure time, anymore. But he couldn’t look up, and he couldn’t look scary. He had to seem safe. If he was ever going to eat again, he had to look safe.

He gathered the little energy he had left and forced himself to transform again, his fur retreating and his limbs and head reshaping themselves. He cried out weakly with the pain of it, but for once, it wasn’t much worse than everything else.

His body broke out in goosebumps and he shivered, suddenly freezing and unsure that he’d have the strength to transform and get his fur back again. This was it. This might actually be it. If the woman didn’t believe he was safe, while the door was open and someone was actually looking, this might be the end. He wanted to lift his head up, to see what she was thinking, but he didn’t have the strength. Not after the transformation. He closed his eyes and cursed the tears that sprung unbidden from them, reacting to the cold. One dripped down his nose, leaving a trail of more intense cold where it flowed.

Dangerous, she’d said. He whined in the back of his throat, unable to work out the words to say to that, unsure that he’d be able to say them even if he tried.

*****

Matt had kept a straight face since he walked in the door. He’d been so careful. So careful.

But the creature in the room was - his face twisted in revulsion, and it took him too long to hide it. It must have taken him too long to hide it, and he just had to hope his guide hadn’t seen.

The creature was a werewolf, but not like any werewolf he’d ever seen. Its fur was dull, lifeless where it should be glossy, and it was lying sprawled against the ground like it had fallen and just stayed there, its limbs spread out instead of tucked up in a circle. Then again, that might have been because of the chains.

A heavy collar bound its neck, and there were shackles on its ankles, chains running from all three of them to the wall and giving the werewolf access to only half of its small cell. It was lying at the end of its chains, like it had tried to come to its door, like it had tried to ask for help.

Then its body was shifting, and as the fur receded, he thought he must be seeing things, his eyes playing tricks because they wasn’t used to watching bones rearrange themselves like that.

But then the bones stopped shifting, and the figure on the ground, still lying limp and listless on the polished concrete, was unmistakable.

It was a man - or at least more man than boy - with long, filthy brown hair and scarred skin with a grayish cast to it, as sickly as his fur had been.

Matt had never seen so many visible bones in one human being. He was like a skeleton, like some grotesque science display meant to teach only part of anatomy, like Mother at the end of Psycho.

Except, no. He wasn’t. Because his chest was still rising and falling, shallow but steady, and he was shivering, which meant he was alive, and beneath the stark ribs and bone-thin arms, his stomach was weirdly bloated, like his body had admitted everywhere else that it was empty, but was trying to convince itself there that it wasn’t empty after all.

The man whined softly, but didn’t look up at them. He didn’t move his head at all. He didn’t move anything, except to breathe and shiver, and he didn’t look like a thing that should be alive.

“Oh dear,” the woman said beside him, giving him just enough warning to force his face back into - into what? He couldn’t smile, but he forced himself to relax, to look thoughtful instead of furious, even as she put a hand on his shoulder to push him toward the hallway and his chest swelled with rage.

“I’m sorry, Sir, I didn’t realize he’d been a biter. We don’t usually - we’d better be moving on. They’ll feed him up, as long as they’re sure the biting has stopped but it’ll be-”

“How much?” he asked, surprising even himself.

“Sir, I can’t possibly-”

Don’t look angry. Don’t look angry. He kept his face as relaxed as he could, as if he could be neutral, looking at a thing like this, as if anyone could be neutral, and he repeated himself, cutting her off. “I asked how much. If I take him.”

Why? he asked himself, Why would she believe me? Then he really did manage a fake smile, against all odds, and felt as brazen as he ever had in his life. “I bet you could give me a real good discount on this one. I mean look at him! He’s practically half a werewolf. I bet he’d do anything if I fed him. I bet he’d follow all my orders. I want him.”

The woman looked pale, now. “You’ll, um - you’ll have to sign extra paperwork. You’ll have to sign an NDA. It’s -” she paused, choosing her words carefully, “It’s extra protection for us, if he tries to attack you. To take care of the liability issues. You understand.”

“An NDA doesn’t change your liability.”

“We’re not usually in the business of selling half-completed products either, Sir, to be frank, and if something goes wrong because you insisted on this one, we don’t want our name attached, not even in the secret circles I’m sure you keep to. Not like we would for - the high end creatures.”

Matt kept breathing. He kept his face level. “I mean, I guess so, but-”

The woman got her fake smile back to its full brightness. “Of course, if you’d like to, we could also keep him here and finish his training for a small upcharge, and you could come claim him when he’s ready. Or I can check in the system for a werewolf who might be more - finished.”

He kept up the fake smile and tried to sound affable. “Aw, come on, finishing’s the fun part, right? Like getting to pick out all your own paint colors or something.”

“If you’re certain, Sir, I can take you back to the office with me, and we’ll have him delivered to the front by the time you’re done.”

Matt’s hands were shaking, and he was terrified that she’d see. He didn’t know if it was rage or fear, but either way, he’d committed himself, and now he had to go through with this.

He thought about shoving his hands in his pockets, but then she laid a hand on the door and he thought of how that heavy metal was going to sound, clanging shut and locking the werewolf away from him, where he couldn’t see him anymore, where he couldn’t protect him, and he stuck a hand out instead, stopping the door before it could close.

“Aw, come on,” he said, “It’ll be fine. He looks like he’s learned his lesson.”

He shoved past her, ignoring her protests, and came up to the other man, kneeling beside him and laying a hand gently on his face to turn it toward him and look into the man’s eyes.

Yes. This was worth it. This was reckless, and meant less footage to use to shut this place down, and meant losing the money he’d been meant to come back with while he ‘thought about which one,’ and it was worth it.

The man’s eyes were half-blind and unfocused, dripping tears.

He looked up at the woman. “You’ve got keys, right? Might as well take him to the office with me. He is about to be mine.”

An extra hard shudder ran through the man’s body and Matt stroked a hand through his hair, wishing he could tell him it would be alright, could just admit right now that things weren’t the way they seemed.

The woman bit her lip, but then started sorting through her keys again.

The collar and shackles came away to reveal old bruises and cuts, partially healed, which made him wonder how long it had been since the man had moved any real distance. He cupped the man’s face gently, trying to communicate that he was alright, then scooped him into his arms.

Matt had never been a strong man, but the werewolf weighed shockingly little. It was like carrying his friend’s doberman, not that he expected the werewolf would particularly appreciate the comparison.

The dog had been hard to carry up and down the stairs when it broke its leg not because of its weight, but because of how much it weighed while also trying to wiggle out of his grasp. The man was perfectly still, only hard to carry because of the way his weight sagged and the awkwardness of keeping ahold of a person Matt suspected might be taller than he was.

He could feel the man shivering against him and pulled him closer. He had to get out of here. They both had to get out.

He tried to keep his breathing steady and his face light, and he stepped out into the hall.

*****

Drew didn’t understand what was happening. The hand on his face and in his hair had been gentle from the moment the man touched him, and the chains were coming off as if - as if they’d noticed how weak he was, probably, but it still felt - it felt - he should be able to move his limbs, when they were this much lighter. He should. It should be better.

Being picked up was dizzying and disorienting, and he felt his eyes tear up again, the world blurring into an even more confusing mess, but then he was in the man’s arms, cradled against his chest, and the cold of the concrete floor was gone, and he didn’t have the strength to move himself, but he had the strength to press just a little into the warmth, to lean just a little into the man’s chest.

The man took a few halting steps and then asked the woman to throw Drew’s arms over his shoulders. She did, rearranging him like he was a doll or a puppet, and he felt more tears springing to his eyes, tears he’d have said, yesterday, that he didn’t have left in him to cry, as dry and hollow as he felt on the inside.

He had the strength to turn his face into the man’s shoulder, to hide the tears, and he did it, and he was rewarded with the slightest, gentlest squeeze tighter, and his throat couldn’t sob and his breath couldn’t hitch and still keep moving, but the tears flowed faster and faster, hot and wet, soaking into his new master’s shirt, and he didn’t know how to stop them.

The man pulled him closer and, when the woman split off for just a second, whispered, “It’s going to be ok.”

He wasn’t sure his mind believed it, but as his body kept crying into the weird, textured cotton of the man’s polo shirt, he knew at least some part of him did.