“I want to make a complaint!”
The receptionist turned towards the man with an hidden sigh. She’d known that this guest would be trouble from the moment she’d laid eyes on him, and it appeared that she hadn’t been wrong. What a shame.
“I’m sorry to hear that, sir,” she said. “Is something the matter with the room?”
She waited for a continuation, but none seemed forthcoming.
“May I ask what?”
Continue reading “Complaints”
He’d always assumed that if he ever got superpowers, he’d be a hero.
And he did become one. For years, actually. At least he tried to be, but people didn’t seem to be half as thankful as he thought that they ought.
No matter how many lives he saved, they always complained. He’d allowed one person to die, saving twenty other. Someone had been hurt when he’d carried them out of a burning building. The cost of the damages of his fights against crime was much too high.
Why couldn’t he fight evil without wrecking the town as he did so? He should look at the numbers, should he. Then he would realise how expensive it was to fix a town. Much more expensive than a funeral or two.
No matter what he did, people were always complaining.
And so he decided that there really wasn’t any point in being a hero.
No, he thought as he slowly put on the mask, relishing in the anonymity it gave him. Being a hero is overrated.
This way he didn’t have to worry about people getting angry, or breaking stuff. He could do all the stuff he wanted. He could have fun.
He could enjoy his abilities for the first time since he’d gotten them.
Yes, he thought. Being the villain is going to be so much more fun.