Chapter
2 – Busywork for a Celebrity Hero
A week and a half has passed, and
it feels like a month has gone by instead. I’ve gotten in trouble for ignoring
orders by not immediately doing requests that they tell me, helping people on a
moment’s notice when a request doesn’t get put in, refusing rewards and
attention, and letting some heroes take the credit for requests I’m meant to
steal from them. Today, I’ve been called into the office for doing so.
“John, you’re a man unquestionably
faithful to God and His Church, correct?” my superior says, who is a priest.
“Yes, I am,” I plainly say.
“Then why do you constantly act on
your own against our orders? Is there something wrong with them?”
“I merely want to finish helping
the people I was already helping before fulfilling your orders. You know I can
do it.”
“You know that there are plenty of
heroes and vigilantes out there who can finish your requests. We need you to be
out there representing us in certain areas to increase our influence, and we
don’t just do it to become rich and famous. Everything given to us is used in
the service of bringing more people to God and helping others.”
“That’s exactly what I do.”
“You do it in your way. If you want
to do it that way, then you shouldn’t have joined us, but you want to be a
faithful servant of the Church, so you must follow our orders.”
“I observe everything that you do,
but do not do everything that you say.”
“You’re quoting Scripture to me?”
“Yes. Don’t forget the day that I
went on a rampage and decimated the enemies of God, going against the law, and
having every law enforcement hero, vigilante, and officer after me. I’ll do
what you want me to do, but when I feel that God is calling me to do something
else, I’ll follow my instincts.”
“Are you saying that you know God’s
will better than us?”
“I said what I said.”
I leave the office and head down to
where Deborah and Idelle are waiting for me.
“Did they fire you?” Deborah says
in a tone suggesting she hopes they did.
“Nope. Not yet, at least,” I say.
Both Deborah and Idelle seem
disappointed. Idelle has faced some discrimination from more traditional
Catholic hero groups because of her usual outfit, which is golden armor and a
crimson bodysuit. Due to experiments done on her, she can't wear anything else
in battle except this outfit made for her by the two snakes on her back, one a
white snake urging her to virtue, and the other a black snake tempting her to
sin. She’s told them this reason, but they still look down on her, forcing me
to get involved and defend her, and sometimes get in trouble with our superiors
for publicly showing conflict between our group and others, and people within
our organization. Deborah just does as she’s told, usually checking on me
during the day, especially when we’re separated or have been in fights with
criminals and villains.
During dinner one day, Idelle tells
me, “You’re going to get in serious trouble if you keep getting on the nerves
of our superiors and going against orders.”
“That’s fine. They won’t fire me
because they know what I can do and the attention I draw to them for merely
working with them. I’m more of a benefit to them than a detriment, and they
know it.”
“I’m sure they’re planning on doing
something to further capitalize on it. There’s a hero competition coming up
where hero associations can win prizes. I’m sure they’ll volunteer you for it,”
Deborah says.
“Maybe they’ll find a way to rein
in their superiority over you,” Idelle suggests.
My mom agrees with Deborah, while
my dad agrees with both Idelle and Deborah. I also have to agree with my dad.
Our superiors inform us that they’ve nominated me for the hero competition, and
refusing to participate means getting fired. I pray quietly for a moment to
consider the decision before agreeing to take part. I kiss my family goodbye
and head to the competition area. The event takes place in an artificial city
with various sections and walls as tall as a two-story building. It's located
in the middle of nowhere, just in case the destruction it causes spills
outside.
A handful of representatives from
many major hero associations are here, including those allied with other
religions, political ideologies, and even other countries, making this event
almost as, if not more, significant than the Olympics. Many among them have
heard of me; some like me, while others are wary. Some offer me deals to join
their hero association and leave my own, which I politely decline. Still, they
bring other proposals, such as collaborations and team-ups for mutual benefits.
Not wanting me to be the center of attention anymore, my superiors and
teammates pull me away to the house provided by the event organizers. Each
association has its own house, featuring multiple bedrooms, kitchens, and
lounges filled with TVs, games, and refrigerators stocked with food and drinks.
It’s quite a luxurious place, and reminds me of the luxurious hotel rooms and
vacation houses used by the rich and famous.
While I relax, I try to get to know
all my teammates, none of whom really carry on a conversation. Some of them don’t
want to talk and focus on training, and others just want to rest until
tomorrow. It’s then that I recognize that I haven’t made many friends since I became
a hero, besides Mark, Luke, and Titus, who I tragically lost. I haven’t had any
friends like them, Timeo, or the people in Poca Bellezza I’ve known since I was
a child, even though I try to make as many friends as I can. There are people I
know in Solis, both citizens and law enforcers, whom I frequently visit and
even eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner with, but don’t have that much of a close
relationship with. I don’t go out of my way to talk to them or participate in
parties with them, nor do the same for me.
I suppose that, in life, you can
only really have relatively few close friends, and others who can only be
considered work friends or neighborhood acquaintances. It makes sense not to
stretch myself thin across too many friends, so I don’t go into debt just by
buying gifts for everyone on their birthdays and for Christmas, but I honestly
wouldn’t mind. Going out to the houses of the competition, I try to make friends
there, but come up short, though some friendly faces who wish me luck or are
excited for the honor of facing me in sparring. I receive more offers to switch
sides or join them in the numerous gambling bars here, but I decline both.
Instead, I call my family to let them know what I’ve been doing, do some
training, say my nightly prayers, and get a good night’s rest.
Over the entire week, I participate
in event after event, competing against other heroes and vigilantes. We spar,
play heroes and villains, where one side has to grab an object or person and
the other has to defend it, race against one another, compete in weight-lifting
challenges, and so on. Each competition I win, especially since most of the
events are straight-up fights, because the public enjoys violence than displays
of superhuman power. During the week, I feel an uneasy itch in my arms and a
desire to go back to the cities and towns and resume my usual hero work. Every
day, I call my family to ask them how things are, and they keep telling me that
things are under control and how they usually are. Still, I don’t feel right.
Something is wrong.
The next week is filled with much
the same competitions, with interviews with the media and talks with other hero
groups, where I argue with them about what it means to be a hero. These are
more irritating than anything and feel more challenging to do because I’m
better at fighting than talking. Nevertheless, the public likes to see these
kinds of interactions, and they are second in popularity to physical fighting.
“Why do I have to participate in these?”
I ask one of my superiors back at the house. “I’m not good at them, and most of
my opponents are better with words and reasoning than I am.”
The nun says, “It’s for appearances,
not winning arguments. People like hearing the truth spoken simply rather than elaborate
arguments that are hard to follow.”
“I get it,” I say with a degree of
irritation.
“You’re our golden child, John. You
bring people to God and the Church through your actions and words, no matter
how simple they are.”
I tell the nun that I’m thankful
for the opportunity, but still feel used against my will. Thankfully, the
competition ends on Friday, and I’m back home by Saturday. My family and
friends in Poca Bellezza throw me a celebration for all my victories and participation
in the competition. They tell me how proud they are of me for doing so well,
but the only thing that I care about is that I’m back home with them. From what
I hear on social media, my hero association has gotten particular attention and
a special blessing from the Church and more funding from the government because
of our winning more than the other associations.
I receive a pay raise and a cash
reward for everything I’ve done from the hero association, along with a big
cash prize, medals, and trophies from the competition organizers. People call
me and send emails asking me to join their organization or to build
friendships, while others send threats and insults for embarrassing their
association or beliefs by beating their related group in the competition; I
don’t really care about or respond to any of it. The only things I care about
are spending time with friends and family, getting some good rest, and
returning to being a hero on Monday. I’ve never felt so exhausted after doing
so little, and more excited about the mundane, than I ever have before. So, if
anything, the best part of the competition was that it gave me a renewed
appreciation for everything I have.
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