A Walk Down The Block

The fight finished in just under fifteen minutes, so it was still noon. People were still busy eating their mid-day meals and drinking coffee to help them make it through the day. The streets were still empty. The sun was still hot. Shocker. I started to walk back down the concrete sidewalks. My home, if you could call it that, was only stationed a few blocks away. A few long blocks away, I should say. But, I didn't mind it. I liked to take these calming silent walks back home. They reminded me of where I was. Greenfield. I was in Greenfield. A plain, dull, unoriginal city of Greenfield. The only interesting thing to do here is to step into Tommy's tea shop.

Now, let's break the fourth wall for a minute. I know the author doesn't have much to fix it, so I'll make it quick. If you're wondering where my parents are, then I assure you that my mother is dead, and my father is presumed dead. If you're wondering when this happened: It happened six years ago. How long have I known Tommy? Six years- he kind of took me in. Why don't I live with him? He got tired of picking up my underwear, so he kicked me out. If you have any more questions, I'll be back in a few chapters. Maybe. Depends on the author.

I walk past the new, superficial buildings that look much better in the night with their neon lights slicing apart the night. In the day, they looked like tired, worn-out packs of pixie sticks bent in different directions. I mean, there's a hot dog sign with a dog that had three tails. Of course, in the night, it would look like the dog is wagging its tail for the hotdogs- or for God knows what's in it. But, during the day, it looks...well kind of unpleasant. One of the tails could be his tail, another one could be an elongated, stiff piece of shit protruding from his asshole, and the last one might as well be his dysfunctional dick. See, a trifecta. But, in all seriousness, some things are better seen when they are partially obscured. And, Greenfield is one of those things. A ghost town by day, and a dirt-cheap brothel, casino, drug epicenter by the night, which looks a lot better. Trust me.

I keep walking past the 'NEW' signs on old, refurbished buildings. The mayor's been getting some heat from the local businesses saying that he wasn't doing much in helping the city grow. So, what does he do? He hires a bunch of workers from other cities, expensively decorates the exteriors, and waits for people to buy them….People stopped asking him to do something since then.

"Hello, young man!" said a young woman that floated above the ground. She drifted really close to me, making me feel really uncomfortable. "Would you like to buy some taffy to support our local businesses in Greenfield?"

Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you, this was the mayor's second idea. I looked at her and gave her a pleasant smile. "No, I'm fine. Thank you for asking though."

There was no one else on the streets, so it seemed like she only had one option. And, that was, unfortunately, me. He actually looked kind of cute, but that might be my hormones talking. She had a little doll-like face. Clear, blue eyes, white-blonde hair, and luscious red li- I mean! Red lips. She had red lips. Probably due to the lipstick she bought on her trip to Shaffer's Beauty Essentials with her kind, old, endearing mother who makes chocolate chip cookies for her dead grandmother. I was able to calm myself down. I wasn't even wearing underwear.

While I was busy shoving my hands in my pockets to keep my manhood from jeopardizing this sensitive situation, the woman pushed her breasts together to accentuate them. She then asked in her most erotic voice, "Are you sure?"

Please pipe the fuck down! I couldn't let my spear rise all of a sudden. There was zero chance that I would walk out of this situation without being labeled a sex offender if it did. I pushed it down with my hands and asked the woman, "Can...can I touch you?"

The woman's eyes widened a little at my direct question. "Will you buy them if I let you?" she asked in her same erotic voice.

"Sure! Sure! Just let me touch you!" I understood how wrong this sounded at the time. I promise.

"Well, if you insist…" She slowly started to unzip her light-blue sweater. I jabbed my finger out and touched her bare hand. A flow of energy radiated within me.

'I'm sorry! I don't have any money on me!" I sprinted up the sidewalk and jumped a couple feet into the air until I was soaring through the sky. I wasn't used to the speed, so I shielded my face with my arms for the first few seconds until I stabilized in the clouds. The air was a lot thinner here, so I took a couple of seconds to rest. If you still haven't caught on yet, my superpower is stealing other people's superpowers.

That nympho back there was a superhero. They don't wear their standard thongs anymore, but they're all recognizable by the insignia on the back of their hand. It's a small shield with the word 'Altross' written across it. The continent-slash-country we reside in.

There are actually two different types of heroes in Altross. One is the Citizen's Hero. The woman down there was a neat example of that- minus the nympho part. They're the ones that help the average citizen, who has weaker superpowers, get along with their lives. Crossing the street safely, rescuing children off of trees because children are stupid, and sometimes stopping small-time crooks from doing their little things. Most people with above-average powers, end up falling into this category since they get paid handsomely and respect follows suit.

However, there is another type of hero: Reserve Hero. These heroes are rarely in the media, public, or even at their children's birthday parties. These guys are the most important for Altross's safety. They're trained to eliminate any threat to Altross. Basically, they are the reason that supervillains don't exist. They're eradicated before they're even born. Only the top percent of graduates of Hero Academies and especially those that have top-tier powers are even considered for applications. It's one of those 'only one percent of something' kind of shit.

As for me, just in case you wanted to know, my power only lasts for five minutes.

***

I woke up in my room. I looked around to see five by nine feet of living space all jam-packed with a bed, a mini-fridge, and a small shelf filled with tea- compliments to Tommy. I found an ice pack nestled on my head with a note on it. In her fancy cursive, my boss wrote, 'Found you on the roof!'

I must have forgotten my five-minute limit. And, it's all because of you readers! Yeah, I'm talking to you sitting on your bed swiping through the pages! *THUD* My head was hit with a large part of the popcorn ceiling. There was also a note on it. 'Stop breaking my walls' signed by author-san.

I walked out of the room and CUT. Actually, let me correct that. I walked out of the closet and stumbled into a room filled with PCs. I checked my pockets to see if my phone was still there. It wasn't. I walked next to the PCs. I looked at them one by one; they were all in neat rows with individual mouses, keyboards, headsets, lofty chairs, and a wide assortment of snacks and beverages, which were chained to their respective locations unless they were exchanged for proper credits. "Leo! If you scare customers away from here, you'll be paying their share!"

I yelled back at Cassandra, my boss, "The only person they're scared of is you!" I walked over to her help desk, where she repaired different mechanical gadgets for a price. She was tech-savvy, and her power was too. Telekinesis. But, her kind was different. She wasn't able to lift heavy objects; rather, she was excellent in controlling, to the extremities, small microscopic objects. Even if I copied her power, I wouldn't, mentally, be able to harness the full power even though I would have it down physically. I saw her fiery, red hair bobbing up and down as her concentration was not hindered in the least. She was fairly attractive, not like those supermodels, but a natural kind of beauty. Her green eyes were what made me stare at her a lot, which, at first, ended with some misunderstandings. However, she was twenty-four and I was sixteen, so we drew our bounds. I've always wondered what a young, beautiful, tech-slash-computer-genius like her was doing in an esports lounge all day as opposed to going to an elite university. But, then, I remind myself that she's Tommy's granddaughter. Peculiarity runs in the family.

"I wouldn't be saying that if I were you," she replied.

"Why not?" I asked.

She tossed a phone up into the air and fumbled when she tried to catch it. "'Cause I have your phone."

I laughed. She looked at me in confusion. "That hunk of junk? It takes like a whole day to charge six percent!"

"But, I fixed it!" she exclaimed. "So, if you want it back, you have to be a good boy."

"I have to be a dog?" I simplified.

"If you want your new and improved phone back," she urged.

"Is this your secret fetish?"

"Phone?"

"Absolutely not," I said. I stood firm.

"Please?" she begged.

"Nope."

"What a killjoy," she whined as she tossed my phone back.

"I would prefer the title, 'Defender of Dignity.'"

She looked at me funny and blankly stated, "I prefer killjoy better." Then, she shoved her nose back into her machine

I walked around the lounge to get a better view of the area. I had seen it plenty of times, but I'd never really considered the worth of it. Esports was a way for the average, low-tiered-power, citizen to enjoy a world where they could be the protagonist. They would be able to place themselves in a realm of their own reality, where superpowers could be acquired through meticulous fingers; rather than, some lucky, lottery ticket DNA.

It wasn't packed now, but during the night every computer would be filled. Hundreds of voices would echo commands, words of encouragement, and degrading insults. I know this because I can never sleep at night. *Yawn* Speaking of which, I should probably hit hay. Or was it hit the hay?