WHAM Warning
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“Son, I know how tough it is—believe me, I know—but you have to keep these abilities hidden.”
He huffed and shoved his hands into his pockets. “But Dad, I can't just ignore people who need help; not when I can do something about it!”
“Look,” his father said, setting his tools down and wiping his hands on an old rag, “I understand that it's hard, but—”
“It's not about what's easy or hard. It's about what's right! Can you honestly tell me that this is right?!”
The two men stared at each other for several seconds in a tense silence broken only by the soft lowing of cattle far down the road. Finally, his father sighed. “Son,” he said softly, obviously trying to keep the frustration out of his voice, “do you remember the story I used to tell you when you were little?”
He raked a hand through his hair. “I'm too old for stories, Dad!” he snapped. “I'm eighteen. I'm an adult, now. I'm ready to make my own decisions about what I want to do with my life.”
“Son...” his father warned.
This was going nowhere. He saw his father starting to get into his I-am-the-all-knowing-parent mode, and snorted. “Just save it, Dad,” he said, then spun on his heel and marched off at the fastest human speed possible.
When he was about half a mile away, his superhuman hearing caught the older man's mutter, “Eighteen, but you still act like you're two.”
At two miles away, he kicked at a pebble that was lying on the road. It was unfair. His father was being completely stubborn and unreasonable, and the man had no right to tell him what to do.
At five miles, he began to suspect that maybe he was being a bit hard on the old man. After all, his father only wanted to keep him safe.
At a distance of six miles, he was back to kicking pebbles. He was an adult, now! His safety should be his own business. Why did he have to be so paranoid, anyway?!
Ten miles from where he started, he came to the edge of the nearest town, and his mood had turned more thoughtful. What if there were some way to use his powers without being caught? That might solve both of their problems. But, how to go about it...?
He paused in front of a shop that was advertising costumes for sale. Something tugged at the back of his mind. Costumes. Disguises. At once, the answer came to him. With a grin, he stepped into a nearby craft store.
***
Dinner was a quiet affair that night. He said nothing to his father all evening; not because he was still angry, though he could certainly hold a grudge for a long time if he wanted to, but because he didn't trust himself not to give anything away. He'd managed to sneak his purchases right past his dad and hide them.
It was a crazy idea, and his father would probably agree whole-heartedly to that statement, but if it worked, then he would be able to help people who needed him without risking discovery. If not...well, he would deal with his father's conniption when it happened. It wasn't as if he lacked experience with those.
When the lights were finally out, he snuck back to where he'd hidden his parcels. A quick glance around showed that he was safe from view. He fished them out and changed.
Would it work? It had to work. What would he call himself if people asked his name? He didn't know. He'd think of something.
He lifted off the ground experimentally. If it hadn't been for the issue of wind resistance, he wouldn't have gone for tights; but... He climbed higher into the air, relishing this new-found feeling of total freedom. Yes. This could work. Before he could talk himself out of it, he was off like a shot, looking for people in need of a hero.
***
Manchester, Barcelona, Hong Kong...he had never seen so much of the world in such a short span of time! Every life he saved, every disaster averted, gave him a rush like he'd never felt in his life. This was what he'd been born to do.
He didn't know how long he'd been out, but it was daytime in the eastern USA when he found himself bringing a malfunctioning jumbo jet to the nearest airport. A landing strip had been cleared, surrounded by a sea of flashing lights from ambulances, police cars, and firetrucks. A small army of uniformed officials ran towards him as soon as he touched down.
Perhaps he should have expected this. He didn't know what kind of reaction people were having to his presence—he'd been far too focused on his work to even notice what the media was saying about it—but he imagined that they would at least have some questions. They might ask “Who are you?” or even “What are you?”, “Do you come in peace?” and so on.
He was quite unprepared for the police chief's first question.
“Did you honestly think that would work?”
He cocked his head, puzzled. “Um, what?”
The officer stepped forward and pointed to his mask. “The mask. The costume. Nice threads, but did you really think you'd have anybody fooled?”
His heart hammered. For a moment, he stood frozen in place, trying not to let the panic show. There was no way any of these people could know who he was; he lived half a world away! Just what was this man trying to pull?
Several more officers began to move towards him. “Look,” said the chief, “we appreciate everything you've done for the world. Please do the honorable thing and come with us.”
“What?”
A cop stepped forward with a pair of handcuffs. “You're under arrest,” the chief continued, “for the murder of Lex Luthor.”
He stepped back. “Now, wait just a minute!”
“Officer.”
He gasped along with everyone else at the sight of his father gently touching down between him and the police chief.
“You have the wrong man. I'm the one you want.”
There were whispers in the crowd as the police chief looked both him and his father over. “I see.”
Now completely lost, he grabbed the sleeve of his father's shirt. “Dad? What's going on?”
His father turned around and put a hand on his shoulder, looking at him with an expression of sorrow and apology. “Son, do you remember the story I used to tell you when you were little? About the knight, the wizard, and the beautiful princess?”
He felt a horrible chill in the pit of his stomach. “Y-yes?”
“It was true,” his father said, softly. “The princess was your mother.” His dad brushed at a bit of condensation that had somehow formed under his mask, then pulled him in for a final hug and whispered, “Make us both proud, Lane.”
The End
