“That’s pretty on the nose, at least as far as you’re concerned.”
“In some ways, my situation is a lot better because I have access to my Nth to help me train, and it sounds like most supers don’t have that. On the other hand, I feel like I’m struggling to reinvent the wheel. Doing things the hard way that is probably obvious to most other supers. However, I definitely am glad I didn’t have to drink Purple Faction’s Kool-Aid. What you described just reminds me of propaganda a little bit.”
Aurora tilted her head and screwed up her mouth in thought.
“Maybe with some things, but I guess you had to be there. There’s no perfect system with imperfect humans, even ones with superpowers. You just try to find a way to do the most good. And learn how to live with the times where the system falls short. You can’t save everyone. You can’t please everyone. I think one of Purple Faction’s strengths is how it is structured, and how it provides a framework of behavior and ethics.” She speared a large chunk of watermelon and chewed.
“I’ve been on the other side of that framework. It feels like compulsion and intimidation. As a super, you probably don’t really know what it feels like to do something under duress, but a lot of regs feel that way. There’s always the implied threat of recrimination if we, I mean they, don’t act in the right ways.”
“It does keep crime down.” She shrugged.
“I suppose. And I’m not saying I have all the answers either. My father would always say, ‘Don’t bring me a problem unless you have two possible solutions prepared.’ You may not realize it, but it can feel really demotivating to live in a world where even if you try your best your whole life, you can be easily surpassed by someone who has been mysteriously blessed with Nth.”
“You make it sound like it’s all fun and games for supers. Like we don’t have any problems at all.” She turned and looked at him.
“But you have to admit some things are easier, right? I never really found my thing until I got my Nth. How many people are there just like that out there? I know supers view people like me as layabouts, lazy and unmotivated. But what is there to be motivated about? Slaving away, being a cog in the machine? Sorry if I just don’t find nirvana flipping burgers or doing a job to make ends meet.” Gus stabbed at his food, his appetite gone.
“Have you really ever flipped burgers? With your parents in the Faction, I doubt you guys were poor.” She arched an accusatory eyebrow.
“No, but my father was always on me to improve myself. When I really didn’t have any interest in any of the typical service jobs, he found jobs for me working for other supers. I’ll admit it was kind of cool at first. I’ve always been a fanboy of supers and their adventures.”
“Yeah, tell me about that. How was the transition from a henchman to a super? I mean, you guys are really only known for following orders, usually poorly.” Gus scowled as she said this. “I’m sorry, am I wrong?”
“No. The reality of being a henchman is actually pretty boring. I think anyone would be hard-pressed to always be alert. Ninety-nine percent of the time there’s absolutely nothing going on. Then there’s one percent running-down-the-street-naked-with-your-hair-on-fire level crisis mode. It’s easy to be disengaged.”
“Okay, I get it, go on.”
“When I met up with some other of my gamer friends, that kind of changed. I actually looked forward to going to work. It was less the actual job, and more the company. We could be cleaning the dried bugs off the windshield of an aerial fortress when it was in drydock, but it was still fun with those guys.”
“I didn’t have many friends in the academy. Not when they realized I wasn’t ‘girlfriend material.’ I just wanted to focus on my training. I was an ugly duckling that transitioned late, and without any close friends, the other girls saw me as a threat. I had a reputation before I even knew I had one.”
“Well, that sucks,” Gus said, shaking his head.
“It worked for me. Kept people out of my hair, and they left me alone for the most part. But enough about me. So you and your buddies were, what do they call it, ‘henching’?”
“Yeah. There were good times, just enjoying life. Still, as I look back on that time, I wasn’t really going anywhere. There isn’t any upward mobility or working towards something bigger and better; you’re just kind of stuck. Maybe there were some positions for those who went above and beyond, but it was way more responsibility and effort for barely any more pay. Not a huge motivator. Plus they’re usually much more dangerous.”
“You seem like you’d like to keep on the down-low.”
“I guess. I just wanted to live my life without other people getting involved. I think I just found my comfort zone and accepted the fact that I was lesser than other people. Then I learned some coping mechanisms that weren’t really that helpful, but took my focus off the real reason for my lack of drive. I got into gaming pretty heavily, because I could be a part of a world that my character could shape and actively change. I saw consistent progression and growth. I even looked forward to grinding because the rewards were there, though the tasks were monotonous and repetitive. Then the rest of the game was a breeze.”
“And you think that’s how supers are.”
“Well, life isn’t like that for regs. You can do something monotonous forever and there’s no reward at the end. If something doesn’t eventually pay off, then there’s no real reason to push
