To be super

The sirens of the police scream by as Stan is wearing his costume. Blue and red cotton fabric hug to his body as he looks at where the lights are going. His ears primed to the sound of the street down below. As the wind howls around him. Whispering to him a vast growing of information. While he tries to scan for the news he needs. To know what is going on as he tries to forget the last week. A week that had gone by in almost a flash as Stan had both been working, making his costume and trying to get all these nasty thoughts out of his head. Not that the thoughts of women kneeling in front of him displeased Stan. It was that the more he remembered from his memories, the more he looked forward to remembering one more. Just one more. And it wasn’t as if he was actually doing it. Stan really only kept it at thinking. A hero wouldn’t ever act on it.

One such memory was of an older woman called Rose. Not old as in a grandma type, but one whose body had definitely aged a bit. Though it had aged into one like a fine wine. Her figure gave off this secretary look. One off which her face seemed to have little cast shadows on it, though still having this fiery light in her eyes that came through. Expanding a sexiness to her that came from experience and confidence. In his memories, he could see her smile. Crow’s feet around her dark brown eyes as she would do so. While her full lips would form into a sweet grin. They were in an alley when it had happened.

Stan didn’t know why they both were in this particular alley. Perhaps the man had promised her something. He presumably had mostly done so with either money or manipulation. Since every victim seemed to be quite willing to be invited by the man. If Stan hadn’t seen with his own eyes how this villain had defiled Maria’s life, it almost looked to be for a good cause. This specific scene was probably dictated by money. Since it couldn’t really be because of what the man looked like. He wasn’t in the slightest good looking. Perhaps she was a hooker. Though she commented that what they were about to do was so naughty. Something Stan wouldn’t really expect a whore to say. It could be that they had met online and that she was just looking for sex. But it was weird to do it in an alley. Especially since you could just book a hotelroom for something like this. Her smiling eyes didn’t give off the vibe she saw the red flags Stan already noticed. As he felt how a devilish smile projected itself on his face.

“Do it to me”

Rose said almost giddily as she closed her eyes. Probably expecting something else as Stan would feel the planned out movements of the man. Walking up to the woman to bite her and take away her freedom of thought. It was what he knew would happen as his hands were on her shoulder and his teeth marked her throat for a second. Then to dive in. Feeling the woman under him stiffen up to the sudden intrusion.

“Hmm~mmm”

She moaned softly as Stan felt how her manicured fingers slid under his denim pants. Showing an eagerness Stan hadn’t expected the woman to exhibit. Her neck sliding softly to the other side. Letting him gently linger as her hand found his cock. Gripping it in her hands.

BAM!!!

A loud noise knows how to wake up Stan from his daydream. The sound of the sirens are now further away, but a building a few streets away was now engulfed in flames. Toxic black clouds coming off if. As Stan’s feet started moving.

In jumps that were almost catlike, he knew how to scale the roofs. With every jump feeling free as he jumped from one roof to the next. Not making a sound as it felt like every movement had been calculated before his feet seat themselves on the surface. While Stan’s eyes are focussed on the fire. An orange glaze reflecting in hos eyes as he got closer and closer. Knowing he didn’t have the right attire for this, though he had to see if there was anyone already helping. He just had to know that there was help on its way. And so, as he got himself on the roof of an old restaurant. Looking over at the small flat. He felt relieved to see all of its people downstairs. Safe and sound. So there was nothing to-…

“Wèè-èèh-èh”

The sound seemed to come from the third floor. There wasn’t a window open. But Stan’s hearing had never betrayed him. It knew where the sound came from. He just didn’t know how to identify it. For a moment he looked through the crowd. To see one woman who was knelt down against her husband. She looked to be in physical pain or distress. It wasn’t so easy to see it from here. While the sound was continuing with the slow burning sound of waves of air fueling the flames. Like dogs eating from a hand. It was also when the dots connected in Stan’s brain. There had to be a baby in that one specific room.

True, the building that was burning was on the other side of the street. It was beyond saving itself. But the cries of the child still meant that there was some part of life possible in that burning house. So Stan grabbed his sleeve, ripped it apart to put it in the ditch on the roof. Soaking it with disgusting water that had probably not moved in a while. To press it around his nose and mouth. Then to slide down the side of the house. Pressing his feet against the wall to scale it, flex his muscles and jump at the right time. Making a roll. Using his momentum from the roll to run. Charging at the other side of the street and connect his body against the wooden door. Which easily broke under him. A splinter edging itself against his hip. Which immediately let Stan know that he probably shouldn’t try to look cool while life’s…his included…were at stake now.

To almost immediately feel how the scene of fire made his inner instincts frightened. All of his body telling him to run as orange flames with black smoke spike his eyes. Making him almost immediately tear up. He still is able to set a few steps back. It was a nice try after all. Some things were falling to the ground in front of Stan that he couldn’t quite make out to be as he couldn’t see anything. As he had shut his eyes against the gassy smoke. While he feels how his suit is also very agitated by the warmth around it. He can’t just stand there and be indecisive. He knows that. So he pushes through it and walks forward. Not being able to see, he uses his feet to scan the ground a bit. While he tries to use the sounds around him to determine where all the walls are. Hoping that the sounds of the burning can aid him to know where they are. Though he sometimes still walks against something. As he, at the same time, tries to keep his mind in an iron grip. Trying his hardest to not panic. Because he knows it will get him killed if he does.

He dares to open his eyes. Seeing the orange and smoke again. While trying to focus on where the stairs are. Quickly locating it to then close his eyes again. Feet before feet he slowly makes his way to the location. To instinctively reach his hand to the iron rail which had heated up because of the fire. He feels his hand burn as he screams for a moment. Trying to still the pain. As panic spreads through his body. Feeling a tear escape his left eye. Knowing how hopeless the situation is. To then hear a crack. A loud crack. A splintered crack above Stan’s head as he quickle bolts forward. To immediately feel a weight of stone or cement fall onto his foot. He feels how it slams him to the ground. Making him fall forward as he can’t move his leg. In front of his face, the wet sleeve falls to the ground. Stan tries to breath in, though feeling how the toxicity of the air makes him feel drowsy.

His hand reaches to the sleeve. As he can feel how his head is almost levitating. Then to hear another cracking sound. As rubble falls down on his back. Slamming open his mouth. Feeling how the air he had held in there now flew out of him. Feeling his ribs in a not so fine state as he crawled forward. Hoping to now get out. Under the rubble. Panic overtaking his sense as Stan now only thought of survival. Not concerned with the coolness of the sleeve. Just wanting to get out under the rubble and make a run for it. Just to get out of here. Just to hear…another cracking.

Stan’s ears were piqued as he pushed himself forward. Trying and trying to get out. As his head felt like a ton of weights. Drowning in a whirlpool of fire around him. Orange and red were the only images Stan could see as he yelled out. Trying to reach anybody. Feeling how fear overtook him. For so long having tried to become strong with his mutations. With his ego. Trying to become stronger for other people. It wasn’t working. He felt how his muscles were screaming of physical pain as they felt like they didn’t have any air. Burning. His longues were feeling like they were breathing in the gravel from the rubble on his back. His teeth sinking in sand. And he hadn’t even been able to reach the second floor.

Stan is dying.

He knows it too. He knows it as the poison spreads through his body. Knows the fear that fuels him for only this moment. Knowing it would all go away soon.

His body was defeated.

A calmth overtook him at that moment. Knowing the certainty of his ****. It scares him. But above all that scary shit. He hears the crying of the kid. Still above him. Still begging for its miserable life.

And if it still had resolve.

Stan could have it too.

His hand grabs the sleeve now muddy and slightly dry.

Sets it around his mouth. And pushes his body up, instead of trying to slide out.

Feeling how nothing changes. How he is still **** against the ground.

But still, the kid cries.

Stan does so too.

As he bulges up his muscles in one last attempt.

It still stays put to the ground. But he can feel movement. On his left side.

So he puts effort on that side only. Feeling how he transforms his body into a slide. Rolling all of the rubble to one side.

To then hold.

Be grounded to the floor.

To try again.

Higher this time. Higher. And higher. Until he can get on one knee.

Deep breaths go through the almost dry sleeve. Pain seeps into Stan’s arms. But he can’t let go now as he pushes himself up. Feeling how his body aches.

He opens his eyes. To the pain of the clouds. As he makes a run.

Now that everything feels destroyed in his body. Stan doesn’t feel a bit of remorse as he runs up the stairs. Feeling how brittle his body is.

Second floor.

Third floor.

A run at the room where he hears the kid in complete panic. Though it seems to be less loud.

The door to the room is locked. But Stan is not at a point of having a discussion with a piece of wood. As he storms at it. Overtaking it with brute ****.

On the ground there lay a young woman. It could be a babysitter. And there lay a crib.

With in it, the baby whose cries have now completely stopped.

Either because it lost consciousness. Or because it is dead. It can’t be the second one according to Stan. Because hope is still a thing, even if it can be false. As he grabs the young woman under one arm and grabs the baby in the other. He doesn’t have much time. And Stan doesn’t know how long he will have a conscious mind. So he puts them down close to the window.

He knows it is a silly thought that crosses his mind. But his arms were already tired from just lifting both the woman and the baby in his arms. He can’t use the stairs again. It would be suicide. So he does the only thing he thought would be the best answer. As he opens the window. Grabs ahold of the woman and the baby in his arm. And starts the climb down. By jumping from one balcony to the one under it. Feeling how with each jump his legs are beginning to be more tired. His feet hurt more. His thoughts only concerned with getting down. As he then lands at the communal grass in front of the small flat. He drops the young woman to the ground. She seems to be breathing. As he puts the baby on top of her.

He knows that he can’t be questioned by the police. So he leaves them there. As they would be soon noticed by the on viewers of the fire.

The only thing they wouldn’t see was how Stan had turned a corner and collapsed in a small alley.