Awesome. The name sounded like something a douche might call himself. I seriously hoped he wasn’t a douche.
Concessions have to be made when it comes to picking a code name. Twenty years ago, when Enhanced individuals started popping out of the woodwork, it seemed like every city sported a ‘Superman’ or a ‘Hulk’. Understandably enough, comic book companies got a little miffed. After all, when someone is causing damage and injury while using your copyrighted character’s moniker, it can tend to piss you off.
So the lawyers and pundits lobbied Congress like there was nothing more important under the sun than their clients’ intellectual property. It took less than a week for them to come up with the Enhanced Naming Convention Act. Basically, the ENCA said that unless officially sanctioned by the owners of said character, code-naming yourself after an individual already present in hero media won you an automatic five years’ stay at the Max.
An addendum, added a few months later, created the ENCA database. Every new hero and villain had their name added to the roster and unless someone died or retired, that name was off-limits to anyone else. I honestly felt sorry for the next person to decide that they wanted to be ‘Crushette’.
As I hovered in front of the double doors–the Double G symbol etched into each–the citizens of the city, on their way back from lunch or to a meeting, hurried past. Even though several of them mumbled about me standing in the middle of the sidewalk, none of them really gave me a second look. They had no clue that Crushette was back and standing there as indecisively as a preschooler.
I fidgeted while the debate about whether or not I was actually going to do this raged in my head. Had Mister Manpower’s offer been genuine? What if this was some sort of trap? No, I’d been out of play for a couple of years and was probably no longer on any hero’s radar. Plus, I’d done a pretty good job of keeping a low profile since I got out of the Max.
Except for that battle with Nite-Star. Oh, and destruction of personal property and communicating an Enhanced threat. Okay, so my profile wasn’t being kept as low as I’d hoped.
Still, I sighed and stared into the mirror-like surface of the doors at the girl who was either about to make the most logical decision in her life. Or the stupidest.
I reached for the handle and paused. Maybe I should have worn something other than jeans and a t-shirt. Even though my current wardrobe was less than extensive, the uber casual nature of my clothing didn’t come anywhere close to screaming ‘superhero’. Well, at least my hair was being cooperative today. Untamed bed-head was the last thing my slacker attire needed as a companion.
I pulled open one of the omni-plex doors, stepped into the lobby, and froze.
Apparently the opening had drawn a great deal of interest. Inside was a hero smorgasbord.
The lobby was packed with hopeful potentials, all eagerly awaiting their opportunity to prove they had what it took to be a member of the Good Guys. Some of them I recognized. Many, I didn’t. There were only a dozen or so chairs in the room, all fully occupied. As was the narrow padded bench running along one wall. Behind a tall wood and metal desk near the elevators, a six-armed receptionist answered multiple phone lines like a whirlwind.
I kept my head down and my face mostly hidden by my hair as I headed across the polished tile floor to the receptionist’s desk. When I cleared my throat, the multi-limbed brunette put down both of the phones she was holding and peered at me over the top of her 60’s retro cat’s-eye glasses. “Can I help you?” Her tone practically screamed that it wasn’t cool to just walk up to the counter like that and that helping me was not of the highest priority.
I glanced up and put on what I hoped was my friendliest, most disarming smile. “I’m Karen Hashimoto.”
She continued to stare at me so I leaned over
Concessions have to be made when it comes to picking a code name. Twenty years ago, when Enhanced individuals started popping out of the woodwork, it seemed like every city sported a ‘Superman’ or a ‘Hulk’. Understandably enough, comic book companies got a little miffed. After all, when someone is causing damage and injury while using your copyrighted character’s moniker, it can tend to piss you off.
So the lawyers and pundits lobbied Congress like there was nothing more important under the sun than their clients’ intellectual property. It took less than a week for them to come up with the Enhanced Naming Convention Act. Basically, the ENCA said that unless officially sanctioned by the owners of said character, code-naming yourself after an individual already present in hero media won you an automatic five years’ stay at the Max.
An addendum, added a few months later, created the ENCA database. Every new hero and villain had their name added to the roster and unless someone died or retired, that name was off-limits to anyone else. I honestly felt sorry for the next person to decide that they wanted to be ‘Crushette’.
As I hovered in front of the double doors–the Double G symbol etched into each–the citizens of the city, on their way back from lunch or to a meeting, hurried past. Even though several of them mumbled about me standing in the middle of the sidewalk, none of them really gave me a second look. They had no clue that Crushette was back and standing there as indecisively as a preschooler.
I fidgeted while the debate about whether or not I was actually going to do this raged in my head. Had Mister Manpower’s offer been genuine? What if this was some sort of trap? No, I’d been out of play for a couple of years and was probably no longer on any hero’s radar. Plus, I’d done a pretty good job of keeping a low profile since I got out of the Max.
Except for that battle with Nite-Star. Oh, and destruction of personal property and communicating an Enhanced threat. Okay, so my profile wasn’t being kept as low as I’d hoped.
Still, I sighed and stared into the mirror-like surface of the doors at the girl who was either about to make the most logical decision in her life. Or the stupidest.
I reached for the handle and paused. Maybe I should have worn something other than jeans and a t-shirt. Even though my current wardrobe was less than extensive, the uber casual nature of my clothing didn’t come anywhere close to screaming ‘superhero’. Well, at least my hair was being cooperative today. Untamed bed-head was the last thing my slacker attire needed as a companion.
I pulled open one of the omni-plex doors, stepped into the lobby, and froze.
Apparently the opening had drawn a great deal of interest. Inside was a hero smorgasbord.
The lobby was packed with hopeful potentials, all eagerly awaiting their opportunity to prove they had what it took to be a member of the Good Guys. Some of them I recognized. Many, I didn’t. There were only a dozen or so chairs in the room, all fully occupied. As was the narrow padded bench running along one wall. Behind a tall wood and metal desk near the elevators, a six-armed receptionist answered multiple phone lines like a whirlwind.
I kept my head down and my face mostly hidden by my hair as I headed across the polished tile floor to the receptionist’s desk. When I cleared my throat, the multi-limbed brunette put down both of the phones she was holding and peered at me over the top of her 60’s retro cat’s-eye glasses. “Can I help you?” Her tone practically screamed that it wasn’t cool to just walk up to the counter like that and that helping me was not of the highest priority.
I glanced up and put on what I hoped was my friendliest, most disarming smile. “I’m Karen Hashimoto.”
She continued to stare at me so I leaned over
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