phase was already in progress. I’d dug the tunnel weeks before. I motioned two robots to the front of the bank to engage the police. The others were already loading the money into the shaft. After my escape, they’d collapse the tunnel behind me.
Only one thing left to do. I turned to face one of the security cameras. It was time to let them know who I was, what I’d known for years. I’d planned something—I forget what—but something else rose to my lips. The humiliations build up, and you know you’ll never get back at them, even though somewhere inside you’re better than they are. The real you is somewhere else, someone invisible, unknowable. Someone impossible.
“I’m Doctor Impossible.” I shouted it to them. “Doctor Impossible!” They would know me now; they had to. I turned and climbed down into the shaft.
The tunnel had an exit point, miles south, and a rented truck was waiting for me. I changed into civilian clothes. On the return trip, I had one last moment of weakness. There was no turning back now. I wasn’t just a missing person anymore, or an eccentric inventor. I was a supervillain. For heaven’s sake, I’d just robbed a bank in broad daylight. I pulled over to the side of the road. I felt like I was going to be sick. What had I done? There was no way to hide this. Why had I thought this was going to work? These people could fly. They could see through objects. They would run me down like an animal.
I thought about turning myself in, giving it all up. If I gave everything back, all the money and the gold, they couldn’t do that much to me. A few years and I’d be out. I could go back to the labs. The robotics work I’d done in the past eight months would win me a research grant and help mend fences at the university. I’d be able to go on working, even do some research if I cut the right deal. Having powers didn’t mean I had to do this stupid stuff. This ridiculous little incident could all be forgotten, the stupid costume, the name. Just drop it all here.
I put my hands on my helmet, ready to lift it off. And…what? Walk into the police station? Call the FBI? Go to prison? Even if I turned myself in, it wouldn’t change anything.
It wouldn’t make me one of them. I knew that when I got my powers, but really I knew it before then. I learned it as a child on my first day of school, on the warm rainy streets of Bangkok, and in college. If you’re different you always know it, and you can’t fix it even if you want to. What do you do when you find out your heart is the wrong kind? You take what you’re given, and be the hero you can be. Hero to your own cold, inverted heart.
It’s time to start again. Maybe this time it will be different. I’ve learned from my mistakes. With CoreFire gone, I may never get a better chance.
I think I’m going to be staying on here in my suite at the Starlight Motel. The ruins of my old base are going to be too hot for a while. I’ve checked all the hero traffic I can monitor, and I think I got away clean. There’s a RadioShack one street over, plenty of copper wire, and all the take-out food I can eat. I’ve got plans now, ideas I worked out in prison. In a few weeks, free, someone like me can accomplish a lot.
I do a little sketching, but the kernel of the new plan is a simple one. To take over the world, I need four items—a mirror, a book, a doll, and a jewel. It’s a trick, a hack I worked out back in the cell. Four objects no one particularly cares about, sifted out of all the clutter of the world, but combine them in the right way and they mean everything. I still don’t know where they are, and I need to get them without being caught. And there are still so many variables: Where is CoreFire? What if he returns?
I’m careful. I wear sunglasses even at night, and speak in an affected voice. But the Arabic man in the pink button-down shirt at the convenience store has seen me. The attendant at the laundromat
Only one thing left to do. I turned to face one of the security cameras. It was time to let them know who I was, what I’d known for years. I’d planned something—I forget what—but something else rose to my lips. The humiliations build up, and you know you’ll never get back at them, even though somewhere inside you’re better than they are. The real you is somewhere else, someone invisible, unknowable. Someone impossible.
“I’m Doctor Impossible.” I shouted it to them. “Doctor Impossible!” They would know me now; they had to. I turned and climbed down into the shaft.
The tunnel had an exit point, miles south, and a rented truck was waiting for me. I changed into civilian clothes. On the return trip, I had one last moment of weakness. There was no turning back now. I wasn’t just a missing person anymore, or an eccentric inventor. I was a supervillain. For heaven’s sake, I’d just robbed a bank in broad daylight. I pulled over to the side of the road. I felt like I was going to be sick. What had I done? There was no way to hide this. Why had I thought this was going to work? These people could fly. They could see through objects. They would run me down like an animal.
I thought about turning myself in, giving it all up. If I gave everything back, all the money and the gold, they couldn’t do that much to me. A few years and I’d be out. I could go back to the labs. The robotics work I’d done in the past eight months would win me a research grant and help mend fences at the university. I’d be able to go on working, even do some research if I cut the right deal. Having powers didn’t mean I had to do this stupid stuff. This ridiculous little incident could all be forgotten, the stupid costume, the name. Just drop it all here.
I put my hands on my helmet, ready to lift it off. And…what? Walk into the police station? Call the FBI? Go to prison? Even if I turned myself in, it wouldn’t change anything.
It wouldn’t make me one of them. I knew that when I got my powers, but really I knew it before then. I learned it as a child on my first day of school, on the warm rainy streets of Bangkok, and in college. If you’re different you always know it, and you can’t fix it even if you want to. What do you do when you find out your heart is the wrong kind? You take what you’re given, and be the hero you can be. Hero to your own cold, inverted heart.
It’s time to start again. Maybe this time it will be different. I’ve learned from my mistakes. With CoreFire gone, I may never get a better chance.
I think I’m going to be staying on here in my suite at the Starlight Motel. The ruins of my old base are going to be too hot for a while. I’ve checked all the hero traffic I can monitor, and I think I got away clean. There’s a RadioShack one street over, plenty of copper wire, and all the take-out food I can eat. I’ve got plans now, ideas I worked out in prison. In a few weeks, free, someone like me can accomplish a lot.
I do a little sketching, but the kernel of the new plan is a simple one. To take over the world, I need four items—a mirror, a book, a doll, and a jewel. It’s a trick, a hack I worked out back in the cell. Four objects no one particularly cares about, sifted out of all the clutter of the world, but combine them in the right way and they mean everything. I still don’t know where they are, and I need to get them without being caught. And there are still so many variables: Where is CoreFire? What if he returns?
I’m careful. I wear sunglasses even at night, and speak in an affected voice. But the Arabic man in the pink button-down shirt at the convenience store has seen me. The attendant at the laundromat
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