Who am I? Where did I come from? Why can’t I feel anything?
The thoughts inside the man’s head echoed on and on as he trudged through the snowy streets of Zepther. The city, tiny in comparison on others like Saint Anne in the west, was a cozy place of five million. It wasn’t a big enough place yet to call a metropolis but the mayor did believe that it would one day.
The man didn’t care, he was content with the things around him. The snow was annoying, but nothing seemed to bother the tall man, well over six feet in height. His brown-reddish hair changed into grey with the wind, swaying gently with the breeze. His red coat kept him warm, or so it would seem to the outsider. His eyes were covered by black sunglasses that prevented anyone from viewing his optics.
He wore tight black gloves to protect others from his special gifts, and had on a green shirt underneath his red coat. Black pants protected his legs from the weather, as did a pair of black boots. A belt was on his hips, keeping the pants up. Beneath the shirt, the man was muscle-bound, rippling with unseen strength. But then again, people did not tend to get into the profession he had decided to join without some basic muscle.
Who am I? Where did I come from? Why can’t I feel anything?
The questions echoed in the man’s head yet again. He did not know the answer to those thoughts within his head, but he knew where to find them. From a pocket in the red jacket, he pulled from it a sliver of paper he had been saving. It was crumbled and yellow, but the man still had it after three years.
When you wish to know your past, make for Zepther. The answers to the MetaSkin lie there
The paper was unsigned, but that was all the man knew about himself. He had no past, no nothing to tell him who he was or where he came from. He had been wandering for so long. He trudged through the snow into a small shop outside of the streets he had been wandering aimlessly through. There was no sign above the shop, but it was easy to tell what kind of shop it was because of the merchandise the man could see through the window.
, the man thought. At least it seemed to have some coffee inside, he could use some nourishment, so he opened the small door, hearing a small bell chime as his feet entered the building.
“Shut the door, it’s freezing outside!” shouted a feminine voice from the back room. “Were you born in a barn?”
Don’t know woman, you’re asking the wrong person
, he thought miserably, shutting the door behind him like she asked. A TV was blaring in the background, but the man rarely paid attention to current events of the world. Such things were for heroes like the Starbolts, or other famous heroes. The man was nothing, just another person. He barely knew anything about himself.
Save for the knowledge that he couldn’t feel the wind, or the one other thing that prevented him from ever removing the glasses in public. He heard the voice in the back room again. It shouted, “I can see you, so don’t even think of stealing anything!”
“Not worth my time,” the man muttered, taking from his pocket a crumbled dollar bill and placing it in a coffee machine. The bill went in halfway, before being rejected by the machine, which was around the same height as the man was. Six and a half feet.
“Stupid hunk of junk,” the man muttered, looking down at the dollar bill. Taking a glance that no one was around, and couldn’t see what he was doing, he felt his power. Lightweight little coils of metal began to form from the man’s chest, uncoiling into the arms and down the gloves, not ripping a single piece of the fabric. It was almost impossible to see from another’s point of view, but the man was fully able to tell where it was, and what it was doing. The metal began to reform into the dollar bill’s shape, thinning it out. The man grinned, before sticking the bill into the machine for a second time. The machine beeped, before the money amount appeared on the counter.
The show on the TV, one of the lame soaps that showed on the screen everyday in the afternoon, was stopped as a report came on. As the coffee came out from the machine, the man sat down to glance on what was going on, despite his common sense that the Starbolts could handle anything.
“This just in, a plane in Saint Anne has been hijacked,” a voice on the TV announced, displaying the scene. A plane was passing through Michigan to where Zepther was. “It has been predicted that the plane is scheduled to crash at the mayor’s private residence. The Starbolts Bluestreak, Gabriella, and Titanus are currently making their way to where the plane was last spotted in the air. We‘ll be bringing you more of this story as it progresses.”
The Starbolts are too far away
, thought the man, as he finished the coffee in his hands. I think I might need to do something about this. He set the cup down, and went out of the shop. “Thanks for the Joe,” he muttered to the woman in the back.
“Don’t mention it,” the voice answered, before the man headed out into the cold.
He looked around him to see apartment buildings surround him. They weren’t as big as New York, but were still of a decent size for him to climb.
The man removed his gloves, and felt the metal shoot from his fingertips, forming claws that expanded five inches outside of his nails. Grinning, the man dug the claws into the brick foundation of the building outside of the shop, and began to scale the wall like Spider-Man.
I’d like to see that moron size up to me
, the man thought, as he reached the top of the building. Gripping the sides with both claws, he lifted himself to the roof, where all heroes enjoy much of their careers at. He removed his coat, and lifted up his shirt. He discarded it, and took off his belt.
I promised myself this would happen one day
, he thought, as he flipped the belt over to expose the emblem on the other side of the black belt. A small symbol, but one that meant a lot to the man. The eye, his own symbol. He put the belt on, the emblem flashing green. He flipped his coat and shirt as well, exposing black. He opened a compartment in the coat, releasing the rest of the trench coat, along with a mask.
He put the shirt on, along with the coat. He reattached his gloves, before taking his glasses off. He sighed at his loss of sight as he placed the mask on, covering his hideous face, with its lack of eyes. He felt metal rise in the form of a coil, and he touched the mask that hid everything but his hair, which changed with the wind to reddish-brown to cold grey.
He was covered in black, all save for his hair. He looked down at his gloves, and flexed the hands beneath. He heard metal grind against metal, and he grinned under the mask. “I will do this,” he reassured himself, before walking over to where the building ended, and a small park began, making a gap in the system of buildings.
“I am Chronos, that is all I need to know for now,” the new hero muttered, falling from the rooftop to the ground below. Feeling the metal on his skin move, it branched out from his back, forming into two neat wings outside the trench coat. Chronos flapped them, and took flight.