Encounter with the Supermen: An Agent S Short Story

Blending real-life fiction into fiction. That is the way of a social satirist. Here he comes!

By Chongchen Saelee

Finch’s sabotage of the dimensional wavelength shifter really put me in a spin. I couldn’t anticipate what year or location my next stop would be in. The portal opens up, and I have to make the jump. Well, let me tell you about the time it sent me to fight Superman. Actually, that would be Supermen.

The DC Machine’s color temperature indicator was leaning red, and it threw me back to 2012 right in the middle of a raging street protest between the angry mob citizens of New York and their armed and armored law enforcement. Back in the day, I heard stories about how New York City was the basis for most modern day superheroes. These were good people. They aimed to tell good stories about the human spirit. But the problem was when the story was too well told, and the people started believing in these fictional and fantastical stories. They started putting themselves into their heroes’ shoes.

1:35 AM

A crowd had gathered around the street level of a high rise hotel. There was a madman on the roof dressed up as Superman. Knowing how lively the nightlife was in New York, it wouldn’t be a surprise that this much commotion could happen this late into the night. The neon lights and hustling noise was enough to make you think the sun never set.

The SWAT unit had surrounded the building in minutes. The sharpshooters were plentiful. This was strange to me sense it was only one loony on the rooftop. You’d think there might be some other situation that would need these guys’ skills more.

I hooked into their intel network. The SWAT was using their fancy new toys they got loaned to them from the FBI, CIA, and NSA. Nothing wasn’t too useless. They could look at the fibers on Superman’s hot dog stained T-Shirt.

Their real-time mind reading technology, still in its primitive state, had deduced that Superman wasn’t in a suicidal state. He was actually not alone on that rooftop. There was someone else. A timid, small time crook was cornered by the imposing vigilante Superman. Unfortunately, Superman wasn’t armed. He has the silly misconception that his brawny arms and “bulletproof” body was enough. The crook, on the other hand, carried a switch blade.

I could intervene, but that would blow my cover. It would also interrupt the time line and I definitely don’t want to severe the line to my own existence. It was all new to me. I just watched. It was not my place or time.

“I have you cornered, creep! Give it up! Don’t make me put a hurt stomp on you,” said Superman.

“Go fuck yourself, faggot!” The thief shriek, swinging his unfolded switch blade violently in front of him while clutching his bagged loot.

“Fine. Have it your way, criminal.” Superman backed off arrogantly and looked for a steel pipe. He rips a rusty pipe lose and starts swinging it like a baseball bat in a taunting manner.

By now, the thief has risen and has mustered up the courage to take the challenge. After all, whose out to get whom? One of them is walking away alive. So the thief reveals his mastery of the switch blade and juggles it like a tangerine or something so trifling. His stance curls down into a panther.

And the fight doesn’t even last that long. It was a mere 28 seconds.

Superman, being the cock son of a bitch, swings first. Overshooting his aim, and the pipe being quite heavy, he pretty much misses any opportunity to deflect any attacks or shield his weak spots. In a split second, the thief lunges at the off-guard Superman and lacerates his jugular. He also quickly stabs Superman in the small of his back. Superman can’t even scream because he’s clutching at to vital wounds, bleeding to death.

The thief spits on Superman, snatches his loot and scurries away through the rooftops.

This is where it gets interesting.

1:42 AM

The SWAT and cops don’t hesitate to go into full bloodhound mode. And the news outlets get a hold of the situation, all in real-time. And then the vigilantes come out. Now the hunt is on for a faceless thief who has just killed Superman. The irony is in the crime scene photos, of some poor misguided muscle man, laying in a puddle of his own blood which resembled Superman’s vibrant red cape.

I jumped the satelites and tracked the thief in real time. See, I told you those blue boys’ technology was primitive.

The thief got away, but the sounds of sirens wailing in the distant didn’t faze him. They would never find him in this neighborhood. No one dared to rat. Being a snitch was worse than being an outright public criminal. The thief was confident.

He had stolen a bunch of iPhones, portable devices used as personal communicators. At the time, they were quite lucrative in the resale market. He could make a few thousand dollars with what he just stole. Even the death of Superman wouldn’t ruin his sleep tonight. The thief closed the blinds to his raggedy apartment, tucked his loot into a hole beneath a floor board, and tucked himself into bed.

2:15 AM

Strangely enough, this town wasn’t out of vigilantes yet. A group of young people had witnessed the entire incident across town. Their resourcefulness actually led them to the killer’s apartment. Using a clever network of human eyes and digital communication, these young people kept an eye on the killer’s foot path, just as well as any satelite relay could. Unfortunately, their vigilance wasn’t enough. They were so disillusioned about justice, they didn’t feel a need to report it to the law enforcement. Predictably, they took it upon themselves to go after the killer.

Dressed up like their favorite superhero Batman, these sons of Batman had uncanny stashes of weaponry: assault rifles, pipe bombs, knifes, you name it. Who were they going to war with? Especially at this time of night… er, morning?

So like a rowdy, raucously loud group of youths, dressed as Batman, they all hoped into their motorcycles and tin can cars and blared through the streets.

When they arrived at the killer’s apartment complex, they didn’t hesitate to make a grand entrance. They were out for blood. Whether they knew how to dispense it in a just way was another thing.

The young Batmen surrounded the medium sized shanty apartment complex, awakening all the neighbors and tenants. They kicked down the front door and stormed to the killer’s room.

But wouldn’t you know it? The neighbors called the cops on these wannabe superheroes. And those high-alert law enforcement were already making their rounds. It was like a tidal wave.

2:20 AM

By the time the cops had arrived to the killer’s apartment, they young Batmen had already began beating him severely with steel bats and other bludgeoning weapons. They rudely awakened him when they splintered his apartment door. They headed straight for his bedroom and pretty much the killer stood no chance.

The young Batmen killed the thief in less than a minute. Some of them stood in the background with their itchy finger triggers on their personalized contraband handguns. They wanted to ice someone.

But before they started getting their medals from the mayor, the SWAT team barricaded the exits. These young sons of Batman were about to get slaughtered like pigs in a pen. Y’know, I read that Batman could escape these no-win situations like a ninja. Unfortunately, that’s not what goes down in real life.

There isn’t even a stand-off.

2:50 AM

Every armed Bat-son was killed by SWAT. It was a clean-cut case. A gang war. A petty robbery that triggered hostility between a gang and one of its moles. At least, that’s what’s going to get written up. Because it’s just easier that way.

As they carried out the body bags, the DCM timer was sounding and a portal had opened up. I bowed my head in silence for a moment at the tragedy. It was a strange sighting. But I come from a time where it’s a lot worse. And more subtle. Convenient even. Was this how it started?

I enter the portal.

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