Sunset

Did he fail?

That was the thought floating through the blackness of his semi-conscious mind. It all played back in his mind in the undulating waves of sensation around him. Was he supposed to feel so cold? The thought came to mind, though he couldn’t really answer it. All there was to him was pain as well as cold. In this cold world all he could feel was all the pain he could ever feel, embraced in the frigid sensation.

Is this what it feels like to die?

A lone sound within the void.  Loss and pain, sorrow as well as the emotions he felt in his life. A place where hope could go to die.

He knew he fell, a height that no person could survive. Bereft of energy, as well as anything else that made him any better than human. He should have died. Burnt up in the reentry, nothing more than ashes and cinders that spread across the atmosphere. Death just made sense. He died along so with many people who were killed in New York. Something about that was even sadder. Sapping him of what strength that remained, a despair deeper and harsher than even the cloying cold.

All thanks to that Amaterasu. The women who dropped him from that great height. Golden like the sun as if mocking him in her own way. ”You’re a failure afterall.” Her haughty, strong voice broke the silence of the shadowy darkness. He couldn’t deny that. It was true wasn’t it? If the dead could cry, he felt like he was going to.

There was even the faintest sting of salt at the corner of his eyes. Was it supposed to hurt? He didn’t know anything about death, so it was an unknown. That was followed by the sound of shrieks and faint crashing. No, that made sense. As soon as the thought occurred to him the taste of salt entered his mouth.

Then his eyes opened.

Gritty sand rested against his elbow, bracing his body which left him hacking as coughing. Vomiting up the salty water he was choking on. He was on a beach. Bird cries echoing out in the distance, the wet sand beneath his hands and scrunched within his fingers.  His couching fit continued for a few seconds, leaving his throat and chest feeling raw. Soon enough he expelled every gout of sea water, leaving him sore yet strangely alive.

”I’m alive?” He said, low with a voice like sandpaper as his throat slowly began to feel better. Pain fading to dull irritation, then something more comfortable. ”life's full of surprises I guess,” His bangs were wet, almost stringy as they stuck to his forehead. Muscles still sore, he rolled onto his back and lay on the beach. Letting his mind ruminate on what brought him to this deserted island.

Okay, that was an assumption.

Even still there was something comforting about believing this island was deserted. No one to look upon him, judge the great failure with a vainglorious name. The salt sting in his eyes made what few tears he felt rise up unnoticed. Covering it up with the meaty part of his arm, well it might have helped. Not that he felt anyone around to notice. His senses weren’t as keen, though despite that  he had a strange feeling he was alone here. The sun had set now, leaving him bathed in silver moonlight that left the beach faintly illuminated. Despite that he didn’t feel as weakened as he thought he would.

It was faint yet his cells buzzed with energy. Enough to keep him awake, not assaulted with the sensation of weakness and whatever else. Sadly his costume was ripped to hell. The fact he even had it clinging to him was enough to make him question why it was around.

The desire to rise to his feet was lacking so he laid there for a little longer.

He had defeated Atlas before. It was a great day for him, the failure who was born without power managed to undertake the world's greatest hero in combat and emerge victorious. It was a satisfying feeling, something dark within him had awakened. He had felt the pull of darkness before, and he had given in. He would would never be that way again. Even now as that darkness called to him, chanting to him as a siren's song, the metaphysical draw in the back of his skull calling out. Come dance with me, my friend.

Humanity was a murderer. He was a creature that was contemptable, reviled and without doubt the most loathsome being on this rock. A mere human that scaled the pinnacle of power and humbled all that would dare look to him as lesser. But Atlas, Atlas was something else. His mind wandered to the past, recalling his days as Azrael. He remembered a friend he fought for, a martyr and a Saviour. It was a life passed, for both him and that martyr. The martyrdom turned to sacrifice, and the Saviour became an Executioner. The cloaked Azrael at his side turned black and vanished.

So why did he pull Atlas from the water? Why did he save the man from certain destruction? Because unlike those so-called heroes of this world that looked down on Humanity, Atlas was not that way. Atlas took Humanity Seriously from the beginning. He fought Humanity for the right for others to live, even if he did have a pesky collar on him from some strange organization. He had to admit, he envied Atlas. Atlas had everything he ever wanted. The Power to fight, to make a difference. The chance to be something more.

He wouldn't stand Idly by and let a good man drown. There was some part in his cold, black heart that still stirred, and bled red blood. Thankfully Atlas' matter and material density wasn't greater than a normal human's despite his impossible durability, otherwise Humanity wouldn't have been able to move him.

Fighting the waves, looking and listening to the carnage of the city he now abandoned, he wondered if he was making the right choice. Philosophically speaking this was a Trolly problem. He was risking several hundred lives by not intervening. All in hopes to save the one, who could save millions. He began to feel exhaustion before he managed to get to a boat in the harbor.

Quickly slopping the man aboard, Humanity crawled up, looking for any sign of civilian. None. They were wise to flee from the conflict. He would quickly hotwire the small boat, removing the console from the front wheel and pushing them together, hearing the engine sit in silence.

"Oh fuck, It's a boat. Duh" He said to himself, pulling his mask off as he walked down the small stairs to look for the panel, quickly turning everything on to make his escape.

By the time he had fled the scene and made his advance to a small remote island a few miles away, he had changed out of his suit, back into a more suitable set of his civilian clothes. He beached the boat and pulled Atlas out onto the sand, setting him in the sun, recalling full how his powers functioned. He removed the dagger of Yamm and sliced at his costume, rending pieces and chunks of it off to allow more surface area to absorb the solar radiation.

He then walked off for a little bit, gathering some of the small rocks and disappearing into the boat for a moment, in search of pen and paper. He found random documents, some pens, but nothing promising for scratch paper. Finally he walked outside and sat down on the other side of the island, jotting down notes as the sun set.

Before long he would hear Atlas speaking to himself, though he didn't quite catch that. He had started a small fire with some of the books he found in the boat as kindling, using the firelight to see as he continued to write down notes.

"Wow, you're alive?" He finally asked, he sounded hopeful, concerned even. He looked over at the man laying there in the darkness as the moon slowly began to light the night with stars.

"That's mighty lucky, I didn't know how to tell anyone that I fished up Atlas from the water." He said with a nervous chuckle

How long did he lay on the sandy shore? The question echoed through his mind. Whether in sleep or being awake, he didn’t know but that radiant wet feeling was something that felt uncomfortable. His body wasn’t as sore as he thought, which meant that he’d somehow healed up enough to just even be conscious.

Then the scent of burnt paper and smoke reached his nostrils. That crackle of fire sending dancing shadows in his periphery. A campfire? It meant he wasn’t alone. Questions rose to his mind next. Mostly about who it was and how they found him, which suggested resourcefulness if nothing else.  Despite that he force himself into sitting, looking around for the person who had spoken.

The tone sounded friendly enough but he knew people could act. Villains and even heroes were capable of that simple concept, though not everyone was a good actor.  If the internet was to be believed anyway. ”I’m alive...I think,” His body still felt sore, he could move but the soreness still remained. How long would it take to fade? He hoped soon enough.

His gaze focused on the man cast in the light of a small campfire.  He looked young, younger than him at the very least. Eyes cast down and reading from what he could assume, even if the light was bad for reading. ”How did you fish me up? I know I was in the water but...don’t remember much after that,”  His voice sounded tired when he spoke, running his fingers through his soaked hair. ”think another question is where are we?” The guy had to know, right?

There was a goal to every interaction. An objective to every angle. The trajectory we take in life is always determined by the force behind us, tempered and altered by the guidance we are given, and pulled down by the weight of the world. It is very rare that one ever got to touch the heavens. It caused resentment inside him. His heart continued at a steady pace, unaltered as Matthew dissociated for a second.

He could manipulate this situation. He could make it seem like divine fortune, or luck. He could play it off like a fan of Atlas who saw an opportunity to save their hero. He could make it seem like a freak accident. Hell, he didn't even really owe an explanation. There were any number of personalities he could put on, any number of situations and circumstances he could play out and leave this interaction unnoticed, or rather undetected.

"Well it's simple. Amaterasu did a number on you. You went down, I dove in after you." He said, only as if that made the most sense in the world. To him it did. He was tired of lying, tired of being bogged down with an identity, tired of being stuck in the same old place, proverbial wheels spinning while he made no progress. This world was still corrupt, the people inside it were still multiplying. No matter who he hurt, who he killed. He rarely made an impact. All it did was continue to feed his pride, continue his delusions that someone like him could ever do what needed to be done. His heart finally paused for a moment as dread took hold of him.

"I couldn't let you drown, could I?" He asked, looking to Atlas with a smirk, a genuine gesture of happiness before looking back to his book. "Now, Amaterasu works on solar radiation, just like you do. She's been alive longer, but that doesn't seem to matter. Cell's normally can only hold so much energy. You're mass is greater than hers even with mammary considerations. Right? You're a bit thicker than her, yeah?"

She did a number, he couldn’t debate that yet he didn’t recall anyone around him. Maybe this guy was a little more than human which could have explained much.  If he was a threat though, that wasn’t something he could guess.  He wasn’t dead so maybe he was overthinking. Waking up on a sandy beach with the taste of salt on his tongue didn’t exactly do the mood any favors. The day was just not his, or anyone else it seemed.

”Dove in after me huh? Guess you’re stronger than you look,” Something about that didn’t really draw too much of his attention. If anything, an enhanced strength wasn’t unusual for the meta humans he heard about.  Overthinking should have been something he was doing, yet his head hurt enough to discourage it. Besides, this guy sounded like he was a genuine, maybe even good person.

So drawing upon his little returning strength, Atlas rose to his feet and walked over to the small but radiant heat of the campfire. It felt blessedly warm compared to the cold clinging to his body and piercing through his bones. Standing in the flickering light, he heard the guy talk about Amaterasu and how her powers worked. Yeah, it did seem like they had similar powers. That didn’t explain how she managed to drain all the energy from him with a touch. Thinking back reminded him of that hopelessly painful weakness that washed over him.

”Feel like what you’re saying is right but she was...just way too strong. Threw me around like a ragdoll.” He sighed, palm encompassing his face as if trying comprehend what had happened. ”You seem to know a lot about me though. A theory from one of those fan forums?”

He kept calm and composed, not allowing his mind to wander from him. He focused entirely on what he was writing. It was a long shot, but he couldn't help but wonder if what had happened to Atlas was an internal struggle more than external. He couldn't be sure that it was his fault. Especially since that woman seemed strong enough...

"Stronger. She was stronger but she didn't have any logical pattern. Basic one-two boxer styles. She wasn't an overly trained fighter. She never had to be." He mused to himself as if he had a sudden hopeful revelation. He quickly scrawled down the thought before it would escape him. His most simple hypothesis always escape him at the wrong moment. The furious sound of pencil on paper continued to fill the air with the cracking of wood and tinder before Atlas had asked him about where he got his information from. He smirked and paused his writing to arch an eyebrow before smiling at Atlas.

"Oh wow. Demoted to fan-boy. Hardy har." He said before resuming his postulations upon the paper. He quickly began thinking of a myriad of ways to combat a more powerful foe. No, too early. He knew enough about her to start the beginnings of her demise. But that's what gave him pause. Was this really his fight? What was he worried about? Why did he become anxious at the thought of cleaning up this metahuman mess?

He was Humanity! He was a god slayer, a mortal who had done the impossible. His name had once become synonymous with the Boogeyman. He looked to Atlas and sighed as he closed the book. He studied him for an almost uncomfortable amount of time, nodding and pulling the beanie off his head. He had done this for Bolt, and ultimately he became a true hero. Could he help Atlas too?

The memories of his betrayal caused a surge of nausea. His heart hurt as he remembered hearing Cypher scream when looking at him. When Slim began lashing out with his shadows. Bolt's disbelief. This regret. This sadness. This humanity. He had no time for it, it had no place in him. He was too far gone....

"How did you lose?" He asked, uncertain of how to proceed with his line of question, or any revelation that would need to be made thereafter. For the first time in his life he had to gamble that telling someone his secret wouldn't result in death. Tough to take that leap of faith with a man he was previously responsible for defeating.

The man was analytical, he could tell just from the few sentences shared between them. Pick someone apart from what they did, actions they performed and things like that. Was she not an overly trained fighter? He didn’t fight her long enough to get that idea, there was mostly a clash of fists and him being thrown around until the punching to the moon happened. Even thinking back to it, the punch really hurt.

”What were you before? Stalker?” He questioned, curious now with the unspoken implication. It was a mild joke, though he didn’t think it would be taken like that. Honestly his own ability to make jokes felt lacking, but that happened. He wondered how he could really recover from everything that happened. Defeat was to be expected, he had been told that through his entire life and yet the toll that came from it managed to make him feel heavy.

Lives lost to people with powers much like his own and his disastrous plummet to earth didn’t make things easier.  Did people even know he was alive? It was possible, but should they know? His mind raced a mile a minute, working through thoughts that began to tear away at themselves. Standing here on a beach with a perfect stranger just brought that altogether, and yet answered nothing at all. This man fished him from the water. That much he knew but that was where the information stopped.

Well, if he saved him at the very least that meant he was dealing with a person that didn’t want him dead. Maybe even a decent person.  ”How did I lose?” He repeated the question, looking to the star pocked night sky and then back down to the man.  ”I don’t know. She touched me and then suddenly  drained all the energy in me. All my powers gone in a second. I don’t know how she did it,” Talking about it brought back the memory, as well as the fear and pain that came with it. Like a gold drain that saturated every nerve and cell within his body.  

”All I know is she did that, then let me drop. Don’t know how I’m alive, considering the re-entry,” Thinking this through he sat down on the sand, drawing his knees to his chest while working through everything he had said.

He was drained of power? That actually made a lot of sense. These beings with the Atlas-gene markers were living solar panels, harnessing and taking in radiation in order to put out energy, akin to a hyperactive and hyper efficient machine. Radiation was a constant in all things, save for the ears case of Absolute Zero. So if Solar panels absorbed this radiation, light, and heat from the atmosphere, what's to say they couldn't process the radiation from other beings like them? He seemed to daze off for a moment as he ruminated on the words to say next.

 "How long did she have contact with you before the drain happened?" he asked, musing a tiny bit as he seemed to write down a little more. He would need to figure out the dynamics of her capability. She wasn't a trained combatant. He was certain of that. If she can drain others of their radioactivity and their isotopes... Then it would mean she focused on her powers more than her actual combative nature.

  Looking over Atlas he let out a small sigh, but gave a small smile before reaching into his bag and pulling out a large coat, gently tossing it by the weakened being. He knew well enough that there was a real reason he waited here for Atlas to wake up.

  "Forget all this for a second. How ya doing?" He asked, eyes scanning him from behind a pair of clear glasses, a genuine concern bleeding in front the parts of him that still cared.

He felt the sand gritty beneath him, crunching and shifting with his weight.  Had he ever actually sat on a beach before? ”A second or two at most,” He answered, trying to recall the time she had rested the hand on him. This guy seemed curious about his fight, a little too curious but he couldn’t place it really. Granted internet obsessives did tend to pay more attention and give more energy than seemed necessary for something. Well, maybe he was being judgmental there.

So many questions and yet the one he didn’t expect was one that sounded like concern. His off-colored eyes turned to the man, considering his for a moment as if trying to formulate some kind of response.  ”In all honesty, not too well. Bodies still sore from the beating and I’m pretty sure they pride will take a little longer to heal,” He rested a hand on his ribs, feeling the tenderness radiating through them. He looked to the man, coat extended towards him before realizing he was shivering.

Sure, the cold had some effect but he never really felt cold before. The coat partly enveloped him, lessening that cold feeling. He drew it over the rest of his wide shoulders,  pulling the front close as if to banish the chill. ”Feeling a little beaten down in general. Pretty sure I’m a pathetic sight, fan boy or not,” He laughed,  a low chuckle cut short with a pain wracked cough.

He nodded sympathetically when he heard Atlas confess that he was not feeling well. He talked about his body being bruised and beaten, and he talked about his pride taking longer to heal. He couldn't help but give a small smirk. He knew exactly what that felt like. He watched as Atlas shivered. He shivered? The sudden act made him seem so mundane, so human that he began to question himself. He had never truly felt the cold before, not how others had described it. Once more he had another reason to envy the golden child, the defender of mankind.

A pain wracked cough caused him to cringe. He looked over the pathetic sight and eased up when he identified that he was wounded and weakened still. His body must have been focusing on repairing itself. Did he have enough exposure to the sun for that?

"Nah. Even at your worst, you're still better than me on a good day!" he said trying to keep his tone light and full of energy, despite his typical mentality. He gave a small sniffle as the smell of the burning wood and kindling filled his nose. "General beatdowns happen to everyone. Even the great Atlas. You're alive, that's all that matters some days."

Pain wasn’t an alien thing for him. Even still, weakness was an absolutely new thing. Feeling so weak he was sure his touted reputation could be undone with a single bullet was humbling. Painfully so. The kind of pain that wound in his chest, threatening to tear him apart with those uncertainties that came with it. Atlas wasn’t supposed to be weak like this, so what did that make him?  All that came with the name being ripped away with two humiliating defeats, one more disastrous for those that weren’t him. He didn’t even know if this was just self pity or something else.

Atlas wasn’t supposed to be cold and weak on an unknown shore. He was supposed to save people, fly through the sky where all could see him. Where bad men would fear and him the good would know he was there. It felt more and more like a delusion now. Enough to make him laugh, it he knew it wouldn’t hurt to laugh. ”I wonder what that says about the guy willing to risk his life to fish me out of the ocean. Place has sharks I heard,” He laughed anyway, chest rattling with pain but no cough. He managed to suppress that with a grimace. Trying to draw on meager energy stores to heal his ribs, that did nothing more than make him feel colder.

”That’s the thing isn’t it? They aren’t supposed to happen to Atlas, but here I am. I’m alive and so many people aren’t. Because I wasn’t what they needed me to be,” It came out despite him wanting to hold it back, a broken dam in words that betrayed barely held emotion. He sucked in as deep breath and let it out as a sigh, fingers clenching tightly around his knee, knuckles now bone white.

The wind picked up and smoke blew into his eyes. Perfect cover if he had to say so himself. ”If that’s me, I wonder what that says about my savior,”

There is was. His Instincts told him there would be buried treasure, and so there was. He just had to let the opportunity arise. And here it was. This was the man behind the Titan. The mortal worthy of protection, the being who called out for help when there was no strength left in his body. In religion this would be a come to Jesus moment, but he didn't seem to be here right now. Part of him wanted to wash his hands of it. Like a child that poked the wet cement and then awkwardly stepped back, pretending to have done nothing of note. But that wasn't right. That's not what he wanted to do, was it? Atlas was, right now, human. Right? So he was part of the group Matthew fought for. No excuses.

"Yeah. It's lonely. Trying to be something you're not. he said as he leaned back a bit, looking from the fire and his book to Atlas and then the sky. "Benign Superiority. The condition in which one serves as a helper, symbol or inspiring presence to others. But feel they themselves are above such requirements themselves. Manifesting through either an inferiority complex, a superiority complex, or external pressures from ones environment....or cultural."

"So which is it? Are you that much better than is that we couldn't possibly help you? Or do you feel like a burden to us if you're weak? Do you think we'll abandon you, or that you're unworthy of help? Or is it that organization that keeps hyping you up to an impossible standards. Treating you like a mongrel of war, to be a dispatched symbol with the inhuman illusion of perfection?" his musing were a little pointed, but they were a necessity in this case. Atlas was far more similar with himself than he had theorized. Which made him question the entirey of his life. His decisions were now being called into question in the back of his own mind.

How many had he deemed false heroes or villians simply because of a mere cultural defection? His chest grew heavy and his nose flared a moment as he wiggled his nose. What was this? He knew this feeling well. It was like nausea, and heartache.

He ignored the last question Atlas asked him, far too interested in what Atlas would answer with. The smoke blew in his eyes and Matthew pulled his bag closer to him reaching in and feeling the mask in his hand. There was an unsettling jolt through his body. His hair stood on end and he took in a deep, refreshing breath. The smoke was a nostalgic smell as the darkness steadied his racing heart.

Something he wasn’t? What did that mean? Atlas was all he was really, his entire life. Years of lessons flashed to his mind, mingling with injections and other things that made his flesh prickle. Phantom needles that circulated through his entirety, though there was no real answer to it. Whatever it was found itself drowned out in the deluge of questions the man began to propose. A kind of probing that was far more directed than the little questions that came before, causing him to consider him even more sharply. There had to be a point to being asked questions like this. There had to be a reason right?

Even still all of these questions sent his mind thinking. Trying to grapple with what was said and was being implied. Those that raised him were no different, with their clipboards, white coats and questions which seemed like they were going somewhere. He never really understood where that was. None of it felt true and yet all of it did as well. A kind of thing he couldn’t answer right away, instead feeling his teeth bite into his lower lip until the skin hurt. That sharp and quick pain lancing through as if it would somehow focus his thoughts. Another pain among the many heaped on his body.

”Isn’t that what everyone expects? Inhuman perfection?” He posed the question, all too aware of what people said about him. The blogs, forums, news outlets and everything else. Even the ones in the white coats still testing him to this day. ”People don’t want an imperfect thing. Not when they were expecting someone who could do anything, carry any burden. ” A symbol that did what they wanted, saved everyone and brought a peace of mind he was sure was what everyone wanted.  Well obviously that wasn’t the case.

Humanity, and Amaterasu both wanted something else. Bringing him down to the earth with the sky crashing down next was what it seemed like they wanted. ”The standard never felt impossible before. It was the only standard I knew, the only one I could strive for. If I’m not up to that standard, why wouldn’t they abandon me?” He asked, brows furrowed as if working through his thoughts. ”if I’m not strong enough then I don’t really have any other value. Afterall, I was humiliated by a guy who brags about being a human.  Something tells me the internet isn’t going to let anyone live that down,”

Atlas let his thoughts flow freely. It was almost heartbreaking to hear what he has to say on the issue. That everyone expected perfection, that everyone expected the inhuman from him. To carry any burden. So that was the meaning of his name. There was a primal rage that filled his heart, one that resonated with the darkness that his fingers traced in the bag. The hubris of man knew no limits, Matthew was a testimony to that as well. He listened as Atlas vented the frustrations, revealed his through process. Then finally lamented his defeat.

"Did I abandon you when you fell?" was all he could think to ask. He looked to Atlas with a puzzled look, tilting his head to the side, as if that very fact was proof that his fears, his logic was inherently flawed. Which it was, but it was hopefully telling and revealing as well. "They rely on you to be strong. Not because they are weak, but because they are not strong enough. When you fall, sure. Our hope falls too, but we don't cast it aside and abandon hope. We don't cast each other aside and abandon our own." He let out a slight sigh as he reached up and pulled his beanie off, peeling his glasses off and rubbing his different colored eyes before quickly replacing the glasses and smiling at Atlas.

"You're more than a symbol. You're one of us. You bleed like us, you feel like us! Don't you get it? People don't love you because you stop crime. People don't love you because you are powerful. Your worth to the people isn't because you are Atlas. It is because you are you. Because you dared to care for them when everything else was lost. Because you dared to fight for them even when you were outnumbered and outmatched. Your value isn't in your symbolism. Your value is in who you are, Damien. You could throw Atlas aside and simply walk around and the world would be a better place. You could throw these powers aside and you would still be a hero among mankind." He was almost a little to passionate about explaining this. Of course he knew the obvious counters he would face. He had given this lecture before to Cameron, and ultimately the responses were exactly what people would expect. It was a garbled mess of how ones culture and lifestyle condemned weakness and failed to recognize anything less than perfection. "You are enough. Even if you don't realize it. Even if you've been given a standard that did not seem impossible until now... You are not a God. You are a man, and as such you have the power to turn failure into power. As long as you breathe, you can fight. You can struggle and you can learn. You can grow. That is what it means to be human. Failure breeds success. To care for others, to defend them...to fight for them. That is what makes you a hero. Not your win to loss ratio."

In the face of all of his doubts and insecurities the man asked a simple question. The kind of question so simple it somehow managed to leave his mind quiet. Unable to produce any kind of thought, beyond the confusion of scrambling for that answer. Eyes wide for a moment, then looking to the sand below as if the multitude of grains would hold an answer for him.  Sometimes it was the simplest things that seemed to hold the most impact.

He opened his mouth and his lips snapped shut as the answer which could have come out just didn’t sound like it would fit. No answer was good enough on its own. Strength. Because they people weren’t strong enough. What did that say about him now?  Was he not strong enough to do what he needed, what they needed them for? Something about even thinking about it was enough to make that pain in his chest even worse. Threads fraying apart with the threat to come undone.

That was when the name came into things. His name. A name he chose for himself, rather than the title people shouted at him from the streets, on billboards and so much more. A symbol he never was able to escape from, and one he didn’t even want to escape from. How did this guy know that?

”Just throw it away? Think you might be the only person whose ever said something like that to me. Well, to my face anyway,” he pulled his jacket closer, trying to keep the ocean breeze at bay. ”Never saw the appeal of being a god. Maybe being enough but enough works against a really high metric. Even if its one I’ve apparently put up for myself my whole life. I barely even know what I’m doing. Actually it sounds like I’m setting myself up for failure.” He turned to the man, mind working through what was happening.

”Just wish my failures didn’t have a body count.” He chuckled there, before frowning as if the weight of what he said hit him. ”So...who are you actually? My name isn’t exactly known by people, except the ones with connections. So probably not a fan boy or stalker,” He didn’t really have the strength to fight, well not anyone with enough skill to outdo someone of his build and size. Also...this guy just might have a gun on him.