The Troubles of Superheroing (Open To The First One Who Posts)

Trevor Grayson
Seattle, Washington

Trevor was a good guy. Honest. He had some faults to him, kind of having a history of doing stupid things while being drunk, but he doesn't do that anymore so that's okay now, but... but he's inherently a good guy. He might not find the government all too trustworthy in terms of handling the growing crime threat to America and other North American Countries, but he's not gonna go up in arms about it. You know, he's just decided to take a bit off their shoulders into his own hands. And that would be Seattle.

And that would be a nice thing to do, if it wasn't so goddamn hard to do in the first place.

Seriously, you hear about a robbery taking place, you perk up, you get out the door, get into your suit, you're ready to fight, and then BAM! Another hero has already taken care of it. Sure, he gets that it's an early bird gets the worm kinda world but give him a break, man. He's just one dude with no movement abilities other than the occasional Earth launch thing and parkour abilities. So he's kinda screwed in that department.

So tonight, he decided to just prowl the city like someone from a comic book and wait for him to come across something or overhear something going down. And already once tonight, he heard gunshots, he went to the scene, some super-speed-tank-top-and-skinny-jeans-wearing jerk had already taken care of it. Like... like come on!

So after that, he was a bit disheartened, so for a while he was just sitting on the roof, taking pieces of brick from the building and tossing it at another building, then having it come back up and place itself in the same spot he took it out of.

Repeatedly.

For a while.

It was kind of embarrassing.

Then, finally, he stood up and began to go around the rooftops, trying to hear for any bad deeds that need taken care of.

Or something.

"Man..."

On a rooftop nearby, a man was busy taking turns between punching another man, and taking sips from a bottle of whiskey. Cries could be heard two blocks away, but the drunken man, Trent, did not care. He steadily threw his left fist into his gut, until the crying man finally fell to the ground.

"Next time you try to rob someone's apartment, make sure it's not mine." Said Trent as he finished off the whiskey, and threw it off the ledge.