I’ve been a hero now for less than a day. I’ve arrested the hell out of forty minions of various types, broke up a conference of minor evil. For a while I teamed up with some low-levels like me to keep the streets clean. Scary stuff, more their english than anything else, I could barely understand one word in four. Another team fell apart quite quickly – ten minutes of me asking him what he formed the team for, ten minutes of utter silence as he floated six feet in the air, occasionally attracting the attention of Hellions.
I had this plan together for my secret identity, but it seems that nobody uses them here. I’ve also either got to get a job or a supergroup or something, or find some way to play the stock exchange. Saving the world may keep me in health packets but doesn’t get me a place to sleep at night. Super-heros are apparently the last acceptable form of discrimination. You can be any race, colour, creed or gender to get any job in the city, but all jobs have a “No Heroes” (Or, more usually, “No Hero’s”) rider. I can see why they don’t want to employ someone who can’t be counted on not to be saving the world instead of working his shift, but I still don’t think it’s fair.
The search for Trent continues apace. City Hall won’t let me look at the population records – I’m only a super-hero after all – to trace him the easy way, so it looks like either asking around (Who do I ask? Where would Trent go? Or Emma, for that matter) or working the system until I get to a decent security level and can get access to this kind of ‘fo. The former is time consuming and dull – I’m not the world’s greatest detective – and the latter will involve more stinking zombies, no doubt.
Ah well, I’ve found a hero hostel (Will loan me a cot for a few health-packs a night). Tomorrow will be a bright new day, with bright new zombies in it.