He trudged along the empty streets heading towards the park he had hung out with MJ earlier before. The cold wind nipped at his nose, but it gave him a sense of clarity as he tried to clear his thoughts. He doubted any of the people walking past him and waving would be so pleasant if they knew the little boy they had greeted was contemplating committing a murder.

Round and round he walked, yet his thoughts only reflected the circle he went through. Was he a coward? Was he scared to dirty his hands? Or did he want to redeem the kind? Be a role model and steer him to the right path? Maybe the kid won't turn out like his father? Were these excuses? He could no longer differentiate what were his true opinions versus what society expected of him and what the Hero archetypes would do.

Frustrated with getting no closer to a solution since he started his walk he let out a small roar and walked towards a nearby tree. He punched it as hard as he could. Once. Twice. A series of blows fueled by equal part anger and confusion. He didn't stop until the skin of his knuckles peeled off and blood dripped down his hands, screaming expletives the entire time. He had never felt so lost and utterly alone.

There was no wise older brother to turn too for advice. No close friends to call. Only cold and unfeeling strangers. Nobody else gave a shit about him. All these people he walked by, they didn't know him or his problems, they didn't care. He was all alone while being surrounded by a sea of people, how laughable. What should he do? This...This was too much for him. He wasn't cut out to be a hero, he was just a nerd who worked with computers. Could he kill a kid for justice? And was the justice even worth it in the weight of the sins commited to keep it?

'Someone, anyone, please, help me'

"Something the matter, kid?"

He flinched at the sudden voice behind him. Turning around he saw Stan the Janitor sitting on a bench with a bag of bread crumbs, feeding the pigeons. His bright yellow aviators were a burnish orange as he faced the sunset.

"It's nothing" he grunted out. Part of him felt bad for being so rude to someone who was just trying to help him, especially someone as old and kind as Stan, but he couldn't be bothered to care at the moment. He'd feel guilty about it after he settled his dilemma.

"Nonsense, whatever would cause a bright young lad like you to be screaming and wailing on trees alone at night isn't just "Nothing". How about you take a seat and tell me what's bothering you? Help me feed some pigeons while you're at it."

He wanted to say no, wanted to walk off and vent on some other poor helpless tree, but something compelled him to listen to the suggestion. Perhaps it was the grandfatherly vibe of the old man, perhaps he felt he needed to tell someone his issues, or perhaps it was just a random whim. He promptly sat himself to the side of the janitor who passed him the bag without a word.

And so they sat for minutes, just watching the birds gather in silence. It was peaceful and he felt lighter as if some invisible weight had been shed off his back.

"Isn't it heavy?" The sudden question caught him off guard.

"Huh? Ah, no, not really, I only have a few books in there, all my textbooks are in my locker." figuring the old man was referring to his bag he gave a noncommittal shrug.

A soft chuckle was his response

"Not that, I'm talking about the weight on your shoulders. Doesn't lugging it around all by yourself get tiring? Why, my back aches just looking at you! Young lads like yourself shouldn't have their head hung down and their back hunched! Leave that to when you get to my age."

He felt speechless as he heard the older man speak. It wasn't an amazing speech. Nothing he hadn't heard before or even better from motivational videos online, yet there was a certain... warmth in his words. This didn't feel like empty words from a stranger, this felt like advice from an older family member. While he didn't get along all that well with his parents as they grown estranged over time, he always loved his grandparents who watched over him when his parents were too busy.

When they passed away during his freshmen year, it was the first time he'd cried since he was a kid. And today it seems, would be the first time he'd cry since his new life.

"I... haven't noticed until now I guess?"

A glance at the old man saw him silently nod his head, taking it as permission to continue John kept rambling away.

"At first I was so excited. This was my chance, to do something, to be something. I-I wasn't sure if I could, but I wanted to try and be a hero, ya know? However, I didn't know it would be so hard. I wanted all the benefits without thinking about the responsibility. And by the time I figured it out, I couldn't back out. Now I don't know what to do, I'm so in over my head, and if I mess up a lot of people could get hurt."

He took a deep breath after vomiting his words out.

"What am I supposed to do? To save the mass I'd have to condemn the individual. What would you do Stan? What if, for example, you went back in time and saw Hitler?"

He waited for the man's reply with bated breath. This was the turning point. He could feel the tension in the air so thick it could be cut with a butter knife.

"Well, how the hell should I know?"

"W-what?"

"I don't know the right answer, John, I don't think anybody does"

"I... But then how do I know what to do?"

A wrinkled hand placed itself upon his shoulders, it looked frail, but there were warmth and firmness to it that belied its appearance.

"John, the matter of fact is that sometimes there are no right answers. I can't be the one to tell you what you should do. The only one who can determine that is you. Be the Hero you want to be."

The words echoed through the heart and resonated deep within his chest. His eyes widen and he went as if a dam had broken within his mind. Yes, he had lost himself. He didn't need to take everything by himself. He didn't need to conform to the storyline or rule. He was a wild card in this game of fate and he's not going to let history repeat itself. How could he even consider his prior action?! He felt disgusted with himself, but he was determined to make up for it.

"Thanks, Stan, for everything. I'll see you on Monday!"

He grabbed his backpack and ran back to Little Wanderers, he had a plan to devise and far too little time.

"No problem kid... Heh, youngster these days, so dramatic and full of...what's the word? "teenage angst"? I'd better be careful to not get cut by all of their edginess"