I woke up once again with a searing headache, but this time it wasn’t in the comfortable confines of my bedroom.

A massive area, both in height and floor space was what I saw. So big it was that the light of reflectors shining next to me couldn’t reach the edges, merely reflecting dimly off the rusty walls.

The space wasn’t as empty as it looked at first glance. Strange machinations, from conveyor belts to assembly lines surrounded me, all abandoned and eaten away by time. And chains, tons of them hung from the ceiling to give the entire place a sinister feeling.

Lastly I took note of myself. Bound to a chair with rope, shirt full of bloody holes, eye still swollen and a massive amount of anger, bitterness, and misery bottled up within the confines of my body.

I waited there for what could have been hours, but was most likely thirty minutes and during that time I realized what a massive idiot I was.

To begin with why in the name of the Holy Father did I think that people can so easily accept something that contradicts the very physical confines of our universe? I posed myself the question, would I believe someone if they told me they were a superhero? No, I’d flip them the bird.

So why did I expect my mum to do that for me? Because I assumed she’d take my side as she’s always done, God knows I’ve lied to her enough to make her doubt my words. But well, she’s my mother, she always understood me when things were taking a turn for the worst. Was this what it felt like to grow up? To have a mental puberty? When your foundations of adults are shaken and you don’t see them as the omnipotent beings they once were?

And then I resolved to run away and look where that got me, tied to a chair in an empty warehouse.

And what’s going to happen now? Even if I could get out of here then what? Run away and live as a hermit in the mountains? Go South? I shuddered at that, no, I was not going to warmer climates any more than necessary.

But that made me wonder, was Murdoch really as powerful and influential as he claimed to be? It certainly seemed so when I was talking to him back then but appearances aren’t all there is to a person. I could surely ask for protection from the government right? Besides the fact that I had no proof and was accusing potentially one of the great money bags of the Kingdom for illegal activity. Yeah grow up Norman.

Then it hit me. My superpowers.

“FUCK!” I cried. Why haven’t I already escaped from here? I was wasting valuable seconds. Okay okay, calm down Norman. Think of a place any place, home, my bedroom, school, the damn Churgon Formation, why was it not working?

Was it over? Did I lose it? Was I never going to stop asking myself pointless questions? Both realizations stung more than the green dart ever could have. But if I really did lose it then that meant it was all over, they wouldn’t even have to keep me here since I was no use to them anymore. That was a double edged sword though; they’d just as likely kill me and be done with it then let me go.

I was contemplating to try and shimmy over to one of the machines and see if I could cut my bonds on some sharp edge when I heard footsteps coming from the shadows, it was Thorn.

He looked like a ghost as he came towards me with his green eyes glowing. He was dressed quite smartly, with a tux and dress pants complemented with a bow tie. I really hated handsome people.

He stopped in front of me, legs slightly apart and arms folded, appraising me like a butcher checking the beef and finding it lacking.

“Fuck you.” I started, best he knew where I put him on my social ladder, however few rungs it had.

He responded by slapping me hard, it brought tears to my eyes. I tried to tough it out and spit out some blood but I just managed to dribble some on the chin, and it wasn’t even blood.

He stood there, all high and mighty, waiting for another burst of stupidity but I refused to give him another chance to hit me.

When nothing came he got a knife out and approached me.

“Hey-”

But instead of carving my heart out he just cut the ropes and took a step back.

I regarded him suspiciously, expecting and even hoping for this to be a trap just so I could hate him more.

But nothing came so I ever so precariously stood up, legs still wobbly but I held my ground.

Thorn too waited to see if I would fall but when I didn’t he just turned on his heel and started walking away.

Well if he was going to make it this easy then I guess I had to oblige him. With a start I started running in the opposite direction, hoping against hope that there was more than one exit out of this accursed place.

Needless to say I didn’t get very far, perhaps a good three meters or so before I was tripped by something and I gave a passionate kiss to the floor. These bruises were really starting to rack up and I didn’t like it.

After about five groans and three tender caresses of my nose I managed to sit up to find Thorn breathing down at me, his face not betraying a hint of annoyance. Good god I wanted to punch him.

“You never said I was supposed to follow you.” I accused.

Nothing.

With a final self-pitying groan I got up off the ground, which I noticed was made out of excellent concrete, very hard, perfect for the act of splattering people against it. Once again Thorn started walking off and me this time reluctantly following, silently cursing my legs for tripping at whatever the offending object was.

We made our way to a door propped open by broken brick with the night sky shining through. Outside we found ourselves in a small gravel driveway completely surrounded by a dark menacing forest, the only thing of note was a black, sleek vehicle parked in front of us. The car was one of those old things that frothed diesel out of the exhaust pipe and had to be tinkered with every three days. It didn’t look sporty per say but it definitely needed a level of coolness to be pulled off.

“Get in.” Thorn said.

Wow, okay, yeah that was a deep voice, he definitely filled the role of supervillain. I bet he practised his evil laugh in the mirror when he wasn’t busy glaring at everything.

“Where are we going?” I asked as I opened the side door. No answer, of course there wasn’t, why would there be?

The interior was made of dry wood and red leather, probably the skin of an endangered animal while the dashboard and wheel seemed to have been made during the federation, with the dials all sensible and imperialistic. Not gaudy though, but just tasteful enough to be annoying.

Thorn turned the key in the ignition switch and the thing rumbled to life, a roar first then a low rumble.

Now I don’t know what kind of dark faggotry encouraged me not to put my seat belt on but I regretted it within about two seconds when Thorn pressed the gas paddle and I smacked my forehead against the glove box.

“Argh!” was how I responded, clutching my face. “You could have been a bit more gentle!” I cried.

He responded by going faster.

I quickly buckled myself in and soon we were ripping down the gravel path through the trees, the roar of the engine drowning out any attempt at communication, not that there were too many. The road connected to another road, this one asphalt, and then that one connected to another and another and soon we were flying on the highway at a hundred and twenty kilometres per hour.

It was pretty chill actually, just me, the trees, the night sky, a murderous psychopath next to me. Yeah, life was good.

I was actually about drift off when I heard a crackling. It came from a radio which Thorn just turned on, he had to tune it for a bit but when the feedback faded out I could hear the soft notes of a trumpet playing a sorrowful tune.

“Jazz? Really?” I asked.

No reply.

“Fine.” I threw my hands up before going to sleep to the sounds of Charles Peterson’s Big Band. Not that I knew who that was.