In the twenty-second floor of the Association building lay a room—the resting place of Timothy Slinger. The white-colored room didn’t have any significant items in it; it was just a cupboard and a bed.
Timothy had just finished showering and was drying his hair with a towel. Wearing only his underwear, his build resembled that of an athlete—slightly muscular. A large scar ran across his chest, stretching down to his lower belly.
He walked toward a mirror pinned to the wall and stood before it. Afterward, he put on his casual wear: shorts and a hoodie. His tired expression lingered as he walked to his bed and dropped onto it.
He sighed, his eyes fixed upward.
"Why... why can’t I just save a life? I keep failing and failing—no progression. I couldn’t save the guy. I attacked the wrong person. I misled my partner. What good am I, anyway?
"Eventually, they’ll all realize that I’m just unfortunate. If there’s someone up there... I want you to know I’ve wasted the twenty-three years you gave me."
After those harsh words to himself, he closed his eyes and drifted into sleep.
Nighttime. On the corner of 6th avenue, a building was bubbling a huge hall was echoing with funk music, LED lights flickering everywhere young men and women walking around with their alcoholic taste of drinks.
Not too far from the building was Timothy and Raymond they watched as the activities went on, they weren’t concerned about the charade going on their main focus was meeting Larry Stones.
Timothy spoke first. "Have any idea how we will fit in."
Raymond replied. "It’s simple, we go with flow."
Raymond called a person person by asking.
"Excuse me please what’s the occasion."
The individual replied. Oh, the mayor’s son just got a Yacht and A new car, so he’s celebrating it as an achievement."
"Oh... Oh I see. He nodded and smiled. He turned to Timothy and asked, "Hey you got glimpses of our guy yet."
Timothy answered, "Not at all, but I think he should be heading out from here. People are already leaving the building. They only came for the free things they’d get—but who could blame them?"
"NEPO babies... they’re lucky. They celebrate everything. I wish I were a NEPO—my life would’ve been great, rather than being stuck with the author, underappreciated."
People were beginning to leave the party. Timothy and Raymond stayed alert, ready for Larry Stones to leave. Luckily for them, their guy’s name was called.
A soft voice rang out. "Larry, won’t you take one of us home with you?"
Larry laughed when he heard it and replied, "Would love to, ladies, but tonight I need rest."
He walked to his car. He was a bit drunk—considering taking the train home—but didn’t want to leave his car behind.
He whistled until he reached the parking lot. Double-tapping his keys, his car roared to life, headlights flashing. Just as he tried opening the door, two figures appeared behind him. The shadows of the individuals reflected on the car. Larry turned slightly to see who his stalkers were, but couldn’t make them out.
"Who are you, and what do you want from me?" he asked.
A tough voice replied, "We are mutuals. We just really need to talk."
"So I can as well turn to see my mutuals," Larry said.
"Sure. There’s no crime in that," another voice answered.
Larry turned. He didn’t recognize their faces—didn’t know who they were. Or so they thought. He scoffed, then smirked, and yelled:
"I had a feeling you’d show up. I guess my gut never fails me."
Timothy asked, "So you know who we are—and why we’re here?"
Larry answered quickly, "Yes, I know. But I have no reason to listen to what you have to say."
"We don’t have much to say. It’s just a few minutes of your time, and we’re done," Raymond said.
Larry pondered it. He still wanted to reject them, but eventually gave in.
"There’s a bench not too far from here. Let’s talk there." This text is hosted at novel fire.net
The three men walked to a bench under a streetlight. Timothy and Raymond arrived first, waiting for Larry, who soon joined them.
Larry’s dark eyes were calculating. He had expected them to approach him eventually, though he wasn’t sure what they wanted.
Timothy got things rolling. "Good day. I’ll skip introductions—you already know who we are. What we actually want is an answer. Were you the one in that suit earlier today?"
Larry chuckled. "You still ask this when I already told you I know who you are."
"It’s just for clarity—nothing more," Raymond retorted.
"Yes, like my subordinate said, it’s nothing more than clarity. Next: why were you in the suit, and why do you have it? From our findings, it’s the only prototype that’s been made," Timothy said.
Larry’s face tightened; a frown formed. "This is where I stop you. I won’t answer questions . I knew you’d ask—and still plan to ask what I’ll do with it. But it’s nobody’s business. I don’t have to answer to anyone."
"I don’t care what you do with the suit," Timothy said firmly. "My job is the safety and well-being of the city. That’s all."
Larry looked confused—he didn’t understand what Timothy meant.
Timothy continued, "Earlier today you said you don’t believe in this hero thing we do. But Larry... you’ve been given a suit that, from what little I saw, can do unbelievable things. I won’t lie—it would be an honor if someone like you joined the Hero Association."
Larry still wore his frown. The thought of being a hero had never crossed his mind. He said nothing.
Timothy and Raymond both stood, ready to leave. Timothy had said his piece. As they turned away, Raymond lingered a moment.
"Everything you do, Larry—it’s on you. The good and the bad decisions are made by us humans. Both Timothy and I weren’t decisive today. We let our emotions get the better of us, and we’re sorry. But don’t let that cloud your judgment."
Raymond joined Timothy at the bus stop. Larry, left alone on the bench, thought about what they said but couldn’t decide. Eventually, he got into his car and drove home.
On his way, he called someone who was like a big sister to him—Ivy Madsen, his PA. She was more than that: a mother, a friend, and a sister. He relayed everything, and she gave him a heartfelt talk. She left him with one word:
The morning sun rose. Larry Stones got out of bed. He lived alone in a two-story mansion, but today was the first morning he actually felt happy about the day ahead.
Riri greeted him and informed him about the contact he wanted.
"Good job, Riri. Now call the number."
The line rang once, twice—no answer. On the third attempt, the call was picked up.
Larry said, "I’ve made my decision. I want to be a hero."
Even without identifying himself, the voice on the other end knew exactly who it was.