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***
New York is a city of vice and madness. I stood on the roof of a nine-story building, gazing into the darkness of sin incarnate. The millions of windows of thousands of houses were peering back at me, waiting for me to bring them judgement and justice. They were waiting for me, waiting for the one who would cleanse this city, hoping that it would be me, and not another spandex-clad jerk, who would protect them, do what these slobbering bastards would never have the strength to do.
My leather-gloved hand clenched into a fist. The pleasant crunch of the knuckles was soothing, especially when I imagined when I'd use those very hands to mete out justice on the streets of the goddamn city.
New York. You're waiting for me, I know it. You crave my attention, drowning in gang violence while your "heroes" race across the rooftops, broadcasting from your TV screens. You suffer and die like a leper whore, all alone, with no one rushing to help you.
A light gust of wind was the answer from the soulless metropolis, as if in mockery, it, like a tired working man, laughed at my dreams, suggesting that the boy should step aside and take on a life of his own, leaving New York behind.
Leaving it behind, forgetting and discarding everything, just going his own way despite the madness of lawlessness and greedy bastards that filled the glorious streets of this eternally dormant city.
-Not today, not ever. This city deserves a true hero.....
Adjusting my hat, I cover my eyes with it, shielding my face from casual glances. There's probably more than one bastard in the city who's about to commit a crime right now, but there's only one person in all of New York who can stop him.
Hiding my palms in the pockets of my mackintosh, I crane my neck, staring at every street, every streetlight and firebrand, every lonely passerby who wants to get home and is afraid of every dark corner.
-This city fears me. I've seen its true face. The streets are a continuation of sewers, sewers filled with blood. And when the drains are finally clogged, all this filth will start to drown. When the accumulated filth of lust and murder foams up to their waists, all the whores and politicians will look up and cry, "Save us!" and I'll whisper...
-Hey, hey!
Out of tune, I nearly fell off the roof. Manoeuvring on the very edge, I step back, only then realising that I'm not alone.
Standing next to me was an elderly woman dressed in a housecoat. Her hair had curlers woven into it, and her face, with its make-up not completely washed off, was frowning menacingly. In her hands the woman clutched a long broom, with which she moved towards me at the ready.
-How many times have I told you?! -Ah! Ah, get off the roof! Get off! It's not your roof!
-Ay, woman, what's wrong with you? -Waving away from the old woman, holding my hat, I walked away towards the fire escape, -It's not your roof....
-My roof! My ceiling! And you stomp, walk always! Stomp! How many times do I have to tell you? Get out of here!
-Aw, - rubbing my shoulder, where a particularly strong slap with a broom came, I picked up my sleeping hat and rushed to the exit. - I'm a defender of this city, a hero....
-I don't give a shit! Get off the roof! I'm gonna call the american police! They're gonna shove that mask up your arse!
-It's a good mask!
-Get out of the roof! -After she got her way and chased me off the roof, the angry woman swept a broom over the place where I was standing, sweeping away a couple of cigarette butts I'd left behind! -You punk, you shit! Hero, my arse.
I ran down the fire escape, pulling off my Rorschach mask as I went, and flew out into the courtyard, tripping over a bin, struggling to stay on my feet and knocking the metal tank to the ground.
Somewhere in the corner a couple of cats shrieked unhappily, and from the neighbouring house through the open window I was covered with a harsh mate in a mixture of Russian, Polish and English.
A fine set that is.
While thinking, I almost fell into a huge puddle of urine, where a used condom fell from the window and almost hit me.
-Go away, you weirdo! I'll see you again.
Oh, those Americans, they love to smile. Joyful New Yorkers, mixing you with shit on occasion, nothing to do with all those wonderful characters from the nineties films I grew up with.
At first, once I realised I was reborn, it was painfully frustrating that, despite the fantastical nature of it all, I was still among the exact same people.
The usual problems, simple words that send you far and wide, and no fucking romance. Credit cards, shitty food, filthy streets and broken roads that only an unbreakable New York taxi can easily drive on. A Hindu taxi driver who'll screw you out of your money, or a Chinese taxi driver who'll take you to the other side of town.
And there you will be waiting for a walk through the city, during which you will be robbed, beaten or spat on.... And it'd be nice if it was in the soul.
But I liked it, it was much more familiar and realistic than comics, films or games, which warmed my soul with memories of heroes, feats and superpowers I grew up on and admired so much, secretly dreaming of becoming one of them.Jumping over a puddle, I do a little dance, throwing the hem of my mackintosh to the side, exposing my homeless-looking jumper to the nearest passersby, who actually outnumber me at night more than it might seem.
A couple of guys startled at first, fearing I was one of those guys who liked to show off their junk, but when they were sure I was all right, they just twisted their fingers at me, calling me "Crazy Paddy".
A fucking nickname stuck on the tongue of the Yanks from our dear friends the English.
In general, it was unusual to be reborn into a family of Irish immigrants. Unfamiliar language, habits, traditions and other shit. The only thing I had in common with my new parents was an abundance of racist jokes, I think that's where we got together.... Although it was probably because I had no criminal record and the whole neighbourhood thought I was blissfully playing noir hero.
Yeah, my hero style. The same one I brazenly stole from one of the most controversial characters in the comic book universes. I was a perfect fit for Rorschach, playing his role perfectly, mimicking his habits and manner of speech.
Being a simple man, lacking superpowers, but dreaming of becoming one of the main characters of this world, I had been going through the options for a long time, until I finally settled on him. I had no choice, frankly. A small kid, a typical Irishman, brawling and without the powers of a super. Yeah, that was the way to go, although I was originally trying to be Batman.
But still I had to stop on Rorschach, though the main argument was not skills, money and technique, but style, image and clothes.
I don't know how the other misfits coped, but I couldn't even get out of the fucking house, as a dozen grannies had already spread the news that the youngest son of the Sullivan family had dressed up in a cape and, most likely, had gone to process a car for tape recorders or tyres.
My daddy gave me a belt like that, and I'll be honest, I didn't even realise why. For the attempt and suspicion of theft or for their absence?
In short, life in America of the noughties is not as sugar-coated as it may seem. Especially for natives of such fine neighbourhoods as the Bronx or Queens.
"Although, if you compare us to Marcy Houses, it's not so bad. There, a white man can't even walk a metre, he'll be killed, raped, robbed, and in exactly that order."
It was lucky that we lived in Queens, which was a poor neighbourhood, but the most densely populated, and there weren't many blacks, unlike Jews and other diasporas. Perhaps, if I had started my new life in the thirties, the streets of the Bronx would have become my second home, and I would probably have become one of the six of the mafia, but fate gave me a good chance, so there was nothing to complain about.
It's a blessing in disguise. My hero games had given me special treatment among my own people from the very beginning, a kind of blessed role, and given that it didn't go beyond our neighbourhood, I could go about my business in peace, ignoring rumours and taunts, slowly training and becoming a real hero.
Anticipatory goosebumps ran through my body, so much so that I was looking forward to my adulthood, when I could finally leave my father's house and become a hero.
To fight villains, solve crimes and get to know my idols, every single one of them, even the villains.
It was so interesting how they would turn out to be in reality, what they would say and how they would react to my actions.
"Ugh, get it together. Stop daydreaming!".
Slapping myself on the cheeks, I wrapped my cloak up again, continuing down the familiar streets. My teenage hormones were kicking in, especially since it was spring, so I wanted to procreate especially badly.
I had been living in this world for fifteen years now, working on myself and my image, building a good base for my future self.
Studying was the first and most important thing I was going to tighten up, compared to my previous life. Being a man of many different talents, most of which didn't bring good income and usefulness in normal life, this time I was going to take my future much more thoroughly, if only because I wanted to avoid looking like a complete idiot against the backdrop of headstrong supers.
Given the kind of life I was going to choose for myself, I probably wouldn't get a high-paying job, but frankly, I didn't care about that! I just want to learn and get the cherished crust, and in general.... What kind of job can there be, if every day there are terrorists, aliens, mutants and other things piling up on the world.
I had to get ready to become something more than an office plankton, and though I was a little bit offended by the efforts I had spent, but in my new life I decided to fulfil my goals and desires, trying to the last, and even though sometimes there was no sense in them, the main thing was to try. It was far from certain that my rebirths would continue, so it was worth it to live as I wished, not as society and the government forced me to.Spotting a couple of bobbies, I shove my hands in my pockets, spitting in the direction of a duo of fat officers munching on jungfood. One of them, looking more like a human than a deformed hippo, poked a finger in my direction, making me tense up, but the other just gave his mate a new packet of crisps, waving away the little bugger staring angrily at the police patrol.
Yeah, that's the irony. For all my desire to be a hero and help people, I didn't particularly like the local lawmen who were always pestering me or my friends. Because of the accent, the clothes, just because we were in a group.
"Lawless cops!".
I waved my fist one last time and turned into an alley, trying to get out of sight of the police as quickly as possible.
It was urgent to distract myself from multipolar thoughts, so I plunged into memories.
By loading myself up with studying so that I didn't have to suffer over homework, I had a whole truckload of free time. Some might say there's nothing wrong with doing homework, slow standardised learning, but.....
I never did them in my previous life! I didn't study at home with textbooks and I didn't even bother with school, so even now I just did my assignments right after or before class. Being a couple of classes ahead of the syllabus, it was no big deal.
Next, I got to work on my body. I couldn't get rid of my beer belly in my previous life, despite my strong arms and legs, so after I was reborn I was careful about what went into my mouth. No fast food, no cheap shit with lots of calories and most importantly no sodas! Oh, how nice it was to feel young and strong again, ignoring the old sores, fractures and mistakes of youth.
A strong and healthy body actually inspired much more than any superpowers, upcoming adventures and meeting heroes.
The only thing I had to put up with was the familiar aroma of tobacco from my past life, but don't rush to judge me harshly. It's just part of the image of my cherished and noir character that I've been carefully mowing down, having bored all my relatives, acquaintances and friends. And no addiction.
A new turn through the streets of Queens. Somewhere out there in the distance lives Peter Parker, a young, small-time nerd who's just starting to develop a good-guy character. But now is not the time to impose on him yet, and besides, I'll be meeting him soon one way or another.
I take off up the stairs and swing open the door of our apartment building, jumping up two flights of stairs, filled with a happy mood, and I'd forgotten all about the time.
-I'm home! Ma, is there any food?
-Sean Sullivan! Are you out of your mind?
My mother stormed out of the corridor, grabbing me by the ear and twisting me around with a strength unimaginable for such small hands.
-What's the matter?
-What's the big deal? Where have you been? Have you seen the time? I was seriously considering calling the local bobbies!
-Come on, -I was hoping to get out of the death grip and get to my room, but my mother moved her head closer, piercing me with an angry look, -I was just standing next to her.
Chickening out, I carefully moved backwards, breathing sideways and shooting my eyes around for help. But my burning gaze came across only the large figure of my father, who had frozen in the doorway with a bottle of beer and was now lurking step by step in the room.
Our gazes crossed. A moment, a spark, an explosion. We understood each other without words. Just as easily as he wouldn't help me, I would just as easily turn him in, staggering and dragging the beer into the living room.
The seconds stretched out like chewing gum. We continued to bicker with glances until my father made up his mind, leaving the bottle on top of the cupboard.
-Molly, I'll take care of it. -Molly, I'll take care of it.
Well, what can I say. It hurt, but I'd rather get my arse kicked and go to bed while a satisfied mother reprimands my father for being too harsh. It's a lot easier for me than being told what to do by a girl who could be my daughter.
I loved my new parents, of course, but the fact that this young couple was bringing me up was a little disgusting, even after fifteen years.
My new life went on like that, slowly but surely erasing the memories of my previous life.
And soon things would get even more interesting. Working day and night, Daddy had long hoped to get my arse out of the local school, where the professional training of criminals is carried out. Having been raised on the streets himself, he'd been dreaming of a different life for his son since I was born. Soon my parents are going to transfer me to a school that has been cherished for so long, where an extremely entertaining character is studying, whom I am eager to meet.
The most important thing - not to hit in the dirt and not to scare off my future friend on the first day of our acquaintance. Or I'll come and I'll be creepy eyes stare at the future Spider-Man, and he and chickens out. I'm cute, but the constant training in Thai boxing, life on the street, and my origins dictated my own conditions, so I have a frankly beastly look, despite my small stature, red hair, and pallor.
Clenched fists, eyes always looking around, a busted lip, miraculously mended correctly, and slightly puffy ears. In short, he's a handsome guy, who should only steal mobile phones from kids or collect grev to the zone.
Getting out of bed, I only now really thought about how soon I'd be facing Parker. A battered little kid, living with his aunt and uncle and worshipping science.
If I went near him, the kid would just run away or, God forbid, wet himself with fear, and that's all I needed.
-Shouldn't we just deal with the bullies? -Maybe just deal with the bullies? He's probably being bullied...
I got out of bed and walked over to the open window, looking out into the narrow alley that led to the main street. Vague silhouettes of teenagers drinking beer, distant laughter, gloomy and heavy atmosphere.
Without realising it, I threw on one of the cloaks hanging in the room, slowly, almost affectionately pressing the hat to the top of my head, fully entering into my character.
-Now the whole world is standing on the edge, looking down into the bloody furnace, all these liberals, intellectuals, sweet-talkers.... And all of a sudden nobody knows what to say. Beneath me is this horrible city. It screams like a slaughterhouse full of retarded children. And the night stinks of fornication and guilty conscience.
-Sean Sullivan, go to bed right now, or I swear to God, I'll flog you in front of this horrible town!
-Come on, Mum!
***
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