As he watches the hero jot down his signature, Kaneda can hear his own mother – a woman of more demon features than her son – crying in her grave. Years of support from both of his parents and the admiration of the hero growing up was enough for him to build up his own persona.
The words struck him. A mutual understanding that he’d fought for all of his life. It sunk in him then that the fight had turned out all for naught, given where he ended up regardless. Someone that his hero would end up arresting by the end of the day. He might have needed those words a long.. long time ago.
“… I uh … got a question.” A million actually, but the one popped up quicker. It was a basic question that the man was probably asked a lot. At one point he remembered his younger self wanting to be exactly like this guy… but then things hindered that idea. A lot of things. And he’s gotta ask it himself. “What made you wanna become a hero?”
Paper is torn from the pad and there’s not just a little signed ‘Hellboy’ there, it’s in his scribbled text; ‘To Shotaro Kaneda, Make use of what you got.’ Then a bigger, more defined text of the name of the american hero.
The question, he’s been asked before. A few reporters here and there, his agency always telling him to say some bull-shit story about how he wanted to right wrongs and uphold justice. Those weren’t wrong answers, it was just safe answers. Ones he gives to the press without pause. Something tells him that the one in front of him didn’t need to be fed the crap he pushes out.
“ I don’t like being told what to do. ” Hellboy starts, offering the paper between two stone fingers. “ I’ve been told all my life that I can’t do certain things, like be a pro. That people won’t like me for it. That I’ll be looked at as some sort of demon sent from hell. It really pissed me off. ”
Now a grin places on red face. “ So I said, to hell with that, they want hell, I’ll bring it to ‘em. ”
