#odd logic

********************

"Rise and shine!"

Nobody was risen and nothing was shining.

Though at 5:39 in the morning, that was expected. The sky was a dark blueish-gray color and half the people currently in this particular apartment were unrisen, seeing how at this time, most sane people would be asleep. One important factor in this was that in our world, only half of the population of Oliver's bedroom would qualify to be any flavor of sane.

He awoke to the soothing sight of Lightbulb Man hovering over him. Grinning, he roughly shook him by the shoulder in an attempt to wake him up. Dreary shadows made his expression even more unsettling.

"You know you can get up to twelve months in prison for this, right?" Oliver kept his eyes shut, his heart racing from the scare.

"For waking you up...?" Charlie's innocence was its own brand of sinister in a way.

"For breaking and entering," he muttered, pushing himself up on his elbows and grabbing his glasses from— "Where are my..." His hand roamed the desktop to the left of him. " Why are you wearing my glasses ?"

"Son, I admire your perseverance, but this kind of handicap can't be overlooked." Charlie shook his head in disapproval, casually sporting a pair of tortoise-shell glasses that were much too small for his head. "Also," he said, blinking rapidly, "You're tiny."

"Hell no. You're huge . Also, I'm not that blind. Also! You can get a fine of $2,500." Oliver snatched his glasses off of the ever-hovering superhero, putting them on and pressing onto the sides, hoping that he didn't pull them open enough to damage them. "On top of the prison time. And this is what, the second time you do this?"

"I hardly consider it breaking and entering. After all, I didn't break anything. It's actually very easy for me to get in." He smiled as if that wasn't the creepiest thing he'd said that morning. "I'm not sure what sort of disaster struck this foul place, but your security is a bit more than lax."

Charlie leaned over Oliver's face, at the minimum standard for a reasonable distance. He stared at such an angle that it didn't make sense for him to be standing on the floor.

"It was fairly easy to fly into the window. Oh! About that, I advise against leaving any windows open, in case anything else that flies decides to pay you a visit," he said, letting out a hearty chuckle.

"Hey, you can fly?" Oliver wasn't sure if he thought it was cool or even more creepy.

"Of course! What kind of superhero would I be if I couldn't fly?"

"A lame one."

"Certainly! And I assure you I can, though I may not have demonstrated it during our last visit. In fact, I'm flying right now!"

Oliver leaned up, looked over the bed to see Charlie's feet floating two feet off the floor, and then screamed.

"Why are you so shocked? I just finished telling you about this ability of mine! And you can fly too, can't you?" Charlie settled onto the ground.

"Yeah, sure..." With zero chance to calm down, Oliver sat up and threw the blanket off himself. "Well, I'm up."

"You're not dressed...?"

Oliver, like any normal person, was in casual clothing fitting for the sheets, but not for the streets, since he'd been sleeping for the past ten hours.

"Frankly, I'm disappointed," said Charlie, disappointed. "You should be prepared for anything! And here you are, disheveled and unarmed in the face of an opportunity?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Now go, so I can get ready at least."

Charlie set himself free from the invisible strings holding him up, slamming loudly on the floor, most likely waking any neighbors under him, who would exact their revenge at another time.

"I meant... leave the room? So I can get dressed...?"

"Oh! Of course." He opened the window and gracefully floated out and down onto the sidewalk below. From the ground, he shouted, " Take your time !"

Only two days after he was turned down and he was already refusing to take no for an answer. Though that being the last of him wasn't what he anticipated, he certainly didn't think so quickly, he'd be bothered again. But if not to test the tried and true method... Ignore it and it'll go away.

Without a care in the world, Oliver yawned, stretched, then jumped right back into bed, pulling the blanket over his head. The harsh, worn-out cotton that had irritated him nights before coddled him on the peaceful brink of slumber, the dark room and very soothing cricket chirping outside singing him gently to sleep.

And then Charlie banged on the window. And reality was shattered. And joy had been eradicated.

"You're not getting dressed! You duped me !"

Screaming ensued.

********************

The sun began to peek over the horizon, gently illuminating the city's skyline. The air was damp and fresh; petrichor wafted through, helping one to settle into the effects of the slight cold. If there, you could hear the early morning sounds of cars and crickets, one much faster than the other but both equally enthusiastic. All in all, a desirable, peaceful setting...

Had he woken up later.

Having his dream— something about a trip to Nebraska to see his parents, who did not live in Nebraska— interrupted to be dragged around, literally, wasn't how he'd planned to spend his Sunday. Sunday! The day with the least crime; the perfect sleeping day. Especially because he had to go to work in nineteen hours. He was not planning to be awake for all nineteen hours.

"Y'know, the park does look pretty nice at..." He checked his watch. "6:09 in the morning."

The swings were covered in dew, ready to wetten the britches of any child or swing-loving adult who decided to sit on it. Things like the few slides and climbing things, aside from being wet, looked worn and even slippier than the swings. Like any good park, there were several empty water bottles and soda cans left by considerate park patrons who decided the government-issue garbage can would've been too far to reach after so savagely quenching their thirst; at least, such was to be assumed, considering the cans and bottles were crushed and full of dirt, which could only mean that such people obliterated them in a fit of thirst instead of leaving them on the ground for days or weeks. Surely.

"It's something of an early morning treasure, is it not?" Charlie stretched his arms above his head, then moved on to bending over and somehow touching his toes; a ways away from the top of him. "Doesn't it make you feel better about being here before light? The way the sun hits the morning dew, and it reflects... something one could only appreciate with a reasonable sacrifice!"

"Yeah. It really makes 'one' glad they got dragged out of bed at way-too-early. Time." Oliver flashed the most sarcastic grin, his slight eye bags and messy hair making a most charming display. Well.

Taking this the wrong way, Lightbulb Man smiled. "See?" He slapped Oliver on the back a little too hard. "I knew you'd come around!"

Nonverbal messages have never failed so greatly.

Cans were kicked, swings were tested, yet no one could understand what the point was. Granted, they'd stayed without a disturbance until Oliver decided the swings were, in fact, too wet to use, therefore there was no point in them being there. If asked, however, he'd deny it and claim once again that he was tired, even though he was planning to use his Highest Swing before feeling the uncomfortable wettening of his britches.

"So." His hands went anywhere in an attempt to look casual and wipe off the water. "I really don't think there's any 'crime' here, so uh... What were you even looking for?"

"There's plenty of crime to be found at the park, lad!" Lad was a new one. "Anyone could be lurking around here... A place filled with young, innocent children ... Do you know what this means?"

"Uhh... I hope no—"

"Their parents! With so many distracted adults in one place, do you know how many wallets can be stolen? How many pockets can be mercilessly picked?" He threw an arm over his face, one hand holding him up from a dirty bench. "Oh, the very thought...! Preventing such travesties is what you and I have vowed to accomplish, isn't it?"

"I seriously doubt many people come to the park to steal wallets. Why wouldn't they go somewhere more crowded? Like, say, a crowd? At night?" He shrugged in response to his involuntary companion's expression of discontent. "If I were a criminal, which I'm not, that's what I'd do."

"Ohoho, boy... You'd better not think about switching over to... The Bad Side." Literal, unexplained darkness shrouded his face. If he squinted hard enough, thunderclouds bunched together in the sky— not above them, but behind Lightbulb Man. "Even if we're friends, I can't promise that I won't pummel you into the dirt."

"A little violent, and since when are we friends? And—"

"No, that's not it!" He sprung up several feet in the air. "You're thinking like the enemy! It makes me proud to see you already applying the principle of Lesson #5! Especially because this is hardly our first lesson!"

"Exactly. Oh, are we looking for park creepies? I remember when I was a kid, sometimes weird old guys would hang around parks, and then my mom would make us leave. It didn't make sense to me until I was older." He shrugged. "Now I always assume it's—"

"I told you that you should be more confident in my teaching abilities! After this impressive display, I certainly am!"

"Wait, shut up for a second."

Charlie's monologue continued despite his request. "No, really, shut up! You see that lady?"

An oddly disturbed-looking woman standing off on the side of the road was staring directly at them, or very intensely at a point in the distance.

"Oh, I see her now!" He cleared his throat. " Hello, assumingly kind citizen !" Frantically waving, Charlie yelled at the woman, who dug into her pocket and pulled out something that seemed to have good reception.

"Is she. Yup. She's calling the cops."

"She is? Is there somebody we've failed to spot? A criminal we didn't see?"

"No, I think—"

"Oh, you idiotic child !" A few inches from his face to drape himself over the park bench, Charlie cried out. "How could you fail us so terribly...? I trusted you, boy!"

"I mean. I'm not, but okay." While the neon-clad hero continued his croaks and groans, Oliver thought for a moment before clapping his hands together. "You know what? I have a friend who's a cop. Shouldn't be a big deal. If they actually take us in for some reason, I can just explain—"

"Your foolishness never ceases! Don't you know what heroes do in times like this?"

"Uh, tell the truth and hope it works out?"

"They—" Charlie scooped him up while the woman presumably called the police— " Fleeeeeeeeeeeeee ...!"

And with a 'fleeeeeeeeeeeeee,' they were gone.

********************

"Perhaps the park was even more dangerous than I anticipated."

Not even a full minute and they were already on the other side of the city. Fleeing had proven to be a fast exit strategy, even if a horrifyingly disorienting one. "And to think we were the ones in trouble! What a funny situation, eh?"

Oliver stayed quiet.

"Well, you don't have to glare at me like that! Our first destination didn't work out— what of it? After all, it was only our first destination for a reason! Crime lurks in all sorts of environments, and we must always be vigilant!" He balanced himself on only the tips of his toes, rotating on a singular point with his hand stiff and pressed against his forehead.

"Where did you even... where... let me just..." He stumbled forward then back, then clunkily fell to his knees and sat down on the sidewalk. "Bank's closed this early..."

"Of course! This would normally be a critical failure in our plan. So horrible that in that case, I might've considered abandoning the mission!" He posed, arms flinging here and there— "Devastating!"— while his dizzied apprentice watched in both awe and disgust.

"So... it's not, because...?"

"Oh, no reason. There's basically no reason for us to be here."

Oliver flopped onto the pavement.

"But! Fear not, my loyal student, for I have already concocted a genius plan that will allow us to enter the building! First, we inconspicuously climb inside. Then... Oh, then !"

He tittered.

"Then we wait."

"That's ille— That's literally breaking and entering, have you learned nothing ?"

"Hush now." He planted his giant, irritatingly muscular hand square on Oliver's face. "Who's the student here?" He moved his hand to do the ol' 'tut n' wag.'

"I thought we established yesterday that that was not the case, right? You remember that fun little visit? I remember. Do you remember?"

"Yes. You may also address me as Mr. Green if you feel compelled to do so. But that's hardly of any importance, we're busy. I believe if we scale that wall there," he said, pointing to the east wall of the building, "we can cut a hole in the ceiling and make it inside. The lasers won't prove to be too much of a threat, since we can fly—" He snapped. "They'll be expecting that! But if we're careful..."

Though he was spouting absolute nonsense, his hands were quite expressive. It was impressive how someone could so perfectly portray the image of two men zipping and flitting through lasers so well with only eight fingers. You know, since the other two were busy pointing to the bank itself.

Though you probably know what buildings look like and how they work, I'll continue on with the next paragraph. I do believe if you find this to be undesirable, you may overlook it, or simply imbibe something which I would prefer not to mention by name.

This bank, Second Bank Of Parva, was a gray, dull building with ATMs and many, many parking spaces. Its name was shown in large, blue letters, hung over the locked automatic doors our heroes sat/stood in front of. The roof had raised edges, the inside surface being likely a minimum of a foot thick; not very laser-cuttable, unfortunately. Also, most banks' securities consist of something more akin to motion sensors and alarms, rather than death lasers. Ah, how the times have changed...

Aside from the obvious cultural differences, there was no reason to have to so stealthily enter the bank at this time of day. Criminals rarely struck so early in the morning, seeing how most of them left their struckage for the middle of the night. Oliver, being the nerd he was, was well aware of this, but could do nothing but watch as his filament-fueled friend began to scale the front wall of the building. Which is to say, he hovered awkwardly in place while stepping himself up to the roof, painstakingly slowly.

"Son, assist me."

"I thought you could fly?" He snickered. "That doesn't look like flying."

"You should do things as they did in the old days! It's—" He grunted and hitched his foot up, resting on the edge of the brick. "It's fun to do every once in a while! And besides that, it strengthens your quads."

Oliver scoffed. "Oh, believe me. I have impeccable quads."

Steadily, shakily, persistent still, he grunted his way up the wall, cheating by hovering into the correct place. They both stopped to scope the area, hoping no one was around to call the police. Even if the woman from earlier had given up, Serrano could only bail him out so many times. Wait, perhaps that should be kept for later...

Charlie flopped onto the roof. He panted for a moment, resting while laying flat on his face while Oliver flew up to meet him. He locked his arms and legs into strange positions while he did it, but he hovered well for a mortal.

"So... you gonna just lay there?"

Immediately, he sprung up. "Of course not! And look at you! For a second," he chuckled, "I was convinced your powers were nothing but a ruse! Since you don't brandish them as often as I thought you would."

"Why would I? And why would I lie about that? Especially because if I couldn't give a demonstration of my powers, I'd be caught immediately. I mean, who's going to just take someone's word for that sort of thing? Also, I'm pretty sure I've been in the newspaper before? Also , you did literally track me down at my house so you could pull me out at five something in the morning, and I doubt you would have done that had you not known for sure that I had powers. Actually, I think the nice grass smell was making me forget that I'm pissed at you. Anyway, yeah, I'm pissed at you. And then you—"

"That's enough!" Charlie cleared his throat as if that would get rid of temper phlegm. "Stop flapping your gums and help me cut a circle! Do you have the ability to shoot lasers from your eyes, ears, mouth, nostril, or any other major appendage...?"

It was questions like that that made him even more terrifying.

"Uhh... eyes, I guess. But I think it's kinda useless." A dry laugh. "Doesn't matter."

"How so?"

"Just not very useful. Like, I don't think I can cut through anything with it. And I've never tried, so." Oliver sheepishly retreated, hoping to be spared from any more questioning.

"What can they do?"

Some steps. Then a thump. Maybe he passed out; good.

"Boy, did you hear me? What do they—"

"I think all I can do is make popcorn. On the bright side. It's really good."

Though eyes were rolled, the embarrassment didn't last. The sound of something breaking— wood, drywall, bone— interrupted his defensive starts. "I'm in!"

Call it what you will, floating was effective.

Unsurprisingly, there were no lasers of death, security guards armed to the neck, or complimentary coffee stations. Charlie zipped around, hoping to find something other than himself that defied the laws of physics.

No alarms rang, and no one was springing out of the walls, or questioning the large, jagged uncircular hole in the ceiling. Something skittered in the darkness, but that was all.

"What the hell was that?"

"I'm unsure, but I'm sure I can come up with a few theories." Charlie slunk up to Oliver's back, leaning against him until being pushed away. He nearly fell to the floor. "My first theory— rats have taken over the building and are planning a mutiny on their leader."

Oliver groaned. "This place doesn't open for another hour or so, but could we call someone? Report it or something... I'm sure people will want to know about... the rats, I guess."

"But what kind of harm would they be put in? I'm sure they've already sacrificed those who betrayed the mutiny!" His pleas sound even more pathetic in whisper form.

"I dunno, they'll fumigate?"

A gasp was heard from somewhere; it echoed through the empty place. Idea.

"You know... Poisonous gas...?"

"Oh, perish the thought!" he wailed.

"It'll kill 'em, that's for sure—"

"Alright, alright! I surrender!" The skittering started again as a tall, annoyingly blond man shot up from behind the main counter. He wore khakis and an incorrectly fastened button-up. Disheveled, he hoisted himself up over the counter and weaved his way through the dividers. "Just... don't tell anyone, please."

"Aha! I knew I heard something!" Oliver muttered something about his grandfather and regained his composure. "What are you doing here? Who are you?" He glared at the man while his associate was searching for literal rodents.

The stranger scoffed." I! I should be asking what you're doing, and who you are! Besides, I was here first!"

"Oh, right." Oliver took off his glasses and tucked them into his back pockets. Life was blurry. "Do you recognize me now?"

"Oh, hey! You're that superhero guy! I saw you in the newspaper once!" The man laughed. "Man, I thought you were taller."

"To be fair, I'm the average height for a— anyway, who are you?"

"Sorry." He cleared his throat. "My name's Jeremy. Jeremey Poole?" He held out a spot of a shirt in place of a hypothetical name tag. "I really thought this would last longer..."

"Well, it appears this building is both rodent and mutiny-free. Unfortunately." Charlie dusted off his hands for no reason.

"Wait, how long has that fellow been here?" Jeremy pointed at Lightbulb Man. "Behind you, I mean."

"Son, what's his business here?" He gasped, overdramatic in doing so. " Are you a criminal ?"

"Um, only on paper. The thing is, I actually work here? But you know when your work life and home life start to blend together because of your love of the job? And also, your wife leaves you and takes your only son and all your savings so that you're left with overwhelming mortgage payments and crippling depression?"

Jeremy chuckled, nervous. Charlie stopped listening.

"Sometimes the comfort of the one place that's never changed can draw you in..." He squatted and rubbed the floor tiles. "Aside from the occasional renovation, of course. I remember when they replaced those counters back there, and when the walls got a fresh coat of paint... I remember being so excited I told my wife about it!"

"That's nice, but—"

"Yeah, sure, renovations on a building are all well and good, but I wasn't ready for my wife's ' tune-ups .'" He raised air quotes.

Oliver started but was unable to get a word out before Jeremy continued.

"Really? Just a tune-up, Martha? Where'd your nose go, Martha? Where'd your stomach go, Martha? A fresh coat of paint on a woman is cheaper, sure, but was it really necessary? Martha?" Still squatting, he banged a fist on the ground. "Just because I said that I liked that they got rid of the popcorn ceiling in my mother's apartment, doesn't mean you had to get rid of your popcorn ceiling!"

"Uhh—"

"So what if it was a little outdated?" He stood up and flailed his arms. " You're a little outdated, but I still married ya, didn't I...?"

Jeremy flipped open his wallet while Oliver tried to catch the attention of a zippy blur.

"See my son?" A small, wrinkled photo displaying a young boy that was even blonder than his father was being held in the air for all to see as if it was his greatest treasure. "Alexander Roy Poole. Ain't he a beaut?"

"I mean, he looks like a random eight-year-old to me, but if you—"

" Twelve . He's twelve."

"Really? Because he's a little— you know what, forget it. Are you living here? Don't places like this usually have some sort of motion detectors after they close?"

"It used to." He smirked. "Yup. Yuh boy figured out how to disable them. Just one of the many perks of the job."

"That should be scary, but dude, cool!" He paused. "J-dawg!"

A chuckle gurgled out of Jeremy. "Yeah. Yeah! J-dawg! Ohohoho, if only Martha could see me now!"

Zippy Blur paused and landed on the ground with a heavy descent. "Do I hear... crime?"

"Nope. No crime here." Oliver winked at Jeremy, so obviously, that even he scolded him with his eyes. "Just a friendly conversation."

"Lies! You lie! You creased your eyes in an untruthful way!" There is crime!" Charlie bellowed out a deep laugh, mysterious wind flapping his cape. "I was right!"

"That's the worst part."

" That's the worst part? Pal, he could get me fired from my house! And it's happened before! I didn't think it could— but they don't tell you that ...! I'll be homeless! Again ! Weren't you listening to my tragic tale?

"Ohh!" Charlie seated himself in the air. "Do tell."

"Well, I remember it was June 16th... I was happily married to Martha, and my only son, Alexander, was in—"

"No no no, don't tell." Oliver waved his hands at both of them. "This is trespassing. I mean, they legally can't charge you rent, but this place is still up and running, which means you need to leave. Now."

"What, why?" Jeremy ran back to the counter, nearly tripping over the dividers. He clutched the counter for dear life. "I work here! And besides, this bank is my child..."

"What about your actual child?"

"That one too!"

Charlie laughed because he apparently dubbed that the appropriate response. "This is perfect for your training, boy! I order you to subdue and capture this man, delivering him to the proper authorities!"

" Subdue ?" Jeremy looked as if he was about to burst into tears.

"What? No. I'm not going to do that. Look, sir, calm down. It's not that big of a deal. Just... if you leave now, I won't tell anyone about this, and you can find another place to live."

"Do you think suburban houses of over 1000 square feet can just be found ? Also, what's with this ' sir ' stuff? I thought I was 'J-dawg!' " Jeremy leaned back on his counter, resting his elbows.

"Oliver! That's not the appropriate response! That sounds nothing like subduing!" Charlie tutted and walked over to Jeremy. "Look at this pathetic man! Does he look like he's being taken to the police? Like he's swearing himself to a life of purity and law-abiding because of something inspirational you said? No ! He's simply standing there, writhing in his own filth ! Aren't you going to grant this smelly man the mercy he so desires...?"

Instead of refuting his claims, Jeremy nodded and informed them that mercy was his favorite.

"I mean, I just think it'd be less of a hassle to let him go before this place opens, then we can all forget this. I'll stop by every now and then to make sure he's not still here—"

"I knew there was a catch!"

"And then we don't have to involve the police. And besides, wouldn't it be better to leave them to do more important things? Such as..." He posed, like someone who was not used to posing. It was almost sad. " Crime-busting ."

"But then there'd be nothing left for our training! How would I teach you about the ins and outs of the heroic experience if I had nothing to base it on?"

Jeremy, who'd been fiddling and twiddling at the counter while the two bickered decided to chime in, interrupting the next line of dialogue. "So my home teeters on the edge of this weird little side deal you two have, huh? Do I mean so little to you, O-cat...?"

" O-cat ?" He rubbed his temples. "It's either this, or I turn you in to the police, so you decide, pal."

"So unfamiliar with your newfound friend? But a hero is always supposed to be caring and kind!" Charlie grabbed a screaming Jermey and flew him over. "Now, apologize."

"And we let him go?"

"Of course not! What have I been telling you this entire time?"

Charlie and Oliver continued to bicker, repeating the same things they'd been for a while now, while our poor friend, Jermey tried to decide what to do. Since the doors were locked, running away was out of the question. Hiding in one of the back rooms seemed unreasonable as well. But then he remembered that the heroes themselves made a perfect escape route.

The ceiling.

He took a glance to make sure the heroes were still shooting at each other like children, then grabbed the dividers from behind him and dumped them into a strange pile. They slipped and rolled off each other, but he persisted. Afraid he was making too much noise, he kept the corner of his eye locked on the other two men and began to climb.

The pile of his raised him an additional five inches off the ground, without stopping to consider that they didn't stay in place long enough for him to stand on. Either way, the 6'1" tall man's attempts were futile against the undeniable 14' of the ceiling.

Also, they weren't deaf.

"Escape? What? No, never ! Please." They hadn't asked anything. They did stop talking, though. "What kind of coward do you take me for?"

Nice try, Jeremy.

"So."

Their eyes had long adjusted to the dark room, but colors and spots moved as they stared into the abyss. The sun was starting to rise.

"You know what your options are, don't you...?" Oliver crossed his arms.

"Yes..." He slumped his head down, hand in his pocket, grasping his wallet. "B-But! I have... money...? Or, I can open you an account! Look!" He stumbled over to the counter, too shaken up to still his hands and voice. "I can offer you great rates. Fixed compound interest for five years! How's that sound? A young man like you needs savings, doesn't he?"

"Though that sounds like a smart decision— financially, I mean— I'm not accepting a bribe."

"I'll... I'll make it ten years! Huh? Huh ?"

Oliver sighed. His stubbornness reminded him of— oh, for God's sake, was he still looking for rats? Anyway. "Look, you can still work here. I won't tell your boss or whatever... But you can't live here anymore. Alright?"

Jeremy— gross, pathetic, blond Jeremy— nodded sadly, frighteningly similar to a child's reluctance to their mother's orders. Then he bolted to the end of the room, yelling " YOU'LL NEVER CATCH ME ALIVE " while he tumbled his personal effects over his shoulder to throw them off his trail. Surprisingly, it worked. Though Oliver tried to follow him, all he found was the back door swung open, the key still in the lock.

Charlie emerged from the shadows cradling mousetraps.

*********************

"Anything you want! I promise you, anything in this box of stale products you desire, you may have! Up to and including the eight dollars and seventy-two cents I have in my wallet." Charlie's wallet was comically small. Or perhaps he was comically large. "Also, I would love to get some Funky NutZ ™. I love Funky NutZ ™."

"I'm still mad at you."

Charlie groaned in the middle of the aisle, getting looks from various customers while Oliver was busy crossing his arms and turning his head to illustrate his anger. The convenience of the convenience store was not helping him. "But I'm your tutor! Your teacher! Your mentor! Your..." He shed a tear. "Second father, almost."

"I have a father." He turned further away. Fury. "I wouldn't even consider you an acquaintance ."

Clearly, snack foods weren't going to solve the exaggerated crying and scoffing.

" Well I can tell when I'm not wanted !"

" You obviously cannot !"

People— normal people, trying to go about their daily lives— gawked at the two and listened to their shouts as they went their separate ways; Funky NutZ ™ Finding; trying to be nonchalant about the situation.

"Wait! Hold everything!" Lightbulb Man, heroic-looking as ever, outstretched his hands to the general populace, making everyone stop what they were doing. "I found FLAMING HOT Funky NutZ™ in this aisle! It's my lucky day!"

"Nobody move!" A shot was fired into the ceiling. People screamed over each other, scrambling to leave. A masked man in assumedly inconspicuous clothing began to climb over the counter, pointing a handgun at the cashier. The cashier put his hands up and moved out of the way while the man hopped down. "Anybody tries to walk out of here, I will blow their face clean off — got it?"

Oliver slinked into Charlie's aisle, where he shuddered and clutched his FLAMING HOT Funky NutZ™. He shook his arm to grab his attention.

He whispered, "What do we do? We're not armed, and he's already threatening to kill people —"

"Oh, so now you're talking to me...?" At least he was whispering. "Some big hero you are. Why don't you go... stop him yourself? I'm sure they'll put it in the paper."

" No ! I mean— I can't. I don't— Look, I can try my best to sneak up on him, but he might shoot at something or someone to try and stop me."

Lightbulb Man ripped open his nuts. The snack ones. "Aren't you bulletproof? Any good hero has to be bullet-proof."

" I don't know ! And I'd rather not test that out right now. Are you?"

"Am I a good hero?" He grinned, smug. Not the time.

"Is that a yes? Because people could die ."

"I thoroughly accept your compliment." He flew above the shelves, pointing a heroic finger at the thief while he rooted through the register. " Halt, fiend !"

The man pointed his pistol away from the frightened group of people and instead towards the bumbling idiot floating carelessly above the chips and keychains. "What the..."

" I, Lightbulb Man of Grand City... " His voice boomed through the room as it darkened. Oliver assumed fear could cause hallucinations. "Give to you, Oliver Barrison of Parva , up-and-coming hero!"

He wasn't one to curse, but when the time was right...

"He will handle you from now on." He gracefully descended.

Without time to think or scold, Oliver walked out of the aisle and approached the man, who had a gun pointed at his face.

"What are you doing? You think just because you got some sort of introduction from that guy that can fly means I'm going to be scared of you?"

He didn't speak, though he damn well tried.

"Move—"

A short burst of concentrated heat, and then...

"Ow ! What the hell—"

The man shook his hand in pain, loosening his grip and giving Oliver a chance to grab the pistol and point it back at him. He clicked the safety on and motioned for the cashier to go around the side.

"Don't move."

The next six minutes were calmer. The cashier called the police while the customers left to do other, safer early-morning activities; the thief was apprehended and the gun was taken; they were to resume business as usual, though very few people stuck around to shop.

This gave time for the confusion and rage to fully settle in.

Charlie watched and clapped as the last people paid for their things and made their way out of the store, while a few of them thanked him and even Oliver.

"Charlie." It was difficult to know how to be angry in such a situation.

He slapped him on the back as if to congratulate him. "Well, it seems you've passed this lesson! And with flying colors! I assume you've never been held at gunpoint?"

Nothing.

"I'll take that as a no. But still, good job! It makes me proud to know you've grown so much in so little time! This'll help you in tomorrow's lesson."

********************

The weather and specific yet unspecified location are of no importance at this point in time.

Unremarkable and insignificant, the narrative surroundings in which you might currently find yourself are kept for a later mention in passing, as they should be. Instead of a wide range, how about instead, I bring you to a small apartment in the suburbs?

Not inside, of course, because that would be rude, and it’s not like either of us has the keys anyway. But merely to the fifth door on the right on the second floor, room 205, at an affordable price of $575 a month.

The relative importance of these numbers and this address are mostly up to you, but if you take a look— whether through your mind’s eye or otherwise— you might find the forthcoming events to be of some sort of interest.

It’s unbeknownst to me, of course, whether or not you’ve ever been particularly fond of people-watching, but stay for a while regardless.

There was a knock on the door.

Oliver hadn't been doing anything. Granted, if he had been, he knew it wouldn't have been anything important. Besides, what was he supposed to do with so many bottle caps anyway?

He glanced over at his watch, which was resting on the table beside him.

4:48.

He probably should've been asleep, seeing how the slightest jolt would have woken him up anyway, but he was insistent on organizing the caps. By color. Maybe tomorrow, he'd do it by date—if he managed to remember the days he came into possession of said bottle caps. He decided a sweatshirt and shorts were acceptable enough to answer the door.

What the hell...

It was a superhero.

Now, slow down. 

It shouldn't have been much of a surprise, all things considered. No, what was more surprising was his stupid costume. Now, superheroes' costumes had been silly before—supervillains were often worse—but this guy truly had no standards.

He was wearing a cape and bodysuit that were much tighter than anything Oliver ever cared to wear, but it was an almost irritating fluorescent yellow. He was much taller and much more well-built than Oliver, and wrapped from head to toe in bright yellow and white, with an insignia on his chest that appeared to be a badly disguised lightbulb. The worst part was, he had a hat on. A tacky, annoying, highlighter-yellow colored hat with the same insignia that couldn't help but remind him of the hat he was assigned at his old fast-food job simply because of the sheer ridiculousness of it.

Apparently, clothes told you a lot about a person—Phoebe had told him that countless times—and looking him up and down for a few seconds gave him a pretty good idea of the man standing in front of him.

This guy's an idiot.

"Hello, young man!" he greeted.

His voice was deep and booming, almost sounding like it was reverberating through the room.

"I've been watching you closely for about a year now, and I wanted to finally meet you in person!"

As he spoke with overdramatic pronunciation; a bright light shone behind him, while a chorus of angels sang, his cape flapping in the wind.

Now, what wasn't right is that the trees weren't moving. The wind seemed to be isolated to move his cape and only his cape– ridiculously adorned with the same insignia on his chest. Even his hair was still, which either alluded to insane amounts of hair gel, supernatural wind, or both.

I'm going with both.

"Well, look alive, son!" he yelled, patting him on the shoulder. "Can I come inside?"

Oliver was no stranger to unannounced house visits. He’d gotten a few visits from reporters, and occasionally someone trying to sell him something, but he’d learned how to evade them or otherwise get them to leave fairly quickly without being rude. What he didn’t know was if this guy deserved to be spared from his wrath.

"Why are you here at this time? And come on, man, I don't know who you are. Why are you asking to come in?"

"What do you mean, 'at this time?' It's nearly five in the afternoon," he said, grinning with his hands on his hips, cape still aflap.

Right, other people don't sleep at this time.

As if he was even sleeping.

"Son, I wanted to meet you! I thought it wise to-"

"Wait, wait, hold on. Who are you…?"

"Oh, you don't know me? I'm a famous superhero!" 

He laughed triumphantly.

"How famous can you be if I, a civilian, don't know who you are?"

Immediately, the light switched off and the wind and music stopped.

What the…

"Hmm, you certainly are a feisty one. So quick to jest, too! Alas, I must inform you that I know for a fact that you are not a common civilian! You, my friend, are a superhero, like myself! And a fairly good one at that!"

Oliver playfully darted his eyes around.

"Who told you?"

"Son, you're all over the news! Well, maybe not all over the news, but I am fairly certain I have seen you somewhere in something before."

"Yeah, yeah, sure. Anyway, what are you doing here?"

"As I've previously mentioned, I am a famous superhero of sorts, whether or not your geeky little fanboy self has heard of me or not…"

Geeky little fanboy?

"...and I wanted to have a serious discussion with you. A meaningful heart-to-heart, if you will," he said, leaning as nonchalantly as he possibly could appear, what with his ridiculous getup, on the doorframe. "Now, can I come inside?"

"So, let me get this straight."

Oliver sighed.

"You came to some rando’s house– and I am a rando because we have literally never met– and thought it would be a good idea to have…?"

"A heart-to-heart, an inspiring discussion—even a manly convo, as the kids say."

Manly convo? Yeah. Right. 

"Listen, uh… Who are you?"

"Well, I could tell you my birth name…" He chuckled. "But I suppose, since we’re talking as the grand heroes we are, I should tell you the truth."

A single note from a trumpet played in the background, in the rhythm of a fanfare.

"I am Lightbulb Man!"

The door creaked awkwardly as he grinned, his pride slightly faltering.

"Is that supposed to be some sort of hero name…?"

"What do you mean ‘supposed to be?’ It is my hero name, and I don’t see what’s wrong with it," he said, crossing his arms.

Oliver sighed.

There were so many imperfections and mistakes with his entire demeanor– not to mention his costume– that he would’ve loved to scold him about, but he decided that now was not the time to point them out.

"Look, ‘Lightbulb Dude-’"

"Lightbulb Man," he corrected.

"Alright, Lightbulb Man, I don’t expect you to know all about my schedule, so I’m gonna cut you some slack… But you can’t expect me to just let you into my house for no reason, especially when-"

"My, my, what a humble abode you have, son!" he shouted, pushing Oliver to the side and walking inside. "Definitely much smaller than I expected…"

"I-" He sighed. "Okay. Whatever."

Oliver closed the door behind the two of them and followed the man, hoping to keep him from bringing forth mayhem.

"This tiny, smelly apartment of yours is a bit too humble. Frankly, it’s strange," he said, lightly pushing around a piece of clothing with his foot. "I would’ve expected nothing short of a small mansion."

"A ‘small mansion’ seems like an oxymoron. Also, what?"

"What kind of little packrat are you? What are all these things?" he asked, gesturing to a wide array of bottle caps, lined up by color. "Do these have something to do with your powers, because-"

"Don’t-! Touch those…" He moved his hand away before he could grab them. "It doesn’t matter, okay? They’re just a stupid thing I like to-"

"Don’t worry, I have no intention of probing to find out what you do in your free time." He moved in closer to read one of the labels. "Though, it is still a surprise to me that your tiny room of a house is in such a disorderly state. Didn’t your mother ever teach you to tidy your things?"

Oliver scoffed.

"Speak not of my mother, you weirdo. I wasn’t expecting visitors."

"You should be prepared for anything the universe throws at you! How do you expect to be a decent hero if you can’t handle a little surprise…?" he asked, leaning on the edge of the couch.

"You mean breaking and entering?"

"A surprise."

Oliver rubbed his forehead as the superhero walked around the couch and examined the rest of the small room.

"Okay, what’s your name?"

"Lightbulb Man, I already told you," said Lightbulb Man.

"No, your real name."

He gasped dramatically.

"Though I am appalled at your distaste for my thoughtfully chosen hero name, I will set this aside and tell you my birth name," he said, grinning. "After all, since we are to be ‘chums,’ it’s imperative that we know each other’s names. I am Charles Green, born to Lyle and Maya Green, in the town of-"

"Okay, that’s enough," he said, gesturing with his hands to shut him up. "I don’t need to know your whole life story, geez. So your name’s Charlie?"

"Charles, son."

"Yeah, I’m calling you Charlie. So-"

"A nickname? I am honored that you consider us close enough to be so friendly!" he said, beaming. "Now, if only I could have your name, I could come up with one for you!"

Oliver was beside himself.

"What is it now, boy? You look pale-"

"You mean to tell me that you don’t even know my name? And you’re in my house? And you didn't know my name? How-"

"Alright, you don’t need to shout at me! Perhaps it might’ve been a wise decision to learn your name before my visit-"

"Perhaps?"

"-But now if you were to stop making such a fuss over every little thing, you could tell me your name and this little squabble could be resolved."

Oliver chuckled.

"Squabble, wow…" he muttered under his breath. "My name is Oliver Barrison, uh… born to my mother and father… in a hospital, my liege," he said, bowing and tipping an imaginary hat.

"Oliver Barrison… Not a very grand name, but it’ll do. Also, as for nicknames, there’s not much to work with…" He sighed and stroked his chin in thought. "No good…"

"So, Charlie, what is it that you wanted again?"

"Ah yes, that…" He was about to speak when a cat crawled out from under the couch, curling its tail around his ankle. "Oh! Who’s this little guy…?"

The cat was white with brown splotches trailing along its tail and torso, with a distinct marking over one of its eyes. It rubbed up against the base of his leg until he picked it up, cradling it in a rather maternal fashion.

"Amazing, son! You’re fighting crime consistently, and yet you’ve found a way to care for a small creature!" Charlie cradled the cat, petting its head. "I didn’t know you liked animals. Caring for all creatures is an important quality in a-"

Oliver looked back at him, grimacing.

"What is the meaning of that expre-"

"I don’t like cats," he said, scoffing in disgust.

"Oh? Then why do you have one?"

"It’s my friend’s stupid cat," he said, staring at it rather distastefully. "Her name is Missy."

"Missy? What a–"

"Stupid name? I know, but she-"

"---wonderful name for such a kind, loving kitten!" he said, bringing Missy up to rub their faces together.

"Okay, maybe you don’t want to do that—"

"Do what?" Missy appeared perfectly content with his touchiness.

"Oh, that’s not fair. Why does she like you?" He could’ve sworn the cat was giving him a dirty look. "She always tries to hiss at me, and screech at me, and mess up my things–-"

"Well, I don’t seem to have a problem with her at all!"

"---and pee on me, and stink up the place–-"

"Alright, that’s enough of your fussing! It’s your own fault for having the cat with you in the first place," he said, bonding pretty hard with said cat.

"I- It’s not my fault, it’s my friend’s, because she needs help with the stupid cat sometimes…" he muttered, "And then I want to strangle it and wring its teeny neck until its beady little eyes pop out of its skull and bounce on the floor, putting it out of its misery and me out of mine, but I can’t do that because then Phoebe would kill me…"

"I can’t understand a word you’re speaking; you’ll have to speak up," he said, showing no interest whatsoever in learning what he said, seeing as he was already putting the cat down and roaming the rest of the apartment.

"Do you have other animals living here with you, or is she it?" Charlie asked, kicking around clothes and other miscellaneous items strewn across the floor. 

"Where are you-"

"This place is so small. And you were correct– it does in fact smell like cat waste."

"I- Okay, yeah, seriously, what are you doing?" he asked, walking after him as he walked into the small hallway, looking the place up and down.

"Which one of these rooms is your secret lair?" asked Charlie, about to turn the handle of the first door before Oliver grabbed his arm and pulled him away.

"Quit it or leave. I swear, I’m going to kill you…"

"That’s a bit overly hostile for a peacekeeping hero, don’t you think? What’s made you so angry?"

"What’s made me so angry? I don’t know, maybe it’s the fact that you literally came into my house- room- apartment or whatever, and you just started poking around at everything when you…!" Oliver sighed. "I swear, if you don’t tell me what the hell you’re doing here, I will strangle you."

"Unlikely!" he boasted. "You’re much smaller than me, and likely weaker, as well. But either way, I suppose I’ve been overly absentminded now."

"You think…?"

"My visit today was not without purpose. In fact, I came to offer an opportunity to you– a proposition, if you will. I wanted to offer you myself– as a mentor, to shape you into the best hero you can possibly be!"

"Huh?"

Charlie walked out of the hall and back into the living room.

"You’re a new hero, son. And for only being in this sort of business for a year or so… Started when you were eighteen, yes?"

"Uh… Yeah?"

Where is he going with this…?

"You’re so young, Oliver. You’ve already made a sort of name for yourself, even if it’s not a first-page, show-stopping appearance. You should be proud of yourself, but there are many things that you still need to improve on." Charlie faced him, starry-eyed but judgemental, and grabbed him by the shoulders. "You often deviate from the high standard that professional heroes such as myself work to maintain, and I want to help you remedy said situation."

"Remedy said what now?"

He let him go and motioned to the couch and floor.

"This is no way for a grand hero to live. Frankly, you fail to practice and hone in on plenty of techniques that heroes– such as myself– use daily when fighting crime. I am offering you the chance to work alongside a hero of my skill level. Just think of all the progress you can make! You can work with me, kid, and be my loyal sidekick!"

"Sidekick?"

"Just think about it! We can work as the fictional heroes once did! BearBoy and Ronan!"

"What- Wait, who?"

"You don’t know?" Charlie looked at him in confusion. "The famous fictional hero duo, BearBoy and Ronan? Y’know, that cartoon series in the 1960s? With the hero who’d been orphaned at a young age, and his trusty sidekick? They’re rather famous!"

Oliver snickered. "Wait, you mean like Batman and Ro-"

"Hey!" Charlie waved his hand at him. "Not them! BearBoy and Ronan! They’re much better than those other heroes you mentioned. You must watch out for copyright infringement, Oliver!"

Why would I have to worry about that in my own-

"Anyway, whichever you choose to see it as, I’m sure you get the point. I came here to talk to you about this, and see how soon we can arrange things to–-"

"No thanks," he said, walking over to the door. "Was that it? Because then you can–-"

"What do you mean, ‘no thanks?’" He cleared his throat. "Do you not realize what a great opportunity this is…?"

"Yeah, I’m good. Now, are you going to leave…?"

"But why not? Is there something stopping you?"

"Nope," he said, shrugging. "I really don’t care, honestly. I’ve been doing things just fine on my own, thank you very much, and I don’t need your help to make me… Well, more like you."

He held in a snicker.

"There must be something…!" He walked up to Oliver. "I’m sure you need to improve on something! There has to be at least one thing that can lead to me having to mentor you!"

"Look, have you been keeping up with the statistics? The crime rates have been declining, no?"

"Well, yes."

"And no ‘evil villains’ have hunted me or my family down, right?"

"A-Ah, right, but I-"

"And I haven’t made a big mistake, or gotten seriously hurt or anything, in the year I’ve been doing this… Right…?"

"Right…"

"So," he said, opening the door and motioning to it, "I can handle things just fine, and you can leave now! Thanks for the nice little visit, but I should probably sleep now."

"You really don’t-"

"Nope, I’m good. Bye-bye now," he said, practically pushing him out the door.

"I- well, if you truly aren’t interested in the slightest, I guess-"

"Okay, thanks!" And with that, he shut the door.

Finally. Thought he’d never leave.

Oliver sighed and sat back down on the couch. Though he didn’t need to wake up for work later, sleep was best taken during business hours, when the math had proven there was less crime to bust.

He laid down, staring up at the ceiling.

Now would be the optimal time for Oliver to actually sleep, but whether or not he does is beyond anyone’s control. We can only hope he will allow himself to succumb to his inevitable beddy-bye time, even in the light as it is.

He began to drift off into slumber…

A tap on his window awoke him before he could properly doze off. Charlie tapped on the frosted window above his door, his figure hardly distinguishable from the afternoon daylight. He yelled, “I’ll be back!”

Nelly: What if the person who named Walkie Talkies named everything? Francis: Pregnancy tests are Maybe Babies Phoebe: Socks are Feetie Heaties Spencer: Forks are Stabby Grabbies Francis: Defibrillators are Heartie Starties Phoebe: Nightmares are Dreamy Screamies Spencer: Stamps are Lickie Stickies Oliver, annoyed: You are disappointments

Nelly: Favorite horror movie? Francis: It Oliver: Saw Spencer: Annabelle Phoebe: High School Musical. after watching it I spent all my middle school years terrified that the entire school would start singing something and I’d be the only one who didn’t know the lyrics

(This next one fit shockingly well-)

Nelly: Anyone d- Francis: Depressed? Oliver: Drained? Spencer: Dumb? Phoebe: Disliked? Nelly: -done with their work... what is wrong with you people ...

Oliver: Who thinks I can fit 15 marshmallows in my mouth? Phoebe: You’re a hazard to society Spencer: And a coward. DO TWENTY.

Oliver: If I die, my funeral is going to be the biggest party ever and you’re all invited Phoebe: If? Spencer: Great, the only party I’ve ever been invited to and he might not even die.