Humans different. Me original.

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Thanks, I love this

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Yeah the joke is that the Riddler is an idiot and mixed up Clark and Bruce.

Sard Borken

My ten-year-old son, Bobby, recoiled as I put my hand on his shoulder. He threw a baffled look at me as he walked away, around the front of his mother’s beat-up junker to the driver’s side backseat. His warranted loathing still hurt, still after all of these years. I didn’t blame him. Madison, his mother, glared over the steering wheel at me with narrowed eyes far older than her thirty-one, while her new boyfriend appraised me with a fake smirk across his greasy face. I didn’t feel anything as I watched them pull away to end this joy-forsaken visitation.

Back in the house, I was hungry and went to the kitchen. When I reached into the cupboard to get food even I could cook, my hand brushed the half-filled whiskey bottle and stopped. I looked up, startled by the cool glass, and found myself looking at my reflection; the soulless Monster I became leering back at me, waiting eagerly for my next relapse. His cool eyes were laughing at me as I slammed the door.

Hungry, I spent the night in the dark, sitting in the threadbare, formerly green recliner: my only living room chair. It was squalid misery, and far better than I deserved. I could barely make out the calendar on the wall; two weekends from now might as well be lifetimes. Outside, a lonely dog howled mournfully. Inside, this mutt stayed quiet. I continued to ignore the book the judge gave me, abandoned on the ramshackle end table beside me.

---

The mechanic shop was far busier than useful. Once I wasn’t drunk at work anymore and the shakes stopped, my calloused hands flew like angels and the work blurred like through a bottle.

“Hey, Bill, how goes?” Tom, my best friend, runs the shop; if it was anyone else, I’d be homeless or dead.

I smiled. “Well enough, you?”

“You got a hot date or something tonight? That’s the fourth car you’ve fixed. You're making the other mechanics look bad”. His laugh was infectious, and all of the other grease monkeys in the garage grinned back across engines and out of pits.

Four? Fuck, four? Shit, when I work fast I get sloppy; my mouth felt too dry, my hands clammy. I needed a drink. “Are they okay? I swear, Tom, I was paying atten-”

“No, Tom, they’re good”. He put his hands up, his smile gone, his voice calming. “You good?”

“Bad visit with Bobby.” I shrugged. “I don’t blame him”.

Tom nodded. “Change is hard. Hardest thing I ever did was quit drinking, same as you.”

“You were funny when you’re drunk. I wasn’t.”

“You just think that cuz you were drunk too.” I didn’t say anything to that, cuz he was probably right.

After work, I started cleaning my trailer. I was surprised there was still money in my account after paying child support to Madison, so I got the power turned back on. The lonely living room lamp threw its sad light on the book. I had nothing else to do, so I started reading.

---

Two weeks flew by like nothing. The shop had never been busier but I buzzed like a damned saw. At home, I started to fix all the broken shit I found while cleaning: the coffee table the Monster smashed, the angry holes he punched into the walls; broken pictures of Maddy, Bobby and me. The book had talked about yoga or some bullshit but I figured fixing stuff would work the same. I hoped Bobby would be happy his bed didn’t wobble anymore.

He was sullen and silent when he was dropped off instead of crying and screaming. They all were quiet. Madison didn’t even look at me, staring off into the distance like she did when we were together, white knuckles grasping the wheel. Her new boyfriend’s leer was less fake, quite at home in the passenger seat. Bobby, of course, had to take the long way around the car from the driver’s side. If he saw anything I fixed, he didn’t say. He didn’t say nothing the whole weekend. I left him be.

It wasn’t an accident when I found the bottle in my cupboard after he left. And it wasn’t an accident when I put it back unopened, neither. It hurt so much to have him ignore me, and even more that I couldn’t drink it away.

---

I finished the judge’s book in the next two weeks. I had to bring it to work and ask Tom about a lot of the words. “Behavior Therapy” this and “Dialectical” that, why can’t they just make it simple: you drink because of these trigger things, and it’s all connected somehow. But I read it with the help. I was afraid the guys would laugh because of the book, but only the young guy, Hayden said anything, and he must have gotten a talking to about it cuz it was just the once. He came to say he was sorry afterwards, and I told him we were good and I’d done the same at his age.

When Bobby came over again, it was more of the angry quiet. I walked him to his room, the same room he had when they lived here, a lifetime ago. “It’s cool if you don’t want to talk to me. I don’t blame you none. When you get hungry, let me know. Work’s been good, I’d like to go to Mama’s Burgers like we used to if you want.”

“I would, Dad”. The soft words were the first he said to me in a month; they were louder than any thunderclap I’d heard then and since.

We drove in silence; I was just happy to get my license back. It was so strange seeing him in the front passenger seat instead of the back one.

It was awkward conversation at best, fumbled silences at worst. I almost ordered the Monster’s hangover special; I wondered if he saw the shame on my face as I saw the fear on his. I ended up with the house special, and ordered him his usual: single-patty, double cheese, double ketchup, double pickles, nothing else; gravy on the side for the fries. After that, we just talked about safe stuff: Little League, school, and computers. I don’t remember the last time we talked. Part of me wondered if we ever did.

I had my hand on his shoulder when his mom’s jalopy chugged up to the curb. I got scared when I felt Bobby’s shoulder tense up, like he was going to pull away again, but he didn’t. I wondered why Madison keeps bringing her loser boyfriend when she picks up my son.

I almost threw out the bottle that night, if only to see the smugness wiped clean off the Monster’s face. His greasy smirk was the last thing I saw before I slammed the door shut.

---

The next two weeks dragged by like a loaded truck with a broken axle. I did something unthinkable: I went to the library, got a card, and signed out a book from the judge’s “Recommended reading” list. It made a lot more sense, and I was mostly through it before Bobby’s weekend. There was some sort of 3D printing thing at the library that weekend and I signed us up for it. He’d love it, I hoped.

Bobby jumped out of the car as soon as his mother's smoking heap heaved to a stop. He was crying when he ran past. As I followed, two faces were watching me through the cracked windshield: my ex, her eyes round and full of fear; and his, cool and smug.

I ran back in to find my son; I heard sobbing from his room. I ran in. He was sitting on his bed, his face in his arms. I reached out to hold him. That’s when I saw the bruises, angry and purple, on his face.

He didn’t need to tell me the story, but I listened anyway. I should have known -- his mom has a type. Between the sobs, he managed to get it out. “They were fighting again, like they always do, like you and Mom used to do, screaming and smashing things. It always makes me angry and when he started hitting her, this time I told him to stop, and he started hitting me.”

For a moment, I didn’t know if he was talking about his mom’s new boyfriend, or her old one.

My heart broke when he looked at me, his tears damning me. “Why, Dad, why is it always gotta be like this? Why are you monsters always hurting me and Mom? Why Dad? Why can’t it stop?”

I tried to make it stop. I stopped drinking. I started reading. I finally got my license back, and work was going well, and the library. The Monster was just a fading reflection instead of the man. I was trying to be the father my son deserves and not the father I’d gotten.

I thought about that, what my son deserves, and I made my decision. I called his grandma, his mom’s mother, who hated me, and told him what happened and that I was bringing him to her house for the night. She squawked something back that sounded affirmative.

It was a long drive to his grandma’s house. So I brought something for the drive back to his mom’s apartment, something I’d need. When he saw it, I saw the fear in my son’s one good eye, and then he looked at me hard and nodded.

In the reflection in the bottle, a wolfish grin spread across the Monster’s face.

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Update 2:

Sorry for the long wait . Turns out I was wrong Techiton has a near infinite army. However thanks to his ego I beat him.

You see , Techiton is many things but he’s still an egotistical rich guy . The fact that I , some random guy living out in the middle of no where , was beating his robot army . This was an insult he couldn’t stand . So he came to my house personally with an army much larger than before . Once again the army marched . And once again . The muddy electric field wiped them out. Only this time , they kept coming.

They actually were walking on the corpses of their fallen robots. I would’ve been screwed if a commenter hadn’t suggested I go on the offensive . While I didn’t fake my death like they suggested . I did however default to my favorite solution . SCORCHED EARTH POLICY.

I rigged every single robot to explode . Of course an explosion this big destroyed the farm house leaving a crater . But I wasn’t in the house . I was under it in the bomb shelter my uncle built. He’s a doomsday prepper so it could survive a nuke , an alien invasion, a zombie outbreak , and a third magical war.

Unfortunately for me , techiton made his body the most durable . He was the only robot left and I was out of tricks . He hacked the bomb shelter door and marched right in like he owned the place .

I thought I was a goner until I remembered the shelter was a Faraday cage . While he was monologing about how “this was the end” and “no one insults the phantom order” and “you’ve cost me millions” you know , typical supervillain garbage . I shuffled slowly to the lever and activated the cage .

He noticed it Immediately but only said “You think blocking the signal will stop me . I’ll just simply kill you and then walk until I get signal “

And he’s right he could just kill me and leave . If By turning on the faraday cage I hadn’t also activated the manual mode for the doors. Now the only way to get out was for me to enter the code. I had essentially trapped techiton here .

We actually sat in the bunker for a week. I was content eating food and reading books . While techiton kept trying to force open the door. Apparently it was “beneath him “ to use torture . But in all honesty I think he’s just a germaphobe . Since when I cut my hand he freaked out . Speaking of , that’s actually how I beat him.

It was gross but I just dumped the indoor sewage tank on his head . I didn’t actually destroy him with that but he immediately freaked out. Techiton was Running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Eventually he ditched his body and uploaded himself into my laptop . This was his big mistake .

I’m an anime fan and like most anime fans I may or may not…. Watch anime illegally. Every fan knows that those illegal sites host some of the best anime BUT ALSO THE BEST VIRUSES . Since we were in a faraday cage he had no way out. He had hopped into the only machine capable of storing his consciousness. I don’t know what the virus did but it fried him and the laptop itself .

Literally fried , it started smoking and caught fire .

I’m actually typing this story on a computer at the library . I figured it was best to leave his smoldering remains trapped in a faraday cage . I plan on paying a company to fill the entire place with concrete. So that way even if he’s alive , techiton will never see the sun again.

The downside of this is now I’m homeless, and the phantom order is after me. I think the next one to come is Horror and then the red nurse and sin . Which is why I’m at a library . Apparently from what everyone has learned about horror . It has a connection to knowledge . So by hiding in a library I’m protected from its wrath .

Once again , wish me luck

"Ok, just take a seat. Your order will be ready in 15 minutes," said the cashier in a cheery voice that screams she really needs a good tip to make her 8 dollar an hour job worth it.

As I was going to take my seat, an oddly familiar face was standing in the periphery of my vision. Huh, very few things still surprised me, but this, this did. I looked more intently towards her. No, it couldn't be, all of it fit, all of it was right, but this was all wrong. She was frozen. Also, I'm sure she had the exact same questions flooding her mind. I could see the surprise in her eyes, which quickly turned into rage as she began walking towards me. I didn't know what to do, embrace her, kiss her, run away? for the first time in a millennium. I didn't know what to do. I just sat there as she walked towards me.

She looked so beautiful, I must have been hallucinating. The biggest ghost of my past walking towards me, haunting me as she had done for centuries. She couldn't be real, this couldn't be real, I watched her die by my hand, I moaned her I buried her, she died this couldn't be real. So how was she now seated across the table from me.

"1037 times, 1037 times was the number of times I died and woke up again in that box you put me in. It would have been much more, but after a 1000 or so deaths, even death itself gets tired, so instead, you just feel the pain leading to death all the time. Your little coffin barely held out as soon as you poured the cement over my grave it caved in on itself, so for 537 years, i was being crushed alive, dying and waking up again till I stopped dying at all. In the end, only two thoughts kept me company, the thirteen times I could have killed you but spared you because that was our thing, you would foil my scheme, and we would fight and make love after. The other was your stupid face as you stabbed me in the stomach, and you even had the nerve to say you loved me after breaking our unspoken rule. I really wanted to kill you, but by the time I got out the world was a changed place, I thought for sure time had stolen my chance to kill you, but now I see you can't die, thankfully the grave taught me that living through the pain of death is much worse. I am going to enjoy tearing you limb from limb and watching the life run out of your eyes, only for me to do it again. You look smug now, but I'll teach you the true meanings of dread and pain, Charles. Now get up. I really wouldn't want to cause a mess in my cafe."

"Waiter, can you make those two chai latte's, your boss, and I have a lot to catch up on."

Glad you liked it :)

Theres always a bigger fish.

Reminds me of that time a completely drunk Clark Kent posed as Bruce Wayne on a party yacht and Deathstroke tried to kill him

I'm pretty sure the Disruptor has zero problem with his attempts at disruption ending up beneficial for people (he may even prefer it) so now I want plans that, no matter if they succeed or fail, end with something good happening.

Good read. Love the take on immortality. So often immortality is a curse, here, it's just life.

Tbh he probably already knows and is just there for the laughs

This is the great, gobbling ooze monster from the Land of the Sandmen.

The ooze monster dribbles out from under the bed, making a sloshing noise as it does so. It resembles a disheveled Muk, but it is somewhat more watery. Instead of eyes, it has just holes. So how does it smell or see? It doesn't actually. What it does is shoot out radioactive blobs and track the radioactivity.

The radioactivity is slight enough that it won't kill or hurt badly, although it will sting a little, like if you dropped a drop of hydrochloric acid on your skin.

No, that is the joke, that the Riddler has riddled the completely wrong answer.

So, did you mix up batman and superman on purpose?

This but cutting just the last two sentences

Don't worry i get it

Life happens.

I think it would be stronger without the final paragraph, but it was good.

Dwarves are stubborn, clever, and patient to a fault. Their fortress stout and resilient. Their natural talent for working stone and metal is paralleled only by grand master crafters of other peoples. They achieve this through tireless tinkering, pursuing perfection in the works of their hands. It should come as no surprise that those with the best fortresses know best how to unmake them. However, their small stature, stubbornness, and patience lead them to inflexible strategies. They are good, but not fast, and definitely not cheap soldiers.

Orcs are proud, strong, and large. Their culture developed around a severe imbalance of males to females, with only the strongest, most successful orcs gaining access to a mate. Because of their strength and size, combat was a natural course to test the menfolk against themselves. An individual orc infantry can demolish any other soldier in armed combat or athletic endeavors, but lose their edge at scale. As soldiers, they are fast and they are cheap, but they are not suited to mass formations - rather shock infantry, raiders or saboteurs.

Elves, by contrast, are proud, slim, nimble, and elegant. The average elf is little use to other elves until the age of 50, after they have master of their first speciality. Because elves have time, they seek perfection and loath failure, so will often delay until the perfect opportunity arises. Due to their longevity, producing low birthrates, and their natural agility, they prefer to avoid tactics which produce 'meat grinders' - it takes too long and costs to much to replace losses on short order, if it can be done at all before the end of the war. They find a beauty in archery, a skill which has a range of quality which is acceptable without being perfect, and make devastating foot archers. Their skill and agility allow them to reposition quickly at need, and find optimal angles to hit priority targets at extreme range. As soldiers, the are good, they can be fast, but they are by no means cheap.

At last we have humans. Humanity is madness incarnate. They are a generalist people, and can bond with a bread box. They have no formal strategy, no predictability, no preference. They pursue excellence, but for most there is a 'good enough' break point. Their comparatively short life span allows rapid recovery, and their youths develop skills faster than ice melts in summer. Above all, humans are flexible - in all things, not just tactics or weapons or strategy, but morals and size and quality.

The most outrageous tribes seen ride 'horses,' a badly deformed, dumb, panicky centaur, almost as an extension of themselves. This permits speed comparable or faster than elves, and weight beyond the orcs. The riders with bows can shoot almost as well as an elf, reposition almost as well, and can turn on a hapenny to avoid counterfire or infantry blocks. They're faster than just about any foot and last longer too. Mounted archers as soldiers are sterling, good, fast, and modestly priced.

But that is not the end of the madness. There are those humans call 'Lancers' who ride into battle atop a massive horse, all decked in armor, wielding a pointy tree branch, with a song on their lips, a smile on their face, and death in their hearts as they race headlong into an infantry formation. The morale blow alone collapses battles.

Imagine 2500 pounds of flesh and metal hurtling toward you at speed, thunder and drinking songs filling your ears as the 10 foot stake aims toward your heart. This is just one lancer. Cavalry formations are often more than one hundred riders. Nevermind the fact that companies of cavalry often send 1000 riders on contract.

Humanity is flexible. Humanity is crazy. And there's nothing to stop a dismounted archer from staving your head in with the discarded helmet of his fallen ally, getting up, going home, having a pint, and then do it all again tomorrow.

agreed but my pause was ending and needed back to work

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