The Alarm Clock at the End of the World

Part 80

Prologue, Part 1

I tag the Secret Inspectors in of the corner of my vision. They’ve been watching all night, waiting for me to slip up. I had high hopes they’d ignore the show. I don’t want to let them know I’ve seen them see me. That’s the only way to beat them at their own game. Let them think they’re smarter than you and slip the noose at the last second. Playing dumb is the only way to stay alive in this day and age.

I keep my eyes riveted on the band, pretending that they are my only care in the world. They all look about sixteen or seventeen and probably picked up their instruments last week, which would explain why they play punk rock. It is the best fallback if you are young, angry, want to be a musician, but have nothing better to do.

As far as I’m concerned, they are the best band in the world. I’m even pumping my fist and yelling between songs to make it look as real as I can. The band yells about getting crazy and knocking over tables and dancing really hard and all the other things bands want you to do at their first show. Of course, no one cares because they have never heard of you before. This band is fairly political, insomuch as a band like this can be, singing about God and the government and how they hate the President and the like.

Such talk from these kids is no care for the Secret Inspectors as it is the main reason no one will pay much attention to these kids. They are young and punk and angry now, but in five years they will be straight and narrow. After circulating through this band and that band for a year or two, but not really doing anything but forgetting everything, three out of four of these kids will go to college and get real jobs for the societal machine. Most likely the fourth will do the same. The SI’s move in on me, undaunted, blended into the background. So now the time has come to move.

I keep fist pumping and try to work my way into the crowd when a bunch of kids start dancing, blocking my straight path to the front door. Never simple. The bathroom windows are probably watched as well. I wouldn’t want to make that kind of fatal error, but I’m in luck. I’ve got a man on the inside.

My first job after the Superhero Gang was trafficking Kerrorats. They are young goats used in breaking down flora on estates meant for destruction. Highly illegal. It wasn’t the most glamorous of jobs, but it kept me fed and kept me out of the Everpresent Eye. We were paid under the table, so I was still collecting unemployment. The bottom fell out of the black market when most people went to a chemical alternative. The goat people had the money to create an entire industry that no one needed, and then the chemical people had enough money to steal it away. Either way, the ground was torn up when the bulldozers came along. If I can get to the kitchen, the grill cook was my partner.

I preferred odd jobs, whatever could earn a few dollars to put food on my plate and cigarettes in my pocket. Climbing through windows when someone locks their keys inside and rescuing cats from a tree, little acts of superheroing that allow me to keep my Union benefits. I haven’t exactly lived up to the Superhero Code completely, but I don’t think I’ve done anything that would draw the attention of the SI’s.