You ever wake up and just know today's the day someone's getting vaporized?
No? Just me?
Look, I used to be normal. Wore the cape. Smiled for the cameras. Rescued kittens from trees even when I knew damn well that cat was gonna claw my face off. I played the role. The world's shining golden boy—"Sentinel," they called me.
Yeah. That guy. Lame, right?
I remember the day it changed. Crystal clear. Like a 4K highlight reel of my villain origin story, but with better lighting and killer abs. I was flying downtown, minding my own business, when I saw it.
A burning building.
Not just any building. A twelve-story insurance office that was currently on fire because some idiot plugged in a microwave and a space heater into the same power strip. Survival of the dumbest.
People screaming. Smoke everywhere. Classic save-the-day moment.
But here's the thing.
It was blocking traffic.
I kid you not, the fire had the whole street gridlocked. Bumper to bumper. Honking. Swearing. A guy in a Prius was full-on sobbing into his steering wheel like his life had ended because he was going to miss brunch.
So I landed. Punched through a support beam. Lifted the entire damn building—on fire and everything—and gently relocated it into the river like a flaming birthday cake.
Then I unclogged traffic.
Did I get a thank you?
Nope.
Karen from Channel 8 shoved a mic in my face and said, "But what about the people inside?"
Sweetheart, the building was empty. I checked. Twice. Also, maybe focus on the giant flaming building toss I just pulled off. That was Olympic-level superstrength with a side of zero property damage. You're welcome.
That was the first time I realized something:
I don't owe these people anything.
I've saved this city from alien invasions, rogue AI, a literal god of death—twice—and I still have to justify how I save them?
Nah.
From that day on, I stopped playing by their rules. I wasn't just above the law—I was above the whining.
And honestly?
It felt amazing.