The sun rose over the horizon of ironvale city making the fog slowly disappear. The bees were buzzing. Coffee shops and various stores opened their doors. Everyone was going about their businesses. A typical Monday morning.
Pedestrians were crossing the road then suddenly an armored truck roared down the street. They screamed and scattered.
Everyone managed to get out of the way except for one man in a trench coat who just stood in the truck's path, slushie in hand, looking more bored than brave. To the panicked crowd, he was suicidal. To Danny Knox it was just another Monday.
The truck slams into him at 80 mph. Danny is sent flying and slamming onto the asphalt. His body folded like a ragdoll under the impact. His spine cracks, limbs twist, skull shatters.
The truck swerved and crashed into a diner.
"Oh my God! He's dead!" one bystander screamed.
"Eh… give it a sec." Danny muffled from his broken jaw.
Muscles knitted. Bones snapped back into place with wet crack. And his jaw realigned.
"Ow. Yeah. That sucked."
He stands, coat torn revealing the bright, yellow spandex with a hazard insignia on his chest. Blood steamed off him and he tossed the coat off. He casually walked over and opened the now-destroyed truck's door. The driver, a masked thief, stares at him in horror.
"License, registration… and a reason why you just pancaked me?"
The thief panicked, pulled out a shotgun and blasted Danny in the chest busting a hole in him. He sighs and just looks down at the wound, unimpressed.
"Rude." He said
Then, with a grin, he headbutted the thief , breaking their nose and his own skull before tossing the unconscious criminal out the door.
Bystanders watched with their phones out taking pics and videos.
"It's Crashtest!" someone from the crowd announced. And they started cheering and clapping. He put on a smile and waved at them.
Some minutes later, the Police arrive, finding Danny sitting on the crushed hood, sipping his coffee.
"You're insane, Crashtest." One of the officers said in amazement.
"No, I'm just… durable," he said.
As cameras flash and cheers rise, Danny forces a smile, then mutters under his breath,
"Another day, another attempt at dying gone wrong."
Later that night, Danny entered his apartment. Walking past old photos and medals hanging on the walls. He strode to the kitchen, opened the fridge and got himself a bottle of beer.
He went to the living and crashed on the couch, turned on the TV and increased the volume. He took a sip of his beer and opened the drawer under the table and pulled out a gun.
He loaded it, took another swig of his beer. He checked the time on his watch, 8:15, and placed the gun under his chin, and whispers:
"Let's try lucky number 473."
Bang. Gunshot. Everything goes dark.
He wakes up, annoyed, muttering curses.
"Figures." he checked his watch again. 8:20.
He sighed again and took his beer again