Death of a Hero
Disclaimer: You'll have to take my word for it, but at the time of writing this, I hadn't seen the movie Hancock. It's not exactly the same, but too similar to do anything with this.
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"Captain Brawn, thanks for coming."
The most powerful man in the world sat at the table, meek as a lamb. It was easy to see he was uncomfortable in the new outfit; he fidgeted with the wristbands and pulled at the collar from where the cape hung. As he scooted forwards in the chair, the trailing fabric caught in one of the wheels and Margot pursed her lips, foreseeing an issue when he got up.
She kept silent, though. In her client's current emotional state, it wouldn't do to point out any further carelessness or mistakes. Image rehabilitation was difficult enough when you were dealing with a nefarious corporation responsible for the dumping of toxic waste, or a notorious artist who liked to smack around hotel employees; making a superhero look good was a completely different monster.
A month earlier, when her firm had taken the job, it had seemed like easy money. After all, who doesn't like superheroes, right? They're brave and strong, protect the weak and uphold justice. It's easy to forget that these folks had once been Average Joes, until something had thrust their abilities on them. Like the rest of the human race, there are some winners... and a whole lotta losers.
Margot kept her face calm, ignoring the urge to roll her eyes as the chair groaned under her client's massive frame whenever he twitched. They had to order a new one after every meeting. Turning to face the projected slides, she concentrated on her presentation.
"As you know, we've taken this first month to analyze the issues present in the public's perception of you. We've held several focus groups, set up some social media analytics and crawled through the most prominent message boards, all aimed at getting a clear picture of your "brand", as it were."
The client tugged at his collar again. "So, why do people hate me?" It was still strange to hear such a high-pitched voice coming from such a large man, but she'd stopped wanting to giggle weeks back.
She clicked for the next slide. "It's not so much that people hate you, it's just that they're... indifferent."
He almost slammed his hand against the table, barely stopping himself, for which Margot was grateful. If they had to replace another table she would just start using plastic ones in the conference room.
"Why?"
It was sad, really, to see such a plaintive and pathetic expression on his face. She cleared her throat before continuing.
"Let's break it down, shall we?" She turned and used the laser pointer.
"We've found four key points that seem to encompass the issues we're looking to address. First of all, your backstory. It just doesn't resonate with people."
"How I got my powers?"
"Right. I can tell you that only 3% of people we polled felt that it was engaging or unique."
"What's wrong with working out so much that you get blessed by Kratos, Greek God of Strength and Power?"
Margot sighed. "Can I be honest with you?"
"Of course."
"Most people don't really like other people who go to the gym, in general. Average Joes don't like the implicit comparisons that are drawn whenever someone talks about bench-pressing-so-and-so, or how many "reps" they did or whether or not it's leg day. The average person works out maybe 3 hours a year, typically right after New Year's Eve because of some resolution and they don't pick up an exercise weight until the next January."
"They're called dumbbells," he said with a frown.
"Whatever." She did roll her eyes, then. "Having someone get super-strength because of how many weights you lifted, well... it sort of undermines the process of becoming a superhero. In the public's eye, I mean."
His knuckles cracked as he curled his hands into fists. "People just don't understand! I mean if they knew how many-"
Margot cut him off with a raised hand. "Please, yes. I'm aware of the details. You've gone into them at length. Let's move on."
She ignored the hurt look on his face.
"Second, most superheroes come from, shall we say... humbler backgrounds... than you do. A lot of people don't think it's fair that someone so wealthy should additionally get physical powers that sets them above the rest even more than your money already did."
He threw up his hands in disgust, before dropping them to the table. An ominous groan came from the lacquered wood.
"So, it's my fault that my grandpa was a great businessman? That's not fair!"
"I realize that, but remember that I'm just letting you know what we've compiled. 79% of people polled didn't like that you're rich."
He leaned back in the chair, deflated.
"Third, you're too arrogant."
"What?"
"People think you win fights too easily and they don't see you as a team player."
He just stared at her.
"Let's take the bank heist from last year as an example."
"OK."
"Forty-seven hostages, the place was rigged on a dead man's switch across three different kidnappers. Authorities' hands were tied. There was no safe way to breach and attempt a rescue. The scene was set for a great rescue, there was drama, people were glued to the live streams as it unfolded. The Brotherhood of Power was seen conferring with each other, coming up with a plan."
Captain Brawn tsked. "Hey, those losers-" he began, but she cut him off.
"Those losers are media darlings. They give great interviews and have a clear message. United We Stand. People take comfort in the fact that such a diverse team from all walks of life works with the police to solve crimes. They root for them. Plus, they have great costumes."
He clenched his fists again. He hadn't been a fan of covering up his build, but the costume change had been the first thing she'd recommended when he'd hired them. People also didn't like seeing grown men in speedos performing feats of strength.
"Then all of a sudden, before the newscasters could even give a lead into what was happening, you walk out of the bank holding the three kidnappers' hands with the detonators, dressed in what amounts to basically a loincloth, looking all oily and much too tan. You say that you took care of things and then proceed to stand there, flexing, for pictures."
He started to speak, but stopped.
"For five minutes. You stood there for five minutes, not talking to anyone, expecting people to fawn over you. Nobody wanted to come near you, you ripped those men's hands off!"
"I solved the problem!" This time he did slam his hand against the table, splitting it down the middle and sending her laptop, the projector, and the tray with water and coffee flying.
She cursed the man's temperament. "Are you done?"
He lost his anger in a flash. He looked around like a scared child, seeing the mess he made.
"I'm sorry, I-I'll clean it up."
"Don't bother. We have people for that."
He began to get up, but the cape that was caught in the wheels of the chair pulled him back, so he sat down again with too much force, snapping the chair off the base and tumbling to the ground with a strangled yelp. Margot saw him huddle there, not getting up, fabric draped over his head. His shoulders were twitching, and she realized he was weeping.
"Fourth," she said coldly. "You're trying too hard."
She picked up her laptop and grimaced as she saw the cracked screen.
"People can see that you're desperate for the public to like you. 80% of people called it pathetic. The other 20% said it was sad."
He peeked his head from underneath the cape, eyes red and burning with anger.
"What do these people want from me? Nothing I do will ever make them happy."
She sat down carefully beside him.
"The way I see it, and the way we're framing our official recommendation, is that you have two choices ahead of you."
He sat up, nodding. "OK," he exhaled a sharp breath, "let's hear it."
"Option one. You have to reinvent yourself. Captain Brawn is unsalvageable. There's no course of action that we can find that would turn the tide against the public's tainted opinion of you. This, along with the fact that you've never hidden your face or real name, means that any new identity you take up would necessarily have to be masked if you want to be taken seriously."
He grunted, but remained quiet.
"Of course, if you suddenly stopped being Captain Brawn and another super-strong hero with your general build appeared, it would only be a matter of days before it was discovered. This scenario was presented to our focus groups as well, and 100% of them said it would be worse to discover you tried to pass yourself off as someone else."
"You’d have to either hire a look-alike to make it seem that you’re in two places at once or have a staged fight that resulted in your demise, or you announce your retirement... something along those lines. In any case, it’s not difficult to put two and two together in today’s day and age. People aren’t necessarily smarter than they used to be, but they are more tech-savvy. Just like with UFOs and the Loch Ness Monsters of the world, camera phones destroyed secret identities for superheroes unless you spend a great deal of effort on maintaining them."
"What's option number two?" His voice was strained, just like a child who was desperately clinging to hope.
"You put this obsession with being a superhero away, and reinvent yourself in a different manner."
"What do you mean?"
"Captain Brawn must die, yes. In any scenario, this needs to happen. Have you asked yourself what else you could be doing with your powers?"
"I'm not sure I understand."
"Why do you care that people like you?"
"I just want to be appreciated for the good I can do."
"Right, and what has doing good gotten you so far?"
"Well..." It took him another moment, but he finally got there.
"I don't think I could be... evil."
"Evil is a very relative term. If you were to, let's say, destroy the nuclear armament of a terrorist nation, would that be evil?"
"Well, no, but..."
"If you, hypothetically, were to destroy the datacenters that hold the records of a third-world nation's crippling debt, would that be evil?"
"Not when you put it like that..."
"It's all a matter of perspective, really. What some might consider evil, could be seen as great good by others. Why limit yourself to the approval of the ungrateful masses, when you literally have the power to change the world at your fingertips."
He hesitated. Margot smiled at him encouragingly.
"We have great costume designers, and supervillains are so much more... attractive." She placed a hand on his massive bicep.
She saw his uncertainty melt away as he grinned, and knew her real bosses would be very appreciative of her newest recruit.
"First. Let's work on your new name."
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"Captain Brawn, thanks for coming."
The most powerful man in the world sat at the table, meek as a lamb. It was easy to see he was uncomfortable in the new outfit; he fidgeted with the wristbands and pulled at the collar from where the cape hung. As he scooted forwards in the chair, the trailing fabric caught in one of the wheels and Margot pursed her lips, foreseeing an issue when he got up.
She kept silent, though. In her client's current emotional state, it wouldn't do to point out any further carelessness or mistakes. Image rehabilitation was difficult enough when you were dealing with a nefarious corporation responsible for the dumping of toxic waste, or a notorious artist who liked to smack around hotel employees; making a superhero look good was a completely different monster.
A month earlier, when her firm had taken the job, it had seemed like easy money. After all, who doesn't like superheroes, right? They're brave and strong, protect the weak and uphold justice. It's easy to forget that these folks had once been Average Joes, until something had thrust their abilities on them. Like the rest of the human race, there are some winners... and a whole lotta losers.
Margot kept her face calm, ignoring the urge to roll her eyes as the chair groaned under her client's massive frame whenever he twitched. They had to order a new one after every meeting. Turning to face the projected slides, she concentrated on her presentation.
"As you know, we've taken this first month to analyze the issues present in the public's perception of you. We've held several focus groups, set up some social media analytics and crawled through the most prominent message boards, all aimed at getting a clear picture of your "brand", as it were."
The client tugged at his collar again. "So, why do people hate me?" It was still strange to hear such a high-pitched voice coming from such a large man, but she'd stopped wanting to giggle weeks back.
She clicked for the next slide. "It's not so much that people hate you, it's just that they're... indifferent."
He almost slammed his hand against the table, barely stopping himself, for which Margot was grateful. If they had to replace another table she would just start using plastic ones in the conference room.
"Why?"
It was sad, really, to see such a plaintive and pathetic expression on his face. She cleared her throat before continuing.
"Let's break it down, shall we?" She turned and used the laser pointer.
"We've found four key points that seem to encompass the issues we're looking to address. First of all, your backstory. It just doesn't resonate with people."
"How I got my powers?"
"Right. I can tell you that only 3% of people we polled felt that it was engaging or unique."
"What's wrong with working out so much that you get blessed by Kratos, Greek God of Strength and Power?"
Margot sighed. "Can I be honest with you?"
"Of course."
"Most people don't really like other people who go to the gym, in general. Average Joes don't like the implicit comparisons that are drawn whenever someone talks about bench-pressing-so-and-so, or how many "reps" they did or whether or not it's leg day. The average person works out maybe 3 hours a year, typically right after New Year's Eve because of some resolution and they don't pick up an exercise weight until the next January."
"They're called dumbbells," he said with a frown.
"Whatever." She did roll her eyes, then. "Having someone get super-strength because of how many weights you lifted, well... it sort of undermines the process of becoming a superhero. In the public's eye, I mean."
His knuckles cracked as he curled his hands into fists. "People just don't understand! I mean if they knew how many-"
Margot cut him off with a raised hand. "Please, yes. I'm aware of the details. You've gone into them at length. Let's move on."
She ignored the hurt look on his face.
"Second, most superheroes come from, shall we say... humbler backgrounds... than you do. A lot of people don't think it's fair that someone so wealthy should additionally get physical powers that sets them above the rest even more than your money already did."
He threw up his hands in disgust, before dropping them to the table. An ominous groan came from the lacquered wood.
"So, it's my fault that my grandpa was a great businessman? That's not fair!"
"I realize that, but remember that I'm just letting you know what we've compiled. 79% of people polled didn't like that you're rich."
He leaned back in the chair, deflated.
"Third, you're too arrogant."
"What?"
"People think you win fights too easily and they don't see you as a team player."
He just stared at her.
"Let's take the bank heist from last year as an example."
"OK."
"Forty-seven hostages, the place was rigged on a dead man's switch across three different kidnappers. Authorities' hands were tied. There was no safe way to breach and attempt a rescue. The scene was set for a great rescue, there was drama, people were glued to the live streams as it unfolded. The Brotherhood of Power was seen conferring with each other, coming up with a plan."
Captain Brawn tsked. "Hey, those losers-" he began, but she cut him off.
"Those losers are media darlings. They give great interviews and have a clear message. United We Stand. People take comfort in the fact that such a diverse team from all walks of life works with the police to solve crimes. They root for them. Plus, they have great costumes."
He clenched his fists again. He hadn't been a fan of covering up his build, but the costume change had been the first thing she'd recommended when he'd hired them. People also didn't like seeing grown men in speedos performing feats of strength.
"Then all of a sudden, before the newscasters could even give a lead into what was happening, you walk out of the bank holding the three kidnappers' hands with the detonators, dressed in what amounts to basically a loincloth, looking all oily and much too tan. You say that you took care of things and then proceed to stand there, flexing, for pictures."
He started to speak, but stopped.
"For five minutes. You stood there for five minutes, not talking to anyone, expecting people to fawn over you. Nobody wanted to come near you, you ripped those men's hands off!"
"I solved the problem!" This time he did slam his hand against the table, splitting it down the middle and sending her laptop, the projector, and the tray with water and coffee flying.
She cursed the man's temperament. "Are you done?"
He lost his anger in a flash. He looked around like a scared child, seeing the mess he made.
"I'm sorry, I-I'll clean it up."
"Don't bother. We have people for that."
He began to get up, but the cape that was caught in the wheels of the chair pulled him back, so he sat down again with too much force, snapping the chair off the base and tumbling to the ground with a strangled yelp. Margot saw him huddle there, not getting up, fabric draped over his head. His shoulders were twitching, and she realized he was weeping.
"Fourth," she said coldly. "You're trying too hard."
She picked up her laptop and grimaced as she saw the cracked screen.
"People can see that you're desperate for the public to like you. 80% of people called it pathetic. The other 20% said it was sad."
He peeked his head from underneath the cape, eyes red and burning with anger.
"What do these people want from me? Nothing I do will ever make them happy."
She sat down carefully beside him.
"The way I see it, and the way we're framing our official recommendation, is that you have two choices ahead of you."
He sat up, nodding. "OK," he exhaled a sharp breath, "let's hear it."
"Option one. You have to reinvent yourself. Captain Brawn is unsalvageable. There's no course of action that we can find that would turn the tide against the public's tainted opinion of you. This, along with the fact that you've never hidden your face or real name, means that any new identity you take up would necessarily have to be masked if you want to be taken seriously."
He grunted, but remained quiet.
"Of course, if you suddenly stopped being Captain Brawn and another super-strong hero with your general build appeared, it would only be a matter of days before it was discovered. This scenario was presented to our focus groups as well, and 100% of them said it would be worse to discover you tried to pass yourself off as someone else."
"You’d have to either hire a look-alike to make it seem that you’re in two places at once or have a staged fight that resulted in your demise, or you announce your retirement... something along those lines. In any case, it’s not difficult to put two and two together in today’s day and age. People aren’t necessarily smarter than they used to be, but they are more tech-savvy. Just like with UFOs and the Loch Ness Monsters of the world, camera phones destroyed secret identities for superheroes unless you spend a great deal of effort on maintaining them."
"What's option number two?" His voice was strained, just like a child who was desperately clinging to hope.
"You put this obsession with being a superhero away, and reinvent yourself in a different manner."
"What do you mean?"
"Captain Brawn must die, yes. In any scenario, this needs to happen. Have you asked yourself what else you could be doing with your powers?"
"I'm not sure I understand."
"Why do you care that people like you?"
"I just want to be appreciated for the good I can do."
"Right, and what has doing good gotten you so far?"
"Well..." It took him another moment, but he finally got there.
"I don't think I could be... evil."
"Evil is a very relative term. If you were to, let's say, destroy the nuclear armament of a terrorist nation, would that be evil?"
"Well, no, but..."
"If you, hypothetically, were to destroy the datacenters that hold the records of a third-world nation's crippling debt, would that be evil?"
"Not when you put it like that..."
"It's all a matter of perspective, really. What some might consider evil, could be seen as great good by others. Why limit yourself to the approval of the ungrateful masses, when you literally have the power to change the world at your fingertips."
He hesitated. Margot smiled at him encouragingly.
"We have great costume designers, and supervillains are so much more... attractive." She placed a hand on his massive bicep.
She saw his uncertainty melt away as he grinned, and knew her real bosses would be very appreciative of her newest recruit.
"First. Let's work on your new name."