Street Mage

It was stupid to set up shop so close to Central City. Every street mage knew that. So either Sullivan was stupid or very ambitious. He liked to think that he was ambitious. But months of bad business had shown him that maybe he was, indeed, stupid. There weren't many problems here by the First Union's capitol city, and what problems existed were dealt with by the Mighty Men.

“Friggin' government mages,” Sullivan growled. He leaned against the lamppost, scowling, working the toothpick around his mouth. He kept his hands in his pockets, looking up and down the streets and the passers-by. No one looked at him. No one paid any mind to the man in the bright clothes with the long cape. They paid only slightly more attention to his big sign: MAGE FOR HIRE: SULLIVAN THE SENSATIONAL. Why would people bother to pay for his service, for a personal bodyguard or detective or (God forbid) assassin when the Mighty Men did it for free. They sat in their newfangled skyscraper, all glass and steel, being ordered around by the president. “No room in this world for an honest mage.”

Soon the foot traffic started to get thicker. Five o'clock. People were getting out from work. Sullivan bundled up his sign and jar, tucked it under his arm, and headed off down the street. He kept his ears and eyes open for any sign of trouble. Perhaps a robbery, or someone being held at gunpoint. Hell, even an old lady who needed help crossing the street. Anything. Maybe he wouldn't even ask for money from them. Not much, anyway. A small tip, perhaps? Some small gesture of faith towards a good Samaritan who didn't have enough money to pay next month's rent on his shitty apartment.

Sullivan stomped on past the grander and newer parts of the city to suburbs, then down Gordon Street to his apartment. The landlord was out front, planting flowers. He nodded at Sullivan and gave him a wink and a salute. “Afternoon,” he said.

“Hi, Bill,” Sullivan said with a half-hearted wave.

“Save anyone today?” Bill asked.

Sullivan dug his keys out of his pockets. “No.”

“Remember, I need your-”

“I'll get you my rent on time, Bill. Don't worry.” Sullivan had trouble getting the lie out of his mouth. The key scraped in the lock and he trundled upstairs and onto his third-floor apartment. The place, he realized as he tossed his keys onto the table by the door, needed cleaning. Dirty plates in the sink, dust on the carpets and various surfaces, trash overflowing...

“Gah.” Sullivan sank into the battered armchair. A puff of dust rose up around him, blasted from the upholstery. He waved the dust away, then sneezed. There had to be another way to make money. Being a superhero was just not a lucrative career. Unless you were gifted enough to have incredible talents and live somewhere the government would finance your actions, and Sullivan could count the number of people he knew that fell into that category on two hands. Some places wanted mages for cops, but that required moving somewhere and that required, of course, more money. It was some horrible catch-22.

He could always take another non-mage-related job. His friend Karl worked at a realtor’s and he could punch through walls, for God's sake. Where was it written that those born with phenomenal powers had to use those powers?

Sullivan pushed his way out of the chair and stomped across the tiny living room to the kitchen in three steps. “Fuck that,” he growled. Why else did mages exist if not to use their powers for good? Well, there were villains, but they didn't count. No, it was unthinkable. A mage had to be a hero, or else what was he? Wasted potential.

The wail of sirens echoed through the apartment. “Aha!” Sullivan grabbed his keys and burst out the door, taking the steps two at a time. He ran out of the apartment just in time to see the police cars zoom past, sirens blaring. He took off after them. Bill shouted something, but he couldn't hear it over the sounds of the sirens and his own footsteps. If only he could get there before the Mighty Men did...if there was something going on that the police themselves couldn't deal with...

But after four blocks of hard running and ducking around people, his lungs started to burn and his legs started to feel like rubber. Hardly a heroic sight, despite the cape. But the sirens were louder now, and people were paying attention. That was good. Publicity was the first sign to recognition.

He rounded the corner onto Meril Road and saw the police cars clustered around a storefront. The policemen had their pistols out, ducking behind the cars and talking urgently amongst each other. Jackpot. Sullivan slipped up to them and whispered, “What's going on?”

“Robbery,” the cop said back without looking at Sullivan. “Two. They've got a hostage in there.” He turned then, and frowned when he saw Sullivan. “You some kinda superhero?” he asked.

“Sullivan the Sensational,” he said with a grin and a flick of his cape. “Can I be of assistance?”

“Depends,” the cop said. “You a mind mage? We could use a way to alter the thoughts of the guys in there.”

“Energy,” Sullivan admitted. And not a very strong one at that, but he didn't say that. This could be his big break, and he didn't want to blow it.

“Can't have any civilian casualties,” the cop said. “Stay out of this.”

“But-”

“Shut up, people!” another police yelled. He scowled down the barrel of his snub-nose revolver, cap pulled low over his furrowed brows. “Get a squad round the back. We're going to cut these sons of bitches off.”

“Screw this,” Sullivan muttered. He stepped boldly forward, chest thrust forward and back straight, and once he was past the ring of police cars, he ran at the store front.

“Stupid mage! Get back!” someone yelled. Sullivan's heartbeat rang in his ears as he reached out for the door and shoved it aside. He had a brief view of the inside of the store, glass-fronted counters and shelves, an overturned till and someone face-down on the ground with two masked and armed men standing over her. Before the robbers had a chance to fire at him or do anything, he thrust his hand out and willed his energy into the air before him. The air became opaque, like fog made solid. He heard the short bark of gunfire, saw the muzzle flash, and the ping as the bullets hit his forcefield.

“Release the hostage!” Sullivan shouted from behind his shield. “Lay down your guns, and you will not be hurt!”

“Or what, mage?” one of the robbers asked.

“I'll be forced to bring you in myself!” said Sullivan. There was a brief moment as the robbers seemed to consider their options.

“We'll kill her if you come any closer,” they said.

The barrier began to dissolve as the air molecules began to move around, as they are wont to do. Fine. Sullivan didn't need the shield there anymore. He released his focus on the forcefield and let it dissolve, becoming more and more transparent and thin until it was just the empty air again. Sullivan put his hands up, a gesture of defeat. “I'll stay here. Just let her go,” he said. One of the robbers held her close, arm wrapped around her neck with the gun to her head, the other with his gun trained on Sullivan. The woman whimpered, hands clawing at the robber's arm. “Just...just let her be.” His heart beat a violent rhythm against the region of his throat.

They were almost at the door, walking backwards with their guns pointed at him when he acted. It didn't take much, just a small, thin forcefield near their feet, enough to make them stumble backwards and lose their footing. The first robber fell back on his ass, shouting as he fired his gun at the ceiling. Sullivan ran and dove behind one of the display counters. Where the hell were the police? They had to be coming around the back...

“Stupid mage!” one of the robbers yelled. He heard another gunshot and the splintery sound of a bullet hitting one of the walls. “Fuck it, let's get out of here,” the other said. There was the sound of scrambling footsteps, and then nothing. 

 

Sullivan leaped out from behind his hiding spot and ran past the woman, still on the ground and trembling. “Stop, thieves!” he yelled as he burst out of the shop's back door. He could just make out the shape of two men turning the corner and escaping before one of the police officers stepped in his way and blocked his path. “They're getting away!” Sullivan yelled.

“Stand down, citizen,” the officer said.

“Aren't you going to-”

“We have officers going after them, but we do not need help from you.”

The comment stung. “I helped in there! I stopped them from killing the hostage and-”

“And you let them escape,” the officer said. “If you'd let us handle it the way we intended to we would have apprehended the thieves and also saved the hostage. It was not your duty to assist us.”

Sullivan puffed out his chest and adopted what he hoped was a defiant and heroic pose. “I think you should be thanking me for what I've done.”

“Leave the heroics up to the Mighty Men, son,” the officer snapped. “Street mages like you just get in the way.” And the officer turned and began to yell orders to the rest of the police. A few cars took off down the street in the same direction as the escaped robbers.

Sullivan stood still for several moments, arms limp at his side. He felt ridiculous in his bright costume next to the police in their simple, official uniforms. Then he sighed and walked away from the crime scene and police, hands in his pockets. Fine. If they didn't want his help, he wouldn't give it to them. But Sullivan the Sensational would be a hero yet. He was a mage. He had to be a hero.