Rare Beef is the closest we have to a teen hangout. It's a food truck that serves hamburgers a block away from central park. Good burgers to, the best imitation angus beef you can get, cooked to perfection and smothered in what the owner calls "nasty sauce." Get a Rare Burger with a side of onion rings and their locally famous shakes, and you have yourself a delicious lunch and a clogged artery. The perfect thing for when your metabolism converts grease to pimples instead of fat.
Mark and I chose our usual spot, a park bench with a great view of the skate park and the girls cross country practice. We started with the usual pointless chatter of local gossip, video games, and exchanged insults before the conversation took it's usual turn to the subject of my powers. "So," He said before filling his mouth beyond maximum capacity, yet still pronouncing every word like a practiced linguistic professor. "What are your plans?" I knew what he was talking about. "Plans for what Mark?" Barely a question. "I mean what do you want to do with the fact that you have abilities most people can barely dream of." Well that was a statement that took some thought. "I honestly don't know. I mean, for a while I've been hoping the plan wouldn't change. Work through high school, get a Masters in engineering, go into IT at a starting salary of fifty thousand a year, meet a women, get married, have three beautiful blonde children, and have my brain transferred into a robot body."
He gave me a look. "We really need to update your life plan. When did you come up with that?" I swallowed a bite of onion ring. "Fourth grade, one of my more insightful periods I think." All he could do was shake his head. "Man, you lack vision. You could do something really big. Something that would get you remembered." "Or killed." I muttered. "Every hero has to take a risk. What if I'm the one that doesn't make it. The cautionary tales for flying babies and toddlers that spit fire. 'Don't step in front of death lasers Ryan Shang, nothing left of him but a pile of ash." My response actually seemed to be getting him angry. "Can't you think about anything but your own butt? There are people that need help. Superpowered criminals tend to skew the murder rate pretty well Ryan. I mean it's not like you need to start big. Do some local heroism. Build your name up."
Just then a bus full of schoolchildren careened past me towards a populated part of the park.
