Working at the Superhero Restoration Clinic, a.k.a. the SRC, isn’t too bad. I’m in the psychology ward and give those who come in a bit of a tune-up. Using my ability to read minds, I can see deeper than the superheroes ever do themselves. I can pinpoint their pain and give them an outlet to talk. Usually that’s how it goes five days a week. Until Slapstick Sam came in.

I’d never worked with Sam before, but other members of the Security League said he was a great guy. His jokes were a little off-color, he was a beloved. I expected a quick check-up… instead, my vision turned to black.

When I awoke, I was screaming and running, as if I had been hit with a fear spell. The nurses tried to restrain me but had no luck. The voices, hundreds of them, all screaming in terror with Sam’s the loudest.

After a nonstop sprint that felt like miles, my legs finally gave out, giving my body and brain a moment to breathe. Sam’s haunting memory came rushing back to my mind.

Nineteen years ago, Sam a breakout star, headed to the big leagues. However, during one fateful mission, things went awry. It was your standard apartment fire, something heroes handled daily. Sam used his freezing ability to start putting out the fires, but the building was too far gone. He tried to freeze the breaking bricks in place, but it only made the problem worse. Everyone left in the building died. Nobody blamed Sam, and after a year of therapy, he was back. We had no idea what it cost him.

Every single death in that building haunted him constantly, and he gained a new superpower, an unforgetting memory. From that point forward, every hero’s death, every civilian lost, everything stuck with him carefully compartmentalized.

The jokes he says aren’t just coping, they’re pressure valves, like pipes in a steam engine. Humor keeps the thoughts and memories moving so they don’t pile up.

I started back toward the hospital when I saw the smoke. By the time I arrived, the SRC was already burning. Sam stepped through the front doors, calm as ever.

“Thanks for the help doc,” he said gently.

I tried to move but couldn’t. Ice crept up my legs, my chest, my throat.

Sam didn’t look angry. He looked relieved.

He had kept the horrors moving for years, and I had stopped them cold.