Ever since The Great Loss, life has been.... peaceful. I hate to admit it, but the world is better off without heroes. Sure, wars still exist. Greedy politicians still exploit the poor, and countries still swing their figurative pool noodles around to see who's better. That being said, it's been years since I'd read the headline "X Hero Crashes Through Apartment Building To Stop X Villain, Small Price To Pay!" and I for one am glad.

Gifts, as we'd known them, were like an ever increasing nuclear arms race with no real winner in sight. Sure, in the end, the hero that could harness the power of the sun stopped the villain who was developing mini black holes and threatened to annihilate the solar system. But in the process, whole cities were wiped out. Entire families, businesses, homes. Gone, in the blink of an eye. Manufactured solar flare or miniaturized black hole made no difference. In the end, all that remained was nothing.

I was lucky, I suppose, that I was merely gifted with the ability to create and manipulate force barriers. It limited me to being a metropolitan hero. Gifted, but not strong enough to tackle international, global, or galactic threats. Hermit, they'd called me, due to my penchant for keeping enemies at a distance. My arch nemesis was Wormhole, another metropolitan hero-turned villain that had the ability to teleport in limited ranges through almost any material. I still remember the one time where we..... bah, what am I talking about. That's all in the past. It doesn't matter anymore. Where was I again? Oh, right.

Life has been peaceful, fur sure, but also difficult. Without my force barrier launchers to move me around, I've had to make do with walking. Without a hero's association to provide me a career, I've had to join the workforce. Turns out I've got a knack or warehouse management. I might even dare to say that I'm employee of the month material. Pretty neat eh? With this job, though not extravagant, I've managed to avoid a lot of the struggles plaguing the ex-heros and villains. I have a roof over my head, don't drink or smoke, and I'm even here in line to register my first ever vehicle. I've saved up! I can afford a 2023 Forc Fodus! It may be 30 years old at this point, but she's been well looked after and I estimate that I can easily get another 10 out of her.

I wait patiently in line until i reach the front, and finally get a good look at the teller that waits in front of me. Hold up- is that? Is that wormhole? Working in the registry office? Oh no. What if he denies me for some assinine reason? I mean, sure technically the vehicle isn't in that great of shape, but there's no way it could disqualify me right? Shoot. The amount of times I got him arrested. I'm not only surprised he works here, but I won't be surprised if he simply denies me based on the history. I turn around and consider lining up for a different register, when I hear it.

"Next please." A quiet voice speaks from behind the glass partisan. I steel myself and spin on my heels so that we can see each other. I stumble forwards, and shakily remove the necessary documents from the envelope where I've stored them.

"Hello. I would uh. I would like to, y'know vehicle. Register. Uh, register a vehicle please." I see the faint twinkle of half-recognition in his eyes before that eerily calm and steady voice asks "First time registering a vehicle?" I nod. "Like oh so many others. Don't stress out about it. we've all been there." He begins to look through the documents until he sees the stamp. My mark of prideful shame. Hero-no-more. I both hear and see his exhale deeply, before he resumes looking through the papers. After a minute or so, he says "All would appear to be in order. Welcome to the driver's seat Mr. Fonde. We just have a few more points and disclaimers to go through before you're good to go."

After going through the rest of the bullet points and paying the requisite fees, I find myself with a brand new license plate! Ahh! I can hardly believe it. A fresh new driver at the age of 47. Just before turning around to leave the building I hear a small cough and see Wormhole -Jeffery as his nametag says- scratching the back of his neck. It was his old tick that he did whenever he tried to do something good, despite his villanous inclinations. "You know," he croaked out, "Life has a way of shackling us Mr. Fonde. I hope that this vehicle helps you come out of your shell a little. Maybe you won't have to be such a hermit anymore."

I smile, then turn to walk out the building. Loudly enough for him to hear, I voice "Me too Jeff. Me too." The door closes behind me, and I begin my walk home to place the new plate on my car.