WORRYMONGER
His metability had always seemed pathetic to him. It wasn’t an offensive or a defensive power. It couldn’t lift or pull or kill. It couldn’t burn or heal or blast an attacker across a room. It wasn’t much of anything really… or so he thought. Until he found out different.
He could feel the tingle of his power at work but the effect was invisible to sight. It only worked when he was in closeish proximity to another person, at least 20-feet. Any further and he could strain to activate that something and nothing would happen.
But within that 20-feet? He would feel that tingle when he activated his metability. That deep within sense of almost-itchiness as his metability made contact and began to do what it did.
When he first Manifested he’d had to go through weeks of testing before the trainers had been able to explain what he was doing.
Somehow his metability was able to activate the portion of the human brain that controlled worry. That nagging bit of something that kept someone up at night wondering and worrying.
Did I leave the stove on? Are these stairs too steep–am I about to fall? Do I smell bad? Is my dog overweight/underweight/acting sick? Do I have cancer? Am I going to die?
When he used his metability around another person, all their worries came to life. They began fearing this and that. Their stress-levels went up and UP in an uncontrollable ascent.
He still saw it as a largely worthless metability. What good was making someone worry after all?
He received a superhero name–Worrymonger–and got himself a uniform, but otherwise he was a paperwork hero. He didn’t go on missions. He didn’t save the day. He filed the mission reports other heroes wrote and mostly answered the phone.
When he’d been a kid he’d dreamed of battling monsters and pummeling supervillains. He’d imagined having superpowers and being able to fly and lift cars and punch holes through concrete with his bare hands.
And instead he could walk into a room and make everyone feel uncomfortable. Everyone.
He had no control over who his power affected. Anyone within a 20-foot radius fell under his influence, which didn’t make him the favorite of whoever he was teamed up with. Nobody wanted him in the field.
Which is why he was manning the front desk on the day Darkstar decided to attack the League of Superheroes.
He was covertly scrolling a fanfiction forum when one of the lobby doors opened and Darkstar strutted in. Dressed mostly in black with violet piping on his jacket and what looked like white skulls on the backs of his gloves. His eyes were wells of violet behind his kato mask and his sneer was clearly evident.
“Okay, so I want to make a complaint,” Darkstar called loudly. There were only five people in the large lobby but he effortlessly drew all attention. He was as inevitable as the sky.
Worrymonger sat upright in his chair, his mouth going dry from nerves. He could only stare as Darkstar stalked straight toward him, the soles of his shoes clacking against the tiled floor in the silence.
“You!” Darkstar pointed an imperious finger. “Tell me where that asshole Captain Victorious is. I want to talk to him right now.”
Worrymonger tried to speak but all that came out was a clicking sound in his throat. The sheer presence Darkstar exuded was overwhelming. He couldn’t have looked away if he wanted, and he didn’t want to.
Darkstar was like some great beast. Sleek and fascinating, his every movement drawing the eye and holding the attention upon him. He filled the room without even trying and the longer he stood there the harder it was to breathe normally.
Worrymonger had never had interest in another man but Darkstar’s complete and utter beauty surpassed the bounds of sexuality. He was an expanding universe that promised wonders for the brave soul that dared to explore his limits. He was a beckoning wonder that could engulf so tightly that a person would be folded and compressed back in upon themself until they exploded outward in a blaze of glorious light.
He was mesmerizing in his beauty. In the overwhelming himness of the Darkstar experience.
Worrymonger’s chest felt so full it was hard to draw in a complete breath. He found himself rising to his feet before he was aware he was even moving. He had a need to get closer to Darkstar. To bask in that presence. To press himself so tight against Darkstar that…
His control slipped. That’s the only way he could describe it later. Under the overwhelming awareness of Darkstar, that leash he kept on his metability slipped free without his permission and his power flowed out.
He saw it happening and he wanted to weep. Wanted to curse himself and pull that formless something back inside where it belonged, but his control was spent. He was too overwhelmed by Darkstar to stop himself.
A furrow formed between Darkstar’s brow. A crinkle of consternation. And a bead of sweat appeared on his forehead and trickled down like the tears Worrymonger suddenly wanted to shed.
Because Darkstar was turning without another word and jogging back toward the doors. As though he’d suddenly remembered he’d left the door unlocked or the fridge door open. As though he’d left the water running or the lid off a tank full of jumping fish in a house full of cats.
Worrymonger wanted to scream at Darkstar to come back, but it was too late.
The door closed behind a Darkstar that was already gone.
And Worrymonger realized that his metability was more powerful than he’d ever imagined it to be. And it was terrible.
Because Darkstar was gone. And he didn’t come back that day or any day when Worrymonger was scheduled to man the front desk.
And missing Darkstar was a terrible and gaping emptiness within him. An endless yearning that was never to be satisfied as he was never again within Darkstar’s presence, the supervillain seeming to actively avoid him.
His metability went from being worthless to being the worst thing to ever happen to him. Because he never got to see Darkstar ever again.
He would look at the gaussian blur captured in videos and photographs and he would weep from the never-ending sense of loss. For a brief moment true beauty had entered his life… and just as abruptly it had left again, never to return.
For an instant he was bathed in light. Then he was left to worry if he would ever see the light again or if he would linger in darkness for the rest of his days. Haunted by dreams of Darkstar. Of beauty so bright it burnt itself onto his soul. There, but forever out of reach. Forever.
=END=
~Harper Kingsley
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