The Golden Man stood before Shade. His golden body was resplendent, blinding in its authority.
She cried. It was rare for her to cry, really. She was a criminal and she knew it. She knew that society had driven here, that she hadn’t been raised in a good home, that she was doing her best to get by in an economy that only wanted to punish the young.
But something about The Golden Man made her lose it. Like all of a sudden, she saw society as this Other, this great hideous Leviathan that owned her. She should’ve done better. She’d been given all this opportunity, and she’d used it to turn to crime?
How dare her, how dare her, how dare her.
He made a move towards Shade, but two police officers began firing at him. The bullets were nearly meaningless, since all they did was ping ping ping off his skin.
But still, they made him pause. He turned towards the officers, who suddenly began to feel guilt, fear, sadness.
Before long they were on their knees. They were crying too.
“You’re all so ugly,” The Golden Man explained. “You take good situations and make them bad, take bad situations and make them worse. You’re so selfish, so needy. Without society, you’d be nothing. And yet none of you are truly a part of this society, are you? This society’s an illusion, the make-pretend of people who hate each other, but know that they need each other.”
More cops would be coming — The Superbuds, too. But what could they do? What could they possibly do?
Anne’s heart raced as she and Superfreak arrived at the Starbucks. A mere glance in their direction brought them to tears.
“I don’t even know what I’m guilty of,” Superfreak said, tears streaming down his face. He slammed his palm against the steering wheel. Tried wiping the tears away, but they kept coming.
“That’s not my problem,” Anne whispered. “I know exactly what I’ve done.”