“A superhero?” I chuckle as the word comes out of my mouth. My dad was certainly fit but… A superhero? “I’d say you’re crazier than I am. Superheroes aren’t real, are they?” With everything that was happening, though, I was starting to doubt my own beliefs.

“Oh we’re more than real, bud. Didn’t you ever notice that no matter how tall our Christmas trees were, I could reach the top without a ladder? Or no matter how thin the space you lost your toy in, I could always reach it?”

I blink too much while trying to remember my childhood. “I guess. But what does that have to do with you being a hero?” I’m completely lost.

“Well back in the 50’s and 60’s, the US government was doing a lot of secret testing on their own citizens. One of these experiments that was never released was a release of a chemical into some urban water sources. This caused some individuals to develop abilities beyond what we thought human.”

“Uh-huh.” I rubbed my face trying to take in all of the information.

“Your old man was one of those people. I got the power to grow my body up to twice the size, effectively doubling my strength, or shrink to half my height at the cost of my strength. I took on the name Rook and started to work as a hero among other folks who got powers.” He said all of this so nonchalantly that I have no choice but to believe him.

“And your name was Rook?” I’m just trying to start piecing everything together.

“Yep! Most of us tried to keep our activities secret so that the government didn’t try and sweep us up and start dissecting us. So, in short, yes superheroes are very real. As far as I know, a majority of us retired as being secretive in this age of the internet and social media is near impossible but… Tyler.” He suddenly sounded very serious.

“Y-yeah?” I’m taken back by the sudden tone shift.

“If you are developing your powers, that probably a lot of other powered kids are gonna start awaking to theirs as well. The dangers of that are enormous! You can’t predict what powers they’ll form or how they’ll use them. And that gives me an idea. How about you bring the heroes back and bring them into the spotlight for the first time?”

“What?! Are you serious? I don’t even know what’s happening, let alone how to become a fucking superhero.” My mind is racing at his blunt suggestion.

“Listen, the real reason I went into electrical engineering was to start making equipment for myself and other heroes. If I had to guess, it sounds like your power is to take the kinetic energy that’s put into you channel it in new ways. I just so happened to be working on a set of shock absorbers that would work perfectly in a set of armor. I could get the stuff to you by the end of the weekend - complete with state of the art shock absorbers, protective plating, and computer system.”

“Dad, this is really a lot to take in. I honestly have no clue what to say.” I collapsed down onto my bed.

“Breathe bud, just try one question at a time.” His voice is calming for the first time since the conversation started.

“OK. Why armor, I guess? Not a costume?” It felt like a dumb question but it was the first thing to come to mind.

“If your power requires you to get hit to take the energy, then you’d want an armor to take most of the damage of the hits. Plus, you can absorb the energy, but that’s not gonna mean you can stop a bullet flying straight through you.” He made a really good point.

“Why did you stop being a hero?” Finally, my brain was getting to the more substantial questions I wanted to ask.

“I married your mom, we were gonna have you, I was getting older, various reasons. We decided to move up to Vermont and start living more simply. Really, it’s as simple as that. Look, just think about it and wait until I get you the armor. I’m gonna text you an address and instructions on this phone. Go there, follow the instructions, and you’ll know I’m telling the truth. Plus, you’ll find some useful stuff for getting you ready for all of this. Also, before I hang up and get to work, only use this phone for all communications about hero stuff. It’s connected to a private satellite owned by a friend and fellow hero. No way the government can trace anything that goes through here. Alright, son, I love you! Bye!”

There’s a click followed by silence. I lower the phone from my head and stare at it. “What the fuck just happened?”

I’m not left with my thoughts for long. The bulky device starts buzzing repeatedly as it’s swarmed with messages from my dad. The first is an address, followed by several instructions broken up piece by piece. He says to find a keypad under a staircase and enter my birthday and that I should find a place to prove he’s telling the truth and some useful equipment to help get me ready.

“Well,” I start talking to Ein, my stuffed corgi, “I guess I have to wait a few days to see if he can actually send me a super suit.” I pull out my actual cell phone to check the date. “Friday. I suppose I have a few days to check out what he wants me to. Plus, it’s the weekend so I don’t really have class either.” I look to the motionless dog as if he may give me some guidance.

Looking up the address, it seems to be a forgotten warehouse by the docks on the upper west side. With a loud groan, I stand up and slide both phones into my pockets. Getting a new hoodie from the closet, I let out a heavy breath and leave my apartment for the second time today.

The subway rides over are nerve wracking. With each stop, the insanity of the situation becomes more apparent. “This is stupid.” I hang my head in my hands. When my stop comes, I slap my thighs and push myself up. “Well, I’ve come this far. Might as well see this through.” Reaching the top of the steps, the crisp air from the water sends a shiver through my body.

Putting my hands in my pockets, I start walking as inconspicuous as I can. “What the fuck am I doing? What if he’s telling the truth? Can I even be a superhero?” I whisper to myself as the butterflies in my stomach convince me every set of eyes is on me.

A few blocks of mumbling later, I’m looking out over the river and at several piers and warehouses. Following my phone to the right one, I take one last look around to make sure nobody watches me round the corner like the instructions told me. Making my way to the back, I see the door he mentioned. Sure enough, it was unlocked, just like he promised.

The inside is dark. Even the few windows near the roof are covered in dust and grime. Turning on my phone’s flashlight, I start wandering around the large space. Every empty crate, pillar of metal, and piece of broken glass is covered in a layer of dirt at least an inch thick. Along the side is a staircase leading up to a balcony above. Scanning all around the wall and the actual bottoms of the steps, I eventually find a small, closed box attached to the wall. Opening it up, there’s the keypad he told me about it. One four-digit code later, and there’s a heavy rumbling in the floor and with a concrete grinding sound.

Looking for the source of the sound, I find the ground shifting open at the base of the stairs. A set of metal steps continue downwards into a previously invisible basement. “I guess he wasn’t lying.” With a shrug, I take the steps down.When I reach the bottom, the concrete grinding kicks back up and I turn around to watch the little light from above me start to disappear. “Wait! No no no no no! Stop!” I start sprinting up the steps to watch the last sliver of light leave me. “Ah, fuck.”

As if in response to my sudden fear, I hear a loud series of clunks as row after row of lights begin illuminating the room. I’m left in awe at the massive basement. Probably twice the size of a football field, the room is filled with old computers, weights and training equipment, weaponry, strange suits with the symbol of a rook, and files and maps of the city. I can’t believe what I’m seeing.

“Holy shit. My dad was a superhero.” Going back down the steps, I begin wandering around the room in shock. “He was telling the truth!” A grin spreads across my face involuntarily as I reach out to touch the costumed mannequin. “My dad was the Rook!” Whatever the hell that meant.

Pulling out the yellow phone, I hit call and wait for my father to pick up. “You find the place alright?”

“Holy shit! Dad! You weren’t kidding! Why didn’t you ever tell me? This is insane. I can’t believe what I’m seeing.” My mind was racing and my mouth couldn’t catch up.

He laughs energetically, “I’ll take that as a yes. I made some calls to my old friends and the man who helped me build that little base is gonna set you up with state of the art equipment. He said he’d send his best men over tomorrow to install it all. In the meantime, I want you to try something for me.”

“Y-yeah! Fuck it, I’ll do anything at this point.” I start wandering around - hesitating to poke at things as if they’re museum pieces that I’m supposed to only admire.

“Well that’s good to hear! Alright, first off, find the punching bag that should be hanging up next to the other training equipment.” I spin around and see the bag near one of the corners. Once I reach it, I ask what to do next. “Now, do you remember when I used to push you in a swing? Sometimes I’d push you so high I could run underneath it.” I purse my lips and furrow my brow in confusion. “I want you to try and do that with the punching bag. Once you get it swinging, stand in the way and let it hit you.” He gives the instructions dryly.

“Wai-What? You want me to let this heavy bag hit me head on?” He gives a simple yes in response. “I… OK, I guess so. Let me just,” I search the phone for a speaker button and set it down on a nearby table. “Can you hear me?”

His voice echoes out into the cold concrete cellar. “Sure can! Now get to pushing that bag.” I take a deep breath and press my shoulder against the weight of the punching bag. It’s certainly heavy, but not anything I can’t move. Over and over, I push the bag up a bit, run back to let it swing towards me and push it again. After a few times, I can get it high enough to run under. As it swings back forth with a terrifying weight, I grit my teeth and step up as it swings away from me.

“You better be right abou-” My words are cut of as the hundred pound bag bashes into me. The wind is immediately knocked out of me and knocked square on my butt. Coughing and wheezing, I stand back up. “Ah, fuck.” As I get to my feet, I notice that my chest doesn’t hurt as much as I’d expect. In addition: my body feels like it’s full of energy. “OK, Dad, the bag hit me. Now what?”

“Are you feeling full like you were back in that fight?” He sounds like a scientist conducting an experiment.

“Yeah.” I look down at my hands, clenching them into fists and stretching my fingers. “Should I punch the bag?”

“No!” His response is swift and urgent. “I want you to try something instead. You see the wooden target? It’s probably got more than a few knife marks in it.” I see it standing up near the wall to my right. “I want you to stand about ten feet away and focus all that energy into your hand. Then, flick your finger towards the target while trying to push the force out.”

“So pull a Midoriya?”

“A what?” He clearly isn’t up to date on his MHA.

“Nevermind. Let’s just say I’ve got what you’re saying.” I center myself with the target and plant my feet. Raising my right arm: I grip my wrist with my left hand and place my middle finger against my thumb. “Please don’t break, please don’t break, please don’t break.” I focus everything into my hand and push my fingers together until my middle finger flings out.

As I flick at the air, I feel a push back on my body as an explosion of force fires out of my hand and shatters the thin wooden target. “Ho-ho-holy shit!” I jump up and down at the sight of my own power. “Oh my god it worked! Dad! I have super powers!”

He gives a boisterous laugh, “You do! And do you know what that means? Lot’s of training!”

I stop my jumping and dancing and stare at the phone. “God dammit.”

For the next hour, he drills me on exercise after exercise. I can hear faint clanging and sparking coming from the speaker and I can only assume that it’s the suit. I run through some old moves my dad taught me on the punching bag and rubber mannequin I’ve chosen to name ‘Bob.’ I hope Bob doesn’t mind me beating on him so much.

By the time he says I can stop, I’m laying on the cold concrete floor and every inch of my body is aching with exhaustion. “OK, buddy. I’m gonna start doing the hard stuff on your suit. I’ll send you a training regiment to work through tomorrow before you start checking out your new computer system! Love ya, son.”

“I… Love you too…” I can barely push the sentiment out. There’s a click from the table and I know he’s hung up. “Why does being a superhero have to be so hard?” My stomach responds to my inquiry with a loud rumbling. I strain my neck to look down at my chest. “I agree.” I let my head plop back down onto the floor and take a moment to regain the energy to stand up.