The smoke was thick; it filled Aaron’s nostrils. Blood filled his mouth—being hit with a chair was a bit of a surprise. Little shit, Aaron was going to go easy on him. He would still go easy on him; it would just be a little harder for me to keep my anger from getting the best of him and trying to keep from crushing his skull. He was laughing, palling around with his friends after he had just knocked out the big, bad bouncer.
His smile and their cheers faded. Archer sighed. “You can leave and no one will get hurt.” Little shit regained his liquor composure, motioned to his friends and threw his whole body behind his punch. Stupid mistake. Aaron let him come in at him, arm fully extended. Most people would have dodged but his pride was a mildly hurt, so instead Archer leaned and put his head down. His punch landed right on the hardest part of Aaron’s head. Archer heard the satisfying crack as his hand broke. As soon as the pain registered, he let out an audible whimper, also satisfying. “You can still leave. That broken hand is going to cost enough, no need to add more to your medical bill.”
“Fuck you.” He charged at Aaron again. This was getting out of hand. The bar stool that was broken over Archer’s back was coming out of his paycheck and anything else Little Shit and his group of dip shits would break before he could get them out. The fun was over. Aaron stepped into his stride. Aaron was taller than him by a good half foot and the height with his momentum allowed Archer to lift him high into the air and slam him on the ground with enough force to knock him completely unconscious. “Get him and get out, or, get you’re going to get fucked up!” Claire yelled over the bar. Hearing a voice other than Aaron’s snapped the dip shits back to reality. They picked up Little Shit and headed for the door.
Claire owns the Cat House. It’s a dive with girls that aren’t the greatest, but it’s a paycheck. The cut on the back of Aaron’s head would be healed in the morning, a benefit of his last job. Claire offered him something to take the edge off and he happily accepted. He took the shot, waiting for the shit to come. “I know you could have ended that without batting an eye.”
“Claire, leave it alone.” He had heard the speech before. He was something different in a past life, but that was easy to drown with more of Claire’s shots. In 1978, his kind was deemed a menace. They had once sought to protect mankind, but after a few mistakes and a few reckless endeavors it was decided for them that they would no longer be of service. He had been a superhero, but now he was a titty club bouncer. Sometimes he could remember those days as he knocked the teeth out of some stupid drunk that thought it was a good idea to get handsy with a girl. Most supers have to be vaccinated to suppress their powers, but lucky for him, he had lost his. Sometimes the powers flared up but the milder ones the government doesn’t give a shit about stuck around. That’s why he’d be fine in the morning even though he felt the blood dripping down the back of his head. It would deter any other customer from picking a fight for the rest of the night.
Aaron walked up the rickety stairs; after all, a bouncer’s salary can only afford so much.  He lived in a building that had been converted from an old hotel. As such, he lived in a one room that had been converted into an entire apartment. He opened the door and gazed upon his humble rat’s nest. Dirty windows let brown light ooze in while the wall paper rolled down to the shabby carpet. There wasn’t really a reason to keep the place clean. The ash tray over flowed with cigarette butts and clothes were scattered around. With a sigh, he dropped his keys on the table, lit up a cigarette, and started heating up soup from a can. He sat down with a bottle of the cheapest crap money can buy and went to town on the soup and the bottle.
Soaring through the air, he heard a scream. Looking down, he could easily see a woman in distress. A man held her at gun point. He hadn’t handled a stick up in a while but it would be a nice change from the other things he had going on. Aaron swooped down and landed between them with a smile. “Ma’am, it seems you are in need of assistance.” He saw the mugger was startled and instantly realized my mistake. He started opening fire on the street wildly. Aaron wasn’t scared for himself; bullets couldn’t hurt him, but everyone else around was now in danger. Archer pulled back and punched the mugger straight in the face. His fist connected and it did nothing. The mugger laughed at him and he looked around. Everyone who had been on the street was dead. He continued to laugh and leveled the gun at Aaron’s head and pulled the trigger.
He woke up with a start. Light bled into the room through the single dirty window. Aaron was covered in cold sweat and the empty bottle lay next to the chair that he had fallen asleep in. He felt the back of his head. Sure enough, the gash that he had gotten the night before was gone. He stood up, stretched, and went to the sink to freshen up. Time for the day job, he put on his jacket and left the rat’s nest.
Getting paid under the table as a dock loader isn’t the best pay in the world, but who else was going to hire an ex-super? They were almost as bad as ex-cons. Shit, guys Aaron had locked up were probably his supervisors. The plus side of being paid under the table is he could pretty much show up whenever he wanted and being able to pick up as much as a forklift doesn’t hurt either. He walked through the front doors and the usual shit was slung his way. “Nice to see you before noon today. If you had a phone I would have asked you to pick the boys up some lunch,” said Fatty.
 “Hell, if you’re buying I’ll leave right now. I could use something other than that microwave bull shit. You know, if I had a microwave.”
“Jesus, why do you still work for me, Archie?” Aaron hated it when Fatty called him Archie. “You could be working for the government or some shit. They still employ supers as far as I know.” They both wondered into his office which was little more than a closet. It housed a desk, a few file cabinets, a computer and a printer. Fatty had windows in every wall either so he could see if everyone was working or so everyone could see how much he didn’t give a shit.
“I dunno maybe it’s the Irish in me, I just can’t turn away from a good train wreck.”
“The train wreck is your life Archie.” It’s something with Italians. They love to put an “ee” sound at the end of everyone’s name. “You need to figure it out. Swallow your pride and make some money. You may actually get to see your kid this year.” That one struck a nerve.
“So what do you have me doing today, fishing, lifting, or breaking?” Fatty liked to think of himself as an entrepreneur. He ran the docks that mainly packaged fish. But former allegations of mob ties notwithstanding made Fatty want more. Archer never really dug into his past other than to know his real name, Johnny “Fatty” Fettucci. That was the thing; Fatty wasn’t fat. He was a half balding, 5’4’’ skinny Italian who had moved to Hallow City from the Bronx. It always seemed like he was trying to bring a little of his past back to his future. Nothing real big or extravagant, just something to make him feel like he wasn’t retired anymore. “No, Aaron, I got something special for you today. How long can you hold your breath?” A wide smile spread over his face and instantly Aaron knew he probably should have called in sick to work today.
Fatty drove him to a beach that he “technically” owned a few short minutes away. “Ya see down there, there’s a ship that may or may not have been dumped so the cops couldn’t find it. It may or may not have certain valuables inside.” “Damn it, you know I don’t do the illegal shit, John.” For some reason using his real name pissed him off more than being called Fatty. “It ain’t illegal. It’s been down there for fifteen years. Statute of limitations and all that stuff.” Fatty was just blowing stuff out of his butt at this point. But he was right. It’s been fifteen years and there was no harm no foul. Whoever’s stuff had been stolen, they had probably been compensated for it and Fatty just wanted to make a quick buck. Aaron would get paid pretty well for hauling it out of the water for Fatty and he wouldn’t have to worry about it afterwards.
He started to wade into the water. There was a time that holding his breath wouldn’t have worried him. That was about five million cigarettes ago and at the time he could fly and lift an asteroid. Archer warmed up my lungs with a couple large breathes and dove down. After swimming down several feet, he could see the boat that Fatty was talking about. He came back to the service and grabbed one last large gulp of air and dove down as quickly as possible. Aaron was able to grab the anchor chain from the from the front of the ship and pulled as hard as he could. The ship moved not one millimeter. He couldn’t give up. He owed Fatty for the job. At least, that’s what Fatty kept telling him. The side of the hull, it seemed, had been pierced by a rock that it still clung to. He figured ’what the hell’. He braced his back against the jagged rock and put his feet against the hull and attempted to leg press the son of a bitch. It sat as still as ever. Aaron figured one last try and he could at least tell Fatty that he found the wreck and he would have to get a tug out here. He prepped for the push and gave it all he had, and surprisingly it moved, right on top of him. He let out a gasp and with it all the air he had left. Now he was trapped and drowning. Shit.
He could see the bubbles of precious air floating to the surface far away from me, and as he watched them, a tunnel started to form in his vision. Archer was going to pass out and die, pinned by this stupid boat if he didn’t do something. He wriggled and squirmed but couldn’t free himself, and the more he tried the closer he came to succumbing. Anger filled me. This wreck was going to kill him and he would never see his daughter again. She would only read that her old man was dumb enough to go diving and get trapped under a boat. He beat on the side of the wreck as if it would help. The more Aaron thought of his daughter, the angrier he became. He hadn’t seen her in so long and all she would know is what an idiot he was.
Aaron fought the boat as if he was fighting his own thoughts, beating on it, and with one burst of rage and a colossal shove, and the boat flung off him as if it were a toy. Amazed, he shot to the surface. The hull of the boat was sticking out of the water. Fatty stood dumbfounded on the shore, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. Aaron came out of the water and grabbed it before it fell on the ground, took the lighter from Fatty’s frozen hands, and lit it. He shook off his shock and said, “What, that’s it? You couldn’t have gotten it all the way out of the water?” Archer blew a large amount of smoke into Fatty’s face and stared. “That look may have been intimidating to crooks back in the day but it ain’t working today.” He flicked the cigarette at him and waded back into the water. He grabbed the chain and pulled, but whatever amazing strength he had before was now gone. He was back to my normal. He could lift the chain and anchor but the boat didn’t budge. “Sorry, Fatty. You should be able to pull it with the truck and I can unload it, but I can’t pull it anymore.” Fatty laughed “Yeah, alright. You did good. At least you found it and got it to where we could get the goods out.”
They hooked up the skiff to the truck and were able to pull it enough out of the water that Aaron could get the cargo removed and loaded. The crates they pulled out weren’t exactly what he thought. He figured they would be some mob related cash, guns or drugs, but it seemed the weight wasn’t right. Nothing shifted on the inside and these were high quality packaged crates. As the old feelings arose to investigate he shut them down. He wasn’t that person anymore, regardless of moving the ship. Archer loaded the crates without any further thought and hopped in the passenger seat. “You secure that?” “Yeah, pass me another cigarette. Mine are all wet.” They lit up and Fatty drove off.
When they got back to the dock everything was as it usually was when Fatty left. No one was working; some of the guys were asleep while some were gambling away their paychecks playing cards with one another. “Come on, you shits! I leave for an hour and you decide that nothing needs to be done? Get off your asses and get to work, you bums.” Everyone laughed, but got up and work started anew as they walked back into the office.
“We can unload it tonight as everyone leaves. Don’t worry about what’s in the crates.” Why he told Aaron that then, he had no idea. Aaron hadn’t asked about it the whole ride back to the docks and he had almost forgotten that at one point he cared about what was in them. But after that statement, his curiosity was peaked again. “Don’t worry. We both know it’s easier to not know. Cheers!” With that, he pulled out the bottle that was “hidden” in his desk and poured two generous helpings into two foam cups. He downed mine quickly and it burned long after it had slid down his throat. 
“Isn’t the coast guard going to wonder about the boat?”
“No, they’ll probably think that it finally just washed up onto shore.” He poured two more drinks.
Aaron downed it just as quickly as the first, stood up and walked to the door. “See you tomorrow.”
He arrived back at his apartment just in time to make another can of soup and make it to Claire’s. When he pushed the wood door open, it seemed that the mess from last night was waiting for him to clean up. “You made it, you fix it.” He grabbed the broom and a pan. As he swept up the glass and splinters, Claire was nice enough to pour a beer. He picked up the chunks of chair that had been broken over his head and back and made his way over to the bar. Claire downed the beer as Aaron stared mouth agape. She wiped the foam from her face, gave a small burp, covered her mouth and went slightly red. Though she ran a strip joint and was tough as nails, Claire still fancied herself a lady.
“Aaron Archer, how could you have let a dumb drunk hit you with one of my stools?”
“God damn it Claire, you couldn’t let it go. You’re already taking the seat out of my paycheck.”
 She filled another mug but only half way and handed it to him. “Come on, Aaron. It wouldn’t be fun if I didn’t give you a little shit about it. At least you got him out of here without breaking anything else or beating one of the girls. You at least did that right.” She laughed and drank more beer.
“Fuck off.” Aaron couldn’t help but let her have her fun. What else could he do?
 She came out from behind the bar; she was far shorter than Aaron, maybe five foot nothing, but she was feisty as hell. She may not have been able to do the damage that some of her muscle could but the sawed off under the bar would make the job a little easier.  She was probably the one who knew the most about him. She knew him from the old times. When her old bar, the original Cat House, burned down, he was there to literally pull her out of the fire. He didn’t judge her then and she didn’t judge him when he needed a job. They both just saw someone who needed help.
She grabbed his head and dragged him down to her level. She examined the wound that no longer was there. “How’re you doin’?”
“Just fine, healed up like always. I’m right as rain.” he stopped. That was a phrase that he hadn’t used in a long time. He saw himself standing on a roof top, looking down at a city that was torn apart by villany. She asked him, “How do you feel?”  and Aaron replied “Right as rain.”
Aaron jumped right back into the fray right after responding. He focused again and Claire was standing in front of him staring into his face. “Seriously, I’m fine.”  Claire gave him a long look and finally humored him.
“Alright, shit head, get cleaned up and get the girls ready.”  Aaron walked the stretch of the bar.
Like the girls in the back needed any help to get ready. He didn’t much like going to the back; it made him see how much he had fallen. He didn’t like feeling like some pervert ogling at naked girls half his age. Worst part about the whole situation was that Claire knew how Aaron felt. She just liked to bust his balls.
No, he wouldn’t go to the back and help the girls. There were plenty of other chores that could occupy his time around the bar. Aaron started wiping tables and sweeping the floor. Claire laughed at him the entire time. By the time the doors were ready to open, the place was spotless and whether she would admit it or not, Claire was happy with the work that he had chosen to do.
The regulars arrived first, getting their usual seats, and after a while, other prospects bustled in. The DJ pumped loud, low beats throughout the venue with the girls only lit brightly enough to see. Dim light spread across the rest of the place. A strip club bar is one of the worst places to be a bouncer. More times than not, you’re playing catch up as opposed to a regular bar where you can prevent some things from happening.  In the last couple of years working for Claire, nothing had changed and he was still playing catch up. The most Aaron would usually have to do is throw out the occasional creep who touches a girl or gets to rowdy with them. Sometimes it was hard to shut off who he once was and just let them go with a shove out the door.
"It’s funny" Aaron thought "it’s the eighties and if someone saw a super lift a car then they were a monster regardless if it was to save a baby or crush one. It’s nice to see with supers to hate a lot of the other animosity was finally done with. Chicks ogled the strippers just like any of the other patrons at the club and no one batts an eye. If we had done anything good at least it was by hating us it brought humanity together. Aaron’s mind wandered as he looked around at the patrons. "I mean, you had people walking around who could fly and freeze people. Not all of us were good people, but not all of us were villains." He began to think about the end of the era, it was probably for the best. It hadn’t been that long ago when those in charge had decided that it was just too dangerous to have people with that kind of power going unchecked. Enough damage had been caused from both sides leading them to decide that supers needed to be dealt with. So, they came out with the Eclipse Initiative.
The Eclipse Initiative was a program where every child would be tested at birth for genes that could lead to the development of powers of any form. The problem was that some supers are normal looking people and you can’t stop mutation. Children that were considered “deformed” would either be aborted or put into government protection. Government protection meant that they would be put into special camps to live amongst others who looked like them. The camps were little better than Nazi death camps. The only thing saving a few were the supers that had mutations to keep the others alive with clean food and those with powers to make clean drinking water or usefull quirks that helped them in the community
He snapped out of his stupor in time to see a girl motion him over from the stage to some drunk. Aaron slowly made his way over and placed my hand on his shoulder. “Sir, can you please keep your hands off the girls?”
“She asked for it,” he said.
“That’s not how we do business here. If you don’t keep your hands to yourself you will be asked to leave.”
“Fuck you, jackass” he replied.
“Sir, there is no need for that language. If Misty has to ask me to come over here again, you will be asked to leave.” Why was I being so formal with him? This wasn’t usually how it went at this point. Usually Aaron would have been dragging a person out. Even the regulars looked over at him knowing things weren’t going as usual.
“I said, FUCK you!” He continued to reach for Misty.
Aaron snapped out of it; the formality was done. “And I said there’s no need for that!” I kicked the chair out from under him “Fucking language, asshole.” Archer slammed his back on the ground. A satisfying whoosh of air came out of his lungs. “This isn’t how we do business, sir.” He dragged him to the door to the alley, opened the door and made to slide him out, when something unexpected happened.
Aaron had him by the collar of his coat and shirt and started to toss him through the door when he felt a surge rush through him like it had with the boat earlier in the day. Instead of an aggressive shove out the door, Aaron hurled him through it. He smashed through garbage cans twenty feet away and for a moment, Aaron thought he was dead. His legs moved and he slammed the door. The knob was crushed like a beer can. Cold sweat ran down his back and my mouth was dry. Aaron ran to the bar and as gently as he could, placed a twenty down. “I need a shit load of whiskey, Claire, and I gotta go.” She looked at Aaron like his head had sprouted tentacles. “Now, Claire!” She shook her head and pulled a beer mug and poured the whiskey into it. He downed it and made for the door.
For the supers who had already been in the game prior to Eclipse, it was required that they either hang up our capes and get the vaccination or we were on the run. Aaron had gone in to receive the vaccination but was seen as an unfit candidate. His powers, it seemed, had been suppressed naturally, psychosomatically. After his wife left him, he hadn’t been the same. He couldn’t do what he used to. He had thought if she saw that he had been vaccinated she would know that he was truly out of the game. No scar from the shot, no proof. He couldn’t have found her any more even if he had been able to get the shot. She took their daughter and split. That was five, almost six years in ago.
Archer shambled down the street, waiting for the liquor to hit him and help him stop freaking out, but for some reason it didn’t. He was as sober as a priest on Sunday. "What the hell was going on?" he thought "Maybe it was just residuals from the near-death experience from earlier in the day. Adrenaline that hadn’t quite been burned off. Yeah, that had to be it" he’d be fine after he slept it off. Suddenly, he felt a pressure on the back of his head and heard a crack.
The end of a Louisville Slugger rolled in front of him. Aaron slowly turned around to see a very surprised looking group of thugs, one holding the other end of the bat. “The fuck?” was all he could come up with to say. One with a knife ran towards Archer holding. Still confused as to what had happened with the bat, his baser instincts took over and the thugs arm was broken before I realized what was happening. By the time he hit the ground, the game was on. He didn’t know it, but he had been begging for something like this to happen for a long time. Archer kicked the one with a broken arm right in the soft part of the stomach, relieving him of his air. He left the ground and soared through the air right into the thug with the bat handle and they both toppled to the sidewalk. One thought it would be smart to punch me and I let him. The wild swing barely ruffled my hair; it was like the golden era had come back. He broke his hand on Aaron’s jaw. “Not your day, fellas. If I were you, I would calmly walk to the hospital. I would hate for this to continue and need to bother the ambulance.”
“You won’t need an ambulance, fucker, you’ll need a hearse!”
Oh good. These were really dumb thugs that were probably hopped up on something. Arcer was going to have some fun. “Really, we’re bantering now? It is like the old days.”
He cocked back and punch the guy who had the witty retort. He was out before he hit the street a good ten feet away. That’s when Aaron heard a sound that made chills go down his back. The semi-automatic racked a round into the chamber and the game was over. He saw only red. The gun was leveled at his chest. He walked forward. Turns out he had a lot of his powers back, but being bullet proof wasn’t one of them. Aaron heard the gun fire and molten lava poured into his shoulder. He ran forward and leveled the gunman, tore off his coat, and then ran. The cops would be there soon and them seeing Archer fight an entire gang was the last thing he needed.
He threw the thugs coat over the gunshot wound and made his way back to his apartment. He flung open the door and fell over the opening. His body was working to close the wound as quickly as it could but there was no exit wound, it seemed though he wasn’t bullet proof he was regenerating the damage rather quickly. He needed to get the bullet out of his shoulder. There wasn’t much in my apartment that would work as any type of forceps to help. Digging through open drawers, he flung out knives, spoons, and forks—not anything he really wanted to shove in his shoulder.
First, he tried an old pair of tweezers but just couldn’t get them to grip right and just tore at the wound causing it to bleed more and the tweezers to slip more. All he had succeeded in was wiggling the bullet and getting blood all over his kitchen. He dumped out all the drawers and found a melon baller that was probably left by a previous tenant. Archer jammed it into the wound and wiggled and forced until he could feel the metal on metal grind. One more good shove and he was past the bullet enough to get ahold of it and scoop it out. Aaron pulled the melon baller out and, with a sizable amount of his flesh; it also produced the crumpled projectile.
He dumped some liquor on the bleeding hole and covered it with a towel that he had found lying around and resolved to go to bed after downing the rest of the liquor.