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Hard Knocks, High Life

December 1, 2009

Some nights I look at the city and I wonder how it keeps going. You’ve got men in tights, robots, aliens and god only knows what else smashing it to bits every other day. Christ. Do you know what I heard on the news the other night? “Extinction level threat.” Roll that over your tongue a few times. Then remember that your boss is waiting for that report that’s been sitting on your desk all week.

So in the end, that’s what really keeps it going. Us. Not the heroes and the battles to save the planet. The guy who cleans the streets. The butcher down the street. The teacher. The doctor. You get the drift. But even the little guys have their dramas. Dramas that can escalate into events that need some outside attention. So I manage to keep a job. A job that generally has me living out of my car and my office, both of which would probably be worth more if they got totaled by the latest monster rampaging through the streets.

I’m Zaine Brooks and I work in the glamorous field of Private Investigations. Or at least I hear it was glamorous at one point in time. Hey, I still get to wear a suit to work and a trench coat out in the rain. Probably the only reason I haven’t died from a cold standing out in the rain getting pictures or watching people. I’ve also managed to pad it out a little so when the occasional fight breaks out I break a little less.

Of course, none of that explains what the hell I’m doing in the middle of a gun-fight between a bunch of punk kids and a guy in a purple helmet who seems to be throwing lightning of some kind. That, of course, leads back to a woman. A woman and tears and a picture of a son in way over his head in a world where guys wander around with purple helmets and throw lightning. So that about brings you up to speed. I make poor decisions when women are involved. There’s a warehouse with some teenagers who like to play with guns and a crazy purple lightning-spewing-hero who seems to not be overly interested in questions.

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