The Forgotton

............................"It is sure the hardest science to forget!"~Alexander Pope.................................
.................................."But they still managed to forget me!"~Trix Robin..........................................

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You forgot about me. I’m almost 100% sure about that. Really, it isn’t your fault. It isn’t like you could do something even if you remembered me. Heck, the only people that did do something forgot about me, but they’ve had a lot on their plate—saving the world and all.

Still wondering who the heck I am? Figures. Sure I only made one appearance in front of a few other mutants and an evil scientist but… Nevermind, it’s probably a good thing you forgot me. No way for people to run after me if, in their memories, I don’t exist.

Going on; my name is Robin Trix. Or Trix Robin—whichever strikes your fancy. I usually go by Trix except for this one annoying dude…but I’ll get to that later. I have red—strawberry blonde for you detail fanatics—hair and creepily dark green eyes. I’m kinda pale and pretty tall for my age (I think…I’m still not sure what my age is). My wings are—

Oh yeah. I have wings. No biggie. And I spent most of my life in New York, New York’s, sewers.

Ringing a bell now?

Well, I have my own set up here in NYC. I’m a crime fighter—like Spiderman except not as retarded. And, I fight the crime that New York’s best fail to fight. Like, say, laying X amount of people to give the CEO’s a quick buck. Like Robin Hood (hint, hint). So, technically, I’m a criminal fighting crime. Go figure.

And yes, I wear a mask. Not like Spiderman’s, but Zorro or the Phantom, Erik. You know, the one he wears to the masquerade ball? Zorro and Erik are cool. I could really use a sword. Not a cape; that could be a hazard to my health.

Anyway, the mask. I want to be able to walk down the street and not be recognized. Or arrested. That would be extremely bad. Bars and me don’t work well together; bars and me just don’t mix. I’m, like, bars-a-phobic or something.

So here I am, cruising through the skyline with my Zorro/Erik mask- feeling like the world is all mine. Flying does that. Twisting through buildings, your feather’s brushing the smooth glass. Even just sitting on top of one, without a railing to keep you from falling or a door to get inside the building. It gets you every time.

Regular old humans seem to think this too, so they stare at me a lot. And they’re always trying to take those pictures! Which is why my superpower (superheros are either filthy rich or freaks of nature) comes in handy.

You see, I can halt the use of electrical devices. In other words, I can turn things off. There are no pictures or videos of me ANYWHERE. And I’ve, ever so politely (cough) asked the TV stations and newspapers to not make any mention of me. So what I threatened to short circuit their entire building (I think I can actually do that…as soon as I figure out how). That’s a MINOR detail.

If you haven’t figured it out, I don’t want people to know about me. Evil scientists might still want to poke needles in me and stick me in a dog cage. And there are these other flying-freaks-of-nature. They freak me out, and it seems everyone is out to get them even though they’re practically celebrities. I didn’t want that; I was fine with where I was.

Anyway, I’m flying through the night and I see a guy getting beat up by some other guys. Well, they were attempting to beat him up. He was dodging their pitiful attempts. I was going to let it go because it looked like he knew what he was doing, when I saw the gleam of a knife being pulled. Uh oh, someone isn’t playing nice. I, very quietly, started diving into the deepest, blackest part of the alley.

They were a bit busy so they didn’t notice me in the shadows. Haven’t they seen any movies? I’ve lived in a sewer most of my life and I knew the thing that would end up killing me ALWAYS came from the creepy shadows with a creepy soundtrack in the background. DUH.

I folded my wings tightly against my back and untied the sweatshirt that was around my waist. And then I, well, put it on and took off my mask, stuffing it in one of my huge pockets. I’ve found that getting beat up by a girl is WAY more humiliating than getting beat up by a superhero.

Stepping from the shadows (aww, no heroic music), I attempted to look like an normal, innocent girl. The beat-up-ee was giving me frantic eye signals as he saw me first and was trying to be the hero. Hel-lo. That was why I was there. I winked, which confused and distracted him enough that the delinquents actually got a hit on him. Oops.

“That wasn’t very nice.” I said. Everyone looked at me like in one of those movies. The hero-wanna-be could have gotten away, uncomplicating a lot of things for me. But nO, he had to stand there like a complete bonehead.

One of the guys, probably the leading lunkhead, grinned and looked at me like I was a T-bone steak. His lackeys chuckled like something was funny. So, either he was going to mug me in all of my girlish innocence or he was horny and wanted some.

“I guess I’m just a bad boy.”

Horny. Defiantly horny.

“Really?” My eyes turned into wide saucers and his crooked grin became wider. He gave his henchmen one of those waving nods and they got back to business as he cornered me. The wall was cool against my back as I tried to look scared. When you’ve seen things that could qualify as nightmares for a good part of your life, then these guys wouldn’t scare you much so this was a harder task than you might imagine.

He reached for my chest (which, I must point out, is somewhat non-existent), coming a bit closer. My foot connected with his groin. With a pitiful whimper, he crumpled, holding himself.

The lunkheads heard him go down and whipped around. The one with the knife turned back around and was ready to take care of the guy they seemed to hate. I lunged forward, seeing that he actually seemed to know how to used it. They didn’t think I was very fast because they were so surprised when I had his wrist firmly in my grasp. The blade was about an inch from the guy’s chest so I was a bit lucky.
“What the fu—“ he started; I twisted his wrist, nearly breaking.

“Don’t swear around a lady.” I growled, kneeing his gut. He fell with a grunt.

One of them came up from behind me, he arm around my throat. The other two were getting up, slowly, but it was happening. Two other guys had the beat-up-ee pinned to the wall by the throat and were making a punching bag out of him. Instead of grabbing his hair, and smelly, arm, I elbowed him right between the ribs. His hold loosened but he didn’t let go. Persistent little buggers.

The head hauncho stood, glaring at me, “You’ll pay for that, bitch.”

“What did I say about swearing?” I growled, turning my head to the side and squirming myself out of the bear’s grip. I kicked his knee in and he fell with cry of pain. Spinning, I swept my leg underneath the lead lunkhead. He fell too. Poor baby.

Jumping up, two other guys, the last two (other than the ones that seem to think human beings are punching bags) looked at me. Before they could think of anything to do, I roundhouse kicked one to the ground. The other caught hold of my sweatshirt hood and threw me into the wall. Ow.

So I turn around and grabbed his shirt, throwing him to the wall and then to the ground. That nose will never be the same. I threw myself across the ally, ramming into one of the punching machines. He made an acquaintance with the wall. The punching bag managed to get the other guy off of him and downed him.

“Thanks.” The guys I’d just saved said, smiling at me. I wiped blood from my mouth and nodded. Then I bent down and pulled a wallet from the lead lunckhead’s back pocket. “Are they okay?”

Apparently, he thought I was checking for a pulse or something. No chance.

“I dunno.” I opened the wallet, wrinkling my nose. I could see why he was mugging someone, there was dust, a peanut shell and a twenty in here. I’ve seen richer squirrels.

I think he realized what I was doing when he asked, “What’re doing?” Somehow, he thought stealing was wrong or something ridiculous like that.

“Receiving my well-deserved salary.” I explained, “People gotta eat.”

“But it’s wrong!” He argued, suddenly mad at his savior.

That made ME mad. Who was he to tell me what was freaking wrong? My very existence was wrong! How dare he? Even though he’s correct, he doesn’t have the right to TELL me that!

“Let ME show you something that’s wrong!” I hissed, grabbing his wrist. He tried to wrench his arm out of my grasp, but I had an iron grip.

I dragged him a few blocks and then turned down an alleyway. I let go and looked behind a dumpster.

A man in dirty, ripped clothing sat there. He looked up at me, smiling.

“Hey there, Robin.” Yes, this is the one annoying guy that can call me Robin without getting his teeth punched out. “How’s it going?”

“I’ve come by some extra cash, Pete. You wanna join me?” I asked, extending a hand. He took it and I pulled him up easily.

Pete is the only person I actually gave a rip about. He’s the only human who knows about my secret-the whole wings and superpower package. Both of us frequent the gospel missions together. He’s the one who first gave me the name Robin, the one who introduced me to movies even though he barely had any money. Heck, he taught me my ABC’s.

“Who’s your friend?” Pete asked nodding to the arrogant jerk.

“Friend?” I said the same time the jerk decided to introduce himself.

“Ash Scott.”

“Hello Ash Scott,” Pete extended his hand with a warm smile. Ash, after a breif hesitation, took it, “I’m Peter Wetren.”

~Time Skip~

“He seemed nice.” Pete broke the silence.

“Sure.” I said, picking up a small rock and tossing it at the wall facing us. We’d just gotten back from a hearty meal at McDonalds’s and were talking back where I’d found him.

“Come on Flygirl.” Pete said, referring to an annoying nickname he used when we were alone. “You need to have friends other than old fogies like me.

“But they’re all so stupid and immature.” I growled, throwing another rock.

“You’re supposed to be at your age!” Pete said, “not playing Robin Hood.”

“I don’t even know my age and this isn’t a game, Pete,” I said, very grumpy, “I’m helping a lot of people.”

“And screwing a lot.”

“They deserve it.” I grinned, leaning into him. Sirens suddenly periced the night air. “Gotta go Petester.”

“Don’t get hurt.” He said, sighing. I stood, putting on my Zorro/Erik mask and tying my sweatshirt tightly around my waist.

“I will.” He raised his eyebrows, “I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Flygirl.”

“I’m the superhero, remember? They always dominate.” I grinned again, “Bye, Pete.”

“What have I told you about saying goodbye?”

“To not to. Goodbye is forever.” I smiled and took a few running steps deep into the ally, then took off. My wings barely fit in the ally but I manage to get high enough to not run into any buildings.

“Here I go.” I flew after the blinking lights and shrieking sirens.