Rictor's Holding out for a Hero

I step back as the door to the pub swings open, almost hitting me in the face. Scowling at the person leaving, I enter the building, stalking straight to the bar to order a drink. Something strong and alcoholic is just what I need to forget about my nightmares.

I suppose I had better explain a bit about myself before I go any further. My name is Julio Esteban Richter, more commonly known as Rictor or ‘that dude in X-force who shakes stuff.’ Apart from my family, there’s only one guy, Shatterstar, who I allow to call me Julio, and he’s an alien from 100 years in the future. Don’t bother asking; you seriously don’t want to know. It still makes my brain hurt when I think about it. I currently live in Arizona with my teammates, but that could well change at any time, due to the nature of our lifestyle. Basically, we’re a mutant strike team, ready and eager to take on anyone or anything that’s a threat, working on the wrong side of the law, but generally to the same ends as the X-Men or other superhero teams. Obviously, we aren’t superheroes though. We’re just a bunch of angry misfits, sticking together because we’ve got no-one else.

Draining half of the pint in one, I sit down at the end of the bar, where I’ve got a clear view of the front door and the fire exit. I can’t be too careful with the amount of enemies X-Force has. A new singer steps onto the stage, bursting into song immediately, and whilst I don’t particularly enjoy the style – I like my dance music too much, the lyrics make a hell of a lot of sense to me right now. Where have all the good men gone? My thoughts entirely. It seems to me like there’s a bad guy on every other corner nowadays. One lot in particular really like me. When I was younger, I was kidnapped by an organisation called The Right, not once, but three times. Led by a man called Cameron Hodge, their aim is to rid the world of mutants (original, I know), which included torturing me until I nearly destroyed a city with my powers. My dreams are plagued by memories from my time with The Right, both in San Francisco and Genosha, and the only relief I get is when I get so drunk that I don’t dream. That’s my plan for tonight.

I take the second half of my drink more slowly, only sipping at it as I watch the singer and her band. Late at night I toss and turn and dream of what I need. On a good night, the nightmare will end with my rescue by X-Factor or the X-Men, or sometimes even with the arrival of Shatterstar. There’s someone reaching back for me.That ending never happened in reality, although it’s the only thing that doesn’t leave me shaking when I wake up; the only one that results in the destruction of the organisation. Sometimes I think they would cease to plague me if I distanced myself from the action and went to live a normal life, but there’s something holding me to this raggedy group of outcasts, something I can’t put my finger on. I’ve left before, moving back down to Mexico to live with my family for a while, but it was only so long before I came pinging back like a rubber band.

As the line, It’s gonna take a superman to sweep me off my feet,rings out, my line of sight chances upon a rowdy cluster of guys, all in costume, the drunkest dressed as Superman. Swaying back and forth, laughing uproariously at nothing, he can’t even sit up straight without falling over. I have to say it’s going to take more than Superman to sweep me off my feet. At least I have some semblance of dignity when I’m drunk. Shaking my head in distaste, I suddenly get a prickling feeling running down the back of my neck, in fact I would swear that there’s someone somewhere watching me. I quickly scout around under the pretence that I’m looking for someone, which I suppose I am technically, but my actions reveal no immediate danger, so I relax again and go back to my drink. I drain the last of it and slam my glass down on the bar slightly harder than I mean to, which earns me a disapproving glare from the grumpy looking woman sat next to me. As I gesture to the barman that I’d like another drink, the door swings open and a few people hurry in, sopping wet. My mood jumps as I realise that it’s raining, and using the new customers as a distraction, I slip away, winding through the maze of tables to the exit.

I love the rain. Just as we need water to survive, so does the earth, therefore when it rains, she really comes alive, and due to my powers, I can feel her delight. Dios, it feels amazing! I crouch down and press my palms flat against the pavement, revelling in the energy that flows through me. I can feel every movement of the tectonic plates, every shudder of the earth. The faint strains of the singer nearing the end of the song float out through the night air, and I hum along, closing my eyes. I must look a right sight, but I don’t care. Passersby may think I’m strange, but they’ll never experience anything like this, and for that I pity them. Not just humans, but other mutants too. Even my teammates sometimes. A slight movement of the ground lets me know that someone’s heading towards me, although they’re a little way off yet. Concentrating slightly, I focus on the distant footsteps, and recognise the distinctive walk, a smile appearing on my face. I can feel his approach, like the fire in my blood. I don’t know anyone else so sure of themselves, so certain they’re the best at what they do, but he’s still the best friend I’ve ever had. I helped him learn how to fit in on this planet, and taught him all the little things that people would normally just pick up as they grow older. In return, he gave me his friendship, and that’s a extraordinary thing from the warrior. He doesn’t trust many people; I mean I could probably count them all on the fingers of one hand.

He’s gotta be strong, and he’s gotta be fast, and he’s gotta be fresh from the fight. A grin flits across my lips as the final chorus is sang, the words reminding me so much of ‘Star. I wonder what he’s doing here. I guess he must have finished his mission early, as he wasn’t supposed to be back until tomorrow, but that’s not surprising really, considering the ruthlessness and efficiency he fights with. Before he came here, having grown up in a gladiator arena, his entire life was a battle. Now it’s just most of it. Maybe I’m exaggerating a little, but we do spend an awful lot of time in conflicts, either fighting or trying (and failing) to sneak into some secret facility. He’s gotta be sure, and it’s gotta be soon, and he’s gotta be larger than life. That’s definitely ‘Star, I chuckle to myself, watching as he comes into view. There’s a flash of red as he passes under a streetlight, his hair standing out as usual; he’s always drawing attention to himself, whether intentionally or not. He’s such a show-off, but I don’t care. I stand up as he comes closer, wiping the dirt from my hands on my jeans. They’re already dirty, so a bit more won’t matter.

“iHola amigo!” I call out whilst waving at him, my mood raised even more by his presence, “How did it go?” He stops as he reaches me, returning my greeting with, “Hola Julio.” He flashes a rare smile as he speaks, and in that instant I suddenly realise why I stay with X-Force – for my closest comrade, my best friend.

I’ve found my hero.