The Superzero.

Brrrrrring.

I barely registered the ringing sound and rolled over onto my side.

Brrrring.

Okay, so I'm more awake than I was ten seconds ago. Still, I'm ignoring it.

BRRRRING.

Al - fucking- right. The mobile phone on my bedside desk was persistently ringing out. I checked it quickly and saw the incoming call. My Dad. He was...calling me? When he was downstairs?

I flipped open the phone and brought it to my ear. "Hello?"

My Dad's gruff voice answered back. He didn't sound amused, or relieved that I had finally picked up. On the contrary, he sounded pissed off to the max. "Where the hell have you been, Ben? I've phoned you eight times already and sent you text messages. Why weren't you answering?"

Ah, shit. He's really going to go to town on me now. I vaguely recalled traipsing in from school and collapsing heavily onto my bed, too tired to remember to take off my shoes, let alone think of my mobile phone. I scrubbed at my eyes, stinging from sleepiness, and sighed as quietly as I could. He still heard it.

"Don't you go making sighs at me, boy. Your mother and I - "

"Why did you phone me when you're downstairs, Dad?" I interrupted, irritated by his lack of, well...everything. He lacked everything a good father should be.

He growled down the phone and I warily held my mobile away from my head, as if he could shove his hand into the phone and grab my neck from where he stood.

"If you let me finish my damn sentences, then I'd let you know. It's because I'm not at home. I'm at the hospital with your mother, she's having chemotherapy."

I closed my eyes and battled against my grief. My Dad didn't give me long, though.

"Turn on the news, Ben. Channel Four." he barked. "There's something interesting on there. I'll phone you back when the reports over and this time, I expect you to pick up on the first ring."

With that, I heard my phone bleep, signifying my Dad had already hung up before I could say goodbye. I forced away the tears that were springing up in my eyes and followed his orders, switching on my television and seeking out the news channel he had given me. A woman, her hair sleek and pulled back into a ponytail, sat behind a desk in the newsroom. She shuffled papers before her and in the right hand corner of the screen, a blacked out face with a question mark flashed up with a subtitle. My stomach dropped to the floor.

"Citizens today have been revelling in gossip over eye-witness accounts of a new masked vigilante. This news comes after the mysterious disappearance of resident heroes, The Sandman and Vixen. Channel Four news investigates - " The newsreader vanished from the screen, being replaced by a young man with a mega-watt smile standing in the town center. He grinned broadly and held a microphone aloft towards another man, his name zipped across the screen before I had chance to read it.

Instantly, I recognised the man to be the guy who had been mugged the other night. He stared moodily into the camera, as if wishing to be anywhere but next to the overly cheerful news reporter. I found I felt no sympathy for him.

"We're joined here by local man James McPherson. Channel Four news tracked him down after he reported a mugging to the city's police department, concerning two other men and a masked hero." the reporter smiled, turning swiftly to James McPherson. "What do you have to say about this recent appearance of this mysterious, new vigilante?"

James cast his gaze to the floor, his hands stuffed into his coat pockets. I could see his breath misting in front of him as he leant towards the mic.

"I was out late the other night, returning home from work. I had my bag on me, containing my laptop and other personal items. Two men approached me from behind and tried to take the bag with force. As I struggled, this young guy stepped out from nowhere and started telling those two guys to leave me alone. He sounded like he didn't have a clue what he was doing - looked it, too - but the men just laughed. They beat him to a pulp when he attempted to stop them and they ran off with my bag."

The reporter nodded enthusiastically, willing him to go on.

"In short, this new guy on the scene is a fat lot of good. He just looks like some kid who has fun dressing up as his favourite superheroes. I suggest that if he's watching, he should give up the, uh, night job and stick to having a normal life. Also, if anyone has seen my bag could you please - "

"And that's all we have time for today. Thank you, Mr McPherson, for your account of that night. Back to you in the studio, Janet."

Mortified, I switched off the television and held my head in my hands. My Dad was going to ring any moment now to presumably discuss my shambolic efforts as a superhero. Jesus, I was really bad at this. My phone buzzed and rang shrilly in my hand and I felt like I almost had a heart attack.

"Hello." I said nervously, not sure what was going to come next.

"I take it you saw the report? Good. Now Ben, you have to show these people you're up to the task of keeping their city safe. They've noticed your Mum's absence, as well as mine, so you need to step up to the plate and get on with helping out around here. They're gonna rip you apart if you don't get your arse into gear, son." he told me.

This was about as sentimental as my father could get.

"How, Dad? I'm fuc - ugh, I mean, I'm hopeless at this stuff. Don't you think it would be better if you could, you know, just let me off the hook?" I asked timidly.

"I thought I made my intentions clear, Ben. You will carry on saving the city, even without my help. If you are our son, then I expect you to succeed. Go out into town now, get looking for those criminals."

He hung up on me again. Some pep talk, I feel worse now than I did after hearing the people who are meant to look up to me slating me on live television. And I was tired as hell.

No rest for the wicked, I suppose?