"And today, the vigil for Hannah and Edward Rose continues, a couple that was murdered tragically while eating at a hotel with their three children..."

Tommy stared out the window, shifting in his white cotton clothes. It was the only pair of clothes he had other than his hero costume. He couldn't see the sunrise, but he could feel the light slowly become brighter and brighter.

The guards said that because he was a hero, he got the perk of living alone.

And he got a TV set.

"...mourners have left flowers and notes at the couple's beloved house...."

The perk of living alone.

The perk of a TV set with one channel, the news, where all he watched were murders and riots and angry and heartbroken people, reinforcing what the foundation always chanted, the world's a dangerous place, the world's a dangerous place.

"....and now, an interview with Hannah Rose's sister..."

The perks of being a hero.

Of being a hero.

"Hannah was the sweetest soul you would ever meet, the best friend you could ever have in your lifetime, the best friend I- I had in my lifetime, oh gosh, I'm s-so sorry I-I need a second..."

Tommy watched as two birds flitted by, as they swooped and dove down to the earth and back up again.

"....what would you say to your sister if you had just five more minutes with her?...."

They looked so free.

"I love you,"

Tommy hoped they felt free.

"I love you,"

They perched upon his windowsill and stared at him, their little heads bobbing up and down and side to side.

"I love you."

And even though Tommy knew they didn't understand, he lifted his hand up and waved.

"And I'll fight, Hanny, so that you can rest in peace."

And they flew away.

"Thank you Ms. Puffy, and I'm sure the hero foundation will bring your sister"

Tommy watched as they disappeared into the sun.

"justice."

Tommy clicked the TV off.

He doesn't feel anything.

He doesn't feel things.

He tells himself he does not feel things.

He does not feel emotions for the crying woman.

He does not feel emotions for her dead sister.

He does not feel.

He promises. 

Tommy wants to be numb.

And he stared at the empty city street and wished for faces.

But then Tommy heard voices.

Real, and tangible, and not from the TV, and not shouting and pointing and crying, muffled through the walls, but still there.

And Tommy pushes his ear to the wall to catch the sound, the sounds of people.

He crams his ear until it feels painful, but he can't hear them right, he wanted to hear them.

But one word pokes through the wall, and Tommy grabs it.

Wilbur.

A name, Tommy thinks.

Wil- buhr

Wilbur.

Tommy whispers it to himself so he wouldn't forget.

Wilbur, Wilbur, Wilbur.

There is someone named Wilbur next door.

A door shuts, and Tommy listens and listens and listens, but he doesn't hear anymore.

He rested his head against the wall, but there was nothing, nothing at all.

So he convinces himself. 

He does not wish for the voices across the wall. 

He does not wish, he does not wish, he does not wish. 

He promised. 

And he feels himself drifting, drifting, away.

And he is not looking for humans any longer.

He doesn't want to.

His body opens the door into the world of nothing.

A guard orders the residents of the floor into a straight line as they step out of their doorways.

Tommy kept his head down and didn't meet anyone's eye. He tries not to see, he tries not to hear, and he tries not to remember anyone around him.

He keeps his eyes on his shoes and counts the speckled tiles as they head towards the blindingly white lunch room.

Tommy held his bowl and gray sludge was plopped into it, filling up the white bottom.

Tommy does not complain.

Tommy sits down and shoves it into his mouth.

It doesn't taste like anything.

But then again, Tommy didn't really know what anything tasted like, so it didn't matter to him.

Sometimes days didn't feel real to Tommy.

And sometimes days felt too real like his entire body was weighed down and cold and small.

But they passed by in blurs and stops and repeats and cycles and silence.

First, the running.

Tommy jogged in a seemingly never-ending room of black treadmills.

All the time, he stared down at the numbers ticking at the screen.

Sweat cooled and heated his neck.

He heard someone fall next to him, a sickening crack of something.

Maybe from overexertion, maybe from not sleeping, maybe from malnourishment.

Maybe they fell on purpose so their brains could spill out and they could feel, feel something, feel pain.

Tommy toyed with that idea sometimes in his brain.

Maybe they fell so they could make everything stop.

But Tommy told himself not to care.

He promises. 

Tommy did not look.

Nobody looked.

Nobody made a sound.

The sound of a body being dragged away, clothes and shuffles.

Second, the room with the masked man and the blindfold.

A blindfold was tied around his head.

All he could see was light and white and the cloth felt soft against his eyes.

Tommy sat and waited on a cold bench.

When he was pulled up out of his seat, he could suddenly see everything in his mind.

His arms were held out in front of him, and a dark cloud stood in front of him.

He could hear it.

He remembered when he didn't have the blindfold, and all he saw was that awful masked thing.

And every day, every day, he would feel so much pain, and that masked thing made everything black and spinny and tinged with red, and his eyes water.

He swore he would never let that masked thing ever EVER make him feel the dark again.

He promised. 

He didn't want to go back into the dark.

So he grabbed its neck and squeezed and squeezed until it was limp and he could stand up and walk away.

Tommy didn't feel anything anymore, no more pain from the masked thing.

Sometimes he couldn't even feel his arms moving.

The blindfold was taken off and once again his eyes were filled with blinding white light.

The day droned on.

Lunch.

Autopilot.

Bowl and spoons clink.

Sometimes Tommy thought he could see the masked thing peek up at him, turning over and grinning at him in his soup.

Sometimes, he thought he could see heads, bloodied and splattered, of the dead people he'd seen.

And then third, the lying.

This was what Tommy found the easiest.

Look them in the eyes, the instructor said.

Don't fidget.

Don't move at all.

And tell them what they want to hear.

Tell them that the foundation fights the villains that damage this world.

Tell them that you never knew they would die.

Tell them that you feel.

You want to make them happy, don't you?

As she spoke, her red nails reached and grabbed at them like devil's talons.

It was the main part of being a hero, she said.

Lying.

So Tommy looked her right in those milky, blue eyes.

They didn't seem colorful.

They seemed dead.

And he lied.

It was so easy.

It was all so easy.

He cried fake tears.

He didn't feel a single thing.

He felt nothing.

Nothing, nothing, nothing at all.

He promised.  

He was watching himself through a silver screen.

And then, the face room.

All they did was stare in a mirror.

A man would come and touch them, and everything was rough, he pinched cheeks like he wanted to rip the skin off their bones.

Tommy stared in the mirror, looking at a person he didn't know.

He didn't know him, he didn't know him. 

He promised. 

He reached out to touch him, this kid with dusty blonde hair staring back at him hollowly.

And then he started to pick him apart, piece by piece.

Last class, history.

The teacher wore a tight bun, and her eyes never grazed them.

She looked at the back of the wall, even though nothing was there.

Tommy wondered if it was because they were too horrible to look at.

Tommy had learned everything he needed to know already.

The teacher repeated her statements from the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that.

"In 2020, there was a great virus, so citizens across the world went into quarantine. Vaccines were created in 2021, but the world never returned to normalcy."

The teacher droned, her voice flat, but her animated features looked like she was saying this for the first time.

"In 2030, there was a massive mental health crisis that had sprung from the change in life and the sudden isolation."

Was she saying this for the first time?

"In 2035, the foundation was created."

Tommy didn't trust his brain anymore.

"The foundation brought hope and a steady cause. It continues to bring hope today, in 2068."

Tommy didn't trust himself.

"You are part of the foundation. You bring hope and joy to the world, and we are so happy to have you here."

He promised. 

The teacher speaks in a tight, emotionless voice, her heels clicking against the tile. She stares at the back wall, and then suddenly livens again like an animatronic repeating lines.

"Now, copy this down in your notebooks."

Tommy and the kids around him lean down and press their pencils neatly to paper.

"You are a hero."

I am a hero.

"You are righteous."

I am righteous.

"You are a good person."

I am a good person.

"You defeat the villains."

I defeat the villains.

"You serve the foundation."

I serve the foundation.

"Because the foundation makes the world a better place."

Because the foundation makes the world a better place.

Tommy thinks he can hear it still when he falls asleep, his soul settling back in his body, the interview airing again on the TV.

I am a hero.

I love you,

I am righteous.

I love you,

I defeat the villains.

I love you,

I serve the foundation.

And I'll fight, Hanny, so you can rest in peace.

Because the foundation makes the world a better place. 

I promise.