I don’t know what possessed me to write down my actual phone number when we arrived at the hospital that night. One of the nurses called me before I’d even gotten home to tell me where I could find my daughter. I didn’t think she could be serious—that there even was a baby to pick up. But the nurse was insistent. She said the baby was fine, too, but she was lying.
The baby was beautiful.
I spent a lifetime feeling stuck, even if I didn’t know it, in one role or another, allowing myself to be bound by my Ch05En gene. I was a Strongman, and my gene was my identity. It wasn’t until I had something to truly weigh me down, someone who was in every sense of the word my responsibility to take care of and keep safe, that I realized I could start my life over once more. My life was no longer defined by my genetics, and my trajectory was my own. I left Totem the next day, and took The Gun with me in secret, using the money I’d set aside to create an entirely new identity far away from any of my former teammates, including those I’d known as a Cape.
When I was young, my name was Gerry. Then, it was Gerald or Ger. For some years, I was a number: Cape number sixty-something-something, I never could remember. And for many years after that, I was Base, a Freelancer in a group known as Totem. I was all of these men, for a time, and now I am none of them, each of their names holding no value in my heart. Now, I only have one name for which I truly care. A name that, for me, is a second, or even a third chance at living a good life. Something especially true now that there are two of them—a lesson in never saving something that falls off of your little girl, but I digress. It’s a name that I won’t allow to go to waste, with duties I know I will take more seriously than any others I have committed to before.
Daddy.
And so, at end of my final journal entry, there is but one thing left to write: An address, with a familiar, once-hated, always-respected name at the top. This will be my gift to the man who never stops, the man who can find anyone, whose quest for knowledge long ago surpassed anything that ever involved myself. It is a sorry gift, but the only one I have to give. Perhaps he will enjoy the nostalgia hidden within the pages, or perhaps there are details I have written which, it would be hard to believe, managed to elude him. I hope you enjoy this journal, you son of a bitch.
See you around, Hunter.
END
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
William is a native of Las Vegas. He loves comic books and superheroes and is still waiting for his Green Lantern ring to show up and tell him that it's his turn to protect this sector of the universe. Until then, he's happy writing stories about superhero stuff. You can get access to all of his works on Amazon.
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