Today on MASK CITY!: SUPES, BUT THEY’RE SAD SOMETIMES! We witness the creation and fall then recreation of the intrepid hero MASK MAN! (All caps exclamation point) hero of MASK CITY!

  Upon a dark dimly lit street, a man walks down it contemplating his life. ‘What is the meaning of life?’ He thinks. ‘So far I have done nothing, seen nothing, the only thing I’ve done is pop into existence thanks to authorial intent and the first sentence of the first paragraph on this dark dimly lit street with the question. Not just a question, the question, in my brain. So I henceforth ask, what is the meaning of life? What and who am I supposed to be?’ He continues to think walking down the dark and dimly lit street. ‘Is it to make an impact on the world? To pursue material gain? To do the things I am good at and learn and grow? To do the things I enjoy doing no matter how good I am at them because I am trying to satiate my inner mental desire? Please universe why have you given me form, face, and life but no purpose to pursue. Please, grant me a purpose.’

  The author heard his woes, getting mildly annoyed with him asking all these random questions instead of just figuring it out on his own like he was supposed to. Thus decided ‘You know what? I’ll give him a little nudge in the right direction.’ And therefore inserted himself into the character’s brain to give him said nudge.

  ‘Psst! Hey kid!’

  ‘God? Is that you? In my brain?’

  ‘No! It’s the author, you want to make an impact right? Find meaning and all that jazz?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘How about this, you want superpowers? Think that would give you meaning?’

  ‘Well, probably.’

  ‘Alright, look at your feet, put on that mask and you’ll have super powers.’

  ‘Thank you god!’

  ‘Not god, just the author.’

  ‘Thank you author.’

  Thus the man looked down, and upon his feet was a little mask of a super-of-some-sort which he then picked up and put on, transforming into MASK MAN! Hero of MASK CITY! Which filled him from head to toe with purpose and meaning, giving him the sense of accomplishment he so desired. Where he struck pose after pose after pose in this dark dimly lit street where a few tenants of the neighboring apartments looked out and thought to themselves ‘the heck’s going on over there.’ He’d achieved his mission, of getting purpose, for all of about 10 minutes. When he realized.

  ‘You know. I have a title, and super powers now. But that really hasn’t changed my life in any meaningful way. I still only came into existence about 11 minutes ago. I’ve lived for so long, and yet have no life experience to show for it, just a few titles given to me out of pity. Well, what is the purpose of a hero? Well, I think to defend the citizens and bring up the spirit of MASK CITY! Leave an impact on the world. How can I do that?’ He thought while walking down the street.

  He spent the entire night pondering, the moon giving way to the sun. Endlessly thinking about ways to do heroism, and bring up the spirit of MASK CITY! Conveniently he’d wandered out of his neighborhood and just so happened to wander by a bank. He thought to himself ‘If only there was a robbery to stop’ and as though on cue, a black van pulled up to the front of the bank, and six people with guns leaped out and started making their way up to the bank. ‘Well that was easy.’ He thought before sallying forth to meet the foe.

  “Alright! Everybody down!” Yelled the lead thug by the entrance while the other five went in and started harassing the tellers to put money in bags or stealing jewelry and watches off of civilians. This is when the thug felt a tap on his shoulder.

  “Yes?” He said, turning his head to the right before POW! A fist came and socked him in the face causing him to keel over and crumple to the floor.

  ‘Haha! Finally I get to leave my impact on the world.’ Thought masked man as he fought and dispatched the other thugs. ‘Ok, maybe I get to leave many impacts on the world’ He thought as he was thrown into a wall. ‘Perhaps too much impact on the world.’ He thought as he tossed a thug through the teller booths. Eventually the fight came to a close, him standing victorious, the thugs being escorted to police cruisers to jail. The next day he was presented with the key to the city, given a massive ceremony where people celebrated their new hero. He started writing articles, periodicals, about his exploits and was really quite good at writing, some saying he should write a book, picking topics the audience would enjoy and styles that would appeal to them, and making a work that would catch their attention. Thus he was happy for a while. . .

  But. . .

  This isn’t MASK CITY!: SUPES, THEY’RE HAPPY AT ALL TIMES! It's MASK CITY!: SUPES, BUT THEY’RE SAD SOMETIMES! Therefore he ran into an issue.

  The specific issue was that it kept happening, once a month like clock work, the same bank would be robbed. It would be robbed in a different way by a different person each time, however it would still be robbed nonetheless. Some goons and villains would wear black and yellow, some would wear orange, some would somehow be purple and green. Some would stealthily sneak in and not-so-stealthily sneak out only to get caught. Some would infiltrate the staff, and attempt to corrupt it inside out. Others would just walk right in the front door with a bag of dynamite and get blasting till their vault opened. Every time it was the same, he’d show up, get in a massive super public fight, stop the villain, and a ceremony would be held in his honor. It was the same process, over, and over. Until one day, he stopped.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  ‘Why? What is the point? If literally 100s of different people are going to rob this bank on an almost bi-monthly basis, what is the point? I am clearly not making an impact. I stop them, and another one crops up elsewhere. It is like plugging a leaky pipe, where every time you plug an issue, somewhere else springs another leak.’ So he stopped, he showed up, watched the robbers, rather than get engaged, he just waited. ‘This is not my purpose in life, it has its positives, but it isn’t my purpose. Though I’ll stop them one last time’ He decided before turning around and stopping the burglars. It went much faster than usual, so he went and sat on the bench across the street from the bank watching as the police left. Till it was late afternoon, and he was left alone to think. ‘So what is my purpose? Let’s see, what are the options? Make an impact on the world. Pursue material gain. Do the things I am good at. Do the things I enjoy. Hrm, lots of options. Let’s just run down the list. Pursue material gain is first. Let’s see, how do I do that?’

  He looked at himself in a puddle reflection, he looked at the bank. Then looked at himself in the puddle reflection, then to the bank again. ‘You know, that bank right there could really quickly and efficiently help achieve my goal. Besides, I’ve stopped every robbery so far, so I know they aren’t short on funds.’ Before he knew it he was standing up to go rob a bank. ‘Let’s see, how do I go from hero to super-villian in 30 seconds?’ Somehow, crossing that road was like crossing through a portal. This valiant hero of the light turned into a monster. His noble upright posture gave way to a criminal slouch, his radiant smile turned into a psychotic grin, his soft taciturn demeanor turned into a malignant cackle. ‘Let’s see, but I am still me, just evil now. How do I complete the transformation? Ah-ha! I need a disguise. Let’s look at the options.’ He was looking around still making his way towards the bank. ‘Let’s see, I could steal a briefcase from the hundreds of business folk around, a perfect prop for being disguised as someone who should be in a bank (keep in mind he was still in full hero garb). Or the tan hat off the man in the trenchcoat reading a manilla envelope marked ‘confidential.’ But that is too silly. What could I do?’ That is when he saw it, an old man sleeping on a bench outside, with a massive bright pink scarf. ‘Perfect.’ He had his disguise. ‘I won’t take too much, just a few bags, one or two, after all I am the good guy.’ He stepped in.

  One Robbery Later. . .

  Sitting on the same park bench across the street with twenty seven duffle bags of cash, sat MASKED MAN! Or rather, now just MAN! (with a Stolen Scarf). ‘I have achieved my mission! Material gain is mine!’ He took two stacks of cash and rubbed them against his face comically. ‘Now I have at least two billion nickels to rub together.’ Under his mask was a massive childish smile. ‘Purpose achieved.’ He thought. Though once again, his happiness being temporary. He had all this money, but it hadn’t actually done anything for him. ‘Maybe I actually have to rub the nickels together.’ Thus he crossed the street and converted his 27 duffle bags of cash into nickels which he rubbed together. Needless to say, this didn’t actually bring him happiness. ‘Maybe I actually have to use the money to be happy. Buy happiness so to speak. Let’s see, what could I do with this money. . .’ He couldn’t come up with any ideas. ‘Let’s outsource this process. Thus he asked the first person he saw who was a very well dressed suit-ed man what they would do with millions of dollars.

  “You! What would you do with millions of dollars?”

  “Liquor.”

  ‘Well that didn’t work.’ He thought before asking someone else.

  “What would you do with millions of dollars?”

  “Fraudulent investments.”

  ‘Darn it, really striking out.’ He thought before asking someone else.

  “What would you do with millions of dollars?”

  All of his responses were some variant of [Insert drug], [Insert illicit action], and or [Insert questionable profession]. It was then he realized he was right next to a bank, and so the people he was asking were high level banking executives, who probably aren’t exactly a good representative of the general population, or trustworthy advisors on what you should do with your money. Thus he gave up and went back to the purpose drawing board.

  ‘Alright, what are the options? Make an impact on the world. Pursue material gain. Do the things I am good at. Do the things I enjoy. Going down the list. Let’s see, what am I good at? Well, robbery for one thing. Stopping robbery for another. Heroism and heroics. Working hard towards a specific goal. Well that doesn’t really help me. Which ones of those pay and which makes an impact on the world. Well robbery pays as I can clearly see, but I don’t think it is the impact I want to leave on the world. I mean it is morally wrong, and bad for the soul. . . You know, maybe I should return all this money I stole.’ He thought, before walking across the street with his literal tons of nickels, and returning them to the bank. ‘But what would do all those things? I know, I should write a book, a best seller all about heroism and heroics, my journey to becoming a hero, my fall, and my change of heart and it can turn into a series about what it means to be a hero in everyday life. I’m a genius, problem solved.’ Thus he wrote, and wrote, and wrote some more. Specifically he wrote until he was miserable.

  One period of time adequate enough to write 99% of a book later. . .

  ‘I put in all this work, I am still not done, I have made no impact, made no money, and still have no purpose in life. WHY!? I spent all this time on this book, it isn’t even done yet, and still forever yet I keep heading forth with it. Just power through.’

  5 minutes and 1% more of the book complete later. . .

  ‘Well that was easy. Time to publish.’

  One period of time is adequate to get 137 rejection letters from publishers. . .

  ‘I hate everyone, everything, and all the people in the universe. This is crap, I am crap, the world is crap. Maybe just one more.’

  One more letter back later. . .

  ‘Success! I am a published author. Though I have money, I left an impact on the world. I did what I was good at and yet I still have this giant hole in my heart. What did I fail? Is there any purpose I forgot to try yet?’ Yes, yes there was. ‘What could it possibly be? I tried doing stuff that leaves an impact, doing stuff I am good at. Doing stuff that acquires material gain, and even synthesizing them together. Yet I still am a failure, with no meaning and no purpose.’ Then he realized. ‘You know, but I didn’t actually do anything I truly enjoy. But what do I enjoy, I don’t know.’ He sat and looked longingly into the distance before remembering all of the things he did. ‘You know, it might not have been the most meaningful, but I did enjoy throwing that one thug through a bank teller window. Fighting the good fight, learning, creating, doing all sorts of wacky and wild things. Maybe there is no perfect balance, perhaps there are things that only serve one of the four purposes, some that serve multiple, and some that serve all of them, just not as effectively as you'd like them to, perhaps your purpose changes with time. . . Perhaps, your purpose is to grow, and change, to interact with the world in unique and interesting ways, to experiment, and see what happens. . . To just be yourself.’