[ WP ] Every aspiring superhero must become a sidekick for a few years before being granted full time hero status . You are the strongest superhero in your age group , but believe you have been assigned to the weakest hero . You learn a lot more than you originally thought you would .

So many positive message stories. Let's get some depressing in on this: 
 
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 Super Duper had yellow teeth, a bent back, and a tie-dye costume that came straight from the reject bin of a clown college. Purple splotches covered his hands, a side-effect from chemotherapy. Rumor had it that Super Duper suffered from throat, lung and diaphragmatic cancer. Diaphragmatic cancer can be especially awful, since if the tumor depresses one of the phrenic nerves, it can shut down half the diaphragm. Imagine trying to breath through a bedsheet and you'll get the idea. 
 
 Back in the day, Super Duper worked with the League of Heroes. He was popular and powerful, in the upbeat, campy way that ‘ 50s things tended to go. Granted, with his powers, he single-handedly put an end to the Cuban Missile Crisis and saved Jack Kennedy. More impressively, he carried on a long and sordid affair with Lady Starbuck, Evil Mistress of the Sea. One particularly famous photo showed the two of them wrapped up together in the back of a 1964 Ford Mustang, half-filled with water, her skirt jacked up and his clownish pants down around his ankles. 
 
 But that was back in the 50s, when he was young. Super Duper hit ninety this year, and put Starbuck in the ground before I was even an errant urge in my parents ’ pants. 
 
 My name ’ s Jane, though my friends call me Excelsia. I can fly, shoot energy out of my eyes, and – if I wanted to – I could toss a Boeing Seven-Forty-Seven into the sun… from Pluto. Last week, as the final part of training camp, I took down three supervillains, each Tier Two or higher, without assistance. I ’ m the top, the number one draft pick, the crème-de-la-crème, and instead of getting Black Knight ( hunky and amazing ) or Lady Justice, I get the has been. 
 
 So here we are, sitting in his living room, surrounded by old china and the smell of grandparents – somewhere between Wurther ’ s Originals and decaying cloth. God I feel stupid, wearing my white and gold outfit and cape in a grandpa ’ s living room. 
 
 “ Who ’ re you? ” Super Duper speaks slowly. His eyes don ’ t really focus on anything, though he turns to face me. 
 
 “ I ’ m Excelsia, ” I begin, but you know what, I ’ ve repeated myself three times and he still doesn ’ t get it. 
 
 “ Are you my daughter? ” he asks. 
 
 “ No, I ’ m not, ” I reply, “ Do you even have a daughter? ” 
 
 “ Do I even have a daughter? ” he repeats. 
 
 “ Yes, ” I say. 
 
 “ I do? ” he wonders aloud, “ I don ’ t remember having a daughter. Are you my daughter? ” 
 
 I groan. He weighs considerably less than a Boeing, and we ’ re much closer to the sun than Pluto. I can just say that the cancer killed him and I decided to cremate him, you know, to save the family some money. 
 
 “ Are you Excelsia? ” he asks. First time he ’ s said those words. 
 
 “ Yes, ” I say. 
 
 “ I saw you on TV yesterday. They said you ’ re going to work with Super Duper. Do you know him? ” 
 
 Okay, now I ’ m really confused and impatient. Does he not even know who he is? 
 
 “ I wouldn ’ t call this work, ” I say. 
 
 “ I remember Super Duper. He wore clothes just like mine, ” he says. 
 
 “ That ’ s because you **are** Super Duper, ” I hiss through clenched teeth. My fist involuntarily contracts into a ball. I can practically feel it connecting with his fragile, old bones. If I shattered his teeth maybe he would stop talking. 
 
 “ I ’ m sorry, ” he says, “ what was your name again? ” Super Duper looks at me with his big, blank stare, same as a dog that ’ s half asleep and half dead. 
 
 “ It ’ s Excelsia, you fucking old fart, ” I ’ m on my feet now, fists trembling and coffee table ( complete with porcelain china ) overturned, “ I ’ m god-damned Excelsia. You requested me, you wanted me to sidekick for you! ” I can ’ t keep my voice down. “ I ’ m a hero, not a baby-sitter. And look at you, why did they even give you a sidekick? You ’ re wearing adult diapers, you smell like baby powder and spoiled milk. Why the fuck am I even here? ” 
 
 He ’ s looking at me with big, scared eyes. He has a lap blanket pulled up to his chest. His feet poke out under it, wrinkled and one slipper fallen off. I ’ ve never seen a man shake so hard or so fast, and he whimpers: “ I ’ m sorry. I didn ’ t mean to. ” 
 
 I stomp over to the kitchen, another room, away from him. He keeps his cash there, on the countertop, a wad of ten dollar bills worth about five-hundred altogether. An envelope sits under the cash, with the hero association symbol on it. I pick it up. It ’ s from Captain Atom: 
 
 *Dear Andrew, * 
 
 *I received your personal request for a sidekick. Golly, I didn ’ t know what to think. I wish you still had it in you, old chum. But I know that you don ’ t, and I know that you ’ ll forget this letter almost as soon as you read it. And I know that you don ’ t have much longer, three months at the most. So I can ’ t send you a sidekick. * 
 
 *Instead, I ’ m sending a young woman named Jane. You might ’ ve seen her on TV, she ’ s called Excelsia. She ’ s young, only sixteen, but she ’ s the most promising young woman we ’ ve had in years. Originally Black Knight wanted her, but we ’ ve decided that she doesn ’ t need to go through the sidekick program. She ’ s ready now, and she ’ s the best we ’ ve got. In three months she ’ ll be inducted officially as a hero, and until then I want you to see what the best of tomorrow has to offer. * 
 
 *Your friend and colleague, * 
 
 *Captain Atom. * 
 
 In the other room I hear Super Duper call out, “ Is anyone there? I ’ ve knocked over my table. Please, help? ” 
 
 And I walk away.
