The Super Man’s Burden

Content Warning (click to expand) 

bigotry, racism

 

 

by Eric J. Juneau

Samantha stood on tiptoes to look over the crowd. All she could see was the giant banner reading “WELCOME BACK VICTORY MAN.” She adjusted the nametag over her breast pocket that read “PRESS — Eden City Beacon”, deathly afraid of it falling off.

“First time covering one of these?” Judson asked, leaning out from his camera.

Samantha nodded. Judson laughed. It was easy for him — a fifteen-year veteran with the Beacon. His hands were as steady as his paycheck. She was a fresh hire, part of the CEO’s initiative to shove the paper into the world of e-ink and upvotes.

The podium was surrounded by heads bobbing up and down. “Do villains ever attack these things? Since they know Victory Man will be here?”

“Not usually. Things get quiet after big events.”

Samantha had to remind herself this was a softball piece. It had big names, but didn’t need to be anything other than filler for ad space. Better bloggers had already covered the main story. Now she had the wrap-up.

Someone pointed to the sky. A green and silver blur zipped between towers. The crowd erupted in cheers. Samantha stayed next to Judson who, being both tall and experienced, could muscle through the crowd.

Victory Man plummeted like a falling meteorite — imperceptible at first, then alarmingly fast. Then he decelerated and hovered over the stage with arms spread next to the applauding mayor.

Radiating warmth with his humble smile, Victory Man made a “settle down” gesture.

Judson leaned out from his camera’s viewfinder. “You taking notes?”

“Oh!” Samantha fumbled her notepad.

“Thank you all so much,” Victory Man said into the microphone. “After this crisis, there has never been a better time to remind ourselves of the values of justice, honesty, and mercy. Someday everyone will embrace those values. But until that day comes, I will continue to be the ally humankind needs.”

The crowd cheered while Samantha scribbled notes.

“But the Earth still has a long way to go. There cannot be peace in our time until we resolve our differences.”

The crowd murmured and nodded their heads.

“There are problems we have to work together to solve. Problems that can be solved, we just need to make the effort. Like improving education, keeping the environment clean, ending political tyranny around the world, feeding the hungry, fixing the Black problem, ending climate change…”

Everyone froze. All the joy and good will in the atmosphere vaporized in an instant. Victory Man continued speaking as Samantha turned to Judson. “What did he say?”

Judson shifted one eye from his eyepiece, but said nothing.

“You don’t know how big the universe is until you’re up there.” Victory Man boomed. “The cosmic arena is waiting for us to join. Someday when we—”

Samantha’s mind disassociated as she was too busy figuring out what she just heard. Eyes in the crowd bulged as they asked themselves questions. “Did he say ‘fix the Black problem’?” “What did he mean by that?” “Is there a villain named Black Problem?” “Did he mean to say ‘race problems’?”

Samantha gathered her wits. Her job was to report the facts. Maybe Victory Man wasn’t as eloquent as he seemed. He was an alien after all.

The superhero continued his speech. He finished with “We can only look to ourselves. And when we do, we will find that all of us have become superheroes. Thank you.”

He stepped back and launched into the sky. Samantha followed the contrail up, grasping for words.

•   •   •

Back at the Beacon, Samantha weaved between desks piled with loose folders and coffee cups to get to the meeting room.

Hollis Hopkins, editor-in-chief, stood before a wall of televisions and monitors.

Judson, at the other end of the conference table, waved to Samantha. “How does it feel to have your byline on the most-viewed page in Beacon history?”

Samantha grinned. People had been praising her all morning, though her article was only a three-hundred-and-fifty-word summary.

“The IT guy said he hasn’t slept in forty-eight hours. The comment boards brought down the system twice last night.”

Dewey, another reporter, added, “Hopkins wanted to know the second Victory Man showed his face.”

“No one’s seen him still?” Samantha asked.

“No. No one has!” Hopkins bellowed. He turned and leaned over the table, facing his team. “No one’s talked to him at least. He’s still doing his thing, rescuing cats and stopping car crashes.”

“We can’t sit on this,” Dewey said. “This is our chance to scoop other blogs.”

“We’re not. We’re spewing copy,” Hopkins said. “But it’s all editorials and speculation. All we got is ‘what does it mean?’, ‘what does it mean?’. We’ve got to start producing answers.”

Dewey said, “What about the people he’s closest to? He’s got friends, right? Other heroes he’s worked with?”

“Superheroes are the hardest to get a hold of,” Judson said. “Hard to find, hard to pin down. And even if you do, how much are they going to want to talk about this?”

Hollis grumbled. “We need interviews. We need to inflame Victory Man to the point where he has to make a statement.” He pointed at Dewey. “Grab some travel vouchers and find the people closest to him. And be quick. Others’ll think of this—”

“Wait,” Samantha said. “This is my story. I was there when it broke.”

“But it was supposed to be a fluff piece. Now it’s grown bigger.”

“But it’s still my piece. It was assigned to me. I should be able to follow it up.”

Hollis said, “Kid, I need an aggressive interviewer like Dewey. Not a doe-eyed tenderfoot. This is going to involve hard questions. The kind that can get you punched in the face.”

“I can do it.” Samantha lowered her voice. “I can be aggressive.”

“Fine. Start with his cousin. What’s her name — Galaxya? Pulsar? Starnoid?” Hollis snapped his fingers.

“Archgirl?” Samantha asked.

“Yeah, I can’t keep them all straight. She’s in Thunder City. It’s a day’s drive, but she’s the most likely to talk.”

Dewey said “You’re not seriously going to—”

Hollis held up his hand. “I don’t want to hear it. She’s right, it’s her story.” He turned to Samantha. “But miss one deadline and you’re toast.”

•   •   •

To get to Thunder City, Samantha had to leave directly after the meeting. The quickest route was through the Redvale Mountain range. The colossal valley with its winding roads and hairpin turns on cliff faces made her reconsider becoming a field reporter.

At least her in-vehicle phone system got plenty of signal at this elevation.

“You are going to screw this up big time,” the voice in the speaker said.

“Come on, Ryon, be a little more supportive of your sister,” Samantha replied.

“You’ve only been there six months.”

“You know me. I always wanted to be that reporter who confronts the president with some devastating question.”

“Except this isn’t the president. This isn’t even the Secretary of Agriculture. When was the last time Archgirl faced anything threatening? Those fuzzy aliens that tried to poison the world’s milk?”

Between talking and driving, the last thing she needed was added anxiety about the article. In her rear view, a van tailgated her. How many more vehicles might be behind it?

“Has anyone figured out what he meant yet? Like, is he not going to save Black people anymore?” Ryon asked.

“Reports don’t say he is. He flew into an apartment building on fire in the projects. Got everyone out. But he didn’t stick around to answer questions.”

“He is a busy guy, after all.”

“I’m hoping it’s a misunderstanding, but we can’t get a hold of him to confirm. Everyone’s got a different theory.”

“I’ve got it,” Ryon said. “Some kind of brain parasite he picked up in space or… or mind control. Or it’s not the real Victory Man. He got replaced by a robot. A robot built by aliens. Didn’t that happen last year?”

Samantha rolled her eyes. “If the aliens had mind control, wouldn’t they have something better to destroy the world with than casual racism?”

The vehicle behind her — a camouflage conversion van with the bright yellow logo of Snapwire media on the hood — flashed its lights. She nudged her compact to the edge of the road and the vehicle zipped past her. “Yeah, screw you too,” she said.

“What?” Ryon asked.

“Nothing. I keep getting passed by all these guerilla news outlets.”

“Like bloggers and such?”

“Yeah. They’re driving crazy. Probably racing to Thunder City to do the same thing I am.”

“How did you get a hold of Archgirl? Do you have to make an appointment or something?” Ryon asked.

“I haven’t done anything.”

“So, you’re going to wait for her to appear somewhere, then go approach her?”

“I don’t know what else to do.” Her voice shook. “God, I am going to screw this up. Why did I think I could do this? And I begged for the job. I can’t write this story. It’s too big. I don’t know what I’m going to ask.”

“Sam, Sam,” Ryon said. “Calm down. Listen. This is me being supportive now. You’re good, okay? You always know how to put the right words on the page.”

“Thanks,” Samantha said.

“Just don’t make it like your internship.”

“Hey,” Samantha protested. “They should have known better than to assign a twenty-one-year-old to the nightlife beat.”

She rounded another curve. Two damaged cars were pulled over on the cliffside. Their drivers stood on scattered shards of plastic and glass.

“Hang on. Call you back. I’m driving through an accident.” She slowed to half her speed and straddled the middle yellow lines. The accident took up what little shoulder there was, forcing her to verge into the other lane for a moment. With one eye on the crumpled cars, she hoped there was no one coming-

A blue car zoomed around the corner from the opposite lane. Samantha swerved to the right.

The tires lost their grip. Inertia spun the back end towards the drop-off. She stomped the brakes. The car’s back corner collided with the guardrail and cleaved through. Samantha froze, hands clutched to the wheel as the rear of the car swung out over the edge.

The back half of the car hung unsupported, tilting. Gravity pressed on her like an astronaut in a space shuttle. Was this how she was going to die?

The car leaned back. She was about to flip end over end and be crushed. But no… she was floating.

The car righted itself and settled on pavement. Samantha became aware that she had forgotten to breathe and gasped.

Victory Man popped into the window. “Everything all right, ma’am?”

That grin. That peculiar spit curl. The shiny jet black hair. Samantha’s mouth opened and closed like a fish.

Victory Man nodded. “Take care of yourself, ma’am.”

By some miracle, she came to her senses. Her editor would never forgive her if she missed this opportunity.

She spilled out of the front door as Victory Man stepped back to take flight.

“Wait, wait! Victory Man!”

He lowered his arms. “What is it? I’m terribly busy.”

“Just one question. When you said before about… about the ‘Black problem’. You meant… what?”

Victory Man ground his jaw. “That their behavior is dragging this country down. And something needs to be done about it.”

Victory Man raised his hands and took off. Samantha shaded her eyes as he flew up into the sky.

“Well… No ambiguity in that.”

•   •   •

Samantha drove down every street in downtown Thunder City searching for Archgirl, waiting for her to appear, for some disaster to take place. A falling crane, a building on fire, anything. She took a left turn on Grand Avenue for the third time.

“How hard does this have to be?” Archgirl did ridiculous public events all the time — park openings and cooking shows and zoo clean-up. Super speed meant she could set a super schedule.

Down the street, she spotted yellow tape and flashing sirens. Cops were cordoning off the Parham Tower skyscraper. Samantha pulled over and joined the mob at the crowd-control sawhorses.

“Is that two people up there?” someone asked.

“He’s holding a gun.”

“Said they won’t talk to anyone but Archgirl.”

Samantha pulled out her camera phone and used it to zoom in. She couldn’t make out their faces, but their clothes were familiar.

Sure enough, in the parking lot was the same van that had passed her on the highway.

A woman in blue and violet jumped down from the sky. The crowd cheered.

“What’s the situation?” Archgirl asked the cops.

“Hostage situation. Developed a few minutes ago. Says they won’t talk to anyone but you.”

Archgirl nodded. “No demands? No money or—”

Samantha shoved her way up to the front. “It’s not a hostage situation. They’re faking,” she shouted. “Archgirl, it’s a fake.”

The police chief pointed to her and barked at an officer to get her out of there. Archgirl held up her hand, while gazing at the roof.

“No, wait. She’s right. There are no bullets in that gun. And the hostage’s heart rate is much lower than it should be. She knows she’s not really in danger.”

Samantha pointed to the van. “That’s their vehicle. I’ll bet you’ll find equipment in their van.”

Archgirl nodded. “Snapwire. Social news and media. Trying to goad me into an interview, I bet. Hang on.”

A trail of lavender followed as she soared up the building’s face, spiraling to the rear. In a few seconds, she reappeared over the edge with a human in each arm and floated to the street.

Archgirl yanked the gun out of the man’s hand as if taking a toy from a naughty toddler. “Faking a hostage situation is still a crime.” While the cops converged to arrest them, Archgirl said to Samantha. “Nice job. Keen eyes. How did you know?”

“They passed me on the way here.”

This was the time. If she didn’t ask now, she would always regret it. Being a good reporter meant stealing opportunities, no matter how awkward or humbling.

“Listen, this is going to sound like a dick move, but I’m a reporter too. Do you think you could answer some of my questions?” Samantha asked.

Archgirl pursed her lips. “Is it about Victory Man?”

“Possibly.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. But only because you saved me a few hours. The Davidson Dam needs repairs, and the sooner the better. If you can tag along, you can ask away.”

“Sure. But my car isn’t as fast —  whoa!”

Archgirl hoisted Samantha onto her shoulders and shot off. Thunder City’s land scrolled by as if on a film roll.

Over the wind, Archgirl said “And I can guess your first question. No, I don’t know why he said the things he did.”

Samantha recovered her reporter identity. “You’ve got to be the closest person to him though. Has he ever told you he felt this way?”

“No. Being an outsider like me, he’s always treated the people of Earth as one group.”

“Do you think he considers himself some kind of lord protector? Is that where this attitude comes from?”

Archgirl huffed. “Like I said, I don’t know. But Victory Man doesn’t lie.”

“Do you think he’s going to act on his beliefs?”

“I couldn’t say. I know if he ever tried doing something to hurt humanity, we’d all try to convince him otherwise.”

“Does that mean you’re going to talk to him about it?”

“I don’t know.”

“You said ‘convince him’. Does that mean you don’t think you could stop Victory Man if he tried?”

Archgirl veered to the side and descended into a grove. She swooped low, then set Samantha down.

“Look. Victory Man is his own person. He’s been on Earth longer than me. But I can’t control his opinions. If all you’re going to do is ask about Victory Man, this interview is done.”

Archgirl rocketed into the sky before Samantha could protest. Nearby cars sped on a highway a few hundred yards away.

She pulled out her cell phone. “Judson? I got a few words from Archgirl. I’m afraid this story is going the way we think… wait, what? … how’d he manage that? Bribes? … Okay, I’ll get there as soon as I can. But, um, can you send a car?”

•   •   •

Rafe Rollins’s cell looked like a design display in a department store window. He sat on a plush chair, smoking a cigar.

The guard led Samantha to a metal folding chair in front of the glass panel, then walked away.

“Is this supposed to be a prison cell?” Samantha asked. “Do all the inmates get this treatment?”

“Just me,” Rollins said.

“How did you swing this?”

Rollins smiled. “Simple, I own the prison.”

“What?”

“A large part of it, at least. You’ll find records if you dig through the estate documents. I figured Victory Man’s put me behind bars so often I may as well make myself comfortable. Don’t worry. I intend to serve my time.”

“Until you get bored or think of another scheme.”

Rafe Rollins smirked. “I assume you’ve come to ask me about Victory Man’s recent statements?” He snubbed out his cigar.

“How do you—” Samantha cut herself off before she asked a stupid question. “What do you know about it?”

“I can tell you why he’s reached those conclusions.”

“You can,” Samantha said sardonically.

“Who else knows him better than his greatest enemy?” Rollins took a deep breath. “Imagine you are an alien. From a planet with no pigmentation differences. Everyone has the same buttery tint. Then you come to Earth with its centuries of war and violence based on culture clash. What would an isolated man think?”

“What do you mean ‘isolated’?”

Rollins paced his cell like a lecturing professor. “Victory Man has no strong allies, no partners, no apprentices, little family, no sidekicks. No ever-rotating gallery of minions.”

“He founded the Max League,” Samantha said.

“True. But then he withdrew. Now he’s only an honorary member. My point is, there is no one to correct him when he crosses a line. No one is at his level.”

“He’s still a role model for millions.”

“Let me put it like this. If he were a politician, would you be so surprised? How about a CEO?”

Samantha cocked her head. “So no one can hold Victory Man accountable for what he says or does?”

Rollins shook his head like he was admonishing a five-year-old. “Victory Man has front-row tickets to the worst of mankind. The reason you’re devoting so much print to this matter is because you’re scared. Not because he’s an all-powerful hero. But because you’re afraid he’s right. It’s been in the back of your mind all along. You’ve just no courage to say it.”

“That’s not true.”

“All Victory Man has to do is turn on the news every night. What does he see? Mugshots of African Americans. Listen to any Black music and what do you hear? Glorifications of sexism, criminal behavior, and ignorance. Stereotypes don’t come from thin air.”

“Did you do something to him?” Samantha pointed her pen. “To make him this way?”

Rollins laughed. “My ambitions reach beyond petty matters like this. No, Wonderboy put the pieces together himself.”

Samantha stood. “I’m sorry. Seems like talking to you isn’t going to do any good.”

“You’ll see,” Rollins called out. “The world will divide. Just wait. And if I were you, I’d side with the demigod.”

•   •   •

Producing copy usually came easy for Samantha. Now she wanted to slam her head into the keyboard. It was three in the morning and all she had was half a page of blabber.

Reiterating the words of Archgirl or Rafe Rollins was easy. But she didn’t have enough material for a TV program blurb, let alone a genuine article. Her editor said it didn’t matter. It just needed to provoke.

A chill from the open window prompted her to get up and shut it. She turned away to make another cup of tea.

“You shouldn’t leave your window open,” said a gravelly voice.

Samantha squeaked. A silhouette perched on her bed frame. Panthra.

She held her chest to stop her jackhammering heart. “What are you—? Are you… do you want to be interviewed?”

“No. I want you to drop the issue.”

Next to Victory Man, Panthra was the most prominent hero. He built his image to strike fear into Ironport, a city that flourished with corruption and insanity.

“What do you know anything about this?” Samantha asked. “There’s someone controlling him, isn’t there?”

“What makes you think someone’s controlling him?”

“No one like Victory Man could say those things.”

“Then you don’t know Victory Man.”

Samantha swallowed. “He really believes Black people are the problem in this country?”

Panthra stood, his Kevlar body armor squeaking. “Victory Man isn’t like the rest of us. He personifies hope. An idol to emulate. This time, he made a mistake. Victory Man’s spent enough time here that he’s become, as they say, only human.”

“But does he mean it?” Samantha asked.

“It doesn’t matter. This is a scab. Keep picking at it and it’ll become an infected wound.”

“It does matter. If Victory Man’s racist, that could mean trouble for all of us. Other people are asking these same questions. Someone’s got to get him to come out and answer for himself.”

Panthra stepped forward. The tips of his razor gauntlets gleamed. “What’s going to happen when you confront him? Do you think he’s going to change his mind? Or act defensively? The resentment will build until he starts seeing the little people as ungrateful peons. Then he’ll change from Earth’s hero to its destructor.”

“That’s… you’re exaggerating.”

“What would you do?”

“You could stop him, right?” Samantha asked. “You’ve taken him on before. The whole League against him can’t…”

“We’ve taken precautions,” Panthra said. “But that’s no guarantee. We are all one wrong move from the wrath of a god.”

Samantha swallowed. Victory Man could take the Earth apart piece by piece and nothing would stop him. Not bullets, not bombs, not chemicals, not even a lack of atmosphere.

“But what am I supposed—”

He had vanished, the window shut tight.

No wonder some people weren’t convinced Panthra existed. A good ten minutes passed while she stood pondering, until her cell phone rang.

“It’s me,” Hollis said. “I knew you’d be up. Finished that feature yet?”

“Uh… almost,” Samantha said.

“Well, don’t. Victory Man’s agreed to an interview. By you, specifically. He said anyone who could talk to both Archgirl and Rollins was someone he wanted to meet. I knew you could do it.”

•   •   •

On the rooftop of Novak tower, Samantha hugged her chest for warmth.

“Victory Man probably doesn’t realize how windy it gets up here,” Judson said. “Being invulnerable and all.”

“Yeah. I’m sure he just wanted somewhere isolated.” She shivered and rubbed her shoulders. “Do you think there’s still a story here?”

“C’mon, girl, don’t doubt yourself. Victory Man said he blocked a big chunk of time for you.”

“I don’t know if there’s any point anymore. Everyone has opinions. Maybe… Is it possible he’s a good hero but a bad person?”

Judson shrugged. “If you’re in a burning building and he flies by, you’re not going to refuse his help. Is this really bothering you that much?”

“Yes, because I can’t feel inspired by him anymore. I can’t enjoy watching him fly around because I know what’s on his mind.”

Judson nodded. “I guess you don’t have to like him. It’s not your fault if the guy saving you is an asshole.” He pointed up. “Speaking of flying around.”

The green and silver blur flew toward them. Victory Man touched down in front of Samantha. “Good evening, Miss.” They shook hands. “Nice to meet you. Oh, we’ve met before though. Recently.”

“Yes,” she coughed. “Thank you for saving me that time.”

“All in a day’s work.”

Samantha sat in one of the two chairs. He took his seat opposite.

“Lots of journalists have been asking for interviews. I figured I should speak to one of them. Find out what’s on everyone’s mind.”

Samantha looked into his blank face. “Then… you really don’t know what this is about?”

“No. Should I?”

Samantha brushed herself off and stood. “Thank you for your time. But I’ve decided not to do the interview.”

Victory Man’s eyes bulged.

Judson watched her walk by, equally stunned. He snapped a photo of the open-mouthed Victory Man before following her down the stairs.

“Uh, mind telling me why we did that? Hollis is still expecting an article,” Judson said.

“He’ll get it,” Samantha said. “It just won’t be about the interview.”

•   •   •

First thing in the morning, Samantha texted Judson: “What’s the verdict?”

Judson texted back: “Good. You gotta come in.”

Cheers erupted as Samantha entered the newsroom. Hollis held her arm like she’d won a boxing match.

“It’s gone viral. View count is through the roof.” He laughed. “I was ready to skin you alive when I opened my inbox. Everyone was expecting an exposé, not an editorial. You better get to your desk and start answering emails.”

Samantha found an empty workstation and plugged in her laptop. Judson stopped by.

“Good work,” he said. “I noticed you used my burning building metaphor. S’okay. That’s a free one.”

Samantha laughed.

“This is my favorite part.” Judson read from his cell phone. “‘No person is always unselfish or noble. Not even superheroes. Our beloved icons of history stole and had affairs and screwed people over. Athletes, civil rights leaders, presidents. Each of us has to reconcile if the good deeds outweigh the bad. If actions are what define who we are, Victory Man will be fine. But thanks to his comments, now everything he does is under constant scrutiny.'”

“Some kids are still going to be boxing up their Victory Man jammies,” Samantha said.

“But I still don’t understand why you stopped the interview. You had a chance to get some choice quotes,” Judson said.

“That’s exactly why,” Samantha said. “If he’s not racist, then it’s just a mistake. But if he is, then I’m giving him a platform for those opinions. And I don’t want to do that. He can say what he wants, but it’s my choice whether to print it or not.”

Judson nodded. “But people are still wondering.”

“They can wonder. He’s living the life he thinks he has to. So do we.”

Samantha hunkered down and started answering e-mails.

About the author and the piece (click to expand) 

Eric Juneau is a software engineer and novelist on his lunch breaks. He lives in, was born in, and refuses to leave, Minnesota. You can find him talkig about movies, video games, and MCU villains at http://ericjuneaubooks.com where he details his journey to become a capital A Author.

One of the powers of the short story is it lets us explore characters we don’t necessarily agree with, or even like. They let us discuss problematic behavior in a small bite that moves the conversation. One of the downsides of writing a story that does that, though, is that it can be tough to sell.  This one was rejected by 10 of the best markets out there.

 

©2026 by Eric J. Juneau. All rights reserved. May not be used for A.I. training.