And The Silver Spoon

You got the call at a party a little over ten years into your career as The Bolt.

It was one of your crazier ones, the ones you threw to distract yourself from your thoughts.

Maybe over ten years of killing super villains/sending them away to maximum security was taking more of a toll on your head than you thought.

You almost didnt take the call, but something had you stumbling onto the fire escape of your dingy Manhattan apartment, sliding the window shut behind you and drowning out the noise of the party inside.

A nurse from New York Presbyterian Hospital calls. You have no idea what business she has with you at this hour. You use all your strength to hone in on her words.

"Mary Hardin was among the victims of the 707 crash in Pennsylvania. She didn't survive. She listed you as the next of kin for her son, Theodore Hardin. Were you aware of this, Mister Simmons?"

"What?" you blurt out, vision foggy and brain suddenly grinded to a halt.

Her voice suddenly sounds like it's underwater as she elaborates on the other line. You hear the word "father". You stumble.

You've always expected to get this call someday. It doesn't make the gravity of it any less real.

"We need you to come pick him up from New York-Presbyterian as soon as possible. Otherwise, we need the name of any other immediate family that can take him, or we have a foster family on call that would be happy to take him in."

Your heart thunders in your ears and chest. You feel it in your ears, your teeth.

You look out toward the city in inebriated contemplation.

• Hang up the call. He's someone else's problem now.
• Ask how old he is. Make your decision from there.