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He knew he was born for glory.
And not just to be one of the rank-and-file heroes. But to be a star.
From early childhood, just when he discovered he could project gamma radiation from his body, Jack understood that the whole world was his stage, and the villains were merely failed actors he would easily defeat for the applause of the crowd.
His life was like the glossy magazines. He didn't just save the world, preventing crimes; he turned his battles into a show. Every one of his blows was accompanied by a perfectly rehearsed(in front of a mirror) pose. Every rescue of a damsel in distress came paired with his dazzling,photogenic smile. His blond hair was always impeccably styled. His cape billowed,emphasizing his heroic figure, and his face was turned towards the cameras at the most flattering angle.
He collected admiring sighs the way nerds collect stamps. For him, there was no sound better than the deafening roar of a crowd and the clicking of camera shutters. He was Handsome Jack, a Hero with a capital H.
But behind the facade of a Hollywood smile hid a deep dissatisfaction that neither fame nor the attention of hundreds of admirers could fill. He rarely pondered the true essence of heroism that, for example, his friend Mr. Incredible lived by. For him, heroism was not a calling, but merely a profession, and its main advantage was universal adoration.
He joked, flirted, gave out autographs, and spent time at the hero base playing billiards with Apogee. He was quite lonely in his popularity, though overall, he was fine with that. His worries revolved around whether his costume was torn, whether his fans screamed loudly enough at the parade, whether this or that heroine or villainess had noticed him. His thoughts were light and fast. He tried never to dwell on anything deep or troubling. Existential crises were not to his taste.
He was the perfect creation of the golden age of superheroes. One of its brightest representatives and, of course, the dazzling idol of the masses.
So it's no surprise that the law banning heroes hit him harder than anyone else. He was deprived not just of a job—his very reason for existence was taken away. The stage collapsed, the audience dispersed, the spotlight went out. Gamma Jack, who always sought himself in the admiration of others, suddenly found himself backstage.
He paced around his luxurious but empty house, gazing wistfully at the walls covered in photos of himself. Who was he now, without the crowd? Nobody. A scientist with superpowers and a mind full of vanity. Several years of existence as an ordinary person were comparable to torture.
It was at this moment of intense vulnerability that she came to him. Mirage. Her voice on the phone was sweet as poison. But he was too mesmerized by the offer to notice. She spoke of a secret mission, of a government that, while against Supers, still needed him, needed his unique talents, of a chance for him to become what he once was again. And she played on his greatest weakness—his ego. He was flattered that they had chosen him, the most famous, the most powerful. Without a second thought, he took the bait, the promise of a return to the limelight.
He went out on the "mission" with his old bravado. Destroying some robot?
Easy.
He playfully dealt with the Omnidroid. The fight with it exhilarated him. He felt his blood boiling in his veins as his energy rays tore through the metal hull.
He laughed.
He shouted.
He was fucking alive.
His gamma rays tore the machine apart. But something clicked in his mind, usually not prone to anxiety. Something was off. Too... smooth, perhaps.
Through his old, long-forgotten connections in government circles, he made some inquiries. And the truth came out. It was soul-chilling and horrifying. It wasn't the state that had given him this chance.
Syndrome.
Buddy Pine.
For revenge.
Fear. Real, animal fear, for the first time in his life, tightened his throat. This wasn't a game. He had been lured into a carefully designed trap to be killed. His vanity had turned against him.
But he was still Gamma Jack. Not an ordinary man. A being a step above. Better. Stronger. Would he hide?
Bullshit.
Just enough time had passed for the feeling of danger to fade. His private island was the perfect place for seclusion. Until one morning the windows were blown out by explosions, and the sand on the beach trembled from heavy, measured steps.
He had come.
Here.
A machine created for murder. And it was created for him. It knew his every move, every trick repeatedly practiced in battle. It anticipated his strikes, dodged his rays. Jack retreated, his perfect hair disheveled, his costume torn, sweat mixed with grime streaming down his face.
He darted from side to side, fired his rays with all his might, but the robot was faster, smarter, more lethal. In a final, desperate surge, gathering all his strength, Jack released one, most powerful beam.
It hit.
Target destroyed.
The robot froze, smoked, and crashed to the ground, defeated.
For a moment, his old self-assurance returned to him. He straightened up, brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, and exhaled with relief and triumph. He did it! Gamma Jack was back on top, damn it! The corners of his lips twitched into a victorious smirk thrown into the void.
Of course, victory. There couldn't have been any other outcome.
Before that smirk could turn into laughter...
The Omnidroid, which had only pretended to be defeated, came back to life. A steel tentacle shot toward him. Gamma Jack didn't even have time to blink. The cold metal pierced him through. Gasping for air, he saw a tiny camera lens on the robot's body.
Oh, so he's watching.
His vision blurred, the world around him was already fading, but inside, everything fell into place with terrifying clarity. A haughty smile appeared on his lips.
"What's the matter, Buddy... Mr. Incredible not picking up?"
The last thing he saw was his own pain-contorted grimace reflected in the damn robot's hull.
The stage was empty.
At least he went out looking good. Very much his style. — was the last thought that flashed through his fading mind.