The Super League of Useless Super Heroes

“My hero name is The Zapper,” the portly middle-aged man began, his nervous fingers drumming on plump legs. “And I generate slightly more electricity than the average person. Most people generate about six hundred millivolts in a day; I can put out almost a whole volt in a day,” he said, a smug grin appearing on his face if only for a moment before he added, “admittedly, it’s not enough to do real damage. But any villain I shake hands with is in for a mildly unpleasant surprise!”



“Well, The Zapper, welcome to the Super League of Unappreciated Super Heroes, or S.L.U.S.H.; the best support group for heroes of your… standing. To the rest of you, welcome as well, seeing as most here are new members. We’ve been out of commission for a while after the last… Incident…” The speaker’s eyes drifted towards the wiry frame of his glasses, dwelling on a flashback only visible to him for a moment as he fell quiet. He shook his head, returning to the present and smiling at the group around him. He was slightly balding, and resembled his glasses in that his thin, wiry frame was topped with a perfectly circular dome; just as his thin, wiry glasses had perfectly circular lenses. “We’ll all introduce ourselves now; say your alias, and any powers you have.”



“I- uh… I never really thought of an alias,” the small boy who spoke up confessed, his wild auburn hair flailing about as his head twitched about rapidly. His eyes, wide as they were, stayed remarkably still compared to the rest of the seizing youth. “But, uh, I can… I- I can te-teleport!” As the excited words left the excited child’s mouth, he suddenly blinked out of existence… Only to reappear, an inexplicable popping sound announcing his arrival, still in a sitting position, almost a foot behind his chair. “Up to eight inches in any direction,” he explained via mutter as he collected himself from the floor.



The bespectacled leader of the session nodded serenely, clapping for the demonstration. As the boy took his seat, the glasses peered around the rest of the room. “Do we have any suggestion for our friend’s missing alias? It would hardly do to leave him nameless.”



“How about Pops?” A young Irishman suggested, nodding at the kid. “You know, because of that noise he made when he reappeared?”



“I like it!” Pops said, eyes brightening as he grinned wide at the therapist.



“Very good,” the man said, nodding at the young man who spoke up. “How about you? Would you like to go?”



“Sure,” he said, nodding, “but I can’t demonstrate.”



“That’s okay,” the therapist assured, nodding stoically. “Whatever you’re comfortable with.”



“Well… Alright,” the redheaded young man said; freckles were splashed across his face wildly, and he stood to face the group. “I’m called The Flamer. Not like, you know… Oh, jeez. You know what I mean!” He said, cheeks growing bright red.



“Well, what can you do?” Asked a man across the circle, raising an eyebrow. “I’m guessing it’s somehow fire-related?”



“Yeah,” The Flamer said, shrugging. “I can… Start fires. But only on my own body… And I’m… Oh, jeez. I’m not fireproof, alright?!” He said, exasperated. He tossed himself into his seat dejectedly, obviously upset at his own shortcoming.



“A guy who starts fires… who isn’t fireproof,” the same man who spoke before muttered in disbelief, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”



“Hey, man!” The Flamer said, frowning sharply at the guy. “Watch it!” As he pointed threateningly, his fingertip suddenly ignited; he yelped like a small dog, jumping out of his chair and shaking his finger. “Ow! Crap!” He hissed, extinguishing the flame and sticking an already-blistering finger in his mouth.



“Let’s try to keep these meetings as calm as possible, please,” the therapist said, frowning at the instigator. “How about you? Would you like to go?”



“Yeah, sure. They call me Mucus Man,” he muttered, smirking. “I can do all sorts of cool stuff with boogers. Shoot ‘em like bullets. String snot around that’s as strong as industrial steel. Make nets, get me around faster.” He stuck a finger up his nose, and exhaled sharply; a thin green translucent stream erupted from his nostril, sticking to the wall opposite him. He snorted, launching him across the room; on the way, however, he managed to tangle himself in his own snot. So when he reached the wall, he was totally immobilized; hanging above the door frame, he glanced around and frowned. “Help?”



“Moving on,” the therapist said, casually ignoring the strung-up Mucus Man. “How about you?” He asked a young woman, probably about nineteen, with bright blonde hair and pink highlights. “Would you like to go?”



“Like, sure thing!” She said, valley-girl style. “I’m, like, totally called Heartthrob. I can like, fall in love on command and stuff.” She informed them very matter-of-factly, looking right to The Flamer and grinning. “I like, totally love you with all my heart, and stuff. I really think you’re like, totally my soul mate.”



The Flamer blushed uncomfortably, adjusting himself in the seat.



“In fact, I like, totally think we should meet up after this,” She said, leaning over and whispering something unintelligible into his ears. Whatever it was, it made the guy’s eyes widen. Unfortunately, before he had a chance to react further, he suddenly exploded violently into flames and collapsed on the floor, a smoldering pile of charcoal.



Without even flinching, the therapist sighed and, absurdly nonchalant, walked over to the fire-extinguisher on the wall, returning only to spraying the remains of the young man with the fluffy white stuff. “Alright then, who’s next?”



“I’m like, totally breaking up with you,” Heartthrob said directly to the pile of ashes, smirking over at Pops. “For him.” The boy raised an eyebrow at the girl, growing discomfort evident as he scooted his chair away. When the chair refused to yield, he teleported; only to fall onto the floor again.



“I’ll go!”



“I’ll go!” The twins shouted at the same time, standing up and raising their hands.



“No, I’ll go!”



“No, I’ll go!”



“Alright, alright. You can share a turn,” the therapist calmly told them, shaking his head slightly.



“I’m Paradox,” the one on the left said,



“And I’m Fallacy.” The right one nodded, his pitch-black hair dangling in front of his yellow-ish pale face. The two of them were identical down to the clothing, both being average in weight but slightly shorter than most, pinched faces atop skinny shoulders, black hair coming down to their black eyes.



“And we can make each other believe anything!” This was said at the same time, much to the horror of everyone in the room. Then, the madness began.



“I came to the meeting on a two-headed elephant wearing bright orange tennis shoes,” said Fallacy, grinning as he put his hands on his hips. Paradox matched the expression in time to say,



“And I gave him the tennis shoes for his birthday!”



They both immediately burst into laughter, then suddenly stopped.



“You’re serious?” They said at the same time, gasping.



“I want to see the elephant!”



“When was his birthday?!” Paradox and Fallacy, respectively, shouted simultaneously.



“Don’t forget about me up here,” Mucus Man called to them all, frowning down at them from his snot-cocoon over the doorway.



“Call… Ambulance…” The torched body of The Flamer pleaded, coughing a cloud of soot.



“Like, ohmygosh! I’m like, totally late for this like, super-important audition! I’ll never make it in time, and then I’ll never get to fall in love with that super-cute actor guy who’s name I like, totally can’t remember!” Heartthrob complained, standing and heading for the door.

Pops suddenly began a sneezing fit and started vanishing and reappearing all over the room, the popping only adding to the cacophonic ruckus.



“Alright, everyone, same time next week!” The therapist announced, clapping once and standing. “It was nice seeing you all, hope to see you next time too. Remember, next week is Step Two; we’ll be hosting all sorts of team-building activities.”



“Count me in,” The Zapper said, grinning as he extended a hand to the therapist. Taking it and grimacing, he tore his hand away and shook it. The zap was actually covered up by the sound of Pops’ popping and the groaning Flamer, as well as Mucus Man’s now more evident pleas.

“Seriously guys,” Mucus Man called loudly, “Don’t forget about me!”          



“Oh-ho, you!” The therapist shook a finger at The Zapper, smiling as he shook his head. “Almost forgot about the zap, huh? Well, good luck getting me again! See you next time!” Suddenly Pops was right between him and The Zapper, then suddenly he wasn't again.



The Zapper nodded, and exited the room behind Heartthrob, who glanced over her shoulder lustfully at the man as they  parted Mucus Man’s dangling legs to get through. The Flamer had regained enough use of his right hand to be dragging himself across the floor, leaving a trail of ashes behind him; he made it three feet before collapsing dead.



Pops popped into a wall, hitting it and falling to the floor; he muttered a muffled “Ow,” and suddenly disappeared again. One more time he reappeared, this time just outside of the window, and then the plummeting began.



Mucus Man was about to make one final plea for help, before sneezing. He coated himself so completely, he couldn't move or even make a sound.



The therapist sighed as he sat back behind his desk. “I have GOT to get a new job…”