Bathroom Monologue: Peer Advice

He didn't look like a mugger. The guy wore a bland suit and tie, a hint of paunch poking out through his jacket and thick glasses that obscured his expression. Jack slapped at his arms, breaking out of his grip.

"Back off, gramps!" he said, even as he backed into the bathroom where the man had dragged him. The middle-aged mugger stood in front of the door.

"Good work against Polaris this morning. His fields are useless if he keeps casting them where you just were. You use your speed smartly. But you can't dress like this at your day job."

Jack put up a fist, threatening to punch the guy if he came forward again.

"You need even thicker glasses. You've got the wrong guy."

"Son, I don't need x-ray vision to see through your disguise."

"Disguise?"

Rather than come closer, the man pointed at Jack’s suit jacket.

"I like the coat. It's baggy and hides how big you are. But tuck your shirt in a little looser so it bunches up. Bigger pants help, too. Always at least a size too large and even if they look baggy, you come off fat. If the public's idea of you is a fat reporter, they will be much less likely to connect you with a hero."

Jack glanced into the bathroom mirror for a split second, faster than this guy could possibly realize. But no, he didn’t look anything like his alter ego. Between the hairstyle and designer suit, how could anyone recognize him?

He glared into the assailant’s glasses.

"Now listen, I don't know who you think you--"

"Don't look people in the eyes like that.” The mugger-come-fashionista adjusted his glasses. “You need to look people in the eyes as a hero so they'll respect you. As a reporter, look down more. Maybe at your shoes or a notepad. Then you don't seem so assertive. Again, it helps throw people off.”

"Mister, you're making a fool of yourself. I'm walking through that door and if you follow me, I'll--"

Before he could stop him, the guy yanked Jack's collar down, revealing the yellow spandex shirt beneath. And before Jack could slap his hand, the guy was out of reach and in front of the door again.

Jack gawked. How could the guy be so fast?

"You're a speedster. Use it. Never wear your costume under your clothes. You can change in a closet, a restroom, a phone booth if you can find it, and no one will see anything but a blur. Don't be lazy."

Jack studied this guy’s face, but every inch was generic beyond the glasses. He had a big chin. Who had a big chin? Even blocking the door and scrutinizing Jack, this guy seemed as intimidating as a bowl of Jell-O.

"And don't just muss up your hair when you go out. You're good looking and people will notice. If you're not going drastic, get a mask, a cowl, or at least a costume that attracts the eyes more than solid yellow with no logo. Trust me: you do not want a guy with so much free time he bends the laws of gravity to rob banks figuring out your civilian identity."

“Okay. Okay.” Jack put up his palms as though to ward off anymore haymakers on his appearance. “Thanks, I guess. But who are you?”

The guy pulled press credentials from inside his jacket and pinned them on his breast pocket. They hung crooked. The name was “C. KENT.”

"A colleague.” For a moment, C. Kent’s voice was much deeper. “We’ve got to look out for the new guys. You’ll do the same some day."

The next thing Jack knew, the bathroom door closed. He didn’t even see the guy leave.

“Fast for a fat ass,” Jack remarked to himself and turned to the mirror. He buttoned his collar back up and tried to envision himself fighting crime in a cowl. Could that look cool?