"What if he doesn’t have a secret identity?
"I mean, I’m familiar with the patterns. These holes in his schedule, of fifteen minutes or two hours or seemingly random nights when he doesn’t stop crimes. His activity is localized on this city, and radiates outward from there. There’s video of him seeming distracted. I get where the double-life theory comes from.
"But as best as I understand it, he’s a fucking invincible alien. He owns a private ice palace full of extinct monsters and can pop into space on a whim. What if he has priorities other than saving people?
"Maybe we’re his hobby. We’re the X-Box. We’re the toy chest. When he’s not making dinner or doing homework, he puts out our forest fires and punts missiles out of the sky. And because a boy likes his videogames, he does it a lot. But he doesn’t do it all the time.
"How do you know he doesn’t vibrate out of this reality during those time-holes? Maybe he’s on another plane of existence. Maybe he goes to Heaven. Maybe he wages secret wars grander than anything we’ve seen. I’m saying: there’s an infinity of things he could do with his time rather than pretend he’s a hotdog vendor.
"I don’t see why he’d want a double-life. That’s been problem from the start. Our lives are miniscule to him. We’re so much smaller that we’ve spent billions of dollars and countless tech-hours trying to track a second life of his that may not even exist. He is the important thing. Why masquerade as unimportant? What does he get out of that?
"And even if he does go to an apartment today and dress up as, I don’t know, a goofy reporter, what prevents him from being a mechanic tomorrow? Or a janitor? Or a mercenary in Afghanistan? Because if being us is his hobby, then he can just go around assuming new roles all the time. You don’t fantasize about the same stuff all the time. You imagine different girls, different destinations. So why wouldn’t he?