As I went ’round and ’round the merry-go-round, I was barely able to muster a facade of unenthusiastic happiness. All joy had been sucked out of my life as the reporters descended onto this dirty carnival.
There was a time not too long ago when my greatest desire was to protect my family, specifically Claire Bear. However, ever since that bear went native, I’ve had to reevaluate my life. There’s no more family to protect.
Sandra left me.
I don’t really like my son.
And Claire went and ruined the one thing I was good at: secretly hunting down mutants.
“You broke my heart, Claire,” I told her.
“Um, like, Dad….I’m so totally famous now! I have, like, seventy bajillion Facebook friends now.”
I didn’t want to hear any of it. My life has always been about secrets. Secret jobs, secret marriages, secret Haitians…but now, there are no more secrets.
It’s over.
Back at my lonely apartment, I poured myself some cognac. “To the last of a dying breed,” I raised my glass before downing the entire drink.
“Some west African frogs have been known to spontaneously change sex from male to female in a single-sex environment,” a peculiar voice interrupted my intoxication.
Bang! I fired at the non-Zim invader.
“B-b…but we…were supposed to be…..colleagues!” the robotic clown said with its last breath.
“Robots don’t have last breaths,” I said aloud correcting my above exposition and the poor acting being performed in front of me.
“True that,” the thing said getting back up on its propeller feet, “and donuts don’t have fast breasts.”
“What are you doing here, Gyrobo?” I asked.
“Reporting for duty, sir!” he responded with a salute.
He was no doubt referring to The Company Apprentice, a competition I held to find someone to help me restart The Company. We had a sad lot of applicants, needless to say, as this was the winner hovering before me.
“Look, there’s not going to be any company. Not any more. My daughter went public. Blew everything.”
He snickered.
I continued, “There’s just no way to have a clandestine company hunting special humans when everyone knows about their existence. It can’t be done.”
“But my pension plan!” he cried.
“You’re not the only one that’s lost something,” I said. “Trust me.” I refilled my glass and poured another for Gyrobo.
“So, what do we do now?” Gyrobo asked, looking for some kind of solace in the wise plans of his elder.
“We live,” I answered. “We live, and we watch Memphis Beat.”