Scenario:a reporter sets out to interview people, with strange and unbelievable stories, that aren't real pretty, as he believes that the world, they live in was meant, to be filled with colorful costumed heroes and villains, a age of marvels if you will, however something went wrong and prevented that all from happening, now the world is bleak and depressing, he's gonna find the point where that happened.
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a reporter sets out to interview people, with strange and unbelievable stories, that aren't real pretty, as he believes that the world, they live in was meant, to be filled with colorful costumed heroes and villains, a age of marvels if you will, however something went wrong and prevented that all from happening, now the world is bleak and depressing, he's gonna find the point where that happened.
I finally found her.
The woman with the strange tattoo on her wrist and a story to match.
It took weeks of searching, doing interviews and writing human interest pieces for the newspaper, but it was all worth it.
Because I finally found what I was looking for.
A lead.
See, I don’t believe that people like Superman or Batman or Spider-Man are just fictional characters.
I truly believe that in some other world or reality, they were real.
Colorful costumed heroes and villains, saving and wreaking havoc on their respective cities.
An age of marvels if you will.
But something went wrong with our timeline or world or whatever you want to call it or however you want to describe it or whatever you want to call it.
Because instead of being a reporter for the Daily Planet, I’m a reporter for a small local newspaper, writing fluff pieces about the local pet fair or whatever human interest topic I can come up with and get approved by my editor.
I always imagined that my life would be more than this.
That I would be doing something important and meaningful, not just wasting space and taking up air.
And so I set out on a mission to find the point in time where things went wrong.
I sat across from the woman, her tattoo barely visible in the dim light of the café.
"Tell me your story," I urged, leaning forward.
She looked around the café, her eyes darting to the door as if she expected someone to burst through it at any moment.
"It started with a project," she said, her voice low and cautious.
"We were trying to enhance human abilities."
Each word was chosen carefully, as if each one held a secret that could be given away with one wrong syllable.
"But something went wrong."
Her fingers traced the outline of her tattoo absentmindedly.
I nodded, urging her to go on.
She sighed deeply, then reached into her bag and pulled out a photograph.
It was worn and faded, but I could make out three people standing in front of some kind of laboratory equipment.