Agent took the knife from the would-be mugger who stood frozen, too frightened to move. He gave a look of disappointment as he crumpled the blade into a ball of twisted metal and took flight, hauling the troubled teen to the police station. His nightly patrol was routine and boring, an occasional mugger or drunk driver, drug dealers, but never anything too exciting, never anything that challenged his power or gave his life meaning. He had felt this emptiness for years, but that night he had an epiphany, if no one could stop him, then why should he fight for what’s ‘right’? He could have ruled the world had he not heard the cries of help from a small child running from a gang. Why should he fight for what’s right? Because someone has to.