A few days after our discovery of the explosion at the chemical processing plant, I float some twenty feet above the hectic goings on of life in downtown Denver, invisible, watching time slowly pass. Despite all that has happened during my time on Earth, I still feel as though I am an outcast. The residents of Earth accept me in all the same ways that they accept people like Superman. But I realise, observing them as they go about their taxing, monotonous lives, that despite everything I do, and everything I will do for this planet, I will always be the true foundling, the extraterrestrial. The man from Mars.
I will arrive to prevent a crime, and the people will say "thank you." But behind me, there will always be those whispers; the discrete glances around the shoulder to keep me in check. To ensure I'm staying in line.
For a species that has enough trouble accepting itself, I don't doubt for one minute that it doesn't have second thoughts about accepting me.
Despite my best efforts, those whispers will always be heard. Even at home on Mars, the way society worked was microcosmic to what occurs here, on Earth.
It may be that I'm just being hypocritical; that I refuse to acknowledge that I too have acted just like them, and that exclusion is just a way of life.
I suppose, in a way, that makes me more human than anything else does.
To some extent the true aliens of this planet will never fit in.
I pull myself from my thoughts and open my mind to the thoughts of the pedestrians below me, a skill I have come to master in these past months. The moment I begin, my mind is flooded with the thoughts of those around me:
~"IhopetogodJennyhasgoodnewsohpleaseletitbegoodnewsIcan'twaittotellMarkwearehavingalittlegirlheisgoingtobeextaticOhmydaysheseriouslyneedstostoptalkingImeanwhothehellevenspeakslikethatheissoannoyingitisunrealDamnsheislookinggoodIhopetogodsheIfIgetonemorepersoncomeuptomeandoffermeagoddamnpamphletIthinkImaybetemptedtoturntomurderIsDouggoingtoeatthatormakeoutwithitIswearhelovesthatpizzamorethanhelovesmeSometimesIjustcan'texpressmeemotionsokaystoplookingatmelikethatHedoesrealiseyouneedthattostartupthecarrightHe'snotworhtyourtimejustleavehimdon'tmakemespellitouttoyouJesusNoIdon'tthinkweneedmilkbutCaseyneverwritesitdownsowhothehellknowsIwishthatguywouldstopyellinglikethatThatgirl'sshoesareundonemaybeIshouldtellhercasueshecouldtriporsomethingohgodwouldthatcountasmanslaughter-"~
So much discussion. So much laughter; so many tears.
It is enough to drive one to madness.
I do enjoy my times mind-dipping, however. It helps pull my thoughts back to now; grounding me back to the reality of life on Earth.
Just as I am about to return to their minds, I am pulled from my thoughts by a commotion down the high street.
My eyes flip open and I steadily float over to the source of the noise, but before I can make a move the noise dies down and a voice rings out through the air.
"Martian Manhunter! I'm looking for Martian Manhunter! Hello? Does anyone know where I can find Martian Manhunter?"
Amazed, I scan the area for the source of the voice, but my eyes soon do the job for me and discover who it is that is speaking.
In the middle of the street stands a fairly tall, well-built figure whom appears to be coated in some kind of rock that covers him from head to toe. Two beady red beacons shine out in the space that should be occupied by his eyes, and streaks of a burnt orange solution line his face in place of blemishes and wrinkles. As he steps forwards, the solution that hides in the cracks of his face appears in the exposed gaps of his rocky exoskeleton, seemingly taking up the place where one would find skin. As he approaches, I turn visible again and gently glide down to the street to face him.
The thing pauses, and we look at each other for a moment.
"You called?"
The figure opens what I presume to be his mouth, displaying a set of yellowed teeth, and begins to speak.
"There you are. I wanna talk to you."
There is a gravelled edge to his voice that makes it sound strained and tired, but underneath the distortion, I realise that I know that voice.
"Michael Miller?"
The red beacons widen as I speak, and his smile grows wider as he steps forwards.
"You do know who I am!"
I remain silent.
"I didn't think you would recognise me!"
"I'm not entirely sure I do, Michael."
"Haha, all will be explained. And please, Michael Miller is no more. Call me Human Flame."
I remain where I am stood with caution. I knew something did not feel right about him.
"Human Flame? Now why would you call yourself that?"
His grin subsides as he takes a step back.
"Just watch."
He takes a breath and flexes his arms, then out of nowhere his body ignites itself in a sea of bright orange flames.
I step back as his grin re-appears, but I do not share in his enjoyment.
Of course, during our encounter in the bank, he never did find out the true power of fire against a Martian.
"Please Michael - Human Flame - stop."
Like a dog learning a new trick, he relaxes his body and extinguishes the flames. Around us, I begin to notice people watching our encounter with a nervous curiosity, and decide that here may not be the best place for Miller to perform whatever it is he has done. Despite his new power, what it is that has happened to him fills me with curiosity.
"We cannot stay here."
He pulls his eyes from examining his arms and looks up.
"What?"
"Don't do this, not here at least. You're making the people anxious."
He looks around, but ignorantly holds out his hand and ignites a flame, in some kind of attempt to put on a show for them.
"No I'm not, see?"
A group of girls move back in caution, and a father picks up his daughter and begins to move away.
"Michael! Please, you can't do this here."
He puts out his hand and looks at me, silently.
"There's a place we can talk, and I am sure you have more than enough to say. So please, calm down for a moment, and come with me."
He looks around, then nods.
"Alright. Let's go."
I take Michael up to the hills just outside the city, the sight where I often bring M'gann to help her with flying practice. It's calm and isolated conditions are perfect for creating a work area of absolute focus where the mind can be at rest, away from the bustling noises of the city.
I doubt I am going to be treated to such a calming discussion today, however.
Michael looks around at the mountains, then positions himself next to a rock and looks at me.
"I've never been this far out of Denver before. It's amazing."
"That's good to hear. Now, tell me, because I'm having some slight difficulties piecing this together, what exactly is going on?"
He smiles.
"Where do I start?"
"The beginning would be preferable."
He laughs excitedly, then steps forwards to face me fully.
"Alright, alright. I guess I'll start right after we met. You remember that, right? The bank? Homemade hairdryer?"
I nod.
"I do."
"Well, after that, I guess I hit rock bottom. All my life I wanted to be someone, to do something people would remember me for. Now I had no talents. I couldn't sing, or act, and I sure as hell couldn't be a hero like you."
"So you decided to hold up a bank."
"Well, yeah, I guess. I made the flamethrower and pieced together that shitty suit and just decided, screw it, I may as well do something, right? And, we all know how well that ended up. But after you talked those cops into letting me off, I realised something. I realised, you don't need special powers to be a hero, or to make a difference. You just need the right mindset. You'd inspired me to make a change."
I am silent.
"So when I was released that night, that's when I decided to start a new life. A whole new me. I found that chemical plant outside the city, and decided I'd try and fix my gear, but-"
"So that was you."
"Oh, the explosion? Well, yeah I guess. It was an accident, but, that's not the point!"
I sigh.
"Go on."
"Before that happened, I had a massive come-down. Again. I thought I was being an idiot in trying to change. I tried to destroy my gear, but it caused this explosion, and when I came round...."
I nod.
"You were like this."
"U-huh. But I thought that was it. I'd become some kinda freak, a monster. I didn't know what the hell to do, so I ran off into the forest, and there... Well, that don't matter. What does matter is what happened next."
He looks around.
"I heard these gunshots from somewhere in the forest. Now, again, not knowing what the hell to do, I followed them, and found Oaksridge,"
"Oaksridge?"
"It's this little town in Roosevelt Forest. It's where I had my...what's it called? My epiphany."
"Your epiphany?"
"U-huh. Some guy in the town was trying to kill this other guy, and I stopped him. When I did, I realised I could do this-"
He goes to ignite himself again, but I raise my hand to stop him.
"Thank you, Michael, I get the picture. You were saying?"
"Oh right, yeah. So I save this guy, and suddenly the folks there are treating me like some sorta hero. Me! It was then I realised, I could do what you do. I could be the hero. I stayed in Oaksridge a few days, then decided to come find you, to tell you what had happened. After all, if it weren't for you stopping me back at the bank, who knows where we'd be now, right?"
I don't know what to say. It is clear Michael has found great excitement in what has happened to him, but I know better than anyone else that just because you can do something, it doesn't mean you should.
"Michael, whilst I do admire you for your enthusiasm, you can't just become a hero overnight."
He frowns.
"Your body has gone through a momentous change, one you were lucky to survive from how it sounds, and you need to take time to adjust to those changes. I know how you feel. You have powers beyond your imagination and a burning passion to do good, but you need to prepare, to take time to get used to yourself. Rome wasn't built in a day."
"Then train me! Help me get used to it! I wanna be like you; help you!"
I don't tell him of my weakness. Training him would be impossible. His fire power may be too much for me to handle. His heart, however, does appear to be in a good enough place, one that might allow me to help him somewhere down the line, and if I can contain him, guide him, his abilities may not be as big a threat to me as first believed.
But then I face a dilemma.
I don't want to treat him like some experiment, or to try and subside his powers and treat him like an animal. He is, at the end of the day, still human.
"I'm sorry Michael, but that would be impossible. I admire your passion, but you need to take time to prepare yourself, instead of worrying about others doing it for you."
He looks down at his feet, then steps back and nods.
"Alright. I get it."
There's a long pause, and I am tempted to enter his mind to find out what it is he's debating. I decided against it, however. This is something he needs to decide by himself.
"I know now. I know what I could do."
He begins to head down the hills and back towards the city, but turns at the last moment to face me with a smile.
"Thank you, Manhunter. Thank you for everything."
He begins to leave, but as he does I step forwards.
"Please. Call me J'onn."
He smiles.
"Okay. J'onn."
Not losing the smile from his face, he turns back and begins to descend the hill, leaving me alone, looking out over the mountainous skyline on the horizon.
