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“I see a people who are sick to death of the oppressive boot of imperialist super-powered thugs, stepping on their necks!”

“Superheroes consistently rank as some of the city’s most popular citizens.”

“All of those polls are lies.” She announced, as if having received inside information on them.

“Some of them were done by the most respected news sources in the country.”

“A country run by those very same super-powered thugs!” She threw her arms wide in the confines of the car, and Oz again noticed how lovely her perfume was. It smelled like dreams and promises. “Of course they agree! Everyone agrees with a system which benefits them !”

Oz squinted in confusion, trying to follow along. “So, I’m not just part of a corrupt profession, I’m part of a corrupt government now?”

“You’re a victim in all of this too, Oz!”

“Oh. Well, that’s nice.”

“You’re just the poor brainwashed patsy they have out in front, giving their crimes a comforting face!”

He frowned at that, trying to process the idea. “No one has ever found me ‘comforting.’ ”

“…then The Capes get inside your head when you’re young, guiding you to be one of them. To buy into their horrible practices and engage in the rape of this country.” She nodded. “Every single hero is a sex offender!”

“I’m not sure statistics support that claim, ma’am.” He thought about it for a beat. “I’d say no more than half.”

“The problem with the world is laws.”

“I thought the problem was the Capes trying to enforce those laws?”

“The Capes are just victims, Oz, keep up. Laws are someone else trying to enforce their will on you. Someone else playing god. But think of all the horrible things that laws have given us. Slavery. Wars. Killing people. Taxes. Daylight Savings Time.” She shook her head.

“Laws are the problem. We can’t have them and be free. ”

“You’re suggesting that we… outlaw laws ?”

She nodded, obviously pleased that he’d been able to understand her argument so well.

Oz had no real reply to that. His entire world was built around routines and rules, which governed everything he did, said, and thought.

Oz had rules about how many times he needed to flip the light switch when he exited or entered a room, and rules on how many steps he needed to take inside each square of concrete he was walking on, and rules on how many times he needed to count to five before turning on the shower nozzle each morning.

Rituals were the only thing which brought order to the chaos of the world and gave him a sense of control.

You follow the rules, bad things won’t happen.

So the idea of tossing all of that aside was…

Well, he knew her idea was insane, but at the same time, he found himself half convinced by it. If for no other reason than he liked the sound of her voice and the way she moved around in the small confines of the car.

Oz was rarely this close to someone. His own compulsions usually kept him much further away from people, for fear they’d contaminate him in some way.

But being close to this woman was… exciting.

“When you put it that way,” he shook his head, “on second thought, no. I don’t like working for the Freedom Squad. I like being a hero, but they’re rarely heroic.”

“Yes!” She slapped her hand down on the back of his in a congratulatory way. But Oz almost winced it was so inappropriately erotic.

Oz didn’t like it when people touched him, even when he was wearing gloves.

Particularly if he didn’t know the person.

That was how you caught diseases which would kill you in moments.

But in this case, he found himself coping quite well.

As her slender fingers curved under to touch his gloved palm, Oz closed his eyes and tried to remain professional, for fear he’d do or say something which scared her.

“How about you?” He cleared his throat and moved his hand away, changing the subject and trying to keep his voice level, because her touch having that kind of impact on him was probably another one of those things people would consider creepy. “Do you like whatever mysterious things you do?”

She nodded. “Yes. Most days. Well… some days.” She paused again. “Did… did you ever feel like you’re two people? I mean, like there’s a surface you and then there’s another you that you don’t really always like?”

Oz immediately thought about his aunt screaming at him about his father. A darkness simmering below the surface of his own mind. …Body bags lined up in the parking lot of the fast-food restaurant. …The dump filled with things screaming at him to kill everyone. “Yes.” He nodded. “I do.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“People have layers. People…”

“People are assholes.” She finished for him. “Hate-filled assholes.”

“That too.” He stepped on the brake, avoiding the need to run a yellow light.

“But to return to your puzzle analogy…”

“That was your analogy,” he corrected, “I didn’t…”

“Everybody out there has pieces which form a single image. And it might be mysterious, but if you spend the time, you can figure out what it shows. Because all of their pieces belong to the same puzzle. And all of their puzzles can be sorted onto the appropriate shelf.”

“Okaaaay…” Oz squinted, trying to keep up, since her earlier puzzle metaphor was now being changed to mean something completely different.

She turned in her seat to face him, looking curious. “So, where do you belong, Oz?”

Oz opened his mouth to reply to that, but then realized he had no answer. His mouth hung open for several beats. He didn’t really belong anywhere. And he knew it.

She nodded. “Thought so.” She said cryptically, interpreting his silence as a reply. “See, the thing about it is that people just think the world has order, but really, everything we do is utterly meaningless.”

“That’s ridiculous. Every action you take could be your last. The radio is on too loudly, that could distract me and cause us to crash.

Your decision to blare this dreadful noise could have a significant meaning.

When you left your home this morning, did you take the time necessary to disinfect your doorknob? ”

Her brow furrowed in confusion. “Why would I disinfect a doorknob?”

“Because you touch it dozens of times a day, with unclean hands. And it’s not just you. Diseased homeless drug addicts, wandering your neighborhood, could have tried that knob while you were away…”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Jesus, where do you live!?!”

“…searching for something easy to steal. You come home and even if they aren’t now lurking in the darkness of your apartment, their germs and the bacteria which was clinging to their soiled woolen gloves is now coating your knob!

Then it’s on your hand after you open the door!

” His voice grew louder and more panicked as he thought about the severity of that issue.

“Then it’s inside your apartment! It’s all over your clothes and your food and it finds its way straight into your blood supply!

Then it is you! You are someone else’s germs and fecal matter, which were smeared on your doorknob because you didn’t disinfect it! ”

“Fuck, man!” She looked equal parts amazed and amused. “You are just…”

“Or there’s the fact that you didn’t lock your door when you entered this vehicle, which could allow a carjacker easy opportunity to drag you from the car at the next stoplight.

” He pointed at the lock in question. “That decision could have profound consequences. Because everything matters and we are always one second away from catastrophe. Always .”

The car was silent for a beat.

The redhead hit the “lock doors” button.

He turned his head to briefly look at her and he began to get worried. Oz paid careful attention to his health, because you never knew what information might be important and could save you from certain death. You needed to constantly be aware of your symptoms if you wanted to diagnose the cause.

So it was with a calm clinical mind that he realized that something was very, very wrong with him.

It was probably the perfume. It wasn’t right that he wasn’t bothered by it. The only reason he wouldn’t be bothered by the perfume, or by the woman herself, was if something else was really bothering him. Some unseen illness which was only just now manifesting itself, at the worst possible time.

It had probably been metastasizing in his system for years.

Slowly growing, poisoning the rest of his body…

“You okay, Oz?” The woman asked him, sounding worried about whatever it was she saw on his face.

Even she was recognizing that he was ill, which meant it was probably terminal.

“I see spots.” He got out hoarsely. “My breathing feels labored. I’ve got some dryness of the mouth.

” He tried to swallow, but found it impossible.

“My heart rate is going up.” His eyes darted back and forth in growing panic.

“ Why is my heart rate going up!?! I… I could be having a heart attack right now. These could be the last words I’m ever able to say…

” He tried to swallow again, but only managed to get halfway there, making it feel like he was drowning and unable to get air.

“…Oh Jesus…” His breath came in short panicked gasps, as he began to hyperventilate, feeling like he was unable to breathe or swallow.

“Huh.” The redhead remarked calmly. “You’ve got yourself a whole heap of problems, don’t you?”

Oz nodded, unsure if the woman was diagnosing his current ailment or his entire state of mind. But either way, his answer was accurate.

“Interesting.” She pointed at him. “Let me tell you something: never trust anything you can’t see the flaws in.

Because it’s either fake or the flaws are just waiting to appear and take you by surprise.

The surface of things is a lie.” She patted the back of his hand again.

“But if you know what the problems are, then you’re golden. ”