Super down

Ken landed on the roof of the Mecca Gazette, red boots skidding through gravel before sliding to a stop. As always, long flights left his feet feeling funny, like walking on rubbery ghost legs. Would it disappoint his admirers to know he was vexed by such ordinary things?

He looked into the blazing yellow Sun, and could no longer make out Annihilator's space-ray. Several times during his flight back to the Gazette, Ken checked that the giant space weapon was still hurtling into the roiling atomic core. It had probably just burned up, but there was always the chance Annihilator had steered it to safety. That happened sometimes. No biggie. The sun was always there for him to deposit Earth's trash; his own fusion powered garbage disposal.

Ken swiftly changed to street clothes, wiping ash from his cheeks with a bit of spit; another action unbecoming of the Titanium Man.

Hoping his absence would be unnoticed, Ken slipped through the door on the roof and was immediately face to face with his boss, the ill-tempered editor in chief.

As usual, Mr. Black appeared grim and brooding, on the verge of a coronary catastrophe.

"I have to show you something."

Ken followed Black who marched stiffly ahead, taking them to a mezzanine overlooking the nerve center of the gazette. The staff below juggled phones and faxes: all excited chatter over their villains defeat, and champions heroics.

"See them?" Black asked, jabbed his finger towards the office.

Ken nodded.

"They're busting their humps, while your suckin' butts on the roof! Don't even try to deny it; I can smell smoke all over you. If I catch you slacking again, you're outta here!"

Ken endured his scolding in silence. Another indignity his admirers might have found distasteful. He didn't like it either.