“A circus is the perfect place for freaks like us.” The answer Tobias gave to Mxy continues to play into my mind. Is that what’s really we are? Freaks? Poor, unfortunate persons born with a genetic defect? Should I be ashamed of what I am?
No.
This metagene is a gift. I can use it for good, or I can hide it, but nobody can judge me for what I am.
I don’t know why the American Government is capturing many, maybe all the metahumans. They say they are crooks, but Tobias, for sure, was not. The land of the free, they say. It doesn’t seems the case.
We found the circus late in the morning. I presented myself like the manager of our theatre group, and told the circus owner a complex fake story about us, ending asking for a job.
The owner examined our abilities, considered our potential, and finally asked me to go into his office, a big caravan parked on the opposite side of the camp from the lions pens.
“At first I had the impression you were metas on the run, Mr. Sardella” he said, referring to the fake name I gave for myself. “But” he continued, “no metas on the loose would travel the country with a trained cat. It was your Lil’ Jo to reassure me. The job is yours”.
So, thanks to Tobias’ stinky cat, we have a job, a shelter, and hot meals every day. We are adjusting greatly to the circus life, and now we have also fancy costumes of real material, that will not fade away when Mxy sneezes.
The only thing that bother me is Nowhereman, and his split personality.
On the bright side, today I have discovered that soon the circus will leave the Chicago, heading for Thunder City. Where my son is kept prisoner.
