It was time. No one ever wants extra relish.

I’ve had the powers for nearly five years now, and I have using them down to a science. I just squinted both my eyes, just a bit, and the thinnest of laser beams shot from my pupils. First I aimed at shamrock boy’s belt. Then I switched to his buddy and his brown belt (which didn’t match his black shoes, by the way).

It all took less than 30 seconds. And the beam was so thin, no one even saw it. I kept my cover.

The morons didn’t keep their pants, though. They were still goofing when the Mr. Chubby’s girl turned all red, held her mouth and ran to the back room with the cooks. That’s when the guys noticed. Maybe they felt a breeze or something, but they both looked down at the same time to see their pants balled up at their ankles. The shamrock kid was wearing a black thong. Jesus.

The cooks and the other counter kids came out then to stare, point and laugh. It was a beautiful sight. One of the cooks even tossed a few cheese sticks at the morons, bouncing them expertly off their heads. Those two punks weren’t laughing now. They yanked up their pants and tore out the door, leaving their fries and polish sausages and chicken sandwiches behind.

Yes, I know. It’s not the greatest use of superpowers. But it felt pretty darn good. It always feels good, actually, to pants some big-mouth schmuck.

I should know. That’s what I, the greatest superhero in the world, have devoted my life to.

More or less.

That sandwich tasted OK when it finally showed up. Not great, because nothing tastes great at Mr. Chubby’s. But I had gift certificates. My mom gave them to me as stocking stuffers. I couldn’t just let them go to waste, so I ended up here at least twice a week.

(Five more certificates to go, by the way.)

Are you wondering by now? Wondering why I, the greatest living superhero in the galaxy, was eating at dives and pantsing assholes?

Well, even if you weren’t, here’s the story.

Not an origin story. Those are always the dullest. I mean, you can tell me that you love Amazing Fantasy #15, the one with Spidey. But I’ve heard Spider-Man’s origin story so many times – geeky kid, spider bite, Uncle Ben shot, on and on and on – that I’d rather eat cement than read it again. Me? Give me the one where Doc Ock tries to marry Aunt May. That’s the goods.

So, my story isn’t about how I got my powers.

My story is about why I use them to zap belts instead of baddies.

When I first got my powers, I had planned on becoming your more traditional superhero. I couldn’t sew, but I did make my own costume. It wasn’t much. My gramma’ had sewn me a trick-or-treating costume a few years earlier: white skeleton bones on black cloth, even a white skull with black thread crisscrosses over its mouth. Pretty cool. And I’m a short kid. The costume still fit.

I found a red magic marker and went to town, coloring all those bones, even the skull, as bright a red as I could. My laser beams were red, you see, so it made sense. My superhero name? InfraRed.

Does that make sense? Don’t know. I do shoot laser beams, from my eyes and from my fingers. I can even – and this is the most amazing thing – turn my body into a pure laser beam. This is useful for traveling through key holes, under doors or, I guess, into the deepest recesses of outer space. (I’ve never actually tried that last one.) Anyway, these lasers I shoot are red. Hence, InfraRed.

So I have the goods. These are bonafide superpowers. Better than sticking to walls or talking to fish or tossing around a truth-telling lasso.

I started smart, screwing with small-timers. The first night, I found a couple of dudes with steak knives trying to steal a lady’s purse. Took just two laser blasts to send them flying across the alley. That same night I broke up a carjacking with one more laser blast. Two crimes stopped, and I hadn’t even worked up a sweat.

Sure enough, I ended up in the paper. Front page. Seemed to me that I was ready for the big time.
    
Unfortunately, I found it. That very next night I ran into MegaloLord.

Don’t know him? Consider yourself lucky. This is one bad guy. He’s covered in this metal that comes from space. No one knows what exactly it is, only that you can’t break through it, with anything. He’s strong enough to lift a house. He shoots fire from his mouth, lightning from his eyes. His chest opens up and – Boom! – he’s firing a supersonic missile right at your face.

They say he’s a former ruler of some planet deep in the solar system. They say they brought Democracy to this planet, his subjects voted him out of office – by an overwhelming majority, I’ve heard – and he responded by blowing up the entire place, hopping on a space shuttle and landing here on Earth. He’s been trying to take over ever since.