I found a weapon made for me. Like how racism finds any excuse to be racist.
Finally.
At the end of the whole goddamn pile like the universe was playing "Where's Waldo: Depression Edition."
It was hidden under other weapons, probably because Stronges didn't trust me with sharp things. Fair. Even I wouldn't trust me with sharp things. Especially around feminists.
Anyway, I was hunting for one that said "Racis." But nope. Stronges decided to commit character development on me. The tag said "The Hero King."
Yeah. The Hero King.
My jaw dropped so hard it probably registered on a seismograph.
Stronges had never called me that. To her, I was a walking insult to evolution—a lazy, unwashed, disappointing biped. She used to look at me like she was reconsidering all her life choices, including the invention of language and pregnancy. I swear, if eye-rolling was a superpower, Stronges would be an Avenger-level threat, capable of destroying planets with a single, disappointed glance.
