I've been brought up to believe that at one point in my life I will get an adventure. Not some flat-tire-looking-for-a-phone adventure but a real life, running-from-assassins type of adventure.
And it still hasn't happened.
I'm not saying I want to be shot, although I've been brought up to believe that your average guy can withstand at least one, if not two, shots as long as they only hit appendages. I'm not saying that I have a death wish or that I don't appreciate the life I have now. My world is stable. I get my paychecks, I pay my bills, I buy my groceries and sometimes I even have some money left over to go have a drink.
This is all well and good except that I've been festering in twenty years worth of action movies and comic books.
My generation doesn't dream of discovering a cure for any diseases, we dream of being in some freak chemical accident and awaking to find that we can read minds and shoot blasts of pure energy from our fists. We don't hope to, one day, find an island, rich in natural resources, we hope to be selected as a secret operative for a splinter faction of the government that would turn my body into a lethal weapon.
Of course, then I'd have to uncover a diabolical plot and use my training against this splinter faction because this time they've gone too far. A chase from building top to building top would ensue and eventually I'd end up facing the leader of the entire scheme. The well placed cut above my eye would have clotted and the pain of the broken ribs that, moments ago had me gasping would have faded to a dull ache that doesn't inhibit my motion at all.
All this while the clock is ticking on some cleverly placed bomb in an abandoned warehouse where a European hottie is bound and scantily clad. Earlier, I would have promised her that I'd come back for her and later I will, just in time to neutralize the bomb. Cut to a long embrace while the cavalry pulls up. They always just miss all the action but are there to arrest the goons and congratulate me on my bravery.
I wouldn't be a hero, I'd just be an average guy who did what anyone would've done in the same situation.
Then I could go back to my paychecks and bills and groceries and not feel like I was cheated. I would tell people that this peaceful life was all I ever wanted and I was glad to lay down my gun. My bullet wounds would fade to scars and my ribs would heel nicely. I'd enjoy my quiet, uneventful life because the adventure was over and justice was served.
Until, that fateful day when my checkered past comes back to haunt me. The man I put behind bars has escaped and he's put together an army and they want revenge...
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