Shortcut-man – the astounding superhero whose powers permitted him to very nearly save small amounts of time – had already cold-rinsed his breakfast dishes (soapless) and was busy shaving dry-faced with a dull and unwetted razor when the call came on his Shortcutphone. Every call before noon was spam so he smacked block. On the third time this happened he answered it.
“Shortcut-man! Thank god I got through! This is the chief of police, and there’s a madman threatening the city with –”
“Supervillain got the gist see you there bye,” said Shortcut-man. He hung up, hastily wiped the rivers of blood off his face with a meter of toilet paper, then jumped into his tights and got it right without falling over on the fourth try before rushing out the door and doubling back for (in order) his keys, then his wallet, then the Shortcutphone. To catch up he backed out of his parking spot without checking his mirrors.
CRUNCH
“My fender!”
Shortcut-man sighed impatiently, reversed harder until the crunching stopped and the outraged shouting hit its peak, then drove away. This wasn’t the sort of conversation he had the time for. There was an emergency somewhere just out of reach, echoed in the chime of the CHECK ENGINE reminder he’d expertly analyzed as some sort of redundant system error six months ago, and he needed to keep his mind focused on solving it as fast as possible. Unnecessary delays could happen the moment you let your guard down, he mused as his car’s engine shot out of its hood like a jack-in-the-box and screamed like an eagle.
***
“Please stop,” begged Lou of Lou’s Automotive Maintenance. “I’m begging you. God, I’ll fix it for free, just stop.”
“The more I help, the faster my car’s repaired,” explained Shortcut-man as he used his Shortcut-Strength to pick up another work bench, a box of parts, and a big greasy oil drum and drag them closer. He slid a bucketful of rags, two shop vacuums, a push-broom, a water cooler, and the shop cat under his left arm to save time, took two steps and dropped everything. Damn. One day that’d work.
“I will be sued if you keep doing this – I’m going as fast as I can. Look, get something to eat, just, go, please.”
Shortcut-man considered this matter briefly, as he did all things, and concluded that this was good advice. He’d skipped breakfast to maximize his morning speed but now his head felt fuzzy and his legs were wobbly. Normally getting food would be a waste of time, but if he already had to wait, packing two inefficient activities into one was just a shortcut in and of itself.
But that was no reason to wait.
“Give me your fastest fast food with the maximum calories at the highest velocity,” he told the drive-through window.
“Sure. The burrito breakfast wedge. Want a drink?”
“Does that increase my calories?”
“Yes, by-”
“Yes. I will pay an extra fifty dollars if it’s done by the time I reach the window.”
“Sir, we don’t-”
“Fast food is more money for greater speed the faster I receive my order the more I’ll pay goodbye.”
So saying, Shortcut-man walked to the next window, intercepted a paper bag passing between the cashier and some guy in a car, dropped his entire wallet on the windowsill and left.
There was no drink in the bag.
“Shameful,” said Shortcut-man, almost choking as he walked and chewed hashbrowns at the same time. “But that WAS very fast.” He sprinted through a flashing crosswalk, wheezed out a rogue fragment of potato, then tripped over a raised curb and broke his nose.
***
“Car’s ready – jeez, you okay?”
“As long as I don’t tilt my head down I’m fine,” said Shortcut-man, chin raised to the heavens and snotty blood trickling down each cheek.. “I would pay you but I had to use my wallet for lunch. Farewell.” Thus saying, he backed out of the lot without checking his mirrors.
CRUNCH.
“My sign!”
Shortcut-man sighed impatiently and reversed harder. The crunching intensified.
“Stop!”
Shortcut-man shook his head impatiently and slammed on the gas. His car groaned and slowly separated around him until a large steel sign reading LOU’S AUTOMOTIVE MAINTENANCE apologetically crept through the back of his seat and caressed his spine.
“I’ll use public transit,” he said, kicking the drive’s door open and stepping into traffic then into more traffic then into the bus stop. “What’s this? The bus won’t be here for over five minutes! Well, I can’t waste my time like that. I’m going to walk sixteen blocks until I get to wherever it was that I was going.”
So saying, Shortcut-man departed at full speed with head held high, then tripped over a second curb chin-first.
***
“How many fingers am I holding up, pal?”
“That’s a pointless question,” said Shortcut-man indistinctly. “Are you sure you’re a real doctor?”
“Careful on the jaw action there buddy, you’ve got a fracture so compound it’s developing interest. One of your teeth went up your nose.”
“Forget the teeth and the nose, why did you put my leg in a cast?!”
“Well, a car ran over it.”
“But I’ll just have to take it off again later.”
“That isn’t very-”
Shortcut-man sighed irritably and shattered his cast with a simple Shortcut-flex, after which he began to heroically Shortcut-limp down the hall.
“Get back here!”
“No. I have to go somewhere to do something about a supervillain, probably.”
“You don’t even KNOW?”
“I wasn’t going to sit around long enough to find out!”
“Doom be upon thee in this blessed hour,” spake the hospital speakers in a fluted chorus of screams, wails, and curses. “For now that the authorities have refused to field my greatest faux Shortcut-man to meat with me, this house of heeling shall become a house of beeting! So swears the Malaproper!.”
“See, there he is,” said Shortcut-man. “Where’s your broadcast come from?”
“If you follow the red-”
“Enough technobabble, doctor! I’ll find it myself,” said Shortcut-man, who proceeded to follow the yellow arrow, the blue arrow, the green arrow, and the purple arrow before walking past an open doorway inside which lurked a chinless, hairless man with dweeby spectacles and dweebier power armour, hunched over a microphone.
“BE WEAR!” he hollered. “Yew are two latte, Shortcut-man! For in demure moments, my Spooner-Balm shall denotate and explode this smithing to buildereens! A feteing tribute to-URK!”
“Got him,” said Shortcut-man, shaking his bruised fist. “Bozos always like to spend too much time talking. Which way’s Buckland Avenue? I want to go home.”
“Thataway,” said the communications director, who was chained to the roof of the room. “Uh, he said something about ‘Spooner bom-”
“Thanks,” said Shortcut-man, using his Shortcut-strength to walk through the walls of the hospital in the correct direction. He emerged on the street covered in brick dust, a calvacade of nervous policemen eagerly awaiting him.
“Job’s done, kids,” said Shortcut-man. “And just barely in the nick of time too. That’s why you always need a Shortcut-man.”
“Actually, we needed you to stop Cryptoclydeus from merging the waterfront into a data center this morning,” explained the chief of police. “He did it six hours ago. Malaproper broke out of the jail only after we had to pull everyone on the force to manage the civilian casualties and general devastation, it’s been on the news all day.”
“Who has the time to read?” said Shortcut-man. “That’s rhetorical it’s not me. I’ll let you handle things from here.”
“Wait! We’re here FOR you! You’re under arrest for leaving the scene of a vehicular accident, damage to Lou’s Automotive Repair’s property and customers, refusal to pay for services rendered, littering a place of business with an empty wallet, and theft of a Breaktacular Combo Hash N Brown Combo Bakelette Meal!”
Shortcut-man nodded solemnly. “I stopped listening after ‘wait,’ but I think I get the gist. You’re welcome, officers, the pleasure’s all mine.” Then he turned on his heel, fell over due to his broken leg, and was tackled by half the police force.
***
He sat behind bars. They’d taken his mask. They’d taken his tights. He missed them, mostly because he only wore one set of clothing to save on time.
He’d sort of tuned a lot of how he’d gotten there; saying ‘not guilty’ every time they asked him a question may have proven to be the fastest way to get out of the trial, but it had still taken too damned long.
They’d said he’d be in here for at least nine years. But that was okay. He could find a way to shave that down.
Nothing saves time like Shortcut-man!