THE REPORTER: A SHORT STORY

by BCDavis

As senior reporter for the Mouseville Gazette, I had the dubious honor of getting an exclusive interview with the new and improved Mighty Mouse. There was just one catch-he hadn't agreed to one yet. Nor, had I heard, did he want one.

I went out looking for a crisis. After all, whenever there's trouble, he's usually around to fix the situation. The first few times I never got any closer than the side lines. But, I did notice that he did see me every time. Maybe that's what prompted the visit one night.

I was walking home around 9 p.m.. I reached the door to the building to my apartment. I was fishing the keys out of my pockets when a voice spoke to me from behind.

"Mr. Hildebrandt?"

I spun around. It was him!

"You know, " Mighty Mouse continued. "Every time I’ve been at an emergency lately, I found you there." he crossed his arms over his chest. "Care to elucidate?"

I looked him up and down. He didn't seem any different to me. I could tell he was trying to intimidate me. It wasn't working. "Just trying to get an exclusive with the mouse of the hour," I replied.

Mighty Mouse shook his head. "I don't do interviews."

He started to walk away. I decided I had better talk fast if I was going to get this interview.

"So the great Mighty Mouse doesn't need publicity," I shot back.

He turned and looked at me again. A frown crossed face as he put his hands on his hips. "As a matter of fact, no, I don't. The less publicity I have, the easier my job is."

He abruptly flew off before I could have a chance to get the next word in. I resignedly called it a night.

I dejectedly walked into my office the next morning. Apparently my editor saw my expression and decided to cheer me the only way he knew how: he assigned me to a story of top notch intrigue. Apparently, there were some questionable goings on at the local gym. There was a large body building competition coming up in a few weeks. There was talk that there was some drug abuse, steroids actually, going on somewhere in the ranks of those entered to compete. Ironically enough, Mighty Mouse himself was set to be one of the guest judges at the competition.

I'm a reporter who likes to get his hands dirty, so I went to the gymnasium in question and snooped around myself. I walked into the main weight room, obviously out of place among the burly mice assembled there.

I looked around. Nothing seemed out of place. Everything looked normal as weight rooms go. Then, my attention was drawn to a larger than average mouse working out in the far corner of the room. Actually, larger than average didn't do him justice; he was big – real big. I also realized he was familiar. And that I had caught his attention. His fiery red eyes seemed to burn right through me.

I saw him load two sets of dumbbells with the maximum amount of weight available, 250 pounds per disc, times four disks per barbell. He started curling with both arms. Suddenly, his expression changed from that of passivity to concern. He looked down at himself.

His head arched back as his chest started to swell. The shoulders and back came next. Finally, the arms - and more specifically the icons of strength - gigantic biceps. So this was the new Mighty Mouse! He looked at his reflection in the mirror at the opposite side of the room, and ruefully shook his head. Apparently, what had just happened was not planned.

I left the gym out the alley way door. HE was there waiting for me. He was leaning against a building. If his gargantuan, augmented physique didn't give a clue to his strength, then the fact he was curling with a home made semi-cab and steel girder barbell should.

My mouth when dry.

Mighty Mouse kept his attention to his curling, watching as his bicep bulged with each repetition. After a couple of these, all his muscles rippled and grew a bit more. His workout clothes were pretty much painted on now. He just kept getting steadily stronger.

"You are beginning to annoy me," he finally said in a deeper voice.

The last time we met I wasn’t too intimidated. Now, I was terrified. I chuckled nervously. "I didn’t think those weights offered much of a challenge for you in there."

He grunted and his eyes flashed. Suddenly, he let ALL his strength flow through his body. My eyes went wide as every muscle ripped to its maximum, while all he could do was grit his teeth and flex through the power surge.

I had to duck and cover when he crushed the semi-cabs together flatter than a pancake, and glass and shrapnel started flying.

I gingerly looked back up for the all clear. "Holy mother of god…"

He wore a sneer-like grin. "I see I have your attention now." He waited until I had composed myself. "Why didn’t you blow my cover?" he asked me.

I took a gamble. "I figured we could cut a deal."

He raised and eyebrow and waited. A good sign in my book. I pushed forward, "I keep your cover, you give me an interview."

He sigh, rolled his eyes, then, surprisingly, he chuckled. "Well, at least you’re persistent, I’ll give you that."

"Hey, how do I know if you’re not taking those ‘performance enhancing drugs,’ too?" I knew it was a mistake to say that, but I went ahead with it anyway.

The next thing I know I’m off the ground and face-to-face with a royally ticked ultra Mighty Mouse. "I’m clean and all-natural, Dan Rather wanna-be!" he growled. "Okay! Okay! Sorry!" I stammered. "Will you please let me have the interview?" I begged, knowingly on my last good leg. "Will you leave me alone after that?" he asked angrily. "Yes! Yes! I will! Definitely!" I answered truthfully.

He thought a minute, then set me back down gently. I realized then I became one of the lucky few to be on the business end of Mighty Mouse’s muscle and still be breathing.

He leaned back against the building, and said, "Ask your questions, but make it fast."

I composed myself, and silently cheered myself on in my head. "Okay, well ah, appropriately to this little encounter here, ah, exactly how strong are you?"

"As strong as I need to be."

I shook my head, "No, I mean, do you have a limit?"

"No."

I looked up at him slowly from my note taking, thinking he was kidding. He just gave me a quick smile and shrugged. Okaaaayyy…

"Would you be willing to be tested to find out for sure?"

"Tested?" he asked, caught off guard. "Tested how? Don’t you believe me?"

"Oh I totally believe you! No doubts from me here, it’s just that my readers might not. Besides, wouldn’t you like the chance to really show off that strength of yours? I mean, you can’t exactly get to use, well, what you’ve got NOW, very often." I had to admit, I was a smooth talker.

Mighty Mouse shook his head. "No way. I am NOT a sideshow attraction. I feel fortunate I don’t have to access my ultra state often – that 85 percent of any emergencies are solved without it. Besides, I’m not one to just show off."

"Yeah, right," I scoffed. "You can’t tell me that you don’t have a rush whenever you power your way through solid rock, rip apart steel," I pointed to the semi-cab pancake, "or crush machinery to slag."

He didn’t answer, he just looked away. I had him.

"I know you ain’t no angel – except maybe one of those avenging ones," I stated.

He still didn’t say anything.

"So, here’s the deal. The reason I’ve been trying to get this interview with you in your "ultra state" as you call it, is because the MSS has been on my back to get it. They want to know what you’re capable of, your weaknesses, stuff like that." Well, I had to tell him sometime.

He looked at me right in the eyes. "The government?" he asked in disbelief. "But, why? They’ve always trusted me before? Why are they asking these things now?"

I shrugged. "As near as I can figure out, they’re worried that if you go bananas one day, they won’t have the information they need to stop you."

He turned and put his hand against the building’s side wall. He sighed dejectedly. "Y’know," he started to say, "you’re right. Whenever I do something, like, say if I would lift this building from its foundations with one hand, and hold it high over my head, I do feel a chill run down my spine." His muscles rippled. He turned his head to look at me. "I never asked for this, you know."

I realized then how tough it must be for him not to misuse his incredible power, and how much control over the strength that begged to be released he really had. Then I thanked God that it was HIM who had the responsibility. I didn’t think anyone else could handle it.

I slowly approached his towering form. "Y’know, I think I’ll just tell the MSS that I’m not able to help them out…"

He shook his head. "No… I’ll go ahead and cooperate with them. It makes me unhappy that they don’t trust me as I thought they did. But, I don’t want any of the mice I protect terrified of their protector."

I nodded. His head whipped up – an emergency. I let him take his leave, and started looking back over my notes.

I went back to my office at the Gazette, and started making a few calls. The government would be happy to hear from me, but I wasn’t sure I was too happy with myself. I guess I would find out later. Hind sight is always 20/20, y’know…

THE END