Slothantua and His Existential Crisis on Planet 52-B

Slothantua began to feel that there was a general lack of depth to his activities and interactions with other people. This realization struck him at perhaps not the most inopportune moment, as he had just vanquished his most recent foe the Evil Former Lord Emperor of the Dust Beings, Shhhhwuntopung, and subsequently had a little bit of free-time. Slothantua tossed aside Shhhhwuntopung’s head and sat down on a green rock dimpled with tiny craters to contemplate this sudden troubling notion.

“There has to be some aspect of my life with which I am satisfied,” he thought, gazing at the bulging of his muscles against the stretchy thin silver glitteranium spacesuit he was wearing. Perhaps fulfillment was to be found in his public life as his secret identity, Nathan Slothan. The business suits were certainly more comfortable than the skin-tight all-too-revealing get-ups he wore as a defender of the solar system. The random array of clashing day-glo colors, each suited to a different planetary environment or climate, were enjoyable, perhaps a subconscious throwback to his teenage flirtations with drag-shows.

Of course the Incident had ended all of that. A poor decision as a young adult to enter a medical study of “non quantifiable risk” on similarities between humans and sloths, determined by experimental radioactive equipment, had left Nathan as a powerful half-man-half-beast with no recourse but to become a registered Extraordinary Being and Planetary Defender.

The closest he got to normalcy these days was as a particularly hulking employee of a home décor magazine, Interior Accents Quarterly, arranging and photographing displays of earth-tone monogrammed bath towels. Lately, though, even that felt hollow.

Slothantua gazed up at the two glittering blue moons in the sky, and the passing swarm of small deerodactyls that snatched at tiny winged crustaceans as the sun set. Nothing to do now but wait for the spaceship bearing the other four of the Mighty Fistful, on its way back to Earth.

Was it attention he was after? What sort of debt did he feel he owed to people to utilize his supposed gift in such a way? What really constituted good and evil? Didn’t entire races of planetary species get eliminated either way? Slothantua began to absent-mindedly trace one of his six claws in the purple sand, creating patterns and then erasing them soon after.

Maybe it would help him to evaluate his life if he thought of his aspirations before becoming the giant radioactive sloth beast that the world adored and whom cretins of the Universe feared. What had he wanted to be? A firefighter? An Astronaut? He did both activities perhaps daily, and neither actually felt as rewarding as they were in his joyful childhood crayon imaginings. Routine had turned an ersatz cheerful take on his extraordinary mutation into self-pity and doubt. Was all this strength worth the loss of opposable thumbs?

The fist-shaped spaceship appeared suddenly as it pulled out of the fourth dimension immediately in front of Slothantua. Sammy Grillosphere, the man with the power to heat up individual layers of the atmosphere so that planes fell from the sky but kites, balloons, and birds were unharmed (or vice versa) stepped outward from the side portal on the pinky fingernail.

“Splendid work chum. I see you foiled one of our most Significant Nemeses,” Sammy said, glancing over at the headless torso with the Dust Emperor’s insignia on it. “He’ll certainly have a hard time finding a way to get A-HEAD now, won’t he? Heh heh heh.” Sammy chuckled at his own witticism.

“Yeah I guess so,” said Slothantua, still staring dejectedly at the ground.

“Heeeeeeeeyyyy. You sound kind of like you’re in the dumps. Anything wrong? Need a vacation? You did a GREAT JOB pal!!” said Sammy encouragingly. Slothantua looked up slowly.

“No. I mean, I guess I am feeling a little down. I mean….do you ever wonder what you’re doing with your life? I mean, I know why we’re doing this, saving the planets and all, but sometimes I wonder if it’s for me, this kind of life…”

Sammy stared wide-eyed, paused in a slow intake of breath, and then slapped Slothantua on the back with a return of his trademark frozen-faced smile. “OF COURSE it’s the life for you! Excitement! Adventure! Accolades and Adoration from the Rescued Masses! Not to mention that beautiful wife you’ve got at home! Even MOVIE STARS would be lucky to have a lady like THAT!!!”

Slothantua thought about his wife. She had a propensity for getting into trouble, and had been a young co-worker at Interior Accents Quarterly alongside him. He had rescued her so many times it seemed like they were destined to be together. Recently she had revealed to him that she had placed herself in the clutches of so many villains merely to get a strong heroic husband, and somehow this seemed to cheapen the apparent fatedness of their relationship. Slothantua was typically taciturn, but this had been an irreversible unspoken change to the dynamic of their marriage. Even that didn’t feel right anymore.

“Well. I guess. I just don’t feel….happy, I guess.”

Sammy blinked and continued to smile, leading Slothantua toward the ship with a firm hand pressing against the expanse of his back.

“You know I think you just need to forget your troubles for a while. The things we deal with are a lot, I MEAN A LOT to deal with! No Joe-Average-Schmoe could do it everyday like we do and still keep a level head. AND I’m NOT suggesting you go out drinking. OH NO! We sure had enough brain damage already from Mentalio’s Mind-Wipe Ray, heh heh! No, take your wife out to A MOVIE. Or maybe to a BIG FANCY RESTAURANT.” Sammy waved his free hand across the empty air in front of him, as if painting the wonders of which he spoke.

“Yeah,” said Slothantua stepping into the Fist Ship, the chromanium fingernail portal slamming shut behind him.