#46: Will the Real Mervyn Goldfarb Please Stand Up?

The man casually perusing a magazine at the newsstand at the front of Border Worlds Used and Slightly New Bookstore turned to me, perhaps expecting to see an old friend. But I could tell from the look in his eyes that he didn’t recognize me at all.
     “I saw you shoot yourself up with the homemade Megasoldier Syrup you cooked up in your bathtub and sold to unsuspecting college students as a steroid shortcut to megaheroic physique,” I said, “Your musculature puffed up to the size of Megaton Man—then you exploded into bluish slime all over the alley next door!”

#19: Megatonic University

At least now I knew I was as tough as Megaton Man. I had survived being sucked up into the orbiting ICHHL satellite and the subsequent drop back to earth. My government-issued uniform and space helmet had proven their mettle as well. But that didn’t mean I considered myself a full-time megahero—far from it. For one thing, I was never one of those crime fighters who went around wearing her uniform under her street clothes in case she needed to change into her secret identity and save the world on a moment’s notice. I didn’t have one of those world-savior egos. Beat up somebody for cheating on their mid-term? For the most part, my Ms. Megaton Man uniform—along with my cool new visor and other accoutrements—remained safely tucked away in a garment bag in the back of my closet on Ann Street, although this never sat well with my cape, who loathed hibernation mode and yearned to be free.