Glue Man

Deep underground at the end of a series of winding corridors beneath the University of Hawaii at Manoa, there was an accident in a lab. Hyun-Su Chun had become enveloped in a green cloud that whirled around him like a tornado. When the mist disappeared he was nothing more than a giant globule of jelly. Upon testing the material, his colleagues determined the substance to be glue – a very strong, honey-colored glue. Upon further testing, they determined that Hyun-Su was still alive.

He was a a ball of gel; an amber globule, with a square of reflected light warped along his body. He had the consistency of melting jello, wet and sticky to the touch. Occasionally, along his delicate surface, a ripple would make it's way along his sides like a wave across an ocean seen from a great distance.

Although the scientists were not aware of it, his physiology being an anomoly of the highest degree, he was in fact aware of their presences. His entire body had become conducive to light and sound, acting as both retina and timpanic membrane. His visual and aural senses intermingled in a synesthesia, and in this regard, he was in a childlike state of constant amusement.

Bodies made their way in and across his field of vision the way the world reflected would bend around a glass marble. If he were outdoors, the grass would form an outer perimeter, and the sky would appear as a blue orb in the center of his vision. Birds would make their way across the azure field, never traversing the edges, only growing nearer, flipping over, then receding farther in the Daliesque canvas that was his sight.

He remained enclosed within a glass cube and one day, when he sensed he was in need he sprang out. The edgeless globule reformed itself, and he became Glue Man.

Most of the time, he assisted construction workers. When potentially catastrophic mishaps would occur – a falling beam, or imbalanced equipment – he would be there, using his touch to fasten items securely and safely. Then he would bound off, tying the hands of would be thieves and burglars behind their backs, pasting them against a wall for the authorities.

He was also an imp. In the same fell swoop as capturing an escaped convict, Glue Man would stealthily glue a police officer's gun to it's holster. Or he would glue the Honolulu police chief's badge to his desk. "Uh, thanks, Glue Man," they would say half-heartedly, their hats stuck to their heads.

So it went, on and off, crime fighting and childish mischief. A man saved from a boulder careening down a mountain would trip because his shoelaces were glued together. A couple saved from a collapsing rooftop would later realize that all of their dishes were glued to the table. "You look like a giant Aunt Jemima bottle!" they shouted after him.

Soon, his assistant grew concerned about his public image. "Why don't you go an help with the crisis in the Gulf? Why not plug up that whole oil leak?" she asked one day when he returned to his secret laboratory. "I don't work well underwater. Have you ever tried gluing two things together in a bathtub?" he answered. "This is our secret. If anyone found out about my achilles heel, I'd be done for," he said and melted into an orb for bed. His assistant would lovingly sprinkle flakes of food into him and watch them break through his thin outer membrane, dissolving into the clear viscous liquid. Then she would replace the glass casing that kept him safe. "It is important to keep the glass case over me at all times when I am in repose," he instructed. "Flies and ants," he explained.

One day, after having captured a trio of bank robbers at the American Savings on Beretenia, Glue Man disappeared for a day. HPD found no sign of him. They were grateful and relieved, for it was a job well done, minus the puckish pranks.

His assistant grew worried. She left his glass case open and slept in the lab. The next morning she saw him, miniscule, climbing onto the pedestal. "Where were you?" she asked.

"I thought I would regenerate. But... I can't. I had to walk two miles here from Beretenia. Look at me, I'm only six inches tall. That was a long walk. I'm exhausted."

"Don't you usually regenerate instantly?"

"Maybe I'm too old. My time has come. I'm out of glue. I struggle to even maintain human form," he said and then his body collapsed and he was an orb again.

"Glue Man!" his assistant cried.

In the days that followed, Oahu mourned the loss of one it's more eccentric heroes. There was a big ceremony and a scattered crowd. The liquified remains of his body were presented to his assistant, and tearfully she used what remained of his legacy to put together a bookshelf or something.