2,999.
That was the number of packages Atom had delivered, in his short, year-long lifespan, working for the U.S. postal service. It wasn't a significant number for a mailman - maybe for a part time mailman such as he - but considering Atom had the insistence to carry his packages on foot and one-at-a-time, it was a fair amount. It was a job he loved, and he was excited to say that package number 3,000 was going to be very special indeed. He got to take his package to The Empyrean, home of the Supra-Man, and there, he would deliver exactly one dozen freshly sewn red capes, made to withstand even the most severe of elements.
"Thank you, Mr. Gutierrez, I will not disappoint you." He had said, in his cheeriest robotic voice, to his postmaster. Shortly after, he bounded off, stomping down the streets of New York as he traveled to the Morrison building, sunlight shining off of him and blinding pedestrians trying to go about their days. Dogs yipped at him, babies cried, and children asked slightly insensitive questions, as they were wont to do when faced with the abnormal. These things would bug Atom. Wasn't he the machinated man that was designed for them? A famed movie concept, at one point, less than a hundred years ago, but met with estrangement. It confused him. However, on this particular day, these harmful thoughts eluded him, as he was so cheery that he practically skipped down the concrete streets, whistling tunes from the radio as he went.
In exactly eighteen minutes and forty-seven seconds, he pushed through the door of the Morrison, bumping into it a little harder than he intended to, and chipping the glass.
"I have a package for the Supra Man!" He declared, holding his package up over his head. Nobody said anything, in spite of the quiet lobby's ambiance being suddenly interrupted by the cyborg. Lowering the package, he looked at the address, to make sure he had it right, and read a note specially written on the side. Clearly, the person who had sent this package had sent the Supra Man capes before, for it was clearly written - Top floor of the Morrison. Look for the black. Extended by the smiley face drawn in Sharpie after the message, Atom nodded to himself, before wandering over to the elevator.
Within moments, he was carefully tip-toeing his way across the top floor of the Morrison, seeking anything 'black'. While the color was present in almost everything, in minute quantities at the least, there was one source that caught Atom's eye - the large, black wall, standing ominously over him at the end of one corridor.
Shuffling over to it, Atom stood up straight, rolled his bronzed shoulders back, stretched his animatronic lips to smile, and knocked on the blackened wall, clenching his package almost tightly enough to burst through the cardboard. Almost.
@supra-man
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