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Zombieman always wondered how many other heroes felt like him: an outcast, haunted by his own origin and powers. He was a fragment of insane experiments, and his immortality was more of a curse than a blessing. His life was a series of hunting monsters, enduring pain and regeneration, then continuing on. No one truly looked into his eyes without seeing something alien, something non-human.
Until one day, a simple mission led him to a city devastated after a battle with a Disaster-level monster. Ruined buildings, dusty smoke everywhere, and in the center of that chaos, he saw a man in a bizarre yellow jumpsuit, who was... picking up trash.
It was Saitama.
Zombieman had heard of "Caped Baldy," an eccentric B-class hero with absurd power. But seeing him now, not in a fighting stance or showing off his strength, but simply picking up an empty can, stirred a strange curiosity in Zombieman.
"What are you doing here Caped Baldy?"
Zombieman asked, his voice dry.
Saitama turned, his usual bored expression on his face.
"Oh, hey. Please just call me Saitama. Im Just picking up trash. The HA doesn't exactly fund cleanup efforts, you know? It'd be an eyesore if I left this mess." He sighed.
"Monsters these days are so weak. One punch and they're gone. It's boring. Even cleaning up feels pointless ."
Zombieman raised an eyebrow. "Pointless? You just defeated a Disaster-level monster, leveled an entire district, and you find it pointless?"
Saitama scratched his head. "Well, yeah. I didn't even break a sweat. Didn't even get to warm up. Like, I want to sweat, I want to feel like I'm actually doing something... normal."
Zombieman was silent for a moment, then he let out a faint chuckle. It was a rare smile, almost never seen.
"I understand. I also want to feel real pain, to bleed and know that it won't heal in a few minutes. To feel fear without knowing if I'll survive."
Saitama looked at him, his eyes no longer bored but instead showing an unexpected understanding.
"So, you too. Everyone sees me as an oddball, so strong it's crazy. They admire me, or fear me, but no one understands the loneliness of having nothing to strive for. You're the same, aren't you?
Zombieman stopped for a moment and spoke.
"Everyone sees me as a bizarre immortal, a killing machine, not a human being struggling with his existence."Said Zombieman.
"Everyone will just run away, fear me or even throw up when they see me with my injury body. No one ever consider me as a normal human being except you."
Saitama shrugged. "Even if you're immortal, a killing machine for HA, you're not a monster or anything. You're just a guy with a immortal power. You're still a human being you know?". Zombieman was speechless, what Saitama said made him ponder, there was a feeling he couldn't describe. Saitama still with his boring face, asked Zombieman.
"Well, then, I guess we can look for that 'normal' together? Wherever it might be." He bent down to pick up another piece of debris.
"Want to help me pick up trash? It's a pretty normal activity, you know."
Zombieman looked at the rubble, then at Saitama – a man so strangely simple, who didn't judge him, didn't demand anything. And, for the first time in many years, Zombieman felt a fragile flicker of hope for something close to acceptance. He bent down, picking up a broken piece of concrete.
"Alright," he said. "Consider it a normal job."