You love opera. You’re also the head of an opera fan club.
Having put yourself in charge of writing a review about the remake of a real classic, you go to the premiere of that particular play. As an opera fan, you have of course booked front row tickets to that show months in advance. That's the only way to get front row tickets.
During the play, the person two seats to your left starts making strange, loud noises, gives inappropriate comments and does all kinds of other things that keep you from enjoying the show.
You approach him and politely ask him to stop.
He turns aggressive. He gets up and tells you that he would like to continue this conversation outside.
You know what that means, but you took karate lessons when you were younger, so you agree.
Next thing you remember is that you wake up in a hospital missing both legs.
The nurse who takes care of you is very nice. Things eventually get personal. You move together, get married, the whole nine yards.
Unfortunately, it didn't last. They leave you. Or you leave them. There's a fight, drama, the whole nine yards.
Being all alone now, you realize that the relationship with them stopped you from pursuing your passion, opera.
You decide to get back to it. And what better way to do so then to finish the review you started years ago? The show is obviously still performed.
You approach the ticket sales person and tell them that you would like to sit in the exact same seat you sat during the premiere. They tell you that this seat won't be available for months. You can't accept that and ask for the manager. The manager recognizes you right away and feels awful about what happened to you that day. That bully also happened to be his daughter's lover, which had been causing him a lot of trouble. The bully has been sent to jail for what he did to you (30 years for Assault with a Deadly Weapon). The daughter got over him and started a new life. For that and the incident, he feels that he owes you.
The manager tells you that the person currently sitting on that seat is fairly skinny. He argues that if they remove both armrests, it should be possible for you to share the seat.
I should mention at this point that you're not in a wheelchair. After the incident, you have been equipped with robotic legs. They are like regular legs, but stronger, more durable and so on. They also have a metal spike sticking out on their left side (at hip level). That spike is an alternative charging port. In more recent models of these robotic legs, that thing had been moved to the back, making you look as if you had a tiny tail.
Anyway, when you sat on your side of the seat, that spike extended further than the borders of your seat and poked the person next to you. That person happened to be a bit paranoid, and there was also their best friend next to them, who is a bit over-protective. They immediately get up their chairs and start showing hostility. It seems like history is repeating itself.
Suddenly you remember your physiotherapist's words. They explained to you that your robotic legs have two modes: "Human Mode", which is their normal appearance and "Battle Mode", which transforms them, and consequently you, into a brutal killing machine. I don't know why they thought your robotic legs should have a Battle Mode.
Because the last thing you want is to wake up in a hospital again, you switch to Battle Mode and kick some sense into both of them.
In Battle Mode, the width of your legs increases by almost 200%. This means that you need the entire chair to sit on when you only needed half of that in Human Mode. This doesn't seem to be a problem now that you can also sit on part of your (paranoid, poked and knocked out) neighbors’ seat.
After a while, the manager comes over and asks you to give these guys their seat back. He says that whatever they did, they won't do it again and that they are one of his best customers.
You agree, but there's a problem:
You never got to that chapter in the Robotic Legs Manual that explains how to switch back from Battle Mode to Human Mode. Your Ex actually took that manual by accident when they were packing their things to leave you. Or maybe you left them? Things got complicated and it’s been a while. Can I just finish my story, please? No? See, that what I mean! Why is it that you always want to argue about my and only MY “mistakes”, huh? Okay, you know what? I left. You’re happy now?
Anyway: You can't go and get that manual. Not now at least. That would mean missing the show, losing the seat, and letting everyone in the fan club down again by not finishing the review. Your Ex used to say that you're a failure. You can't prove her right. So you stay.
The seat is now definitely not big enough for you and the skinny person you're supposed to share it with. In fact, in Battle Mode, there's a second spike that sticks out of your other hip. When the clock hits midnight, the legs started shooting out fireworks in all directions. That's because you installed the "Birthday Party" app and set it to today last month because you thought you will spend that evening with your mom, who just turned 65. This got the skinny person and everybody else around you quite mad.
After a while, and all of a sudden, the skinny person starts hitting you, because the new spike on your right was hurting them. Their punches, however, hurt them more than it hurt you. When you were about to hit back, the manager intervenes. He indirectly suggests that this mess is mostly caused by you. Not on purpose of course. Out of self-defense of course. But still. If you just hadn't asked for your seat from back then, things would be different.
He tells you that you're the only one who can bring an end to this. That fix, however, would require some sacrifice from your side. Starting with you getting up, giving the skinny person their space and turning off your leg's Battle Mode. And if that means leaving the opera in a middle of a play, go see your Ex, ask them for your manual, and look up how to switch back to Human Mode, then so be it.
He also asks you to please don't propose any other solution. He says that it's hard to believe anything from anyone with robotic legs that shoot fireworks. No offense.
Of course, you don't have to listen to the manager. You are stronger than everyone in the entire building combined. You could just stay and finish watching the play at the cost of ruining everybody's night out. But doing something, when you don't have to, I think that's the definition of courage.
