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Patrick spun in his chair, clueless but curious. Luchini, the least intelligent of the men's team, looked to the others for social cues and smiled because smiling seemed safe.
“Yeah, this is me. I’m here. How you doin’, Dinero?” Joseph’s voice came through the speakers, sing-song and smug. Mia knew that tone. He was here to stir the pot.
“Thanks for calling in, man!” Dinero said. “We got your ex-girlfriend and baby mama, Mia Delion, here. She’s been on a lot of podcasts lately, spouting all this feminist gibberish.”
Mia rolled her eyes. Not cheating on your wife is feminist gibberish now? Their morals were buried somewhere in hell’s septic tank.
“We just wanted to know what you think about all that,” Dinero continued.
Joseph chuckled. “It’s all good. She’s out here making her little money. I ain’t mad at that.”
Car horns blared in the background. Joseph was clearly calling from the street.
“But she’s not good at maintaining relationships with men. Don’t let her fool you with all that power girl stuff.”
Dinero leaned in. “What do you mean by that?”
Patrick muttered, “Isn’t it obvious? She’s unmarried and already trying to cuck her husband. You gotta ask?”
Joseph kept going. “We split up a while ago, but we have a son together. I just think we need to keep a good relationship for our son’s sake, but Mia lets her feminism get in the way. It’s always drama.”
“Like the other day, I asked her to let me borrow fifty dollars. I mean, come on—fifty bucks is nothing. But she had to go all ‘rah rah rah, youse a broke ass’ yadda yadda. I don’t want her anymore, but what man’s gonna put up with that?”
Bed warmer. Bank teller. Baby maker. b***h.
Today, Joseph must’ve mistaken her for the bank teller.
“You must be out of your mind asking me for fifty dollars,” Mia growled, trying to stay composed. "You couldn't get 50 cents out of me, let alone 50 dollars."
“Shee... you actin’ like I asked for a car loan or something! Like I asked for a damn mortgage payment! It’s fifty damn dollars, Mia!”
“Then why don’t you have it?” Patrick asked, and Dinero and Luchini laughed.
Mia's headache started pounding harder. Ugh, the stress. And now here comes this fool. “Joseph, you were supposed to pick up our son and take him to the movies yesterday. You didn't show up. Interesting how you can call up a podcast whining about 50 dollars, but couldn't call your son to tell him you wouldn't come get him like you promised."
"That's why I needed the 50 dollars, Mia. How can I take him to the movies if I ain't got the money? That's your fault now!"
Mia fumed. "You don’t even pay child support, Joseph. You’ve got some nerve asking me for money.”
Patrick jumped in. “How you gonna ask your baby mama for cash when you don’t even take care of your kid, man?"
"Is this the kind of dude you’d hook up with if your husband cheats? What if your husband ain’t got fifty bucks for him either, Mia?” Dinero teased.
“He should’ve taken our ‘Make $100K a Month with Affiliate Marketing’ course,” Luchini said. “Then she’d be crawling to him for fifty bucks!”
“So the great Mia Delion was dating a low-value dude who can’t even pay child support?” Dinero added.
Mia froze. They weren’t just humiliating Joseph—they were using him to humiliate her. And the irony? These same men constantly ranted about how child support was unfair to men. Now they were weaponizing it.
She’d seen this tactic before.
In the tears of a child caught in a gender war she never asked to be part of.
There was no defense. She couldn’t defend Joseph—he’d sabotage himself anyway. And she couldn’t protect herself from the fallout.
“This is the kind of man Gen X women were told to ‘ride or die’ for,” Mia said. "The underdog. The guy who didn't have anything but was 'nice.' I was told to build him up. Love him through the struggle.”
She looked up, fixed her glasses, and sighed. “Except after twenty years of struggling, this fool still has nothing.”
Patrick scoffed. “Sounds like you just don’t want to take accountability for your bad choices.”
Mia turned to him, eyes sharp. “Honey, don’t talk to me like I’m your baby mama.”
Even Dinero and Luchini chuckled at that.
"And don't talk to me like I'm this loser baby daddy of yours," Patrick responded.
Mia winced for Joseph’s sake. She despised him now, but it's hard to see anyone you know get embarrassed in public.
Before she could respond, Dinero flipped a switch. Blaring rock music filled the studio—the Disaster Avoidance Team’s outro.
“And that’s our show, folks! Thanks for tuning in, where men discuss men’s issues and try to save the world from feminism!” Dinero did his usual air drum solo while Patrick and Luchini bobbed their heads in unison.
Mia exhaled hard as her head throbbed. This was bad. It could, in fact, be VERY bad.
Seven minutes later, Mia sat at a bus stop in downtown Brooklyn, still fuming. Her adrenaline hadn’t settled. Her boots looked great, the weather was perfect, but she couldn’t enjoy any of it.
The Manosphere would descend on her like wolves. They’d say she lost. That she was vanquished. Of course, they would have said that no matter what happened. Even after the debate with Kelvin that she clearly won, the manosphere had videos all over the web screaming: "Feminist gets ANNIHILATED by truth and sincerity!" She found it quite hilarious, and those videos were the best publicity she could have ever had. Her income tripled after that. The problem now is that she feared they might be right this time. All because she dared to ask for fairness. For love. And for basic respect for women and wives.
How did relationships between men and women get this bad?
She hung her head and listened to the cars roar by. That i***t Joseph, he's unbelievable. Poor Jackson waited for his dad for hours. Joseph was a little bit better than her own father; he did show up sometimes. Even Mia was surprised he hadn't shown yesterday. But still. He stood up his own son and then tried to ambush her on the Disaster Avoidance Team podcast. She couldn't understand how he could be so heartless. Maybe she should thank the Disaster Avoidance Team for ripping him apart publicly.
Don't cry, don't cry. She took a deep breath. Exhale. She calmed herself, and then her eyes fell to the poster on her left. She saw a giant purple ad for a new webcomic site. A beautiful blonde woman clung to a tall, dark-haired man with piercing blue eyes. He held her protectively, arms chiseled and strong.
Mia stared. Damn.
She used to love comics. American comics. Manga. Manhwa. But life had drowned that joy. Bills. Blogs. Battles.
Still, something about that image tugged at her. She missed stories about kind-hearted, heroic men. The ones who loved their children and loved women without cruelty. Without games.
She’d spent five years listening to red pill gurus tell her women were disgusting. That love was weakness. That obeying marriage vows were optional.
And yet, in those fantasy stories, women were cherished. Protected. Loved.
Maybe Dinero and the rest were right. Maybe those men only existed in fiction.
She turned away, sunlight hitting her face like a splash of cold water.
Fantasy, she thought. Heroic men don’t exist. Not for me.
But then—she saw it.
Another billboard. Same webcomic site. A different man this time. Jet-black hair. Hazel eyes. And a caption:
“Come on, Mia… I really need that fifty bucks.”
She froze.
“H-Hiro?!”
A chill ran through her. Her headache is gone, but...Dizzy. Lightheaded.
Hiro Kisaki? It can’t be...
I told you, Kiku. I would find you. And I always keep my promises…
Her eyes locked onto his painted gaze.
And then everything went dark.
Mia fainted right there on the street.
- Writer
