Brian Gallant’s superhero lair discovered by wandering journalists

Brian Gallant’s superhero lair discovered by wandering journalists

Fredericton — On what happened to be a spectacularly slow news day, local reporters took to loitering around city hall yesterday in hopes of finding a story. After several uneventful hours, the journalists were just about to give up when one of them happened upon a red door in the back of the building, hidden by a small bush.

Together they entered into large, unfinished room, dimly lit by spotlights that fell upon various tools, weapons and rare New Brunswick artifacts decoratively displayed across the space.

Most notably, however, in the centre of the room was a glass tube surrounded by tall stacks of cash. In it, a red and white costume hung from a wire hanger with a single letter emblazoned across the chest.

“L.”

“I knew this day would come,” said Premier Brian Gallant, emerging from the shadows.

The reporters gasped in unison.

“I guess now you all know my awful secret,” he said stoically. “It is true… I am Liberalis.”

He bowed his head in shame. Then, after realizing that his revelation had prompted no response, he continued. “…You know, the beloved masked vigilante?”

The reporters shrugged, shooting each other confused glances.

Gallant heaved a disappointed sigh and explained that, for the past four years, he has been patrolling the streets at night in the guise of Liberalis, heroically tossing fistfuls of cash at troubled things, places and people in hopes that they will somehow “sort themselves out.”

“Some people could argue that this isn’t really a very responsible policy,” one reporter ventured, carefully, as if speaking to a deranged and potentially dangerous lunatic.

“A-ha!” cried Gallant, assuming a hyper-masculine tone. “While the ethics of Liberalis may be ambiguous, he is the hero that Gotha… I mean, New Brunswick deserves. Besides, who else could prevent the evil reign of the heartless Conservator?”

“What about, like, Green Party… Man, or whatever?” asked another reporter, struggling to keep up with the whole superhero thing.

“That pussy?” said Gallant as he stepped into his ratty, makeshift costume. “Grow up.”

And with that, he was off. He hopped into a nearby Honda Accord and sped away through a super-secret exit, which suddenly appeared once he had smashed through the solid-brick wall.

As the dust and debris settled, the reporters could see no trace of the man who called himself Libralis — save for the loose, colourful $20 bills that soared in his wake.

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