Height: 5'1" (on a good day)
Build: Stocky, union-approved
Base of Operations: New York City
Occupation: Laborer / Jackhammer Specialist
Specialties: Concrete removal, pastry defense, common sense enforcement

By day, Pat is an unassuming New York City laborer — 5'1", stocky, Italian, steel-toed boots on, hammer in hand, tape measure clipped to his belt and concrete dust permanently embedded in his soul. His specialty is chopping concrete that almost certainly didn’t need to be there in the first place. He works long days, breathes dust, drinks espresso, and does exactly what the job requires, no more and no less.

By night, Pat becomes something else.

Patman wasn’t born from tragedy or trained by secret organizations. He emerged naturally, over time, from years of job sites, bakeries, bodegas, and subway platforms. The moment he realized the city needed him came after a long shift, when he watched someone cut an entire bakery line, avoid eye contact, and order the last cannoli without hesitation. In that moment, Pat understood that New York wasn’t suffering from crime — it was suffering from a lack of accountability.

Patman’s mission is simple: protect working-class New Yorkers from the small injustices everyone else ignores. He doesn’t chase supervillains or stop bank robberies. He intervenes when someone takes the last cannoli without asking, touches pastries with bare hands “just to look,” or orders a cappuccino well after noon. He monitors scratch-off behavior closely, especially those who insist they “never win” while buying $30 worth of tickets, refuse to scan losing slips, or scratch without using a coin. On job sites, he responds swiftly to borrowed tools that never come back, disappearing “five-minute” breaks, unauthorized tape measure usage, and anyone who claims “the foreman said it was fine.” Outside of work, Patman patrols the streets and subways, addressing sidewalk hogs, people who stop suddenly to check their phones, anyone standing at the top of subway stairs, and those bold enough to say Times Square “isn’t that bad.” His methods are subtle but effective — a long stare, a disappointed head shake, or a shoulder bump that is technically accidental.

Patman never works alone.

At his side is Patrock — a literal rock. Patrock doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, and has never borrowed a tool without returning it. In a city full of noise, Patrock offers quiet support and unwavering loyalty. Pat trusts Patrock more than most people, and Patrock has never let him down.

Together, they watch over the city — not with fear, but with presence. Patman doesn’t want recognition, statues, or headlines. He just wants people to behave, respect the line, return the tools they borrow, and stop acting surprised when someone finally says something.

New York City doesn’t need another superhero.

It needs Patman.