![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xyzzysqrlThis is a pretty cruddy bit of writing, IMO, but hey, it IS a comic book origin story. Not that that should be an excuse. No, my excuse is that I've been rolling back and forth in bed trying to get a nap while I wait for the boyfriend to get home, so I can activate my game account.
As such, I present the origin of John Q. Public. Don't choke on the awful or anything.
It took a zombie attack to make James Quincy Parson open his eyes.
Superheroes were a tradition in Paragon City. No one argued that, not with the rich
history of the city in mind. James was a staunch supporter of them, and he wrote a
column or two, op-ed, for the city newspaper. He'd written twice a week, for ten
years.
"...What I'm trying to get across is that we've got a governmentally sanctioned force
of heroic men and women for keeping our streets safe. Sure, they might miss a crime
now and then, but the overall effect of heroes on our city is positive.
I say we don't have much room to criticize. Say what you will about the effectiveness
level out on the streets, but when push comes to shove, the public's just got to keep
its head down and wait through the tough times. -JQP"
He'd written that ten years ago.
James genuinely believed the columns he wrote for the paper, and largely public
support was on his side. The city's population of normal, everyday people generally
kept quiet, tried not to draw attention to itself when a high powered crime was going
down. For the most part, it worked. When it didn't, the heroes stepped in. Sometimes
they weren't in time, but what could you do? The system usually worked.
One day, as James stepped out the door on the way to his lunch break, he got to see
what happened when it didn't work. The Vahz were the reanimated dead, minions of some
group that mostly stuck to the sewer. Paragon City, for all its high points, was
still the one place where an unlicensed doctor could and would harvest organs right
there on the sidewalk to fix up their pet zombie. Some poor citizen was pressed up
against the wall by a doctor and his shambling creation, trying to find a route to
run like hell. The other civilians streamed around him, like he was a rock in a stream. Against his better
judgment, James stopped to watch and wait for a hero to arrive.
As the scalpel came down, James realized that wasn't going to happen. Not nearly in
time.
The more he stared, the more things started to spin in his mind. The man's cries for
help, the people walking by trying not to meet his eyes. The gleam of light off the
scalpel. The way it was all happening right there, in broad daylight, on the sidewalk
in front of him. The persistent lack of heroes arriving at the last moment. The hot
sun on his neck.
A carefully crafted sense of detachment snapped like a dry twig, and James found
himself reacting to instincts he didn't know he had. His mind opened up and touched
every other mind on the sidewalk that day, and the fear he found nearly made him
scream. There was something else too. A kind of energy, a massed power tucked far
under the surface of the conscious mind of every man and woman on the street that
day. James hauled at that power with all his might, and pushed, and a bolt of pure
energy missed the mad doctor by roughly four feet.
It was enough to make him turn around, though, and by then James was over the
surprise and gave him three more right in the chest. The doc dropped his scalpel and
ran, zombie creation shambling after him, and James hurried to the civilian's side.
That energy... the power he felt in the minds of those around him, too deeply buried
to use it themselves, he pushed it through his hands again and the man's wounds began
to heal.
"You... saved me, man. You're my new favorite hero."
James pulled at his tie, and pushed his hat back on his head.
"I'm not sure I'm a hero, friend. I'm just John Q. Public, trying to make right for a change. Excuse me."
He made his way off through the crowd.
"...So it's a hundred and eighty degree turn, I'm aware. Most of the time when a
public figure reverses his opinion like this, we call foul. We look for a deeper
motive.
Well, I've got a deeper motive, all right. I say maybe the heroes aren't enough any
more, and I say maybe we need to do something about it. Not just cheer them on. I say
we, the people of Paragon, need to take action. Get out there and learn all you can
about self defense. Use your numbers, there's more of us than there are of them.
We've kept our heads down. Now let's pick them back up and take a long look around.
This will be my last column for this paper, and it's been a great trip with all of
you, but observing just isn't enough for me anymore. I, and all of us, need to
remember that strength and courage isn't just something we can let designated heroes
have. It should belong to all of us.
It's time to put power back in the hands of the people. -JQP"
...at a note, he's a Defender archetype, using Empathy for healing and Energy Focus for combat.
As such, I present the origin of John Q. Public. Don't choke on the awful or anything.
It took a zombie attack to make James Quincy Parson open his eyes.
Superheroes were a tradition in Paragon City. No one argued that, not with the rich
history of the city in mind. James was a staunch supporter of them, and he wrote a
column or two, op-ed, for the city newspaper. He'd written twice a week, for ten
years.
"...What I'm trying to get across is that we've got a governmentally sanctioned force
of heroic men and women for keeping our streets safe. Sure, they might miss a crime
now and then, but the overall effect of heroes on our city is positive.
I say we don't have much room to criticize. Say what you will about the effectiveness
level out on the streets, but when push comes to shove, the public's just got to keep
its head down and wait through the tough times. -JQP"
He'd written that ten years ago.
James genuinely believed the columns he wrote for the paper, and largely public
support was on his side. The city's population of normal, everyday people generally
kept quiet, tried not to draw attention to itself when a high powered crime was going
down. For the most part, it worked. When it didn't, the heroes stepped in. Sometimes
they weren't in time, but what could you do? The system usually worked.
One day, as James stepped out the door on the way to his lunch break, he got to see
what happened when it didn't work. The Vahz were the reanimated dead, minions of some
group that mostly stuck to the sewer. Paragon City, for all its high points, was
still the one place where an unlicensed doctor could and would harvest organs right
there on the sidewalk to fix up their pet zombie. Some poor citizen was pressed up
against the wall by a doctor and his shambling creation, trying to find a route to
run like hell. The other civilians streamed around him, like he was a rock in a stream. Against his better
judgment, James stopped to watch and wait for a hero to arrive.
As the scalpel came down, James realized that wasn't going to happen. Not nearly in
time.
The more he stared, the more things started to spin in his mind. The man's cries for
help, the people walking by trying not to meet his eyes. The gleam of light off the
scalpel. The way it was all happening right there, in broad daylight, on the sidewalk
in front of him. The persistent lack of heroes arriving at the last moment. The hot
sun on his neck.
A carefully crafted sense of detachment snapped like a dry twig, and James found
himself reacting to instincts he didn't know he had. His mind opened up and touched
every other mind on the sidewalk that day, and the fear he found nearly made him
scream. There was something else too. A kind of energy, a massed power tucked far
under the surface of the conscious mind of every man and woman on the street that
day. James hauled at that power with all his might, and pushed, and a bolt of pure
energy missed the mad doctor by roughly four feet.
It was enough to make him turn around, though, and by then James was over the
surprise and gave him three more right in the chest. The doc dropped his scalpel and
ran, zombie creation shambling after him, and James hurried to the civilian's side.
That energy... the power he felt in the minds of those around him, too deeply buried
to use it themselves, he pushed it through his hands again and the man's wounds began
to heal.
"You... saved me, man. You're my new favorite hero."
James pulled at his tie, and pushed his hat back on his head.
"I'm not sure I'm a hero, friend. I'm just John Q. Public, trying to make right for a change. Excuse me."
He made his way off through the crowd.
"...So it's a hundred and eighty degree turn, I'm aware. Most of the time when a
public figure reverses his opinion like this, we call foul. We look for a deeper
motive.
Well, I've got a deeper motive, all right. I say maybe the heroes aren't enough any
more, and I say maybe we need to do something about it. Not just cheer them on. I say
we, the people of Paragon, need to take action. Get out there and learn all you can
about self defense. Use your numbers, there's more of us than there are of them.
We've kept our heads down. Now let's pick them back up and take a long look around.
This will be my last column for this paper, and it's been a great trip with all of
you, but observing just isn't enough for me anymore. I, and all of us, need to
remember that strength and courage isn't just something we can let designated heroes
have. It should belong to all of us.
It's time to put power back in the hands of the people. -JQP"
...at a note, he's a Defender archetype, using Empathy for healing and Energy Focus for combat.
