The World Is a Comic Book
It began with a Super Virus.
Mistaken for fever.
Staggering statistics of young people. As well as adults. No causality nor mode for age, race, or gender.
Rosalyn is the most well remembered.
Across the destitute states of Nevada, New Mexico, Kansas, did the humanitarian fallacies, those cheap, taudry lies of respite fell.
And the ones who perpetrated their destruction, well, the government may call them terrorists. The people lauded them as fallen heroes.
As the epidemic settled and disappeared quickly as it had come powers were reported in every school of the nation. At least one incident went accounted for of uncontrolled outbursts.
The elder "Afflicted"-- a term long out of fashion and favor-- formed shelters. Sequestering the children. Taking them from parents but not a crime. Since Afflicted were not within the confines of Constitutional protection nor even state charter.
Using Rosalyn as a sample size, the escapees could be put within three categories: Villains, "Hero," or "Struck from records." The third category an ill-advised name to mean reintegration. Those who had "paid their dues" for a period of no less than five years, often in sectors of law enforcement, natural disaster relief, or specialized tactical divisions to track public disturbances of power use.
The Hero category often comprised of known or suspected involvement with underground militia and activists against the relocation and removal of Empowered children and adults.
"Empowered" now in more common language to appease growing Midway parties on the issue of Powered individuals. Often such groups comprised of parents, loved ones, or those within the medical field-- nurses, first responders, therapists, and some doctors.
Whilst Villains, insisted upon a Might makes Right philosophy. Searching for vengeance against a society that has "proven" itself oppressive and cold towards the outcast. Took advantage of existing social stigmas and the marginalization of the mentally ill or disabled. Seeing a rise of rates in self-harm cases, higher suicidal ideation and attempts, overall a swell of clinical depression cases as well as other severe manifests of various illnesses[Appendix H], budget for inpatient care facilities and need-based health insurance bills completely stalled or cut entirely.
Recruitment for these so-called Villainous affiliates and societies were at an all-time high leading to a severe crime wave.
Self-proclaimed heroes being the only ones equipped to deal with superpowered entities causing destruction on a truly grandiose scale, comparable to the popular Marvel franchise at the time.
And if to better fit such analogy were the often defemating and slander filled campaigns against supposed vigilantes by media and law enforcement.
This decade aptly named by social media Phase 1.
Then it was with little choice that the government took on a much more Moderate slant towards the treatment of Empowered individuals.
Blanket bans were placed on the invasive study and experimentation of Empowered people known as the 'Quality Equalization Act.'
Such meant that any of the remaining quasi-governmental facilities were shut down and the main runners and backers disavowed from the Executive Sector itself as independent agents.
Heroes, now formally recognized and lauded within local and sometimes regional spheres, were mobilized into their own sector of law enforcement to work closely with the police and federal investigations.
Though still on the whole police did not possess powers(and precincts heavily screening against such hires) or possessed benign, weak abilities that would fly undetected officers would be given and trained in the use of specialized arms to disrupt Quality Users.
Lists of what constituted excessive force were distributed and taught within the Police Academy so as to hold accountable any possible abuses of this power. [Full copies of these pamphlets and Ethics Codes can be read within the local precinct's bylaws or in historical archives].
Registration with a research based division was mandated for all Quality Users, whether hero or civilian. Civilians are restricted from power use in public, while Heroes possess a special license to unmitigated use while on duty. Some fields also allow for special work certifications that eases the use of their powers, however seldom at its full force.
These records are carefully monitored for easy identification of Villains and victims alike in crimes where powers are a heavy factor or cause of incidence. Sentencing for illegal use is near universal with jail time and a requirement of training courses, with some exceptions with children and adolescents taken into account. Or risk of fatality.
Many will argue that such measures single out only Qualitative Users.
"Alright pick this topic back up for next week."
The Building
On Sundays it’s Min and I. We stroll out past the wooded areas around the house and toward the capitol building at the square. The capitol is a great grey industrial building, gray but rich with a great sense of work ethic and harmonious brilliance. Min and I love the square for its complete silence and excellent view of the capitol as well as the land we know well, the forest and the smell of the lumber and the wood from the trees. It’s Sundays when we’re both off work and past being tired, those feelings are for Saturdays when the world seems to rush by. It’s us and it will always be, and on Sundays it really is.
Min and I are married now. Father’s hooked up too much in the capitol to return any of my calls or reach out for congratulations, but we’re happy. Mom’s stopped to visit recently, just last Sunday now that I’m really thinking about it. Her, short of course, but this time I’ve noticed quite more clearly than ever, a hunch in her walk and in her daily life. I’ve never known a human being to shrink. In the living room I set out a tape measurer and laid her down. Seven entire inches shorter than last time, down to 218. And to think there was a time that she had been big to me at 250 inches. Alas, those days are long gone.
This time, as Min and I walk, we’re thinking of pumpkins and imported vegetables and the Colombian Exchange. We ponder the innerworkings of a government, of a father, much too secret for our taste. It was only a few weeks ago I swore our curtains were a plum purple. And now they are red, to fit the season, presumably.
“You’re breathing heavy,” Min said to me. “Here, let’s sit down.. There! There’s a bench over there. Are you feeling alright?” I looked over at Min and cracked a minute smile. My breathing was quite impaired, and I smelled wet dog and sloppy, inedible food.
“Do you smell that?” I asked. “There’s dog hair here, somewhere there is. Everyone knows there’s no dogs allowed on the square.” Min looked worried. “Please, let’s get to the bench.” Min wrapped her skinny arm around my coat and we huddled over to the little gray bench facing the capitol. The wind was calm but the smell remained. Min took my hand as we sat down and kissed it gently. I looked into her eyes, and in them, I found joy.
“Can I kiss you here, Min?” I broke out rather immaturely. Without a warning she burst into a clap, one with a great smile on her face as if she’s heard some excellent bunch of news, as if the war’s over. And she kissed me good. Lovely. It was about then that a peculiar sound began.
From down past the way we came was a boy of nineteen years old, being about the same height as my mother now, and he whistled a tune as he kicked around a small skipping stone across the square in our direction. I pulled from Min and turned to see the boy, and it wasn’t until I turned that the boy noticed us and stopped in his tracks like an animal hypnotized by car headlights.
“Good afternoon,” said the boy.
“Afternoon!” I called out with a wave. Min waved as well.
“I don’t.. I don’t suppose you know how to walk into the capitol, do you?” The boy had his hands in his coat pockets and a beanie cap on the top of his head to regulate his body temperature.
“Walk all the way down this side of the building, and just before you turn, there’s a small door that’s always unlocked.” I nodded as he did. He went to go with his body, but then stopped and looked back at me.
“I don’t want to go in there,” he told me. “I remember before everyone worked in the capitol building. I want the city back.”
“I miss it too. I always do.” I sighed. “I hope you find what it is you’re looking for.”
“Thanks,” the boy said. He searched for his walk and continued his stroll, though he wasn’t whistling anymore.
“I love you,” I heard Min say. I turned back to look at her, and before I could make sense of the sight before my eyes, my face was quite enveloped in hers.
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