CVnU Intro: A Cry For Help
By _Quickster_ 8 Comments
(I feel like there's something I'm forgetting to re-include, and it's probably not as good as the original I had, but second time writing it rarely is. I'm probably just making excuses. Oh, well)
BC15 News Station; 615 Forward Drive, Madison, Wisconsin
“The death of Father Cornelius at St. Barnabas Parish is the twenty-seventh of its kind taken place in the past two months, where the deceased was found inexplicably so. Recall, how each of the dead seemed to be much older than anyone preciously had ever seen. For now, investigators are keeping with the story that these are of natural causes, but—”
“—Hello? Is this thing on?” A fit of static takes over the screens of all watching this particular news broadcast, as well as every other that covers Madison and surrounding areas. And before anyone knows it, there stands a man, mid-forties by the looks of him, his hair a reddish-brown color, bespectacled, wearing large, purple-framed eyeglasses, a plain black t-shirt and jeans. The news anchors sit, befuddled, unmoving behind their desk. All security lies unconscious where they stood prior to the new arrival. The man stares goofily at the camera for a moment, then steps back, taking a minute to straighten his glasses and fix his tie, then clearing his throat in a highly exaggerated motion.
“Arg-grgg-AHEM! We interrupt your regularly scheduled program to bring you this public service announcement. I wish to raise awareness about an issue that is very near and dear to my heart. And soon, yours as well, I hope. Lend me your ear, if you will, as I bear my soul for Wisconsin, this country, the world. I implore you, please share. I hope, in particular, to reach the ears of those of you with money, and power. Hey, wouldn’t it be nice if there was someone who could hear me from all the way across the planet and could maybe help?”
He starts, in a singsong little voice. “I am the Quickster and you’ve probably never heard my name. Reports of my fame are greatly exaggerated, exacerbated by the fact that I originated from the single greatest little place in the States. It’s a small town called Mazomanie, a little ways from here in the state of Wisconsin. But seeing’s how we’re all short on time, myself more than you, I’ll skip all the boring bits.
“After a mere 29 weeks, born with Morquio syndrome, it’s a wonder I’m still alive today. A miracle of God, or the wonders of science, never could tell. You might say it’s a combination of both. That I lived long enough for the government to offer my family a cure in the form of a super serum must have been an act of divinity. What else I found, simply amazing. I found that in addition to being ‘fixed’, I’d been given incredible speed. I could move at hundreds of miles per hour. What else could I do? Plain old Maxwell Ferreolus became a hero! The Quickster, a refreshing change from the norm in this state that produced the likes of Ed Gein and Jeffrey Dahmer.”
He takes a deep breath and his countenance turns dismal, once again getting a close-up of his face in the camera. “And in time, I got faster, and faster, and faster and fasterandfasterandfasterandfasterandfaster!....But not only was I moving faster. I was aging! At an alarming rate. See this face? I’m sixteen years old!” His entire body shakes madly and, stopping, one may notice his face has now wrinkled even more than before. His hair has become a matted mess of grey wool.
“One second, please.”
He vanishes and, as promised, one second later he returns, pushing a wheelchair holding a blonde woman bound and gagged in the seat. “This is Felicia. She’s my sister. See the resemblance?” he remarked sarcastically, juxtaposing his face beside hers and putting on a false smile. “She’s really smart and works in biology…Or was it chemistry?...Engineering? Smart! But even with all of her knowledge and college degrees and connections, she just couldn’t find a way to fix me. Ohhhh, but I found a way…Uh, sort of.” For an instant disappears goes off screen, but quickly returns, his youth restored.
“Through occult means, I found what I could not gain through normal ‘moral’ means, I could get by taking from others. By ‘stealing the youth’ from others, I could temporarily fix my own problem. It’s not hard to see why this isn’t favorable. There isn’t much I want. What I want most right now is to meet with the super heroine known as Lady Liberty. Until I can get this privilege, the list of dead will continue to grow.
“Don’t try to stop me.”
And with those words, he, along with the woman in the chair, disappear.
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