Hello, ladies and gentlemen.
I would first like to say it's great to be back. There's been some recent changes in my life, and I'm stronger now than I have ever been.
Some of you may know me, some of you may not. Here's my story.
There once was a small boy about twelve years old. And one day, in the middle of the night, he was kidnapped by an abusive organization of criminals. Him, and many other young boys were taken to the Facility where many of them were beaten, raped, drugged, experimented on, and tortured. All were abused in some way or another, but sometimes some got it harder than others. And sometimes, the Facility sent something back. Sometimes, they created monsters.
The young boy came to slowly lose his mind. It was his only escape. Over the next three years of his imprisonment, he came to forget his family, his freiends. His life before.
The facility gave each boy a number, and the one assigned to this particular little boy, was 204.
Unbekwownst to the Director, a vexen of apathy and evil, this particular little boy, would be her ultimate undoing...
One day, the boy escaped...
He was at first in shock, having adapted to being surrounded by evil doctors and crazy inmates for what at the time was over a seventh of his life. The Facility had stripped him of his life, of his identity.
He made it back to his family, back to his home. He instantly began compulsively training his mind, body, and soul towards the peaks of his perfection. He broke himself numerous times; pushing himself far beyond average human limitations, terrified, of ever becoming a victim again, and learning everything he could in every discipline; from brutal and powerful CombatSurvival, to the Occult and Supernatural, to Jedi Mind Tricks; you name it, anything that would give him an edge over others.
He became something so much more. But he also, as a result became severely detached from others. He would stare at them, day in, day out. Feeling an intimate, sad envy for them. Pushing their strollers, buying their groceries, connecting, interelating. So simple; so normal. Just being....what he once was. And it pained him every time, knowing he could never again lead a normal life.
And he felt rage.
He swore his revenge upon the Director, and began plotting her downfall.
After a while, years later of continued training, he couldn't stand it anymore, he became a violent wreck. He got caught up in drugs and alcohol, and made some very bad friends. His soul suffered with other suuffering souls. One day he overdosed on an unknown drug he obtained from one of his "friends" and he lay dying on his living room floor. He wasn't scared though; he had died a couple times before and knew, in his heart, that dying, is easy...Living's what's hard.
He tried to die.
But he lived. He woke up the next day and began making some real changes. He made progress, but there was still something missing, something he couldn't put his finger on.
A year passed, and he began particpating in risk taking bahaviours. Prowling the streets at night looking for a fight. And he was good at it. It was then he got a taste for it; striking fear into "those kind of people." The ones who abuse the helpless. He then decided he'd wear a specific set of clothes looking to satisfy his hunger, his need for chaos, he wanted recognition, and he was addicted the looks in the eyes of both criminals and those he protects, and he could not stop.
When he dug out of the dusty box in his attic, the sweats he was issued to wear at the Facility; with his Number stenciled on the chest, he began to finally realize who he was; what was missing. It was him.
It was then, that the idea finally came to him. He would become a superhero, and the number he was once issued would from then on become a symbol.
He didn't realize, until later that is, what it would come to be a symbol of.
He began wearing the sweats on patrol; striking lines on his face with suit face paint to make him more difficult to identiify until he purchased a proper mask.
He got in over his head, as he was still so lost, lost in his own mind. Wallowing in the past, and obsessing of the future and unsure of everything, even himself. He was losing it, he could feel himself approaching the edge of the proverbial point of no return.
He began to undergo the affects of overstimulation; he slept about once every four days; he would train all night, every night, and continue to break himself apart. His psyche then split itself into five parts to make more room and he developed a case of Multiple Personality Disorder.
He got back into drugs and one night, he intentionally tried to overdose. He felt, perhaps if he did, he'd come back whole. And if he didn't come back, he was perfectly fine with that as well. He didn't care about anything anymore, and out of a wreckless act, came a revelation of extraordinary magnitude. He lived, and now, he truly knew who he was, for the first time, in his life, he knew what he had to do. And above all, he knew what he was.
He resumed his mission to bring down the Director, and made the discovery that would ultimately change his life forever, again.
That the DIrector was merely a pawn in a much more nefarious plague.
He discovered his true enemy was a corrupted, international, multi-billion dollar organization known as the WWASPS. The World Wide Association of "Specialty" Programs and Schools. He discovered their history and began formulating his Master Plan to pick them apart one mission at a time. He'd need money, and he would have to travel the world, and face many dangers. He'd have to occasionally break the law. He was about to face his greatest challenge, and his ultimate Destiny.
And I stand here before you today, a man with a renewed sense of clarity in self and purpose. While I'm picking those fuckers apart mission by mission; facility, by facility, I will be patroling the streets, helping the helpless, because I remember the anguish I felt in the one truth I knew in y bones when I was taken from my family, that nobody was coming to save me. And everytime I look in the eyes of someoone who's life I just saved, I see that little boy. Writhing on the concrete floor of his cell, as he trips his balls off on staggering dosages of Haldol the guard foribly injected him with.
The number I wear on my chest, once a symbol of imprisonment and torment, will now be a symbol of Change. Freedom. ....And Rebellion.
My mission is to wage an unending war against child abuse of ANY kind, to protect and build up youth and children so the future can be better, I am determined to instigate a Revolution if I have to in order to more effectively safeguard the future, and I will shut down every single abusive facility, camp, and school that I possibly can, and I will build an army of others who are just as determined to wage this much needed war on the destruction of our most precious future. The fate of the world hangs in he balance, and the power and responsibility, fall upon us.
I will not stop; I will not compromise. And the last word they'll hear before the end, will be my name.