EXTRordinary

3/3

-From the recovered journal of Jackson Quinn, created six years before the incident

Our world runs on abilities, is judged by power. Yet there are a few abnormalities in the system, strong who actually bother to help the weak. Is it a waste of time? According to our society it is. But I think I know better. If we have powers, why not use them to help instead of for our own gain?

That's where the vigilantes come in.

They agree with me, they use their powers to defend the weak and help this damn world despite us not deserving it. More often than not vigilantes are high-level, called delusional, and are killed off very quickly.

I guess wearing a spandex outfit makes you a real target for...anyone.

I've learned through the internet that there are as many as twenty vigilantes at a time anywhere in Europa, with at least seven operating in Londinium. Meanwhile the United States of Americana only have two or three vigilantes operating now. In Upper Americana we honor our heroes with parades and movies and novels.

Canadinia, where I'm from, has only had one vigilante in all of our history. A man known as Draco Fisk took the role of a hero known as Velocity. His powers were the same as mine. I knew him from posters and books when growing up, but never from anything else - he died before I was born. Velocity was fast - faster than a time had ever seen until that point. Some people say Canadinia never needed another vigilante because he could run the length of it in a day.

Then he died, like all vigilantes do. Like a star, burning bright, then poof. They either go out in a supernova or fade out of existence one lost battle at a time. Draco didn't do either. Velocity just up and vanished.

Maybe that's why I have powers. Maybe that's what I want to do. Become a vigilante. The next Velocity. I could help the weak, save the innocent, protect the poor. I could be the hero of my own story.

Unfortunately my parents had much different opinions.

I'll be abandoning this journal now. I'm being shipped off to God-knows where to go to the school where all the high-levels go. Snobs.

Turns out neither Dad nor Mom agree with the whole vigilante schtick. I'm leaving tomorrow to be trained in whatever they deem fit. They act proud but I think it's just relief. Their son isn't weak.

I'll be

(End of Journal)

...
The book was pulled from Jackson's hands, the pencil catching on the paper and tearing out his hard work, leaving only three pages crumpled in his hands. The pencil left a black tear along the stark white sheets, an unsatisfying blemish on an otherwise perfect page.

"Hey!"

Jackson's father held up the book, looked it over once, and then it burst into flames in the palm of his hand.

"No need for that anymore, son." He smiled.
"Forget that psychologist mumbo-jumbo. You don't need it. We know your ability now! You're going to school where all the Quinn forefathers have gone! You're one of us now."

One of us. He wasn't before?

Jackson frowned, but replaced it with as realistic a smile as he could muster.

"Can't wait!" He grinned, but Obediah Quinn saw through the smile.

"Now Jackson." He said, dropping to one knee where he stood. "This school will be amazing. It's huge and full of new people, and you can make lots of -"

"If you say 'friends' I know you'll be lying." Jackson spat.

He hadn't meant it to come out so harsh but he'd made his statement and had to stay the course he'd charted.

"I know how our lives work. I'm supposed to rule the school, not take no for an answer, put down those who challenge me. Anyone who wants to be friends just will want to leech power off of me."

Obediah frowned.

"I don't see it that way." He said.
"I have lots of good friends! You remember the Umbridges? Charming folk! They only moved away about six months ago!"

Jackson stared at his dad.

"Dad, what was Jeremy Umbridge's level, and when was the last time he voluntarily came over for dinner after that incident in your sparring match?"

Obediah cleared his throat.

"Well, uh... granted his arm had to heal, but, well..."

"Yeah." Jackson responded. "You think about that."

Obadiah seemed to regain some composure when he noticed the remaining journal pages in Jackson's hands.

"Want me to burn those, too?"
He smiled, sparks drifting from his open palm.

Jackson turned away and tossed them into his suitcase, quickly sealing the zipper.

"I think I'll hang onto them, thanks."
He smiled.

Click-click. Click-click.
The suitcase wheels bounced off the tile as Jackson rolled the carry-on out of the house and onto the pavement, where his mother was waiting in the car. Jackson took one last look at the house, his house, then tossed his trunk in the back. Jackson's mother sat in the driver's seat.

"Y'know, Jackson," she smiled, "you could save yourself a lot of time and effort by using your ability to get ready. I sure wish I could."

Jackson guffawed.

"And risk being spotted and having a target on my back forever? I'm not using my powers unless absolutely necessary."

Jackson's mother's face split with a frown.

"Here goes!" Obediah swung into the passenger's seat. "Another Quinn off to school! It's a brave new world, Jackson!"

"Yeah." Jackson responded, quietly.

"Brave new world."

(End Intro)