003: DC Called, They Want Their Schtick Back

The view pans over a bird's eye view of the near-deserted downtown area of a Southern Ontario metropolis, curving along a waterfront trail and hundreds of docked boats before revealing a figure cloaked in shadows perched on the edge of a roof enjoying that very same view.

"Pickering, such a quiet little suburban sprawl on the shores of Lake Ontario, close enough to the Big Smoke for the yuppie commute, far enough away that its denizens feel safe an' snug in their beds at night. They don't know that while their children rest peacefully somethin' foul, somethin' sinister is rollin' in like a spring fog off Frenchman's Bay. Out there in the night, evil wakes from its wintry slumber, stretches an' opens one eye," the figure's voice seems raspy although the tone and cadence is familiar, "before hittin' the snooze button, whisperin' 'not just yet'. But it's comin'. Mark my words, it's comin'."

There's a distinct sound of fabric rustling in the wind. A cape, perhaps?

"This company doesn't know. They don't understand but I can see the truth out there, watching all the little ants scuttle below from this Gotham rooftop. This is our symphony, our funeral dirge and the lights down there play us out in a wash of green, yellow an' red, cyclin' forever. This company, this locker room, they don't know that a hero stands in their midst – they're far too myopic to see me for who I truly am. They see a man who talks to himself, a man with a flair for theatrics, a man with a tendency to pop up anywhere there's a wrestling ring and foldin' chairs for the masses' collective asses – they don't see their saviour. They don't see the last bastion of salvation in a world – nay, a universe – that's gone mad. One day the evil will come an' it'll tear the turnbuckle covers asunder, it'll roar with the voices of a thousand angry fans. On that day, they'll look up… waaaay up."[/i]

The figure pauses, chuckling ruefully.

"They'll beg me to save them an' I'll…"

He pauses again for drama's sake. Almost to the point of being annoying.

"I'll deeply consider it, mull it over for a while an' then I'll whisper, 'do you guys validate parkin' or was that the other company I work for on alternatin' Wednesdays? I forget'…"

There's a soft clearing of a throat, borderline awkward.

"The entire world, the WHOLE Great Lakes region stands on the brink of catastrophe, entertainment value an' Internet buy-rates teeterin' on the precipice of utterly bottomin' out! Only I am charismatic enough, talented enough… handsome an' dashin' an' darin' enough to save the lot of you from yourself! Yes, Lion's Road. It is I, of course. ME! Markus Alexander Storm Esquire The Third – Mark Storm for short, of course!"

Our hero strikes a pose, someone muttering 'yay' off-camera while the tinny sound of triumphant music plays from someone's cell phone.

"Have no fear! Your hero… and mine… is here!"

The cape – yes, it's a cape – flaps in the wind while Lex Collins steps into the light from stage right, holding out his arms as though accepting thunderous applause from an arena of fans. He approaches the hero, golf-clapping and even though the camera angles are pretty cutting-edge, it's apparent now that the figure is a cardboard cut-out of Mark Storm wearing a Superman blanket as a cape.

"Hey, guy. So, uhhhh… you know the hero thing's overplayed, right? You know these folks can think for themselves, don'tcha?"

He waits as though expecting the cardboard to talk when it's clear now that he was doing the voiceover.

"Yeah, that's what I-"

"HEY!" A loud shout cuts off over whatever Lex was going to say, "hey, who let you up there on the roof? You can't be up there! That's out of bounds! If I catch you up there I'm gonna…"

Lex shrugs, glancing at the camera. "Ya set yourself up on a pedestal like that, you're just beggin'," he shoves the cardboard figure over the side, "for the biggest fallout of your career. Sorry. Just how it goes."

He leans over the edge, flipping off the security guy down below. "They had a choice, all of 'em. They coulda booed you like the fraud you are. They coulda laughed. So many 'maybes', so many 'couldas'. So many questions an' no time left for answers. You'll get yours in the ring. Soon."

Fade to black.