Millennium Man
Millennium Man was down in the dumps.
Also known as ordinary citizen Mark Littleton, he sat in his comfortable leather recliner, situated in front of the bank of computers and screens that was the forefront of his hidden lair, contemplating his run as crime fighter extraordinaire of Gothopolis.
He remembered the beginning of it all like it was yesterday. He was at a New Year’s Eve party, given by the Save-Dan-Quayle’s-Political-Career Committee (the campaign had not been going well, and the committee thought this $500-a-plate dinner would get the new year off to a good start). The fifteen guests in attendance (five of them Quayle family members) had a good enough time, but things started to wind down at about two-thirty a.m. It had been threatening rain all day, and it finally appeared, with a great thunderstorm, complete with lightning. He had wandered near the double French doors of the spacious suite that had been rented for the party, when a bolt of lightning suddenly snaked its way close to the outside balcony. Mark suddenly felt a jolt, as the lightning bolt struck him, sending thousands of volts of electricity through his body. He collapsed in a heap among the guests, who were frightened and shocked by what had just happened.
Miraculously, he survived. Taken to a nearby hospital for treatment, they kept him overnight for observation. And while they did observe his health, which was normal from a physiological standpoint, they didn't observe several changes that had occurred in his body.
For Mark Littleton now had super
powers. He didn't discover some of them
until a week or so afterwards, but somehow, the lightning that had struck him
created several unique abilities within him.
He had gained what he dubbed “Party Senses”: Night Vision; the ability to find a 24-hour
supermarket from fifty yards; DUI Touch, the ability to tell when someone was
drunk just by a single touch;
Once discovered, he wasn't sure he wanted his powers. After all, being a superhero had a lot riding on it. Responsibility, protection, justice. The responsibility to save and protect lives. The upholding of justice. He wasn't sure he was ready for that kind of power.
But, thinking about it further, he decided that he wouldn't just ignore his powers. He had to have been given them for a reason (for he believed this of all things), and it would be stupid and wasteful not to put them to use. So, he designed a costume; a silver and gold one-piece jumpsuit, with accompanying mask that covered the eyes with silver lightning bolts (much like the Flash, but different enough to be unique). Black, calve-high boots completed the picture.
So, Millennium Man, alias Mark Littleton, began his life as a crime fighter.
Becoming the bane of party crashers everywhere, he toured the party circuit, weeding out the drunks, deadbeats and despicable characters that interrupted or ruined most parties. For five weeks, he rid Gothopolis of the party-crashers, party-deficient and party-defiant. In the sixth week of his reign as Crime Fighter Supreme, things slowed down to a crawl. He had to start party crashing himself to find any work at all (especially after the Valentine's Day Disaster, as it was touted in the Gothopolis papers). By the end of that sixth week, he was sitting alone, in his lair, wishing for some bad guys to beat on.
For a strange thing had occurred to Millennium Man. While other superheroes had their weaknesses, their vulnerable points, he did not. He thought about it: bullets, fire, and bombs didn't affect him, melting or breaking up in the electrical friction generated by his body. He felt very little pain, so physical blows were ineffective against him. Cutting or crushing tools were also ineffective, they both couldn't penetrate his skin, nor were wielded for very long after the five-hundred-volt electrical shock raced up the metal of the machine to the wielder's hands and arms.
He was, in essence, undefeatable. This made, he soon found out, for a boring superhero. Let’s face it: today’s superhero’s relied on the media to promote themselves and their cause. Newspaper stories, TV news sound bites, radio bits. A boring hero meant nothing to talk about. Nothing to talk about = no coverage. No coverage = no work.
He had to come up with a weakness, his version of kryptonite. A weakness would create crooks ready to exploit it. Crooks meant work.
Since he didn't seem to have a physical weakness, maybe a psychological one would work.
Vanity!
Maybe I could be too vain…but no, I'm not vain. I know I'm not a god-like figure, I don't
bring people back to life. Fear!…no, I'm
not afraid of anything, except being run over by an African rhinoceros, but you
don't find many African rhinos at parties these days.
Wait!
Hunger. I'm afraid of going
hungry! And at a party, if there's no
food, there's no fun. That's it…I'll
only work parties that serve food. Then,
it'll leak out that that's my vulnerability.
I have to work parties with food, otherwise I grow weak, my powers
fading.
Hah, now I'm officially a superhero! I have my powers, and my weaknesses. Perfect.
Time to alert the media.
Millennium Man got on the phone to City Hall, ready to call a press conference.
