Savant/Origin
From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe
This is the Origin Story of the Superhero Savant. Former member of the Justice Force, former leader of Evolution, and current leader of the Frontline.
Contents |
Part One: When Minds Wander...
It was night. The city was about its usual evening business, bustling with the sound of rushing vehicles and car horns. The sidewalks were full of pedestrians of all sorts, some on their way to the bus station or to a fancy restaurant or club, some looking to profit from the misfortune of an unlucky passerby. And above the flashing city lights and high-rise buildings, the sky was a velvety blackness, tiny stars twinkling amidst the dark expanse.
The flying observer stared blankly into the heart of downtown from his vantage point high above the looming skyscrapers. Deep blue clothes, dark as the night sky, hugged tightly about his thin, developed frame, and he absently tugged at the brown canvas jacket he had worn throughout college. He always looked forward to his evening flights above the city, for there was peace and simplicity in being so detached from the busy downtown scene. Closing his eyes to concentrate, he reached out with his mind into the crowds of people below...
What?!? Closed already? It’s only 8:58 on my watch…
Where is Mr. Jacobson? I’ve been waiting here for almost half an hour now…
Wow! Analyzing the inner mechanisms of this gyroscope sure is enlightening…
Shoot, it’s 9:00! I gotta end this date with Heather soon, so I can meet Sarah at the club…
Nothing life-threatening, it seemed. He pulled his thoughts back with a relieved sigh. This whole superhero, crime-fighting business still wasn’t clockwork yet; he doubted it ever would. And yet, he was committed. He wanted to protect those who could not save themselves, for there was one heart-wrenching incident when he was too late to render aid.
He closed his eyes again, not to scan the minds of the crowd below, but to ponder and reflect on the events in his life that had brought him to this lofty vigil…
Part 2: New Hope...
“Look at him, he’s so beautiful.”
Sean Harris nodded in agreement at his wife’s words, smiling proudly at the tiny infant boy cradled in Cindy’s arms. “And to think we thought we’d never get to this point,” he muttered absently. His wife’s piercing blue eyes drifted up to meet his, her smile warm and understanding and hopeful.
It was indeed hard for Sean to believe that he and Cindy were living the quintessential life. Just five years ago, they were crying in each others’ arms, wondering if they would ever be able to escape the imposing reporters, the angry mobs, and the deadly hunters that seemed to take turns pursuing them. It had taken a move across the United States and limiting social interactions to a tight circle of friends in order for them to remain undiscovered as mutants, beings with abilities beyond the scope of human genetic variance.
Sean’s eyes drifted again to his newborn son, now sound asleep in his mother’s arms. His hand reached down to stroke the baby’s soft tufts of jet black hair. I promise, you’ll have a normal home, a normal family, a normal life. Perhaps it was as much a personal vow as it was an oath to the tiny life providence had granted him.
And yet, Sean felt little reassurance in his promise. Would he and Cindy be able to give his child a life free of mutant “inconveniences?” Or was it just a matter of time before he and Cindy were discovered again and forced into dealing with the troubles still so fresh in his memory? It seemed so unfair that their lives should forever be plagued with uncertainty.
“What’s wrong, dear?”
His eyes darted back to Cindy’s worried expression, and he realized he was frowning. “Oh, nothing,” he assured her with empty confidence, forcing a smile across his lips. “Just thinking is all.” He bent down and lovingly kissed his wife’s forehead, his lips full of confidence, but his heart laden with fear.
Part 3: A Fluke?
“What up, Brent!”
Brent looked up from his mashed potatoes to see two young adolescents pushing their way past hungry students seated in the crowded cafeteria. They were Mike and Jacob, lanky, blond-haired teenagers, and Brent’s two best friends. The three of them had shared little league games and video arcade tokens since Brent could remember. “Hey guys, what’s up?” he greeted, his hand still turning his fork absently in the pool of gravy on his tray.
“Can you believe Mrs. Carson?” Mike remarked as he and Jacob sat across the table, his voice dripping with exasperation. “What kind of 7th grade English teacher makes her students write a ten-page book report due by the end of the semester?”
“Yeah, totally,” Brent agreed with a sympathetic smile, returning his gaze to his potato artwork. “It’s like she expects us to be superheroes or something.”
“Yeah,” Jacob replied with a muffled chuckle. “Oh well, December’s a long way off, so it’s not like we gotta stress about it right now.”
“Thank goodness.” Brent nudged a lock of unruly black hair away from his forehead and made an effort at another bite of his potatoes. His mouth involuntarily frowned in disapproval. Perhaps he would wait and see what was available in the refrigerator back home.
Yuck, this stuff’s nasty! Maybe some salt’ll make it edible.
He grabbed the salt shaker by his tray and passed it to Mike. “I doubt it’ll do any good, but you can give it a try.” But looking past the salt shaker to Mike’s face, he was immediately puzzled by his friend’s shocked expression. “What?”
“How’d you know I wanted the salt?”
Brent shrugged. “Didn’t you say you thought salt might make your food edible?”
Mike’s eyes narrowed, his face a mixture of surprise and confusion. “I didn’t actually say it.”
Suddenly, Brent’s eyes widened in realization. He didn’t say it, did he? He thought it! His eyes darted back and forth between Mike’s astonished stare and the salt shaker still dangling in his extended hand. Was it mere coincidence, or had the impossible just occurred? He had to think fast before the other kids started staring. “Uh, well I was actually thinkin’ the same thing, too. My potatoes weren’t made by Emeril Lagasse either.”
Mike raised an eyebrow and continued to stare for what seemed like an eternity, but a stifled laugh finally burst from his lips. “Heh, I guess so,” he said, taking the salt shaker from Brent and sprinkling its contents over his lunch. “I doubt anyone actually likes the food here, or at least, they’re not willing to admit to it.”
They all laughed at Mike’s remark, but Brent’s response was more forced than genuine. His gaze returned to the salt shaker now on the other side of the table. Something very strange had just happened, something he couldn’t possibly explain. And the question now foremost in his mind was, Will it happen again?
Part 4: Truth Be Told
Cindy heard the back door open behind her, and she swiveled the desk chair around to see her son stomp into the house. “Hi Brent,” she said cheerfully. “How was your school day?” The lowered eyebrows and pursed lips were a clear indication he had had better. He walked right past her and the computer without so much as a glance to acknowledge Cindy’s presence, and his every pronounced step up the stairs echoed silent anger.
“Brent?” she called after in question, her eyes following his ascending figure. The sound of a slammed bedroom door reverberated like thunder throughout the house, urging Cindy from her chair and up the stairs to investigate. She speculated on the many possibilities of what had caused her temperamental, pubescent 16-year-old son to be in such a bad mood.
The knuckles of her right fist tapped gently on Brent’s door. “Brent, what’s wrong?” Her best efforts could not mask the concern in her voice. Seconds passed without a response. “Brent?”
“Just go away,” her son finally replied in a soft, but livid tone.
Cindy’s lips frowned in frustration, and she turned the brass knob. “Why don’t you tell me what happened, ok?” she said as her hand began to push the wooden door open.
“No!”
Abruptly, the door was pressed shut, forcing her to take a step backwards. She turned the knob again, but the door did not respond to her pushing. Perhaps Brent had moved his desk to block the door. She pressed her shoulder tightly against it and shoved with all her strength, but it refused to budge. “C’mon, Brent,” she demanded, her palm pounding against the barricaded entrance. “Let me in.”
LEAVE ME ALONE!
Her head suddenly rang with pain. She gripped the sides of her dizzied head and sank to her knees. A moment or two passed as she attempted to reason through what had just occurred. Then all of a sudden, her eyes bulged in horrid realization. She knew.
Reaching up to the door knob again, Cindy raised herself to her feet, gripping the knob tightly for balance. She turned it again, and this time, the door relinquished to her push. Poking her head through the expanding opening, she found Brent sitting on his bed, his face dark and brooding and his arms wrapped tightly about bent knees. She was not surprised, but became much more concerned, to see her son’s desk still resting against the opposite wall and not in front of the door.
“The door,” she ventured timidly as she slid into the room, “you closed it with your mind, didn’t you?” She gasped inwardly, awaiting confirmation of her fears.
“This jerk started making fun of Mike as we were getting outta class.” Brent’s voice was low and hauntingly calm. “I told him to back off, and then he started pushing me, telling me to mind my own business. I got so mad inside, wanted to push him back, push him out of my sight.” He paused, and in that prolonged moment of silence, she saw a tear course down her son’s left cheek. “And then, something weird rushed through me and out of me, and the next thing I know, that kid’s sprawled out on the floor halfway down the hall.” Another tear followed the first, then another down his other cheek. He bit his now quivering lip. “Everyone was just staring like I was some freak. Even Mike looked at me like I was some monster ready to eat him.”
“Oh, Brent…” She sat at the corner of the bed and reached over to wipe a fresh tear making its way down his face, but he pulled himself away, and the tear fell softly onto the bedspread.
“Did you know this would happen?”
She said not a word, not knowing how to answer, and her eyes welled up with tears of their own. But her silence was already the answer he sought.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” His face, full of fear and shock, pierced her very soul, and she felt as if she had betrayed him. Her tears joined his on the bedspread.
“I… your father… we weren’t sure if we even needed to tell you.” She remembered the long nights she and Sean had spent discussing it. If Brent was a normal child without mutant characteristics, there really wasn’t a need to burden his childhood with his parents’ baggage.
“But do you didn’t even warn me…”
Stifled sobs were her only reply. Do you tell a child he is different from the rest when all that child seeks is to be like everyone else? Do you curse him with the knowledge that he comes from different stock when his greatest desire is to “fit in” with the crowd? She forced the welling lump down her throat to speak. “What do you want me to do?”
“Take it away from me! That’s what I want!” He leapt into her arms, holding tight as if she were the only thing solid left in the world. And she gripped tightly to his thin frame as well, the tears again streaming down her face and wetting the raven locks of Brent’s hair.
“You know, Dad and I both wanted that for us as well, at first,” she whispered softly as he bawled in her embrace. “But we found out that there’s no use in wishing for things you know won’t happen.” She took hold of his shoulders and pushed him back to look into his deep blue eyes. And now she knew that those eyes were not the only distinguishing traits she had passed on to him. “We can’t take away your ‘gift,’ son, but we can help you learn to control it so that what happened today never happens again.”
Brent took a deep breath and shuddered involuntarily, but the tears ceased. “Do you and Dad still love me?”
She pulled him tightly against her chest again, hugging him with all the love a mother possessed. “Of course, Brent.” She rocked back and forth as she held him, just as she used to do when he had been scared of monsters under the bed. “We always will. Nothing will ever change that.”
Part 5: Safe Again
“Hey Dad! Wow, you’re still up?”
Sean lifted his glance from the book perched in his hand as Brent shut the back door. “Hi Brent,” he replied in greeting. “Yeah, just couldn’t fall asleep, I guess. Decided to catch up on this novel I’ve been meaning to read.”
His son stepped towards him, flashing that knowing grin. “Uh-huh, sure Dad. And it has nothing to do with the fact that I went to that graduation party tonight, does it?”
Sean leaned to the side in mock retreat as Brent gave his shoulder a playful jab. “Hey now! Hey now! There’s no crime in being concerned about your own son, is there?” Not that he didn’t trust Brent, of course. It was just that people did stupid, oftentimes illegal things at these parties, and he didn’t want to see his son get hurt in any way. Still, you have to start trusting your children’s judgment at some point, and Brent had proven to be a “mature” eighteen-year old.
“Nah, I guess not,” Brent answered, the smile still on his lips. He reached down to wrap Sean up in a bear hug, and Sean leaned forward to return the embrace. He held tight, and perhaps a bit too long, and soon his son was pulling out from his grip. “Good night, Dad,” he called out over his shoulder as he turned towards the stairs. Sean’s gaze followed Brent’s brief ascent up the steps and into the dark.
He leaned back in the plush recliner and sat the book in his lap, eyes still lingering on the stained wood banister that spiraled upward to the second floor. It was a nice house. Sean had been fortunate to find it so quickly after accepting his new job out here on the outskirts of Paragon City. He had been even more fortunate that Cindy actually liked the place, since he closed the deal before she had seen it.
Yes, life had been good to Sean and his family these past couple of years. Brent seemed to have benefited the most from the move. He was back to being cheerful and good-natured, qualities that had disappeared during the time he lacked control over his emerging powers. Discipline over his gift and a new start had once again opened the door to friends and fun and a “normal” life. Now, he was out of high school and ready to move on to college and his own life. Twenty-five years ago, Sean didn’t think he’d even get married and have kids, much less see the day his son would be getting ready to move out of the house. He chuckled lightly at the irony of it all.
You are a lucky man, Sean Harris, he thought to himself as he arose from the recliner. He made his way to the stairs, flipping off the light switch as he passed by, and with but the moon to light his path, Sean climbed the spiraled staircase to retire for the evening.
Part 6: Nightmares Made Flesh
Night had long since fallen when Brent pulled into his parents’ winding driveway. He glanced at the clock beside the dashboard. 2:30 AM. Mom and Dad were undoubtedly asleep already. As he extinguished the headlights and stepped out of the car, Brent smiled at his own cunning. He had told them his last final wasn’t until tomorrow, but the expression on their faces as he walked down the stairs to join them for breakfast in the morning would be priceless.
Brent eyed the trunk for a brief moment, but decided to leave unpacking its contents until the morning. He didn’t remember having so many possessions when he started his sophomore year of college, but somehow he had amassed a vast number of items since September. Though he found use in only a small fraction of these belongings, Brent was a packrat and a sentimental much like his mother, and he couldn’t bring himself to throw away the less practical.
His key slid into and turned the lock with a familiar ease. It was good to be home. In a world of superficial judgment and emphasis on image, home had always been to Brent a sanctuary of sorts, a place where he did not have to hide anything for the sake of impressions. There was no need for facades around Mom and Dad; they knew exactly who he was.
Stepping into the threshold, Brent realized he could no longer ignore the pangs of hunger that had plagued him throughout the last stretch of his drive home. He shut the door gently with one hand, and the other reached out to the switch to light his way to the kitchen.
The horrid sight that filled his vision as light illumined the living room seemed surreal. Brent blinked hard several times, but it was not a dream. On the floor lay his parents, lifeless with blank stares, limbs sprawled as if cringing in fear and pain. He rushed to his mother, sweeping the long, dark curls away from her face and shaking her desperately at the shoulder. “Mom! Mom! What happened?” She did not respond to the shaking or his cries, her eyes continuing to stare through him and into the wall across the room. He stepped over to his father, tears streaming unbidden down his cheeks and wetting his trail. He did his best to stifle the overwhelming sobs as he nudged the limp body, again to no avail.
“Give it up, son. Your pathetic mutant parents aren’t coming back.”
Brent turned his head to stare behind at the voice that had addressed him. Moonlight streamed weakly through the large window of the study, but out of the foreboding shadows within, a tall, broad-shouldered man, dressed in black, military-like garb, stepped into the living room light. His hair was dark and trimmed short, with wisps of gray at the temples, and there was an icy cruelty in his face. Two younger, slightly shorter men flanked their apparent leader, dressed in similar apparel, with large, unusual metallic guns cocked and aimed at Brent.
“W-Who are you?” Brent ventured to ask. Tears and sobs had relinquished to pure fear and confusion. He turned his crouching figure around and cautiously arose, and the barrels of his attackers’ guns followed threateningly.
A cold, dark smile slid across the tall man’s lips. “We are normally not at liberty to say whom we represent,” he answered, his deep, rich voice full of contempt. “Still, I suppose it really doesn’t hurt to tell someone facing impending death.” He took a large step towards Brent, the two gunmen following suit, and Brent instinctively stepped backwards to maintain his distance.
The dark-haired man’s smile grew wider at Brent’s retreat, his expression a cold, sadistic reminder of the tragedy he had caused. “You can call me Vincent. My men and I are a part of a great secret organization, an establishment whose charter is to eliminate the genetic scum known as mutants.”
Brent swallowed hard, forcing the lump down his throat to speak. “You kill mutants?”
“Precisely,” Vincent replied in a nonchalant tone. “Our employers believe that the world has strayed too far from its original, God-given greatness. Mutants and other bizarre derivatives of humans are all too common nowadays, and they are causing problems of greater proportions than ‘normal people’ could ever instigate. Allowing these freaks of nature to roam unchecked is inviting all sorts of disasters.”
Brent raised an eyebrow at the man’s extremist explanation. “But what about those who choose to use their abilities to fight crime and help those who need it?”
“You mean the mutants who devastate buildings trying to prevent robberies or kill bystanders who are accidentally caught in their mutant blast that was aimed for a ‘super-criminal’? Too much death and destruction has occurred because of unrestrained mutant activity, on both sides. We are here to restore humanity to the way it was before this unwanted genetic diversity first reared its ugly head. Simply put, we are here to send mutants into extinction.” Vincent’s eyes gleamed, his hatred and disdain almost tangible.
“Your parents were foolish to live out here in the suburbs of that disgusting mutant metropolis Paragon City,” he continued. “Almost everyone else with mutant genes has moved into the city, making your mom and dad prominent targets.” His lips again curled into a malicious grin. “And then you arrived just as we were making our departure. Our instruments indicated that you, too, are not all that you appear to be.”
Hatred and a sense of righteous justice grew, pushing away the fear and confusion in Brent’s mind. The pain and anguish of his soul was still there, but he chose to ignore it for now. There would be time for grieving later. “You’re right, Vincent,” he answered, his voice surprisingly calm and collected. “I am not what I seem. I am far more than what you bargained for.” His eyes flashed with sudden, newfound confidence.
An audible sneer escaped Vincent’s lips. “My, my, what bold bravado. Your parents were killed before they even knew who we were or what we were doing. Telling you all that I have and seeing your empty defiance will make your death all the sweeter.” He lifted his hand to signal his gunmen to fire.
“Not today,” Brent muttered beneath his breath. His mind reached within himself and tapped into a hidden well of power. He thought, and the two gunmen were thrown backwards by an invisible force into the bookshelves on the far wall of the study.
Vincent whirled around in time to see the entirety of the Harris family library collapse atop his men. His head turned instantly back to Brent, teeth bared and eyes ablaze with livid anger. “Why you little…” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small pistol, but before he could even lift it to aim, Brent willed, sending the gun flying out of the man’s fist and onto the living room floor. Vincent gasped at his empty hand, his face stricken with sudden terror.
With a thought and a gesture, Brent lifted Vincent from the ground, bands of invisible power forcing and holding the man’s arms at his sides. He glared angrily at his would-be attacker with fervent rage. Brent willed his thoughts into Vincent’s mind. My defiance doesn’t seem so empty now, does it? The dark-clad man did not speak, but his eyes bulged with helpless fear.
His arm still raised at Vincent, Brent’s eyes darted to the two gunmen struggling to stand amidst the sea of fallen volumes. He reached with his other arm and his mind into the study and raised the two men off the ground, binding them with imperceptible force as he had done with Vincent. He stepped slowly into the doorway of the moonlit, shadowy room and directed Vincent’s floating, bound figure into the study to join his two assistants above the pile of scattered books.
Brent gazed up at his unsuccessful assailant, and his thoughts drifted momentarily back to the awful scene that had greeted him just moments ago. His mother and father had been murdered, and the perpetrators were now caught and subdued, awaiting justice. His anger swelled higher and deeper within him, and his hand suddenly glowed with an eerie light and energy, instilling visible fear in the gunmen’s faces. Vincent’s expression, however, was now unusually calm.
“Go ahead and kill us, boy,” he urged. “You’ll only be proving me right about mutants.”
But Brent hesitated, struggling to temper his intense desire for vengeance. To submit to that desire would make Vincent’s accusations against mutants true. He clenched his teeth firmly and staring hard at his glowing hand, willed the energy about his fist to dissipate.
Again, his gaze lifted to regard Vincent with bitter rage. He channeled his thoughts into the minds of his attackers. You are wrong, Vincent. His tone was full of controlled, but obvious anger. You claim that mutants are the source of huge disasters and destruction, and yet you forget the horrors of men that have been committed throughout history before mutants even existed. It is not our genes, but our choices that decide whether we will be contributors to society or instruments of its destruction.
“Say and do what you will,” Vincent responded audibly, “but there are plenty more like me who will stop at nothing to see the threat of mutants wiped from the planet.” That dark, sadistic smile once again glided across his thin mouth.
Tell them that this mutant will not be a victim of their genocide. Now get out!
And with a single thought, Brent thrust his three would-be assailants crashing through the glass of the study window and into the front yard. Their landing was painfully audible, as were their grunts as they again connected with the ground. He stepped to the opening where the shattered window once stood, gazing at the three men with an icy, ominous stare, his right fist again ablaze with energy. Vincent struggled from his collapsed position to his feet and turned again to face Brent, but catching the light of Brent’s glowing fist in his eyes, he hastily lifted his men to their feet and led them away from the broken house and into the night.
Brent probed the darkness beyond his home with his thoughts. He could feel Vincent and his men. They were indeed leaving. He waited a moment more to ensure they were gone before turning back into the house. His steps were heavy and sluggish, whether from grief or exhaustion, he couldn’t tell. Most likely it was both. Reaching the motionless bodies of his parents, Brent sank to his knees and allowed his repressed pain and sorrow free reign. Tears welled up instantly, blurring his sight and coursing rapidly down his cheeks and onto the carpet. Deep, groaning sobs escaped unbidden from his quivering lips, and he collapsed upon the floor weeping, laying on his side with arms and legs curled up to his chest. And in the deep recesses of his soul, a part of him still hoped and wished that this was all just a terrible nightmare, yet he knew that now, it would be seeing his parents alive that was the stuff of dreams…
Part 7: New Purpose
Images and thoughts of the past faded as Brent’s mind drifted back to the present. He had mused over these events countless times during his nightly perambulations and treasured most those memories that his parents had shared with him. Those fragments of remembrance were all that lingered to remind him of their reality and love.
He smiled inwardly at the bizarre twist his life had taken. Though his family had invested years of time and effort attempting to lead ordinary lives in a small, insignificant town, Brent had now ironically chosen to move to the focal point of the extraordinary, Paragon City, and take on the role of a superhero. Here, few people knew or would know him as Brent Harris. To them, he would be Savant, master of mind and body, utilizing his gift in an endeavor to protect and preserve. He would prove Vincent wrong; he would be a help, not a menace to society. And for the first time, Brent finally felt his life was moving in the right direction.
Oh @#$%! These guys got guns! How am I gonna get outta this one?
Blinking out of his contemplating trance, Savant looked down into the mass of buildings and people, attempting to isolate the mind of the man in distress. He thought, and he was no longer floating above the lofty roofs of the towering skyscrapers, but diving into the city below to avert another act of unlawful destruction. Perhaps it was not the life his parents had envisioned for their son, but he hoped that somewhere beyond his realm of perception, they were observing with eyes of approval.
He swallowed hard at the danger and unfamiliarity of his task; no, this wasn’t clockwork to him just yet…
The End
