In ancient times, our ancestors subsisted on fruits, vegetables, occasionally meat from the hunt.
In modern times, we go out, and have a fast food meal.
A carbonated drink is a concentrated version of the sugars we once got from fruit, and a burger with bacon and cheese is a concentrated form of the fats we once got from game meats.
Our diet no longer resembles what our system was evolved for, but the same instinctual cravings are being served in a maximally intensified way.
To the detriment of our physical health.
Much like the moth to flame.
The moth orients itself by following the sun, and the flame is a little sun, that fools the moth, hijacks its survival traits, and causes its demise.
We call this phenomenon "supernormal stimuli".
And it's not just our diet, it's media, advertising, and religion.
Religion too, is a form of supernormal stimuli.
It's natural for a human animal to seek more life by surviving, but tell them they'll live FOREVER in a celestial kingdom, if they follow some arbitrary rules, well, then you've got them.
The survival imperatives of one human animal is hijacked by another human animal to gain advantage.
Like a cuckoo bird puts its egg into the nest of another bird to trick the other bird into raising its young.
All cons, indeed, all advertising, works on this basic principle.
There is no going back for us, we live in the age of supernormal stimuli.
The only thing we can try to do, is steer that towards higher goals for the survival and happiness of mankind.
In studying this phenomenon, I have found the answer to the problems that beset our species.
The superhero is the way to hijack supernormal stimuli back upon itself.
And the superhero is the perfect fit for our supernormal stimuli society.
Right down to the title.
What happy coincidence!
Or, is it?
The superhero, goes back to the mythical heroes of religions.
Hercules, Samson, Thor, etc.
In the 1930's, Norse myth was hijacked by the fascist movement to sell the Aryan blood myth bit of nonsense.
But, at roughly the same time, Jewish-American immigrants hijacked the uber-man back from Fascism, and turned its iconography back upon itself to fight Fascism.
All one needs to do, is look at the superhero based anti-Nazi war propaganda.
This was a genius stroke, and the core of what I mean to take to the next step.
Even within the comic book stories, we see the superhero taking his negative formative experiences, and turning them into an inspiration for good deeds.
This ties into my next theory.
All large hierarchical structures, including American society, are built upon a foundation of child abuse.
Verbal, physical, sexual.
It is not aberration, as most would wish, it is a feature.
It is a feature of our society.
Make no mistake in this.
The physically abused, their spirits broken, become the working class, the verbal abused, imitate their abusers, and become the political and media classes, the sex abused typically become the criminal class that the media uses to scare monger the working class into handing over their power to the state.
Child abuse is necessary to program the youth into fitting into a slot in the hierarchy.
When the hierarchy is resisted, the abuse worsens.
By all the tactics of all three classes.
You can see this again and again.
Lentilville is the perfect illustration of all of this.
If one opposes child abuse, they must have the moral clarity to oppose the hierarchy that fuels it, and feasts upon it.
This is the dark reality most people refuse to face.
I have faced it, and I have made my conclusions.
The hierarchy must be opposed, and ultimately brought down.
All other political systems have failed by not addressing this underpinning of abuse.
Socialist, Capitalist, Fascist, they all do it to varying degrees.
I assert it is always wrong, it is always evil, and no murmurings of "the greater good", will make it otherwise.
So, the authoritarian iconography of the supernormal stimuli hierarchy must be turned back upon itself, the way it was in the 1930's.
There must be superheroes.
Superheroes that resist the hierarchy of child abuse, and consumerism, and superstition, and all other forms of human predation.
And candidates will not be at all hard to find.
Especially in Lentilville.
They must be victims of child abuse, the system must have failed them utterly, but, they must have resilience, resolve, resourcefulness, and intelligence.
I believe, after 25 years, I have found strong candidates, and have been gradually grooming them towards my purposes.
As a fellow abuse sufferer, I think we will find an instinctual kinship.
They won't understand this, but I will.
That gives me an advantage, just in case.
Naturally, I have my doubts about this plan working.
Anything unprecedented is frightening.
But, after long consideration, there is nothing else in this world that would give me a sense of purpose.
As it must be for them.
Even though they probably don't understand why.
Well, I'll fix that part.
Dr. Herbert was dictating this into a headset linked to speech conversion software.
He sat back, read what he had, and nodded in approval.
The motion sensors around the house went off, and he saved the document, tapped away at some keys, and brought up the security camera feeds.
The Jade Shade and Chokecherry were here.
Chokecherry was young, roughly the age of Miley Cyruss.
Jade Shade was hidden under a mask, and lots of clothes, but he knew he couldn't have been much older, if at all.
He was shocked, but he reminded himself he shouldn't have been.
He would have preferred people in their mid-30's, but time would no longer allow a delay.
This was the generation he would have to tap.
He also reminded himself he was about their age when this whole journey started.
They made their way through the traps with his instructions, and were almost to the lab very quickly.
He got up, pushed in his rolling office chair, switched the PC screens to random screensavers of Omneron's invention, and hid in the supply closet, and put on a brave confident face that wasn't reflected by his nervous stomach.
Eventually, he heard footfalls, and murmuring sounds, and he stepped out.
"Welcome, to the Den Of Seclusion! I am Dr. Logan W. Herbert!".
Jadie and Chokie tallied up the gifts they'd received from "A Fan", over the past few months.
JS's second mask, the raggedy copy of "Combatant", new copies of the Harry Hembock quadrilogy, a DVD about a non-powered superhero in a red costume that was very Hembock-esque, another DVD about a non-powered superhero in black with a skull logo that used guns, another DVD very similar to the first, about a teenager and a 10 year old who become non-powered superheroes and kill people with weapons, another DVD about a small childlike woman who tortures a child molester, another DVD about a middle aged man and a teenager who go out killing people for being assholes, another DVD about a Swedish girl who goes after sex traffickers, another DVD that was a comedy concert by this baby boom age guy who made a lot of great points, and finally, a DVD about a nerdy guy who falls in radioactive waste, and becomes a lethal superhero, which reminded JS of The Prodigious Mass.
The Hembock books bore the inscription "I'm sending a map next- A Fan".
The DVDs had folded slips of paper inside the boxes that had a map segment.
Jadie and Chokie had them all splayed out and assembled.
"I know right where that is", JS said.
"So do I", Chokie jumped in, without missing a beat.
30 minutes later, they were there.
JS by car, Chokie by her Cherry-sicle.
It was a ratty run down ranch house with flaking blue paint up on a hill on the outskirts of Lentilville.
There were no lights on inside.
A chill ran up both of their spines.
It was the house of the last guy Dusty had pranked as The Green Monster.
The one that had run out with a shotgun.
Chokie pulled out her Cherry-popper, and cocked the trigger.
JS popped a bolt into his wrist crossbow.
They marched forward to the porch.
Anticipating a booby trap every step along the way, they crept up the front steps.
The door was unlocked, they let themselves in.
They did a sweep of the place with their weapons ready.
It reminded them both of the day they met.
The front door opened into a kitchen, then, to the left, a two foot connecting hallway led to a den, which led to a living room.
Both were caked with dust.
In the other direction, a doorway to a bathroom, and a stairway leading upwards.
They knew from the instructions on the map not to go that way.
They proceeded into the kitchen, and took a right past the kitchen table.
After the table, and under the upwards stairway was a doorway to what looked like a broom closet.
Instead, it led to a cellar-way.
They cautiously headed downwards.
The way was lit with several dim little yellow bulbs.
The stairway curved, almost into a full spiral, and ended after only 12 steps at a dirt floor, which had a moat dug in it, and filled with nasty muddy water.
Chokecherry felt around, and pressed a loose brick on the wall to her right.
A compartment popped open next to the muddy water, and bits of what looked like kibble poured out into the water.
The water stirred to life, as if some ravenous and nasty fish were feasting on the kibble.
Then, the water calmed down, rippled for awhile, and went silent.
Then, a mechanical hum started.
Chokecherry dipped her toe in the water, and felt a surface underneath, and put her weight on it.
First the one foot, then both.
She levitated across the surface of the water, and it became clear there was a pane of thick strong glass just under the surface of the water moving her along.
She hopped off onto the solid muddy dirt floor on the other side just as the platform completed its cycle, and returned.
Jadie repeated the button trick, and rode the platform across.
Before them stood a mat for wiping the mud off their feet, and metal double doors like the fire escape of a high-school.
These too, were unlocked, and they pushed their way in.
It was like stepping through a wormhole into a whole other place.
They were now in a brightly florescent lit hallway with a perfectly polished white linoleum floor.
Ahead of them, was another set of double doors, wide open, revealing a gymnasium, again, like at a high school.
To their right, a drinking fountain surrounded by the doors to a men's room, and women's room.
They resisted the temptation to explore the gym, and continued to follow the map instructions.
They went into the women's room.
It was a standard public restroom.
Except it was clean as a whistle, possibly never used.
Towards the back, was a blue metal door with a handle grip doorknob.
They went in.
It was a locker room with a single shower.
They went into the shower, and turned the shower nozzle to the left, towards the wall.
The wall opened into another secret room, and it was like a wormhole into yet another place that didn't seem to fit.
A bedroom, about roughly 14 by 20 feet, with posters on the wall depicting a lot of the DVD films they had been sent, and images of JS's mask, and some of their exploits in comic book cover form.
They were creeped out.
They went to the bookcase, and Chokecherry pulled the copy of "Combatant", out of her purse, and handed it to JS.
Jadie found the empty slot on the bookshelf it fit in, slid it into place, and it clicked, like a switch.
The bookshelf slid inward, and away, revealing yet another out of place location.
It was big, about the size of the gym they had ignored, but the walls were lined with banks of servers, tables lined with PCs, and to the left, a row of 3-D printers.
In the right corner, by the farthest wall, sat what looked like a driving simulator arcade game.
JS gawked at some of the PC screens along the left hand side.
On one, a 3-D rotating model of a molecule surrounded by brackets trailing an arrow, next to the label "absynthe".
At the heart of the molecule, was a flickering pixel, arrrow-labeled "Higgs boson".
The next PC displayed the text "World Weather Control", and underneath, in flashing red text "access blocked".
The next PC displayed a perpetually looping flash animation of Ray Comfort and Kirk Cameron sewn ass to mouth in a loop, tied to a generator, and turning the generator in some sort of infinite fart cycle.
The next PC displayed a map of Lentilville, with label-arrows all over it all saying "ass-hole".
The next PC showed an infinite looping animation of a giant fire breathing slice of pizza smashing a city.
JS shook his head in bewilderment, and stopped looking.
There were 4 more, but he'd seen enough.
Suddenly, a door opened next to the driving game, and someone stepped out.
Chokie pulled her gun, and JS readied his crossbow.
The man was tall, almost as tall as JS, skinny, looked to be about 45, wearing a lab coat, a baby-blue shirt, a yellow necktie, suspenders, green pants, brown workboots, and purple rubber gloves that came almost up to his elbows.
He had on glasses, but also a pair of goggles hanging on his forehead.
His hair was balding on top, except for a strip in the middle that had been grown into a sort of hair-horn, and the hair on the sides of his head had likewise been combed and slicked into hair horns.
Completing this spikey appearance was a 3 inch goatee sticking out of his chin.
The man crossed his arms, nonplussed by their weapons being drawn, and said "welcome, to the Den Of Seclusion! I am Dr. Logan W. Herbert!".
"So, you're 'A Fan'", JS said flatly.
"Obviously", said Dr. Herbert.
Chokie still had her gun leveled at him.
"Start talking! Why did you lure us here, you creepy psycho!?", she barked.
"Not to kill you, if that's the fear", he replied.
"Don't you see? I'm how you get to the next step! I've been waiting for people like you, and whether you know it or not, you've been hoping for someone like me".
"What next step?", Chokie said, still holding her gun up.
"Taking down the corruption in Lentilville", he said matter-of-factly.
"If you're NOT out to defeat the heart of Lentilville's evil, then you're just going to be wasting time playing Cowboys and Indians. The two of you can't do it on your own, not if you could live to 300 years. You need a bigger and bigger team to pull it off. The two of you finding each other is a start, I'm phase three".
"How do you figure?", JS asked, still keeping his tone flat.
"Yeah!", Chokie added.
"I'm your benefactor, slash mentor, slash gadget man".
He gestured his hands outward indicating the tech in his lab with a dramatic flourish.
"All this is all for you", he said.
"The mask was the start. Made that on the first 3-D printer over there", he indicated it with a gesture of his left hand.
I sneaked into your apartment, and scanned the clay models you had, made some improvements, and whammo. Easy-peasy".
He indicated a PC with the rotating 3-D model of JS's current mask.
"You're wearing the thing, I figured you approved of my tweaking".
"Breaking in to my apartment was creepy", JS said.
"Well...your wife can attest to that drastic measures are required to get your attention".
"Look, you kids can certainly turn down my offer, but I think you'll end up dead meat without me. At least, homeless. You've already pissed off some big people, and you'll only piss them off more if you keep up this way. With my resources, things will go a lot smoother".
"Where the hell did you get all this?", Chokie asked, starting to lower her gun, but keeping it ready.
"Made my money during the dotcom boom of the 90's. Got kicked out and bought off by my scummy partners. I shorted their stock when I saw the dotcom crash coming. I'm smart".
"How did you...", JS started to ask.
"...know your secret identities, Dusty? Like I said, I'm smart".
"Did you..", JS started to ask.
"...pull the strings to get you your job and apartment back? Yes, and no".
He gestured at one of the PCs.
A blue elongated head made of triangular segments materialized on the screen with a complicated computer animated special effect that looked like the face was unfolding from a central cylindrical column.
"Omneron here did the grunt work on that, I just asked him to".
"Hi", said Omneron.
"Um, hi", JS mumbled.
"...and, to solve the final mystery that must be confusing you, I've been the one paying to keep Elisa Jack open, so, I've kind of been signing your checks anyway".
Chokie lowered her gun, un-cocked the trigger, and put it away.
He didn't see the point of keeping up the charade.
Besides, the mask always got steamy and uncomfortable after awhile.
"Did you kill the judge?", he asked bluntly.
Dr. Herbert sighed, and said "I wish, but no, that was someone else, and no, I haven't figured out who yet".
"So, how would this partnership work? What do we all get out of it?".
"You? You, as mentioned get access to my resources. I can gadget you up in almost any way you need. Also, if you like, and I'd prefer it, you get to live here. There's a lot more rooms than you've seen. Plenty of space to make yourselves cozy. Me? I get you guys accomplishing my goals, and taking the big risks".
"And your goals?", Chokie asked.
"Same as yours. To bring the Lentilvillian power elite asshats down".
"And after that?", JS asked suspiciously.
"Worried I just want to take their place? I could do it right now, with my money. Nope, want no part of it. It's about settling scores for me. Kicking them out, scaring them out, buying them out, even killing them, that's not enough. I've got to kill what they stand for. YOU'VE got to kill what they stand for. Otherwise, more just like them take their place".
"Okay, we're on board", Dusty said.
"But we'll be watching you", Chokie said.
"If I try anything creepy, you'll be well within your rights to kill me", Dr. Herbert said calmly with a tiny smirk in the corner of his mouth.
Two nights later, Jadie and Chokie were out on their favorite rooftop.
Now, JS's mask was upgraded with night vision, zoom, thermograph, record, playback, and USB output.
He counted it as mask 2.5.
Chokecherry carried binoculars, dubbed her "cherry-scope", which had all the same features.
Her boots were upgraded with retractable heel knives.
Both of them had internet watches patched into Omneron for Doc to keep tabs.
Their watches both bleeped, and displayed a map location not far away from where they were.
They leaped into action.
Lentilville is a character in this story, and it's an asshole.
Quite possibly the villain, come to think of it.
Here's its sorded biography.
Once upon a time, in the ancient past, the human race spread out from Africa, across the Asian continent, across the ice bridge to Alaska, and then down into North and South America.
Centuries later, with amnesia of this, Europeans "discovered", the Americas....and almost immediately began slaughtering the natives.
Almost a couple centuries later, what would become New England was colonized by some religious fundie whackos in silly hats.
...who almost immediately, began slaughtering the natives.
And slaughtering each other, which was actually a nice change of pace, when you really think about it in the bigger scale of things.
But, we're getting ahead of ourselves...
So, about another century later, still with the silly hats, and silly shoes, the colonials started executing each other over ridiculous superstitions.
Now, the biggest batch of these you've probably heard of, but Lentilville had its own miniature version of these nasty and ridiculous persecutions.
One of the needless victims of this madness was an Allison.
A descendant of whom, would re-purpose this sad history into the Green Monster legend.
But, we'll get back to that.
So, the families of the piggy-eyed fucks who burnt Kimber Allison's ancestor continued to breed, and generationally hold sway over what would become Lentilville, in an incestuous nepotistic gang-bang of small minded and petty power politics for the next couple centuries.
As we will now dissect.
Eventually, the Civil War rolled around, the war over states rights...to own and torture other human beings, and Lentilville stayed out of it, because while its town fathers were and are racist as fuck, and would certainly side with the south ethically, why pass up an ECONOMIC opportunity to sell arms to both sides?
This double skid-mark pattern of bigotry and greed would remain a trademark of Lentilville identity well into the 21st century.
Finally, the industrial age rolled around, and Lentilville really came into its own with its own little smoke-stack-y factories.
And the tract homes that spring up around such factories, and the commercial strips that spring up near them, complete with bar rooms, booze halls, liquor stores, pawn shops, gambling parlors, and liquor stores.
Some of the smoke-stack-y factories aided in the war effort of both world wars.
Now, of course, as concerns the latter of those two, the town fathers hated Jews, but you've got to remember the greed factor.
That became the town's unwritten unspoken philosophy.
Grind out a mindless profit, eat, shit, fuck, and die.
Then, pass it to your kids.
And it went on like this for a good goddamned long time.
And everyone liked it just fine.
They thought it was Jim-fucking-dandy.
Well, not really, they were all a bunch of miserable drunks, but....hey, shut up.
Pencil pushing geek!
Now, the centerpiece smoke-stack-y factory of Lentilville, known by most as just "The Plant", was its heart for a good half century or so.
Its soul, its core, its identity.
But, fuck that, money, money, money!
So, they sold it to South African investors, who bled it away, department by department, job by job, in the name of "efficiency", and the town rotted, and more liquor stores cropped up, and the social services dependent class grew, as did the homeless population,and the drug addiction problem.
As can be expected.
As far as The Plant went, the old generation of drunken racist crackers (like Ronald Stevens) began to die out, only to be replaced by apathetic pothead slacker crackers with smart-phones grafted to their palms.
The quality of work spiraled down into chaos, justifying the South Africans making more cuts, and rotting the town some more.
The South Africans themselves being racist white crackers from Europe who infested into a continent that wasn't theirs.
The circle of life!
Now, The Plant was the heart, but it was a sick heart.
It gave off pollution that caused various cancers, and birth defects.
Oh, no flipper babies, but the spike in mentally challenged children was suspect, but not cause for alarm for some reason.
All swept under the rug.
No one dug around.
Probably scared to.
That was unwritten Lentilville rule four, after "fuck", and before "die", and "pass it to your kids".
"Keep your head down, and take it".
And everyone did.
They just took it.
Up the ass, down the throat, in the nostrils, in the ears, under the eyelids, and under the fingernails.
If it was a hole, in it went, without protest.
The Lentilville Town Fathers never ran out of things to gleefully stick in, either.
Now, where did Lentilville's unusual name come from, you may ask?
Lentilville was the source of canned baked beans for the whole tri-state area for almost a century.
Until The Plant moved in, and drove the bean people out with industrial sabotage, and a hostile buyout.
But, the nickname "Lentilville", had already stuck, so, there you are.
One of the other economic engines of Lentilville was the Lentilville Mall.
Known by most as just "The Mall".
At first, a thriving, throbbing, glowing altar to the glories of consumerist capitalism.
By the 21st century, like The Plant, a gutted husk of broken dreams.
Once surrounded by an urban utopia, now, ugly Fascist architecture, mostly parking garages, grew around it like tumors on the face of Joseph Merrick.
A place for human living and happiness became a sad mutilated wretch.
The Town Fathers counted the money, and saw that it was good.
And looked for more places to inflict misery.
Down the street from The Mall, they let in the parasitic brain tumor known as Bul-Wark.
An outlet store started by a southern cracker that exploited third world slave labor, and treated its employees like dogshit.
The Mom-And-Pops died, and The Mall accelerated its rot, and the tumor grew, and the Town Fathers had more green paper to rub on their bloated baby oiled carcasses.
And everyone just kept taking it.
Then, good old 9/11 rolled around.
The hijackers even hung out at a local Lentilville pizza joint before heading to the airport that fateful day.
Said pizza place no longer exists, and no one speaks of it.
Then, the ridiculous airport security measures came into place.
More liberty whittled away.
More happiness destroyed.
More hope ground away to dust.
Security to protect lives not worth living.
The old paradox.
And everyone just kept taking it.
Control the population with fear.
Like the witch trials.
The secret of power for the Town Fathers going all the way back to the start.
People kept falling for it.
And taking it.
They just. Kept. TAKING it.
The slums of Lentilville became known for its pyromaniac landlords, and pedophiles.
Lentilville became the pedophilia capital of New England, it seemed.
The local news always had a fresh new scumbag that had been caught.
There seemed to be no end of them in sight.
The Mayor, the old one that Jade Shade brought down, was yet another fat bastard with a French surname from a long line of fat bastards with European surnames.
Still from that scumbag bloodline.
His first act in office was a petty act of spite, tearing down a mural depicting Lentilville workers.
Can't have that commie propaganda hanging around, y'know.
The plebes with hope?
Gotta stomp that down.
Then, he immediately started handing out favors to his shitty relatives.
As was sacred tradition.
Big shit like construction contracts for more ugly shitty Fascist buildings.
Tiny petty shit, like waiving burning permits, and firearms licenses, and ignoring animal disturbance complains for his slimy son in law.
Hey, he owned a glass business, and those shitty ugly Nazi buildings would need windows.
That's all it really took to be a "big wheel", in Lentilville.
A glass place.
A car dealership.
Or, a chain of cheesey restaurants.
That was all it took for one charming fellow to be legally bulletproof with his pedophilia.
Hundreds of kids.
No one cared.
The cops laughed about it, while chowing down on the terrible dry fried chicken.
Lentilville truly was a turd.
And everyone just kept taking it.
But, oddly, business did boom.
Not industrial business, that was of course rotting, but businesses that fed on misery, they raked it in!
Hand over fist!
Booze and hard drugs were always big.
As was porn.
Particularly the creepy illegal shit with kids and animals.
That stuff made you a friend of the big wheels, the upper crust.
They delighted in that shit.
That was always recession-proof.
And, by putting the casinos on Indian reservations, it eased white guilt.
Even though the money really mostly went to the Italian-American mafia.
But hey, at least the native descendants could ease their misery with a higher class of drugs than spray-paint in a brown paper bag.
So, there was that.
Yep, that sure remedied that whole GENOCIDE deal.
There's THAT taken care of.
And those that couldn't take the pain?
That snapped under the weight of all this horror?
Well, there was a nice ugly, Fascist, asylum to send them to.
The Lentilville Mental Hospital.
It even looked like the castle of a comic book villain, and it rested up on a hill next to a luxury hotel.
The contrast was delightful.
It's where Hadesburster and Mr. Sleepy Seeds got sent after being properly destroyed by Jade Shade.
It also housed a lot of war vets.
Vietnam at first, but Iraq and Afghanistan soon enough.
And what the hell, to rake in more revenue, why not let's toss in some garden variety drunks too?
Get those pesky undesirables in their proper place, so as not to upset the tourists.
Plus, it made a nice example to scare the rest of the plebes into keeping their heads down, and taking it.
And they did.
They just kept taking it.
Drive on by, don't look at it, don't talk about it.
Grind out a mindless profit, eat, shit, fuck, and die.
Let's not mince words, let's call it what it was.
A Fascist occupation that came in a nice, slow, centuries long trickle.
And every occupation needs balancing with its resistance movement.
Circle of life.
The first phase of the resistance, started in the 1950's.
An Allison descendant, Elisa Jack (name changed by marriage) founded an elementary school.
It was a progressive school, and not a brainwashing factory like so many others.
So, naturally, the Town Fathers hated the thing, and sabotaged it at every turn.
Amazingly, it always managed to hang on.
When Elisa died in her 90's in the 1990's, it's most lionhearted defender was gone, and the villains chipped away at it.
Still, even in the declining years, it gave knowledge, and happy memories to many children, including the young Dusty Irwin, and Kimber Allison.
The latter, as mentioned earlier on, re-purposed the sad history of this sordid berg into the Green Monster legend.
When the great school shooting of 1999 happened, it looked like the end for the Elisa Jack school.
But, a mysterious benefactor kept it going, and soon, in the second decade of the 21st century, it employed the adult Dusty Irwin as its janitor.
The second wave of the resistance came with the real life superhero movement, and Lentilville's first true superhero, The Jade Shade.
Inspired of course, by the Green Monster legend.
The dark birth of the town's evil coming back to bite the town in its ass.
A true vengeance spirit given flesh.
The circle of life!
As it would turn out, JS would be the first of many Lentilvillian superheroes.
The superheroes weren't ones to hang their heads and take it.
Those days were about to end.
Stomp on a population enough, sooner or later, they bite back.
Nature balancing itself.
And, in those first adventures, JS took down the fat old Mayor, and a shitload of his rotten relatives, and crooked cronies.