“The Blurt.” That was my name, yeah. A comical name for an eighteen-year-old comical villain. I was the goofball that liked to do the normal, mundane type of crimes. Stealing candy from babies? Easy as can be. Destroying school property(During weekends)? That was me. Blowing up the dentist office in the middle of the night? Might have been me, who knows?

My superpower was a unique, fun one, that allowed me to manifest physical words with effects one would see an author use in a comic book, or to describe actions. Things like “Bam!” “Boom!” For attacks. Or “Slide!” And “Droop…” for mobility or defense. I especially liked doing the action whilst saying the action, such as “Lift” when I lifted something, or “Drop” when I dropped something, or - and this was my favorite one - “Autodefenestrate,” for jumping out of windows. One of my favorite words, that one was.

My real name, the one I used while in my day job, is Samson Toney. I was an intern at a comic studio, delivering drinks and food to and fro, giving my two cents to the actual comic book writers - I was a real comic lover - and overall just making everyone happy. Everyone knew I was The Blurt, but that made everything all the more better. I was the textbook goofball bad guy, and that was enough inspiration to make the comics authentic to life.

But… right now, me, my friends, the writers, my boss, were being pulled out of the rubble of the studio by firemen and the likes, after a ramshackle group of wannabe heroes, that overheard that “The Blurt’s” alter ego worked here, came around. And they broke the number one rule of Heroes and Villains: never mess with a super’s side job.

Hannah, my best friend in the whole wide world, was paralyzed from the neck down. Jerry from the pizza place down the street, who hung out to see how the newest comic was moving? His arms and legs, completely pulverized. Mr. Gabe, my boss… I can still remember the look of sheer terror on his face as that slab of roof crushed his body and the life slowly drained from his eyes. God, I can’t even sleep without seeing his face.

It took us, the very few that survived, at least three years to recover to the point we didn’t need life support, but it took only one before my state of shock was dealt with. Before my always-positive demeanor left me. Before I realized what I had to do.

And that is why I’m standing here, in front of this ramshackle hero group. Chroma, they call themselves. Color-themed “heroes.” Redwood, Orange Soda, Yell-O, Limelight, Indi-ghost, and Royal Purple. They named themselves after their respective colors and abilities. At least I was creative with mine.

Redwood could cause trees to sprout out of nowhere. Not that it could stop “Immolate” from burning him black. Orange Soda’s ability to make explosive bubbles was easily put a stop to, when I popped them all, including his lungs, with a well placed, razor sharp “Lacerate.” Yell-O tried to scream, but “Suffocate” said otherwise. Limelight’s lasers pierced his own heart when I “Deflected” them. Indi-ghost went insane as I “Deprived” her of all senses. And Royal Purple, the leader of the group, couldn’t even react before I “Disintegrated” her.

This is a reminder for all heroes starting up to never try to ruin a villain’s day job. For I am now known as the World-Level Threat, “Onomatopoeia.”