How Quick William Came To Be!

Like all heros with special powers his origin contains a bit of mystery. The simple answer? He was “printed”, but not in any manner you might think of...

Once a mild mannered print shop owner, William's new life began late one night while cleaning his press. As he rubbed away the days smudges and streaks, a freak lightning storm struck the very building he stood in. Electricity raced down the structure's metal skeleton and wiring. It struck Bill with all of nature's fury, welding him to the floor where he stood. A nearby computer popped to life, the contents of its hard drive spilled across the screen. White hot arcs jumped from the keyboard and monitor hitting Bill in the chest. The press, now engulfed in flames, burst apart at the seams sending panels and bits of metal throughout the room. A bolt of power seared along the floor and up Bills legs. Electricity formed jagged spiderwebs along his body as a charge built within him. The smell of charred ink and rubber, cooked electronics, and burnt hair filled the room. With a deafening crack, his body was thrown into a far corner.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, the noise and light came to an abrupt stop. The room was plunged into darkness save for a small yellow and blue flame as it danced on a pool of ink which stained the debris strewn floor. A moan sounded from a dark corner followed by more sounds as paper and pieces of print shop were pushed out of someone's way. Bill crawled on hands and knees from his resting place, stiff and sore from his ordeal. As he pushed forward with his head pounding in time with his heart, he began to notice a faint blue glow. Fearful that it might be another bolt of lightning he froze in place and waited for the inevitable.

Several minutes passed. The building remained quiet. Feeling a little safer, Bill began his slow crawl again, hoping to find a nearby door. The glow was still there. It was at that point Bill realized the glow came from him. The aura pulsed in time with his head and chest. Frightened, he sped his pace. The glow increased with his effort and he could make out his surroundings in the dim eerie light. Lifting a hand from the floor he noticed the place it had just been appeared somehow darker, filled with odd shapes. He continued.

Finally he reached the door. Rising to his knees he fumbled for the door knob. His hands brushed against the fire extinguisher and flashlight mounted to the wall nearby. Bill leaned into the door as he turned the knob. The door popped open and he spilled onto the ground outside. Cool dew laden grass stuck to his forehead as he filled his lungs with the night air. Several minutes passed as Bill relished the simple act of breathing. Slowly, the horror that had just past began to order itself inside his head. Mentally checking off body parts, he discovered himself fit enough to sit upright. Dull flashes of lightning lit clouds far off in the distance, their rumbles faint and slow, there was nothing left to fear from them. The light over the door flickered back to life as the local power grid stabilized and came back on. The inside of the shop remained in darkness, a square of black inside the door frame. Looking himself over he grunted in disgust at all the different colors of ink that now stained his clothing. Colorful palm and finger prints covered the front of his shirt and pants. Once again he caught that odd glow out of the corner of his eye and followed it to his open hands where it faded from view. He convinced himself it was only a figment of his imagination.

The sound of cooling metal popped and twanged from inside the shop. Bill raised his head to the darkened doorway. Getting to his feet, he made his way to the entrance. He figured he might as well look over the damage. It wasn't going to be good, he was sure of that. He felt around the inside of the door frame for the flashlight he kept there. Taking it from its cradle, he thumbed the switch and stabbed the darkness with its beam. Bits of paper lay everywhere. The press was nothing but scrap metal, and the shelves which normally held ink displayed only a few overturned cans and a small pair of flames feeding off the last of his now ruined stock. Shuffling forward, Bill made his way to the breaker box. Odd streaks of color played at the edges of his vision, the day's work now papered itself across the shop's floor, leering at him.

Finding his objective, he pulled the box open and played his light inside. He reset the main circuit and a handful of overhead lights flickered to life. The rest remained dark, casualties of the recent event. Bill turned to look at the mess and came up short. Stretching across the floor, directly along the path he had just used to crawl outside lay printed samples of his work, but not on paper. These images were printed directly upon the concrete floor. He walked forward and bent over to get a better look. There was a poster from this morning, surrounding it were dozens of business cards, past those lay scanned photos, beyond that a poster he hadn't even finished setting up yet. All of them perfectly reproduced in bright vivid color, all of them printed directly on what ever he had touched as he crawled to safety. Confused, Bill looked down at his hands. The barrel of the flashlight he still held was not the silver metal it had been when he’d bought it. A World War Two vintage bomber now covered it. He swung his head back to the floor and again to his hands.

Bill sat down hard on a stack of paper as though struck in the stomach. Hyperventilating, he put his hand down to steady himself and a blue glow flashed across his vision. Fearful of what he might see he lowered his head to look. Dozens of printed jobs now filled the paper that had been pure white just moments ago. Bill bolted to his feet, his heart hammered in his chest. He struggled to control himself, managing some sort of calm only after several minutes. Looking around he found a scrap of empty paper nearby and slowly brought his finger in contact. His hand quickly glowed as color leaped away from it and filled the paper. He picked the sheet up. Previously blank, it now had this weeks sale items from the local grocer printed on it. Nothing else happened. It looked like an ordinary piece of paper after he had run it through his press. More minutes passed. Gears turned inside his head. An odd bubble of laughter floated inside him.

Several hours later he left the shop. Closing the door behind him, he turned to see the deep rich colors of sunrise peaking over some nearby trees. Grinning, he made his way to his car. His clothes were still tattered and stained but he walked as though he didn't have a care in the world. He stopped with his hand on his car door. Bill looked from side to side, he was alone. His look grew serious and concentration flashed on his face. It passed just as quickly. Smiling he opened the door and got in. Bill started the engine and began the short drive home. As he left the parking lot, light from the morning sun filtered over the hood of his car. What had yesterday been a boring white sedan was now a riot of vibrant color. The car made it's way down the street and singing could be heard from its open window.

And that is how Quick William came to be.