Tempest (Marc Allen)
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"Justice, like lightning..."
Tempest is my "Flash" homage, obviously. He's primarily inspired by Barry Allen, but takes more than a little from Wally West, as well as Max Mercury's "Zen Master of Speed" aspect. I also like to think he's got quite a bit of originality in his persona, style, and background as well. When I make an "homage" hero, I try to make them a true homage; inspired by--and paying tribute to--the original, without being a clone or rip-off. I wanted him to stand well as an interesting character on his own, and I hope I've accomplished that.
Contents
Summary
History
OOC Note: The following subsections tell the key elements of Tempest's background and origin in a story-like fashion through his experiences. Beyond the fact that Marc is known to be a former Olympic hopeful whose career was tragically cut short by an accident, the specific details in this section are not generally known to the world at large IC, though PRIMUS likely knows the general gist of things.
"Those who ride the lightning say that sometimes...just sometimes..."
He's running. He doesn't know where he is, but he doesn't care. All he knows is that it's bright, and warm, and he's running. He can feel a light breeze on his skin, hear the sound of his steady breath...in, out...in, out...the rhythmic slap of his shoes on the pavement. He can feel the ground push back against him with every step, driving him onward...feel the blood pounding like thunder through his body, making him feel strong...alive. And He's Running.
It's the gradual darkening around him that he notices first, and even that only peripherally. Something's coming. It's like a storm cloud has passed across the sun. Something's about to change.
He hears the terrible crack and pop that signals the end almost before he feels the impact of the car's grill against the side of his knee. It's grown very dark all of a sudden, and he can't see anything except blinding headlights. He smells a tang of blood, but only barely. It's the sounds that overwhelm his senses; the screech of tires, the shattering crack of his knee, the shouts of onlookers, and under it all a keen of despair he only eventually recognizes as his own scream...
...Marc Allen didn't even wake from this particular dream screaming anymore, he'd lived it so many times. He merely sat up in bed, glanced down at his sweat-drenched skin and sheets, and sighed with resignation. No more sleep for him again, tonight. It was the most emotion he could muster. Marc didn't give a damn about much of anything anymore. He shifted his weight to the edge of the bed and dropped his legs over...the still-strong left and the nearly useless right, his past and his future. He blinked at the clock in the pre-dawn gloom; 4:16 a.m. on just another goddamned worthless day.
No...wait...not just another day. It suddenly came back to him.
Five years.
Five years today since his life ended. Five years since the night the car took his knee--and with it, his dreams--on the very eve of getting everything he'd ever striven for.
All Marc Allen had ever wanted to do was run. His parents often joked that he was born running. High school track star, then college...he ran from success to success, from award to award, always pursing one goal, one dream; The Olympics. And then, at the age of 22, he'd achieved it. Marc Allen made the U.S. Olympic track team.
"...if you have the storm in your heart, and in your blood..."
"...it calls you home."
The Eye of the Storm
--Excerpted from the paper, Riding the Lightning: Tempest, Zero-Point Energy, and M-Theory, by Dr. Kyle Jeffries, PhD. Published by the Jeffries Institute for Metahuman Studies.
