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A tragic murder; Milla Visser. It isn't a good origin story without one of these tragedies. A mother, a father, a brother, or a sister slain is a motivation most can understand. Right? Even better though if it's a lover, wife, or husband that gets killed in the origin story. People love heartbreak, we can't help it.

To give birth to a hero, someone must die, at least that's what the Greeks thought. It's practically a requirement, some ancient ritual fueled by blood sacrifice, and performed under the cover of an unconcerned moon.

Who was Milla to me? My motivation. My reason for existing. The reason I put this rubber costume on, this mask, and the reason I fight.

For what?

Super City?

This cesspool of corruption? A city built for the sick amusement of the few at the expense of the many? A playground where the bullies have more money than God and they aren't ashamed to spend that money on their sadistic kinks and fetishes.

A place where someone as beautiful and caring as Milla Visser is murdered, strangled within earshot of a police cruiser; killed as half a dozen people scurried by only feet away. They pretended not to hear the struggle, the fight, and kept walking even as Milla's last breath was lost somewhere between her lungs and her lips. Unceremoniously she was thrown in a dumpster and discarded, like yesterday's trash.

And for what?

To give birth to me? To put me in the cross hairs of twisted women like White Lotus, Black Mass, and Wicked Web? Or maybe half the Super City police force, always on someone's payroll, will come gunning for me and want more from my body than just my pretty little head.

Milla was hope, an idea, a wish in this world denied by a cruel god moments before being granted. Maybe she was a beautiful rainbow, kept just out of reach from those who needed treasure the most.

Milla. Who was she to me?

To me?

Me.

Me.

I'm Milla Visser. Now.

What's better for an origin story than a tragic murder?

A good plot twist. Usually the really good plot twists come at the end, but you get this one early. My gift to you.

Milla used to be a name on a list. Someone who was supposed to do something great, something good, something special. We stop that from happening whenever we can. If the money is good, of course. Otherwise, we don't care. We, as a group, have been doing this for a very long time and my sisters and I are good at what we do.

Something happened though as Milla faded from this world, taken too soon. When she dropped the small suitcase and her newly fashioned costume fell to the ground in that alley; it hit me. Guilt. Remorse. Surprise.

Mostly? Betrayal.

The symbol. It was the symbol, if I'm being honest. The red hawk, the symbol of our order. I'd just killed a sister, one of our own, and I could only imagine why. The official story was she was leaving us, a traitor, and someone discovered her secret. Someone who ordered me to kill her, and like a good follower I did as I was told, no questions asked. We wear masks, we keep ourselves secret, even from each other.

Milla was discovered breaking the rules. Now she's dead. I used to feel nothing and now I feel...

Anger
Remorse
Pain
Hatred
Sadness

What is the opposite of an origin story? A eulogy?

Can this story be both a eulogy and an origin story at the same time?

It doesn't matter, I suppose.

Even we're not allowed to kill heroines, but I guess she never got the chance to be one, did she?

I'm Milla Visser now and whatever she was going to do with this costume is what I'm going to do with it.

For her.

For me.

You know what people like more than a good origin story or a plot twist?

A redemption story.

This is mine.

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

A tragic murder; Milla Visser. It isn't a good origin story without one of these tragedies. A mother, a father, a brother, or a sister slain is a motivation most can understand. Right? Even better though if it's a lover, wife, or husband that gets killed in the origin story. People love heartbreak, we can't help it.

To give birth to a hero, someone must die, at least that's what the Greeks thought. It's practically a requirement, some ancient ritual fueled by blood sacrifice, and performed under the cover of an unconcerned moon.

Who was Milla to me? My motivation. My reason for existing. The reason I put this rubber costume on, this mask, and the reason I fight.

For what?

Super City?

This cesspool of corruption? A city built for the sick amusement of the few at the expense of the many? A playground where the bullies have more money than God and they aren't ashamed to spend that money on their sadistic kinks and fetishes.

A place where someone as beautiful and caring as Milla Visser is murdered, strangled within earshot of a police cruiser; killed as half a dozen people scurried by only feet away. They pretended not to hear the struggle, the fight, and kept walking even as Milla's last breath was lost somewhere between her lungs and her lips. Unceremoniously she was thrown in a dumpster and discarded, like yesterday's trash.

And for what?

To give birth to me? To put me in the cross hairs of twisted women like White Lotus, Black Mass, and Wicked Web? Or maybe half the Super City police force, always on someone's payroll, will come gunning for me and want more from my body than just my pretty little head.

Milla was hope, an idea, a wish in this world denied by a cruel god moments before being granted. Maybe she was a beautiful rainbow, kept just out of reach from those who needed treasure the most.

Milla. Who was she to me?

To me?

Me.

Me.

I'm Milla Visser. Now.

What's better for an origin story than a tragic murder?

A good plot twist. Usually the really good plot twists come at the end, but you get this one early. My gift to you.

Milla used to be a name on a list. Someone who was supposed to do something great, something good, something special. We stop that from happening whenever we can. If the money is good, of course. Otherwise, we don't care. We, as a group, have been doing this for a very long time and my sisters and I are good at what we do.

Something happened though as Milla faded from this world, taken too soon. When she dropped the small suitcase and her newly fashioned costume fell to the ground in that alley; it hit me. Guilt. Remorse. Surprise.

Mostly? Betrayal.

The symbol. It was the symbol, if I'm being honest. The red hawk, the symbol of our order. I'd just killed a sister, one of our own, and I could only imagine why. The official story was she was leaving us, a traitor, and someone discovered her secret. Someone who ordered me to kill her, and like a good follower I did as I was told, no questions asked. We wear masks, we keep ourselves secret, even from each other.

Milla was discovered breaking the rules. Now she's dead. I used to feel nothing and now I feel...

Anger
Remorse
Pain
Hatred
Sadness

What is the opposite of an origin story? A eulogy?

Can this story be both a eulogy and an origin story at the same time?

It doesn't matter, I suppose.

Even we're not allowed to kill heroines, but I guess she never got the chance to be one, did she?

I'm Milla Visser now and whatever she was going to do with this costume is what I'm going to do with it.

For her.

For me.

You know what people like more than a good origin story or a plot twist?

A redemption story.

This is mine.