(A/N: The following is a non-profit original work of the author. Please do not copy names, idea or etc. from this original written work without the author's permission. "Captain Psychotic" is a patent pending work in progress. This story is entirely fiction; any and all similarities to persons dead or living are entirely coincidental. No animals were harmed in the making of this written work.)

With the rise of the Industrial Revolution, another movement rose in America. The masked vigilante, also known as the 'superhero' has faced worship, reverence, hatred, bigotry, intolerance, forced integration and finally acceptance. But acceptance came at great cost. Any mutants must be registered under the government and must, during their civil service, wear a black mask big enough to cover their cheekbones and a black leather suit with regulation zipper. Vigilantism has been deemed a capital offense.

Ever since the controversial rise to citizenship, mutants or the politically correct term meta-human have been accepted into American society as a whole, save for one faction.

Psychics, those born with telekinesis, telepathy, pyrokinesis, precognition or any mentally ignited powers are still met with scrutiny, hatred and fear. This is a collection of tales centering around one psychic.

The Real Captain Psychotic

Jimmy Donovan's idea of a good time involved snacks high in saturated fat, drinks high in corn syrup and the 16-inch television in his living room that was outdated by at least 10 years. During his brief but rather noticeable 14 years of existence, he had learned all he needed from his television where his single mother, his schoolteachers and his sisters had failed to reach him. Everyday, he would plant himself in front of this television set and waste copious amounts of hours (as well as brain cells), watching whatever suited his needs.

Many gave their concern, attempting to fix the problem. When his preschool teachers complained, they removed the cable TV. He still continued watching. When his elementary school teachers complained, they removed video games and the computer altogether. He continued watching. When his middle school teachers complained, they removed the flat-screen and replaced it with the current set Jimmy was watching now. When his high school teacher complained, his mother protested. ("Well what more do you want? I'm a Catholic, not a 7th day Adventist").

His outlandish appearance also turned people off. His neighbors wondered why he cut his naturally blonde hair into an ugly, crude arrangement of brightly dyed red liberty spikes, why never put on any medication for the various amounts of zits he had or why he insisted on wearing black T-shirts with various chains, messages and signs on them. No, they were fairly curious on why such a good looking boy chose to look ugly. But the more and more people questioned, the more and more people were left with little to no answers. Simply scratched heads and prayers that such an appearance wouldn't drive down real-estate values in the surrounding suburb.

With a familiar, dusty plastic tool in his hand, he clicked the channel to see what was on.

The screen showed a familiar yet warming scene: a Studio audience filled with many obese, poor, or other-wise lower class people chanting in the crowd. Their arms were raised and several of them were yelling a cheerful 'whoop-whoop'. The center stage showed a brick backdrop with two people seated in the center stage were looking rather disgruntled. To the right, a heavyset white woman who had left all the curls and rollers in her blonde hair, dressed in what looked like a moo-moo to hide her rather massive girth and so much make-up, one would suggest she join the circus if not for the number of dried tears running down her face. To the left, was a muscle-toned African American man with a curly stubble and his arms crossed in a furious manner. The only exception was that the man was wearing a bright-yellow spandex suit with red underwear showing outside.

The episode's title made the boy giggle in glee.

"My mother and I share the same super baby daddy."

"Oh, this is gonna be good…" He cackled. Instinctively, he looked toward the refrigerator and glared at it. Rather than lifting himself up, he merely glanced as the large mechanical door opened wide and he stared at a single 12 oz. can of Diet cola. He glared at it with intensity and with ease the can wobbled away from its cold storage, continued to wobble as the refrigerator door closed by itself and floated inches away from the boy's face. There, the boy curled a single index finger upward as a stream of cola twisted and floated right into his mouth.

"And they say telekinesis isn't useful…" He whispered to himself.

"Yes-man! Yes-man! Yes-man! Yes-man!" The studio audience was on full roar now as the boy continued to raise the volume on the television. He snickered seeing the 'host', a 40-year old has-been dressed up in a purple spandex garb 'fly' down with invisible string and greet the audience.

"Hello, I'm Yes-man. For those of you just tuning in, my 'superpower' is making people confess the truth and nothing but the truth! Today's issue: Tammy Lyn Burnet just found out that her newborn child and her soon-to-be born sister share something in common: they both share the same birth father!"

The studio audience gave a loud, 'ooooooh' in response. Such manufactured and staged reactions would've gained controversy in the 60's when the costumed movement was new. People would've protested seeing masked Gods being put on trial by the common citizen. But, in the 70's, such television was 'edgy, ground-breaking and daring'. By the 80's it had become tired. Now, it was no more common place than seeing a masked man in his underwear sell laundry detergent. Many historians would've found this particular development sad.

Jimmy Donovan found it hilarious.

Suddenly, with a large pounding down the stars, Jimmy quickly grabbed the soda, floating mid-air, and slammed it on the table. When Katherine Donovan came down the stairs, she gave a familiar, disappointed sigh.

"Don't you ever clean after yourself?" She said, shaking her head while combing her blonde bobbed hair behind her ear.

Jimmy, thanking goodness that he wasn't caught using his powers, laughed.

"Why break a good habit?"

Suddenly, fixing her Horned-rimmed glasses, her bright blue eyes peered holes into Jimmy. Rubbing his face with her thumb, she found a dark bruise near his eye.

"Is that- James Donovan Junior! Were you in another fight?"

"Shit." Jimmy sighed, trying to fight off his mother's interfering hands.

"I just fell. Leave me alone!" He said, trying to bat her hands away from the television.

"I will not be the only woman on this block having to explain to the church why my only son has more spots than a cheetah!"

When Jimmy finally managed to bat her off, Katherine Donovan glanced at the clock and made for the door.

"How in God's name do you even manage to get bruised all the time?"

The boy shrugged, "I was fighting off some bank robbers and one of them had on some brass knuckles. I got this one when I was protecting a mother and her kid."

Katherine Donovan stared at her son, shook her head and sighed.

"Oh, as if I'd believe you'd be responsible for a life in your hands…"

"That's not true! Just last week you said I was 'responsible' for breaking the neighbor's window. And the week before that, you said I was 'responsible' for overloading the dishwasher. And the week before that-"

"Enough!" She sighed. "You've made your point."

His mother fumbled with her purse when she managed to catch a glimpse on what he was watching.

"I don't know how you can watch that garbage."

"Quite simple: I sit in front of the television, I turn on the television and-"

"You know what I mean. Society's gone to waste: The economy's at an all time low, girls and boys are wearing skimpier clothing, you see bums everywhere. And you know whose fault it is?"

Jimmy mockingly rubbed his chin. "Naïve young Democrats wasting taxpayer money on social programs?"

Katherine put her hands on her hips.

"Oh, so you 'do' listen to what I say?"

"Only the particularly ignorant statements, Kathy…"

She grabbed her purse and began out the door. "It's those freaks; those… 'heroes' they keep pandering to us. They blow up half the damn, Forgive me father, city, cost us taxpayer money and what does the city do? They celebrate them, put them up on the newspaper, show funny internet videos of them."

She opened several drawers in trying to find her car keys.

"But those psychics are worst of all. Did you know that telekinesis or telepathy is a sign of mental illness? And mental illness leads to school shootings. And school shootings leads to dead children. And dead children leads to the downfall of society as we speak."

"You read that in one of your Christian Science articles?" He snickered.

"It's a published article by a scrutinized group and I suggest you read it. Thank God I haven't met a psychic yet. They'd probably try to brainwash me and have me do the Can-Can in full costume."

"Don't tempt me…" The boy muttered lowly to himself, reminding himself that such an act would probably have him lobotomized.

"Did you say something?" She said, leaning up from the refrigerator.

"Nothing, mother dearest."

Katherine Donovan shook her head and sighed.

"Well, when you 'do' get off the television, do some vacuuming. Good Lord, this place is filthy..."

With a toss of his hand, Jimmy dismissed his mother, causing her to leave through the front door. Not paying much attention, Jimmy's eyes were focused on the television set in front of him.

"Yes-man," A studio audience member said when prompted, "All I am saying is that, if it were my baby, I'd owe it to my family to take care of the child. Who needs more heroes in the street when we don't have them at home?"

The audience naturally hooted and hollered at this aspect and gave the audience member a round of applause.

"Daryn, what do you have to say in your defense?" Yes-man said, the camera cutting to the large black man.

"The baby ain't mine. I never even met Tam's mother."

"Well, Daryn, we have a special guest today. From the back room, can the audience give a big round of applause to-"

"We interrupt our regularly scheduled program to bring you this breaking news."

The boy immediately ceased his munching and quickly reached for the remote. He quickly clicked through several channels but to no avail. Every channel showed the same news report, and inevitably the same breaking news. He moaned in frustration as he was forced to watch what was occurring in his local news.

"Reports in downtown Manhattan report of a mad preacher inciting a mob in order to, if reports are correct, 'preserve what little dignity the psychics have'."

"People of New York! Hear me now! The Psychics are an extinct race! Not endangered, but extinct! Within our generation, the last of the psychics will die out. We will forever be gone within the sands of time. And who do we have to represent us in our last moments?"

Suddenly, the boy's pocket buzzed. He groaned, recognizing who it could be and slid his phone open.

"Shit." He cursed to himself.

"Are you watching TV?" A female voice said, her voice barely audible with some sort of blowing air in the background.

"I'm coming as soon as I can," He said, running upstairs into his room. There, he slid open a closet and found a single black leather suit, something akin a scuba-gear diver would wear. He opened up the various shelves of his scratched wooden desk to find a simple black latex mask, large enough to cover his cheekbones.

"I'm surprised to hear the concern." The girl said over the speaker.

"Concern, my ass! That prick just interrupted my regularly schedule program. If we kick his ass quick, I can catch the end!"

With a heavy sigh, he kicked away the pile of clothes on the floor and took his black leather suit and began zipping it up. He cursed and swore and muttered, as he slid on the various sleeves, put on the thin string to cover his eyes and eventually, the black, elastic hoodie to cover his spiky red hair. He then glanced in the mirror, to ensure the majority of his body, save his mouth, was covered up and hidden away in black material. He nodded, opened his room window and slowly floated away from his two-story house when nobody was looking.

Jimmy Donovan was a mutant working in secret to keep up his powers. He worked 3-7 PM everyday including weekends and Holidays. He works part-time under the alias Captain Psychotic and really, really hated his job.

Times Square

October 15th, 11:27 AM

Even before receiving his telepathy, Jimmy Donovan hated crowds. He was utterly convinced that if you put people together in a massive crowd, you would get all the worst parts of humanity in a few seconds. Being a telepathic, that truth was easily confirmed: within the mass of thoughts was a mixture of negative emotions: fear, hatred, bigotry, anger and all of it was aimed towards psychics. The crowd chanted and threw debris at the center, impromptu stage, chanting and roaring at the figure ahead. Several of them held up picket signs with various slogans, "Death to Psychics" "Stay out of my mind" and of course, the ever popular "The only good psy is a dead psy". He sighed and rubbed his temple, realizing he had to deal with this situation or risk missing the rest of his show.

"C'mon, where are you?" The boy grunted, floating up in the air and staring down at the crowd, who were little more than disgruntled ants.

"Hey, look! It's another one!" A man yelled as the other people began to point and boo.

"Get 'Im!" Another crowd member said.

"We don't want you here! Go home and stop bothering us!" Another woman yelled. The crowd behind her began to join in and shout various threats and slurs at the boy floating a good 10 feet above them.

"Thanks!" The costumed boy said. "I love you, too."

Finally, a black streak of air zoomed in and stopped in front of the boy. He stared at the figure, dressed in the same black, leathered zip-up suit as he was. He looked up to find the black leather mask mesh with the ebony skin of his partner with the only difference was her suit only went to the neck up. Save her face, everyone was allowed to see her head and the twin afro puffs she tied together in two perfect balls. He snickered and smiled.

Straight Arrow's entrances were nonetheless impressive each and every time the boy found her.

"You're late for someone with super speed."

"For you information, I was observing the speed limit, unlike some people." She threw the question back at him.

"Hey, sue me if I want to watch quality television. Speaking of which, who is this jackass?"

The girl pulled out her cell phone and tapped the screen in quick succession before a profile pulled up.

A bald man with glasses and a small goatee showed up. "Kevin Masterson. Former televised evangelist who started up several churches and mysteriously disappeared. He was under investigation for this 'religion' when he and his 'donations' suddenly up and went missing. Now, he's preparing some sort of rally and we're to detain him before it gets worse."

"Right. So business as usual right? I think of a bunch of clever insults to distract him and you sneak around and use your Vulcan Nerve Pinch, we leave him for the cops and we go home. Simple, right?"

"First of all, it is not a Vulcan Nerve Pinch, it's me simply applying my super strength over a blood vessel and holding it long enough for the person to pass out. Second of all, I'd hardly call your immature and crass 'dialogue' clever, but rather a noticeable distraction to limit the amount of violence necessary. Finally, I hope your priorities aren't so shallow as to only be concerned with a television show when this entire mob's well-being is concerned."

The boy picked his ear with his pinky.

"Right, Vulcan Nerve Pinch, report him to the cops, go home. Got it."

Suddenly, the stage upfront began to grow dim. The mob itself began to grow quiet and settle down as several well placed spot lights began to light up and show the stage. The boy rushed forward, but the girl's strong forearm blocked his path. The whole of Times Square was silenced as the people gathered around and whispered to one another. They began to shush one another when the giant Jumbo screens were projecting, all at once, Kevin Masterson. However, unlike the profile photo that was shown before, Jimmy Donovan found that the former preacher now sported a garish, ridiculously over-sized black metal helmet and a massive red velvet cape long enough to be mistaken for an awards carpet. As he stepped forward, smoke machines began projecting out on the floor as the crowd began gasping and oohing all at once. There, man spoke.

"What are we waiting for?" Jimmy whispered to his flying partner.

"Freedom of speech." Straight Arrow said loudly. "He's technically not breaking the law, and the police just want us here as a precautionary warning. We wait until he does something illegal."

"It should be illegal to hijack TV time…" He muttered angrily.

"My children…" He said in a deep, almost hypnotizing voice.

"The Psychics are an extinct race. But, what does that mean 'extinct'? You've heard of dinosaurs going extinct. You've heard of the buffalo going extinct. But what does it really mean? Does it mean that all the members of its species are dead? Does it mean that there's none left, that it's impossible for psychics to be 'extinct' since I'm still standing here? Or… does it mean less than 200 people among a population of more than six billion? Does it mean a reproduction rate so abysmal that 50 percent of psychics are still births and the rest result infantile death? And does it mean, that frauds such as this boy!"

The spotlight then turned to Jimmy which blinded him for a good ten seconds before he could recover.

"This boy, not even a man, but a boy, gets to go around, and dictate how we live our lives and how to raise our children and how to go about our daily means of survival?"

"Hypocrite!" A member of the audience said. The crowd nodded their heads and began chanting along and agreeing with him.

"Why should we listen to what you say?" Another person added.

"You're just one of them!"

"Not so!" The man said, slowly extending his left hand and opening his palm up. Then, with an invisible force, the heckler from the crowd was picked up and floated toward the stage. The middle-aged man struggled and cried in vain as he was carried, telekinetically, over to the wooden stage. Kevin then closed his palm into a fist dropping the man onto his face. The crowd was silent at all this.

"Tell me, Mr. Gerome Banks of Queens-"

The man gasped at this.

"How did you know my name?"

"Ah… but that is but a blessing. For you see, nothing escapes the mind of a 'true' telepath!"

The audience gasped and awed at the sound of this.

"Please," Jimmy whispered to the side. "I've seen realer stunts with Siegfried and Roy."

"Mr. Banks. Tell me, no… tell the audience, why have I done to earn your ire?"

"Psychics are a menace. They invade personal privacy and they're the ones who are most likely to become criminals and terrorists! They're all scum!'"

However, instead of becoming angry or unarmed at this statement, Kevin Masterson chuckled briefly and turned to the audience.

"There you have it. All psychics are terrorists and criminals. That's the reason we're persecuted. That's the reason, we're dying out. That's the reason, that despite heavy protest and petitioning, we cannot, as a species, get recognition for our endangered status within this community!"

The above speech drove the mob into a mad frenzy, chanting and booing on the clock. It was as if the caped man had a signal that caused the audience to gesture, cheer, or boo on command. Clearly, Masterson was a master manipulator.

"I tell you this is not the case with me!" He said, somehow utterly silencing the crowd.

"If you, good people of New York, support me and my campaign, I will swear to you that not Psychic will stand above you. No Psychic will let you dictate terms. And I shall have every psychic I can find help contribute to society as much as possible. That is what I will do if you support my movement: The Foundation for Psychic Restoration!"

"And why should we listen to you?" Mr. Banks said out-loud.

"What have you done for us lately?"

The caped figure chuckled a little.

"For years, politicians and elected 'officials' have promised you a cleaner, trash-free New York. And for years, they have postponed and delayed this promise due to 'government inefficiency' and lack of 'manpower'. Let me show you what a lack of manpower can do."

There, the man stuck out both of his hands and, as if holding a dumbbell, curled his fingers upwards. Slowly but surely, pieces of used cans, torn bits of paper, chewed gum and various filth and debris were lifted up into the air. The audience stood silent as this as more and more pieces of litter were being added to a giant, filthy globe of garbage. The ball had started out no bigger than a 4x4 car but soon as more pieces of filth were added to the pile, it soon overshadowed a small RV, then a small house. Eventually, all the refuse coalesced into a massive sphere large enough to engulf an apartment complex. There, Masterson dramatically lifted his hands above his head and slowly floated the mass into a nearby garbage truck and parted his arms away. This caused the massive ball to drop and crush said truck with an audible thud.

The audience stood by and said nothing.

"Woah…" Straight Arrow said, obviously taken in by the spectacle.

"Oh, come on." Jimmy said, rolling his eyes.

"As if a bunch of jaded, cynical and skeptical New Yorkers are going to be taken in by a magic tric-"

The audience burst into cheers and applause suddenly chanting Masterson's name en masse. Mr. Banks himself began knelling and bowing to the caped figure while dozen of women began flocking the stage and giving high pitched squeals to the man and asking him to sign various areas of their bodies.

"Goddamit…" Jimmy sighed, glancing at his watch.

"Masterson! Masterson! Masterson!" The crowd chanted and pleaded.

"That is not my name." He said with a loud and clear voice. The crowd whispered and murmured to one another, unsure of what he was trying to say.

"I am not Kevin Masterson. I have abandoned that title long ago. From now on, refer to me as… the 'real' Captain Psychotic."

The mass of people, silent for the longest time, began chanting and cheering slowly.

"Cap-tain. Cap-tain. Cap-tain! Cap-tain! Cap-tain!" Soon, everyone save the two floating figures above ended up cheering the name.

"See?" Jimmy said, the tone of his voice beginning to sound darker.

"Copyright infringement. Let's take him down." He moved forward only to have a strong hand pull him back.

"Not yet!" His partner said, continuing to hold him back. "He hasn't done anything illegal yet."

"As my first declaration, I ask each and everyone of you to tear down this corrupt city and destroy these 'institutions' of peace and justice that has lied and deceived you!"

"Tear it down! Tear it down! Tear it down!" The crowd chanted as if of one singular mind.

"Ok, now we go…" The girl stated, but not letting go of her grip.

"We go and talk to him."

The two floated down from their spot in the sky only to have the audience boo and jeer at them. Straight Arrow ignored them while Jimmy waved at them and mockingly blew them kisses.

"Please disperse this crowd and tell them not to destroy public property." Straight Arrow said in a clear voice.

"Ah-ha! So the tyrant and the imposter come to oppose me. Not men and women of uniform, mind you, but mere teenagers…."

Straight Arrow continued with her speech.

"You are inciting a riot. If you do not disperse this crowd, I will be forced to issue citations!"

The audience was restless. They had began booing and jeering. What little police force there was had began deploying riot teams and started issuing bullhorns to tell the crowd to calm down.

"I will not be silenced by the likes of you!" Masterson stuck a palm forward causing the girl to pushed back into Jimmy as they crashed into the stage floor.

"Ok," Jimmy said, lifting the two of them up. "Now, I've been in enough fights to know that if you assault us, they're definitely going to jail."

"You're under arrest!" Straight Arrow said to Masterson as she rushed forward, flying at such a speed as to become little more than a black streak. The boy began sprinting and floated toward the caped figure as well.

Masterson pushed his gloved hands forward. Straight Arrow quickly stopped in mid-air but Jimmy was far too slow to react causing him to crash into an invisible wall. (The resulting 'thud' was similar to hearing a bird smack into a window pane). After jumping back, the boy curled up a fist and began banging onto the force field, unable to penetrate its dense exterior.

"See how he beats and bangs against a true psychic's might!" Masterson said dramatically. "Instead of the calm and collected nature one expects from a telepath, he instead uses his fists like a child!"

"Shut up, already!' The boy cocked his right fist, tightened it and punched forward, causing the invisible barrier to 'break' and Masterson to begin falling backward. Straight Arrow saw this opportunity and rushed forward. However, Masterson woke up, on his back, began paddling his arms in-ward. What resulted were various stage lights and smoke machines floating to block her path. The black streak began spinning, becoming drill-like to the untrained eye, and knocked the various floating obstacles out of the way. She knocked the machines out of her path, only to see Masterson stand above her and push his hands down, forcing the girl on her knees in a violent way.

"The strength of a hundred men, all powerless against me…" He declared. Straight Arrow began shaking and vibrating, putting up a desperate struggle against the force that was holding the girl on her knees. However, Masterson failed to notice the boy psychic come up to his left side and swipe at him, and knock the cloaked preacher back once more as to release the girl from his grip. Straight Arrow took a few vital seconds to breathe only to have Masterson telekinetically toss a large metal rod (presumably holding up part of the stage) and knock the girl back to which Jimmy couldn't see her.

The boy leapt forward only to be held by two invisible palms while Masterson held both his hands forward in a fist.

"Let's see you break out of this…" he said, his face unchanging. The boy took in a deep breath and let his arms drop only to release extend them outward in a fierce manner. The look on Masterson's face, a mixture of surprise, fear and inadequacy, when he realized the boy had broken his invisible hold, could only be described as priceless. Jimmy smirked, cocking his right fist preparing to hear an audible smack. However, the fist had become undone into a palm as the boy tripped and fell on his face. He groaned and lifted himself up, only to show thick red streak come down from his nose to his mouth.

It was the voices, the random thoughts of the crowd. For the most part, he had blocked the out audience's internal thoughts so they were little more than whispers. But the strain of the battle before them had caused him to hold his lobe in pain as he tossed and turned to block them out. This had not gone unnoticed by Masterson.

"A half-rate telekinetic and a failing telepath. How sad…" He whispered forcing a palm down. What followed was a flurry of voices, thoughts, desires, inhibitions, and other abstract form of human subconscious to invade his mind. He bit his teeth in frustration only to have the voices increase to the point where his pain threshold was surpassed. He passed out, defeated.

The boy's green eyes shrunk under the light. Jimmy put a hand forward to block the paramedic's light from blinding him and he sat up and coughed up. He looked around at the scene, seeing the crowd dispersed and several NYPD officers at every corner, attempting to either arrest protesters or calling for back-up. The street of Times Square had become little more than over-turned cars, lit trash cans and dispersed clouds of smoke, (presumably tear gas). He groaned as he sat up and found his partner, Straight Arrow, float down and attempt to help him.

"You alright?"

The boy glared at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Sorry. I should've guess… Masterson got away. There's an APB out on him but we might not get so lucky next time."

"Wait… what time is it?" The boy checked his watch only to see the sign of defeat on him.

1:06 PM

The boy gave an audible swear, much to the looks of the fellow officers and groaned.

"Forget about your show! We have a real problem here!" Straight Arrow stated.

"Damn straight we have a real problem! That jackass sets a mob on us, humiliates me on stage and steals my name. Forget the show."

He stood up and cracked his neck.

"This time it's personal…."

(A/N: Please Read and Review! Feel free to send any grammatical errors through a Private Message.)