BILLY BACKSTORY - FIRE ON THE MOUNTAIN

A transfer student from the United States; a world in which he was an unwanted King.

William was born into an impoverished household on the western coast of the United States. His quirk manifested as soon as he was born, putting his mother through a disturbing labor cycle; a true “mutation,” given that his parents only possessed minor quirks relating to transformation. A squealing little chimp was their son. Loud, seemingly without human instinct. But still their son.

Struggle is all that Billy had known, growing up without much money to his family’s name. He never took to self-pity, however. For all that he endured, his parents loved him more than anything in the world. Their love managed to overcome their poverty for a moment, putting all that they had into school for their son.

As a boy, he was curious and impish, playing innocent jokes on others, since no one would treat him fairly, he wouldn’t do the same. Goofy as it was, it was all a coping mechanism for the revulsion and mockery he ate because of his mutation. He’d have his fun at their expense because damn them all, they never did anything for him. Billy’s parents tried hard to teach him the values that garbage inner-city American quirk education could not; of using one’s power responsibly and understanding the greater good.

Screw that. He didn’t give a damn. He wasn’t a hero, or a villain, or any of that. He just wanted to have fun.

Now, Billy had never taken to fighting. He wasn’t afraid of losing or getting physical, but he was afraid of the other guy losing. A fear of his own instinct, that his anger would explode and that he’d end up doing something he’d really regret. There was one fight, though, that he had to take. Because it was just that; he was scared of the other guy losing.

A wintry day on a middle school schoolyard. A pack of cruel children threatened to kill some poor quirkless kid. It was one of those big, public school fights. Those moments where the law and the consequences didn’t matter; only the emotions being displayed, egos being built up and bruised. Billy was practically invisible at this point because no one cared what the monkey-kid had to say, much less where he was or what he was up to. Everyone was howling, cheering, and the teachers had yet to reach the schoolyard. The quirkless kid was calm. He was scared, but he knew there was really nothing he could do.

So, instinct was all that mattered, right? Billy took the worst road he could in this moment; he let instinct take control. The snow flying in his face, the neck of a streetlamp in his grasp, and a red jacket slipping off his shoulders. It flowed into a river of red that bled his eyes dry.

 By the time he felt the bruises in his knuckles and a bitter metal taste on his fangs, at least half of those guys were on the ground whimpering, bleeding and crawling from some terrifying display of violence, and the other half were either sprinting away or staring in pleading fear. And the kid? He was alive, but he was looking at Billy with a bug-eyed stare, more fear in his eyes than for the brute that had just tried to kill him.

It felt terrible. It felt good. It was the crowning ceremony of the Monkey King. Long may he reign. And reign he did for those precious few minutes before he was arrested.

Billy was charged with multiple accounts of assault and public quirk use. Quirk law was more rigid on self-defense and the defense of others in the United States than other countries. A short-lived case had come and went, eventually settled after a witness testimony from the quirkless kid proved Billy’s intentions were just. However, it had cost Billy and his family far more money than they could reasonably afford, plunging them into immense debt and bringing an end to Billy’s school career.

Billy became convinced for a while that what he had done was truly a mistake, that his beliefs about the world were right; stick your neck out for one side or the other and you just end up getting your fun ruined. With no hope of pursuing a career as a hero, and with a need now to absolve his family of debt, Billy took to small-time labor and street jobs.

He was still the “King,” though that name had a sour taste attached to it now. Some part of him wanted to recapture the feeling of power he got from beating those thugs senseless. Some other part of him told him that there were more kids out there like that quirkless that needed help. Then, the bigger part of him told him to quit dreaming. Stay on the ground, live your life. Keep your neck clean.

Then came a knock at the door. It was the kid, his eyes filled with earnest appreciation. Appreciative of what, his life being saved? He didn’t want to relive the moment. Billy nearly shut the door in his face, if not for the fact that a gauntlet-clad hand caught the door first.

The kid that Billy had saved was Zachary Wesry, the son of Darren Wesry. He’s better known by his pro hero alias, “Street Knight.” A local hero whose son had just so happened to have been born with no quirk. Knight wasn’t the best hero in the west coast, and the Wesry’s had endured some grief for their son’s unfortunate condition, but his son had endured torment for his condition in school.

No one had shown him kindness or compassion. No one but the impish chimp known as William. The one who spurned his only chance at a better life just to save some kid whose name he didn’t even know. The one who became known as “King Billy,” the king of the streets.

So it was that the King had been approached by the Knight, who had only one thing to offer to him; a second chance. To prove to himself that there is a life worth living beyond spite and self-pity. With his connections to a professional hero school overseas from which the Knight was an alumni, a strong recommendation and some serious luck could see Billy earn a name as a professional.

All under the condition that he plays it straight. This school doesn’t take kindly to outsiders, and especially ones with a past like his. One slip-up, one failed year, one bad fight. He’d lose it all. Back to the streets where there is no escape.

He’d say he didn’t give a shit about any of that. Heroes had a lot of self-importance and he didn’t want any of it. But he had to say yes, because that kind of life would absolve his parents of debt.

Mom and pop would have money. They’d have *something.* Something to prove that they didn’t raise a fuck-up. That he wasn’t a fuck-up.

With a mantle about his back, the Monkey King looked to the fire at the highest peak of the tallest mountain. He’d lay low the tricks of his past, let them sit at the depths of the jungle behind him. Then, with all the strength his small heart could muster, he laid his hand on the rocks and began to climb.

To where does the Monkey King go? It is only the King that would know.