Heroes, heroes. We're all so obsessed with them. Don't get me wrong, they certainly do their part.
Taking down quirked up pychos with more muscle than brains. But seriously? We're practically jerking them off and liking their holes clean with how obsessed we are with them.
I suppose I should introduce myself to anyone who's reading this.
My name is Oren Sullivan, an Irish-Canadian national living in Japan.
My father and mother were both heroes. Mountie and Clover respectively.
And though a rarity, either form being the luckiest or unluckiest child born, my quirk has nothing to do with my parents quirks.
I… remeber things. Form people and lives that are not my own. I remeber hard lives. I remeber blood and fire. The cries of rage and for one's mother.
I bare with me the memories and experiences of those who have fought and died during the first and Second World War.
On one hand, I am now multi-lingual, so if I had wanted a job as a customs agent, I woulda gotten the job almost instantly.
On the other side of it… I also got their trauma. The shellshock, the PTSD. The experience of loosing fitness and brothers. Of drowning in my own blood and of coughing up my lungs.
I remeber in gory detail of how my limbs were blown asunder.
How I drowned in the mud of the Somme, bleeding for days as the rain and artillery battered the war torn lands of France.
I remeber terrible things. Things I know I didn't but cannot help but thinking I did. I remeber loading people into trains. Pounding on the doors, to be let out as they choked on their lungs…
I remeber being a POW. The brutal march. The dying of dehydration, starvation and exhaustion.
I remeber the work and the torture too.
I remeber flying high in the sky, forging bonds of honor and brotherhood and I also remeber crashing to the ground, never to touch the skies again.
I remeber the goliaths of metal and machinery, cutting the water asunder, I was there as the pride of a nation was blown in two. But I remeber the exhilaration of avenging my brother as the invincible battleship was finally sunk.
Apologies for rambling but, I feel it's the only way you'll understand what I'll be trying to justify in the future.
It took me a long time to reconcile with these memories. Not many really know how to help me, even professionals find it difficult.
I even sent a few therapists to the looney bin because their quirks reacted badly to my own.
And their quirk doesn't up their mental fortitude to handle… all of it. I don't think I've been quite sane since I had gotten my own quirk myself.
Really, I know I should be happy to have my quirk. Really, I k kw how hard it can be for the quirkless but at the same time…
Sometimes I see things, the pop of a balloon makes me go into a compact stance, or I end up diving to the floor.
I don't feel safe, every corner is an ambush point, every brush could have a Machinegun nest waiting to tair me in half. I practically carry a knife wherever I can to even have a semblance of safety.
It's hard for me to make friends, to relate to other people. Hell, I find it hard to speak to my parents sometimes and bless their souls, they try their hardest. And I do love them dearly, but no matter how hard I try, I simply can't.
I… managed to get into UA under recommendation form some colleagues of my parents. They do a lot of disaster relief in collaberation with the UN so international connections are plentiful.
Tomorrow I've gotta write the written test so that aught to be fun.
That's all from me and… I'll be a bit corny.
Hi, the names Oren Sullivan and this is my story.