All hail the King of the Rocket Men

[MasterCorporal Freud]

In a world where darkness lurks in every nook & cranny, where teenagers are capable of typing entire essays with their thumbs but have such slurred speech one cannot tell if they're saying feather or cigarette, who will open their drooping mouths and remove the delicious Junior Spesh with mayo on the left? Yes! It's the incredible adventures of Master Corporal Freud of the Royal Canadian Space Corps!

"Fuck off you psycho!"

From the rooftops had emerged the legendary hero MCpl Freud. With a tremendous rumble of a jet turbine engine and a flash of flame in the dark of the night he had pounced upon the group of men, knocking several of them over. The exhaust of his jetpack ignited a few of the guy's pants, their panicked screams as they attempted to extinguish themselves only having increased the bedlam.

"Stop right there you criminal scum! No one gets away with robbery in my town!" The pencil-thin mustache had moved with his confident smile, the goggles of his leather flightcap obscured his face. His costume was dark, not black, but the browns were less than vibrant and in the dim lights made him look all the more imposing.

"What the fuck is goin-" The man never had a chance to finish his sentence before a steel pipe connected with the side of his head, sending him to the ground in a heap. Freud's leather glove creaked around the implement as he turned his attention to the last man standing.

"Fuck off you psycho!"

Yes, that brought us nicely back to the present. Of course the masked man showed these punks no mercy. When the straggler abandoned his friends and made a run for it Freud's jetpack roared to life again, slamming him into the man's back in a rocket-powered tackle. He made short work of the mooks, tying them together around a lamppost and relieving them of their ill-gotten gains.

"And let that be a lesson to you, you scallywags! Crime is not welcome here in Britain City! Straighten up, and fly right!"
Dat da na da dat da na da dum dun daaaan da daaan!

Blazing adventure! Death-defying stunts! Will our hero discover the lair of his nemesis? Will he uncover the fiendish plot in time to save the city? Tune in next week for another brand-new explosive daring episode!

With a flourish of his scarf he took to the air, the jetpack leaving a trail of smoke and embers in his wake as it arced across the sky. Another gang of roving thugs had been taken off the street and justice had been served. That is, if the roving gang of thugs hadn't been a group of friends heading home from a pub. And their loot hadn't been their hard-earned money tucked away in their wallets.

It hadn't always been this way, of course. There had been a time when this man went by a much less pretentious name. He was a mutant with a fairly unremarkable power but unlike many others he was a pacifist. He believed that man and mutant could live together in harmony. That education and knowledge were the gateways to peace and understanding. Yes, knowledge. That's why he'd taken on the position of assistant to a brilliant, if immoral, scientist. A mutant as well, their genius was impressive, more so than their madness. And Victor Freud was a very good assistant. He brought the doctor their notes, their materials, he even tested the doctor's equipment for them. The jetpack had been one of the final projects he ever had a hand in. Neither of them could have known what sort of lasting effects that the unconventional power source housed within the shiny metallic flame-spewing monstrosity strapped to one's back would have on the human mind. Surely the doctor hadn't known how it would slowly warp the test subject to madness, plunging him into an endless living delusion that he was living in the world of pulp adventure. With a costume pieced together from "liberated" clothes from the Imperial War Museum he had taken to the skies over London as the embers in his singed scarf glowed with the breath of the wind whipping past.