His name is Wellesley Gibson, and he is a supervillain, or was.
He lived on a Scarcity world, worked a dead-end job, lived with the first girl who slept with him, was a hypochondriac for stress related diseases, and lived a life of quietly productive mediocrity. He hated his relentlessly cheery neighbors and the best friend who his girlfriend fucked. Every day on his way home from work he'd be stalked and mocked by a bunch of thugs whose racial heritage he had long since grown to loathe. His father walked out on his mother when he was 18 weeks old. He was one of the most insignificant assholes of the 21st century.
Then his father took a bullet in the head from a marksman two cities away. No one would dare come closer to The Killer, the scariest super-fuck who ever walked the earth. Wellesley was brought in to take his place, and shown, for the first time, what his pacifist maternal upbringing had hidden - an impossibly deadly killer instinct with every form of weaponry that fell in to his hands.
Wellesley had a choice - supervillainy, or continued life as an insignificant asshole. He took his every day life and flushed it down the toilet. He spent 14 days in a slaughterhouse unlearning eleven years of vegetarianism, killed twelve thousand, eight hundred and seventeen farm animals. The first time he killed a man he felt like he fucked Marilyn Monroe without a condom. In eight weeks he had shot his best friend in the face and dumped his body in the dumpster.
The truth of the matter was, you see, that in 1986 the supervillains had been united in a new organization - the Fraternity - by the smartest man alive, Professor Solomon Seltzer. There were a few days of horrific violence, and when the smoke cleared any superhero that walked or crawled was dead or defeated. Using the seven-dimensional imps and the alien supercomputers in their ranks, the Fraternity rewrote reality so that all their once-stalwart foes were forgotten, leaving behind a world of mundanity where all that was left of the superheroes were comic books and daydreams, not even memories remaining.
Three months later he was blowing holes in men of steel and slitting the throats of dark-knight detectives in parallel dimensions, murdering people across all time and space and driving a three-hundred thousand dollar sports car. He raped an A-list celebrity, killed all his old childhood enemies, and it never made the news, so deep did the Fraternity's power run.
Then one day he pulled in to a police station and killed everything in there with a badge except for one woman, no one attractive, just a middle aged mother with baggy eyes. He was planning on raping her, but for the first time since this all began, he hesitated, for just one second.
He burst in to tears for a solid hour.
He had to run. He couldn't stay in the Fraternity without someone trying to kill him, asking him to kill someone, dragging him deeper in to this morass he had created. For the first time in his life he had the guts and the backbone to do what he wanted and he realized he didn't want to kill. But the only way that was going to happen without him eating a bullet was to go someplace where he couldn't kill.
He tore through parallel dimensions like pedestrians with a wheat thresher, Parallel-2, Alternate-386, Bifurcation-294, Otherspace, Deepworld, Anti-Time 4024, searching for someplace.
Then he stepped through one last gate and wound up here, where the gun is forgotten and the way of the Killer is nothing but art.
Welcome to the Puzzlebox, Killer. You can put down your sword now.
I would like to quietly apologize, if somewhat insincerely. None of this is original. I stole it all, most of it line for line, from the comic book 'Wanted' by Mark Millar. All that I added was the last three paragraphs regarding NOT being a supervillain.