Mark Millar

The world I lived in, heroes only existed in comic books, and I guess that would have been okay -- if bad guys were make-believe, too… but they're not.

With no power comes no responsibility -- except… that wasn't true.

I always wondered why nobody did it before me. I mean, all those comic books, movies, TV shows. You think that one eccentric loner would've made himself a costume. I mean, is everyday life really so exciting? Are schools and offices so thrilling that I'm the only one who fantasized about this? Come on, be honest with yourself. At some point in our lives, we all wanna be a superhero.

That's not me, by the way. That's some Armenia guy with a history of mental health problems.

Than three assholes laying into one guy while everybody else watches? And you wanna know what's wrong with me? Yeah, I'd rather die... so bring it on!

Who am I? I'm Kick-Ass!

That's me, back before any of this crazy shit happened. I guess I was the last person you'd expect to become a superhero. I'm not saying there was anything wrong with me, but there's nothing special, either. I wasn't into sports, I wasn't a mathlete or a hardcore gamer. I didn't have a piercing, or an eating disorder, or 3000 friends on MySpace. My only superpower was being invisible to girls -- and, out of my friends, man, I wasn't even the funny one. Like most people my age, I just existed.

What's the difference between Spider-Man and Peter Parker? Spider-Man gets the girl.

Kick-Ass was gone but not forgotten, and my world was much safer with all the new superheroes. They said I was their inspiration, but all I did was make a door into a world I dreamed about since I was a little kid.

This is awesome! I look like frickin' Wolverine!

Even with my metal plates and my fucked up nerve endings, I gotta tell ya, that… hurt -- but not half as much as the idea of leaving everything behind: Katie, my dad, Todd and Marty, and all the things I'd never do, like… learn to drive, or see what me and Katie's kids would look like, or find out what happened on "Lost." And, if you're reassuring yourself that I'm gonna make it through this since I'm talkin' to you now, quit being such a smart-ass. Hell, dude, you never seen "Sin City?" "Sunset Boulevard?" "American Beauty?"

Like every serial killer already knew: eventually fantasizing just doesn't do it for you anymore.

I'll be honest. There wasn't a whole lot of crime-fighting in those first few weeks, but even so, my new vocation kept me plenty busy. I called it preparation, but if you called it fantasizing, it would have been hard to argue. All I knew was... I never felt so good about myself.

Sure, a lot of what got me through the average school day was making deposits in the whack-off warehouse for later; though, to be honest, it didn't take much to set me off. I swear, when my hormones balance out, shares in Kleenex are gonna take a dive, man.

You know what this is like? It's like those old movies we both love. Now, I'm going to tell you my whole plan, and then I'm going to come up with some absurd and convoluted way to kill you, and you'll find an equally convoluted way to escape.

When you get a virus, you get a fever. That's the human body raising its core temperature to kill the virus. Planet Earth works the same way: Global warming is the fever, mankind is the virus. We're making our planet sick. A cull is our only hope. If we don't reduce our population ourselves, there's only one of two ways this can go: The host kills the virus, or the virus kills the host. Either way...

So you want to donate to my foundation. You are aware that I wound things down in that area, right?

I stepped things down because I wasn't getting anywhere. Every bit of research kept pointing to the same thing.

You know what's not good news? 'My colleague died,' that's what he said. This is an organization and they're all over us. Whoever you spoke to...

Beijing. So freaky how there's no recognizable name for the Chinese Secret Service. Now that's what you call a secret, right? You know what? Fuck it. We need to speed things up. Bring the product release forward.

Mr. DeVere. What a coincidence. You are totally the reason I'm here. When you left my house, I was thirsting for that dope-ass smoking jacket you had on. And since I'm going to Royal Ascot, apparently you need one of these penguin suits. Here I am. What are you doing here?

Hey all! Everybody listen up! What the fuck is wrong with you people? I just want to remind you all that today is a day of celebration. We must put aside all thoughts of death, and focus on birth. The birth of a new age. We mustn't mourn the ones who give their lives today. We should honor their sacrifice, and their role in saving the human race. We must put aside doubts and guilt. You are the chosen people. When folks tell their kids the story about Noah's Ark, is Noah the bad guy?

Great, you don't know, the CIA don't know. Nobody knows who this guy is? Fine. Seriously, it's fine. Well, it's not really fine, but it's not why I'm here. Hell, man, you know me. Money's not my issue. I could've retired straight out of M.I.T., fucked off to some island and let the business run itself. Nobody told me to try and save the planet. I wanted to. Climate change research, lobbying, years of studying, billions of dollars, and you know why I quit? Because the last time I checked, the planet was still fucked. Hence, my epiphany. Money won't solve this. Those idiots that call themselves politicians have buried their heads in the sand and stood for nothing but re-election. So I spent the last two years trying to find a real solution. And I found it. Now, if you really wanna make the world a better place, I suggest you open your fucking ears, because I'm about to tell it to you.

We each spend, on average, $2,000 a year on cell phone and Internet usage. It gives me great pleasure to announce, those days are over. As of tomorrow, every man, woman, and child can claim a free SIM card that's compatible with any cell phone, any computer, and utilize my communications network for free. Free Calls. Free Internet. For Everyone. Forever.

I'm a Catholic whore, currently enjoying congress out of wedlock with my black Jewish boyfriend who works at a military abortion clinic. So, hail Satan, and have a lovely afternoon, madam.

There is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow man; true nobility is being superior to your former self.

"Manners maketh man." Do you know what that means? Then let me teach you a lesson.

She didn't drown. She works in our tech department in Berlin. She's fine. Limits must be tested. A Kingsman only condones the risking of one life to save another.

I see a young man with potential. A young man who is loyal. Who can do as he is asked, and who wants to do something good with his life. Did you see the film 'Trading Places'?

Since 1849, Kingsman Tailors have clothed the world's most powerful individuals. In 1919, a great number of them had lost their heirs to World War I. That meant a lot of money going uninherited. And a lot of powerful men with the desire to preserve peace and protect life. Our founders realized that they could channel that wealth and influence for the greater good. And so began our adventure. An independent international intelligence agency operating at the highest level of discretion. Without the politics and bureaucracy that undermine the intelligence of government-run spy organisations. A suit is the modern gentleman's armour. And the Kingsman agents are the new knights.

These, you're familiar with. And this is our standard issue pistol. It's quite unique. As you all see it, it also fires a shotgun cartridge for use in messy close-range situations. How do they feel?

Um, listen, boys. I've had a rather emotional day, so whatever your beef with Eggsy is - and I'm sure it's well founded - I'd appreciate it enormously if you could just leave us in peace, until I can finish this lovely pint of Guinness.

The point is, Eggsy, nobody thanked me for any of them. Front page news and all these occasions are celebrity nonsense. Because it's the nature of Kingsman that our achievements remain secret. A gentleman's name should appear in the newspaper only three times: When he's born, when he marries, and when he dies. And we are, first and foremost, gentlemen.

I sometimes envy the blissful ignorance of those less well-versed in their… 'shit'. As Professor Arnold always said: 'Humankind is the only virus cursed to live with the horrifying knowledge of its host's fragile mortality.'

Seventeen years and still evolving with the times remains an entirely foreign concept to you. You don't remind me that I wouldn't be here if it weren't for that young man. He was as much Kingsman material as any of them. More so.

The day your father died, I missed something. And if it weren't for his courage, my mistake would have cost the lives of every man present. So I owe him. Your father was a brave man. A good man. And having read your files, I'd think he'd be bitterly disappointed in the choices you've made.

Doesn't explain why you gave up your hobbies. First prize, regional under tens' gymnastics, two years in a row. Your coach had you pegged as Olympic team material.

Now, I've had a lot of fun with this. One of our finest examples of chemical engineering. Poison. Harmless when ingested. But at a time, convenient to you...

I very much regret that your husband's bravery can't be publicly celebrated. I hope you understand that.

I'm so sorry I can't say more. I would like to present to you this medal of valour. If you look closely on the back, there's a number. And as a more concrete gesture of gratitude, we'd like to offer you a… Let's call it a favour. The nature of it is your choice. Just tell the operator: 'Oxfords, not Brogues.' And then they'll know it's you.