Author's Note: There's very little chance of me continuing this story. Feel free to read it anyway, it's still pretty neat in my opinion, but don't get invested. As mentioned in the current summary, the original summary can be found below, followed by the original text.
"When I first came to learn the story of Don Quixote, my first thought was 'gee, that guy sounds a lot like The Tick.' So I've essentially taken the original story by Miguel de Cervantes and made it a retelling of one of my favorite superheroes' finest moments. Hopefully, you all get some amusement out of that."
Author's Note: This story is labeled as being based on the cartoon, but it's much more heavily influenced by the original comic books. That said, I will definitely incorporate characters and other elements from the cartoon, and possibly the live-action series, but as the only iteration of the franchise that is available to post about on this site is the cartoon, I was forced to indicate as such in all directories, which I hope doesn't leave anyone feeling too mislead. Now, without further adieu. . . .
Chapter I: Which treats of the character and pursuits of the famous Superhero The Tick of The City.
In a great city of the United States, the name of which I cannot recall, there lived a man within an asylum, the name of which I also cannot recall. He called himself The Tick, and living within the asylum, he found his life quite boring. No unnecessary sedation, no electroshock therapy, not even any elevator music. The clinic had become confining somehow. He felt . . . restrained.
Things were changing, however, and a brilliant idea had come to him. He would leave that place and become the superhero that he knew he was destined to be, leaping from rooftop to rooftop in that blue suit which had become indistinguishable from his skin after wearing it for so many years; in pursuit of justice, putting into practice everything that he knew a superhero was supposed to do; righting every kind of wrong, and getting in some pretty sticky situations along the way, so that others wouldn't have to. It was the only thing that made sense. As he approached the city, antennae twitching in anticipation, he saw it for what it was: A big place with lots of buildings, and lots of rooftops to jump around on. And that was what he did. He was a superhero.
He looked down, inspecting the roof of the asylum, then cast his gaze at the roofs of all the surrounding buildings. All were cracked and worn after years of weather and abuse, but to him, they seemed a beautiful stage—surpassing in his eyes even the lavish marble of the Taj Mahal—upon which to dance and feel like a god. They would be a fine way to travel. Having determined what his mission was and how he would get around so as to accomplish it, he figured that the only thing left to do was find a sidekick to join him in his new life of fighting crime; for a superhero without a sidekick was like a . . . glove with only four finger-holes, or a body with only one kidney. Yeah, it still kind of worked, but it just wasn't the same. Who would he turn to after a job well done and deliver a mighty speech to, and reminisce about past herculean exploits with, and eat breakfast with while not on patrol? Who would provide for him a couch to sleep on?