The city is New Jersey, home to great things like Jersey Shore... or Jersey people in general. I mean, I didn't truly want to be assigned here, but at this point, I can only cope out with it. Life as a cop is tough, especially when you're the only one in the agency that can chase a group of cocky mutants that are Jersey wh*res. They dress like Situation, man, is there anything, and I repeat and emphasize, ANYTHING more imbecilic than that haircut and the open tee? Sure, I'm not one to complain about style, I use my old man's ancient uniform, but hey, my chest is covered and I don't need to wax it clean every week.
Oh, yeah, I did mention Pa before. He was a hero, pretty good at it, put a lot of bad guys in prison. When he had to choose between his growing family and his job, he was quick to choose family... But then a plane crashed into my home and shot my parents dead with radioactive arrow, so I turned to drinking and drugs for aid and all the generic comicbook things that happen happened to me... Not really, just a dude that moved from his parents home because he was too much of a burden. The old lady'd always complain that I didn't wash my clothes or didn't do my bed after breakfast.
At least I've learnt to brush after every meal. Be proud of me, Ma.
I was a rather frail kid, to be honest. My infancy wasn't toughened due to some rough bullies or monetary problems. Actually, I used to play on the streets with people and bullying was just another word I didn't even bother to see in the dictionary. Yet, I were conceived with a great power, one that consumed a lot of my well-being. I was weakened by it and my bones didn't even have the strength to withstand a dodgeball match. Not that I ever broke any bone, the ball just slipped past me. But I didn't have a good arm to hurl it back. How did it slip?
Well, you see, I minimized the friction to a level where the ball would simply slip away. Doesn't mean it didn't hurt, but damn, was it useful. The power to control all sorts of friction, now that's something you need to try on your own. I don't mean to brag, since it's not as efficient as flying, but air-walking is just wonderful. Let alone the speeds you can reach by simply running.
It consumed a lot of energy, that's for sure. My Pa was sort of worried, so he gave up his mantle and stored it somewhere in the house. Made me partake some crazy physical training under some contacts he had. They analyzed me, taught me a trick or two. Never discovered if I'm a mutant or metahuman or even alien, what do I care? I'm a person, nothing can take that away from me. A human with inhuman powers, what else should I do but help the ones who don't have such skills?
Anyways, kids grow, muscles too, both leave home at the age of twenty-three and a few months later ask if they can inherit the mantle of Deathmatch. Father beckons a mute "yes", manly tears, roll credits, post-credits scene is me right now. Donning the attire my father, who I assure has absolutely no relation with friction, to do the same thing he enjoyed doing at my age: kicking ass.
This trick is gold, they run into some edifice, lock the doors. I have enough strength in my peak to overwhelm it, but why should I even bother? The bricks are all connected by cement. Separate blocks connected by a web of the paste. Easy-peasy, I just need to touch the cemented part and... voilà, the bricks slowly fall to one side and their skeleton moves to the other, lifting enough dust for the dramatic entrance. Sarcastic laughter is a go. Confused and somewhat frightened looks are a go. These crybabies are gonna have it for making me distance myself from civilization. I'm so gonna enjoy this.
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