45 year old Micheal Simmons

"Burn in hell, you little shit." Suddenly the tree-man combusts into violent flames. His bark skin chars and melts from his frame, and where once was a mischievous grin, now lies a smoldering frown. You pick yourself off the ground and look for the vendor, it couldn't have been him then. You look around you, but everyone is either unrelated to fire or a genetic abomination on the ground. "Did I just do that?" You stare at your human hands, cracked from years of manual labor. "Impossible," you think. How come all your life you've been pushed down the social ladder? You're certainly confused, but equally greatful. You're at least greatful until you see your car however.

Several super-powered thugs are jumping on the hood, using enhanced strength to rip doors clean off their hinges. One of the thugs is even carving into your side door with metal nails. "Hey! That's my fucking car!" The thugs cease their hooliganism and give you their full undivided attention. "You got a problem old-man?" One thug with a single significantly muscled mutant arm approaches you. He ripped the door off of your car as if it were opening a to go box, could you take him?

"Yeah I got a problem, get the hell off my car." You're certainly bold now. The adrenaline of having mutant powers, coupled with your own latent self-righteousness, is a terrible mixture for your health. The muscled thug smacks you into a nearby car before you can react. You attempt to stand before realizing you can't feel your legs. You feel your back and fine a large foreign object where your spine should be. The nailed thug advances with pure malice and slices your foot clean off. You understand how you don't feel your foot, but why doesn't your back hurt? You imagine it would, and all of the sudden it does. You scream in pain and every movement increases said agony.

"If we killed you right now old-man, nobody would notice. You have a shit car to your name, probably some ugly ass wife, and we'll just write the whole thing off as the fault of some wild mutant. 'We did our best to help him officer! But he was already mangled beyond saving when we got here.' I'm gonna make sure your fat daughter can't recognize you after this." The muscled thug instills fear into what's left of your spine. You wish you could run, or just be sitting at home really. You close your eyes and dream.

You were an old-man, and still working. LA rent was hard to make on your wife's salary as a teacher, and it didn't help that she brought a kid from the last marriage either. If you were a richer man you're certain she would have taken half of your money long ago, but now you're both old and depressing. Merely seeing each other reminds the both of you of lost youth, but now in this street, you'll never see her again.

"JESUS CHRIST, Micheal! What happened?" You open your eyes to the sound of your wife's voice. You seem to be home, in your apartment high above the fog. For once you're happy to see your wife, despite this probably being your last vision. Your foot has lost you a lot of blood, and your vision narrows. In your last moments you feel your wife grasp your shoulders and actually show you some form of love. You haven't felt like this in years, there would have been hope for your marriage if you'd lived, but that's no longer in your control. "Micheal, please don't leave me. We can get you to a hospital, I can help you. Come on stay awake." Something to live for, you think about how you'd hug her back. The feel of her chest on yours, it's warm. Actually warm?

You're hugging your wife, your vision no longer narrows and your foot has returned. You even have the ability to stand after you snapped your spine. Your wife is crying, and you hold her so. "Micheal... What happened? How did you get here? How did you just heal?" You're still unsure of all that yourself, all you're certain of is how happy you are to see your wife. "I think I teleported?" Your wife is appropriately astonished, "How?" "I don't know," you answer. "All I'm certain of is I didn't drive." Your wife suddenly looks at you with contempt, "So where's the car?" You're unsure, but you think you "Left it in North Long Beach."