(PARIS, FLORIDA)

Joshua Miller measly strode to his locker. He should have been going faster, but he didn't want to get in trouble. But, like always, it was a lose-lose situation. Opening his locker, he almost forgot what was going to come next. The pictures of Aquaman, Flash, and Superman stared back at him. At least he could find some comfort at high school. After all, high school is supposed to be the best time in everyone's lives. Yeah, right, he thought angrily. But of course, he was lost in thoughts about all his favorite superheroes--- and how they would stack up with his new favorite. Before he could dwell into those thoughts, his worst fears were once again ignited.

"Hey, geek, what's up?" A certain jock asked confidently. The jock was Nick Brown, and not surprisingly, he was picking on his favorite victim. Nick was everything Joshua wasn't--Nick was tall, athletic build, dirty blonde hair, and confident emerald eyes. On the other hand, Joshua was short, had glasses, with curly dark brown hair. Joshua thought he was kind of attractive, but it seemed like jocks were always the one who got the girls. Still, he would rather have a comic book then a girl-- he wouldn't sweat as much. Numbly, Joshua tried to ignore him, but it was too late.

"Oh, look, comic book characters in your locker. Big surprise. Let's see, I think I'll choose Flash. Whoopsie!" He said, tearing the picture of Flash that he had in his locker. Joshua sighed, and then tried to intervene before he trashed his own locker.

"Come on, isn't there someone else you can harass?"

"Yeah---" He paused, thinking for a moment, "No."

"Is it too much to have iconic superheroes in my locker? Something to get me through the day? That's all I want."

"I never thought of it that way." He answered, thinking about it. Maybe he was going to stop.

"Nah, it is too much. Sorry, loser." Nick said, grabbing his other pictures of superheroes. From Batman to Spiderman to Wonder Woman to Green Lantern to Superman. All the pictures he wanted to enjoy this year were gone. The ones he had paid lots of money for. So much for a smooth year of sophomore high school. Nick gave a sly smile, cracking his knuckles.

"So, I was thinking. I know this is a little sudden for our relationships. Here it goes: Joshua, will you stuff yourself in the locker?" Nick asked like a light had gone off.

"That's not possible. Not for someone of his size and weight, you know. That goes against all scientific theories. You'd know that if you had a brain." Joshua said, rolling his eyes. He had said too much.

"Let's try it out." Nick said lifting and grabbing Joshua and trying to hurl him in his own locker. Of course, he couldn't really fit Joshua in the locker. But that didn't stop him from trying. Luckily, as if from the heavens, someone came to his rescue.

"Nick, what are you doing? What did I tell you on picking on nerds? We have better things to do. You know what I'm talking about." A girls voice said, and at once, Nicks grip left. Nick, of course, shined a look and mouthed the words "See you tomorrow." One day Nick wouldn't be able to bully him. Looking around, Joshua could see Nick and his girlfriend making out. Typical. More jocks were walking, their jersey colors standing out--yellow and red, the Paris High School Thunderbolts color. Picking up the shattered pictures of superheroes, Joshua wasn't mad, in fact, he was happy. His humiliation was over, and he was one step closer to getting home. To his favorite thing.

Striding upstairs-- rather sprinting upstairs, Joshua made a mad dash for his room. Even though school was his prison, his room was his safe haven. His Fortress of Solitude-- his home from everything else. His Justice League bed caught his eye, and he looked and admired all the posters he had in his room. Some were superheroes, some were movie posters. Anything that rejected reality, Joshua loved. And that meant anything. From the age of eight, he had been daydreaming that he was a superhero with powers. Over the past couple of days, something had changed in him. What was it? As if it was triggered, it had suddenly appeared. As if his prayers had been answered. Jumping on his bed, he lay on it and rested his head, even closing his eyes. Home, he was home.

Looking up at the ceiling, he looked at the sticky stars up around his room. More important things were on his mind. Tucking back the sheets of his bed, he reached below his pillow and pulled out at least a dozen notebook papers. This was his blessing. Looking closely, he could tell that each drawing was the same. A sketch of a young teenager, with an old-fashioned haircut in each drawing. Each one caught him in a moment, doing something. In one, he was talking to the mirror, in one he was by a record player, in one he was in the middle of a busy crowd. His latest trouble was only what to call his superhero. That's what he was. One drawing had showed him hugging his little brother, and his latest one was also special. It showed him reading a book to his brother in bed, and a necklace on his neck that wasn't in all the other drawings. He would try and decipher the story later.

What could he call this superhero? It sounded geeky, but there was something extraordinary about this, that much he knew. There was a reason why he was sketching him. Honestly, Joshua had no idea how he got this ability. A few days ago, he was drawing stick-figures of him meeting Clark Kent, and then he had seen a drawing outline in front of him. All he had to do was go over it and finish the drawing. Grabbing the drawings in a stack, he placed them all on the floor, forming a collage.

Each one told a different story. Suddenly, his eyes raced to the blank notebook paper he had put to the right of the latest drawing. He had put it there just in case, but now it was going to be useful. The outline was there, now all he had to do was finish it. It took him minutes--more than minutes, it took about forty-five minutes to finish the drawing. Every drawing was becoming more detailed than the other-- this one was simple overall, but each pencil stroke had been calculated.

The teenager who he kept drawing was-- well, kissing a girl. An extraordinarily beautiful one, nonetheless. She had her hair in a beehive, which made Joshua raise his eyebrows. A little retro, but it seemed like his hero wasn't exactly from around here in the first place. His mind clicked-- retro. Then the name came to him. Retro-man. He finally had something worthwhile in his life. It wasn't a curse, it was a blessing. But the question was still in his mind, why was he drawing Retroman and what was his mission? Was it to save the world? But for now, even Retroman kissing a girl satisfied Joshua. Every hero has his own beginning. But, was this Joshua's?

-----

(DUBLIN, IRELAND)

Ryan Quinn examined himself in the mirror. It wasn't exactly a mirror in perfect shape, in fact, it was partly shattered. Still, he gave himself a goofy smile. This was his life. Born in Ireland, with three of the craziest brothers in the world. Not to mention he had his favorite restaurant and pub which his family owned, simply titled, The Celtic Lion. They were closed for the night. It had been a hectic week. And it was about to get even more hectic, that much he knew. His brother had a pattern of getting him in trouble, which was funny considering Ryan did enough of that on his own. Especially lately.

Looking back at his partial face, he could take one last look at his face as he knew it. Sadly, he hadn't much luck with the ladies lately. Well, not that he ever had much luck with them. Too bad too, because he thought of himself as a gift to all women. Actually, he didn't, but he acted like it to get some laughs his brothers and his friends. His looks told it all-- light skinned, brown eyes, scruffy short hair with tips that reached near his eyebrows. With one last look, he charged out the bathroom door, back into the pub. Of course, his brothers were busy getting drunk. Ryan was eighteen, but he was a little more responsible than his brothers.

"Hey, Mom, what's up?" His brother asked, glancing at Ryan. His oldest brother, Liam.

"It's Ryan, stupid. You're this drunk already? You're so lucky that we're closed tonight."

"Right, about that, I can take care of this, bro. Why are we closing?" His other brother, Brian asked, the youngest one.

"Because you guys are all drunk, and I don't trust you to take care of this place and serve customers." Ryan said, slipping on a coat.

"Oh." All three of his brothers said at the same time. His third brother, Michael joined in, then fell to the floor and was knocked unconscious. Shrugging, Ryan was about to burst out the doors, but he quickly reached for a bottle of Irish spring water. His two brothers gave him a look of approval, and Ryan pointed at the name and logo of the pub. The logo was of a lion, and the name said "Owned by, Connor Quinn." Their father. With a goofy grin, he tried to confidently walk out onto the street. Ryan had a date with the O' Donnelly's, who he owed money to. The problem was, he hadn't come up with all the money he needed. Ten thousand dollars. How was he going to get out of this one?

Gambling was a bad habit, one that he had began to take up. He had nothing better to do, and betting on a variety of things was fun. Politics, sports, and everything in between was there, all hanging in the balance of uncertainty. Even with all the risks of anger, and possibly death, Ryan wasn't too worried. He had the heart of a lion. Irish blood, the blood that could only come from someone with a bright future. Drinking the spring water, he lifted the bottle and chugged the rest of the water. Palms sweaty, he almost wished he was on a date, but he had a date with destiny. With a sigh, he remembered that he was going to be fine. He was a Quinn. Besides, what could go wrong?

Ryan was tied up. Things were going wrong. His legs were tied up, and luckily, his mouth wasn't tied up. So he was trying to work his charm. The O' Donnelly's place looked similar to the Celtic Lion, but here there was a girl. So, of course, he was going to get himself into even more trouble.

"Hello there. Would you like to come over here and give me a dance? I like Irish women." He said, his full Irish accent showing off. Needless to say, this didn't go well, because the twenty-something year old Martin O' Donnelly's marched over and gave a harsh slap to Ryan. And after that, he spat in Ryan's face. When I get out of here, I'm going to make sure that I get some action with that girl, he thought angrily. Maybe was provoking Martin to test the thought that he had a bright future--that he was going to survive no matter what obstacle stood in the way. So far, things weren't looking good. He had reassured his brothers time and time that he was going to be allright, but he had no backup plan. Now, it was just him and Martin sent the other guards away. With a confident look in his eyes, Martin swung a punch at Ryan, causing a lot of pain, a lot.

"You don't have my money, huh? What about now?" Martin said, coolly taking another swing, one that made Ryan cringe in pain.

"Allright, I have it." Ryan said, trying to buy some time to think of a plan. Not going so well.

"Give it here, Ryan. Or I'm going to keep punching you, then maybe kill you, then get the money from your brothers."

"I have it. I have it. I have some delicious spring water to fulfill your thirst-crunching needs!" He said, adding a wink at the end of the sentence. Martin sighed, then took another strong punch on Ryan. To his surprise, Martin suddenly took out a gun. A revolver. Moving it slowly, he pointed the gun so that a shot would go to Ryan's head. What was he going to do? Before he realized it, it came to him that he was praying to God. As far as he knew, he didn't believe in God. Why was he praying? If I come out this alive, I promise that I'll make a difference, he thought to himself. Why not give it one more go? Trying to break free from the ties that tied him to the chair in the middle of the room, he gave all his strength to break out. To his shock, he easily burst out of the chair, and quickly ran over to Martin. At the last second, he pushed him, and for some reason, Martin flew all the way across the room.

What just happened? Moving his hands up close to his eyes, he examined them. They looked the same as always, but something had changed. In an instant, he had broken free and been able to knock someone unconscious. Ryan didn't dare to breathe, because his mind was trying to figure out a plausible explanation. Before he could, Martin's brothers and the brother's friends walked in. There were about seven people, all walking in the room with furious looks on their faces. Taking a deep breath, Ryan knew that his life was hanging in the balance.