Ever since Jordan Johannes was a young man, no matter how bad things got, he always had his Champion. A shining light in the darkness, a force for good, a guardian angel. And things did get bad. Jordan's mom was a bit poor for a while, and his dad died during a mugging. The mugger died, too, though. A way of saying "you should see the other guy" from the grave.
He first saw his champion while watching WWE as a child. He looks similar to them. His face is like an ornate red wrestling mask, his hands and feet are covered in red gloves and boots, any clothes on the vaguely human body are bright and shiny, and a golden belt, similar to a championship belt, is spread across his middle.
Jordan usually kept his champion to himself. There was no need to show everyone. Not that he could; nobody else could see it. But he wasn't crazy, not by a long shot. It was there. He could command his champion to pick things up, to break things, to move things and do his chores in seconds, chores which would usually take him half an hour. And when he did, the lights flickered brighter. The TV flipped through channels. The car alarms went off.
Jordan always kept to himself. He only needed his champion, after all. So when his mother began to move out of their old neighborhood, and to an interesting little town on the coast of California, well he didn't need much convincing. He wasn't leaving something behind.
Becoming a freshman in high school was supposed to be a new start, anyway. Maybe he could reach out. Maybe he could be known as something more than the weird quiet kid who occasionally does party tricks. This time, Jordan decided, he would be more than quiet.
He would make friends. He would atone for the loneliness he put himself in. He would make sure everyone can call him a friend.