"Oh, goodness," said the man kneeling over Jack's body. "Look at him."
Jack saw nothing but shades of red. A dark figure was near him, another approaching rapidly.
"Poor thing," said a feminine voice.
"Is he alive?"
The second figure drew even closer. "Yes," she said, "but just barely. He's lost a lot of blood. He probably has internal injuries, too."
"What should we do? By the time an ambulance gets here, he'll be dead."
The woman sighed, and then said, "I'm going to try and save him."
Though he could barely comprehend what was happening around him, Jack could see the first figure's surprise by the way he moved.
"What? You can't! He's too far gone!"
"Ray, he needs help. You said yourself he'll die before an ambulance gets here."
"But I don't want you to get hurt. Remember the last time you tried to save someone hurt this badly? Remember that little girl? Not only were you not able to save her, but you almost killed yourself."
"But I've gotten more powerful since then. And not only has the strength of my power grown since then, but I also know how to control it now."
There was a long period during which neither of the two figures spoke. Finally, the man broke the silence.
"Alright," he said. "But I want you to stop at the first sign of problems. You may not be able to save him, but you can save yourself."
The first figure stood and moved away while the second drew closer. Jack felt a hand on his neck, another on his chest. He didn't understand what was happing. Slowly, he felt a strange sensation inside him, one that felt like pain, warmth, fear, and happiness all impossibly rolled into one.
Suddenly the woman jumped back as a horrible roar erupted from somewhere close by. Jack didn't know where the frightening sound came from, just as he didn't know why the man ran forward and punched him in the face, knocking him back into unconsciousness.
Jack gasped as his eyes flew open. He could almost feel the pain from the man's fist. The dream was so real. So frightening. So familiar.
He turned over in the warm bed, facing the digital alarm clock on the nightstand. It was barely past five o'clock in the morning, too early to get up, at least in Jack's opinion. He rolled over tried to get back to sleep, but couldn't. There was too much on his mind, too much to just try to push aside.
"That roar," He whispered. He recognized it. It was identical to the one in his nightmare only three nights earlier. But that wasn't the only time he had heard it.
He pushed the thick blanket off of himself and sat up on the edge of the bed. He looked at himself and realized that he'd fallen asleep after only removing his boots. Somehow he'd been able to get under the covers, though.
But that wasn't important. He was too busy trying to remember the first time he'd heard that awful roar. Before those strangers had tried to help him. Before the accident. Before.
He stood and slowly made his way to the bathroom. He winced as he turned on the light. He'd forgotten how much he hated being exposed to bright light after a night's sleep, something he forgot every morning.
Slowly his eyes adjusted, and he looked into the mirror. He saw a young man, tall and thin. His face was covered in the beginnings of a beard, the result of not shaving in a few days. He didn't really like how this looked, but he thought it made him look a bit older than he normally did.
He was twenty years old, but since childhood, he'd always looked two or three years younger than his real age. He'd always been the short kid, and then when he had his teenage growth spurt, he became the skinny tall kid. It was horribly annoying.
Now, he was the tall skinny young man. He was finally growing out of his awkward teenage body, showing signs of manhood. He still looked young, and people often thought he was, but he didn't care any more. He knew who he was, and what he was. And for the most part, he was just fine with that.
But he sometimes had his doubts about living this life of not caring what others thought. He'd sometimes find himself depressed by how others saw him. He was still rather frail looking, even though he could tear anyone apart if they bullied him. He was the last person many would expect to be a mutant, especially one of inhuman strength.
The cuts on his face were healing very quickly; the one on his cheek was less than half its original size, while the one near his hairline was completely healed, leaving behind a scar the width of a hair. He decided that the more prominent facial wound would leave a very obvious scar. He didn't care, though. He'd had scars before. He thought they were a testament to life. Something that shows that one is truly alive.
The scar on his neck was pretty noticeable, but he wished he knew how he'd received it. It was as mysterious as the familiar howl.
Jack looked at the short spot in his hair where the hospital staff had to cut it in order to treat his cut. It looked strange and out of place. Something had to be done about it.
He left the bathroom and then returned seconds later with a cloth pouch about the size of his hand. First unzipping it, he opened it up to reveal a wide array of tiny tool parts. He reached inside and removed something he'd carried with him for years, his trusty survival tool, a combination of pliers, screwdrivers, and pocketknife.
Jack smiled as he felt the familiar weight in his hands. He unfolded the tool and then unfolded a tiny pair of scissors from within. He then set to work cutting his hair to match the short spot.
More than thirty minutes later, he was finished, having done a satisfactory job. The scissors, previously razor-sharp, where now dull and covered in little pieces of dark blonde hair.
Jack felt itchy, so he immediately removed his sweatshirt and started to make his way toward the shower. But he was distracted by what he saw in the mirror. The horrendous wound on his chest, which had been more almost two feet long, was now only a foot in length.
After examining his strangely healing wound, Jack showered and then got dressed, all the while wondering how he could heal so quickly. His body had always repaired itself rather quickly, a cut closing up and disappearing in half the time it would take for a normal human with an identical injury, but this was different. He'd never seen anything heal this quickly, not even a long deep tear he'd once received on his hand.
Jack had heard of other mutants who could heal at unimaginable rates. Could this be happening to him? Could his mutation be expanding, manifesting itself in a new way? He didn't know how to answer these questions.
Jack exited the inn and stood on the sidewalk, surrounded by the cool mountain air. He was warm, much warmer than the day before when he'd worn baggy, oversized, borrowed clothes. He was now in his own clothing, a dark red dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, long loose black pants, carefully shined black boots, and a black leather overcoat that came down to his knees.
Jack heard a familiar growl coming from within him, not an animal growl, but one that was very human. He was hungry.
He remembered passing a small diner the day before, so he immediately headed in its direction. In no time at all, he arrived there, and went inside. It was like stepping back through time.
The small restaurant was decorated in bright colors, especially aqua and pink. A few neon signs hung on the walls, as did tin Route 66 signs, and posters of American icons: Marilyn Monroe, James Dean, and Elvis. Jack smiled. He felt at home.
After ordering his breakfast, conversing with the pleasant man behind the counter, and eating, Jack stood slowly. He removed his wallet and pulled out a ten-dollar bill, partially stained with blood. "Thanks for breakfast," he said.
As he stepped out onto the sidewalk, Jack looked around. Only a few people were out and about on this cold overcast day. He flipped up the collar of his overcoat, trying to keep the cold wind off of his scar. He began to walk back toward the inn, when something caught his eye. He turned, and found a newspaper vending machine, a paper standing in the little window. On the front page, in huge bold letters it read:
LOCAL GIRL FOUND TO BE A MUTANT AFTER ELECTROCUTING TEACHER
