Jesse Halden could have been a superhero. Or at least he'd like to think that.

Morals were not something that had crossed his mind often, even before he had figured out that he was a mutant.

Time had always felt so slow to Jesse. His home life was fighting punctuated by painful silence, and his school life was painful silence punctuated by fighting. He got suspended a lot, but had good enough grades to always be allowed back. The best grades, in fact. Something that came easily to him, unlike all of the idiots who surrounded him, who fawned and fucked and pretended their lives were worth living. Jesse knew they weren't.

His counselors always expressed concern at his monotone speech, his apathetic explanations as to what was troubling him. He made it a game, one to trick and to lie, and see how much would be believed.

One lady called him bipolar. Gave him lithium that he didn't take. Accused her of hitting on him, just to shake things up. He didn't go to see her again.

He had never pegged himself to be a mutant. H had always known he was better than these stupid ground-crawlers, but his powers were enough to cement that fact. Reaching out to grab a dropped pencil, watched as it slowed enough to make catching it easy. His head shot up, and he watched the teacher shout in slow motion, as the kid in front of him snuck a look at the ugly girl across the row's cleavage.

And Jesse smiled.

He didn't have a costume, or anything. Nothing as nerdy as that. He considered a bullet proof est, but bullets were just as slow moving as anything else. What had started it was the girl. She was bleeding in an alley, calling for help in her weak, scratchy voice, as the man above her leered, and searched through her purse, red stained knife left discarded on the ground.

The best part was that moment of hesitation, as Jesse decided whether he would help her or not. He didn't know that he could feel this powerful. The boy then picked that knife up, and watched the girl's eyes go wide. He knew that it looked strange for those outside of his time wraping. As if he were just moving much too quickly for the eye to see.

But the man was caught up in it, and Jesse revelled in the panic he saw there. Then he plunged the knife right through his chest.

Time sped to catch up, and he looked down at the girl who's life he had saved. She was beginning to hyperventilate. He didn't care. What he did care about was that he had felt something when that blade had passed through the man's chest, slipping through his ribs and hitting some vital organ.

"Get up." The girl scrambled up, looking faint and terrified. He reached down, and handed her purse back to her. He also grabbed he knife. This, he would keep. As a souvenir.

"There's a payphone around the corner." He turned, and began to walk away. "Call the police. Tell them what happened. You might want to go to the hospital, as well." Tucking his gloved hands into his pockets, he walked away.

The papers called him a vigilante. The next day, when he made the front page. He even managed a smile, as he tossed the knife up and caught it with the same hand. Is that what he was to them? To the shivering masses? Well, he couldn't say no to fame.

The newspapers were dominated with his name for the next few weeks. Forget the silly superheroes who stayed high above the ground, saving anyone they could, and getting flack when they didn't. They didn't leave a trail of bodies behind them. They were too good. All they got was hate when they slipped up.

But he pushed them off the front page. He picked and chose, consciously decided which victims he cared to save. Young or middle aged. The old had lived their lives. No whores. No dumb jocks. And the public couldn't get enough of him. His fame grew, and his body count grew, and the police began to say how he was a menace. A villan, not a hero. They were as stupid as his classmates, who dithered and swooned over that dark, dangerous guy with the blood on his hands.

M day. The first day. The day that he wakes up to the sound of the news. Reporting the strange phenomenon that had taken the world by storm. Mutants had disappeared, pulling away into their homes and their safe-houses and their corporations. No one knew why. Rumors flew. Divine judgement. The end of the world. A deadly virus.

But Jesse knows why. He tries to make the newscaster slow down, shut up. This is not okay. This is not the truth.

Nothing happens. And he knows. He knows that his days of fame and glory were over. He knows that the collection of blades and weapons and other keepsakes would never get another addition.

He tries to feel something, anything, but can't. The little feelings that had come with deciding who lived and who died, the feelings that came over him when he snuffed out a pointless life, had all disappeared with his powers.

Shrugging his backpack onto his shoulders, he begins the walk to school. He is going to be late again, without his power to get him there. He doesn't care. There is a gun tucked into his math binder, and some spare ammo in a few of the pockets.

There are other ways to be famous.