Highest Rank: #144 in Adventure. He was 18-years-old when his father died. He was also 18-years-old when he received his powers, one of which was the ability to manipulate metal.
After running into the city of Politum, Tyzon Foster is kidnapped by...
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I remained lying on the track like a slab of beef on a grill, and after a minute or so of heavy inhaling and exhaling, I finally stood up and climbed down to level ground using one of the rail's supports, being as stealthy as I could. While I slowly descended down the beam, I was barely spotted, if not ignored, by the general public. Once I made it to the floor, I did my best to try and blend with the citizens of Politum going about their regular day.
If I presumed that the time I spent on the train after it had passed the traffic jam accumulated to two minutes, I calculated that I was about ten kilometers away from the nightclub, assuming there was one. I yelled in hysteria underneath the cover of my palms about the distance I was away from my original destination, and even almost cried at a point, but I just had to deal with it. I was going to surpass those ten kilometers whether my legs were going to work by the end of the day or I would have to crawl my way to the nightclub.
I had not bothered taking a taxi as transportation because, like everything in the world, it relied on money. Robbing a taxi driver and stealing a digital clock in one day was a stretch, which discouraged me from signaling the tempting empty cabs right in front of me. Also, I doubted that the traffic jam would take me far. So I started sprinting with my all, quickly realizing that my upper body muscles were not the only sections of my body that were enhanced.
My leg muscles and cardiovascular fitness were also improved overall, and had allowed me to propel myself further than I could before. I fell in love with my body as I sprinted faster and faster, until I had built up so much momentum that I was unable to stop. Since there were barely any people on the path, my speed was not restricted to below my maximum effort. Though, some people ended up staring at me, due to the fact that I was running without the proper attire, for a silver hoodie and a backpack made me look like I had just stolen something and was escaping the authorities.
After about 30 minutes, with the help of my augmented body, I entirely sprinted through a stretch of ten kilometers for I approached the infamous traffic jam that I saw through the windows of the train. As I finally stopped, I was clutching my knees, gasping for air and tormented by the worst stitch I had ever experienced.
I could remember seeing an ostentatious caravan with not a speck of white or black on the vehicle's surface through the train's windows, and as I scanned the traffic jam, I could see the flamboyant caravan not far down the road. In fact, I estimated that within those 30 minutes of running, it had traveled the total distance of a hundred meters, which meant it approximately drove three meters per minute.
Pitying the drivers and the passengers for having to tolerate the unfortunate blockage, I knew it must have been hard to contain those feelings of frustration. However, any human being could just pity those suffering from the temptation of smashing the horn. The moment I found the world's laziest drivers in one lane, I decided to do something about it. Before I searched for the nightclub, I turned the corner and began jogging again just as I was about to recover from my ten-kilometer run.
As sweat began to dampen the pits in my arms, I moderately jogged to the front of the jam where the biased traffic lights were the source of the grief of hundreds, possibly thousands, of drivers and their passengers. The brutal intersection was a crime to society.
I looked down the endless lanes of angry people and smiled, for I was about to make their day. Once I placed my gaze on the traffic lights, I used my gift to change the very lights themselves. How I did this was easy, for I temporarily detached the specific wires of the lights in which I wanted to deactivate. This meant I removed the wire leading to the red signal of the lights which formed the blockage in the first place, as well as the amber wire, for I wanted nothing else other than the drivers stuck in the jam to experience freedom, something even a color could give.
For the rest of the lights that managed the opposing or adjacent roads of the intersection, I removed the green and yellow wires to halt those lanes. The cars at the front of the jam quickly reacted to the green light for they knew that every car in the lane behind them depended on them. As the next cars tailgated the vehicles that were at the front, the traffic jam slowly dissolved as less and less vehicles were waiting on a light to switch to green.
I saw the smiles of drivers and passengers alike through the windows of their vehicles as they crossed the intersection, while the other individuals in their immobile cars looked at them pass, either green with envy or red with rage. Once I saw the caravan pass, I left the scene still finding no end to the cars in the blockage, yet the cars on the other roads of the junction started to build up. I failed to pity the vehicles on the other roads while they too produced their own traffic jams, for I felt as if they had not deserved it as much. Though I did not realize it at the time, I was being biased myself and was no different to the original traffic lights.
As I returned to my original destination, I soon came across a lavish building, which had the words 'Vixen: A gentlemen's club' in bold font as a neon sign. It was not turned on during the day, which not only affirmed that it was indeed a nightclub, but also gave me the shivers for I thought about what horrid images awaited behind the doors of a 'gentlemen's' club.
I anticipated the traumatizing imagery I was about to be exposed to, though, it was not until night that the club was alive with men whose minds were satiated with nothing but sex from showgirls. I was fortunate that night was yet to fall, for it was much safer in the day. Entering the premises, I sensed a path of danger expecting me as posters were arrayed beside me portraying women in the most provocative way possible.
On my way through a hallway, I was stopped by two security guards. One of them spoke, "Move away, kid." His deep threatening voice would have made my original self leak in my trousers, but I was no longer that person anymore.
I sensed a gun on him and knew that at any time I could pull the trigger and cripple him in the blink of an eye. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, big fella," I spoke with confidence.
"There's a strict dress code policy here, kid," the other spoke in another inhumanly deep tone.
"I doubt this kid even has ID," I was mocked with a smile.
I was unable to proceed for not only was I in the wrong attire, but I was most likely underage, and I really did not have an ID on me anyway. Regrettably, the only way I was going to enter the club was if I punched my way in, so I readied myself, with two enclosed fists and clenched teeth. Before I went in and started throwing punches like a blind madman, I decided to be smart about this. "Funny you should say that," I replied to the ridiculer's comment about an ID.
Setting my plan in action, I pretended to reach for a fake pocket on the left side of my chest, and faked my struggling with it, piquing the curiosity of one of the guards, which was my intention. He offered to search for my imaginary pocket himself, and so as he leaned in, I immediately knocked him out with one punch.
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