Meet-Cute and Other Adventures

Abilities

As a recent graduate of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, you are well-versed in the skill of remaining undetected by the general populace. You have a nice, steady job working in a second-hand shop in a neighborhood near to the Hudson River. The woman who runs the store is kind and doesn't ask questions that you don't want to answer. Your landlord is of a similar mindset, content to leave you to your own devices so long as you pay your bills on time.

You don't draw attention to yourself and that is exactly how you want it to be.

Now, given your abilities in manipulating biological matter, Professor Xavier had wanted you to stay on as a member of the X-Men (and maybe even as a mentor to future students). You firmly turn down the invitation. All you wanted to do was to live out your days in peaceful solitude.

Naturally, that doesn't happen.

On your way to work one day, you are cornered by a trio of thugs who want something you are not willing to give to them. When your back hits the brick wall in the alleyway, you instinctively panic. All it takes from you is a touch of your fingers against the first man's bare neck to cause him to collapse into a pile of unresponsive flesh.

You've never used your powers to intentionally harm anyone before. It is a horrifying experience. Your breakfast makes an unwelcome reappearance.

"You fucking freak," the second man seethes, grabbing for you before you have a chance to raise your hands again. "Mutant bitch." He pins your wrists against the wall. His breath stinks of vodka and stale tobacco. You wrinkle your nose and turn your face away.

"Let me go!" Your cry bounces off the alley walls and goes unheeded as the man crowds into your space. A bead of sweat trickles down the side of your neck. It leaves your skin itchy, the lingering feeling reminding you of bugs crawling underneath your skin.

The third one is opening his mouth to probably shout more slurs at you when a new guy clears his throat.

"Maybe it's just me, but my mama always told me that it's rude to call a woman names." Your attackers whirl around to face the man interrupting their fun.

"Shut the fuck up. She's less than human. She's a fr—" Number Two doesn't get to finish his sentence; you pull your hand back in disgust as he melts into a separate flesh pile next to his buddy. Some of his reverted matter lands on your chest. Gross gross gross ew.

To his credit, the newcomer looks less disturbed than you feel.

Number Three (the only one left) suddenly seems to realize that since you've liquefied his companions, there's nothing standing between you and him to stop you from doing the same to him. You're seriously considering doing exactly that, too. See how he likes being attacked. The thought is harsh and callous and everything you're not. The scary thing, though, is that you one hundred percent mean it. The newcomer steps between the remaining thug and the only exit of the alley.

"C'mon, man, apologize to her and then I'll let you go." His eyes are hard and you wonder if he's really just going to let the goon walk away from all of this. With the way his arms are crossed and his feet are planted, though, you doubt it. You remember watching students spar at Xavier's, and that's a fight-ready stance if you ever saw one. This man clearly can scrap, and is comfortable with it, too. The thug seems to realize this, and he tenses, body taut like a bowstring.

"B-bullshit!" He cries. "You're lying!"

Mystery Man narrows his eyes. "Huh. I guess you're not completely stupid. You're right; I was going to beat some sense into you, since you're so keen on attacking defenseless women and all," he glances at you, a small smirk quirking his lips, "but I don't think she's defenseless, after all's said and done. What do you want to do about him, Miss?"