The first sound was a concussion of air, followed by the deep, resonant call of Mandy, a voice that could crack plaster.
"Damien!"
Damien, all lean muscle and restless energy, took the remaining stairs in a single, blurring movement.
He skidded to a stop in the kitchen, a brightly lit space whose walls were clearly reinforced—a necessity in this household. Mandy stood tall in her grease-stained blue overalls, her muscular hands a testament to her superhuman strength. She was expertly compressing a plump, overstuffed hotdog.
"I-I asked for ketchup, dear," his biological father, Dexter, said in a slow, weak voice, his bony finger meekly poking the hotdog resting on his plate.
Mandy didn't look up, her focus absolute. "We're out, remember? You'll have mustard." She squeezed the bottle with a controlled thwump.
Suddenly, a massive, muscular figure, Wess, appeared behind her. He didn't bother with the door, simply stepping over the dented kitchen threshold. He snatched the hotdog off Dexter's plate, exchanged a quick, powerful kiss with Mandy, and prepared to take a bite, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
Damien didn't hesitate. The energy in the room shifted instantly from domestic banter to high-velocity combat.
"I told you to stop taking my dad's food," Damien said, his tone firm, launching a furious, low-sweeping kick that Wess easily blocked with his forearm.
Wess kept a proud, unwavering smile. "Oh, relax, Damien. I'll make him another one." Mandy moved to stand protectively beside Dexter, delivering a playful, but strong, open-handed spank to Wess's imposing backside.
"Come and get it," Wess taunted, holding the hotdog up like a stolen, mythical prize.
Damien powered up. A vibrant, white, wind-like aura of Positive Energy exploded outward. The air pressure dropped, and a few loose, plastic plates on the upper shelves took to the air, vibrating. Mandy instantly powered up as well, planting her feet with a controlled, concrete-shaking thud. She wrapped one arm around the now-floating, panicked Dexter, pulling him down to the floor to keep them anchored.
Damien charged.
He and Wess met in a flurry of pace and percussive power. The resulting air-shocks slammed against the reinforced walls like invisible hammers. Damien dodged Wess's heavy, earthquake-inducing counterattacks until he found a crucial opening: a fraction of a second when Wess grinned too wide. Damien slammed his open palm onto Wess's chest, focusing his white energy into a single, kinetic burst.
With a sound like a wet cannon shot, Wess was sent flying backward, not stopping until he crashed through the closed kitchen door and into the hallway.
Damien dusted his hands off and gently placed the hotdog back on Dexter's plate.
"Thank you," Dexter whispered, adjusting his bent glasses. "You shouldn't have been so violent."
"I got you, Dad. Sorry for the mess, Mom. I'll clean it up," Damien replied, his aura dissipating.
Mandy smiled warmly, a flicker of genuine pride in her eyes. "Take it outside next time, sweetie."
"Or why don't you make his plate first?" Damien suggested.
"First husband—" Mandy began, a familiar, well-worn argument starting.
"First plate, I know," Damien finished, cutting her off. "But this happens every morning."
"He doesn't mind, right, honey?" Mandy asked, nudging a now-seated Dexter.
"No, no, it's fine," Dexter quickly replied, cowering slightly before taking a small, tentative bite of his hotdog.
The sound of splintering wood announced Wess's return. He walked back in through the gaping, newly broken door frame, rubbing his shoulder and cracking his neck.
"Damn, kiddo, that was even harder than last time," Wess conceded, a grudging respect in his voice.
"Yeah, the weights you got us are paying off," Damien said, looking up to the ceiling.
Wess's smile faltered, replaced by a flash of impotent fury. "I wish you were my son. Wayne is probably still upstairs playing those idiotic video games." Wess suddenly paused, the reality of his own son's laziness sinking in.
"Waaaayne!!" he thundered, the bellow rattling the remaining windowpanes as he stomped toward the staircase.
Mandy gave Damien a pointed, parental stare—a signal to intervene.
Upstairs - Wayne's Room
The distant thunder of his father yelling his name was muffled by the thick, soundproofing panels on the walls of the upstairs hallway. Inside the dark, cold room, dimly lit by the flickering TV screen, Wayne sat utterly still.
With a deep, heavy sigh—the exaggerated sound of teenage existential dread—Wayne paused his game, the screen freezing on a message: YOU DIED.
Wess kicked the door in, the sound not a simple slam, but the heavy CRACK of a foot connecting with the frame. "Yo, Wayne, drop the controller and get your spindly ass out to the gym right now! I've had it!"
Lazily and irritated, Wayne turned his chair slightly towards Wess. The light from the TV illuminated his bored, pale face.
"You dragged my soul from peaceful nothingness without my knowledge or consent," Wayne drawled, his voice a low, intellectual sneer. "And now I just have to do what you say? Just put me out of my misery and sell the house to a sane family."
Wess's rage, confused by the philosophical retort, boiled. "Stop using those big words and just listen to me!"
"No," Wayne shot back, his voice rising in volume but not in panic. "Now get the hell out of my room."
Wess's entire body tensed, radiating pure power. "Damien!"
Damien, moving faster than sound, blurred up the hallway—a path full of patched-up holes and haphazard wood reinforcements. He drove into Wess with a controlled, powerful shoulder check, sending his stepfather hurtling back down the stairs.
Wess landed hard in the kitchen, collapsing onto the chair beside the table with his forgotten, mustard-stained breakfast. "I swear I've had it with that kid," he grumbled, rubbing his shoulder.
"Boys will be boys, love. Just let him grow," Mandy said calmly, not even bothering to look up from the newspaper she'd taken from Dexter.
Damien's voice echoed from the newly created hole in the ceiling above the stove. "Don't worry, I'll talk to him."
"Thanks, dear. Tell him Mommy said good morning," Mandy replied sweetly.
From upstairs, a voice echoed back with zero warmth. "Go to hell."
Wess was on his feet in an instant, red-faced and ready to charge again. "What did you say?!"
"Come get me, old man," Wayne taunted.
"Calm down, Wess!" pleaded Mandy, finally looking up.
Poor Dexter cowered further behind his newspaper, which was now shaking slightly. "This is why we're still poor," he lamented sadly, looking between the two new holes—the door and the ceiling.
Wayne's Window
Upstairs, in the dark room, Damien looked past the fresh hole in the ceiling to see Wayne by the open window, a defiant silhouette preparing to leap out.
"Hey bro, wait," Damien called out, stepping into the room.
Wayne didn't look back, his feet already on the sill. "Just let me die," he said, and with that, he plunged into the suburban air.