| abstract | - Born on the 23rd November 1990 at 9:03am. He was an average boy, the son of a beautiful brunette; green eyes, tanned skin, and an average height for a 28 year old woman named Samantha. Then there's Jason's father; Harry; He’s vile, gritty stubble where he hadn't shaved, tired, bruised, bloodied face - always. He never told Samantha how it happened, but every night he'd come home with a different bruise. This was before everything started though. Bare Bear that in mind. Jason was forced to stay in his hospital cot for two days... To 'check' that he was alright to leave. Jason’s first birthday, nothing strange here. Nothing out-of-the-ordinary happening either. He's seen his aunties, uncles. All the usual stuff, been smothered. Had his first Christmas, Easter… Then Jason was two, mid-July. It's summer - He's was hot, been given an ice-cream. But, being the baby he is Jason spilt it, all down his brand new t-shirt. Samantha wasn't impressed. That night there was an argument between Harry and Samantha. One of those arguments between a couple, that although mean nothing usually ends in a divorce, or something to that extent. The very night the argument happened he changed, Harry changed. Harry dropped to the floor of the dark living room, trying to grip the worn-down cream coloured sofa as he fell, but failed. Harry was burning up, steam seeming to rise from his own body. All the time Jason was watching, his mother was out, her excuse was that she wanted to cool off, ironic that. Harry just continuously groaned. Groans of pain, mercy. He was begging for help... Turning to God for mercy. Having never experienced such excruciating pain Harry looked to Jason, not as a father... but as a patient in a hospital, pleading for help. Not knowing what to do Jason quietened down... watched, hoping for some reassurance of his father’s life. Another five minutes, nothing... one minute later, Harry's eyes suddenly sprang open, and Jason looked up - still unsure as to what had just happened. With slow movements, Harry sat up - his gaze averted towards Jason's, apologetically. Harry tried to apologize. He then crawled towards his son, still burning up - still hot, noticing the tears. Harry tried to explain but he just didn't know how so instead he tried to wipe the tear on Jason’s left side. Only to realise his power. As soon as Harry’s hot hand met Jason’s warm cheek, Harry's power became obvious... A pyrokinetic, Jason's face started to burn from the point of contact... His eyes started to go teary, and he screamed loudly, violently. Harry, in pure shock, pulled his hand away. It was by pure coincidence that Samantha arrived. Seeing what appalling state Jason had been left in; she shouted, ordering Harry to leave. It ended with Harry’s father and a noose the next day. 9 months after that they moved to New York to start over. A few more years and Jason became seven and he found a friend, called Toby. They were both walking down to the local park not knowing what was about to happen. They got there, it's empty - except one man was stood there, looking towards the children. A man who was holding a large metal pole. From afar it looked clean, almost new but as he approached the two children you could see blood from a previous encounter. Jason and Toby both looked, stared - not knowing what to do. Jason turned to sprint off and screamed at Toby to follow but the man ran after them. He swooped Toby up. Jason ran not even attempting to help Toby. He ran as far as he could. The next day, front page news it read "Young Boy found dead in Central Park." Since then any friends he's got he's helped, whichever the situation, not wanting to witness what he did back when he was seven. For four years after that all the way up until Jason was eleven. His mother let him move from being a nice, caring boy - a good student, all the way down to a delinquent destined to do bad things. Forever scarred with proof of that night. Eleven years old, Jason had grown up to be cold and bitter - a villain even. His mother couldn't handle him; she asked him to either pack up his bags, or leave. Jason stormed out, Furious. But, he regretted it later however - returning to his home, but he found his mother on the floor. Surrounded by thick, lukewarm blood. Dead. To this day Jason doesn't know the cause of death, suicide? Murder? He can't tell. So Jason risked a life by himself, fending forever for himself or social services. He took the hard way, now five-ish years have passed. He's on the streets of New York but his adventures have only just begun...
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