[ WP ] The story of a man gaining superpowers and realizing he must use them for good ... at the age of 50 .

`` You're such a whore maggie.'' Gerrod held his tea up to his gullet and let it pour back, shaking off the feeling of numbing heat. He struck his tea down on his office desk. The same thoughts, the same day. So tumultuous and yet-why did he put up with this bullshit? His glare at the young supple Maggie, chatting up his boss was diverted by the on screen document, emboldened in red. He had his report due tomorrow, in which his boss would likely take all the credit for devising the new office development plans. `` Nothing I can do about that'' thought Gerrod. Reaching into his antiquated desk drawer, his frail hand brought out the most trusted ally he possessed. His 1960 Flask, emblazoned with the true love of his life, Betty Paige. He took a moment to admire betty in all her glory, and soon his own, after a few drinks that is. Of course, he could drink on the job, he had done so for 20 years. `` Maybe that's why I never got promoted'' raced through Gerrod's head. Quickly dispelling this thought he instead reached quickly for his tea cup and poured the whiskey in heaping doses. Finally, Gerrod was at ease. 
 
 Taking off from work, Gerrod felt much more enigmatic. In fact for 50, he felt that he could easily take on a son of a bitch 20 years his junior. A quick wink at Sarah, the hot dame at reception, reaffirmed his confidence. Unfortunately, Gerrod did not see her look of disgust as he exited the glass doors. Gerrod tucked in his dress shirt and puffed out his chest. Now, he was ready for the bar. 
 
 Upon entrance to his realm, where he alone was king, he immediately felt every ounce of anger, remorse, and atrophy glide away. His wrinkles hardly mattered here under the dim lights, and Ben, the ornery barkeep would give him a free drink for every one ordered if he did n't cause a ruckus. Gerrod sat at his normal leather bar stool and quickly asked for two old-fashioned. Leaning back, he caught a mysterious figure sitting in the back booth, a tall man wearing a trenchcoat. `` Probably another fuckin' methhead'' popped into Gerrod's mind. `` Hell, maybe it's a serial killer, damn sure would n't mind seein' one of them''. Gerrod quickly diverted his staring eyes from the mysterious figure as he had spotted him. `` Three more, Ben. And for god's sake pour it to the brim for once will ya?'' 
 
 
 Gerrod's buzz had quickly evolved into a blurry state of confusion. At this point in the night, he had no idea how much he had downed. In fact, he lost track after the 7th. Finally, getting off the worn leather stool, he stumbled his way to the bathroom. Stopped however, by the mysterious figure still seated in the back corner. `` What THE FUCK is up with this bastard'' rummaged around in Gerrod's mind. Walking over to this mysterious man, he immediately confronted him. Pointing at his trench coat, `` You got a real fuckin' weird choice of clothing faggot'' uttered Gerrod in a drunken slur. `` Only two reasonss, someone wears a trench, they're matrix fans or fucking murderers'' Gerrod stammered. 
 `` I assure you old man, I am neither'' uttered the mysterious figure. 
 `` Please, do sit.'' 
 `` I'm only sitting if you get me a damn drink faggot'' spoken with conviction by Gerrod. He knew he was a god damn alpha man at this point. 
 `` One old fashioned for this good sir, bartender'' spoke the mysterious man. 
 `` So, sir you seem to be quite enthralled at the moment, do you drink often?'' 
 `` None of your fucking business, but yes I do love my whiskey'' slurred Gerrod. Beaming his eyes towards the incoming old fashioned. A glee arose in his demeanor and his body language shifted open towards the man. 
 `` Well, Gerrod..'' 
 `` What the fuck, how do you know my name'' stammered Gerrod. 
 `` I overheard it, anyways Gerrod, I know you are a quite infatuated with alcohol. I'll have you know that I have a rather delightful drink that I think you should really try'' 
 Pulling out a beautiful flask, almost matching the dazzling intensity of Betty, the trench enveloped man slowly slid it across the table. 
 `` I am not saying that you have to drink it, but at least give it whiff on those old nostrils of yours.'' `` Go on'' 
 Gerrod was somehow compelled by this man's voice, it had a soothing quality, similar to his mother's. Gerrod reached across his breast and took the elegant flask in his hands. He rubbed it and noticed the fine brush metal insignia on the front. MIOCORP LABS, read the flask, but in his drunken state he believed it to be a french word he'd seen before. Gerrod did not know any french words. Taking the flask to the base of his mouth he opened it and stopped at the last second. 
 `` This is n't some faggot shit is it?'' Gerrod said with an inquisitive glare. 
 `` No, i assure you it is pure bliss.'' `` Now drink, Gerrod, drink it all up.'' 
 Gerrod smelled the beautiful and aromatic scent protruding from the bottle. He had to try it. With a quick swoop to his mouth, he drank this concoction from a random stranger. 

