[ WP ] You are the teenage child of a superhero , and you have superpowers . You hate the idea of being a superhero .

Luke had grown up watching all the popular superhero shows. The Avengers, The Justice League, all that good stuff. He'd loved them all, until about the age of ten, when he had found out his own father was a real Superhero. From that moment no other Superhero mattered to him, only his daddy. He drew pictures and wrote stories, all of his time was spent idolising his own father. But as time went on and he got older his outlook gradually changed. The image he had in his head of his father, clad in a colourful outfit dissipated at the image of him coming home battered and bloodied in tattered everyday clothes. His drawings of his father turning criminals over to the police were burned when he watched him washing blood that was not his own from his hands and face. His dreams of one day being a Superhero himself were forever gone when he looked into his father's eyes, and realised he hated what he had to do every day. 
 
 And so, at the age of sixteen, when his abilities began to manifest, he did everything he could to hide them. It was n't easy. His father told him that in every superhuman he knew, all of their abilities came with a downside. Luke's ability had manifested in the form of superhuman strength. Having a power alone was bad enough in his eyes, but the inherent negative side to his power was that he got angry a lot faster, and felt rage with much more intenisty than any normal person would. And for someone still going to Secondary School, there were a lot of opportunities to get angry. 
 
 In fact, he could feel the rage building right now. It was too much. His jaw was clenched so tight, every muscle in his body tensing up. His blood was boiling. His jaw unclenched, and he heard a scream. Was it his, or did it come from someone else? He saw red. Then black. 
 When he came to, he still saw red. But he was n't angry. No, there was blood everywhere. On his clothes, the floor, all over his hands. He was stood over the body of another student. One of the other people in his class. His body was mangled and twisted in an unnatural position. He had killed him. He had killed him, and for what? A snide comment? He knew this would happen. He did n't want this. He was a monster. He would have to run, have to hide. No one could ever know. 

