Chapter 1

Being a superhero can be rough sometimes.

It was lightly raining, and it was cold. I was standing on a roof top watching the streets of Darktown and nothing much was happening. I flexed my hands, and walked in a circle a few times in the hopes that the movement might help me at least feel a little warmer and less wet.

It had been 5 years since the “Night of Madness”, and people like myself first came to being. I was just another slacker at the time, 20 years old and working at a “Big Box” store in the electronics department. Just Chris, one of many 20-somethings with nothing in their life to look forward to other than a life of such jobs. With closing of the car factory when I was in grade school, there were not many other kinds of jobs. At least, jobs I was willing to do.

Then the Night of Madness happened. Nobody knows exactly what caused it, the leading theory is that it was some kind of Gamma Ray, or Cosmic Ray, or some kind of ray from outer space. All that is known is that from North America down to roughly Panama, people changed.

Some changed physically. They grew to 10 feet tall, others changed to strange colors, or grew hair or quills all over their body. Others were then able to fly, or stick to anything. Others developed amazing mental abilities, or powers that could only be explained by what seemed to be magic.

It is estimated that around .01% of the population got some kind of mutation that actually did anything, around 40,000 people. But of that number, around 10% did get a much more powerful mutation or a combination of many. Most were the benign ones, like their hair suddenly becoming purple, or their fingernails changing color at a whim. But of that 10% of .01%, that means around 4,000 on average for true “super powers”. But that is only an estimate, nobody knows how many are hiding, or not aware of their powers yet.

And as expected, a certain percentage were or went bad. “Rogues” is the name used to describe them. As opposed to the “Paladins”, the term used for the ones like me. I was a slacker, but that does not mean I was a bad person.

Like most Paladins, I adopted a code name to go with my new superhero identity. I became Bohica. Do not bother to translate, it’s an acronym. I got it from my father, who was a true hero. It was one of his favorite sayings when things went bad, something he picked up in the Gulf War. “Bend over, here it comes again”. He used it a lot, generally something like “Baby, I gotta work late tonight and until next week, I will not be home for dinner, and our plans to go camping this weekend are canceled. BOHICA.” In short, he was getting fucked up the ass by fate, and all he could to is bend over and take it.

And even though it really meant nothing, for me it fit perfectly. I stand in the rain, 6’8” tall, heavily muscled, and with short cut black hair. And being almost jet black and wearing black leather helped me fade into the darkness. Great for prowling on rooftops like tonight.

I looked around, and heard the sounds of laughter from the street below. But it was not a fun laugh, it was a mean one. So I pull out my asp and extend it, preparing for what I am sure will come next. Now my asp was a bit different than most. Most are a telescoping 3 piece baton of solid metal, that can be flicked to extend from a compact 9 inches to it’s full 21 inches. But on mine, only the handle was rigid. The other 2 sections that came out were of a tightly wound heavy spring with a weight on the end. This made it much less lethal. Good for cracking skulls and putting somebody into pain, but took at least some actual work to be fatal.

Sure enough, three street kids were walking towards my perch on the street below. Gangbangers by the look of them, Pitbulls according to their jackets. A bottle of cheap vodka being passed back and forth, laughing as they taunt the other people on the street. Then I spot her walking in our direction. She was far enough away still I could see her under her umbrella. Pretty, her skin a medium black, boobs a nice size, firm and high setting on her chest. Maybe 19, the perfect target and the guys knew it.

“Hey baby, why don’t ya come join us?” one of them taunts, moving across the street to stand in front of her. I can’t hear her response, but it is obviously a negative. The other two come up and half surround her, the alley under where I am standing now her only avenue of escape. Yea, this is almost a cliche from one of the olden Comic Books from my childhood. A genre that was popular before we became real.

But we have no Superman, or Batman, or Green Arrow, or Wonder Woman. No Spiderman, no Black Cat, no Wolverine, no Magneto. Although some of the early Paladins and Rogues did try to adopt those identities if they had similar powers. And we actively discourage any from trying to adopt those names now.

It was more of an originality thing, and helped keep things simple with those of us that merchandised our public identities. Somebody who could stick to a wall who called himself “The Fly” ran into less problems with royalties than if he had to fight with Marvel for “Spider-Man”.

The girl on the street was almost whimpering as they move in closer. She did not see the danger in time, and they were now starting to almost force her into the alley. I look back and forth, nobody else on the street now, they must have known what was coming and left. Typical Darktown behavior. That’s why I prowl here.

There, she is now 10 feet into the alley, and all of the guys are starting to back her against the back wall. The alley is a small one, and appears to have an exit. Until you actually get into it, when you realize the far end bends and there is a chain link fence that blocks entry into the the fenced in parking lot in the back. Now it’s time.

Now as a Paladin, my powers are actually rather weak. Actually, among the weakest of all Paladins. In fact, it is only the combinations of multiple powers that even rates me as a Paladin in the first place. Strength, unbreakable bones, impenetrable skin, and the ability to ignore any pain that is not life threatening are the obvious ones. A single one of those would not make me a Paladin, but combined I barely qualified.

My strength is not like Superman, at most I can lift around 500 pounds. And if I did not have that combined with the others, I would likely be just another mutant with powers. The others helped me get my rating, but without them, strength would not have been enough.

But it is enough to let me do the “Superhero Landing” as I jump off of the third floor roof and land with a loud thud behind the trio. And it is over almost before it began. The asp makes quick work of them all, and I bend over to help the young girl up. Her umbrella had been snatched out of her hands in the moments before I arrived and was now broken on the ground. She literally launches herself into my arms, weeping as I try to calm her down. I can feel her breasts pressed against my chest, and they are as firm as they looked from 50 feet overhead. “Oh Bohica, thank you! If there’s anything I can do to help repay you for what you have done, it’s all yours!”

Not the first time I heard such an offer. She is certainly appealing enough, but not my type. I pull her back gently, and tell her to be careful from now on. I find her umbrella and hand it to her, then pull out my phone as I grab the first punk by the hair and drag him to the street. “This is Bohica, I have three for pickup on Bassinger Way. Attempted assault and possibly attempted rape.”

Control acknowledges and I finish dragging over the other two, zip-tying their hands behind their back after relieving them of a gun, 3 knives, and a small amount of drugs from each. They were not going to be “catch and release” for the Compass City Police Department. These guys were all getting jail time for sure now.

I stand with the girl who tells me her name is Gloria, and we wait for the cops. As we wait she nervously tells me that they were taking her to the alley for a “party”. Yea, a party they would have enjoyed much more than she would have. Unless her idea of a party is being gangbanged by three dirty punks in an alley. Then left naked with scraped knees, the cum of three guys leaking out of her cunt, and with all of her money taken. And even that is assuming they did not give her another present at the same time. Like a disease, or a gift that would give her a wriggly in another 9 months.

Compass City’s finest arrive shortly afterwards, and we give them our statements. One good thing about the Night of Madness, the government got smart real fast after the Uptown Bridge was destroyed by a homeless dude that suddenly had heat ray vision. They organized Control.

Control is a Federal Agency, which runs the registry for all New Mutants. If you have any change or ability, you had to register. It was not just a good idea, it was the law. No matter how minor it was, you had to register. If you had not just a mutation but a Power (or enough weaker mutations like me to qualify), you then had to register as a Paladin. Those that had powers and did not register were generally “Rogues”, as well as those that did register and still went bad.

This could be funny sometimes. On occasion we would pick up a Rogue, that had no more powers than their hair could grow on command. That might not sound like much, but it could be used as a disguise. I caught one a few months ago with just that power. Got a call a guy robbed a bank in my area, and his description was clean shaven with a bright red shirt. A quarter mile away I saw somebody that matched but with a full beard. I was simply walking towards him, but the idiot panicked when he saw me and turned and ran away. I tackled him, and he had a warrant so the cops showed up. Turns out it was him, they had his prints on record. But no ID, as he would hit a place, grow his hair, walk away, and grow his hair to avoid capture. But he went down as a Rogue, that means a mandatory double of sentence in addition to 5 years for failure to report.

In exchange for reporting however, you got some nice perks. Anonymity was guaranteed, if you wanted to remain anonymous. Most Paladins who had mutations that were not obvious like me choose to be anonymous. Masks were all the rage, but thankfully capes never caught on other than among the flashy fliers. They loved their capes. And I could see that, Superman looked bad assed in a cape. Spiderman, he would have looked like a dork if he wore one.

We also got a cell phone that connected us straight to Control. They would assemble other Paladins if we needed help, contact the local police if we had somebody in custody, and gave us a monthly stipend to live off of. There was also housing if we wanted to use it, but I did not. I actually liked being independent as much as I could.

The girl gave me another hug, and pressed her firm titties against my chest as she grabbed my head and pulled me into a kiss. I could feel her belly rubbing against my cock, which was now becoming stiff. Damn it, not now! In the back of my head was the voice insisting I was not into girls and telling me to get out of there. “Anything Bohica, any time,” she whispered again as I pulled back and ran into the alley. Several jumps later and I was on the rooftops, making my way north towards home.

The 5 mile run back home was cathartic, it let me relax, or at least try to. Finally I slipped into the alley and into the “Bohica Bunker” as I liked to call it. In the first month of having my new powers and before the Registration Act, I had come across a guy who had just robbed a bank. I took him out easily, his only power was the ability to run fast. Not “Flash” fast, but he could hit around 80 miles per hour. Speed however does no good if 250 pounds of black man lands on top of you from 3 floors up.

While he was down for the count, I tied him up and took the money. That $450,000 set me up with my new life. Thankfully the Mutant Registration Act included a blanket pardon for any crimes short of murder, aggravated assault, treason, or sex crimes. When I registered I admitted I took the money, note made in file, told to not do it again. “No problem,” I told them, and they did not even ask for the money back.

I carefully dropped to the street and entered the back of the building where I lived. Through a second door, and I flipped on the lights. I then looked at myself in the mirror. Yea, I could see why the girl had the hots for me. I was tall, buff, cut, and had abs to die for. I took off my jacket, then the black tank top I had under it. I then let one hand caress my chest, as the other slipped down to unsnap my pants.

I sat down and kicked off my boots, then off came my black leather pants and jock strap. “Ahhhh,” I said into the soft light, feeling my cock spring up. Angry and demanding attention. And as often as I swore I would not do this anymore, I could not help myself. I reached down, and wrapped my hand around the 9” tube sticking out from between my legs.

I started to piston back and forth, gasping at the feelings. As many times as I had done this to other guys, it always amazed me how it felt being in my own hand. High School was full of a lot of exploration, but generally it was me doing the exploring. Me taking their cocks in my hand, me taking their cocks into my mouth. Me having to swallow their cum and then being left to take care of myself when I got home, rarely satisfied. But as Bohica, I am always satisfied. Even if only by myself.

With a deep grunt, I grabbed the towel I had used to dry the lingering sweat off of my chest and wrapped it around the head of my cock just in time. Sweet bliss courses through me as I cum, unloading spurt after spurt of cum into the towel as I sigh in relief.

I look at the clock, and it is 1 in the morning. Time for a shower and change before I get some sleep and get ready for work.

Once I’m changed I climb into bed, enjoying the feeling of soft silk on my body as I remember the Night of Madness. I was out on a date that night, and had getting irritated as Paul demanded I let him do me in the ass. “No baby, you know I don’t do that!” I pleaded, trying to push his hand away and wipe his pre-cum and my saliva off of my lips. I took him back into my mouth, then, there was pain and I was screaming. My head felt like it was full of fire, and at first I thought Paul had hit me, but I realized Paul was screaming also. I was finally able to open the car door and rolled out, almost collapsing onto the ground. I felt sick, and dizzy, and just laid on the ground curled into a ball and moaning. And finally after what seemed like an eternity the pain just vanished. I started to get to my knees, and saw Paul drive away. I then got up, and started the 5 mile walk home.

And the streets were filled with pandemonium. Screaming, fires, it was like a riot and a natural disaster all at once. I started to wonder if Paul had drugged me when I saw a guy with 4 arms on the sidewalk screaming at the sky. Then a few blocks later a gal laying on the ground. She was blue, and whimpering.

I was almost home, and realized that I was seeing fire. I ran the last 2 blocks, and collapsed and cried as I saw my house was engulfed in flames. The firefighters were trying to put it out, but it was like a torch. One of them stopped me as I ran up, and gently told me that nobody had gotten out that they know of. It was only later that I realized that Mom had become a “Pyro”, and when the pain hit she burst into flames. She was lying in bed with dad when whatever caused it happened, and he died almost instantly they said. I still want to believe she went mad when the change hit her, and she remained in the house as it collapsed around her.

The next 2 weeks were a fog. The first group of Super Heroes formed, and laughingly called themselves the “Justice League”. But most people jokingly called them the “Super Friends”. Some were secret, some wore who they were openly. Kinda of like the difference between Batman and Tony Stark.

Thankfully the good guys banded together and few bad guys did, so there was no Legion of Doom to oppose them. They helped calm things down again, using their powers to help stop those that were evil, or had just gone mad because of their transformation.

Guys like Nick Cole, the poor drug addicted homeless guy who destroyed the Uptown Bridge. They believe he either went crazy, or was unable to control himself. He had been seen pushing a shopping cart across the bridge when suddenly his eyes went red and things he looked at started to melt. 87 people died, either from being blasted by the heat, or in the collapse of the bridge.

I was one of the unusual ones, my powers did not manifest themselves immediately. It was almost a month before I even realized I had them.

Once I fell asleep, I had the dream about that night once again. As I had many nights. I had Paul’s cock in my mouth, and I was bobbing up and down on it. His hand was clenching my just past shoulder length hair and guiding my actions, as I slurped and bobbed. I loved feeling that lovely hardness in my mouth. One hand was propping myself up against the seat as the other was wrapped around the base of his cock.