After my parent's death in the windstorm, and all the attendant drama of the reveal by my dying mother that I was strong after all, strong enough to lift the tree from their crushed bodies, and her extorting the death-bed promise for me to be a "good boy", I went wild for awhile, reveling in my strength, conceding only Al's insistence on eye protection, a helmet, and skin-tight body armor to protect my flesh as I exploded through the estate woods, leaping from ground to tree to branch, ignoring the sting of whipping switches and practically howling at the moon in my exaltation of being finally free from the imprisoning weakness of my childhood.

I could make a standing leap to a distance of thirty feet, and a running jump of almost twice that, more if my landing place was lower in elevation. A pair of sure grip gloves and climbing shoes had me running up the marble corner of the mansion using only my grip strength, and it was only by teaching me previously forbidden subjects like fighting skills and weapons that Al had any leverage over me at all. Under his influence, though, I completed my school studies, earning several diverse Master's Degrees, in my favorite subjects, although I could have added on several more if I had put in a little more effort.

Al had a hard enough time getting me to sit still long enough to do as much as he did get me to accomplish. I suppose this is the time I earned the reputation of a wastrel, party animal, playboy, which followed me throughout my adult life, but can you really expect a fifteen year old boy to be serious about running a multi-million dollar empire, even if he hadn't just discovered he could almost fly? Where I did direct my wealth, it was to direct research into innovations and devices which could help me personally, in my physical expression of intoxication and exhilaration.

After I had gained my full growth, and integrated my newfound physical prowess, mastering full control so that I could act always as a normal man, albeit a super graceful one, I had Al act as my chauffeur on night time forays to the concrete jungle, the nearby city of sin, to test my special equipment and devices. Recalling my promise to my dying Mother, I only tested my skills and toys against 'evil-doers' muggers and thugs and brutes and gangs and the like. I had active camouflage, night vision, fox-ears that allowed me to hear a rat fart at a hundred yards, and a variety of less than lethal weapons from bolos to blow guns.

In my mind I was a Ninja for Justice, and the cops thought I was a mass hysteria, except for the crooks who were showing up unconscious in compromising circumstances. The bad guys started looking over their shoulders and whispering to each other about the 'Boogeyman'. It was loads of fun, and I refined and tailored my gear. I found myself becoming an adrenaline junky, despite how I maintained my cool during the action. With my reflexes and power, I could do unbelievable things, and was careful to leave no physical evidence, making the cops skeptical of the stories about the 'Boogeyman'. Whether or not you believe in Flying Saucers, you wouldn't want to admit it to your brothers in blue!