[i]May 5, 2014. 
“Yes Dr. Miller. Yes, that’s right. I don’t know how to explain the symptoms other than miraculous.” Tom only heard one side of the conversation. “Yes, he’s perfectly fine now. His resting heart rate is back to normal levels, the only change I found is in the DNA sequence. But I don’t understand what it means..” 
Melanie paced the room chewing on a pencil, her long hair pulled back in a ponytail and her glasses resting on the tip of her nose. Tom smiled. His sister, even when nerdy, still managed to look adorable. He dressed back into a pair of sweats and went back to the treadmill to perform his 3rd stress test of the day. The first two had been somewhat uneventful. He had no doubt that She had his best intentions in mind, but this was getting tiresome and they’d only been at it a day. His mind was still hazy as to what had occurred. His memory of the events was returning in flashes. He found himself staring off into space and letting his mind wander, as his sister ramped the treadmill up from her tablet. 

“Dr. Miller says that something triggered what you did, but we’re not sure what. We have to keep running tests…” [/i]

[b]present[/b]

Tom assessed his situation within a heartbeat, And looking up, JC would have seen his pupils dilate, retract, dilate again and finally narrow to near pinpoints. Tom felt a surge in his muscles, using the energy to bash JC’s wrist against the ground, while blocking the hit from the youth’s free hand. The gang leader let out a howl of pain as the bones in his hand smashed into the pavement under the combined weight of the gun, and Tom’s arm. Tom then squeezed his wrist, pinching nerves and bones alike, forcing the hand to open. Several broke under the strain. Tom rolled onto his back, pivoting off of his hip and shifting his legs and weight to put JC into an arm-bar restraint. He was completely focused on his quarry, though he was vaguely aware of the screams of the one assailant, the taunting of the knife wielder and the other man, who had fired off a couple of wild rounds as he fell in pain. One of those rounds ricocheted off the pavement and grazed Tom’s thigh. 

“Enough!” he bellowed, striking JC with an elbow, breaking his nose and drawing out a thick stream of blood. He pulled again, removing the man’s shoulder from his socket, and taking advantage of the pain and disorientation he pulled the young man to his feet, and slipped his neck between his bicep and forearm. He held him and backed against the chain link, looking at the scene in front of him. 

“Everyone stands down, or I snap his chicken-shit little neck!” he said. His eyes burned fire as he looked at the remainder of the assailants. He had little time. The gunfire would draw police interference, something Tom did [i] not [/i] want. “Do it!” He yelled again, [i]”now…” [/i]