The Mercedes-Benz G-Class SUV was a massive block of a vehicle. The brand-new SUV was engineered well, though, in skilled hands it could handle as well as a car half its size. The brakes and steering responded to the smallest twitch of the driver's hands.

In skilled but uncaring hands, though, it could be as destructive as a hurricane.

The small parking lot behind the rows of stores on Beach Street was filled with a long and drawn-out screeching as the Mercedes slowly, slowly sideswiped a parked Kia as the driver pulled into a space. A long and deep scratch was left on the side of the cheaper car, paint and small shavings of metal flaking away. The Mercedes was left unblemished- it was a well-made car with all the bells and whistles. There was plenty of room for the big Mercedes, ample space to avoid the Kia. If anyone had been in the lot it would be clear that the "accident" was entirely deliberate. 

The driver's door swung open, and the teenager inside stepped out, took a casual look at the damage. "Plebe shouldn't have parked so close," he said carelessly. He downed a Daytrana, washed the pill down with a gulp of Evian, tossed the half-full bottle of water back over his shoulder. It splattered across the windshield of the Kia. Miles Wellington never looked back as he walked forwards, coming to the main drag of downtown. He had $500 and six credit cards in his pocket, and nowhere to be all day. Time to see what was going on in this boring plebeian town. 

Walking down the sidewalk, hands in the pockets of his tailored worsted trousers, he knew he was invincible.