“Jesus H. Christ. Why do they need so damned many cereals.”

Jag Reynolds surveyed the brightly colored panorama of boxes on the shelves. Cartoon cockatoos and leprechauns stared back at him with stupid grins on their faces.

“Seriously,” Jag said. “This is ridiculous.”

“What are you looking for, dad?”

The Reynolds men were shopping for dinner. Kat was away on business and she had suggested to Chris that this would be a perfect time for him to have quality time with his father… while she was on the opposite side of the continent. The menu was grilled steaks, corn on the cob, twice baked potatoes, not one single green vegetable, and, apparently, breakfast cereal.

“My cereal,” Jag said. “I figured I’d get it for Peanut here.” At the sound of her new name Hannah looked up from her grocery cart seat. She was slobbering over set of plastic keys. It was one of her first toys and she loved it.

“Hey, Opie, “ Jag said as he flagged down a pimply stock boy. “Come here a minute.”

“Yes, sir, what can I do for you?” the stock boy squeaked.

“Where do you keep the Soldier Boy cereal?”

“Soldier Boy cereal?”

“Yeah,” Jag said. “Sugar coated rice puffs with red, white and blue marshmallow stars. It’s delicious.”

“I’m pretty sure they haven’t made that in a few years.”

Jag was dumbfounded. “No shit? Son of a bitch.”

“Hey, maybe they’ll make a commemorative version of the cereal,” the stock boy said, offering a ray of hope. “You know, now that the guy is dead.”

“Who’s dead?”

“Soldier Boy.”

Jag straightened his 6 foot five inch form, put his hands on his hips and loomed over the young man. “Soldier Boy ain’t dead.”

“I’m pretty sure he is, sir. They ran a retrospective about him on cable TV all last month. He has to be dead.”

“He ain’t.”

The stock boy released a condescending puff of air and turned to Chris. “Isn’t it cute how old people just won’t let go of stuff like this?”

Jag took one step toward the stock boy who, wisely, ran for his life.

“I wouldn’t worry about it, dad. The kid probably doesn’t even know who the president is.”

“Nervy little shit.”

Clack.

Jag looked down to see Hannah’s keys lying on the ground. He picked them up and handed them back to her.

“Uh oh,” Chris said. “You’re playing the pick up game now. She’s going to do that until it drives you nuts.”

Clack.

The keys were on the ground again. Hannah looked at Jag, looked at the keys and then looked back at Jag expectantly.

Jag laughed as he picked up the keys. “Hey, if it keeps her happy, it’s no big deal.” He handed the keys back to Hannah and tussled her hair.

“So, you have an interview this week?” Chris asked.

“Yep. Hudson City.”

“Tell me it isn’t the team the DiSantiagos are putting together.”

“It is.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “Dad, do you even know who the DiSantiagos are? The odds that this thing is on the up and up are real slim.”

Clack.

Jag picked up the keys.

“I’m not too worried about it,” Jag said. “Even if they’re just doing this for their image some good might come out of it, and if they are crooked I’ll tear them apart from the inside. It’s win-win for me.”

Chris grunted noncommittally.

“Besides, you should see the cans on this Ophilia chick who’s throwing this thing together.”

Clack.

Jag picked up the keys. This time Chris watched as his father reached down. Jag’s hands were trembling.

“Dad, what’s that about?”

“What?”

“Your hands shaking.”

Jag made a dismissive gesture. “It’s nothing. I just ran out of the pills they’ve been giving me the last few years. I’ve got a little withdrawal thing going on. It’ll pass.”

After Jag’s powers began to fade, the Soldier Boy Project fixed Jag up with some medicine that they hoped would stabilize his mutation. Now that the Project is history, the Pentagon didn’t really care if Soldier Boy lost his powers.

“Have you seen a doctor about it?”

Jag shook his head. “I’m not worried about it.”

Clack.

Jag picked up the keys.

“Have you noticed any change in your power levels since?”

“Not yet,” Jag said. “I’ll keep you posted.”

Clack.

Jag picked up the keys, grunting a bit this time.

“Okay, Peanut,” Jag said as he handed the keys back. “That’s enough for now.”

“Dad, could you watch Hannah for a minute? I have to go find a couple of things.”

“Sure, go ahead” Jag said, “it’s no skin off my dick.” With that, Chris turned and left.

Clack.

Jag looked down at the keys, and then he looked at Hannah. She smiled preciously with her head tilted to one side. The little bitch was fucking with him now. Jag was sure of it. He picked up the keys.

“Okay, Peanut. This is it. No more.”

Hannah threw the keys and Jag caught them before they hit the ground. He drew close to his granddaughter, put his best the-better-to-eat-you-with smile on his face and shoved a coarse whisper out between his teeth.

“Now you listen to me, little girl. If you drop these on the ground one more time I’m going to throw the god damn things clear to the other side of the fucking building. You read me, meat?” As she took the keys from Jag’s hand, Hannah cooed musically for her grandfather who she loved so much.

Clack.

Jag picked up the keys and threw the god damn things clear to the other side of the fucking building. Hannah watched in disbelief as her keys disappeared over the top of the shelves. She filled her tiny lungs with as much air as they could hold and screamed as if she had just suffered the worst indignity that anyone had ever suffered in the history of indignation.

“Whoa, what’s going on here?” Chris returned to the cart, picked up his daughter and spoke to her in a soothing voice. “Why the drama, huh?”

Hannah told her father everything. She told him how she was kind and generous enough to share her favorite toy with her grandfather and how he went and ruined the game because he’s a bad, bad, bad, bad man. Of course Hannah only knew a hand full of actual words, none of which applied to this situation, so her tirade came out as a stream of white hot gibberish that only she understood. Still, the accusing little finger she stabbed in Jag’s direction was eloquent enough for Chris to get the general picture. With a raised eyebrow, Chris waited on an explanation from his father.

“She’s lying,” Jag said as innocently as he could. “I swear.”