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Elijah Thomas Grant
FACE CLAIM: Ricky Whittle

♦ THE BASICS ♦

AGE: Twenty-Five
GENDER: Male
ORIENTATION: Heterosexual
POSITION: TFC & Police Officer

♦ THE ABILITY ♦

POWER: Enhanced Condition: The ability to remain in the peak physical and mental condition. This means that traits such as natural strength, speed and intelligence are heightened, but held by the limitations of humanity.

LIMITATIONS: Unlike most meta-humans, Eli is bound by the limits of the human body. He can be outrun by someone with super speed. Someone with super strength can out lift him.

SIDE-EFFECTS: Eli's calorie intake is double that of the average male because his metabolism is constantly in overdrive. He can never sleep for a full eight hours as he needs to maintain this intake at set times during a twenty-four hour period. Because his body is running at capacity at all times, he has a shortened life expectancy.

♦ THE FREEFORM ♦

"I don't love him. I don't miss him."
Nonchalant. Cool. Collected and knowing.
He shrugs; "I hate him."

The last time he saw his father, he was five. Memories rarely stick with adults from that young an age, but he distinctly remembers his mother sitting him down and telling him he was gone. Dad gets ready for work; work boots, high vis shirt, the whole digs. Eli asks if they can go fishing when he gets home. Its impractical; hell, it's a Wednesday and he doesn't usually get back till the sun goes down. But he's five, and he doesn't understand that yet.

"Some other time, Champ." He says, a heavy hand ruffling his hair; "Some other time."

That night he doesn't come home. He never comes home. It takes Eli years to understand what happened. His mom is always honest about his birth dad, but not vindictive. So from five, Eli thinks its his job to look after his mum. She only moved to Ireland in the first place to be with him, and now she's stuck there with his son for the rest of her life, living in a town that reminds of her of him every day.

"One minute, I'm getting beat up."
Cring-worthy. I mean, look at him.
"Next minute; superhero."

For whatever reason, kids think it's funny that Eli doesn't have a dad. They laugh at him because its just him and his mom against the world. They decide to tell him on the regular that his dad left because of him. He always felt that way anyway, but it still hurts to hear it. The public school he goes to doesn't do much when he complains to the teachers; "School's just like that for boys. You just need to toughen up."

"Toughen up?" His mother laughs, fighting his battles like she's wielding a literal sword, "He's eleven."

She can't afford to move, and she can't afford to home-school him because she works her ass off everyday to make sure he's got food to eat and clothes to wear. But she's not willing to let this go, because she's a saint.

Neither, apparently, are the kids at his school. The next day the insults about his dad become insults about his smart-mouth mom contacting people's parents. Eli flips on a dime and punches some kid in the jaw. His scrawny arm dislocates it. They file a report. A recruiter whisks him off to St. Bethany in less than a week.

"She's the strongest woman I know."
He laughs, scratching his neck. Awkward.
"Took me ages to think he was good enough."

Within his first year at St. Bethany, his mom had news. She drags a very young Eli to dinner with an older man and a kid he's pretty sure he's seen around the school. This guy's got a son at St. Bethany too, and that's exactly how his mom and his dad met. Eli sits in pure silence for the entire meal as his mom and his dad tells the table that they like each other. They've been seeing each other for a while now. They want to move in together, so it's time to tell their kids.

Eli doesn't look at his future brother at all. He just begrudgingly stabs at his steak until its gone from his plate and he's back in the car with his mom.

He's mad. He makes that pretty clear to his mom on the way home; no one's ever going to be worthy of her, and she needs to understand that. She pats his hand as she drives, feeling his eyes staring at her, pleading with her to break it off before it goes too far.

But it's already gone too far; they both know that.

"Trust me, baby. He's different." She reassures him. She really believes it, too. Eli takes his mother's hand in his as she drives expertly with just the one at her disposal.

"He's a dork."
That curly hair. Scrawny body.
"I'll kick your ass for saying it."

He's sixteen, walking through the quad on his way back to the dorms when he hears some familiar, shitty banter. Looking over, Eli sees some jerk knocking Brodie's books onto the ground, kicking them in the dirt and laughing about it. He keeps walking without a fault in his steps, reminding himself with every move that it's not his problem.

Except he's still watching. He sees a set of hands curl into Brodie's collar, daring him to try something.

Slinging his bag off his shoulder, Eli hurls it at the guy who dares to put his hands on his future brother. The heavy backpack is easy for him to hammer-throw with his strength level, and the force of it knocks the guy off balance. Fast running steps are mere seconds behind the canvas-clad haul of textbooks. He lands a very secure punch to this guy's jaw which knocks him off his feet.

Crouching over him, a strong fist curls into his collar instead, and the other collides with his face again; "That's my brother, you piece of shit!"

"I walked mom down the aisle."
He's smiling; kind, unguarded.
"Any excuse to wear a suit, right?"

His mom brushes his shoulders with her hands. Her nails are never this perfect; she never really cares that they're polished, but the day is a special one. She keeps telling everyone it's better than her first wedding. She doesn't have any bridesmaids. She's only got Eli standing up for her, and that's okay. She's about to get a second son.

At eighteen, Eli towers over her at over six feet. But she still manages to envelop him in a hug that makes him feel half that size. She's trying not to act like such a nervous wreck, and it seems to help. It doesn't help that he's going off to the army in less than a week. They haven't talked about it since she threw a fit when he told her a few months ago. She pushed her wedding up. Lucky, it's just a small thing.

The music swells. She loops a hand in the crook of his elbow. He squares his shoulder, and looks at her with a smile. In a few minutes, it's not just them against the world.

"He's different, mom." Eli reassures her, patting her hand gently.

"How was it? Shitty."
A dry laugh, a shake of his head.
"I'd do it again, though."

Four years is a fixed term with the army. Because of his ability, he's a prize. Basic training is a breeze. Everything else is a whirlwind blur. It's violent. It sucks. There's a sense of pride and he's just glad he's ten times the man his birth father was. His mom cries a lot, apparently. She never tells him that, but Brodie doesn't keep much from him. It's a big part of why he doesn't stay when they beg him to do another year at least. He tells them it only took a year to realise this wasn't where he was supposed to be.

But he's a man. A better man. Commitments are supposed to be honoured, and all that. He's also not a quitter. And to be honest, he couldn't quit if he wanted to. Literally.

The only thing he really likes about the army is the way he's learned to help people. If nothing else, the experience taught him that he wants to do more with his life than piss his time away fighting for Queen and country. He pieces his way from that to helping the meta community. It's how he ends up becoming a trainer at St. Bethany for two years.

Then even that isn't enough. It's not the right balance from what he did to what he wants to do. The next point of call is law enforcement, even though most people don't think he's got the discipline for it.

"America; land of the free?"
Scoff. Harsh exhale.
"Yeah right, mate. Who're you kidding?"

Eli doesn't ever want to go to America. He's never even considered wanting to travel there. It doesn't sound good. Their latest flip in political seating sounds shitty, but its out of arms reach for him.

It's his brother who announces at dinner one night that he's moving for that very reason. Dad's sad, Mom's sad. Eli's, honestly, a bit pissed about it. But he can't talk; he left for four years and put himself out of arms reach. Could he really be mad that his brother's doing his version of that?

The next day he's trying to figure out if an international transfer is even a thing.

Hands clap to his brother's shoulders at his own news, a broad grin catching his lips when he's asked why he wants to move, too.

"This time, it's me and you against the world."

♦ THE PLAYER ♦

USERNAME: Eddie
AGE GROUP: Twenty-Six
EXPERIENCE: Yrz
WHERE DID YOU FIND US? I run this motha