The Howler

Born and raised in Missouri, no bustling town, a farm, cooperate America farm to be exact. His parents both worked for a cooperate farm, providing massive amounts of one produce, earning large profits and generally not caring about the land. His father’s farmer heritage and family have all but outcast him, for falling in line with cooperate America, his mother a outsider to the farming community, was a pageant queen, had a upper middle class wealth, and pushed Max’s father to earn as much money as possible without care to the land. However even in Missorui, family ties stem through, Max can be attributed to Southern Hospitality, and the good old comfort food motto. No rich family could get rid of that here, though his mother tried.

Max first came upon mutant hood during puberty, but as will all good stories, something happened to change the very outcome of life. A comet from the sky, or a crashed government do dad (Max isn’t good with names, decent with basic technology, but horrible with names) Whatever it was, Max thought it would be fun, that rebel puberty kicking in, purged him to go find whatever it is that crashed. Max played with the crash site for days before anyone sought to investigate, his father being the first to discover he was missing for long periods of time. However, Max did not like that one bit, his father drumming around where his new hideout was, a small hole in the earth, but a fort nevertheless. Therefore, he stole the contents of the wreck, a small metal box that was sticky and gooey. Running away before his father could come, he tripped and the box flew out of his hands, his father on a tractor coming slowly off in the distance. Frantically reaching for the box before his father spotted him, it suddenly jerked, not once but twice. The box flew to his hands, but the panic stricken Max just got up and ran, and kept running until he could not see the light of the tractor anymore.
Nowhere to go, Max could not go home tonight, not after running from his father, but where he thought. Grandma’s, the safest and most secure place on the planet for a young boy. Running to grandma’s house was no easy feat, but he did it and knocked on the door and was immediately greeted by the loving embrace that was grandma, a women who smelled like cookies and had a voice of ice milk.
Grandpa of course was suspicious, asked what Max was holding, reaching for it at the same time.
*Mine*
Max grumbled and said “Its mine grandpa, not yours” before moving closer to grandma.

Later, Max was put to bed; Grandpa called the parents to inform them Max was spending the night; holding tightly to a box no less. That night, the symbiotic thing came out of the box and attached itself to Max. The pubescent hormones raging, the symbiotic creature’s mental assault, it changed Max. The hormones raging coupled with the assault created this wonderesque boy of perfect manners, polite and courteous, and all hints of rebel nature gone, except for a deep almost passion for the greater good. Perhaps it was Max’s own powers ebbing out, with the hormones of the teenage boy, along with the symbiotic emotion rollercoaster that somehow added up to being a negative * a negative and equaling a positive.