Jon had become his idea of the ideal human being: neither grotesquely muscular nor superhumanly intelligent, but fit and sharp-witted. He liked what he saw in the mirror. He couldn't imagine why he'd ever want to be his old, imperfect self again. How could anyone stand being less than perfect? He had to end their pain. He didn't feel any pain when he was imperfect, but now he felt so ... clear, as if he had been cleansed of impurities that had been clogging his every pore. He wanted to spread that refreshing sensation. It took just a thought to generate bolts of energy crackling between his fingers. The heat didn't damage his skin at all; it remained flawless. "I have the power," Jon said to himself. Even his voice had improved; he sounded confident and his diction was worthy of the stage. "I will only use it for good." He smiled. "How could perfection not be good?" With his high IQ, the answer was easy to figure out. "Only if someone else's idea of 'perfection' is dangerous."
Jon heard footsteps. Stomping on wood. Zoe was walking down the hallway outside his bedroom. Jon opened his door and pointed at his sister's back, focusing his power into his index finger. "You're first." Was she going to become 'perfect' like him, or become her own ideal? There was only one way to find out ...
