Mist

There wasn't one day when Mist discovered his preferred form. He'd always been a strange little boy, difficult to grasp both physically and intellectually. He didn't know where his power came from. He had no parents to ask.

He'd tried all forms. His first reading of "Dear Zoo" had been an education to himself very early on, as he turned himself into animals, and he had tried on the shape of other inanimate things like rockets and trucks and airplanes.

Mist was what he liked best.

He was naturally curious and liked to act without restraint. Mist provided him with the means to pervade everywhere and he took full advantage of it. No place was out of reach when you were Mist and there was never any question about your presence.

And in being able to get wherever he wanted, he accumulated knowledge and he could see that what he gathered on his excursions had worth. He was always conscious of the power he held and the ability he had for both good and bad. But he wasn't a hero. Nobody knew what he was.

The information he collected he sold on the internet for a price. Secrets that people had kept hidden could suddenly be exposed but he didn't do commissions. If he knew, he would share it - for the right price.

So, beware moisture on your windscreen, the sheen on the sauna wall. Or the early morning fog that blurs your view of the mountains, that rises off the surface of a lake as a loon swims past. Feel the danger of the moisture on your upper lip, when you are in the throes of passion with a stranger or the cold day when you murder and your breath can be seen.

Mist is always there, watching.