Mike Buchanan was hardly a name befitting one of his calibre, but apparently his parents hadn't known the bouncing baby boy was going to grow into the poster child for ruthless justice. They had not even known of the powers that lay dormant in the boy, and had indeed lain dormant in the male gene for many generations. The great grandfather had displayed some minor abilities, perhaps stunted at this stage due to the intolerant culture of the time. Even during Mikes childhood, he had needed to ensure he was not too open with the powers he held, although it was fair to say he had used them in public far more than his surprisingly tolerant parents would have liked. All this was irrelevant though, as that somewhat anarchic young lad had now grown into the stoic and often brash man that was at this moment driving towards a high security prison. His jaw was set in place, the tension already beginning to show. Mike was only doing this idiotic trial because the government had enough dirt on him to turn his life upside down, or perhaps put him in the slammer along with those scumbags. Deep and cold brown eyes glanced at the clock, he was running half an hour late. "Heh, not like he's got anywhere to be." He muttered, flicking the radio off at this point, feeling he wanted to complete the rest of the journey in silence. Soon enough, the foreboding concrete structure came into view. The razor wire topping the fence was rather unpleasant, as was the electrified fence beneath it. All this was a last effort, should the initial security of the deadlock doors and occassionally brutal guards fail in their jobs. So far, that had never happened, and now the morons were letting one of those lunatics out scot free. Mike really couldn't fathom this, and yet he found himself caught up in it anyway. He shook his head, passing through security without too much difficulty. By now everyone knew he was. Firefly had been his alter-ego, a name chosen by the media, certainly not by the man himself. Eventually the secret had come out, and now the brunette was well known by the public in both his crime fighting get up, and the usually drab everyday clothes he wore. His jawlength hair hung limply, he didn't really take much care of his appearance, as was confirmed by the rather grimy leather duster he also wore, along with equally battered jeans. Getting this guy in a suit was a feat in itself, and had been managed only three times in the course of a decade long crime fighting career. Once out of the car, the tall and muscled - but certainly not burly - man approached the last of the security points. "I'm here for the maniac." He spoke shortly, showing no graciousness towards the guard who seemed to be a little star struck, and also trying to do his job without fumbling. "Go right on through, Sir." And with that, the claxon sounded, signalling the opening of the main doors. Mike entered, blending in quite well with the cold, dead surroundings. In another life he would have made an excellent criminal, but thankfully the side of law and order had claimed him before he had travelled too far down that path. Some might have said he was a bad guy, but those were far fewer than those that viewed him as a true modern day hero.