Marvel: Ghost Rider

The father came down to the dining room. Tall and strong, he never skipped his daily gym sessions. His warm smile lit up his face, instantly making the morning better.

"Good morning!" he said, giving Johnny a friendly pat on the shoulder before kissing his wife on the cheek.

The father removed his police captain's jacket and carefully hung it on a chair. The embroidered insignias and shining medals glinted in the light. On the wall hung a framed newspaper article with the headline: "Motorcycle Cop Saves UN Chairman!" Below it was his photo in uniform. It served as a trophy, reminding everyone that each member of the Blaze family was capable of greatness.

Johnny's heart swelled with pride, knowing his father had fulfilled his dream of becoming famous in New York—not through circus stunts, but still by riding a motorcycle.

"How's our police hero doing this morning?" asked his mother as she took her seat at the table.

"Fantastic, but this hero is starving," the father joked with a wink. "And he's still glad he decided to leave the circus ten years ago. Less risk, more time with you all."

His mother smiled warmly. Johnny could see how proud she was of him. They all were. Leaving a dangerous career in the circus to join the police was a bold move.

It all happened naturally. Ten years ago, Naomi told her husband that their kids needed a healthy, living father, so he had to end his stuntman career.

Barton agreed but decided to end his career with a bang—jumping a motorcycle over 15 burning school buses. The stunt earned him a Guinness World Record and a spot on TV, where the New York Police Commissioner saw him.

The commissioner offered Barton a place in the motorcycle unit, hoping his fame would boost the police force's image. After the UN incident, Barton was promoted to captain and put in charge of the motorcycle squad.

"When's be breakfast ready?" complained Barb, holding up her empty plate. "Am I supposed to starve to death?"

"If I intended to kill you, young lady, I would choose a quicker, more effective method—like poison," came a prim, feminine voice from the kitchen.

That voice belonged to another member of the Blaze household, young girl Melissa. A distant relative who had lost everything after moving to the U.S., she had been taken in by the Blazes. In gratitude, she had taken on the role of housekeeper, a role she performed excellently—though her manners left something to be desired.

The clock struck precisely 6:30. Breakfast time.

Melissa entered the dining room with her usual impeccable timing, carrying a large tray of aromatic, exquisitely plated dishes. She wore a maid's uniform—a black dress with a white apron—and a thin leather choker around her neck. Two red hair clips, resembling horns, adorned her chestnut locks, while her amber eyes sparkled with mild amusement.

"Breakfast is served, esteemed Blazes," she announced, placing the dishes on the table with the ceremony of presenting a royal feast. "Please don't mind that a delicate young girl like myself is once again working like a mule."

"Melissa, did anyone ever tell you that your whining is part of our morning entertainment?" asked mom with a raised brow.

"I strive for perfection," Melissa countered, gracefully adjusting her apron. "Besides, who else but I would ensure that Captain Barton doesn't choke on a croissant? Your police hero may catch criminals, but he's clearly losing the battle against dietary norms."

"If this croissant was made by you, I'm more likely to enjoy it than be harmed," the father quipped, pouring himself coffee.

"At least someone recognizes my talent. Thank you, Captain," Melissa said with a smirk before turning to Johnny. "As for Mr. Jonathan, I'm still waiting for acknowledgment. Is my lamb pie inferior to your garage experiments?"

"If your the pie start my engines first try, I'll consider it," Johnny replied, taking a sip of his freshly brewed coffee.

"That will cost extra," she shot back with a sarcastic grin.

"By the way, Melissa, there's another task for you," Mom said, pouring herself some orange juice. "Water the plants in Johnny's room; he'll forget again otherwise."

"As you wish, Mistress Naomi," Melissa replied with mock seriousness, heading back to the kitchen with a proud gait. "That will only steal three more minutes of my life. I just nothing else to do between polishing the silverware and dusting the wine bottles."

Melissa's disincentive humor was something the family had grown accustomed to.

"Why do you need our camera, Danny?" Barton asked, raising an eyebrow. "Isn't your smartphone enough?"

"Come on, Dad!" Danny groaned, as if explaining the obvious. "Smartphones are for hipsters taking selfies and grandmas snapping grocery prices. Real art needs a professional camera."

"And what are you planning to photograph?" father asked, genuinely curious.

"Perverts who wear underwear on their heads," Barb teased, trying to stifle her laughter.

"Hey, don't laugh!" Danny protested, crossing his arms. "Superheroes are cool. The Daily Bugle pays big money for good shots. One day, my photo will be on the front page."

Mom clapped her hands as if Danny had just invented a cure for all diseases.

"How wonderful! Maybe we'll have a famous photographer in the family?"

"That's a great goal," the father said approvingly, his eyes gleaming with pride again. "Just be careful with that camera at school. Kids can get jealous."

"Then they'll have to deal with me!" Barb declared, rolling a soccer ball under the table with her feet. "I can hit a target from a hundred meters away!"

"Now, that's something I'll support," Barton said seriously, then added with a smile, "but let's stick to scoring goals into the gates, not the heads of classmates."

"That depends on them," she replied with a sly grin. "No one messes with my family."

The adults nodded in approval, and Johnny gave her a pat on the shoulder. He'd fight for his family too. So would everyone at that table—well, maybe except Melissa.

"You're both amazing," Naomi said to the younger ones. "Whatever path life takes you on—football, the police, or photography—you'll succeed as long as you stick together."

"And me?" Melissa asked slyly, approaching the table with a cup of tea. "Where's my acknowledgment for feeding these prodigies?"

"You're amazing for putting up with us," Naomi replied playfully, handing her a plate with a slice of strawberry cake. "Now sit and join us. Breakfast isn't the same without you."

"Where would you all be without me?" Melissa replied sarcastically but still sat down, carefully smoothing her apron. "You can't even have breakfast without me."

Melissa's haughty, sarcastic demeanor had become a family staple. Without her, the Blaze household just didn't feel complete.

Something brushed against Johnny's leg. Ah yes, the Blazes had one more member—a black cat named Coal with bright eyes. Naomi often joked that Coal wasn't a house cat but a witch's familiar.

Coal nudged Johnny's leg, reminding him that breakfast hadn't been quite enough.

"Hungry?" Johnny broke off a piece of meat and offered it to the cat.

Coal purred contentedly.

"Don't overfeed him," Naomi warned. "Fat cats make easy prey for witches!"

Everyone at the table burst into laughter, even the usually prim Melissa hiding her smile behind a coffee cup.

After breakfast, Johnny climbed onto his motorcycle. Pausing at the driveway, he glanced back at the house. Big, white, two-story, with a spacious garage and a neatly trimmed lawn where an American flag proudly waved. This wasn't just a house. It was a dream home—the embodiment of stability and happiness, a rarity in life.

His younger siblings, without whom he couldn't imagine life, waved goodbye, wishing him luck. Melissa, holding the cat, silently joined them. He saw his parents: his mom's gentle smile as she told him to have a good day at school, and his father adding that good grades wouldn't hurt.

The Cross of Vengeance on Johnny's chest burned with hellfire, a reminder that the carefree times were over. He was the Ghost Rider now.

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