The first thing you notice about Buddy is how ordinary he seems. He could be someone’s dad heading home with groceries, not someone who’s stood beside legends or carried the weight of extraordinary powers. And yet here you are, in a park at midday, with Animal Man as your mentor for the afternoon. You shift from foot to foot on the freshly cut grass, feeling a little out of place.

The park is alive in a way that makes you notice everything. Children laugh near the jungle gym, dogs leap for frisbees, couples rest beneath wide oaks, and pigeons strut across the warm pavement. It all feels so normal—except for the way Buddy keeps glancing at the squirrels as if they’re part of the lesson.

“See,” he says, pulling off his sunglasses and hooking them onto his collar. His eyes are bright blue, sharp even when softened by humor. “My ability doesn’t come from gadgets or brute strength. It comes from connection. The Red. The life web of all animals. If a creature’s nearby, I can tap into what it can do—speed, senses, even traits people overlook. And it’s not just about using it. It’s about respecting it.”

You tilt your head, trying not to look completely lost. “So… if I gave you a ladybug, you could—what? Fly?”

He grins. “Not exactly. But a ladybug’s shell is tougher than you’d think. Channeling that means resilience. An ant? That’s strength far beyond its size. Nature hides plenty of secrets.”

You can’t decide whether to laugh or nod wisely, so you do both—awkwardly caught between disbelief and curiosity. The truth is, the whole moment feels surreal. You’re only just beginning your path as a hero, and here’s Buddy Baker, explaining why even the smallest creatures matter.

He crouches, resting a hand on the grass. His fingers curl into the soil like he’s listening through it. A golden retriever bounds past, and for a second, his posture shifts—something brighter and stronger rippling through him, like energy borrowed from the dog itself. When he stands again, there’s a spark in his eyes, wilder and warmer at once.

“Borrowed a little of that pup,” he says lightly. “Now I’ve got his speed, his nose, maybe even his loyalty. If someone tossed a stick, I’d probably embarrass myself.”

You laugh—louder than you meant to. A couple walking nearby glances over, but Buddy doesn’t mind. He just smiles, like he’s glad you let go for a moment.

And yet beneath the humor, there’s weight. You feel it in the pauses between his words, in the way his gaze lingers on the animals around you. He’s not just teaching a trick. He’s teaching a way of seeing the world. Respect. Symbiosis.

“You’re young,” Buddy says at last, adjusting his jacket. His tone softens, but there’s conviction behind it. “And I know how tempting it is to think power sets you above everything else. But it doesn’t. This gift is a reminder that you’re part of something bigger. Every bird, every bug, every dog chasing a stick. They’re not beneath you. They’re your allies, if you treat them that way.”