Interludes (NO COMMENT POSTS PLEASE)

[Tornado]

The suitcase was almost full.

Mike looked around his half of the room, checking to see that he’d gotten everything. It looked like it was all in the bag or in the boxes in storage (for a little while). Only three things still sat on the bare mattress: a piece of his past, and two parts of his future.

The photo album devoted to Saint Joe’s was stuffed with pictures and memories. He flipped through the stiff pages, one by one, riffling through the memories at the same time.

There was Erika, smirking. He remembered how she’d offered to dance with him, his very first day, and he’d stammered and gone into a speed-seizure. They’d talked a lot since then, and he was glad she was his friend.

There was his “class,” that big influx of students who’d started at the same time he had. He still kept in touch.

Shots of Jade Rooster teaching him more than he’d learned in his YMCA Tai-Bo class. They were mostly pictures of Mike getting up from the ground, but they were great memories.

The original Men in Shorts: him and Tonka. Others had joined later, and their pictures were in there too: Arkady. Mojo. Ty. Others.

Hitting the skydiving simulator. The surprised look on his face the first time the medbadge had worked. Good times, all.

The first time he’d seen Shelly. The surprised look on his face at how beautiful she was, and then the look on his face when she agreed to go to the Prom with him. He’d had to track her down and rescue her when she’d been kidnapped that night, but it was okay. They had prom all by themselves, and it was just as good.

So many other times and memories. Even the bad times, like the Rikti invasion. He’d been so scared that he’d lose Kara, and then Shelly couldn’t get back...it had been terrible for him. He’d suffered alone a lot, just fighting and running until he couldn’t. He’d never be able to repay Nigel for staying by Kara’s bedside the whole time she was out. And he’d never forget how Shelly looked, gliding in out of the setting sun on her soft wings.

Mike put the album in his suitcase and picked up the first part of his future. It was an acceptance letter from RISU. He’d have to take out loans, but some anonymous person had given him a grant as a stipend to help him through. They insisted that he not know who they were, just “a grateful almost-victim of purse snatchers.” He was going to study business, and figure out how businesses ran. He had an idea for a courier service, and he was working at Bruno’s now to see first-hand how delivery worked. With any luck, he’d soon be making some cash off the idea and opening his own business. Red Shift Deliveries: when you absolutely have to have it there right now. He grinned and slipped the envelope in his pocket before picking up the second part of his future.

The box wasn’t very big, but what it represented still thrilled him to the core. He opened the hinged lid and stared at the ring again. White gold, for her hair, etched with a pair of wings all down the sides of the band. The twin tiny sapphires matched her eyes, and the tiny diamond matched the sparkle in them. He smiled softly and clicked the lid shut. It would take a good chunk of his pay for a while, but she was worth it. He slipped the box into his chest pocket.

Mike picked up the suitcase and walked out the door at a normal clip. He waved at Bobby and Matt as he went, and exchanged a few words with Nigel before hurrying on. The school seemed...too small. It wasn’t big enough to hold all his dreams anymore. He hummed “I’m Moving On” as he walked, and when he finally exited the front door, his future was standing in front of him with her wings half spread and that secret smile on her face.

He embraced her and kissed her cheek softly. “My angel. Hey, I have an idea. Want to go out to eat? There’s this Italian place next to Jules’ station. I figure, candlelight, maybe a surprise or two. What do you think?”

The smile broadened. He could never keep anything from her. It was okay. She was his future. They headed off down the road, hand in hand.

[Caitlin]

Prom was only a week away. Cait settled down at a desk in her quad with an inviting piece of paper before her. Her roommates were all out at the moment, presumably enjoying the Saturday afternoon. She idly toyed with a cell phone and glanced at a swatch of fabric near her other hand.

"What's this for?" Cait had asked the woman who helped her with her dress a few days before. A stylish name tag pronounced to the entire world that her name was Janice.

"It's for your date, in case he needs to know what color your dress is." Janice had offered helpfully.

At least Janice didn't give Cait the look that silently asked, "Are you from another planet?" Silly questions. Should she already know the answer? Would she if she hadn't missed several years. Janice had filled her in on a couple of prom traditions and had never once given Cait the impression she'd rather be doing something other than answering a clueless teenager. Maybe it wasn't such a silly question, after all.

Her mind back on the phone, she tapped the keypad until a familiar sequence of numbers filled the display. A confirming press of the send key, and there was nothing left but to wait for the answer on the other end.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Mom, it's me."

"Oh, hi, Cait! You're calling a little early."

"Yeah, I wanted to talk to you."

"Is everything OK?"

Cait smiled. Leave it to her mother to pick up on the tremor in her voice. "Yeah, everything's great. You know the other day? When I told you the school's prom is coming up?"

There was a brief silence on the other end, and Cait felt a pang of hurt. She wasn't the only one still trying to adjust.

"Of course I remember. Did you decide if you're going, yet?"

"Yeah, I did." Cait took a deep breath. Here goes… "I got a dress… and a date!"

"That's great, honey! Is it the boy you told me about? David?"

"Yeah, he asked me earlier this week." Oops… Cait had planned to skip that minor detail.

"And you're just now getting around to telling me about it?" Her mother's tone was still jovial, teasing even, but there was a barely detectable flavoring of rebuke.

"Well… I guess I was excited, and then there was this thing, and I wasn't sure, and... it's complicated." That was an understatement. "But it all worked out, and I got my dress. Oh! I have a picture of it I can send you and Dad, and… well, yeah, we're going."

There was another awkward silent period. "Complicated" often meant it was the sort of thing that normal teenagers attending normal schools didn't generally have to deal with.

"You didn't tell me much about him last time we talked." Cait smiled as the pause was resolved. "What's he like?"

Complications just slowed things down, is all. They were like detours. You have to slow down and deal with them, maybe alter your course for a while, but once you're past them, you just go right back to driving. She admired her parents for the way they took everything in stride.

"Oh, Mom! He's amazing!" She found herself looking up to the ceiling briefly in emphasis as she leaned back in her chair and gestured with her free hand as if she were with a gaggle of girlfriends.

A quiet laugh floated through the phone. "You said that last week. Maybe this week you can tell me why he's so amazing?"

"Well, he's really nice, and smart, and he's cute, and he's very brave. He used to work with a real hero, too!" And you should see him in uniform? In action? No, that was a touchy subject with her parents, despite their acquiescence to sign the paperwork for her to get her license. "…and did I mention he's really cute?"

"You said he was cute. Now he's really cute?"

Cait giggled back into the phone. "Ok, yeah, he's reeeeaaaally cute." She put extra emphasis on the word for good measure. "I think I make him nervous, though. He gets all twitterpated around me." Her mother started laughing on the other end. "Come on, Mom," she retorted with a little exasperation. "It's true! But it's cute when he does that! Anyways, I was wondering… what was it like when you guys went to prom? Did you go out before? Were there parties and stuff after?"

She knew her mother would be honest with her and hold most of the lecturing back. Her father on the other hand... Over the last few months he had become rather over-protective, or as much as he could be thousands of miles away. He had mentioned bringing her back home more than once.

While they talked, she retrieved a bottle of perfume, a gift from her Aunt Terri, another person she would likely ask about prom. She sprayed the fabric lightly, taking care not to overdo it, and held it loosely in her free hand to warm it. Cait listened to her mother's description of her own prom, but she kept getting lost in daydreams; dancing with David, resplendent in his tuxedo, holding her in his arms.

**********

"Thanks, Mom. I've got to get going. I promised David I'd stop by this afternoon and drop off a piece of material so he'd know what color my dress is. I'll call later to talk to Dad, OK?"

"OK, honey. I love you."

"I love you, too, Mom. And I promise I’ll send some pictures! Bye-bye."

Cait checked the time before she closed her cell phone. It had been less than an hour since she had returned from wandering Atlas Park with David. She wondered if he'd be back, yet, but just in case he wasn't, she picked up a pen and pressed its tip to paper.

Dear David,

As promised, here's the color of my dress. By the way, I had fun this afternoon.

Love,
Cait

Love, Cait? She stared at the words and pursed her lips. Why not? What's wrong with that? That's how she signed everything, after all. This was different, though. Was it too much? How about sincerely? Too impersonal. Nothing at all? That didn't seem right. What then? Nothing came to her. She folded the letter, stuffed it into an envelope, and wrote David's name on the front. If he wasn't back yet, she would leave it with a roommate.

She slid the fabric into a pocket with the envelope and left the room. Love, Cait? Maybe he'd be there, and she wouldn't have to leave the letter.

[Blitzen]

Might as well be on Mars

She sat on the edge of his desk chair, elbows leaning on her thighs as she watched him pack, wishing the lump in her throat would go away. It was stupid. The whole situation was just stupid. It was just four weeks. Not even the entire summer. She rolled her eyes as he picked up the clipboard next to his suitcase, checking off item after item according to the list of what he needed to bring. Just like a boy scout. Always prepared. He returned to his dresser and counted out seven pairs of rolled up white tube socks, one of them rolling from the balanced pile atop his clipboard to a stop by Sam's left foot. She picked it up and southpaw tossed it into his case as Bryan made a check mark in that box as well. Just say something. Anything, jeez, brain, make yourself useful.

"So... Four weeks?" She cursed her brain, she already knew the answer, they just spoke about it yesterday at prom.

"Still four weeks." He said with a chuckle, grabbing seven neatly folded white t-shirts from his second drawer. She imagined him packing to go off to some college somewhere, and it just made the situation worse. He thoughtfully tapped the pencil against his chin before recounting the t-shirts and putting them in the case as well. Her eyes followed him back and forth to where he was selecting which gym shorts to bring. The small container of orange flavored Tang she'd picked up as a going away gift sat next to the slew of personal care products he lined up to bring. On the desk behind her was a brochure of the Space Camp he'd be attending next to his wallet and plane ticket, so she busied herself reading about the adventure he'd be having that summer. G-force simulators, astronaut PT, classroom learning.... you could run track, go to summer school and I could just shove you in a dryer. But he was looking forward to it. It was mostly all he could talk about, and besides, she had things planned too, like a trip to California and working at Jules' to pay it off.

Before long, he was finished. She held the case closed for him while he zipped it up, the two friends sitting silently on the edge of the bed afterwards. She leaned into his shoulder, and he leaned his chin across the top of her head. The cab would pick him up in the morning and he'd be down in Alabama for four weeks playing astronaut. Four weeks is really long.

He sat up after a bit and checked the watch on his wrist, holding it up to demonstrate it'd be coming with him, causing her to smile and roll her eyes. Stupendous Man. She'd bought it for him after he'd broken up with Nix, him finding the dress watch she'd bought him brought up too many memories. But time passed, he could once again wear Nix's watch, and still he usually made it a point to let Sam know hers was getting good use. His favorite comic hero. I'm gonna miss you.

"It's not like it's all summer." He said, as if he read her mind. "And did you check out everything I'm going to get to do?"

"Yeah! It looks like it'll be a blast! And you'll totally be in shape for football season this August." She replied with a nod.

"The cab's coming kind of early." He replied after a pause.

"Well, yeah, and I guess you can use all the beauty sleep you can get." She kidded.

"I need to maintain my boyish good looks as a public service for all the girl campers." He said, giving her a playful shove. Why was stuff so much harder now?

"Well, I'll write. Keep you up on what's going on and stuff. You know."

"I'll send you a postcard at least, from the final frontier."

"Alabama." She scoffed. "It's hardly the final frontier."

"It's below the Mason Dixon." He countered, and they shared a small laugh. It's like a billion miles away.

"Well, I should let you get to sleep." She said, standing up hesitantly. "You sure you don't want help getting your stuff down to the curb in the morning?"

"Artie should be up." He shrugged. "Plus..." He levitated the bag over to the door with a wave of his hand. "I can do that. And besides, what sort of boy scout would I be if I let some girl carry my luggage?"

"Some girl?" She shoved him this time and smiled, he tousled her hair in response to show he was kidding.

"I'm gonna miss you." She finally choked out, staring at one of the recessed lights in his ceiling. He grinned and pulled her into a hug.

"It's just a few weeks." He reminded her, squeezing tightly. "But I'll miss you too. And I'll bring you back a moon rock."

"You'll pick up a normal old rock and know I won't be able to tell the difference." She said, hugging him back. "Just don't forget the freeze dried ice cream." And don't go and change too much. You come back the same guy you packed up in the suitcase. Don't change anything. Not ever.

"I won't. Scout's honor." He hugged her one more time. Even though he couldn't read minds, she'd take that as a promise.

[Gravwarp]

In Thursday's mail, Sam receives a white envelope with a cartoon astronaut sticker on it.

Hey Sam!

Just like I promised, here's my first official "camp letter". Yay!

My flight down to Alabama was alright, it's weird being crammed in with so many people. I got two free Mountain Dews though... yes, I'm awesome like that.

Camp is really cool. I have five roommates for the first eight days. There are John and David, they're brothers from Georgia. There's this awesome kid named Anan, his folks are Thai. I got roomed with another comic guy, his name is Rich. The guy in the bunk below me is Jared, he's come to space camp every summer since he was 9. His dad and older brother are in the Air Force.

The food in the cafeteria here is miles beyond the food at school. We had pizza last night. Good stuff.

I've already done some really neat things. The first two days we had parachute training, where we landed in the water. We also had a crash survival seminar. They have a huge pool with a plane on hydraulics that "crashes" into the pool.

It's strange not being able to use my powers here, but it's nice just hanging out with new people. I really miss you and the gang though, I hope everything is well back in the old hustle and bustle of the city.

I miss you Sam. I'll be glad to get back,

Bryan

[Cryogene]

There was something different about Joni Jacobs as she walked into class Thursday.

Maybe she was holding herself a bit straighter, maybe she wasn't averting her eyes as much, maybe she was allowing small smiles to cross her face more often, even if they faded to her usual uncertainty just as quickly. Maybe it was a combination of all of the above. But the net result was that she seemed more positive than she'd been (in public, anyway) since Jacob dumped her.

When Sister Hilde called on her about twenty minutes in, the class discovered another difference. Normally, Joni would slowly, forcibly enunciate her answer (or any speech for that matter), often peppering it with brief pauses and "um"s. This time, she certainly started the same way, but three words in, she stopped. Another slight smile crossed her face, then she resumed with much fluid language... complete with a light, unrestrained Southern accent.

[Frank Argillo]

Frank looked up at the ceiling of his shared room. He sighed, he was bored. His synthetic hand picked up the small alarm clock next to his bed. The bright red numbers read "5:30".

Finally, he could leave. He had laid in that bead for four and a half hours and he was sick of it. The biggest draw back of not needing to sleep was the fact that he was locked in this dorm all night with nothing to do. His parole officer and Dr. Conrads told him to use the time to do homework...

The idea still made him laugh.

As Frank got up and started to get dressed for Mass, he looked at the crushed remains of his PSP on the tiled floor. He made a disgusted noise and found he was still angry at being unable to beat the game he had been playing. "Doesn't matter, I'll lift another one tonight," he thought to himself as he tied his red uniform tie.

One of the perks of his current life was the fact that he could come and go as he pleased down on the docks in Independence Port. Taking an Ipod here or a PSP there was more than fair compensation in his mind for going down there and working on their constant Tsoo problems.

Lacing up his shoes, Frank wished he could smile. Today was gonna be a great day for Frank. It was the day he finally got to rub his level fifty clearance into Conrad's face today during his weekly meeting. It was going to be fun.

Standing, he walked to the door. He opened it quietly and slammed it behind him; knowing it woke up Biff. Frank's cruel laughter filed the hall as he walked to the chapel.

[Dr1v35haft]

"So what do I do here?" Sam asked, snipping the scissors open and closed uncertainly. "I've never cut hair before. Well, not real hair."

Billy turned on the tap and hot water gushed out, filling the basin. He held up two fingers, showing them to Sam in the mirror. "Real easy, Sam. Just lay the scissors against my scalp and cut in a straight line, about yea wide in the parts."

He looked at himself again, taking one last look at himself, looking normal. The life he'd almost had. His hair, meticulously brushed and teased and brought together on the top of his head, was caught up in three rubber bands. He'd wanted to look normal for the funeral. Normal like a real boy, not some goddamned metalspunk Freakshow. The possibility for that life was inching out of his grasp like the lid on a bottle of pills.

He felt the blade, cold against his scalp. It scraped gently, and Sam brought the blades closed. His hair fell apart, orange fringe dusting his shoulders.

"Good," he said. "Perfect job." He took up the soap, worked it into a lather, and rubbed it on the stubbly broken furrows. The razor scraped his head clean. He ran it over again for good measure. "Clean in the back?"

"No," said Sam. There's some stubbly stuff."

He handed her the razor, and she did a careful job of the back of his head. He ducked under the tap and squeezed his tufts of hair damp.

"Step two," he said. "The glue and the blue."

"Okay," she said.

* * *

He walked out of the house for the last time, hair back in three familiar tight flat spikes arching over his brow. He had a bag of trash in one hand and a duffel bag in the other. He locked up the house. For the last time. The new tenants would be coming in next month.

"Thanks for helping me, Sam," Billy said.

"No prob. Like I said, anytime, anywhere, bud."

"Preciate it, Sam." He lobbed the garbage into the bin and slung the duffel over his back.

"We heading back to the school?"

"Nah," said Billy. Then, a few silent moments later, not knowing why he needed to say it, "I have to stop by the garage."

"Are you renting it out too? I mean, if you needed help moving out anything heavy, I can help."

"I changed my mind about that, Sam. I'm keeping the garage. At least for a little while."

"Nix'll be glad to hear that."

"No," said Billy. "She's... I'm not keeping her on. Can't afford to. Don't... don't say anything to her, Sam. Don't wanna hurt her feelings." The lies slipped out of his mouth so easily. He needed the garage for the same reasons he needed his Freak hair. Contacts. A base of operations. A place to begin.

"Don't say anything about it to anybody." He gave her a long measuring look and then turned on his heel, long legs taking him into the night.

[Blitzen]

The inside of the church felt cool. Even without air conditioning and on such a hot day, the interior only received limited sunlight through the stained glass windows.

The Greenhouse effect. Sam grinned a little and silently thanked Vis Viva for helping her out with science. She looked around the near empty church. The only other people around sat off in a corner together. They were a prayer group of some sort, and even from across the church she could hear them praying in hushed tones. It was almost eerie in the otherwise silent church, sort of a low chanting as they repeated the Hail Mary in unison.

She was drawn back to the day of Mr. McGuffin's funeral. The church was cool then too, and seemed just as empty. There were more people, sure, maybe it just was that it felt that empty. She sat towards the back. Billy had almost seemed surprised when she showed up at the wake and asked details about the funeral. Of course she'd be there. Billy may have come off as gruff, but Sam knew he was a private person, choosing to close himself off to most people. And maybe he was once one of the Freakshow, he managed to overcome that, he got off the drugs, he found who he started out as. But now he was finding himself alone. The part of him that was a Freakshow died, and now here he sat, a much more important part of himself dying and about to be buried as well.

She sat towards the back, not wanting to intrude, her eyes trained on Billy more than on the casket containing his father. Billy sat by himself and her heart sank. Even the few people who did show up seemed to keep their distance. Sure they had shaken his hand and offered condolences at the wake. A few even said he could call them if he needed anything, but they came across so insincere about it. It was if they were saying it simply because it was the right thing to say. It was if everyone at the church seemed to be content to give Billy his space.

The priest spoke about eternal life and how Mr. McGuffin's journey was just beginning, but it was hard to think in terms like that. It was hard to think at all about anything except Billy. His mom was gone, now his dad. Someone with a microphone started singing Amazing Grace, and Billy covered his face in his hands for a second, trying to regain his composure. Sam shook her head. He didn't want space, the people who came, Mr. McGuffin's friends and relatives weren't trying to respect Billy's space - they were using that to justify staying away from the boy they just couldn't understand. A pang of guilt shot through her. I'm doing the same thing.

She gathered her courage as she stood up. Maybe he'd push her away, or maybe he'd make a scene, she didn't quite know what he'd do, and her heart thumped hard inside her chest with each step she took on the well worn carpet. But the thought of him having to shoulder everything by himself was scarier than the fear of how he might react. She ignored the stares and whispers as she slid across the long wooden bench beside him and interlaced her fingers with his. A pair of swollen, red eyes swung in her direction sharply and she could feel her nerve starting to slip away as her grip loosened. Billy's sharp look quickly faded to surprise and then gratitude. She offered a faint smile, the metal digits of his hand feeling hard and cold to the touch as they tightened around hers. She could hear him mutter along with the words to the song and her other arm slid around his back to help support him. The image etched itself inside her head forever and she held him tight. You are not alone, Billy. You are not alone.

Today he might be. She hadn't heard from him in days, his garage had looked untouched, and she was afraid for him, of what he might be going through by himself. She knelt in Billy's usual spot as if to take his place in his Church, Our Lady of Perpetual Hope. She hugged the copy of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight tightly to her chest. Today she was there for Billy. Normally, she would light a candle for Mr. McGuffin and say a few words, just as she promised she would when he confessed to her what was happening with the police and his return to the Freakshow. It was supposed to be an act. He needed to track someone down. He wasn't really going back. He wasn't going to return to that life, to lose everything again, to re-become one of them. He'll come back. Please let him come back.

Today she was there for Billy.

"Wherever he is." She whispered, looking at the cross as the chanting seemed to grow louder. "You be with him. Please." A few tears slid down her cheeks, splashing onto the cherry wood in front of her as she stood and walked towards the exit. She turned one more time before exiting, closing her eyes and silently adding to her short but heartfelt prayer.

Don't let him be alone.

[Gravwarp]

“Bryan, it’s seven o’clock.” A familiar voice snapped Bryan Baxter to attention. Tim, the assistant manager of the donut shop was standing behind him, his voice tinged with a hint of anger. “Your shift ended fifteen minutes ago,” the lanky red haired man continued, “You have to be punched out when your shift ends, no exceptions.” The over inflated sense of seniority Tim had was becoming noticeable again, as it was likely to do when he really got going.

“You’re right Tim,” Bryan said as he finished breaking down the cardboard box he had in his hands. “I just wanted to get these boxes out of the night team’s way.” Bryan smiled as he spoke to the man that really wasn’t that much older than he was himself.

Tim had gotten the assistant manager job when Mr. White, the owner of Drenched Donuts, had opened another shop in the Skyway section of the city and needed to split his time between the stores. Tim was the only one of Mr. White’s employees at the time that wasn’t going away to college, so after he graduated he got the full time job.

“Mr. White isn’t going to be paying you high school kids any overtime,” Tim returned though Bryan could see the wind was taken out of his sails a bit since the boy was actually doing something worthwhile.

“Of course, I’m done now anyway,” he finished with a smile, knowing full well that Mr. White would pay the minute amount of money without a complaint but he let the young man have his feeling of authority.

The brown haired student pushed his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose and took off his work apron as he walked to the break room in the back of the store and dropped his yellow time card into the green metal clock on the wall. A dull metallic “CHUNK” echoed in the empty room.

Bryan put on his blue and white Saint Joseph’s jacket, and walked back through the store. He waved as he passed Tim’s small office, the wave was returned with a slight smirk and a nod. The smugness of the scene brought a grin to Bryan’s face as he walked out.

Opening the glass door, a sharp October wind pushed back in resistance. As he buttoned up his coat all the way to the collar, he looked up the roof of the apartment complex across the street. The look was a habit; he was still trying to break.

For weeks he had looked up to that ledge after leaving his four-hour shift and he had seen the face of a bubbly smiling brunette looking back down at him. The past few weeks had been both amazing and awkward, while he had been “semi-seeing” Sam.

The words “semi-seeing” made him chuckle, in spite of his mood. It was something Sam had said, when they sat up on that ledge together. Bryan remember the afternoon he told her how he felt, about how he had missed her so much while he was away, and he could still feel the soft kiss they had shared up above the busy city streets.

He thought about flying back to school but quietly decided he wasn’t in the mood for it, he instead walked through the tunnel towards the nearest train station. As he walked, Bryan remembered what Sam had said to him when he told her how he felt.

“I never wanted us to be less than the friends we already are.” He thought about the way she had always made it clear that if things got too difficult or weird that she would want to go back to being just friends. Bryan remembered at the time completely agreeing and he knew after the Homecoming Dance that the situation just wasn’t working out.

The thin boy shivered as a gust of wind pushed at him as he passed between two apartment buildings in southern Skyway. Bryan put his arms around himself, trying to keep warm, and continued to reflect.

In his mind, he wasn’t angry with Sam since he had known upfront that things might turn out this way but it was hard not to be… disappointed.

[Ineffable Muncie]

Muncie looked down at the little cellphone his parents had sent him. It was prepaid and it was little and it was blue. He was starting to hate the color blue, he thought. Prompted by that thought, his eyes followed the orange markings of his hands to the blue of his arms. "Why?" he thinks for a moment, before deciding it's better to worry about the phone. Its tiny frame was all the more noticeable in his giant hand. He grabs a pencil from his backpack before heading outside to find some place on campus that people don't get too close to. He didn't want to be overheard, even though he had no intention of saying anything worth overhearing. He just didn't like being overheard on the phone.

He settles on a tree that's a good distance away from the usual traffic of students. Facing the tree, he lets himself drop into a sit while twisting, falling into a lotus stance now facing away from the tree. Jaryd, as his parents would call him, knows he's stalling when decides to try and put things in some order that would make sense. His parents were dissappointed when he left, to say the least. There was lots to say.

"I didn't join the football team," he says, rehearsing, a slight small smile coming to his face. He forces it away and holds up the phone, as if to talk on it. "Better make it look like I'm not talking to myself," But this time he's worried at his words. "I'm not Paragon City strange, but I'm still strange...I'm the guy who's gotta look like this all the time...this isn't a mask for me, or bright red and blue spandex. Blue again...that color's everywhere." He remembers Alex talking about the others who are stuck in suits or trapped as blocks of ice, and adds, "Ok, I'm not the only perma-freak...I guess I'm just the one who whines the most. I always knew the only reason I'm tough is because I think my body's worthless enough to throw at stuff." He remembers again, this time thinking of his messed up knees, the ankle that was lightly sprained, the finger with the odd lump near the base, the back pain, and small circle on his hand where the skin got torn off in a game. But his mistake made everything like new.

As he gets more upset, his accent begins to sound more southern than usual, a piece of home that's always there.

"But I bet none of the rest of these kids made it happen to themselves. They had real accidents, stuff out of their control or things they couldn't have reasonably known were going to happen. Not like this idiot here. And there's no sympathy factor to cure me, if anyone was gonna try. If I'd been a couple of years older, I'd probably be in that Ziggurat place. And now I'm nothing but these muscles. That's the important part to me. I can jump buildings and throw cars, but my brain's about useless. It got me into this, thinking was a pretty useless thing to do after all, so what's the point in me even being smart...allegedly..." He realizes he'd gotten louder at the end as he got more excited, and lowered his hand, looking down at the phone. He wanted to throw it in anger, but he just never reacted that way. He would think too quickly to do that in anger.

"I can do some amazing stuff now, things people would love to be able to do. Stuff they'd pay millions for. And I get it by being wrong." Making a concious decision, he holds the phone up sideways and breaks it in two, then casually smashes the two pieces between his palms. He leaves the broken pieces of the unused cell there under the tree and stands. The pencil he would have dialed with goes into his pocket as he walks away, already disappointed that he couldn't stand to call, but "...I wish I could have something good happen because I was right for once..."

[Mercy Strike]

The floor was cold under her bare feet.

Aura shivered but kept moving, the hem of the long shirt flapping around her knees, the cuffs rolled up to her elbows. In one hand she had a discarded tube of somebody's lipstick, salvaged from a trash can. There wasn't a lot in it, but she didn't really need that much.

The pearlescent dawn light was starting to move from grey to gold as she slipped into the bathroom at the end of the third floor hall. It was thankfully empty since nobody in their right mind would be up this early. Well, maybe Barrier who ran track and field but the RA was probably already out doing laps. Her quad at least had all been sleeping when she'd slipped out, including Sam who'd been snoring like crazy again.

Aura uncapped the lipstick and stretched up on her tiptoes over the sinks to reach the long mirror.

When Joni, yawning and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, walked into the bathroom an hour later, she was greeted by the bright red scrawl.

I am a lion tamer! it reminded her.

[Nova]

Chris stood at the front desk of the med center, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched over his eyes studying the sign in sheet before him. He looked up taking notice of the time realizing he was going to miss curfew, he penned his name in the next available slot, tapping it on the surface before a man appeared behind the desk.

“What can I do for you?” The man asked looking Chris over.

There was a very sober expression about him, like coming from the funeral of a distant relative.

“I need to file a report for….” He reached down into his pocket fishing around for a moment before pulling out a capped inhaler. “This”

The name tag on the man read “Jonathan” but the face was unfamiliar.

“Oh, I’m Chris… Christian Archer, I had an incident with my mutation.”

The man behind the desk nodded “Okay Chris, just give me a minute here to bring up your file annnd….”

There was that pause as his fingers made the appropriate keystrokes and the information rushed to the screen. It only took a moment for his eyes to scan the screen before he seemed to understand the situation.

“Okay Chris, what happen?” His voice was calm, it was new to not hear someone with that judging tone in their voice, you could hear he wanted the information, probably to hear that everything was okay.

“Alright, another student here. London Zentaro. She tried to put me in a head lock, you know just messing around. I didn’t get a chance to stop her and her arm came in contact with the back of my neck.”

Jonathan interjected “London Zentaro” Chris nodded back to confirm as the report was being logged.

“I stopped her and quickly explained what was going to happen. I gave her the inhaler and she used it before anything bad happened”

It was amazing how quick someone’s English can clean up during a sobering situation. His left hand held firm to his right arm as he stood there in the awkward silence as the keys clacked on the keyboard.

“Did she display any side effects from the toxins?”

“No. It wasn’t’ like I tried to or anything it was just… you know. What you get from touching me. I think I got it before she started to see anything.”

The man behind the desk ran both hands through his hair leaning back into the chair, his arms propping up behind his head. It was like he was giving him a once over. All the signs were there, his shoulders hunched, he wasn’t making eye contact, holding his arm almost like it was wounded. He leaned back up and continued to type.

“Alright, how many doses did she take?”

Chris didn’t really look up “Just one, there wasn’t a lot of… it was just an accident”

“Any side effects from the inhaler?”

That made him look up his teeth nibbling on his lower lip “She um.. She was kind of out of it for a while… fifteen or twenty minutes. Then she got cold… but I dun know… she gets cold a lot” There was a pause as more keystrokes were entered “She.. She was okay to walk home I didn’t…”

He was cut off “So mild side effects consistent with what we have seen in the past.”

“Yeah”

“Alright, I’ll send her an email explaining what happened and what medication she took. Its school policy… and Chris?”

There was a pause between the two as he finally let out a defensive “Yeah?”

“Looking over your file, I know this is the first time its happen with a student, but do try to be careful. There is a privacy policy to protect you and what you do, but first and foremost we must ensure the safety of the student body.”

Chris snapped, obviously troubled by something. He borrowed London’s words from earlier that night.

“Dude they already think I’m fu---freakin diseased, a walking plague! You send everyone a notice about what I do they’ll blame all their nightmares on me and who knows what else!”

Jonathan cleared his throat speaking up “Look, I’m just asking you to be careful okay? Letting you know what could happen if another student complains or if we decide these incidents are occurring too frequently.”

His expression was now soured slightly as he nodded quietly, stuffing his hands back into his pockets.

“Alright Chris, let me sterilize the inhaler here” He took it from the counter “And listen, we are on your side here, we want things to work out for you, okay?”

Chris all most broke a smile as he looked up “Dude, if that is the case can you hook me up with a note or something” A gloved hand pointed to the clock on the wall “Its past curfew and I don’t need detention to start the week”

There was a chuckle from behind the desk as the man produced the inhaler capped once more and a piece of stationary for the medical department. “I time stamped it for five minutes ago, so don’t think it’s a free pass to stay out late.”

“Aww dude, come on!” Chris whined, though thankful he snatched them both up stuffing the two items in his pocket.

[Timothy Bastian]

Timothy looked out across the bay. Independence Port. He was standing on the roof of a tallish building, near the water. It afforded a good view of the ships coming to and from the docks.

The place felt both familiar and foreign. He'd been on this rooftop before, nearly two years ago. Or rather, the other him had been. The Timothy he had gone on to become. He remembered the place, but the memory was vague and distant and didn't really feel like his memory exactly, it felt more like someone else's. It was his, but it wasn't. Who knew which it was... hell, who knew who he was anymore?

Sam had made him think of it though. "We should catch up some time," she'd said, several times now. He said sure each time she said it. She hadn't really followed up on it though, and he certainly hadn't. He wasn't sure how to handle her, or the others he used to know. The people he kind of knew, even though he'd never really met them.

He sat down on the edge of the roof and tried to remember. He'd been drinking here, and Sam had happened across him. They'd talked for a while. He'd tripped and bloodied his nose. Sam eventually helped him back to campus. Nothing all that eventful had really happened... except that he'd had his guard down, on account of being drunk. And he'd talked to Sam, saying things hadn't normally said. He'd cried, even.

She hadn't told anyone, so far as he could tell. She hadn't made fun of him. She hadn't used it against him. She had just listened... and then let him have his space in the months that followed.

It was strange, looking at his life. The other him's life, that is. He knew who he had become. He knew who he would have become had he not known who he had become. It made his head hurt to think about it, to try to sort it out.

He was pretty certain about one thing, though: he didn't like where the other Timothy had gone, who he'd ended up becoming. He didn't want to become who he'd been.

The angel, Epitereo, had made him promise to be kind to others--and worse, to engage with them, to spend time interacting with them. Actually, he'd geased him. Timothy'd been trying to resist the geas, but there was only so much nausea he could stand. Maybe that was the wrong approach to be taking, though. Maybe he should try to go with it more.

He'd actually faked it before, or rather the other him had, when they had been threatening to send him off to Payne Academy. Faked being nice and getting along with people. It had been an act on his part... but what if it hadn't been? The other him would have never admitted it, but it had actually gone really well.

Most of the people at Saint Joe's didn't really know him. He'd been quiet so far, but it probably wouldn't be poorly received if he started talking more, interacting more. Those who did remember him would probably raise their eyebrows... but then, was that so bad? It had actually been fun confusing some of those people by playing dumb and acting like he had no clue what they were talking about when they recognized him. Why not completely throw their expectations upside down? It certainly wouldn't hurt him any. Might even be fun.

Who said he had to be a Timothy, anyway? Timothy had sucked. Maybe it was time to give Tim a spin.

[Joao Rodrigues]

Joao watched as Ves flew off to get to her class on time. Sure that she had forgotten his comment about the guy cooking for the mob, he turned to go back to the north side of Independence Port. He didn't think Ves had the stomach for what he felt needed to be done, so he went back into Made turf alone.

Sure, Ves had helped, but Joao didn't want her tagged with what he was about to do, so he took time to "vigorously question" some of the mobsters hanging out on the docks before the hunt began.

Joao fumed as he stalked through the harbor. The mob was smacking the Superadine. Sure, adding heroine would make it more addictive, and Joao understood that. But the stuff in Dine didn't play well with smack. A lot of kids looking for a thrill could get dead if they took that stuff. And the bangers who sold it to them would take the rap. That was the worst part of it.

He got to the address that he had beaten out of a mob under boss. After checking if the door was locked, he slip a pair of wires from his boot, carefully put them into the lock, and started counting, "one thousand one, one thousand two..." As the tumblers clicked open, Joao thought to himself, "You're loosin' it, brah. You should be able to pop this in under forty-five."

He stalked through the halls, noting that the occupants either didn't care about the guy who cooked the drugs, or figured this deep into Made turf, they'd be safe. He slid around the door, and closed and locked it behind him. The man sitting at the desk looked up at him, curious, arrogant.

"You the guy who cooked the drugs at the warehouse on Wharf Street?"

"Yes... who are..."

Before he could finish, Joao had driven his knife through the man's right hand, pinning it to the desk. "A lot of kids would've died if that got to the street." Joao grabbed the man's left hand in both of his, and squeezed until he heard cracking and grinding. The man whimpered, close to passing out from the pain. "You aren't going to let anyone cook dirty drugs again, are you?"

The man begged, "No... please, I won't... no more lacing, no more smacking, I promise."

"Good. I know you won't because I'll find out if you do. And every time you cook, you'll feel me breathing over your shoulder, waiting for you to screw up."

Joao punched the man, breaking his jaw, and leaving him in the solace of unconsciousness. He quietly, unlocked the door, then opened the window. Looking down, he saw the three story drop, and hopped out, knowing he wouldn't be hurt by the fall.

[Joao Rodrigues]

Running Free

The morning sun kissed Joao's face as it crept slowly over the horizon. He closed his eyes, drinking in the sound of the early morning city, feeling the breeze on his face as he stood on the roof of the old textile mill. Taking a deep breath, his eyes flashed open, a slight smile on his face. He finished his workout, and now it was time to run.

He took two quick steps and dove into a roll, catching the edge of the roof in his hands, he slowed his momentum just enough to control his fall. He dropped a full story, rolling with the fall, he came up running. Jumping up, he kicked off a railing, propelling himself to the window sill, and then up back onto the roof. He followed the edge until he came to the smoke stacks. Bouncing from one to the other, he hopped up the sides until he paused, perching on the edge of the dormant chimneys. Loping forward, he bounded from one stack to the next, until he ran out. He flipped forward, falling forty feet to the metal deck of the walkway beneath him. He rolled forward, thankful for his powers in yet another way, and continued to run across the mill, flipping over walls, vaulting rails, and spinning over fences. Finally, he caught the pole of a street sign, spun around it once, then held himself static, parallel to the ground, four feet up.

He heard the sound of footsteps approaching, so he spun, and turned to land on his feet. He smiled at his approaching friends, knowing they had seen his entrance.

"That is free running. You guys think you can keep up?"