Marked Target ~ Chapter Nine ~ by: Danielle Krieger (c) 2011 Lawrence "Lex" McKinley lives about as average a life as one can with metahumans popping up everywhere. Well, as normal as someone who spends their free time as an MMA fighter really can. He's about to get the shock of his life--the punch he never saw coming. In this installment: Lex and Olivia have an anti-climactic discussion. Agent Helligan begins her investigation. Talon saves a young girl from a situation that would scar her for the rest of her life, sparking a contemplation that could change Lex's outlook. Though, by how much?

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DISCLAIMER :: This is a retroactive continuity. A “ret-con”, if you will. It follows other stories in Lilith Langtree’s “Comics RetCon Universe”. The story is mine, but some of the characters are not. This is a RetCon of X-23, from Marvel Comics’ X-men (with a special guest appearance from Dr. Hank McCoy). Laura Kinney, X-23, and Dr. Henry Philip “Hank” McCoy, Beast, are trademarks of Marvel Comics. Green Arrow and Agent Helen Helligan are trademarks of Detective Comics. All rights reserved. The pic, once again, has been brought to you by the wonderful talents of Danni Shinya Luo (even if she gets the claws in the wrong place).

Author's Note :: This chapter really didn't take very long. I knew what I wanted to do with it, so it came from brain to fingers pretty quickly. The hope is that a few questions from the previous chapter are answered here. Thanks, always, to EOF for Olivia's appearance. Also, thanks to EOF, Drakira, and Lilith for being betas. Your input is invaluable. The rest of you, enjoy the read.

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Chapter Nine:

Olivia released a defeated sigh. “Boy, Speedy going to be pissed.”

About to say something, everything came to a halt like blaring music suddenly ended with a record scratching. “Wait, that’s it? You’re not upset that I discovered your secret?”

She shrugged and shook her head. “Not really. Should I be?”

My eyes glazed over, my jaw drooped, and my head bobbed up and down. “Um… yea? I thought that’s how it worked? Y’know, the ‘secret identity’ is supposed to be the all-important thing. If somebody finds out, it doesn’t seem to go all that well. Y’know, like in the comic books?”

A sigh escaped her lips. “Well, when you've seen the stuff I've seen... Let’s just say nothing surprises me, anymore.”

I smirked in surrender. “Touché.”

She raised an eyebrow at me. “So, how’d you do it, anyway?”

“Um… well, my nose is really good, now. I can smell a lot of things. Some of those things, you don’t ever want to smell, trust me. It’s one of my abilities, I guess. I learned some of the ins and outs of it living with Posse. Different people smell different. I learned that the hard way.”

“So, you can tell different people apart, just by their scent?”

“Yea, especially women. The particulars of that are a little too gross to go into. Trust me, every woman has a very distinct scent unique only to her. Men are a little harder to pin down, but they’ve got a distinct smell, too.”

“Okay, so, can you track people with your nose, like some kind of freaky bloodhound girl?”

I shrugged. “I guess. I dunno. I’ve never tried it.”

She seemed to be rolling a few thoughts around in her head. Then, a contemplative smirk stretched across her lips. “I may be able to use that. Barring that, if you so much as…”

I threw my hands up in surrender. “Hey, my lips are sealed. I will go to my grave swearing that Green Arrow and Olivia Queen are two mutually exclusive people.” Another sigh escaped. “I kind of owe you quite a lot, anyway.”

“Speaking of that, do you like the house?”

A pleasant smile played on my face. “Yea, I do, actually. It’s big, it’s pretty, and it feels comfortable. It’s just sad that I’m the only one here, most of the time.”

“Well, it’s yours. I bought it a while back and I’ve never used it. I’ll send a lawyer when the DMA is ready to do all your paperwork to transfer it to you. Same with the motorcycle. It’s yours.”

“Why are you doing this?” It begged to be asked, so I might as well have asked right then.

She winked. “I’ve got a good feeling about you. Besides, you’ve had a string of bad luck. Your whole life was torn out from under you. Believe me when I tell you that I know just how you feel. Some people really helped me out when I really needed it. Consider this my ‘Pay It Forward’ moment, okay?” Tears had formed in her eyes, but she was fighting them back. Must have been some tough memories coming to the surface.

“That must have been one hell of a helping hand.”

“It was. It really was.” Wiping her eyes, she glanced at her watch. “Look… do I call you ‘Lex’ or ‘Talon’ from now on?”

“Stick with ‘Lex’. All my friends call me that.”

Another smile played on her face. “Okay, Lex. I have to get back home or a certain tutor will have my head. Take care and I’ll see you soon. Okay?”

“Yea, thanks for everything, Olivia.” I held up the QPhone she’d given me. “You have my number.”

Laughing, she nodded and slipped toward the door. Recovering from a cerebral flatulent, she gave me the code for the security system and showed me how to use it before she left. My stomach took that moment to protest and I moved to the refrigerator to find something to fill it with, feeling utterly famished.

The trek out to the little hole-in-the-wall town had been a long one. Fatigue was written all over her face and made readily apparent by the dark circles under her eyes. Sitting in the center of the bench-style second-row seat of the government sport utility vehicle allowed her to keep her case files on her right and her laptop on her left. The leather upholstery kept them both from sliding around too much. This was typically how she arranged things when out in the field.

Reviewing the case file in her hands, Special Agent Helen Helligan went over her notes one more time. The day before, she had met with an intriguing young woman. Well, she was more aptly described as “some girl in her mid-teens”. The tale that teenage girl told was probably better suited for some novel and placed somewhere on the New York Times Bestseller list. However, one phone call to Dr. Henry McCoy, a highly respected scientist, had confirmed that she was, indeed, a metahuman. Thus, the newest Special Agent In Charge (SAIC) in San Francisco had to follow up on all the claims. After a plane ride from California to St. Joseph, Missouri, and then a long drive through the fields of “America’s Bread Basket”, she’d had about all she could take of this wild goose chase. She let out an exasperated sigh and closed the folder, rubbing her eyes.

The bald man in the passenger seat turned to her with a concerned look. “You okay, Helen?”

Glancing up, she shook her head. “No, Jim. I’d rather be back home than gallivanting around somewhere in the middle of the country. How much longer?”

He glanced up at the navigation unit in the dash. “Only another five miles. Not long.”

She wiped her face with her hands. “Has anyone gotten on the horn with the local authorities so they don’t assume we’re coming in and stepping on their toes?”

He thumbed toward the driver. “Sanchez took care of that yesterday, while you were on the line with Dr. McCoy.”

“Hank.”

“What?”

“Never mind.” She yawned. “We should check into our lodging, immediately, when we get into town. I think the team could use the rest, especially the drivers. We’ll set out tomorrow morning around oh-nine-hundred.”

The black-haired Latin-American man behind the wheel bore a smile. “Copy that.”

That was the easy part. The team of six, in two SUVs, descended into the small farming town of Falls City, just barely north of the Kansas border. There was no Holiday Inn or Motel 6 in this little shantytown. The only viable option was an older roadside motel, a relic from the 1960’s. Checking into three rooms, the team unpacked the vehicles and settled in for the night. Agent Helligan breathed a sigh of relief. Being the only female member of the team, she had a room all to herself. She may be underestimated by perpetrators and undervalued by her superiors based on her sex, but she liked not having to share the room. Once setting her things into reasonable locations, she stripped down and fell onto the bed. Sleep came quickly.

The following morning, she awoke early and ran through her routine: shower, dress, and awaken the team. Today, she didn’t want to seem too imposing, so she dressed casually in a simple white blouse, black slacks, black flats, and her black jacket. Clipping her badge on her belt and her sidearm into its appendix carry position, she gathered her things to be placed in the vehicles. The men were already packing the SUVs. It seemed they might have wanted to be here less than she did. Once everything was packed, they piled in and began their trek to the target location.

Navigating through the small town almost felt like taking a trip back in time. Thankfully, they had GPS navigation or they’d likely get lost. Most houses and people looked about the same. Street signs were small and difficult to read. Their trek took them across half of the little hovel to a house likely built during World War II. They slowed to a stop at the curb.

Agent Helligan keyed the microphone in her sleeve. “Okay, boys, listen up. Alpha squad will make contact. Beta, you’re on street watch. We don’t want to intimidate these people or they may not cooperate.”

“Copy that, Alpha Lead. We’ll stick down the street and remain on standby.” A man’s voice confirmed.

She glanced at the bald man and the Hispanic man. “Okay, boys. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we’re back home. Let’s do it.”

The two nodded, then all three piled out of the SUV while the secondary team drove further down the street. Agent Helligan took the lead as they walked up the dilapidated path to the front door. The house had definitely seen better days, like most on this block. Once getting onto the porch, Agent Helligan cleared her throat and knocked on the door. Getting prepared, she pulled her ID wallet out of the inside pocket in her jacket. In a moment, footsteps approached the door and it swung open.

A man in his later forties opened the door. His jeans had several tears and grease marks on them. He wore a plain white tank top and the red trucker hat covered the horrible mullet nicely. She was tempted to roll her eyes when his took in her form with lust behind them.

“Well, well… what can I do for you, darlin’?” The redneck asked. His accent seemed to match that of his birthplace: Cape Girardeau, Missouri.

She shoved her identification in his face. “Special Agent Helen Helligan, Department of Metahuman Affairs. Are you Mr. Randall McKinley?”

He stood straight, taken aback by her credentials. “Feds? The hell do you want? I ain’t done nothin’ wrong!”

She let out a sigh. “No, Mr. McKinley. You aren’t under suspicion for committing a crime. We’re DMA, not the FBI. We’d like to have a few words with you and your wife to ask you some questions regarding an investigation.”

“What sorta investigation?”

“Your son’s case has been reopened, Mr. McKinley. We have suspicion of foul play. May we come in and talk about it?”

“Lawrence? That boy is dead and in the ground. Has been for about a year, now. What the hell did you find?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss the evidence in an open investigation, Mr. McKinley. It’s classified. May we come in?”

He scowled. “Fine, but you upset my wife with this and you’re out on your ass, Fed or not!” He spun around and stormed into the house.

The man was hostile already? This didn’t bode well. Agent Helligan and her two colleagues crossed the threshold into the house. The living room was quite small and only contained a recliner chair, a sofa, an old television stand with the device on top, a bookshelf filled with assorted VHS tapes, and a plant or two for good measure. Behind the sofa, Mr. McKinley crossed into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He removed a brown glass bottle, released the metal lid, and took a quick swig.

“Mr. McKinley, I would advise you not to be under the influence of alcohol while we are conducting this investigation.” Agent Helligan warned.

He nearly growled at her. “Aw, hell, woman! I will do what I want when I wanna do it under my own roof! You come into my house! I’ll do as I please!”

A woman appeared from somewhere else in the house. “Randy, what the hell is going on? Who are you talking to?” Her accent was neutral, concurrent with her birthplace: Madison, Wisconsin.

He pointed at Agent Helligan. “The bitch with a badge that thinks she can tell me not to have a beer in my own damn house!”

With a shocked expression on her face, she turned to the three agents. Her hair was long and a dark brown color. Her eyes were an interesting shade of green. She wore a long gray T-shirt and sweatpants. Agent Helligan noted that she stood about five-feet-six as well as the rest of her physical description. She seemed much more cordial than her husband.

“What can we do for you three officers?” She asked almost sweetly.

“Agents, ma’am.” Agent Helligan showed her identification to the woman. “I’m Special Agent Helen Helligan, Department of Metahuman Affairs. We’re here because the investigation concerning your son has been reopened.”

Instantly, the woman sank onto the couch. “Lex? What did you find?”

“Some new evidence came forward and we’re not at liberty to discuss it. May we ask you a few questions?” Agent Helligan took her notepad out of the inner jacket pocket.

She looked somber. “Sure. Whatever you need.”

“When was the last time you saw your son, Mrs. McKinley?”

Tears began to well up in her eyes. “About… two, maybe three years ago? There was no open casket at the funeral. He was…”

“He was burnt to a fuckin’ crisp, that’s what!” Randall shouted from the kitchen. “They could only tell it was him ‘cause of his teeth, or somethin’ like that.”

That stunk of foul play. Agent Helligan continued the questioning. “What caused his estrangement?”

A tear rolled down her cheek. “Randy and Lex… had a fight.”

“The little fucker tried to tell me what to do in my own house.” Randall belched.

“Could you elaborate on that, Mr. McKinley?” Agent Helligan probed.

“Fucker tried to tell me how to handle my woman. He broke my rib. Took months to heal. I put him up on charges.” He took another swig of his beer.

“Randy dropped the charges…” Another tear, added by a sob. “…if Lex promised never to come back.”

“And, he didn’t…” He belched again. “…‘til he was dead.”

“Where did they say they had found your son?”

A tear rolling down her cheek, she sniffled. “Some big lake over some pass. I don’t really remember that much.”

Taking a long swig of the beer, Randall sighed. “Kittitas County Sheriffs was the ones that found him. Just up in the mountains by some lake with a funny name. Started with a ‘C’, I think.”

Agent Helligan’s eyes bounced between the two. “Kittitas County? You’re certain?”

“Only funny name that I remember. Too many injun names up there.” Another belch.

Taking notes, Agent Helligan could tell there was a lot more to this family than she anticipated. She also had evidence to follow up on and get to the bottom of.

Her eyes darted between the couple. “Did you know about the kidnapping?”

The woman meekly nodded. “Yes. His girlfriend, Julia, called us the next morning after it happened and she was hysterical. I told her to call the police. She wouldn’t talk to Randy.”

“Bitch doesn’t know her place, that’s why.” Randy belched again.

Agent Helligan stood. She’d had enough. “Mr. McKinley, if you do not cease with your offensive expletives and alcohol consumption during this investigation, I’m afraid we’re going to have to detain you.”

He scoffed. “Oh, you’re gonna make me, honey? I’d like to see you try. Maybe you’ll learn what it’s like to be handled by a real man.”

Agent Helligan glanced at the bald and Hispanic man. “Sanchez… Williams… Subdue this man.”

The bald man smiled. “With pleasure, ma’am.”

The two men bolted into action, crossing the living room quite quickly. Randall squealed and yelled as they tackled him to the ground. Mrs. McKinley screeched at the two men, begging them not to harm her husband. The scuffle lasted only a few moments. When all was said and done, Mr. McKinley was cuffed and forced onto one of the chairs in the kitchen.

Agent Helligan keyed the mic in her sleeve. “Beta team, move in. Bring the doctor.”

“Copy that, Lead.” The voice in her earbud responded.

“Who’s moving in? Who are you talking to? What’s going on?” Mrs. McKinley sobbed.

Agent Helligan moved and placed a reassuring hand on the woman’s shoulder. “There’s nothing to worry about, ma’am. Your husband decided to be hostile and we subdued him. If he remains calm, no further action need be taken. As per our investigation, a doctor is going to come in and swab the inner cheek of you and your husband. We need to establish parentage with your son so we can more positively identify him.”

“What? What are you talking about? Lex is gone!” She was bawling, now. “He’s dead!”

“Mrs. McKinley, we reopened the case because we suspect foul play. We cannot do our jobs properly without collecting a little evidence. Will you submit to the DNA testing?” She nodded. “Good. Do we have your permission to exhume your son’s body, should the need arise?”

“I…” The woman sobbed. “I…” another sob. “Fine…”

“Thank you, Mrs. McKinley. We will do our best to truly get to the bottom of your son’s loss.”

“I ain’t submittin’ to nothin’! You ain’t gettin’ shit from me!” Randall yelled.

Agent Helligan rose and glared at Randall. “You wish to further impede this investigation, Mr. McKinley? Do you really want Obstruction of Justice, Hindering a Federal Investigation, and Tampering with Evidence to be on your record? That is entirely up to you. I warn you that they are all felonies and carry a maximum sentence of thirty to forty-five years.”

He recoiled, finally. “No… I guess not.”

Agent Helligan smirked. “Good.” A knock came to the door. “In here, boys. Mrs. McKinley’s on the couch and Mr. McKinley is subdued in the kitchen. Do whatever you need to.”

The door swung open and three men entered. Two were federal agents, like her team. The third was a man in his late forties. He stood a full six feet tall, his hair was graying quickly, he wore glasses on his face, his mustache and goatee were finely groomed, and his lab coat made him stand out a bit.

Agent Helligan glanced at him. “This is Mrs. Sarah McKinley, Dr. Hamilton. Careful with Mr. McKinley in the kitchen. He’s a bit resistant.”

Dr. Hamilton nodded. “Dually noted, Agent Helligan.” He knelt down before the woman. “Mrs. McKinley?” She didn’t respond. “Sarah?” Now, she glanced up. He gave her a warm smile. “I am Dr. Emil Hamilton. I’m going to take a small cotton swab and scrape it against the inside of your cheek. It won’t hurt at all, I promise. Can you open your mouth for me, just a bit?”

She complied. He set to work immediately.

Nervous, my fingers danced over the number pad on the touch screen. Yes, my phone was that nice. Everything involved touching the screen. I pressed “Send” and put the speaker up to my ear. Sitting on the huge, comfortable couch in the TV room, I placed a fingernail between my teeth as I listened to the dial tone. It had been a while since we’d had contact. It really was about time this conversation took place.

The other end picked up. “Uh… hello?” A man’s voice came clearly through the speaker.

Tears welled up in my eyes almost immediately. “Hey, there. It’s so good to hear your voice.”

“Who is this?” He sounded very confused. “I don’t know anybody at this number.”

“No names, Brickhouse. They might have you bugged.” My voice was starting to sound hoarse, tears still building. Damn hormones.

He gasped audibly. “Holy shit… where the fuck have you been?!”

“Who is it?” Steven asked, barely audible with the electronic distortion.

“I can’t say who she is. They could be listening!” Mike told him. From the noises in the phone, he turned his attention back to me. “Anyway, where the fuck have you been?”

“I went to the place on the card. There was a bump or two, but it’s looking up, now.” I sniffled.

“Yea? How’d the meeting go?”

“Pretty damn good, actually. It looks like I’ll have something of a life, soon.”

“Well, that’s definitely good news. Anything else?”

I let out a sigh. “Kinda freaked out, actually. Had a visit from the Feds.”

“You’re shitting me. How’d that happen?”

“Someone arranged it. I guess it was all right. They’re going to get to the bottom of a few things.”

“Well, that sounds fine. How are you calling me, anyway?”

“A gift. I got a house, too, and a bike. I don’t know what to think about it all, yet.”

“Is it sounding to you like it is to me? Y’know, too good to be true?”

My eyes darted to the ceiling. “Yea. It’s all a little too convenient, y’know? Okay, so I have a nice, warm bed to sleep in. I live in a really fucking nice house. And, I have a motorcycle that makes me feel like my old self again. All of it was just handed to me without a second thought.”

“Yea, I’d be smelling a rat, too.”

I shrugged. “I dunno. We’ll see. She’s really sweet, though. One hell of a good benefactor, even with my paranoia.”

“Well, don’t do anything stupid.”

“When have you known me to do that?”

“Touché.” He let out a good breath. “I’m really glad you called. We were all worried about you.”

The dam broke and tears rolled down my cheeks. My voice trembled through sobs. “I miss you guys, too. So much that I can’t put it into words. I know I should let you go, now, but I really don’t want to.”

“Hey, sweetie, the feeling’s mutual, over here.”

“I’ve got shit to take care of. I’ll call you when I can.” I sniffled again. “For the sake of preventing a trace, I gotta go, now.”

“I understand.”

“Love you guys… all three of you.”

“Love you, too. I’ll pass the message along. See you soon.”

Pulling the phone away from my ear, I pressed the “End” button graphic. Dropping the phone, my face fell into my hands and I bawled like a little girl.

The streets of San Francisco can be unforgiving when you’re lost. Let me tell you, navigating over steep hills with that bike could be a bitch, especially at red lights and stop signs. In my own defense, Seattle was about 3 times the size, in square miles, of San Francisco, but I knew Seattle like the back of my hand. San Francisco was still pretty new to me, even if it occupied less square mileage. All I really had to do was get to Market Street and I’d be fine, but that was proving to be the Herculean Effort of the Day. Spotting a convenience store, I pulled onto the lot, shut down the bike, took off my helmet, and headed inside. Ignoring most anything else, I made a beeline for the maps. In a former life, I might have been satisfied in the adventure of being lost. Right now, I didn’t have the luxury. The map would have to do. Besides, it’d help me learn the city much faster.

After paying for the map and moving back toward my bike, I heard a very shrill noise. I stopped dead in my tracks, listening carefully and making sure it wasn’t some fluke. The noise hit my ears, again–though, louder, this time. It was a scream. It was a woman’s scream. No, scratch that. It was a young girl’s scream. My eyes darted around me and I moved my head, hoping to triangulate the location. All around me, people simply went about their business. The scream came again. It was somewhere off to my left. Turning, I spotted a man in his mid-thirties about to climb into his hybrid car. I strode up to him.

“Excuse me, but did you hear that?” I questioned him.

“Hear what?” Was his reply.

“That scream. It sounded like a young girl, I think.”

He scoffed. “Honey, that happens a lot more than you think.”

My eyebrow raised at him. “You’re not going to call the police?”

“What am I going to tell them?” He mocked a phone call in a sarcastic tone. “Uh, yea, officer. I just heard some little girl scream at thus and such intersection. Can you investigate?” He scoffed again. “Please, spare me. I have my own problems to worry about.”

A growl rose in my throat and my eyes narrowed. “Fuck you, too, Mr. Heartless Ass.”

He flipped me off as he fell into his car. “Have a nice day, bitch.”

The scream came again. Urgency welled up within me and I spun my head around. Something had to be done about it and I doubted the response time of the police for one suspicious scream. Without much thinking, I jumped on my bike, started the engine, revved it up, and peeled off in the direction of the scream. There wasn’t enough time to consider putting my helmet on. Besides, I wanted to be able to hear if the scream came again. I had set the helmet against my crotch and held it in place with my thigh muscles. It worked in a pinch.

Three blocks over, I traced the source of the scream to an alleyway between what seemed to be two apartment tenements. Three-quarters of the way down the alley, two young men seemed to be pushing a young girl in a school uniform between them. She appeared to be Latin American. One of the boys seemed to be African-American. The other seemed to be of European descent. Both of them wore attire that gave off a not-so-friendly vibe. At the end of the shoving, she screamed again while landing in the arms of the African boy. The expression on her face and the smell in the air told me she was terrified, while the boys seemed to be filled with lust.

Grabbing the clutch and twisting the throttle, the bike let out a quick growl. Kicking the transmission into first gear, I jolted into the alleyway. For good measure, I pulled the clutch and twisted the throttle another couple of times, allowing the bike let off another couple of roars. That got their attention. The didn’t release their captive, but they both watched me as I rolled into the alley and came to a stop. Not averting my glare, I kicked the stand out and rested the bike upon it. Cutting the engine, I rose from my seat.

The European boy wolf-whistled. “Damn, girl! You look fine! Wanna party?”

Leaving the helmet on the seat, I sauntered away from the bike toward them. “It would seem that you two already had one planned.” I leveled my glare at them. “Let the girl go.”

“Ain’t that a bitch!” The African seemed to chuckle. “Biker girl thinks she’s gonna walk up an play hero?” He scoffed. “Bitch, get on your ride and go home. You got no business here.”

“You’ve made it my business. I will give you fair warning: let the girl go and you can head home without a hospital bill.”

“Who the fuck you think you are, little girl?” The European boy snarled.

Continuing to advance on them, I also growled. “I have given you fair warning.” I balled both my hands into fists. “Let...” Snikt. Right claws extended. “The girl...” Snikt. Left claws extended. “Go.”

Fear, surprise, and anger danced over both of their faces. The African threw the girl to the side. Both of their crotches dampened as the telltale scent of urine filled the air.

“What kind of freak bitch are you?” The European screeched.

“Fuck this shit! You’re on your own!” The African turned and bolted the opposite direction from me.

“Hey, fuck you, man!” The European followed suit.

My glare stayed on them as they barreled out of the alley then disappeared around the corner. Once they were out of sight... snikt... the claws went away. My expression softened as I glanced down at the girl. She jolted backward as I slowly knelt down beside her. Her chronological age might have been twelve or thirteen, but at that moment she looked about six years old.

“It’s okay, sweetie.” I tried to cajole her in the most maternal tone I could muster. My experience with Alina had taught me a few things. “I’m not going to hurt you and those bad boys are gone.”

Fear still played on her face and filled the air around her. “Who… who are you?”

Keeping the maternal tone, a reassuring smile creased my lips. “I am called Talon. I’m a friend.”

“A-Are you a superhero?”

I had to chuckle. “Not exactly.”

“But… but you saved me.”

“Yes, I did. I heard you screaming and nothing could keep me away.”

Her face scrunched and the tears welled up in her eyes spilled out. She jolted forward and embraced me in a hug of desperation. She nearly knocked me over, actually. For a moment, I didn’t know what to do. Then, instinct took over. Wrapping my arms around her, I reciprocated the hug and softly petted the back of her head.

“Thank you, so much!” She bawled. I could feel it as the sobs wracked through her body.

“You’re welcome.”

For a few moments, I let her cry on my shoulder. I’d probably have to use a little conditioner on the leather, later, to prevent water damage. That didn’t really matter all that much, right now. The sobs subsided until they reduced to sniffles and she pulled away from me a little. I gave her another reassuring smile.

“What’s your name, sweetie?”

“Briseida Contreras,” She stated in Spanish pronunciation. “My friends call me ‘Bri’, though.”

“Mucho gusto, Bri.” With all the “Spanglish” bouncing around with Posse, I’d picked up a few things. My eyes darted around the alley. “Will you be able to get home okay or would you rather have a ride there?”

Her lip quivered. “I’m still scared.”

Another smile creased my lips. “Okay, then. You get to ride with me. No one will hurt you on my bike.” I winked at her.

She seemed to like that idea. Her fear seemed to melt away almost immediately, replaced by excitement. She spun around, grabbed her backpack, and then took my hand in hers as we walked back to my bike. Once we got there, I pulled out the map and asked her to point out her house. After she did so, I did my best to plot a course for that destination. It was a good twenty blocks away, so it took a little calculating. After folding the map back up, I helped her slip on the helmet and fastened it to her head. It was a little loose, but it would have to suffice. I could heal quickly if we crashed; she wasn’t so lucky. Setting her on the bike, she situated her skirt underneath of her so it wouldn’t flap up in the wind. I nodded at that tidbit of wisdom.

Soon, the bike roared to life and I carefully maneuvered it down the alley. Her arms were wrapped around me pretty tight, but hearing the sounds of her delighted screeches told me she was enjoying herself. Keeping a firm record of the course in my head, the bike bobbed and weaved through traffic along the route. My hair wasn’t cooperating too well without the helmet keeping it in place, so a few strands whipped me in the face. Soon, we were in what looked to be a low-income housing area with townhouses sandwiched so close together that their walls merged into one another. Apparently, this was the Ritz, compared to other housing options.

Slowing to a stop outside the house she kept excitedly indicating was hers, I carefully eased the bike into a parking space and shut it down. All around me, I could hear Mariachi music blaring out of stereos, Telemundo blasting from televisions, and the air was filled with all manner of authentic Mexican cuisine. We were in the southern end of the Mission District, after all.

Once the kickstand was down, Bri hopped off the back and I slid my leg over. As I finished getting the helmet off of her and setting it on the bike, she grabbed my hand and began leading me to her house. When the door swung open, my nose was assaulted with the smell of freshly made tortillas, refried beans, and salsa. Letting go of my hand, Bri left me in the front entranceway, began to rattle off greetings to her family, and went into a huge tale. It was all in excited and shrilled Spanish, so I didn’t catch any of it. A man who was taller than me, but still classified as short by typical male standards, rose from the couch and desperately tried to listen to the girl. She addressed him as “Papá¡”, her father. He had his dark hair cut short, he wore a thick mustache, and he had the good tan most Latinos had. A woman suddenly entered the room as he crossed over to me.

“ ¿Hola, mija, que onda?” She asked Bri. Then, the shrill tale began again, entirely in Spanish. Considering her apparent age, I conjectured she must be Bri’s mother.

“ ¿Quién eres táº?” Her father asked me.

My face went blank. “Oh, sorry. No hablo espaá±ol.” I butchered the language, but he got the point.

He looked defeated. “Pardon me. I forget.” He shrugged. “Who are you?”

A shy smile found its way onto my face. “Oh, I’m Talon, seá±or. I brought your daughter home safe. Something happened in an alley, she screamed, and I chased the boys off.”

Concern found its way onto his face. “What happened?” Thankfully, his accent wasn’t very thick at all.

“Well...” I lowered my voice. “They tried to take her innocence.”

His expression flashed to anger. “What?!” He spun around. “Mija! You explain, now!”

Bri jolted at his exclamation and spun to face him. Slower this time, she told her tale. Again, it was all in Spanish. I could catch a few context clues based on French, but most of it was lost to me. Her father seemed to relax as she continued. Tears welled up in her mother’s eyes. The woman glanced up at me and mouthed “thank you” without interrupting the story. I nodded to her. At the end, her father wrapped her in an embrace, seemingly very happy that she was safe and sound. Then, he turned around to me with remnants of tears in his eyes.

“Muchos gracias, seá±orita. I cannot tell you how much it means...”

I waved him off. “It was no trouble, Seá±or Contreras. I heard her scream and couldn’t stand by and watch. Those boys will think twice before messing with her.” I turned to the girl. “Bri, the next time they give you trouble, tell them you’ll call me to set them straight, okay?”

With a grin, she nodded. “Okay, Talon! I will! I’m gonna tell everybody at school how they peed their pants when you had those knives come out!”

Her mother looked confused. “Knives? What knives?”

“It’s an ability I have, Seá±ora Contreras. I’m a metahuman.”

“Like that Blue Beetle chica? She’s the only Latina that I know.” Her grandmother finally spoke from the kitchen.

I had to stop for a moment. Damper had mentioned her, but I’d never seen her in action. I had no frame of reference to work from. “I’m not sure that I know about her. I’m still very new in town.”

Her grandmother scoffed and started rambling off something in Spanish that I couldn’t understand.

Bri’s mother stepped forward. “Thank you for helping our daughter, Talon. We will not forget this.”

I smiled and nodded. “You’re very welcome. Make sure she has a friend to walk with, though. I’d rather not see her get hurt and me not be able to be there.”

Her mother nodded. “Neither would we.”

I waved to them all. “You all have a good night. I have to go.”

“Thank you, Talon!” Bri screamed.

Again, I smiled as I made my way out the door. “De nada, kiddo.” Again, I butchered it, but I was trying pretty hard.

I closed the door behind me and walked out to my bike. There was a sense of fulfillment that rushed through me as I mounted the bike and pulled on my helmet. That felt really good. I had single-handedly averted disaster in a young girl’s life. There just aren’t many words to describe it, really. The bike roared to life and I continued down the road. I no longer cared that I was lost. I’d find my way home, eventually. For now, I just wanted that feeling to linger for a little while.