Marked Target ~ Chapter Twelve ~ 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's mettle proven, she gets a job offer. A family emergency erupts out of nowhere and Lex shows just what kind of person she is.

---

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, Dr. Henry Philip “Hank” McCoy, Beast, and Jennifer Walters, SheHulk, are trademarks of Marvel Comics. Agent Helligan is a trademark of Detective Comics. All rights reserved. The pic for this chapter was done by an artist only known online as Lone Wolf.

Author's Note :: Yes, it's been a long time since there's been an update. I'm really sorry for that. Sometimes, life just really gets in the way. I will say that Ch. 13 is already in the works, so won't be too much longer before there's another update.

---

Chapter Twelve:

The moment the bell tolled, the two of us combatants wanted each other’s hide. Certainly, I questioned Lenny’s motives in attacking a woman so fiercely but I had something to prove. My brain was completely in the zone.

Without any thought, I leapt into the air and thrust my feet forward, coming in contact with his chest. It was typically something I did when battling an opponent bigger than me. It let them know immediately that I was dangerous. He let out a grunt as he flew backward a foot or two and landed on his ass. I flew back almost uncontrollably, but I’d executed this move so much that my body knew exactly what to do. I fell back on my hands and bent my arms to absorb the impact, then sprang forward, swung my legs, and landed upright on my feet. The spectacle was usually well received by martial arts movie watchers in the crowd. On my feet once more, I immediately took a stance and squared off at my opponent. He seemed a little dazed and rather confused as to how I was on my feet and he wasn’t.

“Holy fuck! You see that?” One man shouted on the ring’s perimeter.

“I saw it… still don’t believe it. That’s one o’ Animal’s moves, right there. Where’d this chick learn that shit?” Another replied.

“I dunno, but you see the stance?”

“Yea, I know… Animal’s stance. This shit is crazy, yo. You think she knows him?”

“It’s not just Animal’s stance, dude. That’s fucking Crane Style! Somehow, this chick knows some Xiao Lin!”

A thought crossed my mind, which only fueled my anger at that commentary. He was giving away my moves and my fighting style right in front of my opponent. This was going to be a tricky fight. I tore off the shirt that I had worn over my sports bra and threw it at him.

“Can it, meat! Let the man figure it out for himself! Don’t give away the Golden Goose, asswipe!” I screamed at him in my shrill voice.

All the other men whistled like hungry wolves. Meanwhile, Lenny took it upon himself to make the most of my distraction, perform a leg sweep, and knock me on my back. My head hit the mat of the ring pretty hard, dazing me for a second. My response was to push off the ground, land on my feet, hop up, and swing my leg around. My foot came in contact with his jaw hard enough to disperse most of the saliva in his mouth. The nearby crowd protested being spat upon. I bore a smirk as I entered my stance, switching the tone a little. I was angry, so Tiger Form was fitting, I’d say. Lenny wasn’t so smug, any more.

Out of anger, he turned and launched a punch at me. Bad move. With clawed hand, the punch was easy to deflect, but I had to add insult to injury. In one swift moment, I blocked the punch, launched a palm strike that connected with his collar bone, swept my foot under his legs, toppled him to the ground, and came down on his chest with a knife hand strike. I let out a grunt that sounded like I said “dooj” and jumped back up to my stance. I think I heard his collar bone and a two or three ribs crack. He was not in good shape, no matter how you sliced it. He lay there writhing on the ground for a good few moments. I wanted him to stay down and end this madness, but I’d insulted his masculinity. He lumbered back up and got into fighting stance once more. Do they never learn?

One… two… three frontal kicks he launched at me that I blocked with some trepidation but not much. Then, the finale was a strong roundhouse kick aimed at my stomach. It was a classic Tae Kwon Do move. He expected to beat me in my prime with Tae Kwon Do? The roundhouse was difficult, but not impossible to deflect. One hand grasped his ankle and I bent my other arm so that the flat of my forearm impacted with his thigh. He flew away from me with a yelp. That’s a bruised hamstring, ladies and gentlemen.

As a fighter, you learn that taking blows may hurt and some bleed but you learn something from the encounter. Frankly, I was a little disappointed. So far, the only thing I’d take away from this fight was going to be defensive wounds, if that. I wasn’t going to learn anything and that was rather disappointing.

“You fucking little whore!” Lenny screamed as he limped into his stance.

My eyes narrowed on him. “That’s it! No more Miss Sugar and Spice!”

I jumped out of my stance and launched myself at him. It’s not a move in any martial arts repertoire. It was improvisation on my part. He didn’t know what to do, so I just impacted with him and we fell to the mat of the ring together. He lay flat underneath me and I straddled his midsection with one arm pinning him with his injured collar bone and the other poised to punch him. As an equally unexpected move on his part, I felt his hands firmly grab both cheeks.

“Yea, that’s exactly where I like my women.” He grinned like a school boy.

I growled. “You have less than three seconds to remove your hands from my ass. One!”

“Or what, sweetheart?”

“Two!” SNIKT! The blades erupted from my knuckles.

His hands released and his eyes nearly bulged out of his skull. “Holy fuck!”

“That’s enough!” The gym owner called out.

The crowd, who had been cheering wildly at my final move, fell silent the instant sunlight bounced off my blades. None of them had any idea what was going on. The owner strode up to Lenny and I, grabbed me by the shoulders, and threw me off the man. Snikt. The blades returned to my forearms and the wounds they caused healed almost immediately. Lenny scrambled to his feet and limped out of the ring. The owner stood over me with an expression that I couldn’t decipher, though he looked pretty pissed off.

“You’re meta, aren’t you?” He asked in a very plain tone.

Feigning behavior of a “proper lady”, I stood and wiped some of the dust off my ass. “Yea, I am.”

His eyes narrowed at me. “I haven’t seen anyone fight like that in a long time. Who were you?”

Letting out a sigh then shaking and lowering my head, I pointed at the poster on the far wall. They both glanced at the ‘George of the Jungle’ look-alike. “That was me.”

He turned the poster, then back to me. “Bullshit. The Animal, Lex McKinley, is dead.”

My eyes returned to his. “Can you think of a better cover?”

His expression didn’t change. “Why’d you come here?”

Another sigh escaped. “I used to be somebody… somebody I can’t be, anymore. With all the shit that’s happened in the past year or so, I wanted a small snippet of my old life back. This was the best place I found.”

One of the commentators from ringside climbed onto the ropes but remained outside them. “Wildcat, either she studied Animal through and through for months before coming here or you’re lookin’ at him. She pulled shit I’ve only seen him pull off, shit that made him the formidable fighter he was. If she’s meta, that could be Animal.”

The owner’s head nudged toward the man. “That’s Jamal, my top trainer. He was training Lenny when Lex died.”

“Lex isn’t dead. I’m Lex. I just can’t be very open about it, okay? It’s fucking dangerous for me.”

“You in some shit?” Jamal asked.

“Yea… somebody kidnapped me about the time I changed. They still want to find me and bring me in. I don’t know why, but they managed to fake my death rather convincingly, so they’re pretty dangerous.”

Jamal shook his head. “Damn, girl. You better hide.”

“What do you think I’m doing?” My voice showed my aggravation by rising in pitch, slightly.

“So… if you are who you say you are and whatever you say happened actually happened… why risk exposing yourself by showing up at my gym?” The owner–‘Wildcat’, Jamal had called him–asked again.

I let out another sigh. “I told you: to get something of my old life back. I can’t just sit around the house playing video games all the time until school starts. Besides, all this smothering my mom’s been doing is driving me fucking nuts.”

“What’s your name?” Wildcat wondered.

“Lauren Kinney, a-k-a Talon, sir.”

“Tell you what, Talon: You come back tomorrow and we’ll have a sit down with Jamal. Work for you?”

“What’s this talk about, anyway?”

“He’s givin’ you a job. Take it.” Jamal nodded fiercely.

I smirked at Wildcat. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

The anxious elation inside me built to a point where I wouldn’t be able to take it once I got home. I’d probably blurt out the good news the moment I saw my mother. A gym was going to give me a job. I could keep my skills fresh and, even though there was no way the national MMA association would let me fight anymore, I could at least bring up the next crop of fighters. There was a lot to process and a lot of planning to go through, but I didn’t care about any of it, yet. At the moment, I was just thankful none of the cops had stopped me for speeding.

After hastily yet carefully parking the bike in the garage, I actually skipped into the house. I rounded the pool table with my boots clopping against the hardwood floor. Mom wasn’t in the parlor or the kitchen. Pausing to reflect on my perplexity, my ears caught the sounds of some movie or program running in the TV room. That was pretty odd, considering that I’d been the only one to utilize the space as of late. Still bearing the confused expression, I slowly walked down the corridor to the room. Oddly enough, my mother was lounging on the sofa when I came in. In one swift motion, she grabbed the remote, muted the television, and sprang up with a smile on her face the moment she saw me.

“Oh, sweetie, you’re back!” She swiftly wrapped her arms around me. Clearly, she was excited about something. She let me go just as quickly and stood back a step. “How did it go?”

I snapped back into reality. “Oh! Pretty good, actually.” My eyebrow rose. “Since when do you watch TV?”

She shrugged. “Since I’ve already done the chores three times this week and I’m not catering to Randy’s every whim.”

Good point. “Okay, well, good for you.” My smile returned. “I got a job, today.”

“Really? I thought you were going to go find somewhere to work out some?”

My turn to shrug. “Well, yes… and I did. They also offered me a job. I told you, I’m pretty good at the whole fighting thing. They saw that and I’ve got an interview tomorrow, but I’m pretty sure the owner’s gonna hire me.”

Her hands quickly fell onto her hips. Oh, here we go. “Are you sure that’s a proper occupation for a girl your age? You couldn’t get a job as a barista or something like that?”

My eyes automatically rolled in their sockets. “Geez, Mom! I thought we talked about the ‘typical girl’ thing and agreed that I’m not that kind of pedigree?”

Her whole posture slumped. “Well, you can’t blame me for trying.”

“Well, not really, no. I’ll give you an ‘A’ for the effort, but the ‘uber-girly daughter’ thing isn’t going to go the way you want it.” I smirked. “Welcome to parenting.”

She frowned. “This isn’t my first pony show, young lady.” I giggled as she playfully slapped my shoulder. “Now, there’s something I want to tell you. First…” she spun around to the coffee table, picked up a rectangular electronic device, and handed it to me. “…you forgot your phone and some girl named Olivia called?”

My eyes widened. “Oh, yea? What’d she have to say?”

“Call her when you get a minute, which you don’t have, yet. Second, I hope you don’t mind, but I used your phone.”

I shrugged, taking the phone. “That’s no big deal, Mom. Who’d you call?”

“Your grandmother. Honey, I have a decision to make, but I’d rather you had input into it.” She seemed a bit depressed and weighed down.

“O… kay… what?”

“Well, technically, this is your house and I know we’re supposed to be pretending you’re a regular sixteen-year-old girl, but I know you have been an adult for a while.” She let out a sigh. “Honey, your aunt Debbie isn’t doing so well. I tried to call her, but her phone is disconnected. I guess Randy kept me isolated far too long. After talking to your grandma, I heard that they foreclosed on your aunt’s house. She and your cousin Megan are living out of the van, right now…”

There was only one response to that. My face instantly shifted to a more serious expression. “Done. Where are they?”

A tear sparkled in her eye as she smiled. “That’s how I thought you’d react. Megan, your cousin, has been using the computers at school to talk with your grandma. That’s the only way they’ve had to communicate, so far. She goes to Western High School. You’ll have to get there before school ends so you stand a chance of catching up with her. I’d go with you, but I’m really scared of that motorcycle.”

Taking a step toward her, I kissed my mom on the cheek. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’m on it.”

She meekly grinned. “That’s my girl. Thank you, sweetheart.”

Without a response, I rushed back out the door.

It was a really dumb idea to rush out the door without knowing where the school was located. However, having a smartphone does have its advantages. The traffic was terrible, given the fact that some of the schools let out earlier than others. Secretly, I hoped that traffic wouldn’t be this bad after my final dismissal bell rang. Still, the heavy traffic gave me a chance to stop at lights and check my route to the school on my phone. Trying to do so while driving a motorcycle was just asking for a nasty accident that I really didn’t need.

Unfortunately, I was on a time crunch. At the time my mother told me about the whole thing, I had about twenty minutes to get down to the school before it was dismissed for the day. California law allows for motorcycles to ride along the painted traffic lines between the cars, which gave me a speed advantage, but I still had to adhere to traffic lights. Those things are the bane of my existence when I’m in a hurry. I would believe I’m not the only one that carries the sentiment.

If getting to the school was a nightmare, talking to the staff about Megan’s whereabouts might be impossible. The weight of trying to remain anonymous was starting to sting a bit. Also, I wasn’t technically an adult, anymore. I could ride my motorcycle with my license, but couldn’t actually excuse my cousin out of class on my own. This would require some thinking and a little cunning on my part. Parking in front of the school was a no-go because there were already parents waiting to pick up their kids and they were strategically positioned on the curb. So, I improvised by driving up the sidewalk and parking near the bicycles. In a rush, I shut off the engine, slid off, and bolted inside. My helmet was coming off as I hit the doors.

Thankfully, the layout of the school was predictable. The office had a little window I could poke my head through to talk to one of the staff members and it was right by the front doors. As luck would have it, none of the adults were in the immediate vicinity, just a skinny blond girl who was being groomed to become someone’s secretary in the near future. I strode up and rang the little service bell on the counter. She glanced up at me and suddenly appeared disgusted.

“Yea, can I help you?” She sneered.

“Um… hi… I’m looking for Megan Kinney? There’s an important family matter and my mom sent me to find her.” My reply came in my best ‘sweet young girl’ impression. Somehow, I don’t think it worked, considering my biker leathers.

She was unimpressed. “How old are you, anyway? Aren’t you, like, no more than a sophomore? You know you can’t get her out of school, right?”

I nodded. “I know, but isn’t there, like, five minutes left until the bell?”

She gave me a sigh of annoyance and rolled her eyes. “I guess so.” She turned to her computer and typed in a few things. Nothing would give me greater joy than to punch her smug little face, but I was trying to play nice. After a few moments, her gaze returned to mine. “Well, she’s got Drama, right now, but she’s probably helping build one of the sets on the stage. A girl like her isn’t actress material. If you run, you might catch her before school ends.”

My eyes darted from one hallway to another. “Right… which one?”

She pointed at the hall directly behind me. “All the way to the end on the left.”

“Thanks.” I gave her a smile, she returned a facetious one. I loathe high school.

Turning one hundred eighty degrees, I started jogging down the hallway. It was quickly becoming apparent that the length of the hall was just asinine. The thing seemed to be about half a mile long! My breathing was a little quicker when I reached the double doors that read: “Stage”. I think they were supposed to be utility doors for loading and unloading of large set pieces?

Opening the door might have been a suicide move, on my part. Four guys carrying a slab of plywood yelled at me for getting in their way. Rolling away from them, I was now in a seriously busy and rather crowded backstage area. It seemed to me that the school would be putting on a rather large production relatively soon. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be one of the typical productions like Peter Pan or something like it. I shook my head, wiping away the thought. Then, another thought occurred to me: I hadn’t seen my own cousin in about five years, now. There are a lot of things that happen to a blossoming young woman in that kind of a time frame. I may not be able to recognize her. Next best thing: find the teacher.

Through the sea of students, my eyes finally rested on a middle-aged man with a bit of a belly and some gray hair starting to show on his scalp and in his full beard. He seemed to be barking orders at one of the students carrying a clipboard. I didn’t have enough knowledge of theater to be able to discern what job she might have had, but she seemed in charge of something. It didn’t matter. I’d found the teacher. Cautiously, I walked up to them and waited for their conversation to end.

Not skipping so much as a beat after barking at the girl with the clipboard, he turned and looked directly at me. “Who are you and what are you doing on my stage?”

Yep, I jumped a little in surprise. “Well… I…”

“Out with it, young lady! I don’t have all day! I’m very busy, right now!” Now, he was barking at me. He had a cadence and inflection that were strong, but he wasn’t yelling. So, why did I feel like I was being heavily scolded?

Glancing at the activity, I nodded. “I can see that.” My eyes returned to an annoyed expression on his face. “I’m looking for Megan Kinney? Is she around?”

He let out a sigh and rubbed his temples. “What’s this about?”

“An urgent family matter? I can’t really go into it, sorry.”

He pointed at a girl with crimson red hair dressed in all black. “She’s right there. If you need to take her, go ahead. There’s only a few more minutes left in the day, anyway.” His eyes met mine again. “Do you even have a hall pass, young lady?”

I quickly shook my head. “No, I don’t. I don’t even go to this school.” I started moving toward the girl. “Thanks, though.”

He grumbled and stormed off. My, if it were possible for men to get PMS, I’d say that teacher was experiencing some of the symptoms. Carefully, I made my way over to the girl who seemed to have relatively the same build as me. She wore a black hoodie with a skull and crossbones on the back, dark black jeans with some gray-ish stress marks manufactured into them, some hefty boots, and it looked like she had a wallet on a chain. Her hair was up in a ponytail to keep it out of her face as she worked, I deduced. She was sitting on her knees and, from the looks of things, working with a drill on something that looked like a wood frame. I carefully approached her.

“Megan?” I asked with inflection enough to convey that I wasn’t sure it was her.

“Yea, what do you want? You’re, like, the third person to come up to me in the past few minutes. This frame will be done when it’s done!” She responded in an obviously annoyed tone. She didn’t even turn to look up at me. She just kept working.

“Well… I have a message… from your aunt.”

Now, she stopped and looked at me. “And… who are you?” I couldn’t help but notice her green eyes were only a shade or two lighter than my own. From her makeup job, she really carried the Goth look pretty well–almost better than Julia, in some respects.

I tried to smile. “Someone who knows what’s up.” A part of me wasn’t sure it was safe to bring her up to speed. “I need to talk to you, but not here. The less people gossip, the better, right?”

“I have got to get this done soon or Mr. Burleigh will have my head by the end of the week.”

“The guy with the gray hair and the PMS?”

She smirked. “So, you’ve met him.”

I nodded. “Yea, he told me where to find you and that you’re cool to head out early. There’s a family emergency.”

Her eyes widened. “It’s not my mom, is it?”

I quickly shook my head. “No, it isn’t. As far as I know, she’s okay.” She breathed a sigh of relief while I glanced around us. “Let’s not talk about this here, though?”

She frowned. “Right, just lemme put this drill away and get my backpack?”

“I’m good with that.”

She stood up and I followed her for a few minutes. While backstage, it was like running a gauntlet. Now, I’m pretty sure I know why I never got into drama class. If you weren’t one of the pretty and popular kids, you were stuck with “technical theater”. A stage hand, basically. Once we made it into the shop area and she put the drill away, she grabbed her backpack and we exited from the wide open loading door. After walking about fifty feet down the sidewalk, there was no one around but the two of us.

“You wanted to be alone, now we’re alone. Talk.” She requested.

A sigh escaped. “I know about you and your mom, Megan. That’s why I’m here.”

She stopped dead in her tracks. She looked like she was frightened and pissed off at the same time. “Who told you about that?! Was it ‘little miss perfect’ Kristen?! I’ll kill that girl, I swear!”

“Good god, Megan! Take a chill pill!” I barked right back. “No, it wasn’t anything like that… I told you, it’s a family thing. Run with that.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you until you tell me how you know about me and my mom!” She defiantly crossed her arms.

A grumble escaped. “You’ve been talking to grandma and she told my mom.”

Now, she looked utterly confused. “Wait… your mom? Grandma? Who the fuck are you? I’ve never seen you at any of the family gatherings. I know those people, which is why I avoid them like the plague.”

“It’s a really long story and I’d like to get to your mom so we can have a chat.”

She stepped up and got right in my face. She was the same height as my mom. Man, I really hate being this short. “Look, I asked you who the fuck you are, bitch. Now, are you gonna tell me or do I scream for the cops?”

I simply placed my hand on her stomach and pushed her back a step. My face was in a scowl when it met hers again. “I’m Sarah Kinney’s kid, okay?”

She scoffed. “Yea, right! Aunt Sarah had a boy, which you clearly aren’t. She only had one kid and he’s dead, now. Besides, her name isn’t Kinney, it’s McKinley. Nice try.”

“Not anymore, it’s not. I told you, long story. Suffice to say, Aunt Sarah and Uncle Randy will be getting a divorce… by way of his incarceration.”

She laughed. “Uncle Randy’s in jail? Serves the fucker right! What’d he do, this time?”

“He attacked my mom right in front of a federal agent.”

“Whoa, slow down… federal agent?”

The bell rang and kids were starting to pour out of the school’s exits. “I told you that it is a long story, okay? Now, can we walk or are we gonna air all the dirty laundry in front of everybody?”

She scowled, but gave me a reluctant nod. I growled, but was relieved that we were moving again. Neither one of us uttered a single word until we approached my bike in front of the school. That was an interminable dead silence. Her eyes lit up and her mood shifted quite a bit once she saw the thing. It was like she was seeing all the presents under the tree on Christmas morning.

“Wait, why didn’t you tell me you had a motorcycle?” She seemed rather indignant.

I reached to hand her the helmet. “You didn’t really give me time. You’re wearing the helmet. Trust me when I say that I have a better chance of surviving a crash without it than you do.”

She looked confused again. “Okay…” Then, a thought seemed to cross her mind. “Wait, won’t we look like a couple of lesbians with you driving and me riding ‘bitch’?”

I shrugged. “I don’t care if you don’t. After all, this is San Francisco. How weird a sight would it be?”

“Touché.” She took the helmet from me. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Tal…” My head shook the pseudonym from my brain. “I mean… Lauren. Lauren Kinney.” I swung my leg over and set the bike upright. “Where’s your mom?”

“She’s at about 49th and California, parked next to Golden Gate Park.” She slipped the helmet on. “Just don’t kill me, okay? I’m only sixteen.”

“I know.” I smirked. “Just lean with me and not the bike. You’ll be fine. Does she still drive that old van from the 90’s?”

“Yea… how did you… nevermind. Just drive careful.” She slipped onto the seat behind me.

The moment the bike growled to life, she wrapped her arms around my ribs in a death grip. Having her breasts pressed firmly against my back was the strangest feeling. I had given Julia rides on a motorcycle before, but now it seemed very different, somehow. I mean besides the fact that the pair of breasts now belonged to my cousin. Shrugging off the thoughts, I engaged the clutch and slowly applied acceleration. Thankfully, I knew San Francisco well enough to get to the park from where we were. Driving carefully wasn’t that big of an issue, either. Technically, it was rush hour, now.

After a grueling half hour, we were through some of the worst traffic and headed up one of the long avenues that form the border of the park that so desperately tried to be a West Coast version of Central Park in Manhattan. The thing was huge and had lots of trees, okay? Thankfully, Megan’s grip had loosened up as she became more comfortable with my driving and being on a motorcycle in general. As we drove past 45th Street, I slowed down a bit and kept my eyes open for my aunt’s van. It was one of those Astrovans that Ford put out in the 1990’s that ushered in a whole new era for the suburban soccer mom–taking them out of station wagons and into minivans. It was an all right construction and had plenty of space; it just wasn’t very pretty to look at.

Finally, at almost 50th street, the gray and blue van began to stand out amongst the other vehicles. Thankfully, I found a handicap ramp that I used to get up onto the sidewalk and head toward the van. I could see the expression on my aunt’s face as she sat in the driver’s seat: confusion. Naturally, she was a woman approaching forty with long black-ish brown hair and her eyes were blue rather than green. I couldn’t really tell what she was wearing from my vantage point, but it didn’t matter that much. A moment after I shut down the bike, I heard a door slam and footsteps round the van.

“Megan Kinney, what have I told you about riding with strangers and who is this girl?” The woman shouted at her daughter.

Megan quickly slipped off the bike and removed the helmet. “Mom?! What the hell?! Chill, okay?”

‘Bad idea’, I thought.

“I most certainly will not, young lady!”

By this time, I had swung my leg off the bike and turned to the woman. “Aunt Debbie, please calm down. I know this is going to be confusing…”

She turned her enraged gaze at me. “I think I would have remembered if I had a niece that looked like you! Who are you?!”

“My name is Lauren. I’m Sarah’s kid.” I breathed slowly. This was going to take a while to sink in.

My aunt laughed. “Fat chance! My sister gave birth to a boy who is now dead and buried.” Tears formed in her eyes. “Gawd, I miss Lex…”

Megan seemed just as somber as she lowered her head and fidgeted with the helmet. “I do too, Mom.”

Tears flowed freely and she spoke hysterically. “For you to invoke the name of my dead nephew at a time like this… it’s just sick!”

I stepped up to her and made her meet my eyes. “Aunt Debbie, look at me!”

We stared into each other’s eyes for a few minutes. Besides the birds and traffic, there was silence for the duration. Then, she seemed to step back a little bit. I could see certain realizations starting to tick into place within her psyche. There were still certain things that her intellect just wouldn’t let her believe, however. That would be a hurdle.

“Those… those are Sarah’s eyes…” She seemed to be piecing things together. “But… you can’t be hers. She could only ever have Lex. Her body just wouldn’t let her.” Then she lost it.

“I said that, too, but she won’t listen to me.” Megan added with a shrug.

A sigh released from me. “I can’t really explain it to you without proof. Right now, that’s not really what’s important. I know what’s going on here and I came to bring you and Megan home. I will not have family living on the streets when I have the means to prevent it.”

My aunt scoffed. “How do I know this isn’t some kind of scheme to try and tell me I’ve won millions of dollars and all it’s going to cost me is everything I own? How am I supposed to know that you won’t lead me and my daughter to some man that will sell us as sex slaves, huh?”

“Mo-oom! Geezus!” Megan protested. “I thought I was a little skeptical and paranoid about this, but you took it to a whole new level, there!”

It was my turn to huff. “You’ve heard about the metahumans, right?”

They both turned to me and chorused. “What?!”

“Metahumans? Oh, come on! You haven’t watched the news in more than a year?”

“I watched that Jade girl on television at school.” Megan shrugged.

“So, you’ve heard about Tera, Booster Gold, and all the rest, right?” My eyes darted from one to the other. “And, you’ve heard what happens when a new metahuman manifests, right?”

“All I’ve ever seen was guys turning into girls.” Megan caught on pretty quickly.

“Yep, that’s about how it goes.” I sighed. “Well…” I bent my arm across my chest and flexed my fist. SNIKT! “I’m one of them, but I’m one of the good guys.”

They both seemed to jump back when the claws extended. I can’t really blame them, though. It is pretty freaky how quickly they extend. My aunt seemed fairly scared and confused. Megan was that way to for a moment, then her eyes lit up as she gazed at my claws.

“That’s actually kinda cool…” She commented.

“That’s not the cool part. Remember when I said you needed the helmet more than me?”

“Yea?”

I released my fist. SNIKT! I held out my fist in her direction as the sores healed. Her eyes lit up again.

“That’s actually pretty rad, right there. Does it hurt?”

My head quickly nodded. “Oh, yes it does!” I shrugged. “I’m pretty used to it, though. I’ve had them for about a year, now.”

“Wait… a year? That’s about the time…” My aunt’s eyes started to widen in surprise.

“About the time Lex went missing? Keep following that thought train, Aunt Debbie.”

“So… you’re a girl… you’ve got powers, I guess… you actually kinda look like Aunt Sarah, too.” Megan thought aloud.

My eyes returned to the stunned woman. “Aunt Debbie, I’m gonna need you to follow me back to the house. Mom’s waiting for you and probably worried sick about me. She hates my motorcycle.”

Megan giggled. “If she’s anything like my mom, I bet she does!”

My hand reached out toward Megan. “Can I have my helmet back, now?”

She blinked a couple of times. “Aren’t I riding with you?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but my aunt Debbie beat me to the punch. “You most certainly are not, young lady!”

My finger pointed at Aunt Debbie, but my eyes were fixed on Megan. “You should listen to your mom. She didn’t like you riding on the bike in the first place. I guessed she’d rather have you in the van with her. Besides, I’m gonna need to call and your mom shouldn’t use the phone and drive.”

“Wait a minute…” Aunt Debbie began. “You’re driving a motorcycle and you don’t want me to talk on the phone and drive?”

I merely pointed at the helmet. “That’s got Bluetooth. I’d never dream of holding a phone up to my ear and trying to drive a motorcycle. I’m a little attached to living. However, I can talk through the helmet and give you guys directions to where we’re going.”

My aunt folded her arms and shifted her weight onto one side of her hips. That’s body language for: 'don’t you dare leave me in the dark. “And just where are we going?”

“My house. Didn’t I just say that a minute ago?” My eyes darted between them as they remembered my words. “Right. Helmet, please. Aunt Debbie, grab everything you have, get it in the van, give me the phone number, and we’ll head out…” I stopped just then. “Sorry… um, please?”

Reluctantly, they began following my requests. Within minutes, both of them were in the van and I started the bike.

The drive back to the house was only arduous because of the annoyingly high amount of traffic. I had to take it a bit slower than I would have liked with a van carrying two bewildered souls behind me. Like the tortoise, we took it steady and slow until the locale of residential streets allowed for opening up the throttle a little more. Given moments like this, my brain began working out coding that might turn into a more comprehensive application for driving directions that didn’t involve many major thoroughfares in the middle of rush hour. Instead, base it on driving strategies only the locals might know about. I may call it “Average Joe Driving Directions” and sell it on iTunes for five bucks a pop, or something. You can take the girl out of programming, but never take programming out of the girl.

Finally back to the house, I cordially instructed my aunt to occupy the garage on the opposite side of the house from where my bike was typically parked. Everyone agreed that now was the time to do any unpacking at all. Instead, I guided them into the living room where my mom was waiting with happy wails, hugs, and tears. It’s been years since my mom has seen any of her family members face-to-face, so I can imagine the whole experience was quite surreal for her. Megan and I exchanged glances, nodded, and non-verbally decided that leaving the two sisters to their reunion was the best course of action at the moment. Besides, all the high-pitched screeching was really starting to hurt my ears.

With eyes surveying every inch of her surroundings, Megan followed me upstairs to my room. Even with the spirited reunion going on downstairs, it was fairly quiet upstairs. The only thing that usually defied the distance alone was the smell of whatever my mom happened to be cooking at the time. Slipping off my jacket and letting my torso really breathe, I flopped onto the bed quite unceremoniously. Megan seemed quite uncomfortable as if she were intruding when she leaned on the doorframe glancing at me with half a smile on her face. Her eyes gave my room a more thorough scan than the rest of the scenery up to this point.

“It’s good to see Aunt Sarah in a good mood.” She finally spoke after a rather uneasy silence. “I still don’t know who the fuck you are, but I’m glad I got to see my aunt. Thanks, I guess.”

A way too feminine and rather unimposing grumbling sound came out of me, signaling my mild annoyance. “Do you know how many fucking times I’ve had to prove myself to people in the last… I dunno… six months?” Swiftly, I lifted my upper body off the surface of the bed.

Her eyes wandered around the room. “Well, I can tell ya one thing: this doesn’t look like a girl’s room. And, before you lash out and go all ninja bitch on my ass, I don’t mean that there is an apparent lack of pink and frillies. I gave up on that shit when I was six.” She let out a sigh. “There’s just… I dunno… that certain ‘air’ that somebody might expect that says pretty clearly: ‘Danger: a teenage girl lives here! Enter at your own risk!’. Is this making sense or am I talking out my ass?”

I simply shrugged. “Seems legit, I guess. It’s my little cave, but I don’t really pay a whole lot of attention to it. I guess I’m just waiting for another shoe to drop on my head that implodes the planet… or something.”

“It’s been like that, huh?”

I shot her a deadpanned glare. “Yea, you could say that.”

She nibbled her lower lip. “You… wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.” A sigh escaped my lips. Suddenly, something donned on me. “Megan, remember when you were eleven and stole my black nail polish to give your Barbie doll a Goth makeover?” A smile stretched on my lips. “You had her hair caked in the junk, her eyes looking like Ken was a dick, and even tried to do her nails?”

She started to giggle. “Gawd, I sucked at makeup back then. Mom had to throw the thing away, laughing at the sight of it and almost wanted to cry as the last vestige of me being a little girl was going out with the trash.”

“Yea, good times…”

She stopped. At that moment, a light bulb flickered to life in her brain and she looked at me with that look people get when they’ve stumbled on something profound. Her eyes slowly traveled over my body, cataloging every little nuance. Slowly, she stepped into the room and moved over to the bed. Tears started welling up in her eyes. The bed bounced ever so slightly as her butt landed on it right next to me. Her eyes darted over every little feature of my face.

“Lex?”

All I could do was nod in response.

In the next half second, her arms wrapped over my shoulders and half her body was dropped on top of mine. She laid her head on one shoulder as her body began to quake with each sob. Gently, I wrapped my arms around her and stroked her hair. Now, she knew. She had her cousin back; albeit, in a very different capacity. Try as I might, nothing could hold back my own tears, so I cried right along with her.