Done with my work for the day, (because screw annoying old ladies) and a hundred dollars richer, I was whistling while walking down the street, the setting sun a welcome greeting to the eye. Working with my hands always made me a little happy... don't tell anyone, I have a reputation to maintain.

Being a little happy tended to make me a little dangerous, another fact I took pains to hide. So when I spotted the three most annoying yokels who I graduated with it was all I could do to throw up a hand and wave. They were not happy at all to see me.

The one farthest to the right was Mica. His ex-girlfriends all called him Formica, a fact which amused me no end. Cheap fake wood indeed. He was nearly my size, a little over muscled where I was lean, and actually had half a brain in his head, which made his deliberate turn to stupidity that much more tragic.

The one to the left (the left hand of silly) was Darrin; large and in charge, but usually a pretty passive and almost OK guy. Unless you counted the racism, mutant hatred, and homophobia as character flaws. I did, but what really pissed me off were all the dick jokes. How many times could one make a dick or fart joke without it just becoming old and childish? What age did one grow up and move along?

AT 21, Darrin hadn't hit that age yet.

The other side, the right hand, was the brother, Daryl. Yes, the parents made a matched set. Daryl wasn't as big as Darrin, but what he lacked in size he made up for in sheer viciousness. He liked to use knives too. A few of his past girlfriends had put out restraining orders against him.

He knew well enough who the big dog was though; last time he tried me I'd broken his knives. I didn't much appreciate assault with a deadly weapon, and I was closer than the cops at the time.

Hey every village needed their idiots, and these were ours.

“Hey you guys, how's it going? Daryl, that a new piercing?”

He had yet another new one over his eye. I was pretty sure that a properly applied magnet would rip his face off, but whatever.

“Oh, it's the mutant. How you doing, Vic? Pull any crazy heroics today? Finally taken to wearing the bright long johns?”

Ahh, that tired old put down. I wasn't a mutant, just better than they were. You put down three guys at once, one of them armed, multiple times, and they started thinking mutant. I'd always just had a sixth sense for fighting, and it got better every passing year. Other people were just predictable. Good thing the rumor they tried to spread never struck.

Otherwise many more people would get beaten down. No real skin off my nose. I could do without the Humanity first and Knights of Purity grief, but I wouldn't run away from it. In fact, the M.C.O. had, upon request of various 'concerned and undisclosed citizens' tested me no less than four times, starting my sophomore year; all tests had come up negative. That was probably what killed the rumors.

The idiots three all bore H1 tattoos in prominent places. It must really suck to admit you couldn't take on a local tough 3 on 1 to people who expected you to go toe to toe with mutants when called. I doubted their bigoted friends took them seriously.

But then again, no one else did, so why should they be different?

“You wish. But no, just jeans here, filled out in a way you can't hope to match. You looking to try your luck again?”

For a so called street tough, they sure backed down quickly.

“Nah, was just going to go ask Penny if she wanted a real man yet.”

Now I'd never touched Penny. But that did not stop anyone from insinuating she was my girl. Something which made her very angry. Unlike Mica, Penny had a mean right cross. Mica and I had both experienced it; the one thing we had in common, though some might argue otherwise.

I felt I was a higher class of riff-raff, myself.

“Well you can ask her, but if she asks me to, I'll put you all into the dirt. Free country and all that.”

They knew where she worked; in a small town, everyone knows everything about you. It wasn't quite time for her to knock off, so she'd be safe enough for now. I had to get home before dad woke up and destroyed the place. He was once an early riser, but staying up all night screws with a lifetime of good habits.

“Yeah, see you later Vic.”

Not bothering to wave, the brat pack moved off. Tweedledum and Tweedledee still silent for a change. Change was good.

Perhaps they had read my mood; I always did tend to get a little dark mentally when prepping to deal with my dad. If I were the introspective sort, I'd probably drive myself crazy. Or drive myself sane. Not sure which, or even if I should care.

People were beginning to step to the other side of the street before I reached home, a dingy little trailer park just past the rusted and barely used tracks. We were in number 16, four rows down. The laughing but grubby kids and barking slavering dogs yanking chains as if they would break their necks were different from my childhood, but not really.

That sort of scene rarely changes. Poverty always has some constants.

Our own humble abode was a single, with broken weather cracked yellow siding and a rusted roof sitting on crumbling concrete blocks. I could trace the cracks in the grimy windows from memory; I didn't dare clean them for fear I'd have to replace them. Maybe some day when I had the money.

After all, it was mine; small, crappy, but undeniably all mine. I'd paid for it, for all that it was in my dad's name. I'd bought after my first few jobs, just before we'd lost the house, but minor's couldn't really buy houses, or trailers in this case. Cars were one thing, houses were quite another. That was years ago, of course. I could go out on my own now... but that would mean ditching my father. He was an ass, but he didn't have anyone else.

So far I'd been lucky and he hadn't sold it out from under us. I was prepared for that, but every month he didn't was a good one. He'd only stolen the lot rent twice this year, which was a personal best of his. I continued to hold out hope that he'd wise up.

I could tell the moment I walked through the door that today wasn't the day.

He was flat on his ass in his ratty old chair, already half in the bottle of whiskey; no idea where he got it, it looked like he hadn't been out. In fact, I really hope he hadn't been out. He was dressed in pajama pants that might have been dark blue once, but now looked to be brown and held together more by dirt than anything else, and a wife-beater that hadn't escaped the laundry. Wish I knew how the pants had... or maybe they hadn't, and the dirt was recent.

As it was he looked like he'd grown from the chair; as if he was a permanent part of it. One with the mold of it perhaps. I wish I could get rid of the thing, but I couldn't afford better, and any new one would be as bad as the old one inside of a month.

If it wasn't sold first.

The absolutely spotless and perfect 40 inch LCD high definition television was turned on, a high definition DVD of “band of brothers” placed in it. I could likely quote the entire episode from heart, though I doubted the ability of my dad to do so, especially now. He was a bit of a lightweight anymore.

He was currently asleep, though due to it's alcohol induced nature I wasn't sure how long that would last. So a bit of metal gear solid was needed here. Unlike Snake though, I didn't need or use a box. I'd never owned a game system, or the game, but Penny had. She still did in fact. She kept everything, and always let me take a turn. Well, almost always; she was notorious for keeping Final fantasy games to herself.

I'd replaced the floorboards once before, so they made no sound when I wanted them not to. I hid my honestly acquired money of the day with the rest of my stash, in the last place he'd look... the plastic bag I had clipped to the outer edge of the washing machine tub. He never went anywhere near the laundry, or the washer.

I wouldn't even count it, but my best estimate was a thousand at the moment, with my earnings for today. A sizable rainy day fund. I threw all but a twenty in, knowing if I didn't leave something for him to find in my wallet he'd be suspicious. He never quite wised up to the wallet, instead preferring to think of me as stupid for continually leaving my money around.

Kind of insulting really, but his own stupidity worked to my advantage.

I wasn't worried about him selling anything else, as I had nothing else to sell. My tools were safely hidden in the crawlspace (another place he'd never go) and hidden behind a sturdy lock; he was far too lazy to try and break that even if he found it. Besides, he knew I needed those to keep him in booze and electricity. As for anything else, like computers or TV's or DVD players, I didn't own one. Even my cell phone was a cheapie I just added time to.

I didn't need any of that stuff anyway.

I also kept a twenty out for myself. I sure as hell wasn't cooking anything, and eating where Penny worked was a good way to keep an eye out for her, while having an excuse. She'd only brought up my eating there just before her shift ended once, after about the 4th straight day that one week. I ignored her, and she never spoke of it again, instead preferring to try and sneak out when my back was turned.

Did I mention she had a mean right hook?

“You. When did you get back?”

“About twenty ago; you were a bit too sauced to notice.”

“Don't make me teach you respect again, boy. Go make lunch.”

“No can do, boss. Got another job to get to. If you want I'll bring you back something.”

“Then hurry it up. I'm hungry.”

He took another slug from the bottle. I knew the moment I left he'd toss my room, looking for the money I seeded it with. If he did, I wouldn't see him until tomorrow; he'd be at the bar. He also wouldn't eat anything.

I was enabling him, I knew that. But what else could I do? His dumb ass wouldn't get help from the VA, and we couldn't afford private detox. Proud bastard. Well, proud at least where other people were concerned; he'd piss himself rather than hobble to the bathroom in my presence, with no shame at all.

If I tried to get him help, he'd rapidly piss me off in a variety of petty ways. My only hope was that some random bartender or patron would finally get fed up of stepping over him come closing time and get him arrested. The cops could likely take it from there with ease.

I still had about an hour before her shift ended; today was a 12 hour. That would give me just enough time to eat something. I had spent longer dealing with my old man than I liked; usually anything longer than 5 minutes and we'd be at each others throats. Sometimes it'd me more; after all, sometimes one of us was asleep. The funny thing was, he was better than his so called friends and war buddies. He seemed downright well adjusted compared to them.

The sun was beginning to set when I turned off the trailer park drive to head towards food. The riot of color assaulted my eyes, and my squint revealed a color that wasn't supposed to be there; A light green.

Well shit, this wasn't going to be good, whatever it was. Still it had nothing to do with me or mine, so I'd just let it head on it's merry way.

…................................................................................................................

Simon Crane was enjoying himself. He had retrieved his suit and fedora, stood at the edge of a small little burg drinking in the sights like, well, a man in a desert who finds water. The walk through the desert hadn't inconvenienced him, nor had the lack of refreshment. But now that he could, he intended to rectify his lack.

The small town was enchanting; strange lights, strangely made cars (some of them like little bread boxes on wheels, and so small there was no way he could fit into them) The architecture had not changed noticeably in the fifty years he had been frozen, a mild surprise. He had expected more Frank Lloyd Wright and less... pedestrian.

The clothing was another story. He was not used to mini-skirts being quite so... mini. Or for women’s shirts to show everything but nipples. The woman walked by, obviously proud to cause a reaction.

How strange. Was she a lady of the evening?

But no, while she was the boldest within sight, other women had similar clothing. Most were wearing pants or denim jeans that he was only half sure wasn't affixed by Velcro directly to their skin. Or perhaps glue. The rest were more than merely scandalous.

Obviously some societal changes had occurred.

Even more odd were the looks he was receiving. He was used to receiving some strange looks due to his size, but more than a few passersby were simply ignoring him. As if one of his size were more common. Had the mutants and other powered beings grown in number, or were those people just trying to ignore him in order to go about their daily lives – a form of 'out of sight, out of mind?'

If so, he approved. He did not want to be interrupted on his quest.

Of course, he had to interrupt someone else on their own quest; the better to receive directions on his own. Wandering around for hours in order to find a proper place for the repast he desired. He did not want just anything to eat; he wanted a greasy spoon. A nice large hamburger and plate of greasy fries with a coke on the side were what he desired.

Or perhaps a rare steak.

At any rate, this seemed to be just the town to find such a 'mom and pop' restaurant, a true windfall for him, since he knew the four and five star establishments he used to frequent would rather burn down than prepare a hamburger.

“Excuse me, miss?”

The miss in question was one of the more modest ones, walking alone. She was moderately attractive, with long clean brown hair in a ponytail, blue jeans, and a top that didn't show everything she had. Her nose was perhaps a trifle too large, and lips perhaps a trifle too thin to display true beauty.

“Yes, sir?”

“Would you perhaps know the whereabouts of the nearest restaurant? I've just arrived and have yet to learn my way around your fair hamlet.”

She looked uncomfortable being addressed, but he ignored it with admirable aplomb. It was only polite after all, and his size made many uncomfortable.

“Um, right. The only restaurant around here is “Billy's”, and that's four blocks down, take a right, then another two blocks, and it's on your left. It has a big red neon sign that's half burned out, and its in the business district. They close at 10, so you've got a bit of time.”

“Thank you miss, you've been of great assistance. Have a wonderful evening.”

Her heels clicked an almost panicked staccato on the cracked pavement of the sidewalk.

“Sure, um... you too.”

Simon Crane walked on with a smile, the setting sun at his back.