I woke to find the gym dark completely dark. fishing for the light switch I found it, and looked to the table quickly.

'Kid, the doors are locked and alarm is set. I let you sleep, you looked tired. You can clean the floor if you want, and raid the fridge for whatever you want. Just be quiet, I'm sleeping.'

I resolved to clean the floor first, since it was my job. Still warm from the trust shown me, I carefully mixed the cleaning solution and started on the ring first. Mr williams trusted me not to rip him off! That was a rarity.

With the rings cleaned and the floor half mopped, I decided to take a break. The time surprised me, it was 1 am. The mini fridge was packed with wrapped sandwiches made specifically for me unless I missed my guess. The energy drinks were nice, and the orange juice carton wasn't even opened.

Well he did say I could have whatever I wanted. I took a sandwich and a glass of juice. Under orders to be quiet I decided to read a few magazines that were lying around while I ate. Most were of course, on boxing. By the time I finished up however, I was tired again. Another sandwich and I decided it was time to sleep again. Not sure what was going on, I even ate well today, no way I should be tired again.

I just felt too run down to clean the kitchen, and Mr. Williams didn't like me cleaning his office. The waves of dizziness started as I lay back, so I just let the sleep come.

******************************************************************************************

"Hey kid, you alright?"

I woke to Mr. williams standing over me, mild concern painting his features. I shook the cobwebs out of my head.

"Yes sir, sorry sir. What time is it?"

"seven kid, opening time."

"Crap, sorry Mr Williams, I didn't get this room clean."

"that's ok kid, you got the rings and the floor, right?"

"Yes."

"More than enough...You can take whatever you want out of the fridge, and hang out if you want. You don't look so good."

I knew that by hanging around I could cost Mr Williams some money; it was too late for a shower, I'd forgotten to take one and clean my clothes yesterday. Too much sleep, and most people didn't like ugly dirty stinky kids hanging around.

"No sir, I better go. I don't want to cause trouble."

"Kid, you don't look right. You sure you won't stay?"

Great, if I looked like I felt it was even worse. Years without getting sick and now this - it felt like that first winter all over again.

"I'm sure sir, wouldn't want to infect your customers."

He shook his head, muttering something under his breath. Then he grew stern, and a bit frightening.

"OK kid, but look, I want you to come back tonight and finish the job. You got me? I don't like a job half finished. You come back and clean this room tonight."

"Yes sir."

I grabbed my payment and bolted before he could make a grab for me; he looked like he just might. Bolting proved the wrong thing
to do however, since as soon as I was outside (and thankfully out of Mr. William's vision) I promptly threw up, losing what little was left of what I ate last night. I was able to keep going using the wall for support. I hoped Mr. Williams didn't follow me outside, he'd certainly be angry about the waste of food.

For now, my spot at the park looked to be my best bet to spend the day; I wasn't feeling up to anything else. It was still early; there weren't many people on the streets. At least not compared to an hour from now; it was too early even for those other people who lived like me. With the right amount of caution I was able to reach my spot unchallenged. And I wasn't followed either, the place was still safe. nothing had been disturbed.

I laid a fire and lit it, then collapsed on my sleeping bag. I just didn't feel up to anything else. Trying to read was pointless, my concentration was shot by wracking pains. At least between the sleeping bag and the fire it was warm. Keeping silent (necessary for remaining unfound) was hard, but I managed by biting my hoodie. And when I felt like screaming, I simply rolled over and screamed through my sleeping bag into the dirt.

*****************************************************************************************

Somehow I must have fallen asleep again; the fire was only coals now, the sun had set. It was getting cold. I did not know how much time had passed, but I would have to hurry in any case to reach Mr. Williams' place by closing. The pain had subsided to a numbing sort of ache, rather than sharp shooting pain, but I still felt them everywhere, and my head felt as if wrapped in marshmallows.

Making it there in time to finish my job would take everything I had, and I'd have to be less careful than normal. Taking the more protected route felt impossible. I managed to get my spot packed up and poured dirt carefully on what fire was left, then set off. I could barely walk, something felt off - and I could hear and feel my bones grinding together with every step.

I wasn't sure what disease I caught, but it was fast acting.

A new thought stopped me. What if it was catching? Perhaps Mr. Williams would be better served by me staying away? I was obviously in trouble, and he didn't need to catch whatever it was I had. I was pretty sure no one deserved to catch what I had. But... he should also be warned! I had this bug this morning, and he was with me. I had also stayed in his place last night. He would need to know to visit a doctor.

Decision made I renewed my steps; even found a bit more energy. He had to be warned, along with his customers and friends. Unfortunately I have the worst luck imaginable. In my haste I ran right into one of those dangers I had luckily avoided earlier. I blame my hazy vision, which only seemed to reach a few feet and was tinted red around the edges.

"Well well well, if it isn't the little fag."

Now most homeless, while in many cases desperate, are decent people. Harry was not one of those people. Street rumors all had him lying, cheating, stealing and assaulting his way to a better life, most of the time to his own down on their luck fellows. He was one of the worst people to run into when you had no protection or people nearby. One of the people I normally watched for. Oh well, nothing to do about it now, I didn't even feel up to running.

"Leave me alone Harry, I'm very sick and it could be contagious."

Before I could do more than blink, I was on the ground, only afterwards registering the 2 vicious punches. One to the kidney, one to the left side of my face. I looked up to see Harry sporting an aloof, almost fatherly sort of look.

"You don't tell me what to do, you piece of shit. though now that I get a good look at you, you don't look at all well. Too bad."

I lost track of the kicks after number 4, but soon after he got bored, ripped my pack from me, and left. I got to my feet, world spinning slowly. If I knew Harry, (and I sort of did), after checking my pack for money he would dump it, to spite me.I had marked
the direction he took, So I went after him at my best invalid speed. The beating didn't even hurt anymore, really, it was all a numb ache now. the only thing that concerned me was how hot I felt. It reminded me of that day I had stayed out on the hottest day of the year, during the fair.

Sure enough, a few alleys down, I found the contents of my pack flung all over the place, and the pack itself was up on a second floor fire escape. Of course, the ladder wasn't pulled down, and there was no way I could jump high enough to pull it down at the moment. Score one for Harry. I gathered up what I could and left it, I'd already wasted too much time.

I amused myself by counting the number of times I found myself on the pavement again (3). A few of those kicks must have hit my head without me noticing. By the time I reached Mr. William's door and pounded on it, my vision was at most a few feet, with a blood coated fog eating the rest of it, bit by bit.

****************************************************************

Devon was worried. In the 6 months he'd known him, the kid was never late, and never stood him up. Something had to have finally happened. So he waited, a bare old bulb providing a grubby circle of illumination before his back door. He waited on his feet, staring blankly at it. At 9:42, just as his feet were beginning to ache a little from standing in one place too long, an insistent but polite knock sounded upon the door. He looked through the peep hole out of habit, and sucked in a breath.

Shooting the bolt and throwing the door open so hard it bounced back into him painfully he leaped to catch the slight, bloody form exposed to the light. Broken lips parted in a slight grin as he eased the boy down.

"sorry I'm late Mr. Williams."

"Damn kid, what the hell happened to you?!?"

Devon slammed the door and shot the bolt before turning to take a look at the damage. Safety first. The kid was in a rough way. The gasping wheezes spoke of broken ribs, one wrist and hand was as grape hued and the size of a small ham... and his face! He eased the kid up again to drag him to the couch, and heard bones grind in the kids leg. Kid was tough though, didn't utter a single sound. His face paled another shade, but the smile stayed plastered on. This close Devon could feel the heat though, an intense burning fire across the kid's skin that he felt would burn him at any moment.

He would need help; a doctor... but who could he call? 911 would report it, and dump the kid into child services as soon as they could. Besides, he didn't trust those emergency room hacks at St. Micheal's, the closest hospital. A few too many friends
that went there for treatment died there for his liking. He dumped the kid on the couch as gently as his rubber knees would allow, taking note the kid was out. Making up his mind to call in that favor owed, he picked up his old phone and dialed.

******************************************************************************************

Sergei Kopov drank his nightly glass of vodka, ending the ritual he had enjoyed the last 10 years of his retirement. He had long since ceased worrying about whether that made him the drunkard his father had been. As was his wont, he reviewed the photos on his mantle, the snapshots of his life between sips. His brief stints at two olympic games, and the faded yellow ringside pictures, each of him and a champion or first rate challenger, taken in packed venues. Usually forgotten names now, like him. He'd even kept the working visa that had allowed him to leave the then U.S.S.R., for what was back then, a much better life.

He was a sentimental fool.

At one time, many knew his name. Sure he wasn't the boxers themselves, those fit athletes given to bludgeoning each other to death. But when a match was set, who else did one call, but Kopov, the greatest fight doctor of his day? Not bad for a peasant from
the Urals. In the days before exhaustive degrees, when doctors did not require 12 years of education to graduate and lists of medicines were not longer than war and peace, a man with only four years of higher education and many years of experience could stitch a face back together with the best of them.

Now of course, ever since his forced retirement for a meager pension, such was no longer the case.

The ritual was almost finished; he'd have to buy a new bottle in the morning. Which was why of course, his phone chose this moment to ring. He hadn't had any phone calls in weeks; not even from telemarketers, and now out of the blue, after he prepared for
bed? He knew it wouldn't be good. Cursing in strangely melodic Russian under his tainted breath, he shuffled his way to the phone.

"Da?"

"Sergei, it's me."

Devon Williams. One of those contenders; standing next to him in photo number 6, the edge of it cracked; he forgot the name of the place, but it was written painstakingly on the back. A lifelong 'friend' of his, who he sometimes played poker with. When he wasn't
busy telling him to piss off, that is. One of the few who stood by him during his fall.

"I need to call in that favor, Sergei."

It wasn't good.

"You call back tomorrow."

"Sergei, don't you dare. This can't wait. Come to my place... and bring your bag."

He knew it; trouble with a capitol T. No telling what Devon had gotten himself into. He sighed and hung up the phone, only having to reach down to grab his small black doctor's case, the one given him by his drunkard of a father. He took a moment to blow the dust from it before grabbing his coat and leaving.

******************************************************************************************

Someone had been in a fight, and for once, it wasn't one of the meatheaded gladiators he was used to seeing, but a young slip of a girl riding the edge of malnutrition. Young, her age was impossible to determine, though the causes for that were fleeting. Her face, bad as it looked, wouldn't even scar after he was done. All in all, the damage was superficial, he'd seen far worse than what was lying limply on the battered puke green couch in Devon's lounge.

Far more worrisome however, was her temperature. his hands could not sit on her skin for long, and his thermometer, an old one filled with mercury and capped with metal, burned his fingers when he retrieved it. there was no cause for it among her injuries, and
he'd seen this once before. Devon hovered nearby, his anxious scowl making those scars of his more visible.

"Ain't no cause for the fever doc, he's really sick. But the emergency room would likely toss her out. I knew I shouldn't have let him go this mornin'."

Sergei blew a sigh, ignoring the somewhat surprising gender revelation. He'd seen that before. He knew how well this would go over.

"You were right to call me, my friend. The hospital, they could not treat this, but I can. I have seen this before."

Once, and his treatment was like all his treatments, cobbled together from homeopathic remedies and guesswork... but his friend did not need to know that. Besides, it had worked. Devon stopped, wringing his hands and ignoring the grotesque pop of his stressed
knuckles.

"You have? What's she got?"

Sergei lit a cigar and started making a list of what he'd need before responding.

"Burnout, my friend; your little friend is a mutant."

(tbc)

Mark Winchester studied the radar print outs again, cursing the small bit of turbulence that shook his hand. After the blasted thing crossed the ocean, it slowed down. this of course made his job harder, as even the best radar technology had problems picking up such a small profile once it's anomalous speed slowed. How the damned thing had even learned to fly, he'd likely never know. There was no doubt however, that this event was the real deal;exactly What he'd trained his life for. Let's see, the last confirmed images projected a line through several major cities as well as several other highly populated areas. It was obvious he'd have his work cut out for him.

The best option was to split his team up, and comb the line he'd just drawn for... incidents. From east to west coast, if need be.

*******************************************************************************************

I was on fire, or at least the front of me was. The rest of my body was somewhat cool. I was certain I was floating, even though my arms and legs seemed to be tied. I felt no pain, just unknown periods of blistering heat followed by intense cold. sometimes I thought I could see light or hear voices. Sometimes I thought I was doing both. Sometimes they almost made sense. But mostly I just floated, a leaf on an unknown current.

*******************************************************************************************

Sergei carefully monitored the homemade I.V. that was currently pumping a nutrient soup of his own devising into the kid. The ice was of course, melting much faster as the day wore on, the heat prompting Devon to make his third trip so far since last night. It was working however; if the I.V. did not clog, and the boy's temperature stayed below 105 he should be alright. A careful dunk of the kids' head under water raised some steam, which was concerning. But too long under and he would start to drown. It was a careful sort of dance.

When he had time, he tried to figure out where the sword sheath had come from. Ancient leather covered in cloth tastefully embroidered in the most magnificent and complex celtic knots, capped on the lower end with steel and the open end with something that felt kind of like rubber, Sergei was fairly sure he hadn't seen it on the kid before he went into Devon's own apartment bath tub. Yet it was plainly here, and had to have been here. The belt was knotted around the boy and the knot seemed to have been superglued... nothing Sergei could do would untie it, or even get the cursed thing to loosen!

He really didn't have the time to give it a good try though; was the boy's face changing? Was he about to suffer GSD on top of burnout? Sergei had been out of the loop for some time, but he'd never heard of a case of burnout this slow that altered the victim in such a way... usually mutation was a much slower process or outright bursting in flames. But then again, bursting into flames was something this kid could do at any moment.

He needed more vodka.

*******************************************************************************************

Chad Simmons knew he wasn't the smartest. His mom had called him "her little Forrest Gump" as a kid... when taking him to school. So of course the other kids heard, and ran with that. The special classes he'd had to attend had not helped his image either.

He hadn't been a complete loser in the genetic lottery however (not that he understood such a concept), having always been a bit on the big side. In high school he made a truly great lineman, when he wasn't riding the bench or ejected from games. He never meant to hurt anyone, he just forgot sometimes that when the whistle sounded the play was over. That and what all the fouls were sometimes.

Who could keep all that straight?

The thing is, he hadn't stopped growing. When he was seventeen they had all said he was too big to play anymore. He had grown a foot a year and put on lots of weight since he was 14, and they said they couldn't have him on the team anymore. Then his mom got mad cause he broke her house, and kicked him out to live at some place called "Cerberus maximum security prison."

But through it all, he kept growing.

The prison wasn't a bad place, they fed him and let him work for them, though he sometimes forgot the stuff he was supposed to do, and the rules he was supposed to follow. It was all the excitement, he was sure. He was a little sad that his mom didn't come see him, but she was 'dead'; he didn't know what that meant, except that she was far away.But then came the accident, and one of the friendly men in blue had gotten hurt. Everyone was just so small now, it was hard for him to keep from hurting them! They had locked him up in a big room, and fed him through a small hole in it. And it was damp and everything smelled like old gym socks.

And still he kept growing.

Then he got sick of it, and wanted to go outside. They really should have built the room better, it gave way the moment he stood. Everyone was a dwarf now, like the wizard of oz people. He did not understand why everyone else did not grow; was there something wrong with them?

It didn't matter; he was out and they would never put him back in the sock smelling room ever. He was going to go find his mom, and not even the metal things... tanks, he knew that word! Not even those would stop him! They were too weak to, in any case. He stepped on one (an accident, it tried to knock him down!) and it flattened like a pancake made of tin foil. Pancakes were good.

He knew from the talk of the friendly blue men some time earlier that his mom had lived in 'Detroit' before she had died, and he lived with her. He also knew from the same talk that 'Detroit' was west... towards the sun when it set. Since the sun was setting now, that was the way he would go. He wanted his mom. His mom made the best pancakes ever.

**********************************

There was some sort of change occuring, after all, and Sergei dutifully wrote it down in his new journal under 'day 2'. Thinning over all, (though that could be a result of not eating and only having an IV to sustain the mutation), altered bones in the face and hips, full blown changes in how the muscles were attached to bone in multiple locations, as well as differences in how they moved and their efficiency; the human race was more variable than most gave it credit for, but this was pushing the boundaries quite far. If this kid was a boy, that is.

Sergei no longer had many doubts about what was happening to the poor kid; What he had mistaken her for at first glance was becoming truth. It was easy to see where he'd made such a mistake before; He only hoped the poor thing could still pass as human by the end of it. He'd seen what happened to the more... exotic looking mutants. The funny shaded hair was bad enough; at least that could be passed off as hair dye.

The fever had cooled to a mere 103 degrees now, and Devon's trips to the local grocery for ice had slowed. He still had to make a few a day (the empty bags were piling up in the corner) but he could teach today, confident that the kid was in good hands. After all, as Sergei knew, as much as he'd close the place down for the kid, money was tight all over.

The real mystery was the sheath. Devon had backtracked the kid's route as best he could, and there was no sword to match it. The knots just slid from their hands, resisting all attempts to untie them. They had tried to cut the cord with surgical scissors, which could easily cut through denim. The cord had resisted; had in fact dulled the scissors, then a knife, then a scalpel, without a single thread of the cord parting.

Sergei knew magic when he saw it, and the very cloth of the thing reeked of it. What he couldn't figure out was why it was there; had the kid found it, belted it on, then it just wouldn't come off? Had they missed it the first time around, as they were manhandling the roasting form into the bath? He didn't think so. Devon might have missed such a detail; he would not have. The only potential good news from it was that it might be the magic causing the kid's mutation. What magic could do, magic could undo... at least he thought so. If you looked hard enough.

The clumping up the stairs and slamming of the heavy steel door announced Devon.

"Ahh, done for the day, finally. Mr. Crawford paid his bill today; the shipping trade must be picking up. Any of that vodka left?"

"Da, a bit."

Sergei was almost certain the only shipping Mr. Crawford did involved drugs, though Sergei didn't have the heart to tell Devon that. His friend needed the money after all. A swig of vodka from the bottle later, and Devon was doing his best to loom. At least it was over the room in general, and not sergei. Sergei hated it when the meatheads, even his friends, tried to loom.

"How is he?"

Sergei managed to keep his wince internal.

"Better. The worst is passed, and by tomorrow all should be over. But Devon, there is something you should know...."

"Ahh, kid looks like a stick in there. I think I'll just go get some ice before the local grocer closes. Maybe some food too; he looks to need it."

Sergei heaved a loud sigh as Devon all but ran from the room. He guessed there would be time to tell him when he got back. Devon had taken one look last night and realized something was wrong, but he immediately thought the worst. Sergei might very well have to drug him to get him to sit still long enough for the reasonably good news. Provided a tail or horns didn't pop up in the mean time, that was.

For some reason, he did not think that would ever happen to this one. A delicate wisp of a thing she was, but something about her inspired confidence, somehow. He could not see that form warping into something unpleasant. Perhaps it was the sheath.

***************************************

Agatha had finally tracked it down... the route that foolish kid used to escape her last time. After one of her precious off hours spent navigating the maze in the library basement, she found a window with a broken lock. The portal was small, but looked just large enough to accomodate a crazy malnourished street kid. It was also the likely way he got past her when coming into the library. Luckily, it opened inward, so she could brace it.

she looked around, flashlight straining to pierce the fetid dark, and spotted an old iron pipe. A dusty piece of trash left behind during the renovations in '52, no doubt. Probably turn of the century trash from the days when places still used steam to heat homes and public buildings. A bit ragged on one end, but it would suffice.

She couldn't quite reach from the floor, but someone (likely the same delinquint she was trying to bar entry to) had stacked some old wooden crates up under the window, so she climbed on those. And not having the feather weight of a street kid, but a rather well fed older woman, she promptly fell through the first crate, the rotted wood giving way.

She came through all right, only a ripped skirt and long scratch down her shin, oozing blood lazily. She frowned at the bigger mess she'd made, and at the window, once again out of comfortable reach. Then her flashlight hit the one thing she could see in
the ruins of the crate; at least, aside from the tiny white insects which she hoped were not termites (those could ruin a library, after all).

It was a book. A very old book. Unless Agatha missed her guess, it was a pre-Gutenburg book. Being very much a librarian of the old school, Agatha had both gone to school and trained herself to read many languages, and recognize still more. What she saw of the cover was Aramaic, but the illustration featuring cavorting people looked Roman. Perhaps it was a copy of an earlier illustration? The cover appeared to be wood, with some sort of glaze or varnish over it, dying it an unusual sort of rust brown. It was large-she picked it up-and heavy, a good twenty five pounds or so. It had many pages. she had never, in all her years,
seen it's like. But what was it doing down here, crated up and forgotten?

Window forgotten (she honestly could not care if a brass band had snuck through in this moment, and taken all the cash in the place) she hugged the book to her chest and hurried back to the stairs. This was quite the mystery, and there was nothing she loved more than a good mystery.

****************************************

It was calling me; something was calling me. A presence without speech, conveying devotion, dedication, love, protection... and mind blowing levels of self confidence or pride. I'm coming, it seemed to say, I'm almost there, and I could feel it getting closer by the second.

Was I dreaming?

I swam back to consciousness literally, finding myself immersed in cold water. My clothes were hopelessly waterlogged. A quick inspection of my hands revealed them to be a bit smaller than normal, and quite pruny. I recognized this bathroom! It belonged to Mr. Williams! I had made it. Furthermore, I didn't feel beaten half to death. Instead I felt a strange lassitude and a faint tingling all over, kind of like an itch, but pleasant. But for some reason I was in the tub with cold water; there were many bags of ice in the corner of the room, and one of those old fashioned IV stands in the opposite corner, with more than a few empty bags hanging from it. There was an empty chair next to the tub.

Great, I'd caused trouble again somehow. I'd have to work for Mr. Williams for at least a week to pay for all of those. I could feel the frown stretch my face as I snagged a towel to dry off. I could also feel something else... my hair? Since When was my hair pink? I pulled a bit and winced. Yep, it was my hair all right. And it was a dark pink, almost red but not quite, like I saw on those carnations in the park last year.

The mirror tempted me, but so did the door, beyond which I could smell something that made me realize my stomach was trying to digest my spine. I wrapped myself in the towel to prevent dripping and shot through the door, and there it was - an entire table full of food, just sitting there. Ham, bread, sandwiches, pancakes, chocolate, in candy and cake form... the wooden table creaked as my fingers dug into it.

Something must have happened, because my normal control was slipping. Food it was, but it wasn't my food. I hadn't worked for it, hadn't earned it, and was already in debt to it's owner enough as it was. Before it could lapse completetly I turned away and looked for my pack. As I spotted it I felt a strange sort of muted thrum, as if I were standing too close to a power transformer (something I had done once and only once) and the lassitude came back. I also felt something else, from that other presence... approval.

I should be terrified that I'm feeling what I'd classify as an outside presence in my head, but I'm not. It feels comforting. There should still be a few hold outs in my pack... oh wait, it had been ransacked before I'd come here. No holdout food in there. I caught sight of a note on the table and realized I was looking at it again and drooling. The note stated clearly from across the room, in dubious penmanship:

"You owe me a week for this. Eat it or it goes to waste - we'll negotiate afterwards. Devon."

Argh, darn it! What to do now? Mr. Williams was threatening to throw the food out if I didn't eat it - I knew he was, he had done it before. And I owed him a week just for the ice alone! The IV meant he had had a doctor see me; I knew the bath trick was to help with high fevers, I read it somewhere. So that meant even more work... and finally the food. It looked like more than I ate in a week.

I was saved any further rumination and recrimination by the explosion.

(tbc)

Devon Williams was taking his time for a much needed breather. The grocery shopping trip was taking longer than expected, but it wasn't every day he tried to shop for a mutant coming down from burn out. Sergei said the kid could snap out of it an time now, the fever was down and life
signs were stable. When he came out of it, he'd be very hungry though.

So even before he left, he had prepared enough food for any five normal people. Which of course meant that now his fridge was empty... which was the purpose of the shopping trip. While Sergei watched for signs of a return to the land of the living, Devon felt he had to try and guess
at what a young teen might like to eat. Potato chips? Nah, he'd never seen the kid eat those when given a choice. Apples instead. Fruit roll ups? Candy? Reese's' peanut butter cups found their way into the cart; peanut butter and chocolate were good energy food.

It was some time before he was done checking out, and he decided not to focus on just how much he was shelling out for junk. He had a suspicion worming it's way through his gut that all the food he'd cooked last night and this morning would be gone by tomorrow, and that this entire cart full would follow before the week was out. Which meant that he would have to play his favorite adult game; bill roulette. Maybe he could get away with no cable bill this month.

It wasn't like he could let the kid starve though. He was a hard kid to wash your hands of, for some reason. He met more than a few street kids; his neighborhood was full of them. Most of them had a tendency to give up, to take the easy way out and just focus on surviving. Something about the kid was different, and he wasn't fully sure what it was. But whatever it was made it impossible for him to just give up on the kid... or himself.

He didn't fear walking home, even with arms laden with bulging sacks. He and the local gang had an understanding, and he was well known in the neighborhood and areas beyond as someone who could still stomp a new mud-hole into pretty much anyone he wanted. The word had gotten around about him taking on that bruiser punk mutant as well, though that fight had been a loss, due to the arrogance of the whiny punk it had been closer than it should have been, and further enhanced his street cred. The bad news was he didn't dare brag or put the word out himself; the inevitable rematch from the pissed off and now much more experienced punk mutant would kill him.

No need to go looking for trouble, when it could easily find you anyway.

Trouble today found Devon on the street a mere three blocks from his home, in the form of an absolutely giant man slamming down from literally nowhere into the busy intersection between him and his home. The man was easily 20 feet if he was an inch, a mountain of muscle dressed in what appeared to be an absolutely huge pair of burlap shorts and nothing else. A face that might have been handsome on a man not so... large, coupled with a complexion befitting an albino vampire, gave the impression that this man had not been in the sun for some time.

That face was currently contorted into an expression of hideous rage, and his booming voice shattered windows as he cried out.

There was a car under one of his feet, flattened to nearly two dimensions. It was bleeding, and Devon did not want to think about what that meant. Then the shock wave hit, knocking him on his ass and shattering every window nearby. Though Devon couldn't hear anything past the ringing
in his ears, he saw the street emptying quickly, the cars and pedestrians either running or dragging themselves away.Rapid pops which could only be gunfire of a singularly high caliber snapped into the concrete or... bounced off the giant. A helicopter gunship of all things buzzed by, barely missing a street sign in an attempt to dodge a massive hand.

"Nooo, I want to go to mom's house! Go away!"

It wouldn't take long for the madness to escalate; the local capes were already no doubt on the way, and from the looks of it the army was already here, though with weaponry that seemed less than effective. Devon doubted they would use anything with more punch than the helicopter
machine guns, but he wouldn't completely discount it. Which meant he needed to get out of here, and fast... but his home was on the other side of ground zero, as was the kid. The unconscious kid.

He wasn't about to drop the groceries, even in a battlefield. Setting the bag straps around his shoulder he turned and sprinted back the way he'd come. With his ears recovering and his back turned, the anxiety was almost too much. But he resisted turning around, it would only slow him
down. There was nothing to be done about the wounded, at least not by him. He would find a phone and call the cops or medics, but chances were they already knew.

He just hoped the helicopters could outrun the expansion of the war zone.

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Major Mark Winchester was tired. He had been on and off planes, and hopping through american cities for 24 hours. First had been old historic Boston, with its crumbling facades and cheerful little war history. Though he wanted to, he could not take the time to sight-see, instead he and his teams scoured the city. When it was obvious a mere four hours later that the target had not landed here, he was immediately back on the chartered jet with all but one of his teams, and en route to New York.

New York took longer, but it also came up empty, the bright lights and cheapened dreams hollow and uninviting. They also did have any good food. So then it was on to Richmond Virginia while the teams split up; his decision, in order to cover more terrain. Currently they were in just now finished with Chicago, and on their way to a wild card, so to speak: Detroit, Michigan. And of course the tea on the flight was abysmal.

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The explosion had rattled the glass in the windows, but hadn't broken them. A mere street over that was not the case, as the glass coating the sidewalks attested. It did however wake me up a bit more, and clue'd me in to the fact that my body wasn't working quite right. My legs weren't
moving correctly, and my hips were forced to move more to compensate. My clothes were baggy in places, yet short. My shoes no longer came close to fitting, being too big. But I was used to too large shoes, so I paid that much no mind. My hair was long. Really long... and looked off somehow. I couldn't quite put it all together, but I knew it didn't matter.

There was a an impression that drove me on, a solid feeling that I could not deny: //Your friend is in danger, You're in danger; what will you do?//

I could not deny that feeling, that voice, any more than I could deny breath. If Mr. Williams was in danger, then I had to help. Any lingering concern over my own problems paled by comparison. Not even the revival of that vaguely unpleasant warm burning sensation I'd felt on waking up would sway me from my course. Though the dimming of my vision was alarming.

The closer I got to the mental image I'd had of Mr. Williams running away from something, the worse the damage became. From just shattered glass to overturned and smashed cars, cracked and sunken pavement... yells and incoherent screaming, and gunshots. There was a guy in the center of the chaos, even larger than the hulk but not green. He was yelling great bellows words I couldn't understand while throwing cars at helicopters and M.C.O. power suits while SWAT cops tried to evacuate the people caught in the crossfire. I flinched as one of the suits got too
close and the man caught it, slamming it down. It skidded to a halt at the corner of a battered auto shop, demolishing the front of it. The suit did not get back up.

Even my reduced vision could pick out the bloody rag dolls strewn all about, and leading back up the street. This man, whoever he was, was hurting people, and hurting people that couldn't possibly have done him any harm, people that he couldn't know. After all, I'd never seen him
around before. I went from seeing very little, to seeing red. The voice/images/sensations started again.

//Call upon me, and we can stop this. If you call, I will answer.//

I knew what that voice wanted, but I had to try it my way first.

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Chad Simmons was having a day that, if anything, was worse than yesterday. It had started out well enough, waking in the mud had been no problem, and none of those annoying people that were trying to get him to go back were anywhere around. He could run fast enough still when he
wanted, and was even faster when he jumped. Jumping was kind of like flying, except you had to come down eventually.

He had made it to the small town he remembered, and walked the streets of his youth. The pointing and screaming had annoyed him at first, but he supposed it was only his reputation as a football hero such reactions and relaxed. They didn't try to stop him anyway.

Then he'd found the cemetery. He knew that's where mom was, cause he'd been told by the judge that was where she was. But it confused him, all that was here were stones with peoples names on them. One of those names turned out to be his mother's. He wasn't sure what that meant, but it angered him. It was just a simple stone, with her name on it, and some numbers. What did it mean? Where was his mother? This whole place was stupid. He took much less care on the way out of the cemetery, kicking over the stupid stones without a care. There wasn't anyone here, so there was no reason to be so careful.

Then the annoying people showed up, and he hadn't had a moment's peace since. He ended up having to jump as far away as he could, ending up in a city he didn't know, with the annoying people dressed in blue, or sometimes green, after him the entire way. They had even started using
choppers! He knew all about those from the war movies he used to watch as a boy, but these were different. They shot something that tickled, though when other people got hit they laid down. He supposed it was a game after all, since they didn't seem too interested in hurting him.

But they just wouldn't go away, and he started to get mad; they followed him even after he jumped again, so he started doing what he knew how when confronted by annoying people; he threw things. The cars were so light he had no trouble; though he hadn't hit one of the choppers yet, they were keeping their distance. The people in bright shiny suits though... they wanted to play football!

There were five of them in all, all different. All were smaller, though two were taller than the rest, one thin, and one just bulky. There were two small ones, barely over people size, and one just a bit bigger than they. All of them had pods and other things on their shoulders, backs or heads that he didn't know the use for. But they were robots, and they wanted to play football!

He knew they wanted to play football as the biggest one tried to tackle him. He found out they knew different rules to the game when one of the smaller ones zipped up and started tickling him, the other on his other side trying to deploy some sort of net that wouldn't even cover his foot, but made it itch for some reason. The really small one just sort of stood off to the side, so he figured that one might be the referee. The large one was trying it's best to knock him down, so he just tackled it himself, then threw a car at the one trying to trip him. Such tactics were dirty in football, he didn't care what rule book these guys read!

He felt kind of bad about the little one; the bigger one got up easily, but the little one was spitting sparks and making a rather bad grinding sound. The medium sized one shot some sort of goo all over him, and then the large one slammed into him again, knocking him down. Angry, he decided to show him why he was the star rusher for his old team. Another car to the goo spitter, and then a good punch to the large one, and both were down, sporting large dents and spitting sparks like their friend.

He hadn't taken 3 steps before some guy in his pajamas flew down from the sky and hit him. The guy couldn't have come up to his knee, even the robots were larger. He never before met someone so willing to fight with someone bigger than him; everyone who tried that at school he made sure to put them down. Then this guy... even the football playing robots weren't as stupid. So he punched him, as hard as he could. The guy didn't get up. Satisfied, he walked some more, randomly. The robots did not seem to want to play again. But now the choppers were coming back in....

And he heard it clearly through the massive din of pinging things and explosions. A girl's voice, clear as a bell and almost like verbal candy, the bars from the other planet that his mother sometimes bought him when he was being good. He turned, because he hadn't clearly heard
another persons voice since he got really big, and beheld a girl in ragged clothes a size too big for her, with cruddy pink hair and a face like an angel... bearing an expression that reminded him of his mom, when he did bad things. She repeated herself, probably because he was staring.

"Excuse me, but could you please stop?"

She was really polite. If she wasn't so tiny, she'd make a great girlfriend! She was just THERE, easy to see. More there than anything else. But still, there was no way.

"They started it!"

"Excuse me?"

She could pull off that look really well, whatever it was.

"They started it, I was just walking along here like this."

He demonstrated, walking towards her, only kicking a few things that happened to be in the way. The stupid car he stubbed his toe on just barely missed her, and he was glad. He didn't want to hurt anyone. She wobbled a bit, and he was about to ask her if she felt OK, when she spoke again.

"I... see. Well then I'm sorry, but we must fight."

She held out her hand just as her words registered, and a piece of sun came flying down, tumbling, right into her hand. It was a sword, he saw. But it was tiny, as she was. He felt a pang of something, but squished it. He wanted to know where his mom was, to see her, and she turned out
to be just another person to get in the way. Well he wouldn't let her, and that tiny toothpick wouldn't stop him! He threw a car, hard as he could this time, to make her go to the hospital.

And watched, mouth open, as she split it in half with the sword, the twin pieces flying to either side. How could she do that? None of it touched her! She was stronger than she looked! He recovered as she nodded firmly once to nothing at all, then threw the sword, sunlight bouncing off
the blade in a pretty way as it arced....

He grinned, she had missed, it was going to go over his head! He gathered himself to charge... then she vanished in a flash, appearing over his head with her hand on the sword as it arced down, right toward him!

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The stroke split the giant (fomori, a voice whispered) in half, perfectly centered, as my stroke against the car was. The blade sang liquid caresses into my mind as both halves wobbled and fell with an earth shattering crash. To my left, Mr. Williams came rushing towards me; I had seen him as I made my plea to the giant, and known he was in the path of danger, as was his home, less than a block away from this rampage. I couldn't stop the bile that flowed from my abused stomach; I had just killed a man. I was a murderer. And I had killed him for being too stupid to understand he was doing wrong. I had seen in his eyes, in his responses, that he had no idea how many people he just killed. And who knew how many he killed before he met me.

But I had killed him, and done it because I was unsure I could subdue him, and unsure if he could be kept if captured. Just to my left, the lifeless form of Captain Killjoy, the buzz-kill of villains everywhere, seemed to attest to my action being the correct one. Anyone that could kill a tank of a hero like that (one of Detroit's better capes, or at least he was) was not someone I should be tangling with at all. And yet...

"You OK kid?"

What an inane thing to ask me; but I appreciated him for trying.

"I just killed a person, Mr. Williams."

My stomach knotted in on itself again, and my vision went gray.

"Come on, the cops aren't here yet, let's get you out of here."

"But, I should stay and tell them what happened!"

It was self defense, after all. Even if I had gone looking for the fight. There was no doubt the giant was using lethal force. All those people strewn about like so much refuse....

"Maybe, but the M.C.O. was here too, and I'd rather not test your luck, eh? We can tell the cops later if we need to.Now come on, you're going to have to grab on, I'm not leaving the groceries."

I nodded, or tried to; I wasn't sure I managed. Mr William was very strong, he dragged both me and the groceries very quickly through the alley to his back door. The same one I remember dragging myself to, it seemed to me, only hours ago. I vaguely wondered how long I had been out, then my mind sort of swam as I was pulled up the stairs. A gentle slap brought me back.

"You idiot! Eat, you haven't eaten for a week and you were very sick. No wonder you're out on your feet."

"But...."

"don't you but me, kid. You eat it; or I'll throw it out. Besides, you don't owe me a thing, that monster was headed right for the gym, and he would have done a lot of damage around here. You saved my life, and my business. So you earned it. And don't give me that look, I say you earned
it so you did."

I felt myself nodding; I wanted to argue that I would have done it anyway, food or not, because it was the right thing to do, but I was too tired and hungry to argue. So I started with the waffles. As soon as I swallowed the first one, some of that burn I had been feeling since I woke up eased. I slowed down, staring at the blade now sheathed in the scabbard at my hip, the same one I had woken up with. I vaguely remembered cleaning and sheathing it before I vomited that disgusting liquid in my stomach, but it was an unconscious act; it had just felt right to do. Even now, it
felt right having it by my side, as if it belonged there and had in fact always been there.

I wanted to believe that somehow Mr. Williams had found a magic sword somehow, and gave it to me, but that didn't sound right. I knew the images/thoughts I had been received had come from it, and it had come a long way to meet and help me. It had told me it's name was X, and that it
was powerful. I knew it was magical. I knew somehow, that it wasn't cursed, but would not let anyone else wield it.

"So, um... where did that come from?"

Mr. Williams had caught me looking.

"Not sure Mr. Williams, it's (his, the voice/images whispered) sheath was on me when I woke up, and he came when I needed him. I couldn't have won without him."

Ugh, my stomach was queasy again. More images/thoughts of comfort were sent. I should be alarmed that something magical seemed to have direct access to my brain, but I couldn't bring myself to be; I knew X meant me no harm.

"Weird, the sheath was on you since that first night, but there was no sword to be found."

"He sent it ahead."

I replied with conviction; I knew that the sheath had been sent ahead, and knew it had been sent ahead because X had feared for my life, and didn't want me to die before he met me.

"So it's magic then."

I paused, my 6th waffle finished off while I nodded. I started in on the apples, which for some reason sounded really good to me.

"It and the sheath? The sheath is supposed to protect you?"

I nodded again. That feeling was starting to retreat faster now, my mind clearing. With that withdrawal certain other sensations were letting themselves be known. Like how I was tromping through Mr. William's house, sitting at his table, and I was filthy. Literally covered in some sort
of crud, dirt, and most importantly... blood.

And how the body currently covered in filth did not feel right at all. That feeling was getting worse moment by moment. I drained a glass of juice, for I was very thirsty, and stood. Mr. Williams got angry immediately.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"I'm sorry Mr. Williams, I've been messing up your house; with your permission I'd like to take a quick shower. I won't be too long, I swear."

He looked at me, and his face softened.

"It's Devon kid, and take all the time you need. The food will be waiting. For just this once, don't worry about the mess; you can clean it up later."

Snagging an apple on my way with an apologetic glance, I made my way to the bathroom. I had to drain the tub, and pull the ice bags out, so I did. There was a film on the bottom I didn't want to think about, but the tub itself wasn't too dirty. At least, not dirty enough for me to care. My clothes felt scratchy, seeming to get stiff and tighter suddenly. They were a complete loss, so I rolled them up and threw them in the small wastebasket near the sink.

Which revealed a slight problem.

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Devon had just sat back down, coffee and bagel in hand, to relax after the crazy day when the kid's new voice came from the bathroom. Even muffled as it was, it was clear and... pure? He idly hoped it wasn't some sort of crazy mind control mutation or something, that would ruin it.

"Mr. Williams?"

"It's Devon kid, what's the matter, need help?"

He hadn't heard the kid fall or anything, and the kid knew where the soap and shampoo were.

"It's um, well...."

The confusion and embarrassment were as clear as the voice; the door was no barrier.

"Spit it out, kid."

"Well, remember how I said I was a boy? I think I might have lied somehow, and I'm really sorry!"

....Wait, what? What?

(TBC)

It happened as they were walking to lunch. A moment Chaka would never forget. She and Fey were walking side by side. This in itself was not unusual. Fey stiffened with a slight gasp, and Chaka spotted the entity she loved to tweak overriding her friend's control. Usually such a thing preceded a pearl of wisdom or a warning from the old queen of the west.

What was unusual was to hear those refined and vaguely unearthly tones clearly utter something even the host was not want to say on her own. Eyes wide and breathing on the verge of hyperventilation.

“Oh. Oh, shit.”

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

“Alright let's start over. Do you have a penis?”

Just one of the many questions I thought I'd never hear, let alone get asked. But Mr. Williams was always rather blunt. I checked again, to make sure. Nothing but a strangely neat slit, a line where something more used to rest. This was pretty embarrassing. Where could it even go? I wasn't cut or anything. I was pretty sure both kidneys were there.

That doctor didn't fill me with confidence, but he had saved my life. As Mr. Williams friend, I doubted he would do anything to me anyway.

As unclear as the differences between boys and girls were to me, I knew a little. Boys peed standing up, and girls did not.

“Um, no? I had one before!”

I peed standing up before, but there was no way that could work now. Did boys turn into girls past a certain age? But if they did, wouldn't Mr. Williams be a girl? And the other male adults I met? The only other answer had to be that I wasn't normal.

I felt like this was the sort of thing I might have learned about in school. But then again Mr. Williams didn't seem to know either. I was a bit too afraid to ask. After all, here I was causing trouble again.

Worse, I wasn't sure how I could fix it. My hand, twitched towards X. Maybe it (he) knew what was going on?

But then again, wouldn't owing a favor to an honest to goodness magical sword be worse than owing Mr. Williams, or even his friends? Did I dare?

I wasn't happy with how shaky my hands were. I was also having trouble keeping my knees locked. I needed to hurry before I caused even more trouble. Why was I so weak now? I was doing fine earlier... or was I? I hadn't been thinking too clearly earlier. I wasn't sure I was now, but I was doing better than before the fight.

Before I killed that man.

I would need to go to the police and soon. A banging on the door startled me out of the images of blood and the terrible feeling of boundless confidence.

“You alright in there kid?”

“Um, yes sir.”

I was clean, and dry, but I'd forgotten clothes. Mr. Williams had a robe hanging from a hook on the door, so I borrowed that. The bathroom was even messier than it had been when I entered. I wanted to clean it but I was now so hungry, tired, and weak I could barely lift X on my way out.

As soon as I did however, I felt better. X was doing that? The sense came back immediately – not true speech, but a series of feelings and images that I somehow equated with words. X was telling me his sheath was responsible, and that I should keep it tied on.

So I used it in place of the robes belt (which was missing) to cinch the robe shut and opened the door before Mr. Williams could get really mad. He was outside leaning up against the wall with his friend, both of them whispering furiously. They stopped as soon as I appeared.

“Sorry Mr. Williams, it's even worse than before.”

The doctor turned to Mr. Williams and said in a dry voice:

“Congratulations, is girl.”

I was mildly insulted. I wasn't stupid, I knew what the difference was! I mean, it took a really fat guy to have a chest like this, or somewhat like this... I don't think they stood up or out this much on guys. Or even most girls. where women could have them all the time.

On the other hand, the peeing standing up was gone. There was nothing to aim anymore. I hoped I could find out what happened there. At least I could still pee; I was pretty sure not being able to at all would be serious, and require money to fix. And I wouldn't tell Mr. Williams just what I was bleaching in his tub. Not that he should be able to tell, with all the other crap I was responsible for in there.

Mr. Williams took a look inside the bathroom and winced, but turned back to me with thumbs up.

“It's OK kid. I'm not too worried about that. Just go eat; you've got to be starving.. Don't make me throw out the food.”

“Yes, sir.”

His reproach behind me was clear.

“And it's Devon kid, Devon.”

“Yes sir, Devon.”

I'd normally argue, but I wanted pancakes and I wasn't sure how long I could stand. That and I really wanted those pancakes. It'd been years since I had any, and if no one else wanted them then they were fair game.

I was into my fourth pancake, and starting to realize I was eating like a starving wolf when Mr. Williams – Devon - came back. He settled in to eat himself. The groceries he'd brought back were missing from the corner; he must have put them up while I was showering.

My pack was where I'd left it, still half open. I tried to remember, but I think I was now out of spare clothes. At least ones I could still wear without getting arrested for public indecency. I guess it would make it easier to go to the police....

“Alright, I've got another few friends to call. One is a lawyer friend of mine. He will help us figure out what to do now about the cops. The other is a mutant friend of mine, who will help us figure out what to do now about getting you some help.”

“So, I'm a mutant?”

He stayed silent so long that it drew my attention away from the pancakes.

“Yes kid, you're a mutant. Boys don't normally just become girls all of a sudden, and girls don't just manage to jump 15 feet and cut through giants that the army can't bring down.”

That almost ruined my appetite.

“Look sorry for the reminder kid, but no, you're not normal.”

Well there went that vain hope. It was going to be hard to avoid the notice of my fellow street punks now. They always seemed to either treat girls better or treat them worse... but they never ignored them. I wasn't sure what sort of attention I'd get, but I'd have to work twice as hard to hide now.

“You should have brushed your hair. Hmm... OK kid, you stay here. Eat as much as you want. I got to make those calls. We will get all this sorted out, no problem.”

I wasn't really worried. I was doomed, and what will happen will happen. Here I was worrying about how I'd be treated when I'd likely spend the next 20 to life in a cell. Self defense or not, if there was a chance to throw the book at me, they would. Street people were hated; it was a universal constant.

More than a few of my old friends were currently in jail of juvenile hall for various offenses. While I was sure a few of them were guilty, I doubted they all were. And they were all there for less reason than I had.

I had ended a human life. Whether it was the right thing to do or not, I had ended a human life.

Comforting waves of love, approval, and other more complex emotions flowed from X to me. He knew I'd saved lives today, and appreciated it. He would, even if no one else would. The cops would try to take him away... but he wouldn't go. His comforting presence would stay with me my entire sentence, for however long that was. It felt like a warm blanket on a cold winter's day.

That and my stomach (now full) was contributing to a more real feeling of warmth. I stifled a yawn with my now free hand. I was so tired all of a sudden. I fought the urge to just slide, boneless, off the chair to the floor. I barely made it to the couch, which was only a few feet away.

I was a little cold with just the robe, but not enough to move or care.

I looked up to see the doctor friend of Mr. Williams staring down at me, absently chewing on a boiled egg. It looked good, perhaps I should have tried those. It occurred to me I didn't know his name.

“Sir?”

“You can call me Dr. Sergei. Everyone else does. How do you feel, eh?”

“Very tired sir.”

I tried to keep my eyes open. It was so hard just to open them. My body felt as if it were made of lead; like I was one of the park statues.

I did manage to open them again briefly when I felt a comforter fall against my body. It's weight adding to my warmth again almost immediately. It's weight was the final blow to my eyes; as if it were also over my face and holding my eyes shut. A slight struggle to move and the battle was completely lost.

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

Devon Williams hit the stairs before the call to his lawyer went through. Arnold Edison was both a business lawyer (focusing on incorporating businesses and tax law) and a defense attorney. He had done more than a few stints as a public defender, which was where they met.

That incident was what led Devon to stop drinking; at least at bars. He was good enough to get an acquittal in a slam dunk case; boxer or not, 3 on 1 was considered self defense, and they weren't even permanently hurt. Since then he had been acting as Arnold's personal trainer, for over 10 years.

It hadn't helped; he was still the pasty overweight jolly fat man Devon remembered, just with a few more lines on him. He just lacked motivation, and slacked whenever he could. Like now, it'd been a good six months since the last time h stepped into the gym.

But while he wasn't consistent, he always showed, and never paid when he did. They both knew Devon wanted a lawyer on retainer, knew Arnold was the best he could get, and knew Devon couldn't really pay Arnold's fee normally. Arnold played along to the favor for a favor idea without admitting as much; even accepting the offers to socialize on rare occasions.

The call for mid day was unusual; and Devon knew Arnold would know immediately what that meant.

“Bark at me, big dog! You alright?”

Good, he answered personally, not his secretary.

“Yeah I'm good. I wasn't hurt, and the Gym is untouched. I assume you heard what happened?”

The voice was bluff, with no trace of any concern that Devon was sure was there. That was just the type of guy big Arnie was.

“Yeah, news has your area looking like a war zone; all we need is the sand and we could shoot a movie there.”

Devon could hear the question: 'the included area has your gym in it, how is it untouched and what does this have to do with me?' Arnold always faintly un-nerved him with his brain; he always seemed able to make those crazy leaps in intuition that TV lawyers could just before they unmasked the villain.

“Look, I know it's after lunch and all, and you likely have all kinds of business going on, but can you come over? I'd rather not say why on the phone, but it directly involves the events that just took place a bit ago, and I could use your help.”

That was key to dealing with Arnold – appeal to his curiosity.

“Well I do have a few appointments, but in light of recent events I can reschedule them. I'll just claim a family emergency; that's believable enough.”

Big Arnie didn't have any family, he was a lifetime bachelor. He always joked that his clients were his family. No doubt the appointments he was rescheduling would get the joke. It was very likely they would even laugh along and allow it. Devon had, more than once.

“Roads are still blocked, but I'll find a way. Be there inside an hour.”

Never one for pleasantries, Devon just muttered thanks and hung up.

In his hurry to deal with other things, he hadn't been able to take full stock of who was in today. It turned out that it was Bill Reynolds, who wasted no time running up.

Bill Reynolds (please, call me biff) was one of those guys that wasn't quite bleach blond enough, and wasn't quite buff enough to pull of the California surfer boy look. That didn't stop him from trying. He even owned a surf board, though he never vacationed anywhere with a real wave beach. He was dumber than a box of rocks... but he could motivate people to train, and that as enough to earn him a job.

“Boss, you seen what's going on outside? What happened?”

“Just the national guard stopping a dangerous mutant.”

Devon winced internally. True or not it was a bad choice of words and he knew it the moment they escaped. Bill 'call me Biff' would have the rumor spread from here to Istanbul before nightfall.

“A mutant huh? Not good. They got him? It's safe now?”

Devon ruthlessly suppressed the image of a giant split in half by the little slip of a thing upstairs; blood and gore bathing her in an awful shower.

“Yeah it's safe now. Well sort of. The guard did drop some bombs or missiles or something, and some of them might have been duds. Also I'm not sure all the buildings starting a block away are stable. My advice is if you're heading out for lunch or something, head the opposite direction. I doubt you'll be able to get past the police cordon anyway.”

That had been set up in a hurry; he almost hadn't gotten the kid out in time. While one more set of injured civilians might not have been worth noticing, that blasted sword might have. Plus the cops might have wanted them to get emergency care, and that could have led to some awkward questions.

“Well I was thinking of a late lunch. There isn't anything in the vending machines, and the power is out anyway.”

Not one word about his mother, who while she lived far enough away, might still have been hurt in this mess. Just his stomach.

“Yeah, go ahead. Before you do though, anyone in the Gym?”

“Well we had a few people run in, you know, taking cover. But when the sounds increased and the crunching began, they lit out. The only one here now is Liza. She's in the back, waiting for the all clear.”

In the back meant the ladies' room. The one room safe from Biff's advances, once he decided to get going, pouring on that false California charm. Liza was likely too nervous about what was going on to deck him again, and so she hid. Not that Devon blamed her; the ladies room was probably the safest spot in the building from a rampaging giant mutant guy.

And Liza wasn't the absolute best person for what he needed next, but she was close. A true force of nature. More importantly though she was trustworthy, had no relatives to worry about, and lived in apartment on the other side of town. She came to this Gym because her dad had been one of Devon's biggest fans, and he tried to do right by her.

Devon knocked politely.

“Liza, you OK in there? It's safe to come out, the cops gave the all clear 15 minutes ago.”

The door opened almost before he finished the sentence.

“It's safe? That jackass said he would check, that was a good twenty minutes ago. So it's all clear?”

That sounded just like the idiot.

“Yeah, police gave us the all clear. I saw your car, it's fine, still parked out back. Got some dust on it though.”

Her car was some little Korean hatchback he didn't know the name of... but she was fond of it, and he wanted to stop her from running out on him before he could ask the embarrassing questions he needed to.

“Look, I was out in it, right? I made it out, but I also had to save someone; a girl. Well she made it out OK, or mostly so... but her clothes didn't. Could you do me a favor and get her some? Hand me downs would be great; no need to go new or anything.”

His wallet was already hurting from the food. He didn't need any more expenses... but he would pay if he had to. She had saved his life.

Liza looked at Devon with a hint of suspicion.

“Why don't I just go check on her and see what she needs. Your place open?”

“Yeah it is; I have Sergei seeing to her now. I didn't trust the first responders. Sure you need to go up there though?”

If anything that just annoyed her more, and she stormed away.

“I don't trust that old fight hack, either. And yeah I need to see her first hand, judge her sizes, make sure you two aren't doing something hinky.”

“Well who better to know about possible concussions than a fight doc? He's seen a million of 'em!”

The lies kept piling up, but that should keep her from wondering about any strange thing the kid might say while stuffing his... her face.

A quick glance as he rushed in between the rings of the main hall showed the door closed at least; Biff managed to do that much. Devon doubted he needed to close up completely, but better to be safe than sorry. He took the detour and locked up. Biff had a key after all, as did more than a few of his regulars, and some of his equipment was expensive.

He was only mid way up the staircase again (he was getting too old for this crap) when her not so dulcet tones wafted back to him.

“Oh for the love of... just a robe? Nothing else survived? And what's with the sword?”

He managed to get up the stairs again. Liza was hunched over his couch, staring at the sleeping pink haired beauty ensconced within. She had removed the comforter from her; it was his comforter, from his bed. Apparently Sergei had been busy. She was peacefully sleeping away despite Liza's strident nature.

“You're welcome to check her clothes out if you don't believe me. They are in that plastic bag over there. I let her use my shower, and now she's apparently conked out. She got clipped by some pavement the giant threw. Sergei?”

“Standard results from shock and wounds, nothing serious. I will keep eye on her to make sure.”

Liza grilled him.

“You sure Sergei? She can sleep with her concussion?”

He didn't miss a beat.

“Sure. I will keep watch.”

“Right. OK, she looks about a size 5 or 6... damn, is she a model or something? Come to think of it, she looks familiar. About 5 foot 6, so that kind of leaves out a well known model at least, they all need to be taller... wait!”

She rounded on Devon so fast he was surprised she didn't spin like a top a few extra times.

“Is this the kid you keep around to clean the place?”

He nodded.

“Wow, she cleans up well. That was some growth spurt she had.”

She made a point of noticing the food on the table.

“You've been feeding her better than I thought too. What's really going on here?”

Devon made a point of stepping back, hands behind his back. The relief he felt when she mistook the kid for a girl in the past was something he very carefully did not show. A quick glance revealed the truth; for all that it had been an issue in doubt before, there was absolutely no doubt now. She could be wrapped in that comforter to her face, and it would be just as obvious.

“Hey, it's not like that! She just helps me clean the place and I try to do right be her, that's all. I saw her get hurt, and brought her back here in order to recover; you know how I am.”

She silently conceded the point, and placed the covers back under the new girl's chin.

“Alright, I'll be right back. I won't knock or announce myself... I'll just come up.”

The message of 'if you're doing anything bad here to her, I'll catch you at it' was received loud and clear. Devon didn't take offense, knowing that it was aimed mostly at Sergei, who she didn't trust or respect. Besides, that was just how Liza was.

“By the way, what's the kid's name? I never got it before.”

Now that question put Devon in a bind. He knew the kid's real name, but it wouldn't do to call him... her by it; it would make Liza question his sanity. So as he looked at the cascade of pale pink hair floating around the kid he said the first thing that came to his mind.

“Rose. Rose Campbell.”

“Rose huh? Pretty name. Alright, I'll be right back with clothes for Rose.”

And she left in complete silence, proving that she could navigate his place as well as he could.

“That woman... does not trust me.”

Devon never got why Sergei felt the urge to state the obvious occasionally. Perhaps that was the reason why Liza hated him? Or well, one of the reasons. With a shrug, Devon sat down, motioning Sergei to do the same.

No sense letting the food go to waste, after all.

It was one of those rare uneventful days when nothing much was going on. Even more rare for Whateley Academy than most of the world, a time without ninjas, jumped up panty thieving monkeys, or international criminals visiting was a time to be savored. All in all, a perfect day to relax... except Toni had heard the erstwhile Queen of the West curse. That alone was enough to set her on edge, and compelled her to keep an eye out.

So when she vanished after classes, just flat out faded from sight entirely as soon as her last class of the day ended, Toni knew. What she didn't know, was where to find her. Hours of searching the campus turned up nothing, and Toni was beginning to get worried. She needed reinforcements.

Poe cottage was almost eerily calm for a change, further setting her on edge as she made her way to the wing she shared with her team. Perhaps Ayla knew where to find Fey.

As she passed the room she shared with elf royalty, she noticed the light was on through the crack at the bottom of the door. She could have left the light on this morning, but....

She opened the door and was immediately hit with a smell that would put a distillery to shame. A large one. There were two empty bottles of something on the floor, and a very smashed redhead slumped on her bed.

“Another bottle, Koehenes.”

“Are you quite certain, your majesty? It seems....”

“I am certain, Koehenes. Another bottle. Now, if you please.”

The little annoyance scampered off, cowed by the hint of steel in the redhead's tone. There was no doubt which who was in control of her body at the moment; Aunghadhail, the genteel and refined noble, was drunk off her butt. Toni shut the door.

“Please, sit. I shall share with you a tale of woe.”

The effort required to smother her normal snark had to show on her face, but Aunghadhail wasn't looking. Toni stayed silent, not wanting to fight off a few hundred conjured nasties. Koehenes returned, bearing another bottle, and Aunghadhail held out her glass and started.

“It started as a joke. A practical joke on a tribe of unwashed monkeys that were beginning to build their first mud huts together. An artificer, whose name has since been scrubbed from our histories, decided on a novel response to the cries for knowledge and power the species screamed into the winds; he decided to make them prove they were worthy.”

She emptied the glass with a noisy gulp, holding it out again. Toni watched, transfixed, as it was refilled.

“So he built a sword, a glittering symbol of power for the barely evolved masses. This sword was to be a symbol of favor and a badge of office. As such only the most enlightened of the monkeys were to have a hope of wielding it.

Well he worked for decades... and he succeeded. He succeeded far too well. He made a sword far more powerful than it needed to be; the most powerful sword on record in fact, for any culture or people. And he made it intelligent, may his soul be cursed for all eternity.”

Toni had never seen this before; the normally unflappable Aunghadhail was shaken to her very core.

“Is Nikki alright?”

The redhead nodded sharply.

“My host is perfectly fine; she was gracious enough to allow me this time to... recover myself. She is in turn being buffered against my own acts. At any rate, to continue:

The sword was intelligent, with an ideal of what an intelligent being should be. An ideal comprised of all that was considered just and good in the world; an ideal that not even my people could live up to. Imagine the artificer's surprise when none could draw the blade from the stone he had forged it from. Not even he, the creator of it.”

She turned to Toni, eyes gleaming.

“You see, the intent was to allow the lowly humans to try to draw the blade... and fail. Then an elf would step forward, the creator of course, and draw the blade with ease. A way to show the humans their proper place, and a fine joke indeed.”

Another expensive looking drink gulped down in a blink.

“Only the blade would not co-operate. It would not be treated as a joke, did not like the idea of its existence being used to mock, and it would only offer itself to someone worthy. No human nor elf was considered such, and there the issue might have been settled.

However, centuries later, a certain crafty human created a human worthy. When the true purpose of the sword had long since passed into memory, and even the yearly gathering around the stone had become a carnival affair and the offer for help that had once been extended was no longer needed, a mage raised a child to be a soul so white that the sword would respond, as an experiment. That human later became a king; I met him once, he was one of the gifted of your kind, much as you are... he was formidable, and the blade made him more so.”

Another gulp and the goblet was dutifully filled yet again by a now clearly worried Koehenes. Toni's best guess was that it wouldn't be long now before the potent liquor finished its' work. Somehow she doubted it was coincidence that everyone else had stayed away so far. She had enough sense to stay silent, swallowing the many questions that rose.

“Contrary to popular historical belief, that king did not fall to a rival army alone. He fell when facing an evil from the timeless depths beyond space. You, of course, know of the ones I speak, though I dare not name them outright. Great kingdoms were being ground to so much dust around this world, and civilizations were falling like shorn wheat. He defended all who came to him, fought aside all who asked. Human and elf alike, who sought his protection from the coming dark... and he fell when the sword, that twisted idea gone awry, deserted him in his, and our, greatest need.”

Another drink and the latest bottle was empty. Aunghadhail contemplated the empty goblet a moment before throwing it aside; Koehenes made a beautiful diving catch to save it. Toni grinned inwardly while digesting the fact that the mighty sword of legend, Excalibur, had been made as a joke to rub human faces in elven superiority. And that it had backfired spectacularly. It had to be Excalibur; no other legendary sword she knew fit. And since coming to Whateley, she had learned her sword legends. She waved her hand at the mess in the room.

“An interesting tale to be sure, but what does it have to do with... this?”

Aunghadhail crossed the room in a flash; Toni could have dodged, but chose not to, and caught her instead to keep her from face planting. After all, Nikki would not be happy if she came back to a swelled nose. The one time Queen of the West hissed in her ear:

“Were you not listening? The sword is awake! It is active and moving again! It would only do so if it felt it were needed, and one worthy of wielding it were at hand! But since the first choice, only those of that man's line would be considered... and then there is the power involved.....”

“Power?”

The redhead all but shouted now, voice hoarse suddenly.

“Yes, power! The sword gets stronger the more age it gathers! I shudder to think what it is capable of now! It was capable of feats of magic rivaled only by the strongest of mages centuries ago! I grow cold thinking of the destruction it could wreak now!”

Now the picture was clear, and the panic as infectious as the flu.

“So what do we do? How do we find it? We need the team for this!”

Aunghadhail stopped her before she opened the door, by the simple expedient of collapsing on her.

“No! We dare not, the thing might take offense! If it feels it is needed, it would be most difficult to stop... and we may not like the result if we manage the feat. It has had centuries to act in the world again, should it have been inclined. It has chosen now. No, we must be wary, but cautious.”

“So why tell me?”

“Simple really. Now someone other than myself knows. Not even my host knows the full story; now should humans need to act, you will be able to inform those who are best suited to do so. That and... I needed someone to talk to about the ghosts of the past. You should think twice however about getting my host and your friends involved however. And then think it over a third time; dealing with that artifact of a bygone era would be most difficult.”

“...Right.”

The redhead patted her face clumsily.

“Now now, do not be that way. Your team does not need to be involved in every great happening in the world. In fact it might be better for all concerned if they were not.”

Then she keeled over in a dead faint. Koehenes wrung his tiny hands.

“Relax, I'll help.”

And Toni put the body of one of her best friends to bed.

The mess however, that was koehenes's problem. She had things to think about.

….............................

I stretched before fully awake, comfortable and warm, yet squished. My legs had kept hitting something when I tried to stretch them out, and that woke me up. I opened my eyes to find Sergei, Devon, Liz, and some large man I didn't know all staring at me.

“Umm... hi?”

Way to go, Campbell. You sounded like an idiot. A high voiced idiot.

“Good evening, Rose.”

The stress Devon gave the word told me he was saying a name. His gaze made me think he wanted it to be my name. I'd played such games before, but I wouldn't lie. If asked I'd tell the truth about who I was. Why did he want me to lie? Maybe he was worried about the name thing; girls didn't have boy names after all. I couldn't see why that would pose a problem yet, but Devon had to have a reason. But I'd still tell the truth if asked; to do otherwise was just... unthinkable.

Liz, a friend of Devons I knew by reputation (she was scary) all but jumped on me.

“You O.K.? You feel any pain anywhere? Any stiffness? How many fingers am I holding up?”

“I feel fine, no pain or stiffness. And you're holding up three fingers. How long was I asleep?”

I didn't really want to get up, not in front of so many people. My new body was embarrassing. But Liz was scary, and pulling on me.

“Come on, let's get you dressed.”

She pulled me off the couch bodily, I barely avoided getting tangled in the comforter and taking us both down.

“Um, Liz, I'm fine, I can dress myself!”

I didn't want her to see. What if I wasn't really a girl somehow? What if something was different? Would she freak out or something? I mean normal girls couldn't... do the things I had done. Could they? If they could why were some of them getting beat up or going off in cars with guys they didn't know for money or the other stuff I'd seen them do?

“Alright, strip.”

Startled, I realized we had made it to the bathroom and I was now locked inside with Liz. A Liz who was holding a small plastic shopping bag. I had no doubt that if Liz could jump or run as fast as I had after becoming a girl, she would already be doing it.

I stripped, pulling the knot on the sheath and carefully catching X. I propped him up in the corner and shucked the robe, wincing at the mess still around me. I really needed to get to work on this before Devon fired me or something.

“Damn, girl. It's only been a couple weeks since I saw you last! That was some growth spurt you hit. I could almost be jealous. What possessed you to dye your hair pink though?”

Girl underwear was thrust under my nose. Matching hot pink girl underwear. I put the bottoms on with a shrug; girls wore girls underwear. The top... the bra was something I had no idea how to deal with. How did you get your hands around to your back like you'd need?

“Here, here. Let me show you. Never dealt with a bra before?”

I ignored her amused tone; after all, she was trying to help me.

“No.”

She hooked the contraption around my stomach, reversed it, and pulled it up, gently squishing my new things into the cups provided. It was apparently adjustable, because she did so.

“Well what did you do, bind them somehow? I mean I can understand not wanting to spring for a bra if you don't have the money, but you never showed a hint of those puppies.”

She shook her head.

“Perfect B's. I thought so. You could have hid those before, if they were smaller, but that's some fast growth spurt. And I could have sworn you were shorter before.”

“I was. I have no idea how it happened.”

Standing in the mirror was a young girl in underwear a shade darker than her hair. I did not like what Liz handed me next. Skirts were impractical, drafty and not warm at all. This one matched my new underwear, and cut unevenly. It was longer on the right side than left. Weird, was that on purpose of that? It was also made of some sort of plastic or something; just very impractical.

“Don't look at me like that; I had to work with what I had. Somehow a moth had gotten into my old stuff, so I had to go to goodwill.”

I winced again. I was familiar with goodwill; contrary to what most people thought, they were not a charity. Liz had paid for these clothes, which meant I owed her. She poked me.

“I know that look. You can pay me back by putting on the skirt.”

Well at least she hadn't seen anything unusual about my body; there was no way she wouldn't have said anything if she had. I put the skirt on; I could always trade it away for something later. The girls I knew were forever trading clothes away, many times the more impractical the better.

The top was better, some sort of soft sheer light black sweater that was missing it's left shoulder on purpose. Despite that, it had long sleeves I could roll up and would likely be warmer than my shirts, which would come in handy pretty soon. Especially since my coat was now trashed and probably wouldn't fit me anymore anyway. I threw it over my head and it was rapidly adjusted; it showed my bra strap; was it supposed to?

White socks and black sneakers completed the idea; I put those on, hopping on one leg. Then my head was snagged out of the air, and a brush was applied to my hair.

“I know you brushed this before, but you fell asleep with it wet and that always tangles it.”

My hair was long for some reason, and as impractical as the skirt. I would have to get it cut and soon. I might also have to dye it; the pink was probably going to draw too much attention as it was. Liz ran a brush through it several times, but it seems her predictions of tangles were wrong; the brush slid through without resistance as I tied the shoes. They were a little large, but I'd dealt with that before. I retied X's sheath to me as well, needing no urging. As soon as I did, I felt better; energized.

Done, Liz ushered me out of the bathroom.

The other three in the apartment gaped the moment I appeared; I wanted to hide.

“Jeez, Liz. Tease her hair some and she could be an '80's pop star. Couldn't you find anything closer to this century?”

“Shut it you; her sizes were unusual and I did the best I could with what I had.”

Devons face clearly showed his doubts. I had some myself, but I wasn't about to air them. After all, Liz had been nice enough to get me the clothes in the first place. Without them I'd still be in the robe. I would ask how much I owed her later; when I could actually pay.

The food was all but gone, but there looked to be enough left over for sandwiches, and there was an empty chair. I was hungry again, which worried me. But I had been invited before, and the food was just sitting there, so I grabbed some bread and started making a sandwich.

“What time is it?”

“Almost 10 pm.”

Ack! I slept the day away... again!

“Crap! I'm sorry Devon, I'll get started right away.”

I could at least clean the place one last time to get rid of all my messes and such before turning myself in. I'd also need to find a way to pay both of them back before being jailed for however long I'd be jailed for. X sent waves of comfort at me, though underlying I caught the assurance that I wouldn't be spending any time in prison; he would intervene if it came to that. I was pretty sure I didn't want him to intervene, and made him aware of that fact... somehow. He gave a sort of shrug.

“You O.K. Rose?”

I returned my attention to those around me and the half eaten ham sandwich in my hand. The jolly looking large man caught my interest. He must be important if Devon had let him in the apartment.

“Yes, sorry. Was just discussing things with X. So who are you, sir?”

“Arnold Edison, a lawyer. Devon's asked me to provide legal counsel to you, though I'm not sure you need any. A more clear cut case of self defense I've never heard.”

I finished my sandwich and bowed my head.

“It wasn't self defense sir, it was murder. I actively sought the giant out and struck with intent to kill.”

“Look up at me, Rose.”

I looked up and his eyes caught mine. There was a wisdom in them, a world weary experience, that I could tell mirrored mine.

“You killed someone actively engaged in killing dozens of people; one who would not stop unless stopped. Indeed, one who by all accounts was as dangerous as they come. I would have a hard time believing it, personally, but that sword on your hip tells another story. Devon says you don't lie.”

Omitting things could count, but I'd never lie outright.

“I... dislike to, yes.”

“And you did say that you sought him out, attacked, and killed the giant. Why?”

“X told me Devon was in danger. That others were in danger too. I was awake and couldn't just let them be hurt because I didn't do anything.”

He stared into my eyes for a long moment. I had trouble meeting that gaze for long, but at X's urging I kept it up as long as I could.

“I believe you. In that case, you did nothing wrong, and I'll defend you if necessary. First things first; we call the police, and I tell them you will be turning yourself in tomorrow morning. Then we strategize; go over what you're going to say, and why. Then we sleep. Any questions?”

That worked nicely for me.

“None, sir.”

“Can you tell me where your sword came from?”

I pondered that; I didn't see the harm in it.

“He appeared in my hand when I called for him, sir. Before that I don't know, and he hasn't said.”

Mr. Edison pulled a piece of ham over and nibbled on it absently.

“Have you asked?”

“Of course sir. He doesn't talk exactly, and doesn't answer me when I ask.”

I didn't think X wanted to answer yet, and I could respect that. Everyone had secrets, even magic swords.

“So, this 'X', is intelligent?”

“Yes sir. Probably smarter than me.”

I gestured towards the juice, and Devon nodded consent. So he would throw that out too if I didn't drink it? Weird. I poured a glass with a shrug. I had almost taken my first drink when Mr. Edison spoke again.

“So why you? Why did X come to you at all, or help you? The sheath obviously belongs with the sword. Devon and Sergei both claim it showed up on you a week ago. Was X hiding, as it were?”

I sorted through the sudden flood of sensations and images X sent me in response.

“No sir. He says I needed the sheath, for some reason, so he sent it ahead. As for him, he was traveling. I'm not sure from where, but it took several days. As for why, he says I'm someone's heir, and a worthy partner for him.”

I didn't tell Mr Edison that the impression I got was that X had been alone and partnerless a very long time. I didn't agree that I was worthy of a magic sword, especially one as magnificent as X. but his answer was to flood me with warmth and happiness; he was overjoyed to meet me and talk to me.

“Alright. So you didn't find or steal X from anywhere.”

How dare he!

“No sir, of course not! I don't steal.”

“At all?”

“At all, sir. I've never stolen anything in my life. At least, not that I remember.”

“Not even a piece of gum, or candy? Something small?”

I shook my head.

“No sir, not even gum or candy.”

Mr Edison's jaw dropped. Was it really that surprising that I liked to pay for things? Stealing was wrong, so why would I do it? Devon looked on, and joked:

“He's a defense attorney kid, I think you broke him.”

Why would he be surprised by that? Didn't he defend the innocent?

“So you don't lie, you don't cheat, you don't steal, ever?”

“Not if I can avoid it. I might have lied as a kid, I'm not sure. But the cheating reminds me; I need to get started on that bathroom. If I leave it any longer the stains will set.”

In truth, I feared they might have set already, but another hour would remove all doubt, and then it'd take much more effort to get it clean. I stood, and managed to hide the wobble.

“So you have a deal with Devon, Rose? You clean in exchange for what?”

“A warm place to sleep sometimes. Food and drink, mainly. Stuff like sandwiches and juice.”

Mr. Edison said something sharply to Devon, but I didn't quite catch it as I closed the door. I didn't want anyone to see the state his bathroom was in; it was in a sad state, and my fault. Luckily the cleansing agents I needed were already here. So I wouldn't have to go back out to get them. There were even garbage bags for the many now empty bags of ice.

I started there first, while spraying the tub liberally. I wasn't sure what the gunk in the tub was, but it was disgusting. I had to be very careful not to stain my new clothes. A much longer round of scrubbing than I liked, and the bathroom was finally clean. I pulled the garbage out behind me and closed the door.

All conversation ceased the moment I reappeared, which meant they had been talking about me. I didn't mind that, I'd be pretty interested too. Maybe Mr. Edison knew the answers to some of my questions; Devon knew them I think, but he seemed unwilling to answer them yet. Mr. Edison might be more forthcoming. I started in on the mess I'd made of the dining room, while my silent audience looked on.

Once all the trash and old wrappers were bagged, I moved on to what little remained of the food. After a day out, it was likely spoiled or close. But I'd gone hungry too many times, and I knew where Devon kept his few plastic containers. The berries, sides, vegetables, I crammed into those containers (Some had to be crammed in like to like, for example the few strawberries left and the raspberries.) and put them in the fridge. I'd eat them if no one else would.

A final spritz and polish of the table, a sweeping of the floor (I was really messy earlier, it seemed) and it was time to move on. I started down the stairs. Liz stopped me.

“Rose, where are you going?”

“Downstairs of course. It's been a week or more, right?”

She nodded.

“Well I haven't cleaned yet this week then, and I need to pay Mr. Williams... sorry, Devon back for all the food. I owe him a lot.”

Silently I despaired. I owed Devon more than just a lot. I owed him probably a years worth of labor in return for today's meal alone. I'd never be able to pay it all back. Liz dropped her hand from my arm and down I went. If Devon let me sleep in the lounge again, that would be nice; but I had to get the gym clean first, or I'd never rest easy.

Major Mark Winchester stepped off the stair and onto the cracked tarmac; the heat haze wafting up to greet him made him drench his suit in an instant.

The gate was out of the way, tucked in a corner of the airport, yet still boasted four agents; two from the government, and two from the Mutant Commision Office. The latter two were unasked for and very much unwelcome.

“Major Winchester. I'm agent Oakes, and this is my partner agent MacKowiak, defense intelligence agency.”

The other two, trying their best to emulate the two actual agents and failing miserably, stepped up in an attempt to try and make themselves relevant.

“And I'm agent Talbert, and this is my partner Agent Ramirez. MCO.”

Agent Oakes continued smoothly as if he hadn't been interrupted at all. “Word from your government is that you have an issue, but the messages sent were light on the details. Can you clarify the details?”

“I can tell you it's Tintagel scenario one.”

The MCO agents both soured, but agent Oakes's eyes crossed briefly, then widened. That was all the confirmation that he had read the scenario Mark needed.

“Really? Here? And what of...?”

Mark nodded as solemn as he could, partly to annoy the other agents. “Already here, we think. It's somewhere along the projected path we sent you.”

“Wait, it's FLYING?” MacKowaik asked.

“Technically it's flown. We think it touched down here, roughly twenty hours ago.”

“But, of all the ways to show up here, flight?”

Mark shrugged. “It does what it wants. It always has.”

“Excuse me,” Talbert interrupted. “What's flying here, and why?”

Mark stopped. “They haven't been briefed?”

The smile Oakes shot him was predatory. “Need to know. They are as a favor to someone up the chain, but that didn't include briefing on all potential scenarios involving your... team.”

“I see.” He really did. He also didn't blame the other man for all the problems having these two along would cause. String pulling was as much a tradition as any other, after all.

“Is this area safe?”

“With the noise from your plane masking us, and this much open tarmac? It's as safe as anywhere else.”

Mark turned to the other agents, appearing to cough in case of lip readers. “We're looking for a sword.”

Agent Talbert didn't cover his mouth, choosing to deadpan his reply instead. “A sword. All this, for a sword?”

Mark sighed. “A magic sword. A very powerful magic sword, and whoever is wielding it now.”

“Well, whoever stole it, if they are a mutant, we'll catch them.” Talbert was a fool; whose ear did he have?

Either way, there was only one way to deal with the situation. Mark swiftly got in the man's personal space. “Not catch them, find them. Do anything more, and there will be a problem, do you understand?”

The man backed up, almost bumping into his partner. “I understand.” Was the sullen reply.

Still, he couldn't take the chance. Silently he signaled Bors to watch the two and waited for the promised transport to arrive.

…....

I woke and rolled over; the lounge couch squeaked under me. I had managed to clean everything last night by midnight, but Devon didn't give permission to stay. He had locked up, however, and my stuff was still in his apartment so I couldn't leave like I wanted to. That was probably for the best since I was out on my feet last night, and permission or not I couldn't do much. I just hope he wasn't mad I crashed on his couch. And overslept. And had Liza staring at me.

“Finally awake! Come on, let's get you ready. Can't go see the police looking like that, and it's nine already! They expect us in an hour!”

She hustled me into the women's shower room and all but took my clothes off for me. She handed me some body wash, shaking her head all the while. It smelled of flowers.

“Use it. A girl should use the proper stuff, and this is right for you.”

I didn't have the heart to tell her that the smell could give me away; some people on the streets had keen noses. I could just bathe in a stream afterward, or something. Provided the police didn't throw me in jail, of course.

The body wash was followed up by a matching shampoo with the same smell, made by the same company.

Worn jeans and a shirt were the costume given me today; the shirt was a bit tighter than I was used to, and the jeans a bit more baggy, but they weren't too bad. A little faded, and one knee was worn almost through, but they could last months yet with proper care.

“Hm, no makeup, at least not today. Sends the wrong message. Wish I'd gotten a bigger shirt for you too, but there's only so much I can do at second-hand stores.”

“Thank you, Liza, I appreciate this.”

She ruffled my hair, undoing all the work I was putting into untangling it. I should probably cut it....

“Think nothing of it, kid.”

Mr. Edison was waiting when Liza finally let me go, waiting patiently. Devon was with him, which was a surprise; I didn't expect him to leave his business and come. It seemed like too much trouble for him.

“Alright Rose, you're coming with me,” Liza stated. “Let the two guys find their own ride.”

“Sure.” I wanted to bring my stuff, just in case, but it looked like that wasn't going to be possible.

I got into Liza's tiny two-seat car and she started it up, blasting us both with music of some kind at loud volume. X didn't like it, whatever it was.

“Sorry.” Liza turned it off and pulled out. I sunk as low as I could into the seat and looked for people I knew; Liza was quiet, watching me a bit too much for my comfort.

We drove in and parked at the local precinct (lucky number 13) with Mr. Edison leading the way. The desk Sargent, one Albert H. Henderson, took one look our way and his face soured.

“Mr. Edison, you have an appointment. Interrogation room four, third floor.”

He recognized me as I passed, judging from his double-take. I waved, and he waved back with a smile. I wanted X here, but he was free from confiscation in the car, and he assured me he would come if I called. I didn't want to use his ability like a cheap show and tell parlor trick, but Mr. Edison said it might be necessary to prove the truth.

Interrogation room four was empty when we found it, and there were only four chairs; two set on one side, and two on the other. Liza wasted no time snagging the two opposite us, taking one for herself and one for Devon.

We didn't have to wait long. Two police dressed in suits came in, one a man with a rough and large look, kind of like Devon but bigger and with as many scars, and the other a rather plain looking woman who looked as if it were her third day straight staying up.

She was also rude. “You two,” she all but yelled, pointing to Devon and Liza, “get out. You need to be in interrogation six.”

Devon got straight to the point. “Why?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Because you're a witness in a major incident, a mass killing, and you claim to know the person responsible for ending the threat. I want to know if you're lying to me, and the best way to do that is to question you all separately. So get to it.” She pointed imperiously, and Devon left, grumbling, with Liza in tow.

“You know you can't question Devon at least, without me being present,” Edison stated.

“Isn't that a conflict of interest?” The female cop countered, slapping down an old style tape recorder. Did cops still use those things? How would they even find tapes for them?

“It is if I represent him or Miss Campbell here in court. Assuming you have something to charge him with.”

He didn't say they couldn't charge me. That was not reassuring.

“Alright, so this Miss Campbell is...” The policewoman looked me over again, taking longer this time, and leaning over the table to get close.

“The one who dispatched the mutant known as Fomor yesterday.”

Both cops faces soured immediately. The policewoman took the lead again. “I'd hoped you were kidding there; this little slip of a thing? What did she do?”

Mr. Edison opened his mouth, but I responded first. “I cut him in half, from crown to groin.”

“Oh yeah?' she said as if she didn't believe me. 'and how did you do that?”

I answered promptly. “With a sword. A.. um, I'm not sure what it's called. A two handed sword, double edged.”

Well, that was embarrassing; I really should know what kind of sword X was. I could feel his laughter, like the tinkling of gentle bells in my mind.

“Ah, Christ, I hate dealing with the powered. Alright, so we have footage from security cameras placing you at the scene, we have eyewitness testimony, and we have a dead guy that tank shells couldn't penetrate, but somehow your sword could.”

“Well, he's a magic sword.” Mr. Edison glared at me. I wasn't sure why he was mad, I had told him I was going to the cops to tell them what happened. (I had originally been saying confess, but Mr. Edison had insisted I wasn't guilty of anything.)

The female cop face-palmed and then slumped into her seat. “A magic sword, of course. Just... of course. And just where is this sword now?”

Mr. Edison overrode me this time. “Don't answer that! Enough, you're badgering a minor here,” He turned to me, a plea clear on his face. “Rose, let me handle it, okay?”

Well, it was his job. I didn't like that he thought I shouldn't talk, though. “Okay.”

“So, here's what I know.” He began, then related the story of me waking up, knowing friends were in danger, (I would have said citizens or people since I would have acted regardless) rushing out half dressed (true – and embarrassing) and confronted the giant, who was apparently a mutant. After asking him to stop (I had) I murdered him with a single overhand strike and lots of help from X.

The way he told it made it seem both more and less exciting than it had been.

I mostly remembered resolute terror and the feeling of my stomach trying to eat the rest of me. The male cop spoke for the first time once Mr. Edison finished.

“Jibes with the evidence, Rach. It's too neat.”

Rach gave him a glance filled with more venom than the giant had given me. “Shut up, John.” Then she muttered a string of curse words under her breath. Turning to me, she tried to straighten her face up; it wouldn't obey her, and the end result looked awful. Not that I'd ever tell her that!

“Alright, let's go over a few more things. You are a powered individual, correct?”

“A what?”

“A powered individual, a mutant, dynamorph, spirit host, something like that.”

I thought it over. “If X counts then yes. I'm not sure I have powers on my own.” In fact, I was pretty sure I didn't. X seemed to think that was funny; the bells tinkled again in my mind. He seemed to think virtue was a super power...? I wasn't even sure what he meant by that, his idea of the concept was confusing.

Rach looked me over again, just long enough to give me the creeps, and only then replied: “Trust me, honey, you're powered. And I'm guessing you're under the twenty-four limit, or your shyster wouldn't have even let you walk in here.”
he first time
“Flattery will get you everywhere, officer.” Mr. Edison responded with a grin that told me he felt he was being clever.

I didn't know what they were talking about. “The twenty-four limit?”

“The twenty-four or one day limit required by law in our fair city to register a deadly weapon; in your case, one sword.” The other cop answered; Rach shot him a look.

I wondered how long they were intending to be rude; they still hadn't given names. “Well, I suppose I can register him. I doubt he will mind.”

Rach snorted again, twice as loud as the first time. “Good. I'll be right back with that paperwork.”

Both the cops left without another word.

“They were both pretty rude. They didn't even give us their names or say good morning or anything.”

Mr. Edison laughed. “Well, that's true, but I think they have other things on their minds. Besides, I know them. The one who acts as if she hates everyone is Rachel Leek. Her quiet partner is John Patoka; they work in the powered crimes division, and they transferred out from homicide last year, which might explain why they were so cranky.”

Yes, I could see that. They didn't want to work on solving murders anymore, and yet here they were.

“So what happens now?”

Mr. Edison winked and pointed at the corner of the room; there was a hidden camera there, X had already told me. “Well, right now, officer Leek is discussing the viability of charging you with murder with her boss and being told she can't.

What? “Why not? I did kill him.”

Mr. Edison nodded. “Yes, but you did so in defense of others, and eyewitness reports say you tried to talk him down first. You saved many lives yesterday; I don't know how many, but if you hadn't stopped Formor, he wouldn't have stopped. He could have cut a swath of destruction through the city; charging you with murder for saving lives like that, well it just won't fly. Not in the court of public opinion or in the courts themselves.”

That was right, I guess... but it still didn't seem right. The end of a life shouldn't be treated so... I don't know, lightly?

X sent soothing images my way, tangled up with something else I couldn't figure out.

“Anyway, so Mrs. Leek will throw a bit of a fit, throw a few things, let us stew here for awhile, and then come back and let us out. She will undoubtedly regale us with cop cliché number two, and then we will fill out your paperwork and leave.”

“What's cop cliché number two?” I asked him. He probably did the numbering himself.

Mr. Edison leaned back and laughed; the chair creaked alarmingly. “Oh, I wouldn't want to deprive you of it. Just remember, when you hear it, it's number two.”

The door opened, and Mr. Edison's grin got wider. Officer Leek stormed in, officer Patoka on her heels. She slammed the single piece of paper in her hands down on the table, making as big an effort at it as she could.

“I'm officer Leek, and this is officer Patoka. We have decided not to charge you in this matter, at this time. However, we'd like a contact number.”

Well, that was going to be difficult. Unless... I turned to where Mr. Edison was already looking over the paper that officer Leek brought. “Mr. Edison, do you mind if I use you as my contact number?”

“Not at all my dear, I'm your lawyer after all. I would have insisted on being called first in any case.” He pulled out one of his business cards and held it out; officer Leek stared at it as if it were a live snake. Officer Patoka took it instead.

“Alright. You're free to go. However, don't leave town.”

“Yes!” Mr. Edison stage whispered. “Cliche number two.”

Officer Leek looked like she had swallowed lemons, but didn't say anything else; just opened the door and motioned us out.

Liza and Devon were already there, waiting. Liza took one look at us and grinned. “I didn't know anything, so they didn't get much.”

I turned to Devon, and he answered. “I already gave two statements. This was the third and they got nothing, so they couldn't really hold me up either.”

Mr. Edison waved the sheet in his hands. “Just need to fill this lethal weapon registration out, then we can go. I did think of a place we need to visit, though, and the sooner the better.”

“Oh, where's that?”

“The Mutant Commission Office.”

Liza jumped. “What?!?”

Mr. Edison held his hands up in surrender for a moment. “Hear me out. Rose here thinks she isn't a mutant or powered individual. She even said as much to the police.”

Liza turned and gave me a once over; first the cop and now her. Was something in the water? Come to think of it, that would explain much. “Yeah, no. Girl, you got to be something, because no normal girl looks like that, let alone the abilities you show.”

“What abilities?” I don't think I looked any different than Liza; at least, not in the general sense. If I wasn't human, shouldn't I look different than human? More like the giant, Formor, had?

“Well, you swing a sword that has to weigh five pounds at least around as if it was a butter knife. That sort of thing is harder than it looks.”

Was it? I was pretty sure most of it was X letting me swing him; he felt like a mop handle or something similar in my hand; light but long. X wasn't amused by the comparison, but he let it slide.

Devon thought for a moment but shook his head. “Nah, I'm not touchin' that one. You got powers, Rose. I'm not sure what they are, but you got 'em. But the MCO, Arnie? They don't have the best reputation.”

“I'm aware, but with a pillar of the community such as yourself, and a well-known lawyer such as myself, they won't dare try anything. Besides, they are the only game in town for powers testing, at least right now, and it's better to show up and deal with them than not.” Arnie's eyes shifted a few times as he replied like he was hiding something.

I didn't get it; of course, I'd cooperate. The Mutant Commission Office was the duly appointed authority on powered individuals. Not that I had powers; I'd show up, they would test me and find nothing and everyone would drop it. Then maybe I could get work on a detail working the clean up; there would be good money in that. Well, minimum wage at least, and the city workers would be swamped, so their union wouldn't protest that much. Maybe.

“I'm coming too,” Liza stated, rather needlessly in my opinion, since she was already bundling me into her car again.

…...

Mark stared idly out the window of the unmarked sedan, into a warzone. Exploded ordinance, craters and shrapnel, the pock marks of gunfire... a swath of destruction that wouldn't have looked out of place in the third world. He did not believe in coincidence.

“What happened here?”

“An incident yesterday. A dangerous mutant broke out of a special containment cell and went on a rampage.”

“Oh? It was bad enough to green light the use of military resources in a civilian center? Must have been one bad man.”

“I can't possibly comment on that, sir. However the situation was resolved, otherwise, we would be having this conversation elsewhere.”

Yes, they likely would have diverted his flight – which was typical, really. Then again, those were the remains of battle armor from the Knights of Purity they just drove by, so perhaps his team wouldn't have fared well at all. The feeling got stronger.

“How did the situation resolve? Surely this much ordnance was....”

“Ineffective, actually. From what I understand the mutant was particularly tough; early estimates theorize an exemplar 7, or some combination of abilities that mimics the effects.”

Mark raised his eyebrows slowly. There had never been an exemplar rated that highly, on record, either in North America or Great Britain. He regularly checked over the who's who list of notable powered individuals known in-house as the “rogue's gallery.” It was required reading.

“So what did finally resolve the situation?” Mark was under no illusions as to how the situation was resolved; there was only one outcome for such a rampage.

“The investigation is pending.” Neil hesitated, then continued. “If you want, I can look into it; We are headed to the check in with the police after all.”

“I would appreciate it. Let the crown know if your government needs any assistance in disaster relief.”

Neil's face went stony, which meant he was a fool. “I'll pass the word along sir.”

Mark settled back and waited, fuming as the car slowed down even more to avoid holes in the road. A quick check with this city's police force was going to be anything but, and the radar images he'd requested had been delayed; almost as if someone, somewhere, was trying to thwart him.

In truth, it was likely to be several people or groups; his mission was not a popular one in certain circles. He could only hope the head start he'd been given was enough.

The police station itself was just as hectic as the city promised; there was no panic, but people in uniforms of all kinds and colors were wasting no time in running toward destinations no one else knew of with great hurry they didn't need. Even the army blokes seemed to be affected. The entered, weaving through people, and were immediately hit with the noise; it was almost like a football or rugby game. Mark snorted; well without one-half suddenly attacking the other over team pride, that was.

He stopped tuning in (so to speak) at the third mention of the giant attack; it wasn't his city or his problem. The mission came first.

Neil broke off from the merry band as soon as they passed the lobby into the precinct proper. His partner Paul led the way into a quaint break room and poured them each a cup of bad coffee. Some of the others sat down to wait; he eyed the chairs and decided he preferred to stand. The break room emptied of it's usual clientele; Mark did not object.

He actually preferred to be handling this himself, especially now, but his government had been adamant.

Neil burst back in, looking winded. Mark idly wondered if something about this place were catching.

“The CPD just released details on the Formor attack; they were treating it as a potential homicide. The one who stopped the attack was a young girl... armed with a sword.”

Turns out the place was contagious after all; Mark was already moving, before Neil finished: “For some reason, they didn't confiscate the sword as evidence, or even try to. They cleared the case as self-defense based almost solely on her testimony. I have an address and a number however. The number is to her lawyer, but the address is to a gym not far from the attack.”

Mark wanted to throttle the man. Again. “Quit wasting time. Let's go.”

.....

Agatha Lynch stared at it.

The book knew all.

She was unsure at first, while the book was as much a part of history as the country as the old library she worked in, it hinted at dark things... impossible things that couldn't possibly be taken seriously in a modern age. Laughable fears that grade B movies were made from. And yet....

She had read it, of course, the tale of a scared frontier people encountering forces beyond their ken, of wise and learned men dabbling in forces best left alone that they could not control, and of the death of death itself. It had taken less than a day to decipher the pained scribble of a book not printed by machine, even with it written in a tongue old enough to be considered another language. It took just longer than that to read.

It was time. She got dressed in her most severe and outdated clothes, an old knit sweater with long sleeves and a full neck, and a skirt that covered her ankles. Some old heels and a ratty coat completed the image. Agatha looked at herself in her mirror; she looked old, non-threatening, almost grandmotherly but perhaps a bit too severe for that. Perfect; she grabbed her purse and locked up on the way out of her apartment.

Yes, the book had been a joke. She had wanted a history of pioneer life or travel, and gotten a cheap horror novel. And then it had whispered at her.

She had called in the next day, the sweet, cloying whispers swirling around her head like a heavy but pleasant fog. The voices had told her what to do. Where to go, what to buy, how to set up so as not to be found.

She found her target, a homeless man taking shelter in an alley below a fire escape; the fire escape would cut the rain, but not stop it from hitting what was below. He was thin and wan, but still strong and mostly healthy looking, even if his hair and clothes badly needed a wash. The rain also wouldn't do enough to cut the smell.

“Excuse me, sir?”

His gaze snapped up, and she saw the look of defeat she expected behind the wariness.

“Would you like a better place to stay for the night? I know a place.”

He stared at her, calculating. She knew how she looked; either poor or freshly homeless herself, well under his six-foot frame and weighing in at least fifty pounds less. With no weapon, she was no threat. But he was experienced, a gritty survivor, so she waited while he weighed her risk.

“Sure.” Was all he said, finally.

Yes, the book whispered many things; even where to bury the knife for best results.

She was not ready, for all that preparations were nearly complete. Tonight would be the last night, midnight the last hour, their will be done.