Life is never easy. Anyone who tells you life is good, that life is a wonderful miracle, has either got their heads in the pixie dust crack pipe or is just blowing smoke up your ass on purpose. The fact is, life is a messy brutal affair where the strong dominate the weak, and where even the strong can die if unlucky.

All throughout history you see it; the roman's, destroying or subjugating at will, the vikings and Visigoths doing the same, all the way up to the Nazi's and some assholes in Africa who call themselves warlords.

It's only gotten worse with the emergence of the meta-human, or mutant gene. Villains everywhere, taking everything they want or that isn't nailed down, and 'heroes' that are little better than thugs at the best of times, stopping them with untold amounts of collateral damage, both in property and lives. People reveling in murder and bloodshed, made worse by the fact that they have the equivalent of small tactical nukes up their sleeves... or worse.

The world was on a slow spiral, circling around the giant universal toilet bowl counter-clockwise, and it had momentum now. To act is if life was dandy, as if the rogue comet that was out there couldn't wind it's way through the uncaring universe in order to kill us all, or that mankind itself wasn't a jumped up primate species only recently graduated from throwing it's own poo, and therefore knew next to nothing about what was really going on, and was likely deluded about the other half. To think anything less was to deny the truth.

Penny looks at me, considering my argument. She has always harped on me to share my innermost thoughts, to bare my soul, she calls it. So, I got tired of listening to her gripe, and did just that. Her eyes had glazed about halfway through, and she took a while, but eventually she had her well thought response:

“Bullshit. Don't be emo, Victor.”

I took a long drag off my cigarette. I loved Penny like a sister, but some days she could grate on my nerves.

“Not being emo, point out to me one thing I said, that's wrong.”

Her using my full name was a prelude to bad things, invariably. I flicked my cancer stick butt off a passing businessman’s jacket; he didn't notice, or pretended not to, I wasn't sure and didn't care which.

“Well the heroes would be able to stop any silly comet from smashing into earth. They are set up for that sort of thing.”

I shook my head; so naive.

“No they aren't. Our satellites can't even detect mot of them until they are already passed us, in most cases. The devisors are too busy building new death rays and nukes to keep an eye on space, and how is champion, to use an example, going to stop a meteorite big enough to kill us all? 5 miles wide, traveling at 10000 miles per second, how is he even going to react? By the time you see it, it's too late.

And that's just one space born danger. Massive radiation, or sun spots are two more. How is a hero going to stop those?”
She looked up at me, right into my eyes, and said in an utter deadpan:

“I don't know.”

I was not perturbed.

“Of course you don't. That's because they can't.”

“Of course they can, or we'd all be dead already... right?”

I shook my end and pulled another menthol.

“Nope, it's just never come up. However that don't mean it won't. Humanity won't be that lucky. We've been pretty lucky as a collective for a few millennium, but it'll end. It always does.”

“Waiting for that seems silly. When was the last time a big meteor struck the earth?”

“About three thousand years ago. It's what hit near the Sahara, and turned it into a desert; caused earthquakes as far away as china, volcanoes to blow in chains across half the world, Jericho to fall, not to mention famine and drought that almost killed humanity before it began. The Chinese and Egyptians both wrote about it.”

She opened her mouth. I decided to preempt her, lighting up as I did.

“The one before that as best as anyone can tell was another two thousand years back, though we have no recorded evidence of it, there is some archeological and geological evidence of it. Earlier periods of Earth's history point to it getting hit often by crap from space, and big crap on occasion. What all that really means is, we're due.”

Penny shrugged, evincing the single most infuriating attitude I ever encountered in humanity. The 'if it's not in front of my face, it's not a real problem' attitude.

“I feel like you're borrowing trouble here; you can't change if we get hit or not, or even if we get nailed by a car tomorrow. You should just be worrying about the stuff you can change, change it, relax, and have some fun for once.”

“Define fun, Penny.”

My second cigarette was now so much ash. Penny was my best friend, had been since first grade, but she could bug the shit out of me sometimes. I probably did her too; she was too flippant, too polly-anna chipper for me sometimes.

I'm sure I bugged her just as much by being too 'dark', or whatever. She probably didn't appreciate the pixie dust comment earlier. We stopped outside the diner where she worked, and I gave her a once over.

Washed out brown hair, watery brown eyes with sleep bruising painting them, a figure just beginning to go from average to full figured (which only stood to reason since the coming of her daughter Allison) she had come a long way from the mousy kid I'd known, and while still missing gorgeous she managed to hit pretty on the head.

It was a shame that life was killing her.

After the dreams of college had ended for her, and the job at the diner came along as a way to feed herself, the scum sucking bar rat that had married her then left, the bills and debts piling up... she was aging far past her years: faint lines crow's feet and laugh lines already visible. And yet she still happy. Almost artificially so. If I didn't know better, I'd have suspected drugs.

Hell I did know better, and I still suspected drugs on occasion.

She might have wanted to for all I know, she just didn't have the money for it.

“Vic, I'm here. Safely at work. You can stop staring, and get the fuck home. You scare the regulars.”

That was smirk worthy, so I did it.

“Weaklings. I'm not going to hurt them. Whatever, have a good day at work, and call me if you get off early. Don't forget.”

“Yeah yeah, sure sure, sheesh, you forget ONE TIME...”

I just stared at her. She knew damn well it was more than once. Hell it was once this week alone. Sure, she didn't believe it, but this area was dangerous. Was it so wrong to make sure she got home to her young one safe? She said it was smothering.

But smothered was better than robbed raped and killed in an alley any day of the week. Of course, she just told me to get out more. I could hear her voice in my head now, as I walked to my own job: 'you need more friends than just me'. Like hell I did. Other people were assholes.

Some people were... less assholish than others, but everyone was a bag of dicks, waiting to piss a person off. Contrary to what Penny thought, I did have places to be; at least today. I worked part time night shift picking stock in a warehouse, but that hardly paid much of anything at all. So it was time for me to once again work the odd jobs market.

Everyone had something that needed done, asshole or not. For some it was simple yard work; for others it was plumbing, or a hole in their house’s foundation, or something even more complex. Those same people did not always have the money to pay a professional to fix such problems. Around here, that went without saying. So a certain enterprising high school graduate or two who managed to teach themselves how to repair such things could always make a quick buck under the table.

What the tax man didn't know, didn't hurt either of us.

So a quick walk later and I was at the local post office for Snead, Alison county, Arizona. The post office acted as a sort of impromptu meeting place, where old blue haired ladies and crotchety old survivalists could meet and discuss the weather (almost always dry and hot as hell) and use the brittle decaying cork board set up in the lobby to post messages regarding things or help they needed.

A person with some motivation could make quite a bit of money checking that board. I had a bit less than most I was sure – working in the warehouse for 10 hour shifts was a bit tiring. Especially if you didn't sleep much. Especially if it was the night shift.
Mrs. Johnson needed her yard mowed again, pass. She was a battleaxe who believed five dollars was enough to cover mowing a 3 lot yard. Five bucks didn't even cover the gas to mow such a yard. I might do it anyway, but her specifications were exacting. She actually used a ruler in front of me, to measure the grass. And section she found a centimeter over the 1 inch length she wanted, she made me go back over. To hell with that.

Mr. Anderson needed help replacing a water heater, and specifically posted this note for me. Mr Anderson was a laid back old geezer in his 80's that didn't mind me taking a few shortcuts, as long as it worked and I made good if something I fixed broke. That note went safely into my pocket.

Mrs. Fitz had a hole in her roof which was leaking, and the company that had replaced her roof last year swore it was no longer under warranty. She only had a bit more more than I did really, and was on a fixed income. She could not pay to have the same company ( or even another) fix their own work. I took that note down too.

That should be enough for today, unless the old man was into the sauce again, and found my stash. Of course, to be into the sauce again, he had to have found my stash; he didn't have the money for it otherwise. He regularly squandered his retirement check on booze by the second week. At least he learned not to gripe at me about drinking his booze if I ended up indirectly paying for it, so I had until recently gotten one perk out of the deal to make for him regularly tossed the trailer we called home for the money he knew I kept for a rainy day.

Turning 21 made the readily accessible booze thing rather pointless, as I could buy my own. So I started using the better hiding places I knew, and the old man started drying out. He didn't like that, even after almost 15 years he wasn't ready to quit. Penny just called him a drinking mutant, as a joke.

Penny was not a fan of mutants; not too many around here were. Most of the population of this town were survivalists or end of the worlders of some stripe or another, and most viewed mutants and other powered beings as the second coming of the holocaust. More than half had their own posh bunkers just waiting to be able to say 'I told you so' to the dead while riding out the end in style.

I was pretty sure the other half had designs on begging the first half. Both halves however, were not fans of powered beings of any sort, and would come out in full force with shotguns and explosives to ruin a powered person's day.

It was a good thing this area held nothing of value; it'd be the favorite haunt of villains everywhere. I knew that even if you hated them, having no super-powered beings around to stop crimes perpetrated by more of just those types of beings was just asking for trouble. But luckily enough, this area was close enough to the desert that nothing of real value was here. Only a few ranches dotted the landscape, and one area that the government told us was off limits but that seemed to provide a job for many of the people here, all researchers and scientists that swore there was no alien spacecraft hidden in a bunker on premises.

None of the locals believed that of course; I mean if it wasn't at area 51, where else would it be but here, a place that not even the non locals of Arizona knew of? As far as government sites went, this one was dark it was practically a black hole. The closest anyone had to knowing what was going on was the word ark, which led some people to speculate the government was pulling an Indiana Jones on us all here.

From where I was standing though, melting Nazis sounded like a good idea. Walking down the street in the nice bright fall weather, the few people on the sidewalk parting before me like the red sea before Moses, I pondered more on the inhumanity of man.

Well at least till I reached my first stop; Mr. Anderson. He was first simply because he was closest on the route. If I was thinking, I'd probably look at the leakey roof, before it got hot. But I was just too lazy for all that. Besides I knew Mr. Anderson would have the stuff needed to fix his water heater; in order to fix the roof I'd have to swing by my hovel at the other end of town (and the wrong end of the tracks) to grab my tools and spare lumber.

Mr. Samuel Anderson was a small shriveled up old guy, nearing 82 years young, with toothpick arms and a stooped back. He also had no intimidation in him, being too old to care that I was six foot 4 inches, weighed 200 pounds, and had a bad reputation – he liked me anyway, and oddly enough I liked him. He was more of a people person than anyone I knew.

“Well Victor, I see you got my note.”

“Sure did, though I might have gotten here sooner if you had just simply called me.”

I held up my cheap non smart cell phone to punctuate the message.

“I have nothing but time, to be fair. I dislike the idea of bothering you, I never know when you're sleeping due to your job.”

“Don't matter really, I'd help you when you called. Much easier than cleaning up a major mess if your plumbing breaks.”

“It wasn't that bad; the water heater just stopped working. Cold showers got old in the military, fortunately enough boiled water makes for decent baths.”

His knees were both replacements; getting up and down from a bathtub was likely very painful. And the stairs too, for that matter.

“Well you got the water heater and the tools already, if you'll just open the outside cellar door I'll handle the rest.”

I could carry the water heater down myself while it was empty. Failing that, I could simply drag it down. He unlocked the padlock and I threw open the steel door. His cellar was after all, his bomb shelter too.

“Alright I'll let you get to it.”

I worked better alone anyway. It only took me a bit over an hour to turn the water off, cap the old heater (to prevent it from leaking all over the place – the puddle could have been much worse) and hook up the new one. The new one was all energy star rated and much smaller than the old one... which made hauling the old one out, filled with water, a real chore.

I finally just borrowed the dolly Mr. Anderson had for the purpose of lifting heavy things, levered it up the stairs, and removed the plugs to give the yard a watering. Then to finish the job I went back down and mopped. The mopping took another 20 minutes, but I liked being thorough... and he paid by the hour. Then I used my phone to take a picture of the aftermath, just in case. If I could save the old guy a trip down the stairs, I would. All part of the service. Then I went back out the way I came in, stacked the now empty old water heater in the corner of his garage and re-locked the cellar door.

When I came back from locking up, I found the old man waiting on me. He always did have impeccable timing.

“So, looks like I owe you for one hour, 42 minutes of work.”

I nodded and showed him the photo. Sure he hadn't asked, but I liked to let people know up front I wasn't cheating them.

“At the usual rate.”

He handed me two twenties, and of course I protested.

“Too much Mr. Anderson, my rate puts this job at only sixteen.”

“Sorry, I decide what your time here is worth. You did the job without any breaks, you fixed your mistakes, and cleaned up after yourself. I decided that is worth forty. Now you'll take it, or I'll raise a stink.”

His grin put the lie to his statement that he'd make trouble for me, but I took the money anyway. We had done this dance before, and he always got his way.

“You're a good kid Victor, just don't spend it on cigarettes. Those things will kill you.”

I waved as he shut the door. I'd buy them if I wanted them; after all, it's totally my choice how to check out.

When disaster strikes, it often strikes with the suddenness of a massive coronary, and the force of a bolt of a freight train to the face; though just as often as not, one cannot see the tracks which the train is using.

Not that a such a mundane thing as seeing the single halogen light breaking it's way across you alleviates the train's impact any.

Norman Bradley clocked in to the facility promptly at 9am, like always. He arrived early, but ever since a chewing out by the boss a few years ago for clocking in early, he made it a point to never give the damn company any more of his time than they wanted, which was exactly eight hours.

The company in question was the Arkham Research Consortium, though everyone knew the Department of Defense and the military wrote the checks for this particular branch. Norman had been told upon starting his employ all about the illustrious history and important job the installation had, as part of an attempt to indoctrinate him in corporate culture.

He was proud the effort had failed in his case. Like the other installations he was cleared for, this one was for keeping certain powered beings cryogenically frozen. Unlike most ARC facilities however, this one actually predated the Consortium itself, by a good several years. It was made by the army and DOD just after World War 2, back when cryogenics was still a devisor game and giant concrete bunkers were the height of prison technology.

It was the first Popsicle prison.

As a result, it housed many of the worst powered scum the planet had to offer from before the modern era, all stacked in nice rows, floor by floor, worst (at the bottom) to least. The elevator ride alone was a good 10 minute commute. It wasn't under a mountain, or even on a map, and had thus far avoided serious public interest.

It had never seen a break in, or a break out.

Norman headed to the break room and to the coffee machine. It was the most up to date piece of engineering here, a relic from the 80's. The vending machine guy came to refill it every week, which was really all he cared about. He couldn't use the break room for the eggheads; the scientists and techs that maintained the place. He was a security pleeb, one step up from janitor.

He made his way in just as his supervisor started out. The same one that put a black mark in his file for showing up early.

“You're late, Norman.”

“Clocked in promptly at 9, boss.”

Norman mentally dared him to check.

Instead the fat balding jerk simply sighed and walked out without so much as a 'see you later.' Dick.

Marty showed up as he was retrieving his morning cup of joe from the ratty machine., a few candy bars from it's brother already hanging out of his front pocket. Martin Jones was also Norman's superior, having been working here for fourteen to Norman's six years.

Nearly bald (unwillingly, as opposed to Norman, who was bald by choice) with just a few stringy white hairs, and almost as wide as he was tall, Marty was every inch the professional security guard. From his spotted tie, to his spotted shirt and stained dress pants, to the spotless gun holstered at his side behind the pepper spray, he screamed competence.

Even to Marty, the coffee machine was old.

“You ready kid? Time to get down to the freezer before the night shift gets antsy.”

“Yeah let's go.”

The night shift often got antsy, but then who wouldn't in this graveyard? They had been forced to make allowances due to the boss not letting Norman clock in early. Since it took a few minutes to walk down to the second elevator, then a few more to take it, they regularly had to clock out 10 minutes later than their eight hours, which they then passed along in a revolving door of lateness that somehow mostly worked out to give them all exactly eight hours.

They did so love driving the supervisors nuts.

The second elevator was more normal than the first, appearing to be something right out of a department store or office building. One walked right past the “no food or drink beyond this point” to take it.

It opened directly into the third floor security office, the only open portal leading to the recesses within, blockaded by a door more at home on a bank vault than anywhere else. The desks facing the elevator had bullet proof shields with holes cut for the rather dusty .50 caliber machine guns, loaded with armor piercing rounds that hadn't been checked or changed since Norman started working here.

The guards all swore they changed them as protocol dictated, every month. The supervisors never checked, or if they did, they didn't change it either. Turn over among the guard staff was so rapid that many hands were full simply training new staff. It was even higher among the ex-military.

For whatever reason, the powers-that-be did not want to use military resources to secure the site, preferring instead to use a private contractor which hired ex-military. Norman himself was ex-army, and had an insight into the mind of those who left this fairly cushy job.

They weren't mad about the town, which was the butt end of nowhere and full of redneck hicks, they weren't missing creature comforts or excitement. They didn't trust their own bosses. Some, like Normans old friend Ralph (who left after only three months) viewed the place as a major accident/national security incident waiting to happen.

This despite the nearly constant inspections by ARC personnel. The inspections were of course a joke. Supposedly all surprises, the management always had prior knowledge, even if by no more than a few hours by grace of being in the butt end of nowhere; it was easy to track flights when there was only one reason anyone ever flew here.

Tracking ARC personnel was even easier. Even the spies they tried to slip into the staff as janitors or scientists were ferreted out well before any could get a glimpse of what went on here. The security staff was very good at that particular job.

The other desks, the ones facing inward, were actually bunkers. They held a variety of cold war surplus small arms. The strongest were the grenade guns capable of firing high explosives by the dozens a minute. They were a joke; only the suicidal or supremely stupid would think to use them down here.

No the best weapons were the industrial tazers inside the actual desks of every guard, primed and ready with three shots each. With a needle more like a miniature harpoon, and enough voltage in each charge to stun a charging Rhino, those were the weapons Norman would grab first if the shit hit the fan.

The computers controlling this particular floor of Popsicle alley used to be inset in the wall, behind a blast shield. Those were just after the days of Univac, and the key cards on chains which they still used; they were so old they were an extra security measure again, unable to be duplicated. That computer was replaced however.

The new computers were actual workstations.. if you could consider Tandy's using Windows 3.1 workstations. The stupid things couldn't even play solitaire. Hell you couldn't even play pong on the damn things. Oddly enough they never froze or blue screened however. There wasn't even cable, and no television allowed even if there were, so the staff had resorted to sneaking a laptop in to help relieve the boredom of endless card games.

The security cameras were more up to date, using actual VHS tapes and closed circuit television sets. Not the new kind of course, the old ones that had tubes. Luckily, the facility had a great surplus of empty tapes.

“So what's on tap today gentleman? And I use that term loosely.”

Paul, ever the sociable leader type, answered for the group.

“Cards and that new paranormal movie, followed by more cards and that new zombie movie, followed by....”

“Alright, I get it, I get it, more of the same. Quarter bets again?”

“Yep, just to make it interesting.”

With the ease of routine, Norman, Paul, Stan, and Marty sat down at the table next to the metal detector (the one where you'd normally check bags) while the low man on the totem pole, Phil, kept watch on the Tandy at his desk, and the cameras. One word from him would have them all scrambling to respond to either a threat... or to a supervisor. After exactly four hands, Norman would switch with Phil, then Paul, then Stan, then Marty.

Seniority, after all.

Death rode in on the third hand. It didn't bother with the card keys, or the elevator, or the other security personnel on the other floors... at least at first. No, there was a pattern to these things, a sense of proper order; and it did so like to begin at the beginning.

“Damn it Paul, you cheating bastard.”

Said cheating bastard had just plunked down a full house, making Norman's aces and eights worthless. Deprived of almost three dollars in the heavy betting meant that the coffee Norman was currently drinking was the last he'd have today, unless he borrowed his change back. Paul just grinned that insufferable grin of his; he'd charge interest.

Finally, irrational anger completed the pattern; and Norman threw his coffee at Paul. Paul, being Paul, dodged. The coffee hit one of the ancient computers directly, the one on Phil's desk, which he was using to peruse the fules. normally not an issue. But after years of such abuse, this time was different.

This time, it took a bit too much liquid directly through the floppy drive, fizzled, and died.

The five other Tandy's lit up, displaying a warning. Alarm klaxons sounded.
“Dude, what the hell did you do?!?”

“Why the hell did you dodge?!?”

Marty chopped the air with a hand.

“SHUT UP! Check your computers now. Phil, what were you looking at?”

Phil paled as he responded.

“One of the angels; file 03A.”

“Is your computer as dead as it looks?”

“restarting it now.”

Norman was staring at the screen; the muttered 'no' from somewhere behind him didn't even register. All he saw was an old identification, from well before the time of MID's, where none were pulled up before:

Name: Simon Crane.
Code name: Omega Man.

Known powers:
Exemplar 5.
Energizer (radiation generation, several types) 5.

Former Army operative.
Former CIA operative.

Considered armed and highly dangerous, DO NOT APPROACH. Flee on sight.
Lethal force authorized to subdue.
Lethal force recommended to subdue.

Page two of course, had a full psych profile and list of weaknesses. But what occupied Norman's full attention was the glowing option under the first page, the same one that was always there, but never glowed before in the history of the facility. There wasn't a single soul who knew what the people of this facility knew, who would dare make that option glow by choice.

It was the 'wake' option.

Norman tried to hit the cancel option, to stop the sequence, but the Tandy was unresponsive. From what he could hear, his finger wasn't the only one stabbing a cancel button.

“It's not working!”

Marty responded, his voice a bucket of ice water on the proceedings.

“The Tandy's are slaved together as a security measure, remember? Sabotaging one sabotages them all. Rule 1 in the case of incursions. We won't have any control until Phil get's the computer up and running.”

“Well how long is the wake up cycle?”

“About 5 minutes I was told. But it's never happened before. But we don't even know that the cycle is going on; it could just be that the computers are showing a wake up, when no command was issued.”

The intercom crackled to tinny life.

“Martin! Martin! What's going on down there!”

“Computer malfunction boss, we're trying to determine just what it's doing. Might want to rouse the response team, just in case.”

Norman didn't want them to hit the panic button. If word of how this happened got out after wards, and it would, he would be fired. But he had read the files too; it was required reading. Omega Man had 1337 murders to his credit. Those were just the intentional ones. So his job was the least of his worries at the moment.

A quick zoom in from the security camera in that section, and his heart skipped. The stupid thing couldn't see the pod. They were supposed to be able to see every pod with these cameras, but he couldn't get the camera to pan right enough.

“Camera won't pan.”

Marty glared. Norman had never seen Marty angry before, and it scared him a little.

“Then you my friend are going to go in and see what can be seen. Take your walkie.”

Looking into the small sea of hardened faces, he knew. He was the canary in the coal mine. He grabbed his walkie quickly among the silence before he was all but led lamb style to the door. The requisite code was punched and he was ushered through.

The place was right out of a movie set, all large wires and hoses connected every which way, or draped across the concrete floor haphazardly. It was well lit for a change, the janitorial team had replaced all the fluorescent bulbs last week. It wasn't silent, with all the clicks, hums, and whirring noises one might expect would be right at home at an automated machine shop. His breath puffed misty in the bright air.

But to Norman it was dark as pitch, and pure silence greeted his ears.

“Test.”

Sometimes the radios died, even on the charger; the batteries had been defective before.

“Read you loud and clear.”

Marty's voice, now with a tinge of worry. That gave Norman some hope, however faint, that he might be forgiven.
“Get a move on Norman, time is of the essence. Check the pod and interrupt it's cycle manually if you have to.”

They had all been briefed on how to interrupt a pod's wake up cycle manually when they were hired. It was a simple matter of putting your card key in, and putting in your code. His code was 1173; easy enough. He stepped up the pace.

The camera was sheathed in ice; that was fairly common, and the motors that moved the cameras were proof against such moisture, but every so often one got locked in place from the ice growth and the motor wasn't strong enough to dislodge it. There was no time for that now though.

At first glance, Norman felt cheated. He was supposed to have 5 minutes! The hatch was already half open, fully popped, and Omega man was already stirring within.

“Marty, the pod's opening! Initiating manual override.”

His key card was hanging around his neck; it always was. He slotted it, almost missing, and waited for the key pad panel to pop open. Then he realized like the camera, it too had a thing sheath of ice. His frustrated (frightened) fist quickly shattered it, and the panel popped open with the sound of snapping, brittle metal.

The pad seemed to be fully functional, and he was on typing the 7 when a hand, colder than the grave and stronger than any vise, grabbed his.

He screamed.

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

Simon Crane was not groggy. He knew exactly who he was, and where he was, and most importantly, why he was here. He was here because despite it's best efforts, the United States government had found no way to kill him. No poison could penetrate his hide like skin, no bomb could hurt him, radiation was his friend more than anyone else's.

They had tried to trick him into eating poison once...but the cyanide hadn't killed him. He'd been... annoyed about that incident. He wasn't really a bad sort though, just misunderstood.

The government had made him a super soldier. He had exceeded their wild expectations, easily able to fend off the predations of well, anyone. Killing the Terror had just proven it, really. With the powered enemies of America quiet, he had been looking to retire. The government hadn't really wanted to lose their best field agent. They always had more infiltration's, assassinations, and general wet-work for their best.

But he was a simple man; he preferred honesty and action to words and deception.

What that meant was, people had one chance. They listened, did as they were told, and didn't anger him – or they died. So when the guard just kept on trying to input some code into his pod despite the fact that he was already awake and clearly not going back to sleep any time soon, gibbering all the while, well...

Simon Crane got upset.

Stepping over the charred remains, he took stock. As the doctors had told him, he had continued to grow. He was now easily seven feet tall. A quick brushing with a hand revealed not a single hair left on his head, also expected. He looked, if anything, more fit than ever after who knew how long in enforced sleep.

And of course he was naked; they had taken his suit. What was wrong with people, anyway? Say you want to be left alone, and they try to kill you. They finally manage to knock you out, and then steal your clothes and lock you up in a freezer. They should have tried harder to kill him, honestly.

The guard’s clothes were ash, and the walkie-talkie was a lost cause. Too much microwave energy. Oh, and he was alone in this frozen sepulcher with all these lovely ne'er do wells. He counted a full 50.. and he recognized two of them. He had been the one to put them down.

Well that sort of made several things clear didn't it? How his government valued his service, and how they considered him, to place him among the worst of the worst. Well he didn't care, he could still remove scum from the world.

A pulse of a few of the more fun types of radiations, and any who weren't dead soon would be. He always did like going nuclear; it smelled like burning, like melted wreckage... like freedom. Civic duty complete, he strolled up to the door.

With no means of communications (the intercom was so much slag running from the wall) this next step would be tricky. He really did not want to walk through the installation dispensing death to one and all. He didn't really care, he would if he had to, but if it was avoidable....

The intercom panel gave him an idea. Usually such places were weaker structurally than the walls themselves, and that panel hadn't taken his radiation well. A single punch proved the theory, as his hand sank in to the shoulder through the wall. A quick wiggle brought it back out, and a quick look confirmed it had gone all the way through.

“Excuse me.”

A rough voice from the other side answered.

“Yeah?”

“Let me out, or I shall be forced to release all sorts of unhealthy radiation into that room, and kill you all.”

“...What happened to Norman?”

“Was that his name? I'm afraid we did not see eye to eye on certain matters regarding my detainment, so I was forced to kill him.”

There was some whispering on the other end of the hole; he was far too much a gentlemen to listen in, however.

“How do we know you'll keep your word?”

“You've read my file, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Then you know I will. Let me out, stand aside, and I will let you all leave, life and limb intact.”

There was of course, more whispering. Then the door cycled open to reveal a portly man with gray wisps of hair and road mapped face screwed into an expression of cautious fear. Behind him were other guards, more fit... ex-military, no doubt. The desks, the boxes with television screens attached, the weapons were all taken in at a glance.

There was a puddle in front of the door, where he would have to step.

He raised an eyebrow. He assumed he still had those, but he didn't know.

“The leak was the reason for the error that allowed your pod to open.”

The old man responded to the silent question well. No hesitation or stuttering. He was afraid, but collected. He was plotting something. One cautious step out confirmed it.

“Light him up!”

Little daggers flew through the air, not at him directly, where they would do no good, but at the puddle. Electricity arced, and his body followed, dancing then stiffening until the power packs on the guard;'s unknown weapons died.

All in all, it was a nice try. He came out of it, and clenched his jaw.

“That.... I get it, I do. You're only doing your jobs. It was a good attempt, and I'll honor it. If asked, I'll say you all did the best you could. But that was your one chance. One more attempt, by any of you, and you all die. Understood?”

Nods were his answer.

“Ahh good, a working intercom. Excuse me, is anyone there?”

“Yes, this is lieutenant Al Kowalsky. To whom am I speaking?”

“You would know me best as Omega Man, Lieutenant. I am free of my incarceration, and wish to be free of this installation. So far only one man has died, and he died for not granting my request. You will grant my request, or I will kill everyone in the installation above me, including you.”

A moment passed.

“Would you mind very much if I asked for a few minutes time to consult my superiors?”

“Not at all lieutenant. You may have 5 minutes, after which I will assume your answer to be negative.”
He sat down in one of the chairs facing the elevator to wait, the guards behind him. Exactly 3 minutes, 39 seconds later he had his answer.

Both the rest of the security staff and the on-call heavy armored battalion watched him walk out the front door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, see you later Vic.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If it wasn't sold first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I didn't need any of that stuff anyway.

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

Did I mention she had a mean right hook?

“You. When did you get back?”

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

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

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

“Then hurry it up. I'm hungry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How strange. Was she a lady of the evening?

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

Obviously some societal changes had occurred.

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

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

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

Or perhaps a rare steak.

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

“Excuse me, miss?”

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

“Yes, sir?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure, um... you too.”

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

The walk to the diner was a pleasant one. But I couldn't escape the feeling of impending doom. Nothing small or vague. A real feeling of great specific doom, which I was walking towards. I shrugged.

My obligations lay ahead of me, so ahead of me I would go. Even towards the almost overwhelming feeling. It was crazy though, I'd never felt the like before.

For all of that, the new night was pleasant, not quite cold enough to be brutal, but getting into jacket temperatures. The birds and insects were silent. For that matter even the dogs that everyone seemed to have were silent, and not a few of them were actually in hiding. Odd, but it didn't seem to affect the people at all.

It seemed everyone was out enjoying the nice weather, doing errands and chores before it got truly cold, or just walking around to get in each others way. I couldn't tell which for sure, but to me it certainly seemed like there were more than my fair share directly in front of me. It ceased being charming and rapidly became annoying.

The growing pressure in my head wasn't making that any easier. This was far beyond a normal headache. Again, not that it mattered. Neither rain, nor heat, nor physical discomfort of any kind would keep me from my appointed rounds.

Then the diner hove into view, a faded, greasy looking place full of faded greasy looking people. The name on the place was “Bill's”, but there hadn't been a Bill here since before I was born. The current owner was a man named Mike.

I liked Mike, he was a bluff simple guy, almost as large as I was but older and with that ex-military swagger most men around here had. He also knew my father before the accident, a fact I didn't hold against him, even when he started trying to compare me to my old man.

None of that really translated to one of my favorite things – free food, but no relationship was perfect. At least he didn't try to get in the way when I escorted Penny or the other girls home. The area wasn't really that dangerous, at least not anymore.

I had myself in the door and seated in my favorite stool (the one with a view of the kitchen and the door) before Mike or Penny even recognized I was there. Standing room only tonight, but Jed and I had an understanding; he sat here in the afternoon until a half hour from Penny's shift, and if I wasn't here by then he left.

Old Jed didn't really have any place to go in the afternoons, spending most of the time chatting with his buddies at this very counter, and he loved playing seat warmer for me. As always, he got up with a nod right as I came into range, drained his coffee and left. His check would have been paid already.

I nodded back and settled in, giving a warning glare at some euro - douche haired yuppy type who thought he was going to swoop in and get my stool. He hadn't even put his cell phone up' it was still glued to his ear. He saw and paled in a most satisfying manner before going back to his call... loudly.

Luckily (for him) Mike noticed I was suddenly sitting in my usual spot.

“Vic, what'll it be?”

“The usual Mike, the usual.”

The usual was a nice large burger with lettuce and tomato, and a large plate of greasy heart clogging fries next to it. No condiments. No pickles this time, but I'll just pick them off. Only salt on the fries, and only a little.

I was well into the plate, munching away, by the time Penny had a moment to look up. She looked right to my stool, and sighed when I gave her a small wave. I couldn't hear it over all the morons shouting over each other, and euro- douche chatting over it all in my ear, but I could see it.

I ignored it with an application of will; typical night here. It took almost no time at all to finish up. A quick check of the clock revealed that Penny only had fifteen minutes left. Meal over, I stood up, and the yuppy immediately took the stool, still on his phone.

I retreated to an out of the way corner near the restrooms to wait, holding up the wall. As big as I was, most people seemed to have vision based on movement, which meant I could blend into the background if I stood still. I wasn't sure how it worked exactly, but it did.

Made it easy to see the dipshit trio arrive outside.

Now, those three were not me. So they couldn't get away with half the crap I did. As such, they couldn't really push their way through the crowd for a seat and get served. Mainly because they saw me there through the window, and also saw Mike was on duty in the kitchen. Last time they tried that, he threw them out, none too gently.

And he had saved them much pain; I had been a step slower than he had.

At any rate they were safely outside.

“Hey, almost ready to go.”

Penny had snuck up on me while I was keeping an eye out for trouble; true to her word, her apron was off and in her hand; she was a few minutes early, but a glance at the register revealed Mike and proved he didn't seem to mind. A glance into the kitchen proved that Becky, her shift replacement, was already here and ready to take over.

“Alright. I'm here. Go clock out.”

At least she didn't seem upset. Not that it mattered to me. I'd let her beat on me before, to work out her frustrations. It hadn't hurt at all. Well except for that perfect straight punch to the nose, but if I'd told her that, she'd only do it more.

Did I mention she had a mean right hook?

She came back and of course punched me in the arm when she thought I wasn't moving fast enough for her.

“Come on, I don't want to stay in here any longer than I have to. No offense Mike.”

He smiled.

“None taken.”

I couldn't blame her, work was work. We threaded the crowd and hit the door, just in time to almost literally run into a guy that was even taller than I was. He was nearly a foot taller if he was an inch, and had on some of the most dated clothes I'd seen. Detective movie stuff. I had to admit, except for the size, he made it look good.

The sense/headache/pressure I'd been feeling also turned from a muddy mental haze to a clearly focused feeling the moment my eyes made contact.

Too strong for you. Leave now.

Well that was a first. I'd heard this particular voice inside me head before; it was my sixth sense, my combat awareness. It often told me the things I needed to know in order to win fights, or what type of skills people had just by looking at them (like the time I knew that H1'er was a swordsman, even with no sword visible on him. He'd had a holdout I'd noticed somehow).

I didn't question it, I'd been told by an old marine that everyone had such a sixth sense, and to trust it. Hell, my father had said the same when I questioned him. But this was the first time it had told me that no matter what, I had no chance to win.

The first time it hadn't whispered of odds, probabilities, and fighting adaptations necessary in order to win. Just an abbreviated 'you have no chance.' Looking at the guy again, I noticed a faint greenish tinge, and an almost glow about him. When my eyes met his it was like an electric shock. I'd seen eyes like those before, on vets. Those eyes combined with that slightly off-hinged grin was a bad sign. He also had no eyebrows. I quickly steered Penny away from him.

“Excuse me sir.”

“Think nothing of it young man.”

His voice turned the whisper up a notch, but I ignored it. Just running away screaming would only bring unwanted attention. Well that and totally ruin my rep.

But we were done, to the side, and walking away from the strange guy without any confrontation at all. Which meant of course that the situation had to go to complete shit. And as with most situations, this one was ruined by an idiot.

“Hey old man, you a mutant?”

God damn it Mica, you must have a death wish. Oh well, I'll miss you, moron. I tried to hurry Penny along, but she'd taken another glance at the old guy, and was dragging her heels. She wanted to see the fireworks.

The guy looked over in mild surprise that I was sure was feigned.

“Why no young man, I'm not a mutant; why do you ask?”

“Because you look like one. You sure you aren't?”

I heard the tell-tale snap of a spring blade. That would be Daryl. Darrin was trying to look menacing, which was hard to do to a guy bigger than you, and Mica had his phone out.

His special H1 given phone which he'd made such a big deal of. The one that connected straight to the home office in Montgomery, 10 miles away.

“I'm absolutely positive young man. Again, why do you ask?”

That strangely insistent tone. The warning bell in my head was a gong the moment I heard it. He was looking for a fight too. This old guy was looking for a fight every bit as much as Mica was. I started dragging Penny along outright for a few feet, dropping any pretense whatsoever... before Darrin pulled his favorite battered piece of lead pipe.

She finally started to get the idea herself, and stopped needing to be pulled.

By then of course it was too late, I could well see how this was going to go down. This guy, mutant or not, had powers like one, and was not shy at all about using them. Even against scrubs like Mica and his two man gang. Or the police. Or humanity first. Or even the K.O.P., power armor and all. Once started, he'd fight everyone... and Mica was going to start him.

“Because we don't like mutants around here. This is a clean town, and we like to keep it that way.”

…Shit. I never hated being right more than now. A subtle move no one noticed put me in front of Penny as we walked. OK, judging by the look she just gave me, she knew. She also started walking faster, no doubt in reaction to what she called my 'fight face'. She told me I had one, though I never saw it, and that when I wore it, she knew crap was about to hit the fan. I wore it the day I broke Mica and his cronies, she told me.

“Well old man, I guess we'll have to check your credentials. The old fashioned way.”

I wasn't watching behind me, but I could almost sens the rush. Then the wave of whatever it was hit, and I found myself on the street, Penny half under me and unconscious. Right, old dude had powers, mutant or not. And he'd just cut loose with them in a crowded block of my hometown, and hurt Penny.

Right.

The voice in my head was no longer a whisper, it was a scream.

Cannot win, avoid engagement. Flee at best speed, only option for survival.

Not good enough voice. I demand options. Ways to win. Because this bastard was going down.

No way possible. To fight is to die.

Not good enough, you better work on it. 'Cause retreat ain't an option this time.

I stood up, checking Penny on the way. She was unconscious, and possibly hurt somehow. I wasn't sure what he hit us all with (radiation, microwaves gamma waves x-rays) but it could have cause permanent damage. Likely did, if the voice screaming in my head was true.

I on the other hand, felt fine. My head felt very hot but other than that, perfectly fine.

Absorption of ambient radiation 92%.

I shrugged. Whatever. My cigarettes were fine, so I took one out and lit it. The old guy was still at the door, as if he hadn't considered what his action in zapping everyone would be. Of course everyone in the diner, even big Mike, was out too. Or worse, I didn't exactly have time to check them all.

“Yo, old dude.”

He turned around, his surprise total and almost comical. I took a deep drag.

“You really shouldn't have done that. You ruined a perfectly nice night.”

The cigarette dangling where I could inhale it's relaxing vapor, my hands broke for my knives. The lock blades unlocking sounded pretty loud in the silence. I didn't want to go this far, but the voice was screaming that to have any chance at all I'd have to go lethal right from the outset. After a glance at the carnage on the street I wasn't about to argue.

He had even nailed the traffic along the street; of course that caused more than a few accidents. And a few fatalities, unless I missed my guess. Fucker didn't even look like he cared. At least I wouldn't have to worry about a car hitting Penny.

The jackass in question gave me a look that would have lifted an eyebrow if he'd have had one, staring right at the knives.

“Those didn't work for your compatriots, what makes you think they will work for you?”

Compatriots? What the hell, who talks like that nowadays?

“Not my compatriots, dude. I'm no friends of theirs. The problem is, I am friends with a few of the people you just hurt. So that makes me your problem. Talk is cheap, time to dance.”

Another drag and I was off, surprising him with my speed. I knew my knives could hurt him, the voice whispering in my head was telling me so. Death lay in hesitation, so I went right to it.

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

Simon was actually impressed. Here was a hearty example of humanity; one who could absorb one of his favorite attacks. It was meant to quell resistance by trash, and perhaps it hadn't been necessary here, but it led to a rather marvelous development.

This young man was obviously a mutant of some kind. That was the only explanation. A tight burst of microwaves (as tight as he could manage at any rate) proved it. Leaning out of the way into a roll to the left, just enough to clear the most damaging effects, the young man leaped back to his feet with a speed Simon could follow, but not completely react to. So, a speedster, with a hint of an esper danger sense?

Annoying, but not as if such a combination could really hurt him.

That opinion was rapidly revised when the young man's blades came arcing in, one at his head and one at his kidney in a rather deceptive looking combat move. Had he had training? He didn't bother to dodge much, simply moving his head to make sure his eye wasn't a target; simple steel couldn't cut him, and he knew from a look that those knives were quality steel, but just steel nonetheless.

This opinion was smashed to microscopic pieces when his cheek lit up with pain, while simultaneously his side let him know it had sustained a cut as well. Simon grabbed the follow up roundhouse out of the air and threw his attacker.

A quick check to both abused places left him sighing in relief. The cut to the cheek was minor, and the potential killing blow to his kidney was far too shallow; it had barely broken skin. Another glance revealed the tell tale sheen of force fields coating both blades. Force fields strong enough to damage him at all were rare.

But if that was the best he could do, it was only a matter of time. Still, just how many abilities did this young one have? Power sets like this were rare. And the list of powers visibly displayed was in no way explaining how he was still up after eating the first blast. Surely it wasn't a matter of simple exemplar traits? Most exemplars were unable to deal with the radiation he could generate long.

He decided to up the ante.

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

Alright, so the first attack had proven less decisive than I'd hoped, but done more damage than I feared I'd be able to pull off. Another blast coming, I profiled left and felt the ripple tickle my nose. My brain was on fire, my thoughts wrapped in cotton, and the voice was screaming at me to run, to run RIGHT NOW, and hope he tired of toying with me.

Again, I quashed it ruthlessly. Leaving Penny and Mike (I didn't really give a rat's ass about anyone else) to the tender mercies of this bastard just wasn't an option.

Running no longer an option. 4 minutes, 27 seconds ending in termination.

So death in under 5 minutes huh? I finished my cancer stick with a fatalistic shrug. If Mica's call had gone out, then the Knights of Purity might well be only minutes away. Perhaps I could play for time. But how did one play for time?

Well if one was me, then they attacked for all they were worth.

My right blade actually shattered on the guy this pass, the left bet a bit but held. He was sporting two new cuts though, and his attention was firmly cemented on me. He looked almost... happy.

“Time to get serious.”

I nodded, pulling another of my blades.

“I couldn't agree more.”

Handspring left, back flip right, I could feel the near hits. Whatever he was throwing was damaging me anyway. It was just lessened with the dodges. I could actually see my skin start to smoke. My dodges led him down the street, something I don't think he noticed. Or maybe he just didn't care. I was now on my last set of knives, all prior sets had melted. He did care when I flipped completely over his blasts and charged him again. Feeling the strain of a fight like this was for suckers.

A thrown knife and he was forced to break eye contact with me, or lose the eye. For all I knew his eyes were just as tough as the rest of him, but human instinct was a powerful thing to overcome. When my knife bounced off the back of his head I flipped again, somehow making it over his head just in time to keep myself lost. The voice was almost calm, like it should be.

Repeat slash in prior location.

He managed to get his hands in front of his eyes, so I drew a shallow line across his throat with one knife while checking something with another.

It seemed that repeated cuts to exactly the same spot would in fact, go deeper. Not by much, but perhaps it was enough. The voice was worth something after all.

Before I could try that again, I found myself embedded in a car somehow.

Time from beginning of engagement 4 minutes, 27 seconds.

Well shit. Now the voice in my head would just be insufferable. I tried to move, and found that I couldn't. I couldn't even feel the pain I was sure I should be feeling. If I was lucky, the old geezer would mistake me for dead. Of course I never even once suspected that would be the case. I could hear his footsteps coming closer, and I tried to at least meet death on my feet. But with a flash of heat, I was gone.

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

Dangerous. That young man was actually dangerous. An exemplar, a regenerator, a speedster and package deal psychic, and somehow able to absorb or negate high levels of his radiation. Not all of it, no... but just enough to be dangerous.

That last attack had actually started his fight-or-flight reactions; he was shaking from the adrenaline. He was sure the cut to his cheek would scar. The young man had actually done significant damage to him; he could count the people on that list on one hand... well two hands now. Yes, he was the sixth.

If not for that mistake in losing to grapple range, he might have won. Not that it was a mistake really, the force fields surrounding his weapons did not seem capable of being manipulated outside of those. He hadn't even tried to use them to shield himself with. Obviously untrained. Uncouth. Unlettered.

But still very honorable, in his way. He had led me away from his friends on purpose. He had tried to buy time for the authorities to arrive. And while he cared as much for trash as I did, he stood by his own. Admirable.

But now he had to be dead. Simon had grabbed the arm holding the knife to his throat (breaking it in the process) then thrown him almost straight up... a good dozen stories. His return to terra firma had all but shattered a car with the most awful screeching. Simon couldn't even see the body, it was hidden from view by the crater made in the unfortunate auto. Were they making cars less sturdy in these modern times?

Supposing he should be thorough, he approached to offer the appropriate coup-DE-gras when a form of gamma radiation washed over him. Well that answered that question; the young lad had been holding... it... somehow..?

In the shattered remnants of the car laid an enigma.

Simon was quite sure that he had thrown a young man up, and quite sure the same young man had come down again, proving he did not possess the ability to fly. But a young man was not what he he had just discovered; instead of a man of any stripe he found:

A young girl, perhaps twelve years of age, and certainly no older. Long black hair lay scattered fetchingly around her, giving her a Rapunzel like air. She was thin of frame and wrapped in a black dress adorned with lace and ribbons, just beginning to show the first small curves of womanhood. She appeared to be sleeping peacefully, with only the faintest hints of a frown marring her pixie-like features. He knew that if he could coax her eyes open, he would find them a most startling shade of green.

She was also free of all the radioactive energy he had been throwing around for the last several minutes.

She was...

She was...

She was perfect.

The general stormed ahead, lesser officials and scientists bobbing in his metaphorical wake. His face was a black cloud, and his voice was thunder itself. Like one would suspect however, his vengeful wrath was directed ahead of him, rather than behind; a fact for which many of the scientists were very grateful.

He swept into the conference room and took his chair at the head of the table, fuming impatiently while the others found theirs. No sooner had the last butt found a seat than he growled out:

“Alright, so what do we have?”

The first to speak would undoubtedly earn some measure of his displeasure for their very own. Doctor Emila Destayne, P.H.D., M.D., with degrees in biology and genetics alone had the alphabet soup weight to survive such. Suppressing a sigh, she answered.

“Sir, at roughly 0900 yesterday morning, the empowered individual known as 'Omega Man' escaped confinement at the ARC facility under Wanata mountain; according to subsection 4 he was allowed out, then tracked while resources were called in for his termination, he managed to walk....”

“One moment, doctor. Why were resources not in place for his removal?”

A pointed stare told the general she wouldn't take any heat for the following decision.

“Budgetary concerns, sir.”

A nod and another growl.

“Continue.”

“Yes, sir. Omega Man managed to walk to the nearest town, one Snead. Interesting name, that. At any rate, our asset, one mister Smith, was en-route and less than an hour away, the long distance surveillance teams were in place, and all was going according to contingency plan theta 7. Then something unknown happened, and the town of Snead was irradiated.”

The general had several questions, but the first was the most important.

“How bad?”

“One block took the equivalent of a small scale nuclear device; perhaps a fabled “dirty bomb”. With proper treatment, all involved in the incident should make a full recovery, or nearly so. Those not involved in a number of random accidents at any rate. Fatalities were surprisingly low; only 14.”

And the next question, perhaps equally important.

“How? What do we know?”

“a surveillance satellite we tasked with tracking Omega man took these images at roughly 1930 hours.”

The doctor slid several glossy photos across the table. Sure, she would rather just hand the general a digital copy on a tablet, but the general was old school and appreciated well executed copies. Each still showed something slightly different, but the big money shots were the first and the last. The first showed Omega man's bald head glinting in the light as he faced a black head of hair. Not far from the unknown, a young woman lay felled for reason unknown. Closer to Omega Man were 3 more fallen victims; the implication was clear to one who knew Omega Man's methods.

“So he used the pulse? Did this one set him off? Who was he?”

If the black head of hair in the photo had set off Omega Man, he was dead.

“No sir, initial investigations have the young man with the cell phone as the instigator. The young man facing off against Omega Man here is a known delinquent of local reputation, one Victor Smith. Hmm, son of an army ranger with a purple heart and silver star from Iraq.”

The third question had to be asked.

“Mutant?”

“No sir, not listed as a mutant at all. Just an extraordinarily tough baseline. However, that dignosis was clearly wrong. Look at the next photo, please.”

The next shot showed Omega Man again clearly, his bald head a beacon. It also showed a smashed car. And inside that smashed car was a girl in a dress. What was a girl doing inside a smashed car?”

With a wry grin, Doctor Destayne shook her head.

“That's Victor Smith, sir. He lost the fight and shifted into that.”

Well that meant the youth was alive at least. The general was well aware of Simon Crane's mental... foibles.

“So a mutant after all, and a shifter?”

She shook her head again.

“No sir, the tests come up negative for both. Whatever Victor Smith is, she isn't a shifter. At least not as we understand the term. Besides, being a shifter would not allow Victor to hold off an empowered being of that magnitude for several minutes.”

Truthfully, calling three minutes several was being generous, but the last one to go toe to toe with Simon Crane had died in seconds. Even knowing how Victor had survived, her survival was remarkable. Just surviving long enough to peak Simon Crane's interest was a feat few could match.

“Sir, we found this note on the body.”

She slid a copy over. She had long since memorized the short missive.

Take good care of her. If you don't, I will know. Simon Crane.

The generals eyebrows, like ghost white caterpillars upon his head, managed to crawl their way up to the top of his head.

“Well that seems... ominous. And Crane's whereabouts?”

“He gave the surveillance detail the slip, sir. His current whereabouts are unknown.”

There was no hiding the general's surprise.

“What? What about the satellite?”

Doctor Destayne shrugged as she replied.

“The satellite malfunctioned for approximately 4 minutes, and when it came back online he was gone, out of effective range. Possibly some now power, or an old one re-imagined. Radiation mimicking the effects of sunspots, perhaps. We will know more if we can recover the satellite. All we know for sure is something knocked out the primary systems. We have several teams scouring the area searching for him.”

The general's copy of the note was crumpled up, and the growl made its return.

“And the casualties?”

Doctor Destayne knew the general was masking concern over one particular survivor over asking about them all.

“Being treated as we speak, as stated, most will fully recover. Decontamination teams are already at work as well.”

“And our asset?”

Doctor Destayne took a long drink to mask her unease before answering that question.

“Still in place near Snead, just in case.”

The general stood up abruptly.

“Very well doctor, well done. The young man... woman... whatever, is in your care as requested. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a manhunt to oversee.”

Without even waiting, he swept out of the room. Doctor Destayne waited patiently as the good general's entourage followed, then turned to hr own team with a glee most found disconcerting.

“Let's go attend to our patient, shall we?”

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

I had gone ten rounds with the mutant version of King Kong. I hadn't even had a plane, not that that would have helped. I remembered it all, and there was no doubt every bone in my body was broken.

So why didn't I feel any pain? A quick check revealed that everything worked, but there was something odd, something wrong about my arms. Legs too. I couldn't quite place what it was though. And what the... some joker had put me in a hospital gown. I was going to have to hurt someone, injured or not. At least, if that someone hadn't been a hottie nurse. Or maybe I had bumped my head a little too hard, and was hallucinating. That sounded pretty plausible, actually.

I was in a huge room with a white theme. A white bed with a shiny steel frame, white sheets, white ceiling tiles, white paint on the walls, a dark wooden bedside table the only real splash of color. The bed had a wired control I recognized, as if the smell and look alone wasn't enough to tip me off. I was in a hospital.

Well I didn't see any bandages or IV's or even machines hooked up to me, so I didn't seem to be too badly hurt.

I also figured out what was wrong. The hospital gown almost completely covered me, and my feet stopped about halfway down the bed. Maybe a bit more. I swung myself up and sat on the edge, and my legs dangled well short of the ground.

What the hell, had the rat-bastard been packing a shrink power too?

The long thin glossy strands tickling my shoulders like threads of silk belied that notion; My hair wasn't it's usual brown nest. Instead it was a curtain of inky black that could stretch down well past my shoulders. There was no ray or mutant power I knew of to shrink people while making their hair grow. Let alone change color and grow.

A short hop off the bed and I bolted for the bathroom, my tiny feet beating a nice staccato on the tile. I had maybe a foot on the door handle height wise, it was hard to tell. The bathroom was bright enough to need no extra light with the door open; the mirror was set at a height that I could no longer fit all of me in, but it showed enough.

A girl was staring back at me.

Long black hair framing a very angry looking but perhaps overly delicate face. Small thin straight nose, high cheekbones, small thin eyebrows that appeared to be drawn on over large brilliant green eyes. Somewhat larger lips than I was used to proportionally. Short hops showed nothing save the hospital gown. I would have to feel up this stranger to learn the truth.

Small swellings on the chest, sensitive to the touch and covered with some for of cloth that could only be a bra? Check. Small flare in my new hips? Check. Butt beginning to hang out behind me like a train caboose? Check. And... Yep, damn it, someone was going to die. Well more than one. Some joker had put Disney princess panties on me.

Perhaps even the entire hospital would have to die, depending on how many saw me like this.

The door opened.

“Hello?”

A cultured female voice I didn't recognize entered, followed by someone I didn't know, judging from the footsteps.

An amused grin belonging to a tall statuesque blonde greeted me when I peered around the door. She had blue eyes and the kind of figure that would draw comments from anyone, including a fair number of women. Her name tag read: “Dr. Destayne, MD.” Something... some presence, moved inside my head with the sight of her. It felt like part of my brain belly flopped inside my skull.

“Ahh, there you are. Hello, Victor.”

“Are you responsible for this?”

Her eyes positively sparkled with her growing amusement as she replied.

“Responsible for what?”

I gestured.

“This! Putting me in this shape. The stupid under-roos, the hair, the stupid size! And who are, you? How do you even know me anyway?!?”

I couldn't really get in her face; I had to settle for staring up at her and pointing a finger. Hardly an intimidating image, but she still backed up.

“Calm down Victor. Nothing will be gained from shouting. No, I am not responsible for your current condition; Omega Man is, according to our best intelligence. How we don't know, as his abilities are well known and include no possibility of shape shifting another organism.”

That stopped me. I turned away and jumped on the bed, collecting my thoughts. There wasn't anywhere else to sit in the room, something a little odd, so the doctor sat beside me.

“Omega Man? The name of the rat bastard who attacked Penny was Omega Man? How stupid sounding.”

Her reply was laced with more of that same amusement.

“Yes, well, at the time, the phrase meant something. You see it's based off an old movie that.. you know what, never mind, it's not important. What is important is that Omega Man is very dangerous; he has the ability to irradiate entire cities and is strong enough to pull apart a tank. Not to mention how nigh-invulnerable he is.”

“I know, believe me, I know. He ran over me like I wasn't even there. But if his power is punching things or nuking them, why am I a girl?”

She shook her head.

“We don't know, but we suspect it wasn't from him. After all, do you think a normal person could go toe to toe with a walking nuclear weapon, even for as long as you managed?”

That tired old lie again.

“I am normal; I've been tested three times. Unless you have a different test than the MCO uses, I'm as normal as it gets. And who might this “we” be, hmm?”

The doctor smiled again, and the delight all but dripped from her tone.

“Oh! Well, “we” are the United States government. In my case, the United States Army medical corps, research division. And as for that test, no we don't have another test. Just common sense. Everyone else who even annoys Omega Man simply keels over, organs cooked from the inside. Several of your townsfolk are in intensive care as we speak... though here you are, hale and whole. Somehow, you survived without even so much as a minor burn.”

I could remember burning, and my bones breaking. But for now, my own needs paled.

“Yeah, hale and whole and looking like a kid. A girl kid. How's Penny?”

“In intensive care but expected to make a full recovery.”

Whoever this doctor really was, she was definitely government; something which raised my hackles. I remembered dealing with VA doctors about my dad's care. That worked out so well. Dealing with this one would probably be worse.

“I want to see her.”

“Of course. We can go now, unless you'd rather get dressed first?”

Snide little witch. Well not so little really. She was probably a good 6 feet. I really didn't want to go anywhere with my butt hanging out – made things a little cold.

“Yeah clothes would be nice. But I'm pretty sure mine are trashed and won't fit.”

She nodded with a grin that bore an uncanny resemblance to the Joker's.

“Absolutely correct. In fact, your old clothes were nowhere to be found when we located you. Even your underwear. However it just so happens that I recently took it upon myself to make sure you were cared for. So in the closet are several outfits which should fit you with ease. I'll be outside and down the hall, waiting.”

And out she walked. So I was found like this, sans clothing of any kind? Yep, I'd have to start murdering people. I might even have to start with her.

Then again, aside from one overly girly looking and overly frilly dress, there were jeans tee shirts without logos or frills, a pair of sweat pants and shirt that looked like they might be comfortable, and even a nightgown, which I knew I wouldn't use.

So maybe I'd save her for last. That seems like a plan.

I grabbed the sweat-clothes... I didn't want to wear anything particularly form fitting at the moment. Taking the gown off revealed the small bra nestled against my torso like a second skin. It was plain white, and appeared to have sensors woven into it.

For all of that, it fit so well I almost couldn't tell it was there. I wasn't sure what it was made of, but it wasn't irritating to have there, even though the small bug bites I was currently sporting were pretty sensitive. So I left it there. I didn't see any replacements for Disney, and I was half tempted just to shuck them and do without, but no sooner would I do that than the doc would try to pants me or something.

With her sense of humor I wouldn't put it past her.

So I just shimmied into the pants, which were too damn small, and threw the shirt over my head. A quick peek out revealed the hallway was empty, and the good doctor was at the nurse's station to the left, chatting up the nurse... who was in fact, as good a major a hottie as she was. They could have been sisters. Again, that.. something in my brain flopped, with a sense of weight. Oh well, I was used to worse sensations than that.

As silently as I could I crossed the distance. It was never polite to eavesdrop, but whatever I happened to hear while she was expecting me was fair game. I considered that rule to be something like that rule the cops used to overhear things in public places. If it worked for them, after all, it could work for me.

What really concerned me was the lack of army guys. In any army installation there were army guys, right? Granted this was just one hallway, but no guards on the dangerous bad ass who went one on one with one of their rogue guys?

That was another thing; the hinted army presence pretty much assured that this Omega Man jerk-off was one of their somehow, gone crazy. I didn't ask before, and the good doctor didn't say. But maybe, just maybe, I should pin her down on that issue. She had to suspect I suspected... or something.

But of course, true to my luck, the nurse pointed me out well before I was in range to hear them; this hall was stupidly long. Must be 50 rooms here. A sure sign that I wasn't anywhere I knew anymore.

“So where are we? This doesn't look like Phoenix.”

It was a shot in the dark; the air didn't feel like Arizona; in Arizona even through hospital air conditioning you could feel the dry, brittle heat. This air was too moist.

“Oh, just an army medical facility somewhere. I can't really tell you where, except we are still in Arizona.”

“Doctor Destayne, you shouldn't have even told her the state!”

She waved the nurse off as I got close enough to read her tag; Nurse Joy. Really.

“Oh relax Joy, Victor here isn't going to cause any trouble.”

The nurse and the doctor had matching gleams in their eyes. This wasn't going to be fun at all.

“Victor huh? Shouldn't that be Victoria?”

Yeah, no. I wouldn't be spending any more time looking like this that I had to. I'd force the doctor to use her zap ray on me, and go back to being me. Then I'd shake the dust of this shit hole off my feet and head home. If I could, I'd take Penny with me, I wasn't fond of leaving her here at the army's tender mercies. Seen enough of what could happen with that from my dad. The doctor put her hands on her hips as I got close enough, a sure sign of feminine outrage.

“Well that won't work. You can't go see any patients like that.”

The she pulled out a hairbrush and attacked me with it while the nurse laughed.

“What the hell, lady!”

I couldn't fend her off, she was too strong. She had me gathered up with one arm, in an iron grip every bit as good as the one Omega jerk had, and was running that torture device through my tangles with the other.

“Wouldn't do to see Penny with your hair in knots, would it?”

I wanted to move my head, I really did. But if I did, it would hurt worse. That weight in my brain began to get worse.. and I had to actively push to keep it down. Though I'm not sure what I was pushing, or how.

“Penny won't care about my stupid hair! Now let go!”

Abruptly, she did, so fast I almost fell over. Oh yes, she'd get hers.

“Of course! All done, anyway. Now lets go shall we? Ground floor, elevators are this way.”

I followed a wary three steps behind. Well three of my old steps anyway; seemed to be around 6 now. I didn't see any other weapons on her person, but either she was very strong, or I was very weak, so it wouldn't do to take chances.

But then again, as we stepped into the elevator, we were alone. I was sure there was a camera, but with the emergency stop engaged, that wasn't necessarily a problem. It was time for real answers. I moved as she pushed the button for basement one, noting I was on the tenth for some reason. That pressure in my head increased suddenly, and shoving the good doctor away from the control panel while hitting the emergency stop was all too easy. I was gentle enough not to rap her head on the wall at least; wouldn't do to knock her loopy and not get my answers.

“Alright so now that we're alone, you're going to answer my questions for real this time. First question; who is Omega Man really, and why did you assholes let him go?”

She shook her head, absolutely unconcerned but at least serious this time. I'd make her concerned if I had to; that choice was hers.

“Omega Man is a former American agent for the CIA who took part in a specific super soldier program that I cannot discuss; mainly because I don't know all the details . He is an extremely powerful altered human who went insane and was locked up in a top secret facility because it was considered impossible to euthanize him in painless fashion.

He escaped yesterday morning and we were tracking him easily when something in your hometown set him off. The rest you know better than I.”

I snorted.

“Yeah, that would be an asshat by the name of Mica. Local moron who thinks of himself as a tough guy, never been anywhere harder than the 'burbs. Tried to call H1 and the MCO on the old guy.”

“Well, he's alive, though he probably wishes he hadn't accosted anyone that day. The long term effects of the dose of radiation he received were... extensive.”

I wasn't about to get side tracked. I shook her to make sure she understood that.

“Second question; what did you do to me, and how do you reverse it? Because you better damn well be able to reverse it.”

“What do you mean what did we do? We picked you up and took you here for medical care. Medical care which you didn't need, I might add. At any rate we picked you up in your current form among the other survivors; the form you wear is one we didn't give you.”

If they didn't do it, then who did? Damn it, how could I kick ass without the appropriate ass to kick?

“Not saying I believe you, but if I do, do you know a way to reverse this?”

She shook her head.

“I wouldn't even know where to begin. At least not yet anyway; I do have a few theories on what happened and why.”

No way to go back to being me? To be like this for the rest of my life? I'd done a lot of terrible things in my life, but I was pretty sure I didn't deserve this. Karma striking with that ham hand of hers again no doubt.

The doctor took advantage of my lapse of attention and promptly shoved me into the elevator doors; she had been sandbagging on me! That weight I felt in my head shifted and all of a sudden a blast of... something arced from my hands and blew her back into her wall.

Rather than slumping back as if hurt, or even looking shocked, she grinned suddenly and stretched.

“I knew it! I just knew it.”

Well she may not be shocked, but I was. My hands didn't look any different, but I couldn't deny that whatever that blast was, it had come from me. I was a mutant after all, somehow. And how was that possible, with the doc stating that I still tested negative?

“What do you know?”

“First you have to say you're sorry.”
What?

“Sorry for what?”

Her grin went ear to ear again.

“Sorry for attacking me of course; I really would have answered all your questions truthfully, violence wasn't necessary. Not big on trust, are you?”

No, I wasn't big on trust.

“I won't apologize, I'm really not sorry; you guys did kidnap me after all. I have no idea what you did to me while I was out, and you could have...altered me as easily as anyone else.”

She just stood there and grinned. I couldn't figure out why she wasn't making a move to hit the button behind me; once the elevator arrived at a floor I had no doubt that the army guys I hadn't seen yet would be there with guns drawn.

So why was she so comfortable in my presence?

Finally I could take the waiting no longer.

“Alright, fine, I'm sorry I attacked you.”

The smile dropped as if it had never been.

“It's OK, I know you aren't. But you need a better handle on your temper; there are some people out there that will make you very sorry for any sort of outburst. Willing or not, you've taken your first step into a very dangerous world.

Now on to business; the reason why you changed is simple; you're a special kind of shifter, and you took that form yourself subconsciously when you started losing the fight against Omega Man; you took that form because you knew it had the power to win, power you didn't possess in your old body. At least, subconsciously.”

Staring at my tiny hands begged the question:

“How? This body is actually weaker than my old one. If my old one couldn't do it this one wouldn't have a chance.”

Her head shook and it seemed as if she were laughing at me.

“Not at all; I'm stronger than I look. And I'm guessing you couldn't do that blast of yours before, or at the very least, didn't know how.”

I had to give her that one.

“True enough, I've never done that before. Don't even know what it is.”

She wasn't done with her theories.

“If I had to guess I'd say it was a version of Omega Man's radiation abilities. A small taste, but that's what it felt like to me.”

I didn't really want to ask how she'd survived a personal encounter with the guy who kicked my ass, but she was going to tell me anyway,

“No, nothing so epic as your encounter, with fisticuffs and knives at dusk against the unstoppable killing machine. I just have a few abilities myself. I'm a bit tougher than normal folk, a bit stronger than normal folk, and have another power that is little more than fun at parties. I can smell and taste mutant abilities in others.

And yet you were able to overpower me briefly, and then use an energy blast that smelled like those Omega Man uses... all the while smelling like a completely normal human. In your fight you used knives to wound Omega Man, yet his skin can withstand direct tank fire.

The only thing his skin is weak against are certain forms of monomolecular force fields, which can push their way into the spaces between cells. You had to be using those. So that's at least five powers you used; regeneration, super dense skin, force fields, the sense you used to avoid his blasts he sent your way... yes I noticed that too... and shifting. Just now you used a power that sensed almost exactly like someone you'd only met once. And you still test negative for mutation. So that's seven.

And yet, for all of that... you don't display them all at the same time. Why no force fields here? They would have worked as well as the blast you used. There is more at work here than I can piece together at present, but you my fascinating one, are a powers shifter.”

What the hell was that? Even looking directly into that infuriating smile, I had to ask, my own damnable curiosity raised.

“What the hell is that?”

“So glad you asked! Using some sort of determination or protocol I'm not sure of yet, you pick and choose between mutant abilities, most likely abilities you have been exposed to before, based on the situation you find yourself in. Specifically those abilities most likely to grant survival or victory over your enemies.

Of course there has to be a maximum you can use the ability at, as if there were not you'd have killed Omega Man in your encounter, but still all in all, a very terrifying ability to have. I dare say had you encountered anyone less powerful, you probably could win any encounter easily. At least, once you understand more of how it works.”

I shook my head, and something in my expression seemed to make her take a step back.

“I don't need to, I think. During the fight with the jackass, I felt a pressure in my head and heard a kind of voice; only not really a voice. It was telling me what I needed to do to win, or at least break even. It told me I couldn't beat him, come to think of it. But the pressure hasn't really left; since I woke up it's been in the back of my head, telling me how to beat you if I have to. Telling me I can beat you, anytime I want to.”
Ah ha! Success, she finally looked uneasy.

“Relax doc, I got no plans of taking you out, at least not yet. That remains to be seen; if you're telling me the truth and have taken good care of Penny, I won't hurt you.”

She lifted an eyebrow that had to have been sculpted.

“You do realize if you hurt me, you won't make it out of here alive, don't you?”

I grinned; I could tell this was a front.

“You do realize that if I decide you screwed with me, it won't matter to you what happens to me after the fact, don't you?”

“Well then let's just go see your girlfriend, so you can put your fears to rest, shall we?”

I moved aside to let he push the stop button again, restarting our descent into what was no doubt the x-ray wing of the hospital. Why the survivors were there, I could guess.

“She's not my girlfriend. Just a friend.”

She shot me a look loaded with skepticism.

“Quite a drastic series of actions you’ve committed yourself to for a mere friend.”

I had a glare of my own in response.

“There is no such thing as a “mere” friend. Friends are people who trust you, and who you can trust. That sort of trust you go right to the wall for. I'd walk into hell if a friend needed me there; in fact I did yesterday. No regrets at all if she's safe. Someone like you probably can't understand.”

Well that shut her up, but it didn't stop her from staring at me all the rest of the ride down. AT least we were free of the standard elevator muzak.

With a quiet chime the doors opened, and I found myself staring into a bunch of guns; I followed the barrels to the faces of a bunch of pissed off army guys with a shrug. I could tell that at least a few safeties were off, but I felt no fear at all. That pressure in my brain flopped again, and I heard it clearly this time:

Small arms fire; useless. Weave in left, spin right, engage **** fourteen and threat neutralized.

The doc stepped in before they could fire; I was already half into my first step of the dance that I could see would end in many cut throats and a ton of blood behind her. I hope she didn't notice that. I also wondered what was wrong with me. The army guys were just doing their jobs after all, and they didn't need shit from me. They especially didn't need to die for pointing guns in my direction on orders from some petty excuse for an officer.

While the doc tried to placate the troops, I idly wondered what fourteen was... something was there, but I couldn't understand what the voice meant. Power maybe? Power fourteen? But if it was power, then that meant I had thirteen others locked away. If the doc was to be believed, I only knew seven of those.

“Come on Victoria.”

How quickly she forgets. I couldn't really do more than chide her with the army guys still there and looking at me cross-eyed.

“Don't call me that doc. We've had this discussion already.”

“Well, I know we have, but... never mind, we can talk about it later. Do you have a nickname you go by? Perhaps the ever original 'Vic'?”

I rolled my eyes.

“Yes, I go by Vic sometimes. If you want to call me that, it's fine.”

The walk down the hall was a short one, but the doc stopped me right outside the door, her key-card poised in the scanner.

“Have you thought about how you're going to do this? She's awake after all, but she won't recognize the new you.”

I shrugged.

“Hadn't thought about it really, but I should be able to make her believe me. If not, well then I'll at least see she's OK.”

The doc swiped her card and we entered.

“I have a better way, but it will involve you being quiet for a bit and letting me do the talking. You up for that?”

I rolled my shoulders again.

“Sure, what do I have to lose? I can always step in if you start screwing things up.”

I let her lead the way, since she had the plan. Through the door was a room that had maybe begun it's life as a storeroom, but now had little cubicle room much like a prison cell. Though these were made of a clear form of plastic, with some sort of mesh imbedded in it. Probably lead, if I had to guess. Moon suited people rushed to and fro with lab equipment, some of which I recognized, some I did not.

Most of them were filled with the citizens of Snead; I recognized many. There was big Mike, sporting a bandage over his head. Old Jed, who apparently hadn't been far enough away from things even though having a half hour head start. Come to think of it, he had slowed down some. Officer Leland, Mrs. Ackerman, Mr. Hogarth... and there in the last used cell, was Penny Merril, my lifelong friend. She looked up, curious and angry, as we stopped in front of the clear door to her cubicle.

“Well? I told you not to come back unless you could tell me what happened to Vic! If you're here....”

“Yes, young lady I bring news of your friend.”

She scanned open the door, ignoring the moon suits nearby and walked right into the small area, personal space issues forcing Penny back onto the small cot. With a shrug I followed; if she wasn't worried about it, I wasn't either. Following her motion, I shut it behind me and heard it latch, and sounds dampened a bit. Penny demanded attention, boring a hole through the doc with her stare. I guess I wasn't the only one with trust issues?

“Well?”

In response the doc pulled out her phone and opened a video on it.

“Watch this; it will answer all your questions.”

We both crowded around her. The video appeared to be a top down thing, showing Snead. Maybe a camera from a helicopter, on extreme zoom? It showed the diner, and there was Omega dick. Mica and the twins, and I had just stepped out with Penny. We watched as the fight replayed with crystal clarity; there was never any doubt about what we were seeing. Penny watched with interest, the concern, and finally full blown alarm.

I however couldn't help but be fascinated as I watched myself, already unconscious, melt somehow into the form I now wore, with my clothes somehow morphing into that silly girly dress I'd seen in the closet upstairs. Another question raised but that could wait; Penny had, after a long moment, made the connection and was now staring at me slack jawed.

“Hi, Penny.”

She switched from just staring at me to pointing while trying to talk.

“But he... and then... and you...!”

Then she poked me. Right in the bra.

“You're a mutant!”

I scratched the back of my head, then stopped as I caught myself doing it. Penny always used to tell me it was my nervous tell. Wish I had a cigarette.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

She sat back on the bed, leaning away from me.

“So, you're a mutant.”

She seemed to expect an answer, so I gave it again.

“Guess I am.”

“For how long?”
What? How long is one normally a mutant?

“All my life, I'd suppose.”

Wrong thing to say, apparently.

“No! I meant how long have you known?!? Have you been messing with me this entire time, laughing at me behind my back!?!”

“What! No! I just learned today! You know I always tested negative, every single time! The only way I found out was fighting the jerkbag for hurting you!”

The doc cleared her throat.

“If I may interject, Miss Smith is quite correct; conventional testing cannot reveal her mutant status.”

I winced. Did she have to call me a 'Miss'?

“So you're really a....”

“yeah.”

The doc interjected again.

“Miss smith is a shifter, of sorts.”

I saw it in her face. The very moment in time when I lost her entirely. She sealed the deal by turning her back on me.

“Whatever; I don't care. Get out of here and leave me alone.”

“Penny....”

She screamed loud enough that everyone in the large room took notice, sound baffling or not.

“Get out you filthy mutant! Leave! Don't come back!”

And then she stuck her fingers in her ears like a child as the doc opened her mouth. I grabbed the doc's arm and pointed to the door as her sculpted eyebrow raised once more like a pirate ship flag. With a shrug she buzzed us out, and I led the way out of the room amid the stares.

The hard looks said it all; there was no one else here I wanted to talk to.

Once out of the door I found a nice comfy wall to lean against with a sigh. Now I really needed a cigarette. Only one thing to say to sum up the situation.

“Well, that went better than I expected.”

After all I knew Penny had issues with mutants.

“Well that was fine thanks for you saving her life.”

I shoved the hurt down so it wouldn't taint my reply and started off down the hall towards the elevator; the doc fell in beside me.

“It's fine, she's alive and in good health. You did right by her doc, and right by me. But now I've got to ask; what are your plans? You going to try keeping me here? Or keeping them here?”

The grin was back, but in reverse.

“Oh no, those people are going home. Perhaps in 3 days, when the tablets we've given them finally purge the last of the radiation from their systems, with a prescription designed to reverse any long term damage. Well as much of the damage as we can reverse anyway. You, on the other hand, are a more complicated case.”

I stopped and looked up directly into her eyes, and the brain weight flopped again.

“You going to try locking me up?”

She didn't even hesitate, stopping and staring down right into my own gaze. I could see no guile in hers.

“Not at all, you are free to go wherever you will, whenever you will... but it's complicated. For one, I have another video for you to see, but I was hoping for a better time and setting for it. If you'll be patient?”

In my brain and then eyes I felt something shift, and I knew she was telling the truth. I also knew she smelled differently than all the other people I'd met. A special something extra involved, beyond the light airy scent of perfume and faint sour tang of sweat.

“I will if you do me a favor in return.”

The eyebrow flag raised again. I was half tempted to count the times she did that. At least the grin was on it's way right side up again. As annoying as the grin was, I felt there had to be something drastically wrong when she frowned. I wasn't sure why it concerned me.

“Oh, and what's that?”

“I need cigarettes. As soon as possible.”

Doctor (call me Emilia) Destayne put the money in the machine and out popped my smokes. It hadn't taken much; I'd just told her they took the edge off on a day when I was considering how best to snap everyone's neck. I'd been a little worried that she would take it as a threat since I'm not the best at explaining things, but she took it in stride, for all that it pissed off the honor guard. Five minutes of words and I was puffing with a profound sigh.

Outside, of course, since this was a hospital.

“So, what happens now?” I asked her, leaning back to hold up the wall.

“Well, that's up to you.”

I smelled a hint of bullshit. “How so, exactly?”

The good doctor started ticking fingers off. “You're officially a non-entity, and don't exist. There is no one willing to contest that or fight our claim to you. As such, you've been given to me to take care of. I have a set of documents on the way under the name Victoria Destayne, but they will take awhile to arrive. In the meantime, you'll be living with me, in my house in Middletown, Virginia. You'll love it there. I'm willing to take you in, and after settling in, we will have to talk about fitting in. That, or the army can have you; you go in as a ward of whatever state they decide and enter the system. I can almost guarantee things will go less than smoothly if you choose that route.”

So I could be locked away somewhere and raised as a weapon, or play ball and have a layer of insulation between me and being locked away and used as a weapon. Having the doc's name and then suddenly vanishing would bring heat of a kind down on all their heads, especially after they went to all the trouble of fabricating the life for me.

The only problem is I was pretty sure the doc wanted a daughter, here. I didn't really know how to play that part.

She confirmed it. “Of course, you'll have to go to school, and do all those other troubling things you're currently thinking about; I won't lie to you there. In fact, in your case, it might be even more important than it is for most – there is a school that teaches the youth of the world how to use their powers, and I can't help but think you need that bad. My home isn't really that far from it, as the crow flies.”

Does Marvel know someone is ripping them off? Is the owner an old bald guy?”

The doc grinned. “Not really. The owner is about as far from an old bald guy as it is possible to get. So what's it to be? Say the word, and I can get an appointment with the school; quickly and easily.”

It wasn't really much of a choice, but I considered both options anyway, at least until my cig burned out. “I think I'd rather hang with you if you don't mind.” I couldn't deny that learning about what my power did and why appealed to me. The doc had implied the school eggheads had taught her, and I could deal with that.

She also implied that the school was, while close, away from her. And given that it was a secret place (I certainly hadn't heard of it) I doubted anyone could just go there on a whim to kidnap me or anything.

“Sure, I don't mind. I invited you after all. Alright, I'll get it all set up. But for now, it's time to fly again.”

I resumed my holding up the wall pose, and she grinned. “We aren't in Virginia, after all. So it's time to go, my lovely new daughter. Time to see your new home.”

“Joy.”

She lunged, and grabbed my hand, pulling me off the wall. I had to remind myself not to deck her. “Oh it'll be fun, I have all sorts of projects in mind for you once we get there. I need my windows done, and my windowsills painted, and the gutters cleaned, and....”

I tuned her out. She was a bit too obvious about trying to get my goat anyway.

We headed into the parking garage, and into a black limo. I watched as a steamer trunk was loaded, as well as bags that I recognized. The driver opened the door, and it took me a second to realize everyone was looking at me; I'd just been about to cross the car and enter from the other side.

“Right, whatever.” I got in, and the doc piled in behind me with a smile.

The driver shut the door behind her and I stretched out.

Inching my hand toward the booze caused the doc's grin to widen. “You know you only weigh about sixty pounds, right?”

Darn it. I eased away from the whiskey. “Right, one would probably screw me up.” That was probably not the best idea.

“I'm not saying no, by the way.”

“If you did, I'd just ignore you,” I told her.

“That's fine, as long as we're alone or among friends,” she replied, nodding her head at the driver. “But when among everyone else, you're going to have to act. I do hope you can do that.”

I shrugged. “We'll find out together.”

The car ride was a short one, to the outskirts of the military base that was trying hard not to look like a military base and the small airport. I didn't question it when the doc led the way to a small private jet already facing the end of the landing strip and the desert beyond with its engines idling.

The driver waved me off and managed the steamer trunk himself. I snagged the bags when he wasn't looking, and slipped them into the cargo area next to the trunk. They held my old clothes, and some new ones, unfortunately, both sets for me.

As soon as I went up the stairs, the door was shut and we began to taxi with a lurch.

“Belt up.” The doc called. She was already belted in somehow.

I dove into the nearest seat and locked up. The window was open, and I watched as the ground receded.

I could feel the stress ramp up; something about flying made my fists and brain clench.

“You can smoke on this aircraft if you have to,” The doc said, concern her makeup of the moment. “Some do anyway. I'd just recommend you wait until cruising altitude.

I tried to give her a smile; It didn't take. “I got it. I'll be fine.”

My mind was telling me to tense, and it was much stronger than before I found myself in this stupid body – but that was probably a false lead. After all, plenty of girls could handle plane rides. Was I afraid of flying? I'd never been afraid of heights before.

A closer look, a more in-depth one, revealed it was the voice. That one voice I'd heard yelling at me before was yammering at me in a whisper now: fall from this height will prove fatal over and over in a loop. Telling the voice I had no intention of falling didn't quiet it.

Something else was also happening; that snap crackle popping feeling but on repeat, almost as if it were shuffling my head like a deck of cards.

I forced myself to relax and tried to sleep. My head was having none of it.

“Hey.” I jumped, having almost forgotten the doc was here. She was close, out of her seat and staring into me with her big eyes.

“Hey,” I answered; she'd seen my reaction, but didn't mention it. I wasn't going to bring it up.

“So, this flight is pretty boring. Want to help me liven it up some?”

“How?” I asked, wary.

The doc smiled and lifted herself up, sliding into the seat across from mine. Then she pulled out – a deck of cards? Some colorful deck...Uno?

I felt I should remind her of some important things. “You realize I'm not a kid, right?”

She nodded, smile still on. “You don't need to be a kid to like Uno. Come on, two people can play this.”

“The flight attendant makes three.” I pointed out.

“So she does – and she has the drink tray we need! It's win-win!”

…...

Apparently, I sucked at Uno, somehow. I wasn't as bad as the flight attendant, but the deceptively simple game apparently had some depth that I wasn't seeing, and the doc was a master of. She smoked us most of the time. When she finally put the deck up, just before the tray tables were due to be placed in an upright position, I might have been a little disappointed; I was way behind on won games.

Not that I'd ever admit such a thing, of course. The doc's grin told me she knew.

Another limo ride, this one slightly longer, and we were in suburbia, USA. A more wet and humid suburbia, with different trees and more green just lying around. It was also in better condition than I was used to, and I counted three cop cars patrolling the streets before we stopped. Had I somehow taken a trip to a gated community, and missed the gate? All the houses were magazine worthy, but none of them had anything tacky at all. They just didn't stand out in any way; it was weird.

I felt like I was watching one of those old movies about family life during the cold war or something.

The house the limo finally pulled up to was right off the main drag, on Elm Street. That much fit; the place was a two-story colonial, and it fit with its colonial neighbors... but it was stone to their wood. And not brick, either. Rough stones in shades of gray mortared together in that vaguely picturesque way some people liked. There were two Elm trees out front, casting the porch and sidewalk in shade.

There was no fence, and the backyards I could see from here were all a good three lots or so back home.

“If your yard is as big as the others, I'm not mowing it.”

The doc just smirked as the driver let her out of the car. “That shouldn't be a problem; I have a groundskeeper.”

Of course, she did; I kind of hoped he was named Willie. The driver grabbed the trunk, and I grabbed my bags. We walked up a sidewalk so clean it had to have been power-washed recently.

The doc unlocked the door and turned off the alarm system. Then she turned off the secondary alarm system that was hidden behind the basement door. I memorized the codes, since she didn't seem too intent on hiding them from me, and walked left into the living room.

The floor was dark stained hardwood, with a large tan throw rug bearing some design I was willing to bet was Indian on it. The television had to be fifty inches and was mostly flat. There was a Blu-ray player under it, nestled in between the surround sound system that probably cost more than my last house.

The fireplace mantle held knickknacks of crystal and gold, and I was willing to bet the gold was real. Evidently, military research paid better than I knew; I was in the wrong racket.

The kitchen was like a cooking show set, with all the pots and pans hanging on a rack over the polished granite countertop, and a stove and a fridge and dishwasher that matched, in light off whites contrasted by dark trim.

The hall was as almost as big as my mobile home, with room for maybe three people to fit side by side, and carpeted its entire length. It led to an L shaped staircase that had no less than six doors; two on the left, and four on the right. All were good hardwood, with latch locks.

The first on the left was a bathroom that was large enough to use as a bedroom, even with the large claw-footed tub and sink. Both cast iron unless I missed my guess. The fixtures above them were more modern, all slick plastic and multi-featured.

There was no vanity, just the sink anchored to the wall, but there was a type of armoire that held the washcloths and towels and other crap. It even had a first aid kit and over most common over the counter meds.

“Done snooping?” The doc asked from behind me. Of course, her house, so she knew where all the creaks were, and how to avoid them.

“Not even close.”

The next room was a master bedroom, done in dark pastels. The bed was a king sized that was smothered in comforters and had an old looking quilt at its foot. There was a walk-in closet to the right with those little folding doors, and an armoire to the left, two nightstands on either side of the bed, and room for it all. There was also a door off to the left past the armoire, which was probably a bathroom.

“My room.” The doc said.

I shut the door. If there were any drawers in the house I didn't want to go through, these were it.

“The other rooms are all empty, pick whichever one you want, and I'll get it furnished as soon as possible. Unfortunately, that might take awhile, and you'll have to sleep on the couch until then. The bathroom here is yours, I'll be using my own, and the public at large will use the downstairs one. I'm going to go make some coffee.”

She strode off but stopped before she got all the way down the stairs. “Oh, I know this is kind of an imposition, but I'd appreciate it if you not smoke in the house just yet. I'm going to get something that will deal with the smoke and air quality reduction, but it'll take some time to arrive. Until then we'll have to work something out.”

I opened the first door. It led to an empty and spare room, painted light blue with white trim. The floor was dusty. “I can just smoke outside, can't I?”

“Well, the neighbors and police might start to talk if a ten to twelve year old went outside and lit up, you know? Best to try and be a bit more stealthy about things. As I said, I'll think on it.”

Well, shit. What business was it of theirs? Stupid neighbors. At least I didn't feel the need right now.

“Fine, but make enough coffee for both of us.”

She laughed. “Done, although trading one drug for another doesn't work, historically.”

The second door led to a room painted poo brown; I was instantly reminded of home. All of the no; I closed that door in a hurry.

“Don't care. Drugs are bad until you need 'em.”

The third door led to a large dusty room, this one painted white. It was dusty too, and there were faint smears of dirt (at least I hoped it was just dirt) on the walls.

It didn't stink, so it was probably just dirt. The windows were in good repair, and sealed well; the view was into the backyard, which was as big as I expected and complete with a small gentle sloped hill with a slightly stunted apple tree topping it.

There was also a concrete pool in the backyard, just beyond the patio. And beyond that, a small swing and slide set made of aged wood and metal that was probably just beginning to rust around the edges. I hadn't seen any evidence of the doc having kids.

The last door opened into a sort of guest room, complete with bed and nightstand. The closet was mostly empty but held two suits, both for men. Both for the same man, judging from the sizes. There were no other personal items in the room. The room was wallpapered, one of those awful abstract design wallpapers that were all the rage before I was born, in tans and browns that matched the furniture, at least when one discounted the water stains and discoloration. There was less dust to stir around here.

With no places left to explore, I headed downstairs.

The doc was waiting on me, a mug of coffee already poured and sitting steaming across from her as she nursed her own. It annoyed me that my feet wouldn't touch the ground all the way when I sat in the chair.

The coffee was a little sweet, and I tasted cream in it. I normally took it black.

“So, what about the last room?”

“Oh, that's a guest bedroom. It also doubles as a room for the security detail, when such a detail is deemed appropriate.”

I took another, longer sip of coffee. That seemed to follow, but it didn't really solve the mystery. “Yeah, I can sort of see that from the hitman suits in the closet, but why can't I just use that room until we get another one set up? Sleep in that bed?”

The doc smirked. “Trust me, you don't actually want to sleep in that bed; the room is the draftiest one in the house, and my couch is much more comfortable.”

So she was hiding something, without trying to hide something.

The doc slid a plate of Oreo's across the table; I took one and nibbled. Seemed like they could use some milk, but I wasn't sure I trusted her fridge – she seemed the type to spend long hours away from home.

My brain lurched, coiled and restless.

“So anyway, the Television gets satellite, over a hundred channels, and the house is wired for internet, with the computer in the den. We can get you a laptop, and you'll probably need a new phone... which room did you say you picked, again?”

“I didn't, but the second door.”

“Alright. I'm not a fan of putting another television in this old house, but I've no problem with movies upstairs and the like. If you eat anywhere but the kitchen, please make sure to clean it up; the area has a bit of a mouse problem, and I don't want them back.”

“Got it.”

“Loud music is a problem, hm, maybe we should install some soundproofing, oh and stay out of the basement.”

Of course. “What's in the basement, oh mad scientist?”

“Just my real office, and a bit of a lab. There is a secondary door with a code lock, but I'm fairly sure if you want to you can get in. Just be aware that you aren't cleared to see anything in there, and violating this rule will be the mother of all bad ideas.”

All that delivered in the same voice she used when talking about her couch, as if she didn't care less.

“So, why are you doing this, doc? Why take me in at all? I mean, what's in it for you?”

She grinned. “Took you long enough. I'll tell you the absolute truth; I intend to study you. Completely non-invasive of course, but your DNA may hold the key to understanding several of the mysteries of mutation science currently has. You literally adapt somehow to circumstance or threats and do it without ingesting other DNA or any known delivery method. You switch rapidly with no hint of GSD, at least so far, and seem to know exactly what to do with your power as soon as it changes; for the rest of us even that basic level of mastery can take years.”

Well, the doc was telling the truth as she saw it; I believed her. I just KNEW she was. She leaned back and continued. “Knowing how you do what you do can help the rest of us understand how we do what we do. But there is another reason; you seem to suffer from an enhanced form of aggression, and studying that may lead to common genetic links in mutant psychological disorders.”

I didn't feel like my aggression was enhanced. Was it? I mean, I didn't go out of my way looking for faces to break; they just popped up in front of me, like moronic whack-a-moles. “I don't think I'm more aggressive than normal for humanity.”

The doc bobbed her head, once, decisively. “That may be true, I don't have any evidence of that yet. If it isn't true, then that still might give me some ideas on where to look,” She reached across and grabbed my hands. “I've been a researcher for years, and my instincts are telling me you're a missing link; someone that can prove or disprove theories scientists have been posing on the nature of mutation and even biology in general. That makes you very important, and of course, I want a crack at you first.”

She made a point of meeting my eyes. “However, beyond all that... well I kind of like you, and I think we could be friends if the person I've seen so far is who you are. I'll even give up my swinging bachelorette lifestyle to make sure you don't go into the foster system.”

Well, I'd wanted honest. The mix of self-interest and goals she wanted me for was as honest as it got. “Good enough. You keep being that honest with me, and we'll have no problems.”

That... came out wrong. But still, the Doc smiled as if I'd given her a declaration of true love, and stood up.

“And on that note, I'm going to hit the hay. I'm still jet-lagged, and your appointment at Whateley just came through – for tomorrow. Which means we are going to need to fly again in order to make it.” The doc trailed off a bit, muttering something about names I didn't recognize. None of it sounded very flattering.

I finished off my coffee; I wasn't really feeling tired, but I'd need to sleep too if we were commuting like that again. I'd also need more cigarettes.

The doc paused at the door. “Oh, there is something else you should know, another reason why I took you in and the foster system is a bad idea.”

There it was, the other shoe. Or was that the third shoe? “Yeah?”

“Omega Man took an interest in you after your fight. He all but commanded us to 'take good care of you' in his own words. So the current theory is, he will be watching. So leaving you in the foster system could lead to... unpleasantness. So could making you disappear in a testing facility.” She spread her hands. “Welcome to the compromise.”

Well, that was more than a little dangerous. “Can he find you?”

Doc grinned again. “Oh my yes. We want him to see we are treating you well after all, otherwise what would be the point? Until you're ready for round two it's best to make sure he has no complaints. Anyway, I'm off to bed. Try not to break anything!”

And she vanished up the stairs while I was still working around that. The government was actually afraid of the guy? They needed me to take him out? I mean, I was willing for round two, but I wasn't ready yet; until I figured out what new power this form held until I got the voice to respond to me, I wasn't going to be winning anything.

But maybe soon.

How was I supposed to sleep knowing a dude who could irradiate cities could be watching me?

 

 

 

 

The next morning saw me in a chopper, chewing on a half-frozen pop-tart in one hand while trying to light a cancer stick in the other; it was too bad the thing was one of those open door military kind.

Across from me, Doc DeStayne looked on with amusement and saluted me with her coffee. It would be easy to light up from her seat, but no, I had to be buckled in facing the front for some reason. For some reason, in the middle of the night, she had changed her mind about us going to Whateley, setting up some sort of emergency meeting and even calling in the military for a ride. She had more pull than most doctors, that was for sure.

"You okay, Vicky?" Stupid helmets and their built-in mics. I liked her better quiet.

"Not a morning person. And call me Vicky again and die some," Why even bother asking me my opinion if you're going to ignore it?

"Well, at least you won't kill me all the way. Fine, Vic then. Or Victoria, since the male form of your name will raise questions in public."

"Doc, you got a P.H.D. in rubbing things in or what?"

"Of course not, that's simply a hobby," was her reply. a pretty good one, I admit.

Of course, I hadn't had enough coffee or nicotine for the snark. The doc had hustled me into clothes and out the door so fast I couldn't snag a cup, so she was already on thin ice.

"How long is this flight, anyway?" I already knew she wouldn't tell me where we were going.

"It won't be long; a few hours." The Doc answered.

A little more vague than I'd have liked, but the best I'd get probably. This place was pretty hush-hush for a school, even a rumored mutant school. Whatever, it wasn't something I needed to worry about. Somehow I had to figure out how to make people like me, and that was more than enough; I wasn't the most likable fellow in the world.

The ride itself was nice, zooming low over forests and farms, going up to go through or around cities and towns, a few of which I might have recognized, doing a little dance no doubt required by the FAA or whoever was in charge of the not so friendly skies now.

It was kind of like how I'd heard flying over Nam described, come to think of it. I could see the appeal now; too bad my power wasn't flying.

Then again, if it had been, I'd be dead or a coward - which was pretty much the same thing. Nah, it was too soon to give my actual power a pass; maybe not ever. Or maybe I would once I understood just what the hell it was. A voice that tells me how to fight, and more. The little girl thing was beyond weird, and I'm not sure I wanted it to make sense. 

I also wasn't sure how this school would react once I figured out how to change back since I wasn't really school age. The doc had said it wasn't a college or trade school, and that meant I was a bit old.

There was only so much I could look around and thinks about things, and I still couldn't light a cigarette. so I did the next best thing and went back to sleep. It took more effort than I thought, and I had to settle for a light doze that the Doc got more and more pissed off about; a nice bonus.

The change in pitch as we landed snapped me out of it; we were setting down at a small airfield in the middle of nowhere, USA. Nowhere USA had a lot of trees and one thin dirt track that looked way too uneven for the limo that seemed to be waiting for us. At least it was a small limo, minus the little flags and stuff the one yesterday had; nothing like not attracting attention.

I unbuckled and ducked down to leave the chopper before I realizing how stupid I looked; I was probably the last one that needed to duck to leave this bird. Just looking at the doc's grin as she crouched next to me drove that home.

"Just shut it," I told her, even though she couldn't hear me with the helmet off. Her grin widened.

The humorless statue of a guy in military fatigues threw my new bag at me; I plucked it out of the air and gave him a wave; I'd forget that pos yet. I didn't understand why I needed all this crap anyway, I mean, the jeans had pockets, why couldn't I just use those? I hated not having my hands free.

The Doc wiggled her purse at me as I caught up, but didn't say anything, which was good for her. I finally got the chance to light up once the chopper was far enough up, and I wasted no time. I blew smoke rings after it. It was kind of hard since my mouth was smaller.

The Doc golf clapped. "Now, get in the car please."

"One minute," I told her. "It's been all morning, and I know you don't want me blowing smoke in your car. So just be patient."

She fumed a little as her heels cooled, but I couldn't really care less. Maybe next time she'd wake me up with a bit more time to get ready.

She'd given up the heel tapping in favor of waiting out of the dust by the time I finished my last drag; I stubbed the butt out and pocketed it before joining her; this looked like the kind of place people tried to take care of, which meant I didn't want to be the one screwing it up.

There was a mini-fridge, and the good doctor had already grabbed a tea; I opened it up and snagged a water.

It was ice cold and went down easy, and tasted funny.

"It's filtered, bottled water, no fun little additives like you find in most small town water supplies," the doc told me.

I placed the empty in the cup holder. "That's great but I didn't ask."

The Doc grinned again. "No, but the little face you made was adorable. Pretty easy to deduce the cause."

Whatever.

The drive over the river and through the woods wasn't a long one, but there was no house at the end. Instead, after making our way to a small paved road, the driver stopped us in front of some big honking gates. I could feel something was off, here. It was a zing in the air, and a metal taste on the tongue. It started out faint, but got worse in a hurry once the guard checked our papers and let us pass.

As soon as we hit the parking lot, my gut tightened and the voice went from a barely heard whisper to a near shout. 

There were kids all around me, and every single one of them had a story. A story I didn't need to see to hear, it seemed. Shut up, voice - just shut up. You'll get no blood today.

"You alright?" The Doc asked, leaning down at me, blotting out the sun.

"Just peachy. Let's do this."

The Doc stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. "No, this is important - tell me."

Fine. "The voice just cranked up to eleven, all at once. There are people here, I know they are kids and know how strong they are, and what they can do. I know what they can do, and I know how to beat them.. and it's a lot to take in, all at once."

The Doc rose back up, blocking my sun, a finger to her lips. "Hm, something to do with the wards, perhaps? You didn't sense it before now?"

What wards? Did she mean actual magical wards? Wait, she did. some poor bastard nearby was an actual mage; I guess you really did learn something new every day, I thought that all the magic talk was just so much BS.

"No, I just sensed you."

"How many do you sense now?" the doc asked, already turning away. 

My next word made her stop. "Hundreds, I think."

She 'hmm'd again, looking back at me. Her voice was so uninterested it had to be practiced. "Impressive range and it explains a few things. Tell me, can you identify which is which? Which person has what powers?"

"Not from here, I can't see them. I just sort of know where they are."

"And what's this voice of yours telling you to do?"

I lit up, a bit to piss off the doc, but mainly to take the edge off. "Beat them, mostly. It's telling me how to bust heads. Not that I need any advice on that or anything."

The Doc leaned down again. "Of course not. Got it under control?"

I nodded. I did, at least for now. In the near future, who could say?

My hand was grabbed, and the Doc started dragging me. "Come along then."

Ten steps in, I realized this was a mistake; there were even more kids here than I thought. How big was this school? I was expecting something smaller. We got within sight range, and yes, these were teens. Teens that were looking at the Doc and I as if we were the odd ones. I took another drag, and that got noticed too. Whatever, they could mind their own business.

There were even students under us. And those kids in that building there... wow. Poor bastards, their powers screwed them over. Was that one a... werewolf? Weird.

The Doc dragged me into a building I assumed held the offices just as I made the rent a cop detail following us at a distance while trying hard not to appear to be following us. 

Once we were inside, the Doc let go of my hand. I took advantage of that by lighting another cancer stick, ignoring the no smoking signs. The stern gazes and dislike was the easier thing to deal with. Sweet crap, even some of the adults around here had powers!

We set off down the hall; the Doc seemed to know where to go. Where to go turned out to be past a hot blonde that all but screamed judgment with the way she was looking down at me. She looked maybe a bit young to be this "Ms. Hartford, assistant Headmistress." the name tag on her desk declared her to be.Our eyes met, and something in my head stirred; I just knew, that I didn't need to do anything special to take her.

Then she looked from me to the Doc, and her sour expression got worse if anything. The Doc just grinned back wider.

"Doctor DeStayne," frost could have gathered on the words.

"Ms. Hartford. Is Mrs. Carson in?"

"Of course she is - the general in your pocket was most insistent."

Arm twisting; I knew it had happened, but this lady seemed to take it personally.

"Well, we are five minutes early - so..."

"Just... go right in. Please." Wow, she was actually grinding her teeth. I wonder what the history between these two was.

"There is no smoking in this building."

I sucked in the remains of my current cigarette - and blew out into the hot blonde's face. She hadn't really given me much cause to like her. To her credit, she took it. "Charming. Victoria, was it?"

Oh, she knew. Or suspected, at least. "Yeah."

"Enjoy your visit." That wasn't a smile - too many teeth showing.

The Doc made a grab for my hand, but I dodged her and opened the door to the office we were clearly going in.

Woof. Inside the office was something I'd been feeling in my skull, but opening the door made the feeling slap me in the face; power, and a lot of it. Experience, and a lot of it. She didn't look that much older than her blonde friend outside, and she looked about as hot, but I knew she was older... much older than she appeared. She was tired and strong. What was the word? 

Unyielding, that was it.

"Doctor DeStayne, a pleasure to see you again." Her name tag thing read 'Mrs. Carson'. Mrs/ Carson did not sound as if it was a pleasure to see the Doc again, but she did at least hide it better.

The Doc, for her part, finally wiped the grin off her face and approached, going right past me and holding out a hand. "Mrs. Carson, so good to see you again."

Mrs. Carson turned to me again, and again something flopped in my head as our eyes met. I couldn't really stop the wince. "And you must be Victoria Smith. I'm pleased to meet you, but wish it was under better circumstances."

"Thanks. Nice to meet you too." She had a firm grip; it wasn't crushing, but she wasn't going easy on me either. Yeah, she knew too. I guess it made sense, seeing as how she was the one clearly in charge here; and not the expected military puppet.

It would save time, which was good. It was very good, but probably not good enough. I made sure the door was shut. 

"Take a seat," Mrs. Carson said. "Would you like anything? Coffee, tea, water... "

"No, thanks." The Doc and I both chorused. 

Then I thought better of it. "Got an ashtray?"

I got a gimlet stare in return. "This is a non-smoking establishment."

Yeah, no. "Right, I get that. But trust me, you're going to want to let me smoke while I'm here; it takes the edge off."

"The edge?" she asked me.

"I assume you know at least a little of what they say I can do. Well, it's kind of like a... voice, and a pressure."

She kept staring at me for a minute before opening a drawer and sliding a battered ashtray across her desk at me.

"So what does this voice tell you, Victoria?"

Damn it that wasn't my name. I lit up and collected my thoughts in the smoke. "I don't know how to sugarcoat this, so I won't/ It tells me how to beat you. All of you - everyone here. It tells me things about you, strengths, weaknesses, what you can do, what you won't think to do... it's not really a voice either, but that's the only way I can describe it. It's more like...."

I groped for the word, and it came. "It's like instinct."

More staring from across the desk. "I see. Doctor DeStayne stated you were like another mutant of some renown; a powers copier."

Then the Doc lied. She had to know it wasn't like that. "It ain't that simple. Like right now, the voice or thing or whatever it is has told me at least 6 ways that I can beat you if we throw down. Nothing certain, but if we go at it. I can pick the powers to best do the job, and they ain't the same, from plan to plan. My thing is taking all your skill, power, and experience into account and coming up with ways to win, and it does that for everybody.

"I see. And this pressure you mentioned - you feel compelled to act on the information your power provides, don't you?"

It felt good to tell the truth, even if I was screwing myself doing it. "Kind of. It's more that being around people who I know can take me in a fight makes me twitchy. The cigs help me relax that some."

"And how many people like that can you feel?"

"All of them, I think. Its hard to say, but there are hundreds of powered people here; some of them are too weak, but some are pretty strong. Maybe even stronger than you."

Mrs. Carson tried to stare me down again. "I see. I do not think Whateley would be a good fit for you, for a variety of reasons. One, we are a high school; neither your apparent age or your biological age are catered to here."

Oh yeah, she knew.

"Second, making allowances for you would mean making allowances for schoolkids based on flimsy logic; we could make a case for your habit being medical, but there will always be some kids who will object and cause problems. I'm not inclined to allow you that crutch in any case, which leads to my third problem, and perhaps the worst."

Well, at least she was admitting it was her.

"The third problem is we don't have and can't spare the facilities and personnel to give you the counseling you need. You're a walking time bomb, Miss Smith, and I don't want you exploding near my students."

Harsh, but fair. I wasn't a kid, and wouldn't fit in here. Beating up a bunch of stupid kids didn't appeal to me either.

The Doc opened her mouth. "That last issue of yours is a pure fabrication; you have Bellows."

"Dr. Bellows is good, but against this? Her power itself seeks conflict," Mrs. Carson countered. "Can you honestly say, at this school, the worst won't happen if I say yes?"

The Doc was silent... but her grin was back. "I can't and you know it. Can you loan us Bellows then, at least?"

"That would be up to Dr. Bellows. I have no problem with him working with Miss Smith, but any patients he takes would be in addition to his work here. You may ask him of course, but I think it best for all parties involved if Miss Smith be escorted off the property as soon as possible to avoid any unpleasantness."

I wanted to object, but I really couldn't. Something could happen while I was here; it wasn't safe for me to be here, for me or the kids.

"Can I just ask him? He's here, right?" Way to sound desperate, Doc.

"No. He's currently busy with patients, and I've already granted you the fair hearing my investors demanded. Please leave."

I was standing up before she finished, but the Doc wasn't quite convinced. "Just five more minutes, Liz. Vic, wait for me outside a bit, and try not to get into trouble?"

Everyone thinking the worst of me was beginning to get old; I had it together, mostly. Mrs. Carson's eyes narrowed and her lips tightened.

"Fine," I stubbed my cigarette out and closed the door. "No hard feelings, Ma'am."

......

Emilia turned to her former principal, unable to hide her glee anymore. "I won this round, you know."

"I've no idea what you mean," Elizabeth Carson replied, looking as if she were sucking on a bucket of lemons. 

"Victor needed access to mutants in order to grow. He could only manage to use powers he has been exposed to; a weakness of what I'm calling 'adaptive mimicry'. No power exposure, no options."

"I knew I shouldn't have allowed you on the grounds," Carson said, voice dripping frost. "So now what, you enroll him in the military option?"

Emilia shrugged, "If he wants it. He's already turned down the military once. But I don't have the resources you do Liz, and I had to protect him somehow. Remember that when you're judging me later. The Omega man isn't someone just anyone can take on after all, and Victor is right in his crosshairs."

"You have a point. But it's time for you to leave."

"See you at the next donor's drive Liz."

"Not if I see you first."

Emilia smiled. "Petty; I like it."

Emilia left with a jaunty extra swing in her step; before the door closed Elizabeth heard her tell her new charge to "Put that down, we're leaving." She counted a full five minutes to the second, a young Charlie Chaplin phased into existence by her side.

"Well?"

"Running all that interference gave me a headache, but I think Miss Smith will be pleased by the results, and I know I'll be happy not to share my tank with her. The things crowded enough already."

Mrs. Carson raised an eyebrow. "That bad? Truly?"

"I had to mask several of our stronger students, or the poor thing would have pinged off them. I THINK the 'if you can't beat them, join them' aspect - and yes, that's a definite aspect of her power - I think it only works inside of a fight, but some of us present might be strong enough to trigger the response anyway. I don't think it's worth the risk, so I spoofed her. She likely did whatever it was she does to get copies of our power, but neither she nor her power realized what I was doing."

The projection bowed, and waddled a little, before staring off into space... in the direction of Hawthorne. "Incidentally, she really is wound as tight as she said she is. I could feel the struggle, but she's holding it like a champ. If I can feel the stress, even when not looking for it, it's strong. She's clearly not in full control."

"I'll talk to Bellows, perhaps we can arrange a deal with ARC. Miss Smith will be close enough if she can be convinced she needs the help."

"You knew somehow."

"I suspected," Elizabeth Carson countered. "The incident in Texas was more public than Miss DeStayne was aware of. Omega Man is just dangerous enough to pose a major threat."

"Who is Omega Man, anyway? He isn't listed in any file I have, even the black ones."

"He wouldn't be. He's a ghost, and an old one. He was iced before you were born. He was unusually skilled at going underground, and it seems he might have kept that knack to present day."

Charlie Chaplin shuddered. "And Smith looks like that? Ewwwwwww."

"Quite."

Charlie Chaplin tipped his hat. "Good luck to her then. Perhaps we can arrange something once Smith gets control. What about DeStayne?"

Elizabeth smiled. "Let her think she's gotten one over on us - on me."

"So she will be more likely to grant concessions in the future when we bring it up? I like the way you think. Also, Elvis has left the building, and I can finally relax."

Charlie Chaplin vanished.

Elizabeth Carson reached down into her desk for the small bottle of bourbon kept within. She offered a silent toast to the young man, a plea for luck - and then went back to wrestling with the budget figures for the quarter.