Cleansing

Once upon a time a little boy ran away from home. This was his first time trying such a great adventure, but he didn't really have time to pack either. As such he had only grabbed his beloved Floppsy, a partially stuffed rabbit with a advanced case of mange. Such is the consequence of six years of cradle to school love.

The two had decided to run because the baby sitter was very very mad. She was screaming, slamming doors, and otherwise making a large fuss. The boy and Floppsy were reading a book when the ruckus began, so they knew they were innocent, yet doomed to be blamed. The Babysitter saw everything as his fault and was not one to spare the rod. Floppsy assured the boy they were not cowardly running AWAY as much as running toward justice. If they could find a sheriff or fireman or the ice cream guy, those adults would provide justice to the Babysitter. But had the boy stayed, he would be whipped. He had to run.

The boy knew Floppsy was a stuffed toy and could not really speak, but the boy also knew that when he talked to himself, the other voice in his head was smart and funny. That was Floppsy. Always saying the right thing at the right time, unlike the boy who often, stuttered and mumbled when talking to other kids or adults. But never to Floppsy. They had great time together telling jokes, sharing stories of pirates and singing silly songs. And how it was Floppsy's courage that kept him running away from the Babysitter. Their first big adventure.

The plan was simple. Stick to the backyards where cars could not go. Run north by keeping the sun at his back. The boy had seen maps and driven with his dad to work. He knew it took Dad am hour to get to work and he had to cross a river. Floppsy guessed that if they walked for two hours they would reach Dad. And there were lots of bridges so the river would be easy. Even if they did not find a bridge, swimming across a river was easy, according to the TV shows. Not a great plan, but it would work. The boy and Floppsy knew it.



Adventures take planning. The boy's feet hurt, he was lost and hungry. He pretended to feed Flopsy grass and somehow knowing his best friend was fed made his own hunger less. Next time he runs away ... No there would be no turning back.

They soon ran out of neighborhood. The familiar landscape of mowed lawns and fences ended in forest. The trees were tall and green and they danced with the wind. The undergrowth was thick and prickly, but the boy was small and was soon rewarded by finding a few berries that were deep in the hedgerow. They were tart, but good. Even Flopsy agreed they were good. So they rested deep in the thicket enjoying berries. They boy was becoming sleepy, but Flopsy knew they had to keep going. Just a few minutes more and they would be with adults who would punish the babysitter. Resigned, the boy stuffed his pockets with berries for later and made his way to the forest.

The woods were sometimes scary, so many tall things for such a small boy. But there were wonders too like the deer and the groundhog. The squirrels were a constant source of amusement as they flipped between trees playing an endless game of tag. When they found the stream, Flopsy had to show the boy how to suck up the water, and when the boy sucked up a small rock, Flopsy laughed so hard he lost a bit of stuffing. But they boy was alright, if not annoyed that his berries in his pockets had become mush.

They spent several hours wandering in the forest, too much time said Flopsy. They were most definitely lost, although neither was going to admit it to the other, so they fell into following the stream figuring it must go to the river. Then cross the river to be in the city where the entire police force could lock away the babysitter. They had their plan.

The plan did not involve night time. As the sunset, all the long shadows scared the boy. What they needed was a hotel. This brought another chuckle from Flopsy who joked about a hotel for deer and squirrels and their out of town visitors. Little squirrel luggage piled high on the family dog. For Flopsy the idea brought him endless jokes and amusement. The boy ignored his friend and kept walking.

Just as the sun had set and the yellows and reds of twilight filtered through the forest, the boy noticed a small something strapped to the side of a large tree. Feeling like he had found a hotel he quickened his pace toward the tree with what looked like a tent upon closer inspection. But the tent was very high; much to high out of reach and someone had cut off all the lowest of the branches.

The boy sat down with an audible THUMP that hurt his bottom and scattered leaves like a fall wind. The boy felt stupid. Some adventure this was. He had no idea where he was or where he was going or even where he had been. He was lost, it was growing dark, he had sticky pockets; it was time to give up and just cry. Flopsy just sat and watched the boy cry his futile tears. Then in a flash, an unreconcilable act of pure frustration, the boy did the unthinkable. But he was just a boy lost in scary forest and mad at himself. In that instant, Flopsy's became the focus of the boy's dark emotions and, with the last of his tears still on his face, the boy took his very best friend and threw Flopsy high into the trees.

Like most good people, the boy regretting the act as soon as it was done. He watched with terror as Flopsy bounced off one branch, then for an agonizing moment seem to get stuck between crossed tree limbs. The boy's heart lept in joy when Flopsy was falling and instantly froze cold when Flopsy seemed to get stuck in branches. Flopsy's flight took no more than three seconds, but the boy aged a year. He understood consequences, the cruel randomness of
Fate, and how they combine to give Loss.

Flopsy was surprised by the fury in the boy's throw, but he understood how scared his friend was. Besides he had a plan. With a few lucky bounces he would be inside the tent.

The boy roller coaster heart finished on a low note. Flopsy had managed to land inside the tent. He was safe, but equally out of reach. That was when he heard the yips of dogs. The boy changed emotions rapidly. Fear being the one he came back to most. Panic ran a close second. Fortunately the boy was not in a blind panic otherwise he would run from the tent tree and missed the ladder that had appeared. Climbing quickly the boy found himself in a small tent with Flopsy sitting front paws crossed. If it were possible for a stuffed toy to look disappointed, Flopsy had that face. But as his best friend the boy knew something was underneath that scowl: relief. The boy picked up Flopsy and hugged his friend and apologized. And then rain started.


Both the boy and Flopsy agreed that who ever put the tent in the tree was an expert runawayer. The tent was dry, it had a flashlight that made red, yellow, and white light, there was a pillow, and a bottle for water. There was even a blanket of every color of green. There was a rope and pulley in addition to the ladder. It was be so easy to live here forever. But this was someone else's runaway spot Flopsy reminded the boy. And as every boy (and Rabbit) knew, you are not allowed to steal someone's hiding spot. They collected some rain water, read their book using the different flashlight colors and the boy drifted asleep under the watchful and unblinking plastic eyes of Flopsy.

The next morning started like every other morning. The boy felt the warmth of his blanket and Flopsy near by. He gradually remembered that he was a runaway and loudly was reminded that he was hungry. The noises from his stomach woke him and Flopsy. It was time to go ... somewhere. Home? Berries? The River? While the boy talked to Flopsy, he stopped to notice his friend was leaning on can peaches. The kind at school, the kind of can be knew how to open. He started to take the peaches, but stopped himself. They were his friends and you don't take stuff from friends. Bullies took stuff that was not theirs. A boy who stutters knew all about bullies except how to make them stop. The boy asked Flopsy for the peaches and Flopsy agreed they could share. Friends share. The next hour was spent playing space explorers strapped to the side of their Super Rocket. They shook the tent violently during launch, pretended to be weightless while in space, and fended off the space pirates with Floppsy making the best laser noises.

Perhaps because they were making too much noise, they did not hear the dog barking at their tree until there was a Woman's voice calling to them. The boy and Floppsy peeked out from under the flap to see a very damp police woman and her equally damp, yet fierce looking dog. The boy started telling the woman all about the Babysitter, and seemed to care enough, but like many adults she wasn't listening. She kept asking him to come down. The boy and Floppsy relented and dropped the ladder, yet before he stepped out onto the ladder he asked the policewoman for money to repay for the peaches. This made her smile and she handed him a few coins when the boy passed down Floppsy. The boy quickly scurried into the tent and put the money where the peaches had been.

The police woman's voice suddenly changed. It wasn't yelling like the Babysitter, but the tone made him hurry out of the tent as if he was in the wrong nonetheless. The boy was forced to stop and wail: the dog had Floppsy and was shaking and shredding the toy. The woman was giving commands and the dog finally dropped Floppsy for a bit of kibble. The boy was less easily dealt with. The boy tried to pick up the pieces of his friend, but they were just pieces of cloth covered in mud, dog spit, and the tears from the boy. The boy did not remember when he stopped crying. He cried at the officer, he cried at his dad and mom, he cried himself asleep, and he was still crying at night when his mom came and gave him a hug mumbling about losing him. The boy cried.

The next day the boy's head hurt from all the crying. He reached for Floppsy to comfort him and started to cry when he remembered that Floppsy was gone. His best friend was no more. The boy knew Floppsy was a toy, but so much of his love had gone into that toy, Floppsy had become as real as anything to the boy. He stopped crying when he realized that all that love was wasted, love had died. He got up and dressed in his best clothes, he would mourn Floppsy today. He headed down the hall to the kitchen only to be caught in his dad's embrace and led instead to the front room where the police woman sat with a stuffed rabbit toy in her lap. The boy heard his mom and dad call the toy Floppsy and the woman apologized. When the boy took too long to take the gift, his dad took it from the officer and gave it to the boy. With a forced "thank you" the boy was allowed to leave. He went to his room and looked around at his other toys and then down at the lifeless toy in his hand. He understood at that moment that all toys were lifeless. They were all just imitations. They were lies from adults to children. He had just been given kibble to keep him quiet. What a fine dog the boy had become. Without a word he gathered all his toys and put them outside his room. At his desk he made three signs with his crayons. In black he wrote "TRASH" and put this sign on the toys. In red he wrote "do not enter" and taped it to his door. Using all the other colors he wrote "Floppsy" and put this paper under his mattress.

He did not remember falling asleep, but when the boy left his room to find some food, his toy trash pile was gone. At the refrigerator, the boy's dad asked him to explain what happened yesterday. Before speaking the boy sat at his chair to sip at his juice. Then the boy explained about the Babysitter and the failed adventure that ended with Floppsy's death. For the entire story the boy never stuttered, mumbled or cried. He apologized for leaving without a note, so they did not need to fear he was dead. He explained that he knew about love as the cause of all death, and apologized again, this time for loving them both. By the end of this revelation his mom came from the next room and hugged him. She assured him that he was wrong. They loved him and no harm would come to him because they loved him. "But you will die someday too right? And I love you," asked the boy to his silenced parents.



Summer was over. The boy had learned how to ride a bike and spent much too much time at the library. He liked the library because nothing there was his and he could avoid people just by keeping the book open. No one interrupted a child reading, kids on computers or phones seemed to get harassed much more than a reading kid. The boy was careful to never get to involved with the books he read. He read them, but did not love books. They were not his to love. The books would be safe from harm.

The onset of school would mean a new library, but also bullies and nosey teachers. To his surprise he found the library only had magazines and computers and the teachers were too focussed on showing them how to fill in bubbles quickly to notice his change. Of course bullies were a constant, but the boy was not the same meek kid. When the bullies tried to "pants" him, the boy turned to the bullies and removed his own pants for them. He did not care what people thought of him, he did not want the love of anyone. This stunt earned him the first of many trips to the principal. The boy spoke confidently to the principal who the bullies were and why he removed his own pants. Then the boy named the teachers who let the bullies have their fun at the expense of the weaker kids, and this earned him a trip home. It was the same when he was tripped in the hall or his lunch stolen. The boy spoke to the principal as an adult might, named names of students and teachers, and then he was sent home. Every trip to the principal began and ended the same. But the trips were less frequent as autumn wore on. The bullies were beaten, because the boy who had nothing to lose was no longer a fun target. He was no fun at all. He did his bubbles, he spoke only when spoken too, and rode his bike alone and very fast. No one to catch him: no one to love.

The boy was almost happy Christmas morning. No one had put any gifts under the trees, just as he asked. No stockings by the fireplace, no mistletoe in the house, and no silly train going no where in circles. A barren wasteland under the tree with no lies of love. The boy felt relief and some regret. Had he ruined Christmas for his mom and dad? The boy loved his mom and dad very much and he worried that his love for them would kill them. He knew he loved him because he got the Christmas he wanted. Would their love kill him?

Mom and dad joined him by the intentionally under lit tree in silence for just a moment before mom spoke, "only one gift this year m' boys. I am pregnant." Dad hugged mom in that way dads do. Then dad spoke, "how? I mean I know how. When? I mean not when but why? No I meant why now?...." And mom got the giggles and could not stop. The boy smiled for a moment at the love and joy his parents were sharing, and then he cried. That much love would kill someone. His mom stopped laughing and asked why the boy cried? Was he happy sad? The boy asked the only question a good son could ask: "will the baby love me?" Dad spoke next "you will be a great big brother!" with mom adding "you'll be adored." Those three words would launch the boy into his second and last childhood adventure.


That night the boy pulled out the paper with Floppsy's name on it. Feeling the old love, he sniffed back a tear and turned the paper over. With a pen, he began a list: Floppsy, juice boxes, peaches, tent, dog biscuits. Every night he would add items to the list and during the day he planned where to go. His parents were happy he was not underfoot as they painted dad's room the green of fresh cut grass. He also stayed out of trouble at school as every assignment became about some part of his plan. A poster on dangerous snakes for science, island chains for social studies, and always maps. He even signed up for shop class where the bullies lived so he could learn to fix his bike. The bullies ignored him and the boy ignored them. Or so he thought.

One day during gym class, several of the jocks were teasing one of them about being in love with a classmate. They said "love" so many times, the boy began to shake. He had drawn attention to himself and the jocks began to call him names. Suddenly the bullies came out from where they were hiding and stood beside the boy. "He's with us," one big bully said and suddenly it was quiet in class. The gym teacher even noticed and everyone was told run laps. The boy noticed the bullies would drift off the track while pretending to run and go their own way. The next day in shop class the boy said "thank you" to the big bully who told him to shut up and punched the boy on the arm. The punch did not hurt like when he was being bullied, but the boy was stronger from his bike riding too. The boy went back to his bike gear project and worked in silence. He did not want friends, friendship was dangerously close to love. And he no longer wanted any one else to die. Not even the bullies.

The list got longer as his mom began to show more of her baby bump.

When it got warm the boy went back to riding his bike. The new gear set worked great (he earned a prize from the school for the gears he had help installing) and he could go even faster. He practiced his map skills by trying new ways to get home. Soon he had the town memorized, so he needed to ride further from home to keep his map reading skills sharp. On one of those trips, he felt really good about how the bike was handling and how fast he was able to go. He was thirsty, so he stopped at a gas station and bought a cherry Coke. When he went back outside, his bike was no where to be seen. He looked around for just a few minutes, but he knew he was at fault. He had begun to love the bike so it died. He understood: Simple as that. He loved riding his bike and he had made it his bike. Such was life. He jogged home and answered the series of disappointed questions from his dad. The litany ended with "you need to learn responsibility son." To which the boy answered "some day you'll be proud of my responsibility." But no bike changed his plans.

The next evening after dinner the boy went to his room to rethink how he was getting out of town without a bike. Every option was either too slow or too expensive. He was becoming flustered, but nothing unsurmountable. He'd think on it more in the morning. He had just settled into bed, when mom came into his room: "you don't need to leave you know. I've seen your list and you don't need to leave. Your sister will love you and you both will be fine. Your dad and I will keep you both safe and loved. But I love you more for thinking about your sister." She did not wait for a response, she simply kissed the forehead of her son and left his spotlessly empty room with its ratty "do not enter" sign on the door.

The boy did not sleep that night. Mom knew his plans, he had no bike, his sister would love him, love meant death. He played these facts over again and again until it occurred to him that he needed to get out quickly. He snuck out of his bed and quietly gathered everything on his list. He needed a bike, so he would borrow one from one of the bullies. He went to one house and found a nice bike locked to the front porch. On his third attempt, he had guessed the combination (1,2,3,4 - no one said bullies were bright) and rode off with the bike. Since mom knew his plan, he had to do something different. He rode south until he could pedal no further. There he found a shallow creek and a bridge to hide under until tomorrow night.

He hid himself deep under the bridge and made sure the bike was hidden. He took his plastic covered pillow and old blanket. Climbing into the make-shift bed, he fell asleep very quickly.
Floppsy said hello to the boy as he slept. He wanted to hear about school and if he had any new friends. The boy told every story he could think of with tears of joy at seeing his old friend again. Floppsy asked if this was another adventure, and the boy proudly said it was. Then Floppsy asked how the last adventure had ended. The boy tried to lie, but the words came mumbled and mixed. Taking a deep breadth, the boy explained Floppsy's death truthfully without missing a detail and without crying. Then it was Floppsy who said "Death is death and it is okay to be wary of death; feared like a shadow because it is unknown. However to fear love is selfish. The love we shared is one the lights that chased the shadows away when we were adventuring. The more you love the more you live, so ignore death and focus on the light of living."

The boy woke up to the noise of traffic overhead. Floppsy's words were still playing in his mind. Did he fear death or love?

There were a lot of cars on this road, but he was awake. He got out his canned peaches and ate a meal. With the daylight he could see under the bridge much better. The stream was swift, but not very deep. The pools and eddies held small fish and he thought he saw a turtle. Using his peaches can, he took several drinks of the water and dug out his map. He needed a plan now that he was out on his own. He never planned to go south, so he needed to find a campground or someplace his tent would look normal. He found a small lake with the campground map symbol, but it looked several days of riding away, so he found his resolve and started his trek.

As he pedaled and hugged the side of the road he could feel his stomach gurgle. He could see a gas station ahead which had a food store attached. Locking his stolen bike he sprinted to the restroom and vomited. He took longer in the restroom than he would have liked, but his body had different ideas. When he was done, he cleaned himself as much as he could and stocked up on TP and paper towels. As he left the restroom, the clerk was giving him the eye, which the boy knew would be trouble. He unlocked his bike and calmly inserted a coin into the air machine and filled both tires. He made a lot of noise while doing his work so the clerk would know he had bought something. He knew clerks like purchases, but when he was done, he still felt horrible and he vomited again beside the dumpster. He wiped off his face and drank some more stream water to clean his mouth. He wasn't hungry even though it was noon, the thought of food turned his stomach.

The next few miles on his bike lead him to his first turn; a left turn. He carefully guided his bike to the side road and waited for the first set of lanes to be free of cars and he ran his bike across the road. A few minutes later he could safely cross the last two lanes. No one seemed to pay him any thoughts. A boy on a bike was not unusual. The ride down the side road was bumpy and it made him vomit again. Suddenly he had a burst of diarrhea and he was terrified someone would see him. He cleaned up, thankful he missed his clothing. He was not making good time, but he pedaled onward until it got dark. He found a gazebo in someone's backyard and slept away from the house. The bright lights cast scary shadows that changed when the wind blew. When he was too afraid, he would shine his flashlight. A light could break up shadows. He was not feeling like eating, so he made his bed and lay atop the blankets. He was hot and tired, but mostly tired.

The second time Floppsy came to his dream, he was very cross. "You are sick. You need to get help." The boy asked Floppsy if death was better than life. Floppsy told him with out any comforting words "Life and Death were different, but connected. Neither good nor bad. But choose life when you can."

The boy woke up confused but hearing a dog barking. He managed to pull himself up onto the gazebo floor before collapsing. He vaguely remembered a dark skinned man picking him up before he fell asleep again.

The third time Floppsy came to his dreams he was his old playful self. They played imagination and guessing games and told all the jokes they new. After the boy won the spit-bubble contest, Floppsy turned serious. "This is life, this is love. If you really think love leads to death, then it is time for our love to let you die. Just relax and think of death and you will die, but if you had fun playing, then you want life. What do you choose: love and life or do you want the eternal dreams of death?"

It took effort to say, none of his muscles wanted to move, but the boy forced out the two words Floppsy needed to hear: love and life.

The boy woke up in a bed with machines around him and tubes coming in and out of his arm. His dad was asleep in a chair near his bed holding his son's hand. The boy squeezed his dad's hand and looked around his new room. He had seen enough TV to know this was probably a hospital. He was just getting ready to play with the buttons on the bed when a doctor came in.

"Are you feeling better?" the boy shook his head as the doctor did doctor things. By now Dad was awake. The boy did not understand what the adults were saying but their tone was happy. Dad shook the doctors hand until it nearly came off her arm. "you should keep sleeping. You are an inspiring kid. All during your treatment you kept saying "live life" Those words kept my staff motivated for certain. See you tomorrow. The doctor left just as mom came waddling into his room.
The boy spoke first and only. "Love means life." His parents smiled and let him sleep.

Floppsy visited the boy, now an old man, one last time. The played as they did when they were young. They both knew so many more jokes, and they got most of them this time. They played the guessing game. They had fun. Then the man looked to Floppsy and said "I have lived, I have lost, I have always loved. Love me enough to let me die", and Floppsy shook his head in agreement, "it is why I came today. To help you die." Floppsy lay beside the man head and they whispered all the secrets and regrets they had. The old man reached out with the arms of the boy and held his best friend until they died.

Location:Timberlake Dr,Edwardsville,United States

Misfits

The Mask ran along the roof tops of Old St Paul tracking the black Hummer as it turned into the parking garage. This might be the big meeting he was hoping for: military grade weapons were rumored to be on their way to town. If those weapons got out, it would change the power dynamics in the city and among the Masks. Those who could be killed, would be with guns of this caliber. Stopping on a roof top near the parking garage and the hero peered through thin binoculars and watched as two large men, probably Hoods, stepped out of the Hummer. They walked over to a support pillar and were clearly talking to someone on the other side lurking in the shadows. The Mask turned his back to the garage, looked down, and released a ultraviolet burst of laser energy, which shattered the rooftop and let the photonic recoil carry him the 100 yards to the roof of the parking structure. The sonic boom that happened provided a distraction; the thugs looked left while the hero flew overhead. He landed on top of the building gracefully, but was rubbing his neck as if working out a pulled muscle. Running down the ramp, skipping levels if he could, the hero was making great progress until he came upon one of the goons. He jumped from behind a pillar, took a swing at the hero who easily avoid the punch. Turning his head the hero shot two beams of red light from his eyes. The goon yelped like a shitzu when the beams hit.

"aww poor little puppy get a boo-boo?" snarked the Mask just as the other thug grabbed the hero in a reverse bear hug and began to squeeze. The hero groaned in pain.

"Not puppy little man. A bear!" spoke the Hood and he squeezed even harder with super human strength.

"Let me go before this gets worse for you." the hero croaked out.

The grip got tighter as the thug began to laugh. The Mask looked down at the arms that were crushing him and two blue lights shot in tight beams from the hero eyes, The beams passed though the thugs wrists and smoke rose where the lasers were cutting through the wrist of the thug. Before he could even scream, the thug pulled off his own wrist dropping the hero to the ground. Both hero and thug were on their knees, one catching his breath, the other screaming out in agony.

"Gotta hand it to you big guy, you had a great grip." the hero panted out.

The Mask then turned his attention to the other bruiser who charged at him at top speed across a thin dusting of snow common in a Minnesota winter. The hero looked at the snow with dim red beams leaving his eyes vaporizing the snow between them. Not only did steam rise provide the hero cover to move, but the hot water on the ground quickly refroze into a sheet of ice. The big guy lost control and skidded into his partner at top speed, knocking them both senseless. They slowly slid to rest near a snow dump break in the parking garage wall. The hero hurried over to the latch, burned off the lock, and let their momentum carry them out the opening and down four stories to the snow pile below.

"Welcome to Minnesota, come for the winter, but stay for the fall." the Mask shouted down to the two men. Just as he was closing the gate, the gun merchant spun around a pillar and launched a laser-guided missile. Quickly matching the beam of the gun, the hero shot a laser high into the sky and missile followed the twin beams until it ran out of fuel. Once the missile began to fall, he gave it a quick burst of energy to explode it harmlessly in the night sky.

The hero walked quietly looking for the merchant. His car was still parked and running, but as he looked into it, it seemed empty. It was a high priced Town-car, perfect for the big spender. Unexpectedly a shot gun fired from the backseat into the side panel of the car. Screaming in pain, the hero collapsed outside the car onto the cold concrete. The merchant opened the back door with its tinted windows and reloaded the rifle. He shut the door failing to notice that there were no bullet holes in the door. Without a sound, the Mask aimed his lasers at a mirror mounted on the parking garage pillar and covered the merchant with enough laser energy to burn off his close and knock him into the car. The hero grabbed the rifle and pointed it at the merchant.

"Get in back and buckle up. I would not want you dying from exposure or anyone who sees you either." the hero quipped. Using his laser vision, the hero welded the seat belt into one blob of metal and he removed the air from the tires. With all the bad guys incapacitated, the hero opened the trunk to see it packed full of weapons and ammunition. Sirens could be heard heading toward the parking garage, but to be sure the hero used the merchant's phone to call 911. The hero took the money from the Hummer and placed it in the Towncar.

"I am too tired to walk home, I'll just borrow this," he said to no one in particular as he climbed into the Hummer and started the engine. "Damn is that the time, I gotta get home and clear the driveway or Tim will kill me!" Gunning the engine and driving out of ramp the hero realized that he got lucky and clever a few times in that battle. However he had been fighting crime for ten years, maybe it was skill. He drove a few blocks away, made sure the cops got the guns, then drove home.

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I hated parties, but both my psychoanalyst and Dean told me to come and talk about my work to a potential donor. The second requirement was the only reason I went. I knew I could make my work incomprehensible and soon people would leave me alone. I would pose for a few photos and then I would find a place against a wall and try to blend into the wall paper. Today was going to be worse than most of these parties because I had a killer of a headache that went from my eyes over the top of my head and down my back. I had taken 800 mg of aspirin with whiskey, but it had failed to break. Except for the headache, everything was going to plan until she smiled at me. As your off-the-shelf guy whose only attractive quality, confirmed by nearly everyone I know, is thick black mustache, I am not used to having women who are orders of magnitude more attractive than me even notice I exist. I'm not familiar when any women notice me, except for the entomologist who was convinced that my mustache was in fact a well trained caterpillar. She may have been a little drunk since she vomited immediately after getting a good look at me. Back to the present concern, had my back not been against a wall, I would have assumed she was smiling at someone else. Heck she might be smiling at the painting next to me. I've been to parties before when the picture won, so I did nothing but reexamine my shoes.

It is very hard to tie your shoes so that the loops are about the same size and the strings are also generally the same size. As I looked at the feet I could see, I noticed that most people did not seem to care at all about this required symmetry in shoe string length. This is why all my shoe strings have Sharpy marks where the knot begins. As I looked further I noticed a profound lack of socks with those shoes. The invitation said "business casual," and clearly socks were a
required part of the dress code. Casual does not mean sloppy. Two events happened at once: first a chip was dropped on the floor and it was deliberately kicked under a chair. Had the second event not happened, I would have had to take chips into my own hands. The second event was the appearance of light blue converse sneakers in front of me. The laces had been removed and replaced by yarn of different shades. I did not understand how the shoes could even stay on the feet without adequate tension from the knot.

"Hello," she said.

But how did the shoes stay on. The yarn did not seem to have any tension and the canvas shoe did not seem to bulging from being to tight. Perhaps an adhesive?

"This is a first. Most guys don't make eye contact with me, but they are not staring at my shoes."

I looked up and made eye contact "How are your shoes staying on your feet?"

"Very well actually. You are Professor Stanley I presume?" finishing her question with a smile like she had said something clever. I went back to looking at her feet and I had to check on the chip to make sure it had not been stepped on. A full chip is much easier to clean up.

"Ah, I suppose you have heard that introduction before. Am I boring you?"

"No, not at all. I just cannot see why you do not walk out of your shoes with each step. Um, hold on just five seconds. Someone with 4 inch heels nearly stepped on the chip. I hurried over to the discarded chip and picked it up. I then turned and saw she had followed me.

"For your chip collection?" she inquired.

"A chip collection would be attract vermin and have no monetary value. However the wild bacteria cultures you could grow on it might provide some value. Do you have a chip collection?"

She shook her head and laughed just a polite amount, "No chip collectors that I know, but I think you have convinced me you are professor Stanley. Eccentric, Clinical OCD, socially awkward and sporting a perfect mustache. I'm Amanda Kingsland, my brother James is hosting this party. Can we talk? I have a proposition for you."

I heard everything she said, but I could not find a trash can or any place to discard the chip. I did not want to carry germs onto any of the end tables or risk it getting crushed by putting it on a chair. Since she wanted privacy, there was an easy answer.

"Ms Kingsland, I understand. Lead me to the nearest bathroom."

"Not that sort of proposition professor." Again she laughed at her comment.

Her comment confuses me enough that I begin to run through how proposition is used in normal conversation. Given the look on her face: impatient confusion, I know from past experience that I might get two seconds to say something or anger will follow. Plus I have one chip. Time to speak.

"Ms Kingsland, a bathroom would most likely have a trash can for this chip and it would provide us privacy and less distractions for our conversation. Furthermore a walk will give me the chance to look at your gait. Please lead the way."

Looking less confused and a neutral expression returned to her face, she lead us upstairs and into a full bathroom decorated with predominantly white tiles with glass accents throughout. The ceramic trash can made me smile as I could put the chip in the right place for such things. The bathroom was over lit and I could smell several types of cleaning agents, but Amanda' perfume was gradually replacing the sanitary smell. Remembering the rules of interaction with the opposite sex require gallantry, I offer her the commode to use as a seat, but she refused with a shake of her head. Instead she stood by the door, clearly establishing her dominance in this setting. I sat on the edge of the tub and waited. I was pleased to have watched her walk. I am pretty sure the shape of her heel allowed the shoes to stay on, but they moved a lot when she picked up her feet. That probably causes bunions. Why anyone who has natural beauty decide to injure herself for silly shoes. That probably meant that, yup, she was wearing a bra that dug into her shoulders. This woman really should consider reading about the hazards of such silly clothing. I realize she is looking at me with a face I call: hesitant to break social norms. I know many people and students who have this face in their dealings with me.

"Professor Stanley, I don't really know how to begin." She paused to think, no doubt, of what to say next.

"It seems to me that you have already begun. Why not simply finish?" As she looked up at me I noticed her left eye was slightly more green than her right eye. Such asymmetries have been shown to enhance attractiveness, but her make up did not take advantage of this distinction. In fact, her hair style seemed to frame her face uniformly. Perhaps different shades of rouge to enhance the contrast. However, my sisters insist this type of information no woman wants to hear from me, so I wait for her to speak.

"Okay, I'll say it. I want to carry your baby and raise it."

"No" I answered very quickly.

"You did not give that much thought"

"I have given that exact question more than sufficient thought previous to today.

"I would pay and could show you that I am prepared to be excellent mother. And we would conceive the child naturally." The tone of her voice rising which implies sarcasm I think.


"Please Ms Kingsland, your attempt at humor does not flatter you. My answer must steadfastly be no"

"Why?!"

"After the Hero Bomb when all my brothers and sisters gained superpowers and I did not, a lot of people have tried to collect my DNA to better understand how the Bomb worked. I was and am The Boy Fate Missed. I did not then and I do not now let people examine or possess my DNA. Whatever or however it worked I am not going to help humanity repeat the mistake."

"I could just kill you outright" she threatened. Her face became Unhappy Brat, not killer or maim, just upset. No need to push one of the four panic buttons given to me by my doting family. I am all set to speak when I see the shower curtain is not pleating right. It goes left right left right right right left, which is making an ugly bulge. I begin to work the curtain and rings to get the pleats in order.

I lost track of time and Ms Kingsland when I finish. My headache was gone, so I attempt to return to the party, but everyone had gone home. I find my coat and slip quietly out of the house. I smile when I realize this is the first party that I am last to leave. Pleased that I have survived my social awkwardness at a party to be the last man standing and that I can easily find my car, I prepare my car for driving by checking all five tires pressure, the lights, the doors and windows, oil and washer fluid as well as break fluid level. Satisfied that the outside is good, I check my mirrors for optimal arrangement, get out of the car to look into each mirror to be sure I can see the headrest and minimize my blind spot, check the doors and windows again, climb back into the car, adjust my seat belt, and start the engine. I like to wait 5 minutes before moving to be sure the oil has had a chance to warm up and do its job. I then can drive home. I will have a lot to say to my psychoanalyst on Monday.

The drive home was pleasant enough. I like the Ford parkway to home, so I drove several miles out of my way to find the bridge. I drove through some sections of old St Paul that I haven't been on in years, but I followed the GPS directions exactly. In spite of the snow, my driveway was perfectly dry, thanks to brother John and his heat vision I guessed. I pulled the Mini into the garage until the front tire hit the bumpers. The car would be perfectly centered in the garage. I got out of the car and locked it, checked that it was locked, checked that the door could be unlocked and locked the car again.

I counted the steps to the back door and unlocked the house. Once inside I push the button to close the garage door and I watch until the door stops moving and the light goes out. Just to be sure, I go back outside and try to lift the door. It is locked. I return to the house as I count the back stairs. My car keys have their own special place in the cupboard. I hang my coat using the wooden hanger that don't leave creases or bumps. I remove my shoes and put on my slippers. It was only then that I noticed the stranger at my kitchen table.

"Professor Stanley. Late night for you. Did you get lucky?" spoke the stranger without the courtesy to stand. His dark Lycra costume told me he was not the milk man who was always late. "I read your latest article on the stratification of society along a new dimension and the potential political erosion of our democracy as a result. It almost seems that you hate people with super powers. Is that a fair summary?"

"Hate is a strong word and not relevant in this context. I'm merely arguing that, from a political stand point, having the "Metas" enter our current system provides a new dimension beyond SES. The virtual lock that the rich have on elected officials would change if the Masks began to get directly involved in politics. I projected a triangle of influence and how money may be less important that fame. Would you like some tea?" I turn on the kitchen light.

"You are an odd duck professor. You show no surprise at finding a stranger in your house and you have not asked my name or why I am here. And yes I'd like a cup of tea, Black Tea if you have it. With sugar."

I pulled out three cups and set the kettle to quick boil. I select a black tea blend, exactly fill two infusers for two of the cups and camomile with rose hips for me. I pulled out the sweeteners and turned to my guest to answer his question, "Four Masks call this house home, so I feel safe in that regard. Plus your suit implies that your superpower is speed related. My brother likes to date speedsters. Finally, if you were going to kill me you would have either done so by now or you would have explained to me why I was going to die. You did neither, rather you engaged in civilized conversation. Do you want milk or cream?"

"Haha. The Wasp described you perfectly. What can I say? Guilty on all counts. I'm Mazer.
And no milk, I'm lactose intolerant."

I handed the sugar bowl to Mazer with his tea figuring he needed both caffeine and sugar. "Not to be blunt or rude, but are you coming or going? I like my routine and I need to figure out where you fit into it. I set the second cup of tea near the door that lead to the rest of the house.

"Yeah Mazer are you staying?" My eldest brother Walter aka, The Wasp, aka Master of the Sky stepped out of the shadows in his cotton smiley boxers. Those pair of boxers were on the floor in his room this morning and every morning I straightened the table cloth glad I was not one of those people who had a problem with dirty clothes. I gestured to the tea for Walter. I knew this was going to be a private conversation, but I wasn't really sure how to leave the room, given the small kitchen, so I left the house the same way I came in. Back outside I went.

As I entered the front door of the four over four box style home, I noticed the television was on and my sister Gale was asleep in Mom's old chair. Gale was only a year older than me, but you could not tell by her appearance. As part of her invincible skin came outward eternal youth. She was in her late thirties looking like a 19 year old. Her life was rough. When she was not fighting evil, she was fighting of the advances of Metas who knew their ejaculate was supersonic. Superpowers or not, most men were pigs with only sex on their minds. She was semi-retired now and tried to avoid the rest of the Meta community. Another victim of sexual harassment. She sometimes would fight crime with the family. She didn't trust anyone else.

Gale had an empty bottle of Scotch on the end table. She insisted that her liver was invulnerable too, but I had my doubts given her morning hangovers. I spent a few minutes straightening up the front room around her as I tried to find the remote control for the TV. In spite of my best intentions, I woke her up. Whenever she wakes up suddenly she always covers her face with her arms. I waited for her to lower her arms.

"Hey Gale, how was your day?"

"You're late. This is very unusual for you. Did you get lucky at the party? I tried to stay up for you." Her breath was definitely that of the Highlands.

"I know you did. Do you need help getting to your room?"

"You are sweet, Timmy, but I can't get hurt."

"The house does not share your superpower and while I don't mind replastering walls, it tends to take several days to get it perfect."

She shook her head in agreement, but did not move. "I miss Mom and Dad." When the Hero-bomb exploded, Mom and Dad were among the casualties. For better or worse, John was 21 and a OSIRIS approved Mask, so he got custody of all the Stanley siblings. The five of us raised our selves using Mom and Dad's estate. No one pays crime fighters, so John, Walter, and Gale did not contribute to the household income. Fortunately Sarah was gifted with enhanced technology skills. She could make a computer do anything. Sarah broke encryption codes and wrote everyone's favorite apps. She still called this home, but spent most of her time in Silicon Valley where she had several supercomputers in her house. She made enough to keep the taxes and utilities paid, while my university position allowed for food and incidentals. Like booze for Gale.

"I miss them too sis. Let's get you into bed so you can be ready for roller derby match tomorrow." This time she got to her feet and walked up stairs to her room. I followed to protect my walls from damage. I could hear Walter and Mazer talking in the kitchen. Once I got Gale into bed, I slipped out and closed the door. I went back downstairs and finished cleaning up the front room creating a neat pile of stuff that needed to go back into the kitchen. The voices in the kitchen had stopped and had been replaced by guttural sounds. I am glad I left the kitchen when I did.

When the first floor was sufficiently straightened, I headed for the basement where I preferred to sleep. The basement was mostly shared space with a laundry and masking tape squares on the floor where everyone was supposed to pile their clothing, but my siblings did not often follow that rule. We had a large wardrobe in the basement where clean costumes were kept. Jason kept a target range in the basement, but he rarely used it. The HVAC system was super powered. In winter, Jason superheated the refractory bricks and they could easily heat the house. During summer Walt moved cool air from the cavernous hole Jason blasts away when he has had bad days. Gale keeps a window a/c unit, but I have long suspected it was there to create noise since it runs non-stop. Finally there was a small room that included a half bathroom and a bed where I slept. I turned on the blue light which would tell anyone that I was in my room and closed the door, before I peeked out to be sure the blue light was on.

I removed my clothing and folded each piece before putting them in my hampers based on washing and care instructions. I found my pajamas where I left them folded at the foot of my carefully made bed. I took pride that you could bounce a quarter off my bed. I was no sooner dressed for bed when my phone chirped the tone for Sarah. I glanced at the text:

Getting in late for you. Did you get lucky? Are you alone?

I was getting tired of that question. My social life was my business. Just as I finished that thought, a series of loud carnal noises reverberated from the kitchen. Perhaps the majority of the world suffered from OCD about dating and mating and my indifference is normal. Another thought to share with my psychoanalyst. But Sarah deserved an answer.

yes

I put my phone on mute and plugged it in to charger. Long ago I learned to use the phone's packaging to provide a perfectly square place for the phone to rest. Okay, the idea came out of therapy so I would not waste time making the phone square with the night stand each night. It was good advice. I move the phone and packaging to make sure the packaging is aligned with its marks. After several attempts to square the packaging, I finally have it in the right place. I check that my three alarm clocks are set to 7:45 am. I check that they are on. I check the time on each matches the world clock. I sigh and climb into bed. A very long day.

My room is small with minimal items to distract me. The one item I insist on is an old photograph of the family on vacation in the Boundary Waters, ten months, six days and four hours before the Hero-Bomb. The last real family photo. Mom and Dad were arm in arm as I always remember them. Sarah was holding a laptop engaged in some programming homework. Gale, looked like a Swedish model with her long blonde hair and stylish sweater, even though she was still 17. Walt and John were making silly faces for the camera. I stood in front of Dad with my shirt untucked and shoes untied. Those were simpler times.

###############

I woke up before my alarms went off. This was not unusual, but someday I hope that I will sleep in and be woken up. I also wished that I would stop dreaming. I woke up with a song in my head, not a pop ear worm, something more raw. Notes that were hard and at first random, would meld to reveal a pattern. In my dream I was trumpet player forcing the improv of my jazz ensemble to a single beat and tune. It was that tune I whistled all morning.

I went to my small bathroom and did what people use bathrooms for. I had the advantage that my razors were all laser sharpened. After three shaves, I could no longer see any stubble, so I went out to the basement, turned off the blue light, and considered my clothing options. Gale had created a system of boxes that help me pick clothes right. I was only allow to wear clothing that came from the same column. This had greatly simplified my life as each article of clothing was labeled with its column and row number. Gale even jokingly made dice labeling each column so I could just roll and get dressed. I use it every day. Today's roll was column 4, so I got dressed and moved on. Nice to have one decision taken care of for me.

Climbing the stairs I suddenly realized that I did not know what to do next. Normally I would go into the kitchen and eat breakfast, but after last nights sexcapades in the kitchen, there was no telling the state of the kitchen. If it was a mess, I'd lose several hours cleaning it before I ate breakfast. Furthermore the garage door opener was kept in the kitchen, so if I wanted my car, I had to see the kitchen. By now I was pacing. This was an unanticipated conundrum for morning. If anyone was awake, I could ask for help, but it was too early for them. This was a real emergency, so I called my psychoanalyst and followed the prompts to get his pager. I sat down to wait for his return call. After a minute passed I had to pace again. When another minute had passed, I redialed the psychoanalyst office again and worked through all the same prompts. This time my phone rang within 30 seconds. I answered and a Dr. Daley asked about the nature of my emergency. I carefully explained the issue to Dr. Daley twice because I had not worked with her before.

Can you take a bus or taxi to get to work?

The bus was a non starter with all those people, but a taxi was just one person. I could do that. I hung up the phone and called a taxi service. That took a bit of courage, but once I got through the dispatchers Hmong accent, I had my ride. I would sometimes eat breakfast on campus, nothing new there. I would just take my food to my office and eat on the desk I used for eating and used for my graduate students to take my exams. Curiously the song I awoke to was still buzzing in my head.

My schedule at work provided a very rigid routine that I adored. I had learned (i.e. learned as a survival skill from Dr Daley.) that my work day started with my first class at 9 am, so I could use the before class time however I pleased, which today was breakfast. Yesterday was used to clean and organize the first two filing cabinets. That was satisfying. However I did not expect how great today would be. After class was taught and I locked my door from my students, inspiration struck regarding the economic value of keeping the "evil" Masks incarcerated as a function of property loss, including human life. I ran the numbers, checked them twice, and wrote both a paper and an OSIRIS foundation proposal. It was not until I finished the university routing documents that required the Dean's signature did I realize it was 11pm. As my body suddenly got a vote, I realized I was hungry, needed to urinate, and my knees were unwilling to bend. I worked through the above items in reverse order and then realized I had missed a seminar and the faculty meeting. No worries, if I was awarded the grant I could buyout more of my teaching load. Being the worlds foremost expert on the economics of metahumans had brought me plenty of research monies and graduate students. Plus I was still getting royalties from my textbooks.

Normally I would stay at work and keep working, but it was Friday and I could still catch Gale as Bomb'chelle at her roller derby. I grabbed my phone and deleted all messages since it was doubtful they would be useful and they always cluttered the phone. I called the taxi company and was soon in a warehouse in Roseville watching the B-1 Bombers easily out score Darby'sBarbies. While no Metas with strength, speed, or weapons powers were permitted to play, those with minor powers were not strictly forbidden unless they used them. Bomb'chelle could break through a line without fear of injury. Most just saw a fearless skater, so why bring it up. I liked to watch her play. It made me happy when she was so happy. When the match was over, I called for a cab. Gale was joking with her teammates and some athletes from the other team. She was back in her element. Queen extrovert among extroverts. I watched her interact until my cab came. I went home and went straight to bed, more or less straight anyway.

################

Saturday meant housecleaning day at the Stanley residence. I love Saturdays. Matt and John would make an excuse to leave and Gale stayed in her room, usually with the door open to appear social without getting in my way. I think they know how much I love cleaning and straightening. I took a quick shower, slipped on my underwear (all 14 pairs are identical and they rotate on laundry day with new on the bottom), stepped outside my room to take the top shirt and slacks from the chore column. I flicked off the blue light and went for my chore shoes when I was attacked.

Someone had me in a reverse bear hug. My assailant was not very strong, had breast implants, and smelled of expensive perfume.

"I love you Sarah," I puffed out, "What brings you to the City?"

"yes" and she let go of me. "I see you are still in tighty-whities."

"Of course, they are cost effective and easy to bleach clean. They also fold consistently ... how long were you out here?"

"For an hour. I was coding on my tablet until I heard you move and then I waited for the blue light to be turned off before giving you a hug. It is sweet that you still have a laundry square for me."

"This will always be your home." I replied lovingly and honestly. "I made a big leap in my research yesterday. Would you like to hear about it?" Suddenly I was teenager trying to the attention of my older sister, trying to win her love. Sarah smiled and reached a hand forward to cup my face like she usually did to dismiss me when she instead tugged gently on my mustache.

"It is real. If it wasn't for your choice of underwear you could pass as an adult. I love to hear about your work and I want to share what I have been working on, but Gale and I are off to the mall for some girl time and breakfast. The kitchen is a mess. Want to join us for breakfast?"

"Thanks but no. I've been mustering my courage all night to tackle the kitchen. Besides I do better when I follow my routine, even if it means breakfast has to wait until a clean kitchen. When did you get the boob job?"

Sarah first made the breaking-social-norms face followed by a sad face for a moment, but she ended with her smiling-poker face. "Thanks for noticing and I'll tell you later, promise."

"Economically at your age they do not seem ---"

"LATER, sigh, later Tim okay" Sarah cut me off with a yell, but calmed down quickly. She gave me a quick kiss on my forehead and ran upstairs. I was mad at myself for not knowing when to shut up, but I was not going to let it ruin my Saturday of cleaning and putting everything where it goes. I follow Sarah upstairs where we find Gale ready for a day of shopping.

"I saw you last night at my match," said Gale as she gave me a quick hug. "Nice to have a fan club"

"Good morning Gale. When are you two leaving?" My sisters laugh and gathered their bags and coats and fled arm in arm. They look more daughter and mother.

No point putting off the inevitable, I walk to the back of the house and the kitchen. I pick up my pile from last night, take a breath, and open the door. To the layperson the kitchen might have been considered immaculate clean and organized. But the table was not centered under the lamp, the counter items were misplaced, and the mop job on the floor was pathetic. "The floor is hardwood, use an oil soap. How hard is that to remember?" I spoke to no one.

"Well, when you are working subsonically you do the best you can." spoke Mazer in a voice that was either bragging or condescending. "You are welcome." That statement is usually sarcasm.

"Mazer, in your attempt to make things neat in the kitchen, you have gone from one major disaster to innumerable minor annoyances. Why would I thank you for making my life difficult?"

"Who do you think you are? You don't talk to a Mask like that. You might just end up in a coma."

"Don't mess with my kid brother Mazer. You are not even in my league," threatened a heavy voice from down the kitchen hall. You could see his glowing eyes slowly changing from a dull red to a vibrant green. Mazer peered down the hall and audibly gulped.

"My bad Photon. I meant nothing by it. I think I'll just leave" and in a blur Mazer was gone out the kitchen door.

"Sorry about disturbing your Saturday Tim, I just needed an ice bag. I'll be out of your way in a moment. But thanks for being the glue that keeps this family going." True to his word, John left without a word but with an ice bag on his neck. Photon ran with the big Masks when asked. Fighting side-by-side with Captain Commanding, overpowering Spartanicus single-handedly, and been seen dating Tyler Cyrus, John had a good life as a Mask, but he was in his forties now. Still young enough to fight, but old enough to feel it afterwards.

I chose the Northeast corner of the kitchen and began to straighten and clean. I also would make a shopping list based on empty slots on the pantry shelves. However, thanks to Mazer, I would find items in the wrong place and that caused me to change the shopping list. After 30 minutes of this, I took an anti anxiety pill. I don't take them often, but when I do, I mark it on the calendar. That's when I realized today was Dec 14. No wonder Sarah was in town. M-Day was tomorrow. I had no idea where all the Metahumans went, but my siblings would all be going. I would have the house to myself for one day. I went quickly to my computer and reserved a Rug Doctor and extra detergent. I was cleaning house tomorrow too! I returned to task at hand and since I had two days to clean and straighten, I could really do the kitchen right. I began to make a new list: fix oven door, level cabinet doors, buff out countertops stains, make knobs upright ...

###############

M-Day means a lot to different people. Media Day for all the cameras in Heropolis. Moody day for Gale who was dragging her feet about going. Mellow Day for me. When ever all the family is in the same place at the same time I get very tired for no reason. They are all hyped and ready to go wherever they do and I am a zombie until they are gone. In fact, Dr Darby and I have a whole afternoon set aside on the day after M-day just to get me functional again. I do not know why I always forget about M-Day.

John and Walt were ready to go first, but male costumes take less time to change into. Women have to squeeze into their costumes and then put on makeup and all the hairspray. Sarah was sporting a new costume this year, one that showed an immodest amount of cleavage. Was she husband shopping on M-day? Marriage day? In contrast, Gale was in her frumpy clothes, trying not to be noticed. The boys refused to let her go to M-Day dressed like she was. Two hours later she was in her old skintight costume, but wearing a hood and cape. They left in a Hummer I had not seen before. Sarah must have rented it.

I was still very tired even after they left, so I found a nice book of Dad's and began to read about the Napoleonic Wars. I was almost asleep when I felt the Earthquake. I grabbed the book and ran for my room. It was built as a tornado shelter and I knew my family would look for me there if the house did collapse. I turned on the blue light and grabbed the emergency radio to learn what had happened.

The news was sketchy about what was happening at OSIRIS headquarters, but I was feeling everything that was happening. I felt John's anger as he targeted Spartanicus's head Crystal, but all he got was was the back of his head. His laser eyes had sliced right down to his skull, so Photon kept his eyes on the target even as he heard Sarah scream out. Spartanicus had to go down. From 15 miles away I could feel John exhaustion as he put all he had into the beams. I also felt the pain as the bullets ripped through his armored costume. As Photon died he had failed to put down Spartanicus and Photon wasn't sure if anyone Mask could if he went down. Photon tried to create a beam, but it was over for him. John's heart stopped just as The Moth got to him. Matt went crazy mad and tried to remove all the air from the room by beating his wings amazingly fast. But where the oxygen went, so did Heartburn's flames. I felt the heat as Matt was engulfed in the flames. I then felt Sarah die from shrapnel from a bomb dropped to close to her.

My body was shaking out of my control and the bed collapsed. Still the news was on without any idea of the carnage inside. I could still feel Gale as she walked among the dead and dying Masks and Hoods. As she found each of our siblings she felt even less inside, but I was crying for her. I was shrieking in grief and raging in anger that my small room could not hold me. The walls lost their drywall as I swung out of control. I could tell that Gale had decided to do something drastic. She charged toward Spartanicus, immune from all the weapon fire around her, and she jumped on his back and tried to claw out his eyes with her fingers. She had scratched his face severely, but Spartanicus reached back and put both hands on her head. Only he didn't try to throw Gale off. Instead he fired beams from his hands at point blank range. Initially Gale's powers caused the beams to reflect off her and kill some of Spartanicus's cronies, but it did not last. I felt my energy drain as Gale tried to heal herself. I collapsed at the moment Spartanicus combined the beams with his skull crushing strength.

It felt like the battle took hours, but in seconds my family was dead. I was again the Boy Fate hated. I had no one left. I was alone and exhausted. I didn't even notice when the radio reported that whatever had happened, all was quiet now. Several minor Hoods were seen fleeing the building. I just lied on the floor feeling numb and sad. How could I have been a part of the battle? I felt everything my siblings felt. When they needed a boost in power I was drained. Each of them tapped into me, and as I thought about it, I think they always had. I fell asleep and slept for a long time on the floor with nothing waking me up.

############

"Ms Kingsland I presume" was my line as she opened her front door.

"How did you find me Professor Stanley?"

"I've recently acquired a knack for computers and it did not take too much effort to find you. Then I just flew over here, so to speak."

"What can I do for you? It is very late."

"I have a proposition for you." I replied with all the confidence of a Mask.