Thunder King

Solar Sentinel regarded the object with fascination. "Roger that." he said. He wanted to go inside, but he knew they were more useful for this type of assignment. He was hardly stupid, but perhaps not the best for scientific exploration. He was keeping an eye on Ditra. Not that she was a fragile flower, but she was the most fragile of the three of them. He had a plan in place. Get her out of the area, cover her retreat, or even carry her himself. Not that he suspected things would go that way. He expected things would go fine. They might find something interesting, they might not, but he doubted there would be a fight. Still, he had been a soldier for nearly a century. At this point, he couldn't stop being vigilant if he tried. "Any idea what we're looking at? Any theories? Wishes?" He said.

Hannah was not freaking out. She probably should be freaking out, or maybe freaking out about how she wasn't freaking out, but she knew most of the people here. She was more or less just average and normal. Sure, her powers were flashy, but she wasn't. She enjoyed Corinne's hugs, but she withdrew to go snatch another soda in preparation for the spicy guac. She greeted the people who greeted her. This was a strange experience. Sure, she'd been introduced lots of times by people. Usually against her own will. Yet this was a different sort of atmosphere. She wasn't really afraid here. "Hi Jann, hi Alexa, Alex was it?" She smiled her shy smile. "I don't drink." She said. That was true. Hannah didn't want that sort of trouble, not at all. She gave trouble a wide berth, save for when it sought her out. Some trouble she was learning to handle. She realized that she'd be graduating ahead of Corinne, and then into the wide world. She didn't know what she'd do at that point. College, she assumed. She figured her parents would want her to come closer to home, but she wasn't so sure. She felt more at home in Claremont than she had at any other school, and the idea of leaving all her friends didn't settle well. She took a deep breath and gave Corinne a brave smile. "Well, I'll try the guac. If my head catches fire, make sure there's a fire extinguisher nearby."

Mali walked through the front door and scanned the room. She recognized a couple of people and grinned. The air was festive, the drinks were pouring, and she was ready to relax and enjoy herself. She wore a stylish, knee length red dress, a pair of slender black leather boots, and, at first, her riding jacket. She hadn't ridden her motorcycle, but it was her best defense against the cold of Freedom City. She was all smiles as she walked into the bar. She waved at Lynn and Gretchen as she walked towards the bar.

Hannah rolled her eyes comically. "I mean yeah I do have good grades and I'm good at studying. You're just more athletic than me, prettier than me, more outgoing than me..." She shrugged. "It's okay, though, life's not a competition." She pulled out her phone and looked down. "Pizza is this way. Trust me, this stuff? Filling. Like, even you might not be able to eat a whole one. Maybe." She glanced down and sighed. "At least if I gained more weight I'd know where it went, you know?" She shrugged and kept walking.

Solar Sentinel nodded. "Earth is an interesting place. I'm sure you'd find some things fascinating." He had to admit that he sometimes felt a stranger. Even years after returning to Earth, the itch to explore overtook him. He loved being able to head out in to space and enjoy the sights. Especially since his speed meant he could go home to Earth. "There's no way to tell what's in this thing. Best to keep alert." He didn't need a suit, he could step outside and just look around it. He was prepared to push it or destroy it if need be, but he wasn't sure it was necessary. He started to fly slowly around the outside, checking for anything unusual.

Having a paragon on the team for muscle would be a good idea...that's kind of what I built him for. To be a Superman-esque contributor.

This intrigues me. Indeed it does.

Crimson Tiger Vignette Prism Thinking of a Place 1 post Bonfire with Vanity 2 posts Tattered Man Vignette

Hannah couldn't help but laugh as Corinne snatched her up. She was embarrassed, of course, and nervous, but Corinne's attitude and friendliness made her feel safer, even though she was out of school. She took a soda and gave a grateful nod before sipping it lightly. She tried to avoid huddling in on herself like she was wont to do at events like this. These were friends, or acquaintances. Everyone here was someone she knew. She resisted the urge to retreat, and just watched everyone talk and enjoy themselves.

2017 John didn't have much of a memory. Most of his old life was gone, and that was a blessing. He preferred to let the fog take all of it. It was easier to focus on the mission. That, and focusing too much on what he might have lost was bound to drive him insane. Not caring was the hardest thing he'd ever done. It was a lot harder to just let go of people than he thought it would be. He was a dead man already. No family, no friends. He was a ghost. That was all he was supposed to be, all he wanted to be. Still, he found himself attached. He couldn't stop it, couldn't help it. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't, He couldn't clean up Bedlam and not care about it, or the people in it. He couldn't want to fix the world, and not be part of it. That's when he heard about the stabbing of a pastor. It had been an accident. That's all it was. Someone pulled a knife, pastor stepped in the middle. Ambulance didn't get there in time. That's how it happened sometimes. A lot of the time, actually. There was something about this incident that made him want to investigate it. Was it an accident? Did someone order a hit on this young pastor? What if it was intentional? What if one of the gangs wanted him out of the way? He tried to tell himself it was just another accident, just another incident. He found the outreach center where it happened. There had been a vigil there the night before. The pastor was well liked, and the community mourned him in it's own way. He walked past the flowers to where the man had been stabbed. There wasn't anything there. The cops found the knife, arrested the perpetrator. It was going to be a fairly straightforward case. Even Bedlam had a heart sometimes. What was it about this situation that brought him here? Maybe it wasn't so open and shut, though. Maybe there was a reason for it. Maybe there was a purpose to his presence. He'd need to dive in, need to see exactly what happened here. He took a deep breath, and reached into the memories of the area. Maybe there was something lingering, some specter of the incident that could reveal some secret. His intuition told him something was here. Something extra, some kind of reason, some kind of answer for him to find. John closed his eyes, and Stephen opened them. 2007 He was sitting in front of someone, someone he recognized. The man was dressed in a modest suit, and smiling. There was something alien and familiar about this situation, he let the memories flow. “You did well Stephen.” The man said with a smile. “Straight As. I believed in you.” “Thanks.” Stephen said. “I'm taking a break for a bit, you know, before I try out for the force.” The man nodded. He was a preacher, Pastor Jameson. He met him when he was in high school. Pastor Jameson had been to his graduation from high school, now his graduation from college. “I am proud of you, Stephen.” Pastor Jameson said with a smile. There were tears in his eyes. “College graduate and everything.” Stephen nodded. There were few adults in his life that he wanted the approval of. Few adults he wanted praise from. There were few people he was afraid to disappoint or upset. Pastor Jameson was the only name that stayed on that list. “So.” Stephen said, choking up a bit. “I just, I want to help, you know? Be a police officer, help people. Do good.” Pastor Jameson laughed. “Same reason I chose to follow God. Suppose we all serve in some way.” 2017 John staggered, he was breathing hard. This wasn't what he expected, wasn't what he wanted. This wasn't the memory of the stabbing. This wasn't from his powers, this was from deep inside his mind. This was his own memory. Something he remembered about a pastor much like the one that was stabbed. “Shame about that preacher.” Someone said. She couldn't have been over sixteen years old. “You here to pay respects?” Then she saw who he was, what he was wearing. “OH....” She staggered back. He drew himself to his full height. “Damn shame.” He said. “People try to do good, doesn't always end well. This was an unfortunate accident, right?” It was a leading question. He wondered what the purpose of remembering that pastor was. If the ghosts were trying to guide him. “You think that was an accident? Man...” He turned to face her. The coat flowed in the wind. He looked ragged, tattered. “Oh, um, I...” She was afraid, visibly shaking. Fear was a useful tool, but not always. If thugs recoiled the way she did, his job would be a lot easier. “Just give me a name.” He said, looking her in the eyes. “Oh, Big Rick.” She said. “Look, we didn't talk right.” She said, raising her hands. “Big Rick wanted him gone. He runs a dice game tonight.” John nodded. “Thanks.” He gazed up at the roof above them. He ducked a moment, and leaped. He heard her gasp as he jumped into the air. She probably wanted Big Rick gone herself, he realized. He landed on the roof and broke into a full run. Dice game, dice game. He heard rumors of a dice game. Abandoned apartment building, about two miles away. 2027 “Do you remember me?” John said. He was wearing Stephen's face. The man looked like his old memories. Pastor Jameson was well aged, mid sixties. He smiled wide. “Stephen!” He choked out. “Oh, I, I heard you were dead.” He took a deep breath. “How, where...” Pastor Jameson was still the pastor of his old church. After the Sunday service, it was simply a matter of finding the man in his study in the church. Old habits, he mused. Still doing good in the community, John reflected. “I did.” John said, in Stephen's voice. “I did die. Kind of. It's hard to explain.” They were in Milwaukee, it was an early spring evening. “What happened?” Pastor Jameson asked. “I transferred to Bedlam.” Stephen said, taking a deep breath. “Oh, I heard a rumor about that years back. How are things there, still terrible?” “Better than they used to be.” Stephen said. “Not as good as they could be, but better than they used to be.” “What have you been doing there?” Jameson asked. “What I said I would do.” He smiled. “I'm helping people.” “Oh, that's good.” the old Pastor said with a smile. “You said you died?” “I can't tell you more, sorry.” Stephen raised his hands. “Trust me it's, a long story. Maybe some day that story won't matter anymore, but...” “I won't pressure you.” Jameson said. “I understand, some secrets are harder to tell.” John nodded and took a deep breath. “Actually, you know what? I'm not sure you'll believe me, but, let me tell you what happened when I transferred to Bedlam. 2017 They were playing one of their dice games in one of the upper floors. The lights were very dim, too dim at street level. Not for John, though. He figured the lights were probably bright only near the dice game. Make sure nobody saw it happen. Wasn't too dark for John, though. Not with his sight. He needed to keep his nerves in check, needed to stay calm. He knew that anger would get him shot up. He was tough, but he couldn't ignore bullets. He saw figures in the dark. He jumped on to a lower ledge and began to climb, jumping where he could to reach the floor where he saw the figures in the dark. There were several men and women serving as security, all armed. However, their coverage was worthless. Their patrol patterns were erratic and poorly maintained. Tearing through them would be child's play. He descended on six guards, one by one. None of them had a chance to cry out before he knocked them unconscious and dismantled each of their guns quickly. Police training paid off in unexpected ways. These guns would be useless without firing pins. There was one overhead lamp lit on the whole floor, well inside it. They needed the light, he didn't. Some twenty or thirty young men and women sat around a table where they were rolling dice. Most of them were armed, but that didn't matter. The lamp shattered overhead and everyone drew their guns, straining to see as their eyes adjusted to the darkness. One down, two down, three. They heard the shuffle of cloth, spotted the swirl of tattered cloth. A couple of shots went off, but nobody was hit. John picked the one that looked in charge before he killed the light, and threw him over his shoulder. Big Rick felt the slap on his face and he opened his eyes. A rough hand dragged him to his knees, and he opened his eyes, groggy. He was looking at some kind of memorial. “Does that man look familiar.” The voice was deep and gravely, standing overhead. There were pictures of some guy Big Rick recognized, a pastor. “Nah man, I don't know who that is.” Big Rick said. “You ordered the death of a pastor.” The voice was cold. “Bedlam man, people die all the time.” Big Rick was a big man. Over six feet, two hundred pounds, hit the gym. He had little to be afraid of and less to to worry about. The hand snatched him up and threw him on the ground. His head bounced against the pavement a little. When he opened his eyes he saw him, the Tattered Man. “People die.” The figure said. The coat was torn up, ragged, yet on this frame it looked terrifying. He smelled of dirt. Big Rick couldn't see his face in the lights overhead. “You're not making anything better.” “Nobody is, man. We're all crooks, you know that. Even if I did order a preacher's death, what's it matter? Nothin' matters in Bedlam, man. Nothing but what you can get for yourself. You'll never make a difference, why do you even try?” “Because people can change, places can change.” John said, remembering himself, Pastor Jameson. “I changed you.” “I don't give a damn about a Pastor, man.” Big Rick laughed. “You think you can change this place?” “Not what I'm talking about.” John said. “Your guns are gone, your money's gone. Nobody will trust your game anymore. How long before Bedlam gets you too?” Big Rick shuddered. “Wait, what?” He said managing to stand up. “The hell did you do, man?!” His cynical, careless demeanor vanished. John turned and looked up at the buildings around him and started walking forward. Big Rick was behind him, John could hear his angry, stomping footsteps. It didn't matter, he was unarmed anyway. John jumped to a nearby roof and broke out into a run. He hand to ignore the memories for now. He couldn't focus on who he was before. He had to keep his eye on the mission. He threw a bag full of firing pins into a dumpster and took the guns with him. He took the ill-gotten gambling money and put most of it in a bag by a certain church. He sat on a roof overlooking city with a breakfast sandwich and a cup of coffee. As dawn crept over the city, he leaned back against a wall and took a deep breath. Bedlam may never change, he reasoned, but he wouldn't stop fighting. Not as long as people like that Pastor still existed.

Hannah had been nervous, as always, but this was Corinne. She knew most of the people that were going to show up, so that was good, right? That and if she wanted to retreat, she was sure there was somewhere in the house she could go where nobody would bother her. If she needed to step away, she knew Corinne would understand. She was more comfortable, she reasoned, than she'd been before Claremont. Stronger, she felt. Wasn't sure if she was strong enough, but progress was progress. Her outfit consisted of a loose, if stylish blouse and a pair of jeans. She was grateful for the more flattering clothes, too. Now that she wasn't wearing so many hand-me-downs she felt more comfortable. She gave Corinne a soft smile as she approached the fire quietly. She figured Corinne would say something when she would. Hannah was not one for bringing attention on herself.

"Giordano's is closest, and good." She said. She hadn't had Chicago style pizza in quite a while, and was looking forward to it. "I know you don't work out all the time, you just work out a lot. I kinda wish I had the drive for it." She looked down and was grateful for baggy clothing. "If I ate like you do, I'd, well, I'd be in trouble." She swayed her hands and walked with Corinne. Her powers, and her control over them, gave her a sense of safety she rarely felt. There was almost nothing in Chicago that could threaten her, so she felt at ease.

Mali had fought robots, and ninjas. She was friends aliens, robots, and ninjas. Yet for all that, this professor might be one of the weirdest people she'd ever me. Professor Mash was....an odd man. Yet she did as was asked. She took a deep breath and calmed her nerves. College was an interesting experience. She was grateful that she had decided to live in the dorms at Claremont, gave her a new perspective. Made it easier to transition out on her own, in the adult world. So, with a little trepidation, she knocked on his office door.

Tagging

"How is it you eat way more than me but never gain any weight?" Hannah said jokingly while gazing down at her own tummy. "Oh yeah, you work out all the time. Yeah Chicago style is nice and layered. Lots of bad stuff. Meat and cheese and, mmm, I'm hungry. There are..." She glanced down at her phone, which she had been absentmindedly scanning. "Two places nearby, with a third a bit of a walk. Ready?" She smiled. "I don't mind walking if I'm going to eat that much." This was a nice day, she decided.

"That sounds cool." Hannah smiled. She'd never really had many chances to truly experience Chicago, not like this. The city had an unsavory reputation, but she doubted there was much threat to either of those. Hannah was confident that her powers were more than enough protection. "So, Chicago style pizza?" She asked. "I mean, it sounds treasonous to say that I also like the stuff I've had in Freedom. Pretty sure that borrows from the New York style, but I've had a craving for deep dish. They're huge and just stuffed with...stuff." She wasn't the kind of person to be judgmental about things like food, but she had to admit she missed some of the things she could get in and around Chicago.

"It is pretty cool." Hannah admitted. She'd seen it before, numerous times. There was, however, always something about people seeing something for the first time that gave you a new appreciation for it. Art was something Hannah and Corrine had in common. That, and food. Hannah did like to eat. As her somewhat pudgy stomach reminded her on occasion. Why she couldn't be like seemingly every other girl like Claremont and have a flat tummy. She had no answer for that. Hannah was wearing a baggy t-shirt and a pair of long legged shorts. They really weren't all that flattering, but most of her wardrobe wasn't flattering. Few people paid enough attention to care. "Chicago is just, weird. I dunno. It's one of those things, you know? They call it the 'city of the big shoulders'. Well, by 'they' I mean one guy who wrote a poem about it. There's a reason we stick to the suburbs, though." She was grateful that Corrine was around. Usually. Her friend was somewhat flighty, but yet, she was sincere. Sincerity impressed Hannah most of all. "Could get a hot dog. Ooo, or some pizza. Deep dish. Just filled with meat and cheese and sauce and all that stuff we're probably not supposed to eat."

Crimson Tiger 10th Anniversary Vignette 2007 Dawn found Mali working the heavy bag. Twelve years old and already focused on heavy duty training. She studied the internet for all sorts of training tips. She was already a prodigy of Muay Thai. Her father started training her when it was evident that her mom couldn't handle another pregnancy. It was America, her dad said. Girls could fight, too. The training was a game, before. It kept her in shape, she enjoyed the practices. She was a fitness expert. She didn't much care for studying at school, but she dove headfirst into the fitness manuals and health books. She wanted to push herself, but she didn't want to hurt herself. She wanted to make sure she wouldn't suffer side effects as an adult. It wasn't a game anymore. Her father had told her the story of her great grandfather, the legendary Black Tiger. If he could be a superhero, so could she. This was America. Girls could be heroes. So she resolved, eighteen years old. She gave herself six years. She'd design a costume, put everything together, put everything to work. She'd study whatever it took, whatever she needed to do. Martial arts were nothing but applied physics. No mysticism to Muay Thai. Maximize the force into a minimal impact area. That kind of power could shatter stone, wood, and bone. She'd seen the kind of power her dad could put out, how hard he could hit if he needed to. She'd be better than him. She'd come at it with everything she had. She wanted to be the second superhero in her family. The stories of her great grandfather's adventures inspired her, drove her, pushed her. She was going to save people, help people, and beat up bad guys. The kids at school already thought she was a freak. Twelve years old and stronger than the boys. She could have joined any of the sports teams, but none of them would be good enough. None of them would give her the rush of training to fight. That sense of satisfaction as she shattered boards and her own limits. She thought about names. Every hero had a name, a motif, a color scheme. All the ones she knew about, anyway. Like Lady Liberty, or Siren. She wanted to go with a tiger theme, like her great grandfather. Something tiger, something like Blue Tiger or Gray Tiger. No, no, her favorite color was red. Red tiger? No. She grinned to herself, Crimson Tiger. 2017 “Hey, mom, dad.” Mali said, stepping into her parents' home. She was a frequent visitor, but she'd been called over, asked to come visit. It sounded important. “What's up?” Sitting on the couch was a young woman she'd never seen or met before. She was pretty, but sad. Mali's sharpened senses picked up a few things. She was nervous, even scared. Worried about something. Mali didn't know who she was, but she felt for her. Her dad was sitting in his chair, he took a deep breath. “I'd like you to meet Lawan. Lawan, this is our daughter, Mali.” He said in Thai. Mali nodded and smiled. “Hi, nice to meet you.” Mali sighted. Her Thai was slightly rusty, but serviceable. Lawan smiled, still clearly nervous, and nodded politely. “Nice to meet you.” “So.” Mali said. She looked at her parents in confusion. Was she a visitor? A cousin she didn't know about? That was a distinct possibility. There was a big family. This felt different, though. This felt like something more important than a simple visit. “Lawan is Anuman's ex girlfriend.” Her father said. A chill ran up Mali's spine. The man who nearly killed him, nearly killed her. The man who even know rotted in prison. Mali shuddered. “She came here, to the states. After you defeated your cousin, his organization hasn't been the most stable. She fled, worried that she would get caught up in it. That, and her son.” “Son?” Mali said with a blink. “Somchai!” Lawan suddenly said. “Can you come here please?” “Somchai...” Mali repeated, quietly. Somchai was a kind man, her great uncle, son of Black Tiger. This little boy was Anuman's son. Somchai walked in and stared straight at Mali. How much had he been told? What did he know about what happened between his father and her? His gaze didn't linger long, before he said. “Yes mother?” “This is Somchai.” Lawan said with a nervous smile. “He's my son. I....” Her father interrupted. “I'll explain to Mali in English, okay?” He said. Lawan nodded, understanding. “Anuman abandoned them when he found out that Lawan was pregnant. She named her son after his grandfather in an attempt to connect them, but Anuman didn't care. He's six years old and has never known his father. She was poor, see...” Her father was a disciplined man, and even as he began to age, he was in great health. Still, his steely will wavered, his voice was shaking in anger. Her mother spoke up. “He's never met his father.” She said again, in English “He knows his father is in prison, that he did something bad. Tarrin called us and asked us if we could host her. He called in a favor with the American government to get her a VISA. She's going to learn English, go to college, and establish herself. She and Somchai will be staying with us for the duration.” “Tarrin didn't want the boy pulled into the scene his father was involved in.” Her father said. “Whatever his father is, this boy is family, and so is his mother.” Mali nodded and understood. Then, she smiled to Lawan, and said. “Lawan, welcome to America, and our family. If you need any help with anything, don't hesitate to ask. Somchai is family, and so are you.” Lawan teared up, and smiled. “I, after what he did, after...” She was shaking. “What he did doesn't reflect on Somchai.” Mali said, looking down at the little boy. She dropped to eye level. “Hi. I'm your cousin Mali. I mean, I guess you can call me your aunt.” She smiled to him. “Hi.” He said. He only spoke Thai, at least for now. That would change. “You know Muay Thai?” He glanced at her arms. It wasn't a far leap, even for a child. It was the national sport of Thailand, after all. She chuckled. “Yup. My dad taught me.” He was a bright kid, she decided. She wasn't exactly showing off, but he could tell she was in good shape. “Wow.” Somchai turned to her father. “Can you teach me Muay Thai? Mother, can I learn?” Lawan seemed to consider it for several minutes. “Yes.” She said. “If he'll teach you.” Her father considered for a moment. She knew what he was thinking. Six was a good age to start training, she thought. It wasn't much older than she'd been. The basics, just some fitness training, basic strikes. It was good for discipline and fitness. “I don't think so.” He said. “I think I've taught my last student. Mali, though.” He looked at her. “You're as good as I've ever been, better, even.” “I'm...” Mali started to say. Somchai looked back at her. He didn't look angry or disgusted at the idea of learning from her. His reaction sold it. “If you'll help supervise, dad.” She looked at her father. “Alright.” He said. “Somchai.” “Yes sir?” he said. “My daughter will teach you. I'll supervise, but she is your instructor, understood?” Somchai looked the most excited Mali had ever seen a child. He was overjoyed. “Yes Sir.” He said with a big grin. “Okay, then.” Mali said, standing up. “I'll teach you.” She looked at Lawan, who was a bit nervous, but smiling. “You must mind your mother. You must eat properly. You must do your best in your studies. Muay Thai is a hard road, and you must do your best if you want to succeed.” “Yes Ma'am.” He said, managing all the seriousness and sincerity a six year old could muster. She managed not to laugh. He was taking it seriously, and it would be disrespectful of her to laugh at him. This was important to him, and, she reflected, her too. She'd have to make time. Weekly lesson plans, working with his diet to make sure he was eating enough and the right foods. It was a lot of responsibility, but she realized it was a natural step. She was a few years younger than her father had been when he'd started training her. However, she also had him to fall back on. Somchai would have her father to watch over both of them, to help her train him. She was grateful for the assistance. “Okay. So I'll be in touch, okay? I'll make sure to send a message for when I'm ready to start your lessons. It might be a few weeks, or even a month or two, okay? Please be patient with me. I promise, I will train you. Oh, and when we're not training, you can call me Aunt Mali.” “Okay Aunt Mali.” He said. He seemed a bit disappointed, as if he expected them to drop everything and start training right now. “Oh, I'm so sorry Lawan. I know you agreed to my dad, and...” “It's fine. It'll help him adjust to the States better if he's surrounded by familiar things.” Lawan said “I'm very grateful. I can never repay your kindness and generosity.” She was nearly in tears. 2027 Somchai was late, but she understood. It was a crazy, confusing time. She remembered it fondly, but at the time she was nervous and scared. “Hey Aunt Mali.” He said, walking through the door to the gym. She had her own facilities, of course. Custom, high end equipment, only the best for her, and her student. “Claremont is crazy. I'm sorry I'm late for training.” She chuckled. “It was crazy when I went there, too. You're fine.” “I did see some cute guys there so, I mean, that was good.” He said. “So, what, no gear? I thought we were training.” “Eh, we'll get to that.” She said. “Hold on.” She walked towards a storage closet, and came back with a box hoisted over her shoulder. She dropped it, gently, on the floor. Then she pulled out a small folding knife, and handed it to Somchai. “Here.” “What is....” Somchai looked at her quizzically as he took the knife, and started cutting into the tape. He knelt over the box and worked it carefully as she stood back and watched. “Holy...” He said as he sat down and stared into the box. “How did you...” “I asked your mom.” Mali said. “She knew your sizing, of course, and what you wanted to do. The name you wanted, what you wanted for a costume. She asked me if she could send the information directly to the designer. Said you kept your ideas secret because you were self conscious.” Suddenly, Somchai snapped up the box and stood up with it. “I'm going to go try it on.” He said, exuberantly. She hadn't even got to see it. Teenagers were impulsive, she decided. Somchai was a smart kid, but even he got excitable and didn't think straight. “Well.” He said. “I think it looks okay.” He was grinning from ear to ear, and gave a turn. “Thank you, thank you so much, Aunt Mali. You don't even know how awesome this feels. Just, look at this. Look at how awesome this is. I'm a superhero. Well, not yet, but I have a costume, and a name.” Mali raised her hand to her mouth and felt tears well up a bit. The costume was, as she expected, black. All black from head to toe. However, the stripes were dark red. “I mean, c'mon.” He said. “Black and red, classic color scheme. Are you okay?” He asked. “I, I'm fine.” She said, smiling. “You look great, Somchai. I thought you didn't want me to know your ideas because you were embarassed or something.” “No, no.” He smiled, he was tearing up a bit, too. “The Black Tiger is a legend in Thailand, but he's not the one who taught me how to fight. I asked Uncle Tarrin, and he gave his blessing. I figured this could honor both my ancestor and my teacher, you know?” She smiled and nodded. “Come here.” She opened her arms. She hugged him tight. She was proud of him, proud of his strength, proud of his drive, his sense of purpose. She had started training him to fight. Mostly it was a way to help him focus, help him adjust to his new life in the US. Lawan and Somchai had flourished in the US. She learned English, went to school, and became a nurse. She married someone a few years later. There had been an adjustment period, and Mali had heard all of Somchai's grumbles about his new step father during their training. “Why don't you take a day off.” She said “I know school is going to start soon, and you can use a bit of time to unwind. So, go ahead, head out. Hang out with your friends. Just, take your costume off.” He nodded excitedly and took off. She wasn't sure how he managed to get it off so fast, but he was soon back in his street clothes. “See you later, Aunt Mali.” He said with a smile, running off and out the door. She sat down on one of the machines, and sighed. She was still in her prime, and she fully intended to take Somchai out on the occasional patrol with her, show him the ropes, some tips and tricks Claremont couldn't teach him. Yet, in some ways, he wasn't her pupil anymore. She shook the morose thoughts out of her head and headed towards the storage closet. She fetched her gloves and foot wraps. He had a lot to learn, she figured. She could take him on patrols, show him the ins and outs. Tricks he wouldn't necessarily learn at Claremont. She was still in her prime, still had a lot to go. She did some stretches, and started up on the heavy bag.

Mali wasn't one for the bar scene. She was old enough to drink, but seldom did so. Super Hero Appreciation Night, though, drew her attention. She could cook well, she could fight even better, but her skills in music were lacking. They weren't going to drag her up on stage. To that effect she decided not to show up in costume. She loved to ride in the cool autumn air, so when she walked inside Morley's, it was in her riding gear. Leather jacket, jeans and boots. Her hair was short cropped and teased into stylishly asymmetrical little spikes. She was grateful that she wore a full helmet, because she had done her makeup and didn't want to have to correct it. She walked up to the two obviously costumed heroes at the bar and nodded. She took her jacket off and laid it across the back of a chair. Under it, she wore a sleeveless black shirt with some stylized logo on the front. She had a tattoo on her upper back that extended across her right shoulder. "Can I get a Singapore Sling? Thanks." She turned to the heroes. "Oh, sorry. You don't know me, secret IDs and such, but I decided not to show up in costume tonight. I suck at singing."

"I'm going to have to pass." John said. "In fact, I think I'd like to be on my way." He doubted that it would happen, though. They had every reason to make sure he stuck around. If for no other reason than to ensure whatever they were doing wouldn't get out. He wondered if, perhaps, he should have listened to the old cook. Maybe he could remember what she said for later. He did not, however, want this man to know everything he'd figured out.

John did his best to stay quiet. He climbed out of the hole and righted himself. He needed to get past this woman, whoever she was. If nobody was allowed in the restaurant, and there were hardly any people in the building, who was she cooking for, and why? After seeing the 'rats', he wasn't sure he wanted to know. So, he began to look around, quietly. He hoped Morello wouldn't stumble up and screw everything up.

John is going to try his level best to sneak by her, and hopes Morello can manage the same; 29

John mused. "I"m half tempted to call the health department and see if they can sort this mess, but I doubt that would help. Health department is probably on the take. Since there's nothing down here..." He glanced around. "Suppose we'll have to go up that ladder and see where it leads." He realized how likely it was he was walking into a trap, or at least into a bad place. They might even realize they were down here, what with Morello's frantic screaming. He shrugged, it couldn't be helped. On the off chance the ladder broke or couldn't support his weight, he was prepared to simply jump and grab on to the ledge.

"I don't disagree." John said, cautiously. "But we need to be smart about it. We can't exactly just start a fire and risk innocent lives, here. We have to be careful about what we do, and where. Pretty sure you don't want to get buried in this den of evil." Now, John was not afraid to die, but he didn't feel like dying in the cellar of dubious pickles and the not quite rats. "We also need to make sure we know what we're killing, destroying burning. Are there any captives down here, is there anything bigger or meaner than those things?"

11 on a Cha check Well that was close