The Devil's Playground

[Vigilante]

New York was different than she remembered. Growing up, it had always been warm evenings in the restaurant; large helpings of spaghetti and kids running around playing kick the can with flashlights in the alley after dark. Things had changed, and it was more than just the skyline. Life seemed more miserable than ever to the working poor, and it was these people who suffered the most when the mob began to expand its operations.

Ginny Hayes pulled her coat around her, guarding against the chill of the late autumn afternoon as she finished up her window shopping. She'd been loitering around for over an hour, waiting for a specific black sedan to creep by. When it did, Ginny walked over to where she'd parked her Harley Davidson, pulled her helmet on, and nonchalantly followed.

Over the bridge and into New Jersey, she kept herself a few car lengths behind her target as they entered an industrial district. Gunning the powerful motorcycle, Ginny passed the sedan, and disappeared into the maze of warehouses.

[Twitch]

The black Pontiac Trans Am’s cammed LS1 drank fuel in stop and go traffic like a 300lb frat boy. Joe revved the engine nervously in the parking lot otherwise known as the New Jersey Turnpike, slipping the car back into gear and back out again. He rested his head against the window and glanced at the falling needle on the fuel gage. At this rate, he hoped he could make it to a gas station. His eyes flicked across the mirrors, looking for any signs of anyone who looked like they were part of the Russian Mob.

After thirty minutes of non travel, Joe pulled off and into a gas station. He was so close to New York, according to the road map. 16 gallons poured into the tank. The low fuel light was not pretending. He had just finished filling up when a grey Lexus IS300 changed lanes. There were two men. That was what he could see through the windshield. They looked like stereotypical gangsters. Stereotypes exist for a reason, Joe figured, and got back into the Pontiac. He had studied the roadmap long enough, and was convinced he could take a back route. Joe got the car up to the speed limit, and, sure enough, the IS300 was in tow.

“Dammit.” He was only 20 miles from New York. Play it cool. Just ride the traffic, see what happens. It was early evening, but the local roads weren’t too bad. The IS300 lived off his bumper. When there was gap big enough in traffic, one of the windows went down, the gun came out, and Joe’s gas pedal went down. With a 5.7 liter roar, the Trans Am shot into the distance, dusting the IS300. Joe did not let off until he was in a warehouse district, and pulled onto a side street and waited. The IS300 sped past about 5 minutes later. Joe counted to thirty, and pulled back onto the road. A pair of old decommissioned police cruisers rounded the building and were gunning straight for him.

He ducked into an alley, made a left, and had nowhere to drive. Joe got out of the car, taking the keys with him, and shimmied up the drain pipe in the dark, hoping he could hide, but the sound of gunfire below and the plink of metal against metal told him otherwise. Joe’s ultimate fate seemed inevitable now.

[Vigilante]

Gunfire in the alley behind the warehouse brought Ginny's head around sharply, and the sedan below her stopped slowly. The meet was off, she could sense it, and her chances of taking out two Russian mafia bosses at the same time were dwindling rapidly. Vladimir Druslava was in the car heading for the warehouse, and the second boss, a new guy from another area of the state who's name she hadn't heard, was planning on showing up in less than ten minutes.

But the sedan slowly regained its speed and disappeared, bypassing the intended warehouse completely. Ginny cursed under her breath, adjusting the lightweight composite bow that she'd slung over her back. A second later she realized that someone was crawling up the drainpipe towards her.

[Twitch]

When he turned around from looking at his pursuers below (and don’t look down? What a load), he found an arrow notched, and pointed in his face. His eyes went wide and his hands shook as he lifted them above his head.

“Oh dammit.” He said in his Atlanta accent. There was a crash below and cussing in Russian. The bottom of the drain pipe evidently didn’t like more than 150 pounds.

The redhead stared at him, pondering what to do.

“I… I didn’t know you was, uh, were up here.” He corrected his own grammar mid sentence. His hands still shook.

[Vigilante]

Her eyes narrowed, and the man across from her flinched as a bullet pinged off the edge of the rooftop. Ginny eliminated him as a threat, and stepped past him to peer over the edge of the roof into the darkness.

Angry shouts in Russian were directed upwards, but it was too dark to waste an arrow on them from the rooftop.

BAMF

In the alley behind the thugs, Vigilante took careful aim and shot one through the back of the head. With barely a sound he toppled over, another turning to see what was going on. She shot him as well, the arrow catching him in the throat, and had another arrow notched before the last two heard the last gurgling breaths of their compatriot.

BAMF

From another angle she took out the third. As she notched the next arrow, the last Russian managed to line up a shot at her, but the bullet hit the warehouse as her arrow took him in the left eye.

[Twitch]

The gunfire intermixed with more yelling in Russian. The fact that the lady disappeared and reappeared below in the alley was hurting his brain. He looked over his shoulder, back at his inherited car, and noted that it wasn’t blocked in completely. In fact, he could squeeze it out behind the old police package Ford. A little relief warmed over him when more bullets plinked against the gently sloped corrugated metal roof. Joe’s father had taught him to shoot, but it was different when it was people, and not paper. He looked across to the other rooftop and saw what looked to be an AK-47. He was maybe 100 feet away. Joe drew the Glock from his waistband, lined up the sights.

BLAM! He had nearly forgotten how hard light guns kicked when the AK-47 was dropped and the mobster grabbed at his damaged left hand. Where did that woman go?

[Vigilante]

Vigilante was feeling rushed, and it showed in her aim. Bullets hit the wall beside her, spraying her with bits of concrete. She took an extra second and loosed her arrow, teleporting away before the mobsters could take better aim themselves. Reappearing behind another Russian, who was gaping at his partner who'd just gone down with an arrow through the side of his head, the mutant kicked his legs out from underneath him and stomped on his throat as she took aim at the last Rusky in the alleyway.

On the roof above a gun barked once, then again a few moments later. A mobster tumbled screaming to the ground, landing on the roof of one of the Fords in true cliche fashion. Vigilante got the last man high in the chest, and then looked down at the mobster under her boot. "Last call, sweetheart." There was a crunch as she twisted her foot.

She slung her bow over her back and pulled a playing card out of her back pocket. Walking over to one of her kills, she tucked the card into his jacket pocket with a gloved hand.

[Twitch]

Joe was still uncomfortable with the fact that he had just shot two people, and even more uncomfortable with the fact that there was one very dead man on the Ford.
<o></o>
“Aw damn. Damn.” He said, and shook his head while he replaced the Glock into its hiding place. He climbed down the drain pipe, and dropped down the last ten missing feet, with no sign of the redheaded woman. Still, he had to find Uncle Steve, his mother’s brother. Steve was a smart man, and a successful lawyer to boot. A touch of stealth would be smart. He used the keychain pocketknife’s screwdriver to remove the license plate from the closest “security” cruiser. It took less than 10 seconds. Joe was careful to only touch the plate, and none of the car in case someone got clever and dusted for prints.<o></o>

[Vigilante]

The guy was getting ready to leave, but Vigilante had a few questions she needed answered. She took a minute to fold up her bow and stow it on her chopper, and then she teleported around the corner to where the cursing Southerner was removing one of the old cruisers' plates.

She cocked her head to the side, and then jumped in closer, to just behind him. "Why are you being chased? What do they want with you?"

[Twitch]

Bam. There she was. If Joe had been wearing my pants loose he would have jumped out of them.

"I saw them shoot my old man. I think he was on the take and somethin' rolled downhill. I don't think Russians like witnesses. What about you? You Maid Marian and Robin Hood all in one? Whats with the dissapearing act?" Joe twirled his keys without thinking about it, slipping the ring off one finger and onto another, one handed. It was a nearly impossible feat.

[Vigilante]

Ginny narrowed her eyes at him. "I don't care for witnesses either." Let him sweat that out for a bit. She flipped her long hair over her shoulder, adding, "If I were you, I'd be thankful I was alive, and I'd forget all about this."

She adjusted her black leather coat, getting ready to 'port away. He was clean, or at least, not on the side of the Russians, and it was time to go.

[Twitch]

Anyone who bow hunted people was way over his head, and he was drowning to begin with. He also wasn't sure he was so thankful. Things were complicated right now.

"I've never seen any bow hunting women ever, much less one with red hair who dissapears." She looked like she was about to do that dissapearing thing.

"Wait! How do I get to Manhattan?"

[Vigilante]

She sighed. "Get back onto 95 and take it up into New York. After that you're on your own." She was itching to get away. This was messy, and now someone could possibly match her to the dead Russians.

Her right hand dropped to her side, where her K-Bar was sheathed and attached to her belt. Her fingers brushed against it. No. Then she would be no better than them. Besides, the chances of him running into her again were astronomical. Ginny 'ported.

BAMF

Swinging her leg over the Harley, she started it up and roared off just as it started to rain.

[Twitch]

The Trans Am was a handful in the rain, with gobs of torque available at almost any speed it could be absolutely harrowing. The wide car fit through the gap left, but only with the mirrors folded. Dad was gonna kill him.

Except Dad was dead. He'd been running up and down the East coast for a month, spent almost 1000 on gasoline and another 300 on food mostly from grocery stores, it was cheaper. He had not cried yet, and he still couldn't. Joe hurt. He had no idea how Uncle Steve would react, either, and it scared him.

He swallowed and remembered the route back to I95. He'd stop and look up Steve's phone number in the phone book. He knew the name of the lawfirm, and it wouldn't be too hard, as long as he was in town.

[Vigilante]

The whole night was a disaster. The meet would take place somewhere else. Druslava wasn't stupid, and by morning the warehouse district would be crawling with cops, some on his payroll, some not. The mysterious mutant Vigilante would be in the papers again, although this time maybe she'd make the front page. Instead of one or two victims, there were at least eight, and two of them had not been killed by arrows.

She frowned underneath her motorcycle helmet. Had that first shot on the roof been at the mobster who'd fallen to his death, or at another one? And was that guy dead? The former Special Forces officer could feel the loose ends of the night unraveling in her mind... all the ways that saving the black guy's butt could come back to haunt her.

Motorcycles were fun to ride, but not so much in the rain. Ginny hunched down and suffered through the trip, parking finally behind Smith's Mini-Mart. She let herself in the back with her key, pulling open the freight door so she could walk her Harley in out of the rain. Pulling the overhead door down and closed, Ginny refastened the padlock on the inside and double checked the lock on the back door. Pete would never forgive her if she forgot to lock it.

"You're late, Ginny." A friendly baritone rumble from the front, and Pete Smith was poking his head into the backroom. He smiled, his teeth a flash of white in his salt and pepper beard.

Peeling out of her leather jacket and helmet, Ginny shook out her long red hair. "Yeah, well, things happened." She grinned, relaxing finally, and joined him in the front of the store. Business was light, though there was always at least one customer in Pete's store until he closed up at 11 pm. She hopped up onto a stool behind the counter, leaning her elbow on the cash register. "Did you get the slurpie machine fixed?"

"Creep was by earlier, asking for you."

A flash of annoyance. "I told her I'm not her big sister. And not to visit me here."

Pete sighed, a fatherly sound, and busied himself straightening the magazine rack.

[Twitch]

Joe dumped quarters into the pay phone and leaned against it. He found the number for his Uncle's law firm, Smith, Klien, Sax and Ironwood.

Of course there was a receptionist. Yes, he really was Mr. Ironwood's nephew. No, he couldn't call him back tommorow. Yes, it really was that important. Yes, I'm on a payphone in Jersey. Please please please tell him it's important. No, he shouldn't interrupt a meeting, as long as he could meet tommorow morning. Joe put a hand on his face. This was worse than visiting his mother, who was in South Africa for a confrence. Tell him I drove all the way up from Atlanta, and that any joke can be funny as long as the audience understands why the joke can also be wrong. Hold? Ok. Joe crossed his fingers. A minute later, the receptionist asked if he needed directions. Yes. Uhuh. Exit 16E to the tunnel, right onto West Side Highway and left onto 16th street. Got it. Thank you so much, miss. You too. Goodbye.

Joe sighed, relieved to have accomplished something positive.

[Vigilante]

"Have a good night." Ginny tucked away the store copy of the debit receipt as a harried looking man left with a package of Cheetos and a pint of Ben & Jerry's. Pregnant wife at home, most likely. Pete was in the tiny backroom making sure it was spotless before the vendors arrived in the morning to mess it up. Then he'd make the trek upstairs to his apartment, leaving Ginny in charge of the night shift.

She had the place to herself for the moment, and she got up from behind the cash register to help herself to the soda fountain.

[Twitch]

“Declined? Run it again.” The cashier at the grocery story did. Joe looked forlornly at the tomato, Italian bread, fresh mozzarella, lettuce, turkey slices, a gallon of water and a bag of ice. He did have some cash, but his own personal bank account was running dry, too. He paid for it with cash, and it would live in the small cooler in the hatch until he got hungry again.

After sleeping till dawn barely cracked in the driver seat, with the car in an empty, abandoned back alley, Joe changed clothes to ones that he washed 2 days ago. Traffic had already piled up, but he was running on time. Uncle Steve was a busy man, especially since he was the partner of a well-established law firm in New York. He’d never really known what kind of law he specialized in, but Joe knew it was a big deal. He had not seen Steve in seven years. After watching the Trans Am consume a painful amount of fuel in the New York parking lot, he made it, and only 5 minutes late. The directory assured him this was the correct building, with the law firm listed prominently. Joe almost walked all the way into the lobby when he noticed something important: Metal detectors. He needed to put something back in the car, put the gun in the spare tire well.

He set off the detector anyway because he left the pocket knife, which security gave him a number for and said he could have it back later. Floor 6 took him to the offices of Smith, Klien, Sax and Ironwood. There wasn’t much else on floor 6. A secretary with a headset, green hair and webbed hands greeted him. Joe blinked a few times.

“How may I help you?” He asked.

“I, uh, uh, am here to see Mr. Ironwood.” He stammered.

“Do you have an appointment?” Green and webbed countered.

“I uh, think so. I’m Joe.” The mouse clicked several times.

“Yes. Mr. Ironwood will be in his office. Go in the left arch and all the way to the end.

“Thanks.” Joe skittered into the archway and was greeted by more fascinating sites. Someone looked rather furred. Someone else had and extra arm. Some looked normal. Joe kept himself from staring by staying focused on his own troubles and made it to the end of the hall without gawking too much. He knocked three times.

“Come in!” a voice boomed pleasantly.

[Vigilante]

Ginny woke up slowly, uncurling from her spot on Pete's couch above the store. Pete was already up and gone, which gave her a bit of freedom as she moved about his apartment. Her temporary living situation had stretched from a few weeks to a few months, but Pete wasn't impatient or urging her to find her own place. He said she had a good odor about her, and he wasn't worried about the rent. He had a comfortable life and he was willing to share his couch with her until she didn't need it anymore.

She turned on the shower and walked to the hall closet where she stashed her clothes. Pulling out a pair of clean jeans and a long sleeved top, Ginny turned back around and nearly screamed at the sight of a girl behind her. A girl with dark purple skin and pointed ears, clinging upside down on the wall behind her.

Jaime, aka "Creep", tapped her bare toes on the ceiling. "Pete said you were up 'ere. Said I could come wake you up. For lunch."

Ginny glared, a half-hearted attempt that she ended up hiding behind her hair as she bent down to pick up the jeans she'd dropped. "Let me at least take a shower before you start in on me."

Jaime crawled down the wall and flipped over to stand on the floor. Her bright yellow eyes blinked slowly. "Okay. Want a sandwich when you get out?"

"Sure..." she grumped and quickly shut herself into the bathroom.

[Twitch]

Uncle Steve sat behind a large oak desk covered in paper that threatened his monitor, mouse and keyboard.

“Come here and give your Uncle a hug, my only nephew who writes thank you letters.” Joe smiled, relieved, and complied, but then he started to cry.

“What’s wrong, boy?” Steven Ironwood regarded his nephew with concern.

“Dad got killed by the Russian Mob, an… an I saw it.” He managed between sobs.

“How long ago?” Steve asked.

“A month.” Joe said, wiped his eyes, and tried to pull himself together. “Been on the road since then.”

“I’ll call the NY DA and FBI and see what I can do about protective custody.”

“No no no.” Joe shook his head. “Dad was on the take.”

“Son, Brian was undercover.” He passed him a copy of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. Atlanta Policeman Murdered While Undercover, Son Missing. A picture of the funeral and high school picture of himself graced the front page. No wonder the Mob wanted him dead so badly. A strange mixture of relief and grief washed over him.

“Your mother flew back from South Africa, she’s been worried sick, and is flying in to New York as soon as I tell her you’re ok. Now I’m going to call the DA and the FBI, and you’ll be under protective custody for a while.” Mom. Mom would probably give him an earful and then some about running away like that instead of going to the authorities.

“The DA and FBI have questions they want to ask you, but I’ll be there entire time.” Joe nodded slowly, still overwhelmed.

[Vigilante]

Ginny took as long a shower as she could, reluctantly turning off the hot water and stepping out onto the bathmat. Wrapping a towel around her, she wiped away the steam that had collected on the mirror and sighed. She was getting old. Maybe not physically, but mentally, and she was starting to feel the strain on her body.

Perhaps it had something to do with her mutant abillity... when she used it a lot it made her tired, but this seemed like something else. Like she was about to fly into a million pieces.

Ginny dried off and dressed quickly, flipping on the vent to clear the steamy air as she left the bathroom. Creep was sitting at the kitchen table with two plates. One held crumbs, the other a ham sandwich. She grinned when Ginny came down the hall, her white teeth shining in her dark face. "I was jus' about to eat yours."

The younger mutant slid the sandwich across the table, and Ginny took a seat. "Thanks, Jaime."

"No problem." Creep leaned back in her chair and pulled her long black hair up into a ponytail. "Look, I know you don't want to talk about it but..." She pulled the day's newspaper up from the chair beside her and turned it to face the redhead. VIGILANTE STRIKES AGAIN? The headline screamed uncertanties as the article below went on to explain about a group of men found dead in New Jersey's warehouse district. The unknown mutant known as Vigilante (some called her Ace because of the card she left behind at every scene) was the main suspect, but the police were open to the possibility of this being the work of a copycat due to the circumstances of some of the dead.

Ginny didn't even raise an eyebrow as she glanced at the paper. "Look, you hear about a redheaded mutant mob-killer and I know you want it to be me, but it just isn't, ok?" She glanced at the clock on the microwave and choked on the bite of sandwich in her mouth. "Crap!"

She was going to be late for her appointment. Ginny grabbed her leather jacket and ran for the door. "Sorry, got to go!"

[Twitch]

“Uncle Steve?” Joe asked.

“Yes?”

“Can we get some breakfast? I haven’t had a real meal in a while.”

Steven Ironwood chuckled and patted Joe on the shoulder. “Whatever you want, we’ll get it delivered.”

“Pecan waffles, sausage and grits and a banana. Fresh OJ, too.”

“Right away.” He dialed his front desk.

“Mr. Ironwood?” It was the green haired woman at the front desk.

“Darcy, please order three pecan waffle meals from The Mississippi, with grits and OJ.”

“Uhhuh. Right away.”

“Thank you Darcy.” Steve pressed disconnect and started to dial another number.

“Hello big sister, I have someone who wants to talk to you.” Joe gulped, but took the phone when his uncle handed him the receiver.

“Hi Mom.”

“Joseph Benjamin Teel, do you have any idea what you have put us through?” Joe’s jaw dropped, and Uncle Steve winced sympathetically.

“But Mom, the mob…”

“The mob nothing, I thought you were dead and the least you…”

“Listen Mom, I have been on the run from the mob for a month, who has been trying to kill me after I saw them shoot Dad and I have been living in his car.” Joe hung up, too angry and tired to deal with the nonsense.

“She loves you, you know.” Steve said.

“I can’t talk to her when she gets like that.” Joe shook his head.

“I have some phone calls to make, but the conference room is empty.” Joe was handed a leather laptop bag with a newer 15” model inside.“Now go use Myspace or whatever it is you kids do on the internet.” He said with a wink.

[Vigilante]

She left later than she wanted to, but her motorcycle was fast and Ginny ended up at Smith, Klien, Sax and Ironwood early. After she was suspected by the Army for being responsible for the deaths of her unit in Iraq over a year previously, life had gotten much more complicated.

There had been a roadside bomb. She'd managed to teleport herself to saftey, but when you're the one driving and everyone else dies... it looks suspicious. After a court martial trial she'd been cleared of any criminal charges, and sent to spend the rest of her time with the Army babysitting the North/South Korean border. The DMZ was delightful.

Somehow the family of Lt. Samuel Gomez, one of the victims of the tragedy, had decided to sue her for pain and suffering with a wrongful death civil suit before the statute of limitations ran out. Newly reintergrated into civillian society, Ginny had been caught flatfooted by the suit, and though she maintained that she was only a carrier of the recessive mutant gene (a lie that she found herself telling over and over again) she had turned to the one law firm that was known to take on pro bono cases for mutants.

Should the case become newsworthy, it would be a disaster. A redheaded mutant woman in the New York area on trial for wrongful death, while a redheaded mutant woman was being sought as a person of interest in the deaths of over twenty known Russian mafia bosses and agents? The questions would be close and uncomfortable.

Ginny rubbed her forehead between her eyes. She would have to get their DNA evidence away from them, and soon. And she'd have to stop being so uncautious and start wrapping her hair up when she went out to do jobs. Couldn't just leave that DNA crap around wherever she went.

[Twitch]

It loaded Windows faster that anything he had ever seen. In a way, Joe was surprised his Uncle had not put a different OS on it. Linux, his friend Tom said. Tom had also shown Joe where to get MAME and MAME ROMs from his FTP. He had even given Joe his own login, from a Kool Keith song - Halfsharkalligatorhalfman. “Because your mad skills are freakish. You first turned rainbow, closed your eyes, watch your brain glow.” Joe laughed at that, but it helped him remember how to set MAME up. It downloaded fast, and soon Joe had everything set up.
<o></o>
Even on the hardest difficulty, the computer was a victim of his superior knowledge and “mad skills”. The keyboard proved to be not an obstacle, but a friend in a new experiment. Joe found if he set up the keys a certain way he could play against himself. It was amusing, if somewhat pointless because he always knew what he was going to do. Then he went online to find a 2v2 match, deciding he was comfortable enough playing as 2 people. He was so absorbed in what he was doing that Joe did not hear the door open behind him.<o></o>

[Vigilante]

Someday she'd have to learn how to teleport farther than the approximately thirty feet she could at the moment. It would come in handy when she was running late.

Arriving finally at the law offices of Mr. Ironwood, Ginny left her Harley in half a parking spot and ran up the steps into the building. Up the elevator and to the left, she approached the receptionist, who smiled in recognition. "Ginny! How are you?"

"Oh, you know. Same old, same old." She drummed her fingers on the counter and leaned over towards him, trying to get a peek at the paperwork he was filing with his webbed hands. He tsked, and pointed up at his head.

"Like the hair?"

She examined his new haircut, and shook her head. "Too short. I always picture you with that surfer guy shag look. I think it'll do wonders for your dating life." Ginny leaned on the counter with one elbow. "I'm a little late, but..."

"Don't worry about it. Mr. Ironwood is making some phonecalls in his office, but you can wait for him in the conference room. It'll just be a few minutes."

"Great, thanks." Ginny straightened up and headed for the conference room. She didn't like sitting for any period of time in the waiting area - staying out of the public eye was more her style. Plus, you never could tell who was watching or taking notes out there. More than once they had discovered undercover reporters trying to get an inside scoop on mutant lawsuits, and Ginny had no desire to be seen more than necessary.

She opened the conference room door, and turned to close it quietly behind her. There was a strange clicking noise, and as she faced the rest of the room her jaw dropped and she grabbed for the door handle again.

[Twitch]

She made more noise than expected when she grabbed the handle, and Joe turned around. His jaw dropped, but his fingers continued to mash keys for the combo he was currently delivering to his remote adversaries. The archer was the last person he ever expected to see. Was she going to kill him? A moment after his brain unfogged enough, her dress and lack of bow told him know, not to mention her shock. He closed the laptop and stood.
<o></o>
“Hello.” He said, and offered his hand.
<o></o>
“I’m Joe, I don’t believe we’ve met.”<o></o><o></o>

[Vigilante]

She could almost feel her eyes twitching in panic. As he extended his hand to her a part of her automatically responded to the customs of human greetings, and she shook his hand.

"Ginny," she stammered. "I - I'm sorry, I was told the conference room was unoccupied." If she killed him, he couldn't tell on her, but then she'd have a body to dispose of in the conference room of her lawyer, and it would take at least ten minutes to teleport him from the sixth floor to a hiding place and -

Ginny took a deep breath, but didn't smile, instead watching for his reaction.

[Twitch]

Joe wasn’t surprised that Ginny wasn’t smiling. It probably was her actual name, considering she was at a law firm, and finding out if she were lying would be easy.
<o></o>
“I guess you’re here to see my uncle.”<o></o>

[Vigilante]

She was getting a very good look at his facial features, and could see the familial similarities. "I have a meeting with Mr. Ironwood. I guess you're the reason I have to wait."

Ginny didn't move from where she was standing, keeping her body between Joe and the door. It wasn't in her nature to be trusting, and her muscles were tightening as her brain screamed at her to fight or flee.

[Twitch]

“He’s probably calling the DA and FBI right now.” Joe sighed. A knock on the door made Ginny step aside
<o></o>
“Joseph, waffles.” The secretary said. He eagerly took the bag, which had more than enough food.
<o></o>
“Hello again Ginny.” Ginny managed a smile.
<o></o>
“You want some?” He asked as he broke open the Styrofoam carton. “Oh man, real syrup.” He swirled the packet across the top of his large pecan waffle. He took a bite and leaned back, overwhelmed. Joe started to cry.<o></o>

[Vigilante]

Oh Jesus. Now he was crying. The secretary was gone, and she still didn't sit down, standing stiffly by the wall instead. She hadn't even told Mr. Ironside the truth about her mutation. He thought she was just a carrier of the recessive gene. And now his nephew was sitting at a conference table, crying, eating waffles, and armed with knowledge that would not only land her in jail for murder, but could also find her liable in her current civil suit.

"Did you tell your uncle about last night...?" Ginny's hands tightened into fists by her side, her knuckles whitening.

[Twitch]

"No." He said between sobs, and slowly pulled himself back together.

"No, you saved my life. You made it clear that it's a secret. Look, I'm not cryin' cos you make me nervous. Pop used to take me out for waffles on Saturdays. I saw the mob shoot him almost month ago and I've been runnin' till today." He tossed her the copy of the newspaper his uncle had handed him, and went back to his waffles. Ginny was a cold hearted woman, as far as he could tell.

[Vigilante]

"The Russians." Her voice was flat, and she sat down, flipping past the front page to check out what had been pushed to page 2. She still thought he was a baby, and a liability, but she could certainly relate to his story. "Those bastards."

Ginny paused, and looked up. "I didn't know they were so active in the South."

[Twitch]

Joe shrugged and sniffled, but was putting himself back together.

"I wouldn't know. I haven't had a chance to read it yet." He took a bite of the waffle, and concentrated on not falling appart again.

[Vigilante]

She paused, and slowly looked at him. "Your accent. I assumed the incident with your father happened in the South."

[Twitch]

Joe nodded slowly.
"Atlanta."

[Vigilante]

ooc: sorry for the confusion I thought he handed her today's newspaper. >_< /ic:

She sighed heavily, and tossed the paper away as he was obviously too worked up to hold a conversation. She didn't even want to hold a conversation with him. Ginny got up and paced to the far side of the room while he finished off his waffles.

You'll have to tell him. Mr. Ironwood. The redhead frowned to the wall and ran her hand through her hair. Surely for what she was paying him he could help her out of this situation. She couldn't trust Joe to keep his waffle-devouring mouth shut, and if his uncle heard about her all sorts of crap would go into motion.

The door to the conference room opened once more, and Mr. Ironwood entered.

[Twitch]

Joe felt relieved as soon as his Uncle stepped in. Ginny had been eying him as if he was going to be a corpse very soon.

He managed a smile.

"Thanks for the waffles, Uncle Steve." Steve patted Joe on the back.

"Sorry for the wait, Ms. Hayes. I had a family emergency, but it's taken care of now."

[Vigilante]

She offered the lawyer a half smile, and added, "I can see how having a mutant nephew drop in on you might be a bit of an emergency. If you like, I can always come back later, if you have more to deal with."

[Twitch]

Both uncle and nephew blinked.

"What?" Joe's jaw dropped, and Steve smiled at him.
"It's ok Joe. You can tell me about it."

"I'm a mutant?" Joe was confused, and his question was mostly pointed at Ginny. Steven Ironwood looked at his nephew, and then looked at Ginny.

"Ms. Hayes, please explain yourself?" He asked.

[Vigilante]

She looked at Joe and then back to Mr. Ironwood. "I'm sorry if I spoke out of turn. But when I came in he was playing two people at once on that laptop keyboard in MvC? His reflexes are inhumanly fast."

And her observation skills were pretty sharp too. But that was a learned skill, from her time with the Army Rangers. Ginny unconsciouly buttoned and un-buttoned a button on her jacket, doing her best to took awkward and apologetic.

[Twitch]

"Joseph?" Mr. Ironwood looked at his nephew.

"MvC is Marvel versus Capcom, and yes, I can play as two people at the same time." Joe unpaused the games to demonstrate, casually annihilating the two computer oponents in thirty seconds.

"That is quite a gift." Steven said, a little awed.

"Well, Ms. Hayes, I'm glad you discovered this and not someone else. Joe, you and I are going to have to talk later."

"Uh... ok." Joe was overwhelmed.

"Ms. Hayes." Mr. Ironwood opened the conference room door that led back to his office, and motioned for her to enter.

[Richard B. Howlett]

Working security detail seemed so tedious. Or at least, it seemed so to Richard B. Howlett, one of the security guards on the floor of Smith, Klien, Sax and Ironwood. Richard was used to, or at least most recently, being the other guy, the one that the buildings were being guarded against. Looking at the security detail here, even with a mutant or two hired, a good building breaker or thief could get in and out with little trouble here. Then again, this wasn't a maximum security building; this was just an office building housing several businesses. The need for security was necessary, but not to that same, severe extent. As of right now, this was an end to a mean for Mr. Howlett. A means to make decent money. And this office was close enough to the city limits that it was easy for a being like Mr. Howlett to jog to work everyday, easily. Himself, he preferred the not-so-busy life of the country, or at least the outskirts of the city. He had a small apartment, nothing too fancy. Basic needs. No television. Only a radio, an AM/FM radio with a cassette deck. No CD player. No MP3 player. No Ipod. Just simple, older equipment. He was more of a simple man, with simpler pleasures. He was merely saving up to fix his bike, which he trashed into a ditch about six months ago. It was a wreck that he shouldn't have walked away from. It was an accident that he should not have even come out alive from. Yet he got up, wiped the blood from his brow, reset the broken arm, and held his hands over the flames, absorbing the heat that should've burned him severely. Instead, as the heat absorbed into the skin, the broken and fractured bones began to mend, the meat beginning to close up, the scars fading before they were ever existent. Needless to say, his bike was completely wrecked. He decided to return to a city and begin working to save up money for his bike. He was now doing just that, working as a security guard in a nice skyrise office building, making good money for his work, and paying out even less for his basic accomodations.

Sighing, Mr. Howlett made his way down to the breakroom. Lunch time. Sitting at the small bench in the dimly lit breakroom, Richard opened his lunch and began eating. Three cans of vienna sausages, cheese spread, an entire roll of Ritz crackers, can of fruit cocktail, a chocolate bar, and a bottle of water. The lunch of champions. As he ate, he fished around in his uniform jacket, finding his cigarettes. Winston Full Flavor 100's that he kept in a metal cigarette case. Flipping one out, he reached for his lighter, cigarette hanging limply in his mouth as he ajusts his darkened goggles with his free hand. His search was futile. No lighter. Richard sighed, and looked around. Seeing that he was alone, and the lack of security cameras, and he nodded, bringing his right hand up to his cigarette. Putting the tip of his middle finger to the cigarette's end, he sighed and drew forth from the filter, as the medium between his finger and the loose paper glowed red, the paper catching fire and lighting the fine tobacco inside. The end of the cigarette glowed red with heat and life as the smoke began to rise. Drawing in the smoke into his lungs, Richard exhaled, blowing a plume of smoke into the air. He sighed. He didn't like using one of his powers so openly unless it were necessary. And he wanted a cigarette. It was necessary.

Setting the burning cig into the ashtray off to his left, Richard began to wolf down his food, as if he were some sort of starved animal. In nature, it was eat quickly, or risk losing it to other animals, or having to fight other animals for it. Nature was still winning out....but eventually, Richard began to reason it over, and slowed down eating. He wasn't all animal. Mutants aren't animals.....they were humans; advanced, stronger, different, yet reasoning and cognitive, like humans....And yet they weren't.....Richard kept eating, but at a slower, steady pace. This was good food....

[Vigilante]

Ginny followed Steve Ironwood into his well appointed office, letting him close the door behind her and motion her to a seat. She sat, and crossed her legs as the lawyer took his chair behind his large desk. It held quite a few stacks of paper, some of which he moved to one side as he got comfortable.

"Ms. Hayes, there has been a change in your case." His face was impassive, but he could have been simply thinking about his nephew.

"Oh?" She tried to stay optimistic, but the families of the dead Rangers were determined to drag her through as much hell as possible.

"Yes," Ironwood seemed to come back from far away, and he smiled. "After a year of getting nowhere, they are dropping the suit against you."

Ginny sat there for a moment in silence, and then blinked slowly. "Just like that?"

"Exactly like that." He reached across the desk towards her, and she found herself shaking his hand in a sort of daze. "To be a survivor is hard enough without someone else trying to blame you for the incident. I think that they finally realized that."

[Twitch]

Outside the building, Joe's black Pontiac TransAm WS6 was being towed. Not because he was parked illegally, but because the tow company was owned by the Russian Mob. Inside the car was the original <st1:country-region><st1>Georgia</st1></st1:country-region> lisence plate and the Glock. The Trans Ams were worth towing anyway, even if a innocent owner was caught in the process and pursued action. File away the VINs, and the chassis, body parts and engine/transmission would fetch a good amount of money. As a precaution, the cars would be taken to a holding lot, untouched for 24 hours in case it was equipped with LowJack or a similar device.
<o></o>
Ginny and Ironwood, Esquire continued to close the details of the case and finish organization in case someone else decided to be a total butt and file another suit. Joe occupied himself with Metal Slug 3, although he felt nervous about the entire thing now. His Mother was on the way, and she would make a huge dramatic mess about the missing thing, and then make another huge dramatic mess about his inhuman reflexes. It was one of the reasons his parents got along so well. Mom wasn’t around a lot, and Dad was really practical. He also had a special gift for calming Mom down. He hoped Uncle Steve knew how to keep his sister calm.<o></o>

[Vigilante]

It took nearly half an hour to close up the case, but Ginny remained sitting when they were done. "I'd... I'd like to retain your services, Mr. Ironwood."

He looked up, concern in his eyes. "Certainly, Ginny, I'm here to help you with whatever additional legal issues you may be having."

"Well, I'm not having an issue right now, persay..." her voice trailed off. Now she had his attention, and there was no where to go but forward. "Ah, well, now that the case is finished with... I haven't been truthful with you. The mutant gene is active in me. But everything else is true, of course," she added hastily, "I had nothing to do with the accident. But I... I can teleport. That's why I wasn't killed too - I got myself out of there just in time."