Paying Respect to the Past, Looking to the Future.

[Stern]

Stern light jumped home the morning after the hospital visit. He didn't bother Anita. He had only one thing on his mind: getting his life in order. The mutant materialized in his room and changed clothes. The process was slow and almost painful, but he managed it just fine. His room was the same as he had left it. Nothing had been touched.

He would handle his folks later. They were probably either still sleeping or out and about. Letting his family know he was ok was going to be hard. Sobered by that though, he sat heavily on the edge of the bed and looked around.

Before the event, he had been a pretty good kid. Involved at church, quiet, and a home-body. He looked around at the pictures on the walls. A series of five pictures hung on one wall. The left-most one showed him before his mutation. As the pictures progressed to the right, so did the changes brought about by his X-Gene until they ended with one that depicted him present day. At least on the outside.

Now he was harder. There was a keen edge to his mind and a sudden love of fighting dirty. Hatred for Neutron burned in him, fighting for a dominating portion of his time, energy, and focus.

His computer stood set up at the desk by his bed. He turned it on and checked his e-mail. His school account was deleted, but his spare e-mail was still active. Three months of spam. He deleted it.

Then he hit a search engine and started looking up everything he could about the ESU bombing and anything that might lead him to Neutron. He searched for hours. Mostly he got articles from local and national newspapers and other media sources. There were message boards about it, supporting the families of loved ones lost and others expressing hatred for mutants of all kinds.

There was one with a blurry photo. It was apparent from the picture that the radiation from Neutron and Stern's own glowing aura distorted the picture's focus so neither could be identified. So that's what he looked like when he burned brightly. He was a bright light, and by contrast his body was a brighter outline. None of his features were distinguishable. He was just an outline in the light. Neutron, by contrast stood as a dark figure in his trenchcoat surrounded by rippling, shimmering air as he radiation generated from his bare hand distorted the space around him.

Stern flared. Just seeing his picture caused him rage. Without thinking he slammed his fist on the desk. A minute later someone stepped out of the bedroom down the hall. One of his parents. The door opened and Stern swiveled in the chair to face the door. He saw an eye peek through the crack in the door and gasp. Then there was a scream.

Stern light-jumped into the hallway and hugged his mother tightly. "Mom, it's me. It's me, Michael."

Stern's mom cried and cried. His dad emerged moments later with his pistol in hand, ready to defend his wife. When he saw that she was hugging their son, he removed the clip from the pistol and tossed it aside. "Michael?"

Stern nodded. "Yeah. Mom, you're hurting me. My arm's broken at the shoulder, and you're hurting me."

She let go and held him out. "You look like you've had a rough time. What happened to you?"

They went back into Stern's room. Stern took the chair by the computer and his parents sat on the bed. Stern related the whole story to his folks form top to bottom. When he was finished, they looked like they were tired enough to go right back to bed.

"We had your funeral two weeks ago," his mom said at last. "They're setting up a memorial at ESU with the names of all the students who died there. You should go see it."

Stern nodded.

Then his dad spoke up. "But first, let's get some food."

They all rose together and went to the kitchen. Stern's mom busied herself to make something, anything for her baby boy and his dad grilled him about the medical treatment he received for his arm. Stern explained as best he could without bringing up Anita by name. He had enough for them to process without Anita being placed into the equation.

Once food was ready--scrambled eggs--Stern ate what was given him while his parents looked on. His mother wouldn't stop muttering about how she couldn't believe he was still alive.

After he finished, Stern hugged his parents and promised to be back for dinner. He was going to go to ESU.

Seconds later he was there. He strode across campus as quickly as he could before he saw the fenced off remains of the building. There was a notice warning people against nuclear radiation. Just in front of the fence was a large granite slab. Inscribed were the names of the people who had died there.

He reviewed each name, taking time to let his gaze linger on the names of people he knew. Roommates, friends, classmates. One girl he had a crush on last year, but turned out to be too much of a workaholic to be any fun.

Then he saw it. There was his name on the memorial. Michael Stern. At first he couldn't believe it. He reached out and touched the words, letting his fingers trace the grooves.

Stern knelt before the memorial and offered a prayer for the people who died who were close to him. It was a common practice for Catholics to pray for their dead loved ones. He had done it as a child when his grandmother died, and again a few years later as her husband followed suit. He didn't understand it then, but it had helped him. Now that he was older, he understood it but it offered him no ease. Only one thing could do that for him: Neutron, body blazing in a slow, agonizing death.

Stern looked past the fence. Radiation or no, he had to sift through it. He had to find something. A chunk of the bomb, perhaps the destroyed remote. Maybe there would be something of the man himself that he could exploit.

He'd also have to track down Neutron's patsy and shake him down. But one thing at a time.

Stern light jumped past the fence and started to carefully walk over the rubble.

[John Jackson]

Jackson grunted, eyes closing tight against the headache nagging at his temples. It had been a long night - again - and a quick glance at his watch confirmed that he'd forgone sleep for yet another night. He was one of dozens - hundreds - of Detectives pulled from other assignments to investigate the attack on Empire State University. It seemed like a redundant effort: all obvious forensic evidence from the scene had been washed away by the nuclear blast, and the hefty radiation suits the Crime Scene Investigators were required to wear for their own protection were far to clumsy, probably damaging more evidence than they'd ever be able to find.

Slumping backwards in his chair, Jackson ran his hands over his face to try and rub away his fatigue, sighing through his fingers as his body cried out for cigarettes and coffee. With the crime scene off limits, and the security footage little more than a blur, New York's Finest had resorted to desperation: casting as many eyes as possible over as many files as possible, hoping that some one would have an epiphany and find something - anything - that might lead to an arrest. Jackson's entire office - and probably more, if the propoganda spouted by the Commissioner at his press conferences held any truth - had been entirely dedicated to solving this one crime. Unfortunately, they weren't really getting anywhere; if they didn't find something soon, the public would start clamouring for blood as well as justice.

New York had been hit hard of late; 9/11 wasn't something that faded easily from memory. There wasn't anyone in the city whose life hadn't been touched by those events. This latest attack was adding insult to injury, and the fact that mutants had been involved only served to buy into more public anxiety. The explosion at ESU had only taken out a single building, but the lives lost had been students - innocent people with bright futures that had been crushed under the heel of some mindless act of violence.

A bustling near the doorway grabbed Jackson's attention; it was piqued still further when the Captain appeared to find out why the hell the uniformed Officer that had just entered was causing such a fuss. Jackson rose to investigate, arriving just in time to hear the words: "Someone has been spotted inside the fence."

There was no need to ask for clarification on which fence was being referred to; there was no need to ask for clarification on what the Captain meant by the look he threw Jackson's way. "I'm on it, boss," Jackson said simply, exchanging a brief nod with his boss before pushing his way through to the door.

Jackson found Dwayne in the corridor, clutching the bagels he'd been sent to retrieve. "Crime scene," Jackson barked, gesturing towards the station's exit behind his partner. "I'll explain on the way. You're driving."

[Dwayne Stiles]

The Corvette had been seeing more action than usual of late. Since joining the NYPD, Stiles had found himself driving his beloved car more and more, usually at unearthy times in the morning. Today showed him a little mercy; despite the fact that he had arrived at the office at normal working hours, like the rest of the city, he had been slightly disappointed to find that his first assignment of the day involved running out again to find some breakfast for himself and his partner, Jackson.

The man was seated beside him now, munching on one of the bagels that he had bought precious few minutes earlier. Stiles' stomach grumbled - Crystal's photoshoot meant that she had left the house even earlier than him, and so she hadn't been able to make him any breakfast. Truthfully, Stiles wasn't sure exactly how to make an omlette, so he hadn't bothered, deciding that he was tough enough to go without breakfast.

As it turned out, that assumption was entirely bogus.

They reached the site after much weaving in and out of traffic - they were past the morning commuter's traffic jam, but that didn't stop New York's streets being packed with cars like shoals of fish. Stiles parked the Corvette several meters from the site of the destroyed sports hall, and hopped out, strapping the radiation dectector that Jackson handed to him to his wrist. The detectors had been acquired from the University itself, ironically, and involved a wristband design with a piece of photo paper affixed to it. They had been told firmly by the boss that they were only able to stay within the fence (if, indeed, there was cause for them to breach it in the first place) until it went black. If it did, then they were instructed to 'get the hell out'.

"Why'd anyone wanna go in there?" Stiles unwrapped his bagel and sunk his teeth into it, hot scrambled eggs and bacon delighting his taste buds. "That stuff kills ya. S'like smoking, I guess."

It was a deliberate jab at Jackson's habit, but Stiles chose to ignore any reaction he may have elicited by taking another bite of the breakfast bagel. It wasn't going to be enough to satisfy his appetite, but it would do until they got back to the station, and then he would be able to go in search of a more fulfilling breakfast. Something like a hot, extra cheesy cheese steak, cooked medium rare with --

Jackson had said his name with soft irritance in his tone, which reminded Stiles that he had to pay attention to what was going on. A man in uniform was headed towards them, whom Jackson greeted, giving their names in the rehearsed manner which Stiles had quickly become accustomed to. Jackson was quiet, professional, and much better at meeting other professionals than Stiles - and they both knew it.

The man led them to the gates, and Stiles hurriedly stuffed the remainder of the bagel into his mouth. Presumably, he wouldn't be allowed to eat on-site. The guards stationed at the gate let them past without so much as a nod, but Stiles grinned at them anyway, for one mischievous moment hoping that it would be construed as a way of silently saying, "Hey, my job is better than yours."

His mind switched gears as they stepped through into the confines of the fence. There was no psyhical change in the environment, except that they were closer to the source of the radiation with each stride, but Stiles couldn't shake off a shiver that rippled down his spine. So many people had died here. He wasn't a believer in the supernatural (which seemed a little silly, given the contact he had had with mutants recently), but this place made him feel uneasy, and plummeted his mood to a new low.

"Come on, man," He stepped out further, soles crunching on the rubble, "Sooner we find this guy, sooner we can get out."

[Stern]

Stern walked out to where he figured the center of the basketball court was. Of course, the building wasn't just the basketball court. Down one wing there was the gym and the co-op, each situated across from the other. No doubt engineered to make the students eating fast food consider taking time and making use of their free gym memberships.

The hallway forked at the end, the left one leading to the restrooms and the right one leading to the stadium entrance. Stern nearly stumbled and almost fell down the slope on all the debris.

He paused a moment at the top of the crater where the basketball court used to be. He fought Neutron here. He failed here. His first impulse was to blast the crater with searing hot light, but he didn't need to destroy evidence in the process of venting his anger.

Instead he light-jumped to the bottom and turned over the rubble with his foot and his good hand. Some of the stuff was huge and could not be moved. Stern resorted to shining bright beams of light around those pieces to see if anything could be made out hidden in the small crevices between bits of the shattered building.

[John Jackson]

"No arguement from me," Jackson muttered to his partner. His objection to there presence wasn't a matter of self-preservation, but it was equally selfish. The emotional trauma that had occured here was just the sort of event that his mutant abilities thrived on, and while he wanted nothing more than to get to the bottom of what was going on, reliving the tragic deaths of those lost in the explosion didn't seem a constructive way of doing it.

Jackson spared a glance towards his partner. The Philidelphian was blissfully unaware of Jackson's abilities, and while recent events had tempered his mistrust of mutants somewhat, they hadn't dulled them completely. He felt a pang of guilt: his powers hung between them like a barrier, and while Dwayne might not know the reason, Jackson didn't doubt that he could sense that something was being hidden from him.

He pushed that thought aside, focussing his attention on the crime scene, and more importantly on locating the person who had breached the cordon. In all likelihood the person wandering around atop several tons of radioactive masonry was a grieving relative, here to find something belonging to whomever they had lost, but Jackson couldn't help hoping that something more useful than a goose lay at the end of rhis chase. Maybe one of the assailants had come to retrieve some key evidence, just in case the police managed to perform a forensic search? If that was the case, then there was something to find, and this investigation wasn't stuck at a dead end after all.

The sky was overcast, as if the whole world felt as badly about this situation as he did. It turned out that the weather was to their advantage however: if sunlight had been streaming down from the sky, he probably wouldn't have noticed the strange flash of light in the distance. Jackson's attention snapped to Dwayne, arm gesturing in the appropriate direction. "Did you just see that?"

[Dwayne Stiles]

At first, Stiles didn't realised just how stupid he sounded, giving out an answer and a question in one fell swoop, "See what?"

His partner was skilled at hiding emotions that might hurt others, and he was likely covering up a look of dumbfoundedness at Stiles' lack of observance, "That flash of light."

Looking in the direction that Jackson was indicating, Stiles narrowed his eyes for a moment, thinking back to the moments that had just passed. Then, at length, he nodded. "Yeah, I saw that. What, you think it be important?"

"Perhaps."

"Nah, jus' lightnin' man. You know, like storms." However, as Stiles' met Jackson's gaze, the disbelief of the other man instilled a niggling sensation in the back of the Philadelphian's mind. Starting towards the direction of the flahs of light, Stiles beckoned for his partner to follow with an easy grin, "What you waitin' for, man? We ain't got long. Damn, this might even be a lead." As Jackson fell into step next to him, another small revolution came to Stiles. Seemingly, despite the early start and the lack of a proficient breakfast, he was having a good day, "One o' them mutants who busted this joint - he could make light, yeah?"

[Stern]

No matter how deep Stern dug, he couldn't find much. It was times like these he wished his powers were more direct. With his other arm out of commission, he was still having a hard time focusing light to make an Archimedes blast. Even then, his most powerful shot couldn't destroy the rubble. It was just as well. He couldn't risk destroying any evidence.

Stern got low beneath a big oblong bit of wall and heaved on it with his back, straightening his legs to lift one end and flip it over. When at last he managed his task, the shard fell over and broke into several smaller pieces.

"I don't know what I'm doing," Stern muttered to himself. "I don't even know what I'm looking for in all this mess!"

[John Jackson]

One of the mutants could make light, Dwayne had said; the phrase had been coloured with his own special vernacular, but the gist of the statement had been such. Jackson's mind had concluded much the same thing. Besides - if he remembered his High School geography lessons correctly, the clouds above them were nothing like the sort that would start hurling lightning bolts down at them.

"My thoughts exactly," he muttered, quickly scanning the rubble mound in front of him for stable footholds, and started to clamber upwards. "Come on," he added, shooting a glance back towards his partner. His eyes managed to catch a glimpse of the radiation detector as his gaze swept over it, the white disc already spotted with blackness where the radiation from their surroundings - High School physics coming to the rescue this time - had crashed into it.

As Jackson scrambled up the short rise, his hand settled on what had once been a table. Scattered images of walls exploding towards him flooded his mind: imprinted memories from those killed in the blast. He grit his teeth and kept on climbing. Not now, he hissed inside his head, forcing his mind to focus on his other senses.

It took effort, both physical and mental, but Jackson eventually made it to the summit. His eyes peered down into the rubble crater that had formed around the old baseball court - the force of the blast had thrown the walls outwards, so only fragments of the roof and floor hand come to rest here. It was eerie, seeing the destruction that had been wrought down there; worse still was the figure moving around in the wreckage. Was he glowing slightly?

Jackson reached for his gun, extending his arms, and sighting down the barrel at the figure. "N.Y.P.D!" he announced, voice loud, but still calm. "This is a restricted area; I'm going to need you to come with us." A few moments later, Dwayne appeared at his side. He jerked his head in the direction of the intruder. "I've got him covered," Jackson muttered, eyes flickign momentarily towards Dwayne. "Get down there and cuff him."

Dwayne's eyebrows climbed upwards at the instruction. "What the hell, man?" he muttered. "Why've I gotta climb down there, while your stand lazy, cigarette-smokin' butt up here?"

Despite himself, Jackson couldn't help a slight quirk of a smile. "Same reason you went to fetch the bagels," he shot back, quietly. "I get paid more than you do."

[Dwayne Stiles]

Oh man, he gonn' get it.

As grudgingly as a shark with dentures, Stiles began his descent into the crater. Their quarry hadn't moved yet, but that didn't mean that he was going to come along quietly. Rubble rolling out from under his skidding feet, Stiles threw his arms out to regain his balance as suddenly the base of the crater began to come up quite quickly at him. He managed a sort-of stumbling hop off the rubble and down onto the crater base, and turned to give Jackson a thumbs-up, letting his partner know what he was okay. A look from Jackson that meant 'please get on with it' quickly dampened his cheer.

Heading to their quarry, Stiles felt for the handcuffs attached to his belt, feeling the cool metal against his fingers. As he got closer, the light began to hurt his eyes, and he shielded them. This guy was definitely glowing. The mutant in the photograph had been glowing. They had to be the same person.

Oh, damn. What if this guy is dangerous? Damn, damn, damn.

Despite the sudden panic that had crept up on him, Stiles called out to the man. From what he could tell, he wasn't particularly old; young enough to be a student. "Sir, I'm asking you to put your hands on your head, and kneel on the ground." He kept his eyes fixated on the glowing mutant - damn it - even though they were beginning to water, and felt on his belt again for the handcuffs, ready to unclip them at a moment's notice. "You gotta come with us."

[Stern]

Stern heard them but chose not to listen. It was the police. The same police that didn't listen to him and failed to stop Neutron before he was forced to try his hand.

It wasn't until Stiles reached the bottom of the crater that he chose to turn and acknowledge their presence.

"You could have stopped this, you know." Stern's voice was cold. "I told the security people there were terrorists in the building. You didn't listen."

As his anger rose, so did the intensity of the light he gave off.

[John Jackson]

Jackson blinked a little. Seeing a guy glowing was weird enough; being forced to stare down the barrel of a gun was more so. The way that the kid down in the crater spoke, and the way he moved weren't really doing wonders for Jackson's calm, either.

Memories flooded Jackson's mind, but they were his own this time. Flashed images of stuff that had happened to him on duty - the last time he'd had to aim a gun at someone, the last time he'd actually had to fire. Those stirred up more memories from the depths: Uncle Jack, coming to his house to let him know that his dad had died, shot by some young thug over a few dollars in a convenience store till. That led to hearing about his mother, killed in a car crash by some drunk driver that side-swiped her car at an intersection. More memories span in - friends killed in service, guys shot on the streets, police raids, crime scenes...

Damn it, he hissed into his mind, annoyed that his powers were dredging up his own memories, particularly at a time like this. Why was it so random - why couldn't he switch his abilities on and off like other mutants? At times it helped, but it was fast becoming the case that his abilities were more of a distraction than a help, hindering his ability to think, colouring his judgement based on what he could percieve, but never explain to anyone.

He squinted, trying to squash them aside. He forced himself to focus on now, and what was happening down in the crater. "I'm still holding a gun, kid," he warned.

[Dwayne Stiles]

Stiles whipped around, turning his head and shoulders away from the mutant as he lit up brightly, "Damn!"

Why do I get into this? Why ain't I learned yet?

"Sir, would you please not do that." Peering out through his fingers, Stiles tried to focus on the young man who seemed to be growing steadily angrier by the second, "Y'all on a site full of this radiation stuff - y'all ain't supposed to be here, man!"

At this, he had to look away again, as hot fluid was streaming down his face from his eyes, which were stinging. Black spots dotted the spaces before him, randomly, flashing in and out of his vision, and all of a sudden dizziness took its hold. Fighting the urge to fall over, Stiles tried to look back at the mutant, mustering all his strength. He had to be diplomatic; he had seen that mutants could use their powers for the good of others, and seemingly, the ones that used them for bad did so because they were ostracized and ridiculed by others around them. They could not fit in, so became rebellious. To get attention, a twisted approval. To show what they could do in the only way they knew how.

And right now, aggravating the situation would only make this guy even more upset. Perhaps he had been a student at the University, or had friends or relatives that had taught or studied there. The light intensified.

"Okay! You told the security people! Things went wrong! I get it!" Stiles' voice was raised, despite the fact that there was no need to do so. It seemed like the best way to try and get through to this guy. "We're here to help. You ain't doing y'allself no good by staying in the radiation. Calm down, please, sir."

Whether this had any effect at all remained to be seen. However, one statement by the man stood before him irked Stiles a little: "By the way, kid, I didn't listen, no, 'cause I wasn't there, was I?"

[Stern]

Stern was not happy. His search for clues to Neutron was a bust, especially now with the police on scene. His shoulder was killing him and he wasn't much in the mood to take on two armed policemen with only one good arm. It cut down his firepower. He could light-jump and beat them around, but if one got lucky it could do him more harm than good. Then there was Anita. It wouldn't help her much if Stern made the most wanted list two days after returning to town.

"Go to the memorial."

The light around Stern grew brighter, the telltale sign of his prelude to light-jumping and then he disappeared out of the crater and materialized next to the marble slab bearing the names of those who died there. Where he was supposed to have died.

[John Jackson]

The bright light felt almost physical as it slammed into Jackson's eyes; he felt himself recoil and his lids snap closed in reflex. He forced them open, no clue as to what had just happened. A quick scan - decorated by dark shapes dancing across his vision - revealed that Dwayne was still standing, but their quarry was suspiciously absent.

Jackson's eyes fell to his arm, settling on the radiation detector strapped to his wrist. Low-tech in the extreme, the patch of photographic paper had already begun to darken in blotches that were because of some Alf and Beetroot Particle things that his High School physics teacher had kept going on about. Whatever had caused it, the fact that the black speckles were starting to overrun the white was probably a bad sign.

"Go to the memorial," Jackson echoed, turning slowly on his perch to set his sights back on the perimeter fence, and their exit. "Come on, Stiles," he muttered, scanning the rubble ahead of him for a safe footing. "Lets get the hell out of here."

[Dwayne Stiles]

"Whoa, man - where'd he go?" Stiles leapt around, a reasonless assumption flashing in his mind telling him to look for an attack from behind. Nothing. The guy was gone. "Man, he ain't good at cover-up. That guy's definitely a mutant."

Satisfied that the area was devoid of other life, Stiles headed towards the slope upon which his partner stood. There were large, clear grooves where he had ungracefully made his descend, and he started back up the slope next to them, the sight of his partner disappearing from the top of the slope spurring him to greater efforts. Although he was certain that the mutant had gone, Stiles had no inclination to stay in the radioactive field longer than he needed to.

It took him more than a minute to catch up to Jackson, who was heading back towards the gates with steady strides, which Stiles matched. The man seemed ...a little upset, somehow. Sure, it was terrible, what had happened here, but Jackson didn't know anybody who was involved in this incident. Or did he?

Stiles wanted to ask, but his lack of knowledge of the man prevented him from doing so at first instance. Stiles' usual jovial, boyish way of dealing with things didn't go down too well when it came to tragedy, and so he settled for silence as they headed towards the gate, and the memorial, where the mutant would be waiting.

[Stern]

Stern watched the police come up the slope with the same stone expression he wore in the bottom of the pit. When they arrived, he pointed to his name, illuminating it with the light coming out of his finger.

"That's me."

Stern spread out his hands and nine more points of light highlighted other names on the large granite slab. "Those were people I went to see graduate that day."

The mutant brightened until the light shone out of his hands and spread over the whole memorial. "These are people I tried to save. People I couldn't save. My failure sent me halfway around the world. I'm legally dead, I don't even know what day it is or what time. I have no ID, no money, no nothing."

Stern looked at the officers. "If you know anything about this guy, I want that information. And if you don't have any, I'll go right back in there and dig until I find something."

[John Jackson]

John felt a stab of sympathy. He didn't need his abilities to know what must be going through the poor kid's mind. Michael Stern, the memorial revealed, had suffered first-hand the trauma that Jackson had been sensing from the shattered stones. Worse, he had turned to authority, and when it refused to act he confronted the assailant alone, and failed.

Jackson spared a brief glance towards his partner, wondering if he too had experienced similar things in the line of duty. Almost every police officer who'd been around more than a few years had a story along those lines - some poor victim or victims that suffered because they had been powerless to stop it. For a moment, Jackson considered recounting his own example, but new instantly it would mean nothing to Stern. His uncle's words floated through his mind, briefly. Hearing someone else's sob-story doesn't make the pain of your own any less: it just makes the world seem like it sucks even more than you first realised.

Collecting his thoughts, Jackson released a slow breath. "I won't pretend I understand you, or that I understand what you're going through. You wouldn't believe me if I did. However -" He winced, cutting himself off mid-sentence, mind struggling to find the right words. "Revenge isn't what you need right now, no matter how much you think you might want it. You're after justice, and that's something totally different."

His wary breaths collapsed into a sigh. "If you hunt this man alone - if you let yourself be driven by anger, rage, revenge - you'll be forced to become the same as him. Don't sully the memory of these people by turning into the sort of person that killed them." He gestured towards the memorial for emphasis. "Be the kind of man that they would be proud of instead."

Jackson's eyes burned as he levelled his gaze squarely on Stern. "Do the right thing, Michael. Help us, and we can make sure this is done right."

[Dwayne Stiles]

A chill crept along Stiles' spine as he watched the mutant highlight the names he wished them to see. For once, it was not because he was nervous about having such a powerful individual so close, but because, although he had read the reports of the destruction at the university, he had never fully considered the huge weight of loss. Until now. Michael Stern's power had lit up his mind as well as the cold stone of the memorial.

He listened quietly as his partner spoke reason to the troubled man. Right now, it wouldn't be a good time for him to contribute; most likely he'd say something stupid, or say something sensible in a stupid way. Dealing with troubled people wasn't his strong point - which was why he was particularly fortunate in being paired up with Jackson, who seemed almost empathic. Something about that guy ...well, he knew how other people were feeling. And while to the untrained onlooker, that might seem quite useless, Jackson had proved that his insight to how others felt could defuse a situation and convince the people they were working with to allow them to help.

Stiles, you are a lucky son of a gun.

He levelled dark eyes at Stern, watching for his reaction to Jackson's words. The luminous mutant was upset, troubled and probably would be having a hard time believing that the police would be able to help him in any productive way.

Whoa, Stiles. Emotional insight ain't your thing. Leave that to Jackson.

[Stern]

Stern rolled his eyes behind his goggles. It was one of those cliched speeches you heard in the movies where a someone tried to convince a person bent on some desperate act not to carry out the plan.

He gestured like he was going to say something, but the thought fizzled in his mind. All he knew was that he felt very jaded and very lost. He clung on the fence with his good hand and rested against it, feeling the links give a little under his weight. And so he stayed that way, thinking.

"You mean a job, right? Working for the police?"

[John Jackson]

A job? Is this kid serious? Jackson fought a frown from his face. Do I look I'm a recruiting officer?

Jackson shoved that thought roughly aside. Hey - at least the kid didn't look like he was about to flash himself half-way across the country anymore; the glow around him had subsided.

Casually, Jackson he reached into the pocket of his tan trenchcoat and pulled out a crumpled packet of nicotine gum that Dwayne had presented him with a few days ago. If memory served, the words "You ain't smokin' them damn things in my car, man," had been offered as justification. There had been several weeks of lighter theft and cigarette sabotage leading up to it; apparently, his Philadelphan partner hadn't quite mastered subtlety just yet.

Plucking a sugar-coated lump free from the foil-lined packed and flicking it into his mouth. "First thing's first," he replied, pausing a few moments to chew his way through the initial stages of softening up the nicorete gum.
"I'm Detective John Jackson; this is Detective Dwayne Stiles." He hesitated for another moment, flashing a brief half-smile. "How about we get you back to the station: show you what we've got so far, and see if you can fill in some of the blanks for us?"

[Dwayne Stiles]

Finally, some stability to the situation. The kid looked tired; a ride to the station and some kind of food would probably make him feel a little less intimidated. The Corvette had been sitting patiently several metres away from the fence; a safe enough distance so that the radiation wouldn't get it, or something.

"Oh, and just so you know --" Stiles put on his usual boyish grin, "I'm the cool one. Jackson here can be ..." At a glance from his partner, Stiles trailed off. It wasn't very professional to make personal remarks, especially not about his partner. "Uh, well, you know."

Apparently, he hadn't impressed either of the other two people present. Scratching at the back of his neck, Stiles' thoughts strayed to Crystal. She wouldn't be happy if he was late home ...again. Perhaps it would be a good idea to wrap this up as quickly as possible.

"So, my car's just over there. You wanna ride?"

[Stern]

Stern considered both of them without expression or comment. "I want a job. I can't continue my education here. My presence will be too traumatic for the student body here. I'm legally dead, and until my resurrection I cannot get a job. I have no skills to speak of, and I want this guy taken down."

Stern moved towards the officers. "I'll help you, but only if I get the information I want. And if you take me as an officer for the NYPD, I will have a job. I can live. I can hunt that animal all I want and get all the information I need without breaking laws or risking lives."

The mutant's light settled and disappeared for a moment. "If you help me, we can help each other. Leave me in the cold and I will continue after this guy. I can travel at the speed of light. Wherever light can reach, I can go. And I will go to any end to see that I break this guy and leave him in a heap at my feet."

Stern offered him his left hand since it was the only one he had to offer. "Do we have a deal?"

[John Jackson]

Jackson ran a hand across his stubbled jaw. The kid was certainly persistant, he'd give him that. Unfortunately, his persistance seemed to be focussed on revenge; that sort of attitude was hardly ideal for an officer of the law. Under normal circumstances, he'd point the kid in the direction of the Police Academy, but he doubted that Stern would have the patience to endure the necessary six months of training, or the probable eighteen beyond that before he'd be able to secure any kind of Detective post.

We need this kid's help, Jackson realised; their only lead was perilously close to bailing on them. There were measures under normal circumstances to help encourage his cooperation, but Jackson doubted any of them would be effective against a guy who could teleport himself from place to place seemingly at will. Desperate times...

Jackson nodded, almost imperceptably. "I'll speak to my Captain back at the precinct; that's all I can promise."

[Stern]

Stern took his hand back. "You'll speak to him before I leave that building," he said in a firm tone. "I will write a statement at the precinct and hand it to you after you have spoken to the Captain."

Michael Stern was still ticked off at his rotten luck that day. Thunder rumbled in the clouds and the sky grew darker. Fear edged in on his already sour mood and he resumed his regular glow to take the edge off.

"We can take your car," he said to Stiles, "Or I can just meet you there."

[Dwayne Stiles]

Man, is this kid demanding or what?

As much as he wanted to say something, anything, that would make the kid realise how serious a venture into the police was, Stiles stopped himself. As Crystal had rightly pointed out before - maybe last week - sometimes his opinion was about as useful as pepper on a vindaloo.

I'm so lucky to have you put me right, girl.

And thoughts of that woman made him want to smile. He had to focus on the here and now. Jackson would be counting on him to do something useful. And it wasn't Stiles', well, style to screw up for a colleague, especially not one he had so much respect for.

As Stern's glow began to flare up again, Stiles drew out his keys, almost astounded that he'd remembered exactly which pocket they were in. He addressed Stern, putting on his usual boyish, friendly grin, "Michael, you ain't seriously saying you'd miss out on a ride? My wheels are sweet."

He cast a sideways glance at Jackson, and suddenly realised that perhaps getting all chummy with their lead wasn't the best approach. "...Uh, something might happen if you go there by yourself. We don't want y'all getting hurt ...plus, it's my butt that gets busted if you do."

Maybe that was a half-lie, but it might turn out to be a little more persuasive. Besides, Stiles wasn't up to being grilled by his superiors and Crystal in the same day. "C'mon, let me give you a ride."

[Stern]

"Sure."

Stern walked with the two police detectives towards Stiles' car. It had been a while since he had taken his last does of pain medication and his shoulder was starting to hurt him again. At least he was settling down.

"It's been a really rough past few days," he said. "I got back, went to the hospital over my broken shoulder, found out I'm dead so I don't know how I'm going to cover that bill, and my family and everyone is trying to cope with the idea that I'm still alive. As for my friends, well, most of them died."

Stern suddenly felt very weary and more apprciative of Stiles' offer.

"I'm Michael Stern," he said as a way of greeting. "It's nice to meet you two."

[John Jackson]

Back at the Precinct...

John ran his fingers through his hair, and tugged at the tie that was beginning to feel constrictively tight around his throat. Two hours had passed since they had arrived back at the Precinct, and Jackson had barely stopped since they'd arrived. Michael Stern was in the interview room with Dwayne, providing a statement of the events as he had witnessed them; not before having read his way through everything the police had discovered, however. The fact that he'd managed to read up on their entire investigation in just two hours illustrated just how badly things were going for them right now.

Unfortunately for John, things were about to get worse. Probably. He'd made a promise that he would vouch for Stern: try to secure his participation in this investigation at the very least. That meant an encounter with the Captain, who probably wouldn't be all that pleased about Jackson making such assurances on the department's behalf.

"Door's open," a voice came from within, as Jackson's knuckles rapped against the doorframe. The hinges creaked as Jackson pushed his way inside, a shaft of light from the corridor barging through the door along with him, stabbing into the dimly lit office. A cone of light suspended from a lamp on the desk was the only source of illumination; the Captain's rugged features were thrown into sharp relief by the shadows the lamp cast.

Jackson cleared his throat, hovering awkwardly in front of the desk. "The kid is in an interview room with Stiles; getting a statement now," he said, as Sean Pope's eyes rose from the paperwork snared in the lamp's glow. He knew what the Captain needed and wanted to know; no point in beating around the bush.

Pope fixed him with a wordless stare for a few moments, watching the Detective intently. Eventually, he nodded. "I'm intregued to find out how our dead man managed to get up and start walking around."

Jackson winced. "I have a theory about that, Captain."

One of Pope's eyebrows arched with intrigue. "You do, Detective?"

John nodded, slowly, a little reluctant to reveal Stern's powers, knowing full-well how many members of the police force reacted towards the mutant members of society. Thus far, he'd never seen Pope react to that sort of thing; was he the sort of accomodating and accepting person that Jackson hoped he was?

Taking a breath, Jackson spoke. "He has the ability to teleportation himself from location to location, instantly. I don't know much about the specifics, but he seems to emit light as a byproduct: I'd bet that his powers are responsible for that unexplained preflash before the main nuclear device detonates on the video footage we have."

Pope's second eyebrow rose to join the first. "He's a mutant?"

John nodded. "Yes, he is."

The Captain seemed to consider that information for some time, staring off into the middle distance as he thought. His face twisted, eyebrows relaxing, and mouth forming a satisfied smile. "Then I'm doubly impressed that you managed to secure his cooperation: someone capable of disappearing in a flash must have been quite difficult to track down." He hesitated a moment, considering his words. "No pun intended."

Despite the praise, Jackson still felt uncomfortable. "It took a lot of convincing."

Pope's eyes became suspicious. "What did he want in return for cooperation?"

A no nonsense question; no dancing around, then. "He wants to participate in the investigation. And I'm not sure being a witness is going to be enough for him."

"We're Detectives, John," Sean said bluntly. "Our job is to find the people responsible: the government doesn't pay us to pander to the whims of the victims - there are other branches for that."

"I know," John agreed with a sigh, "But he lost a lot of friends in that explosion; he won't be willing to just let us work." He hesitated. "His cooperation may depend on it. He wants to work with us to find this guy..."

"...and we want to know what he can tell us," Sean finished, filling in the blanks. He echoed Jackson's sigh. Under normal situations, they'd ignore the kid's request and rely on other evidence. But this case was complex, and the kid was the only lead that they had. "We aren't in the business of employing civilian investigators," Pope muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He glanced up at Jackson. "I'll ask around: see what I can do."

Jackson nodded. "Thank you, Captain."

Sean allowed him the briefest of smiles. "Good job, Detective."

Yeah, John thought to himself, but didn't let the words escape him. Lets hope it was worth it.

[Stern]

It took a while, but Stern managed to go through all the stuff the police had dug up on Neutron. No prints, not traceable parts of the bomb, not even a decent photograph or a name. Stern's statement was the best they had to go on since he could describe the man and how he spoke. The trenchcoat and the gloves were big distinguishing marks.

Stern slid the written statment over to Stiles after he had given the statement out loud. Police procedure, he guessed.

"So, I guess Jackson is talking to the Captain?"

[Dwayne Stiles]

The paper crackled slightly under Stiles' fingers as he lifted it from the table, examining the words written there. It took a moment for Stern's question to sink in. "Oh, uh, yeah." In addition, he offered the most reassuring smile he could muster. Suddenly he was tired - incredibly tired, and couldn't help but wish he was back at home with Crystal, lazing around. Work had been tough recently.

Stern didn't seem convinced by his response, which was reasonable given the total lack of enthusiasm that had accompanied it. Stiles gripped the back of his neck briefly before placing both elbows on the table. It was a bad habit that his mother had failed to beat out of him, but right now they weren't eating, so he excused it within his own mind. "Listen - Jackson's a good guy. He makes a promise, he does it. That's what he's like."

For the first time, Stiles studied Stern a little more closely. What must it be like to be legally dead, but not? What had happened in that time, that gap between the explosion and his re-appearance? Stiles wanted to ask, but it was evident that he shouldn't. On the basis of it, good manners stopped him from asking.

He'll tell me when he wants to though, right?

"Y'all gonna be all right. And," Stiles glanced down at the paper in his hands, "Thanks for your help."

He couldn't help but notice - even now Michael Stern was glowing softly, like a firefly. It chased out shadows that would otherwise be present. Yep, the kid was a mutant, but not a harmful one. If anything, he was the most ...agreeable of the mutants they had come across so far. Normal was the wrong word to use. After his work over the previous weeks, there was little to distinguish what was normal.

The silence couldn't be too good for the kid. Stiles had to talk, be sociable. He knew how to talk to be people - years of restaurant service had turned him into a chat-fiend to rival most women. "Can I get you anything? ...Is there anything y'all wanna talk about? Anyone you need to phone?"

[Stern]

"I'm good," Stern said.

There was a long pause as Stern looked over the room for the hundredth time. "I hate that guy," Stern said, motioning to the statement. "He's the worst."

"I really hope I can just get a job."

[Dwayne Stiles]

This kid gets no points for subtlety.

However, Stiles chose to respond to Stern's previous statement. "There's a lot of 'worst' kind-of people out there. Sometimes I worry that they outnumber the people who want to do good. People like this guy," he dropped the paper onto the table's hard surface, "just ...I don't get them."

He stared down at the table for a moment. He wasn't being professional, and his superiors would probably disapprove. He had been told before that his subjectivity would get him into trouble - but now was an especially bad time to start.

So he stopped. "And hey - if y'all want a job in this place ...y'all can't go in wantin' revenge on this one case, 'cause if you do ..." He pressed a hand over his mouth - what am I sayin'? - wondering if he was going too far. It didn't seem to be his place to be lecturing on why you should join the police. He'd wanted to do it because his own life, working under his parents in their restaurant, had been too quiet. And again, New York was more exciting than Philly.

Drawing in a deep breath, he tried again, "I know y'all wanna help. But a job here ain't easy. Hell, it took me three tries to pass my Detective's exam." There was something else, too. Right now, it seemed better to voice it than to leave it unsaid. Lowering his voice, Stiles said, "And I'm guessin' y'all dissatisfied with the police and they style of doing things."

[Stern]

"The revenge is personal."

Stern folded his arms over his chest and leaned back in the chair. "This," he said as he gestured to the environment, "is me trying to get my life back together."

Stern rubbed the tip of his nose and stared across the table at Stiles. "I need a job. For three months I spent my time as a wandering vagrant and fought for my life on at least three occasions."

Stern rocked the chair back on two legs and let the chair set back down on all four. "I set a guy's head on fire."

"The police's poor response time doesn't even matter now. As a police officer I can be anywhere to stop anyone at any time. And I can do it legit."

Stern leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. "There will be nothing to stop me from doing enough for ten."

[Dwayne Stiles]

He was putting forward a strong argument; Stiles didn't doubt Stern's genetically-aided capabilities. He had already seen the light jump once, witnessed just how quickly Stern could move from place to place with seemingly little more than a thought. It was cool.

'I set a guy's head on fire.' Was that a joke? Or was it said with pride? Why had Stern even said such a thing?

At length, Stiles drew back, taking the statement in his hand. "Thank you, sir. We're grateful for your co-operation."

Pushing the chair backwards, Stiles levered himself to his feet, heading for the door with long strides. He pulled it open, gesturing for Stiles to join him. Something still made him uncertain about the young man's commitment to the force. ...Wait - all the PC BS that was currently streaming its way like poison through the veins of the police brought a new word to the front of his mind: service. Of course, the word 'force' had been deemed too aggressive.

'The revenge is personal.'

Stiles had wanted to say more, but didn't. His superiors would not be best pleased if he let himself get too worked up about a case - especially just on the words of their sole witness. The last thing he wanted to do was lose the man who could teleport away at will.

Oh, and he didn't really want to be late back for Crystal, either.

As Stern joined him at the door, Stiles waved him through and offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Mr. Stern --" he paused, thinking of their conversation. If the recommendation Jackson had provided their Captain with was persuasive enough, it was likely that he and Stern would meet up again soon. He could even be working alongside the man. Taking in a breath, he raised his eyes to meet Stern's impassive goggles, "Good luck."

[Stern]

"Thanks."

Stern shook Stiles' hand and walked out into the lobby. He faced the door, brightened until his form was no longer visible and disappeared from the police station.