Saint Joseph School

Francis froze, her eyes going wide in shock.

To have called the moment unexpected would be a gross understatement, to have called the kiss electrifying would be simply cliche'.

For several seconds she couldn't move, couldn't think, she could only feel. Misericorde felt warm, comforting, yet intense as he tried to communicate something he could not have said, something it felt as though he desperately wanted understood.

When it broke all she could do was stare up at him, dumbfounded. It felt like an eternity passed enclosed in a tiny world made-up of only a pair of troubled teenagers, an electrified cage, and nearly four hundred square feet of deflated duck.

They were roused by the shouts and crashing noises outside.

"So, ummm.....wanna bust some Outcasts?" She slowly began to grin.

"Everyday of my life." Misericorde smiled back.

In an instant, the mylar above them parted at the insistence of his claws; the light and the noise of the day burst upon them like an atom bomb.

The moment they had shared was replaced with the chaos of the city, and the memory of what had passed between them.

"Hurry up, or there won't be any left!" he grinned, before hopping to his feet, and turning towards the shouts of frightened citizens.

As Franky regained her feet, Misericorde had already closed the distance, claws flashing bright in the sun, moving among the Outcasts almost lazily; the nonchalant grace of the boy who knew no harm. He flashed between them like a bolt of her own lightning, ignoring the bite of bullets and bolts of electricity alike, leaving gangers with confused expressions and firearms split in two in their grasp.

Misericorde slipped among them, striking left and right, gathering their attention, as Franky raised her hands high above her head, the scent of ozone filling nostrils as she picked off those foolish enough to flee the melee with arcane lightning.

The boy moved so quickly from place to place, that the gangers only knew he was no longer where he had been moments before by the pops of air rushing in to fill the space he had just occupied. The final six gangers charged him at once; weapons in hand. Their leader, a Shocker, hovered above Misericorde, throwing bolts of electricity at him savagely in desperation.

"Fall, damn you!" The Outcast demanded, through gritted teeth.

Misericorde leapt into the air, as Frankie launched a ball of lightning at the group below him. With a powerful overhead smash, he dropped the Shocker to the ground as the ball of lightning hit, tiny arcs of lightning crawling over the Outcasts, as they fell to the ground in unison. "You first," Misericorde replied, claws retracting into his knuckles slowly. He flexed his fingers.

"Nice choreography," Misericorde said as he stretched, arms above his head. He waved Franky over as the crowd of onlookers surged towards them. "C'mon, let's sign some autographs and call the Zig before the news crews get here..."

Much of the next several minutes was a blur of voices and lights for Francis. She was familiar with the response the people of Paragon City usually had when a hero showed up to save the day, but perhaps meeting two teenagers in their school uniforms wasn't exactly what most of them had in mind.

Both she and Misericorde were jostled lightly from side to side, recieving congratulations and exclamations of praise along with the murmurs of confusion, when the first sounds of the Paragon PD and thus the ensuing press could be heard in the distance.

She glanced around and noting a prime opportunity between three other teenagers and an older couple, she yanked Michael by the arm and tugged him into the alley-way the gangbangers had originally emerged from.

She had been listening to her own inner monologue for most of the past ten minutes, making her next words slightly confusing...

"And speaking of cliches..."

With that she pulled Mis in for another kiss, causing the arrival of Paragon PD to go unnoticed by either of them, and vice versa.

A short time later, his body registered that it would, in fact, need to take in oxygen to sustain conciousness. Slowly, his hands dropped from the planes of her face, and turned, flopping against the wall next to her with a sigh.

"That...was intense." Something in his voice lead Franky to believe that he wasn't referring to the melee, or the ensuing crowd. "Yeah," she agreed. Michael glanced over, a shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"We, ah...we better get going...ah...Indian, right?" He stammered, pushing himself off the wall. His face was so warm. Franky contemplated the pavement for a second; neither wanted to leave this place, even if it were a dark alley in the middle of Steel Canyon. She opened her mouth to speak, but ultimately, it was not their decision to make.

"There they are!" The bright glare of video camera lights and the strobes of cameras lit them up like escapees from a prisoner of war camp. Franky raised a forearm to shield her face, as Michael spun to face her. "Great," he muttered. "They found us."

"Hang on," was all Franky said, as she grabbed him around the waist from behind, crossing her arms over his chest. "I know a shortcut." She whispered something arcane, and they slowly ascended, as though lifted on invisible strings. "I'll try to think happy thoughts," he replied.

Moments later, they were above the rooftops.

They rose into the air, seeminly buffeted by soft winds that held no regard for weight or shape. The smells and noises of the crowded street gave way to the scents of early spring and far off rains. The flashbulbs of cameras began to look like tiny twinkles and spangles on the pattern of the city.

Misericorde looked down to see Steel Canyon drifting away from him and the buildings and people growing smaller and smaller. It felt as though he was in an airplane…minus the comforts of walls and engines. Francis whispered in his ear, “Don’t worry, I won’t drop you.”

He smiled, “Believe me Tinkerbell, hitting the pavement at terminal velocity is the least of my worries these days.”

Francis chuckled and almost lost her concentration. “Yeah, I heard you mention you had a stalker, or something. *heh* Better watch out Mis, girls are crazy.”

The flight took on a strange quality. The magic of the spell easily held them both in the air and propelled them forward, but the sensation of merely floating could not be shaken. Tall skyscrapers slid past them but the horizon appeared to flee from them. In only minutes, they had crossed nearly the entire length of Steel Canyon from the Yellow Line to iCON. Somewhere in her memories, Francis was amused by the thought of Peter Pan.

There was a sudden blur of blue and grey, the acrid smell of exhaust assaulted their senses and the firm feel of concrete was once again beneath their feet. A few passers-by glanced over as the two teenagers alighted onto the side walk neatly framed by the words,

TAJ MAHAL: FINEST INDIAN CUISINE IN STEEL CANYON

Francis blushed slightly as Misericorde regained his balance and turned to face her.

“So…umm…here we are!”

He took her by the hands and backed towards the entrance, lightly pulling her along.

"C'mon...I'm starving! This place smells so good..."

Franky couldn't smell anything, even from the sidewalk. Apparently his senses were a little sharper than the average humans. She stifled a laugh as he stumbled backwards up the steps. "Hi-yaaa!" he joked, turning to take up a mock combat stance at the offending step; coincidentally, an executive in a business suit and Crey ID hangtag about his neck chose that precise moment to exit the restaurant.

The executive froze.

Michael froze as well, then slowly looked sidelong at Franky and flushed furiously, laughing.

The exec shook his head, muttering something about kids needing to be in school. He brushed roughly past Michael, then hailed a taxi. Franky frowned, but Michael smiled secretively and placed a finger to his lips as he quickly ushered her inside the restauarant, where the smell of Indian fare was a welcome change from the smell of the city outside.

The hostess had not arrived yet, so Franky leaned in close to Michael and whispered,"some people are so rude. Don't worry about him." Michael looked left and right, then revealed something palmed in his left hand.

A rectangular plastic ID placard that read "CREY INDUSTRIES" in bold print. Franky gasped and placed a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. Michael winked at her, then quickly palmed it as an older couple moved past them in the vestibule. Michael opened the door for them on the way out, with a polite nod.

Franky noticed the placard had found its way into the passing gentleman's outer suit pocket as the couple exited the restaurant. She nudged Michael with her elbow roughly, knocking him over a step as she laughed. "You're so bad," she chided. "Ha, you like that, do ya?" he snickered, as the hostess returned.

"Two for lunch," Franky said, noting Michael's vaguely lost expression.

The food was good and the chicken tikka masala was excellent but truthfully, Francis could remember little of the cuisine. In fact, that ambience was entirely lost on her as the insidious pull of teenage hormones completely wiped out any traces of "superhero" in her. This afternoon, she was merely the pink-haired girl in the back of English Lit. Inwardly, she hoped Mis was feeling the same way.

A few times he had to repeat himself in the conversation, probably wondering why Francis checked out every now and again during lunch, only to snap back to attention with a crimson blush.

"So, ummm....Mis?"

He looked up. "You know, Michael's fine too."

"Heh...ok...Mike. I have an ummm...question for you."

The fork poised before his mouth stopped and his face went still mid-chew.

"So umm....you wanna date? I mean...just us?"

The look on his face was truly priceless and in that moment Francis prayed that the pale and clammy nature of his skin did not signal an impending need to vomit. That would be just her luck.

She laughed nervously, the jitters getting the better of her nerves.

"I mean, I would like it but you know onlyifyou'reokwithitandonlyifyouwanttoImeanIwouldneverpressure...*deep breath*..."

His lips pursed, and he swallowed as he considered her request.

Michael hadn't exactly been sure the date had been going all that well, what with being pinned beneath a giant duck, fighting gangers, and petty larceny. He was apparently a better kisser than he imagined.

He placed his fork on the table, chin cupped in a palm, and studied her face for a moment. Franky's eyes seemed locked on the plate before her, and her cheeks were so rosy they practically matched her hair.

Michael chewed at his lip for a moment, wondered if he needed any more on his plate. The Hood. Scythian. Longbow. School. Paragon City. His brow furrowed in thought.

"Franky, I..." he began.

She interrupted him, slipping down into her chair as though it were slowly sinking into the floor. "Nevermind Mis, er, Michael, er, Mike, it was stupidandIshouldn'thavesaid anything. It was stupid. Stupid!" She picked at her napkin angrily. He bit down on his lip to keep from laughing. She was one of the "cute when she's angry" types.

"...hey," he said, removing the hand from his chin and placing it over hers.

"You didn't even give me a chance to say yes, yet."

She glanced up slowly, but failed to sit up in her chair. She watched him incredulously, over her pout. Michael was confused...how did a girl like her get all wound up over a skinny kid like him? Did she really feel he had that much to offer? And...why was he putting so much thought into this?

"Wait...you do? Want...to go out with me?" she questioned, leaning forward over the table.

"Yeah," he grinned. "Who wouldn't? You don't think I just kiss any girl that comes along, do you?"

"Well," came the reply followed by a quirk of an eyebrow. "rumor has it you DO put out."

Misericorde fell completely silent, his eyes going slightly wider.

Francis was only able to manage a straight face for a moment more before bursting out laughing. A tear strayed down her face before she was able to snatch up her napkin and prevent it from turning her into a raccoon again.

Misericorde smiled somewhat shyly. "And what good is a boyfriend who doesn't put out, huh?"

"Exactly!" Came the jokingly exuberant reply. "Man, what's Conrads gonna say about this one...oh, and hang on a sec"
She reached across the table to lighly wipe away what was likely black lipstick still clinging to his face.

Michael covered her hand upon his face with his own, and closed his eyes for a moment.

Human contact was not a luxury he had allowed himself; "old habits die hard," he thought. Her hand was warm and soft against his face; Michael wondered if Franky knew how important this simple touch could be to him.

The waitress interrupted the moment with a quiet cough, asking if they needed anything else. He glanced at Franky, removing his hand from hers reluctantly. She shook her head.

"Would you like a box for that?" the waitress questioned politely.

"No, but I'll wrestle you for it." Michael replied, deadpan. Frankie covered her mouth with her hand and snickered, as the waitress' puzzled expression quickly dawned into a smile. "Riiiiiiiiiiiight," she said, rolling her eyes. "so, you want your check?"

Michael nodded, and fussed with Franky over who paid the bill. She eventually relented and let him pay..."this time."

They chatted briefly, before Michael checked his watch. "So," he stated. "I've got a few hours...you, uh...what do you want to do?"

Francis thought carefully for a moment. The intimacy of the restaurant was not something she felt like giving up so soon but Michael was right, there were other things to do today.

"Well," She replied, "Do you think Cooke is still having his tech sale. I really should get Annie that new translator part. It'll be nice to have her back to 80's again." She smiled.

Mis nodded and the two of them collected their things and headed back out onto the streets of Steel Canyon. The Tech Store was only a short distance away from the restuarant but for the likes of a pair of teenagers, not short enough. In the mere 700 yards it would take to reach the store Francis managed to sneak in two side-alley kisses.

By the time they reached Cooke's, both were blushing to the point of looking as though they had run the distance.

The door bell dinged an electronic tone as they entered. Francis let out a heavy sigh.

"Unfortunately," she remarked, "I've never been in one of these before, what the hell am I supposed to even look for.....and what the crap is a Wetwire Multi-Genetics Ambulatory single origin!" She held up the faintly blue plastic packaging.

Michael inspected the packaging of the device carefully.

"I think it's a modification for beings with nonbipedal forms of locomotion; I'm no techhead, but some of these devices can also be used by more scientifically-minded heroes."

Franky looked at him blankly, and managed an, "Oh."

"Right," he muttered, "so, uh...at least we're in the right aisle. Annie isn't human, so this should be the correct place...say, this looks promising."

He held up a a device in a clear bubble package. He inspected the description, reading it aloud. "GlottalStopper Nine utilizes advanced technology developed by Portal Corp for improved syntax and enhanced communication for millions of dialects, and over twenty thousand means of....yeah, this sounds right. Last one, too."

Franky gave him a quick squeeze of a hug in thanks as he handed the device to her. It seemed as though each of them were trying to make up for so much time without anyone. Michael leaned in for another kiss, when the lights suddenly winked out.

Franky leaned in close, and whispered. "I've got a bad feeling..." Michael nodded in agreement, and pulled them both against a wall, as Franky tucked the device into the pocket of her school jacket. "Yeah, this is no accident." They were hidden behind a rack of discounted merchandise, flattened to the wall. Michael lay his arm across Franky's chest out of habit, and she snickered. "Later, tiger," she joked, and he quickly retrieved his arm.

The store was suddenly illuminated by the familiar sickly green light of Rikti Tranport Portals....too many to count easily, but Michael estimated thirty or more. Monkeys swarmed out, tearing up the store, as Rikti troops fanned out, almost as though they were searching the aisles for something. All the clerks ran for the back rooms as the portals slowly winked out of existence.

Except one.

A Chief Soldier stepped from the last Portal, the arcs of energy used to hold the portal open still dancing across the black sheen of his armored carapace. Rifle in one hand, sword in the other, he held them each with practiced efficiency. Several of the soldiers reported to him, chattering in their own language. Michael only caught every third or fourth word.

"Sounds like they're looking for something," he whispered to Franky. "You speak Rikti?" she whispered back, not really expecting an answer. The Chief Soldier suddenly spoke.

"Wull Attention, you varmints. This is a stick-up. Ah'm lookin' fer uh cer-tain part, an if yuh don't move too much, you varmints won't get hurt...waaa-hhaa."

Michael blinked in surprise, but Franky summed it up. "He sounds like John-freaking-Wayne," she whispered. "Oh, no," she uttered, placing a hand over the translator device in her pocket. "You've got to be kidding."

The last one in the store. Naturally. Franky covered her face with one hand.

Michael had the same idea, and glanced down at her pocket in the dim emergency lighting. That pack of monkeys was getting close.

"Here we go again," he muttered.

Francis pulled Misericorde close and leaned slightly out, breifly gaining a better view of the Rikti milling through the store.

"Damn." She snarled, "Just my luck. Hey Mis, hang on, I got an idea. When I say, make for the door!"

Francis didn't really wait for a response.

She knelt down carefully onto the cold, laminate floor. The translator device securely in her pocket, she began to trace images and symbols on the floor with her finger and a string of nearly nonsensical latin words flowed from her lips. The feeling was uncomfortable for Misericorde, images of his past with the Hood coming and going on the phrases of the familiar language.

"Misce stultitiam consiliis brevem. Non dolet. Aegrescit medendo."

A soft, nearly undetectable, blue glow began to form around Francis' hands and shoulders. The faint emergency lighting graciously concealed most of the glow and it seemed that, for the moment, the Rikti had not noticed. It was a blessing, as the glow gave way to pulses of electricity which arched across the shiny floor to be picked up by the metal shelves. The shelves easily conducted the magical energy up their sides and across the delicately arranged bubble packs of technological upgrades.

The store burst into activity, powered by the wave upon wave of electricity. Ambulatory devices sprung into motion, communications upgrades chattered away in white noise, strength devices burst through their packages, speed enhancements flew across the floor, and all manner of things chirped, burped, and bounced much to the chagrin of the Rikti.

For several of the soldiers, it was all they could do not to trip or step on some manner of human device as it came skittering past them.

"Now!" She hissed, nearly pulling Misericorde over as she broke for the front door, closest to the still swirling portal. She had not expected to go unnoticed, but the distraction of the mad techno toy shop made it possible for them to nearly reach the doors.

A burst of Rikti chatter broke through the din and several weapons were immediately made ready. Francis whirled around as she heard the first alien words.

"Venienti occurrite MORBO!"

The timed electrical blast did not strike the Rikti commander. Instead, the purplish-blue arch hit the translator box at the commander's hip. the resulting, high-pitched, screech that emanated from the device was deafening, and several Rikti quickly abandoned their weapons in favor of holding their necks. The noise was excruciating as it echoed and rebounded throughout the hard, sterile, environment of the tech store.

"Misericorde!" Francis yelled, "RUN!"

Michael nodded, and they bolted towards the door.

"I've got your back," he said, as they ran for the front of the store. As Franky passed through the front doors, the anti-theft alarm screeched into life, audible even above the din of the clattering devices that skittered, hopped, and flew about the room.

Franky pushed through the revolving doors into the welcome warmth of the sun, and darted around the side of the building. "Ok, Mis; now we can..." the young hero paused, brushing a few stray strands of pink hair from her face.

Michael was no where in sight.

Inside the store, Misericorde wedged the heavy metal and plastic of the anti-theft system into the revolving door tightly as a pack of Rikti monkeys swarmed around him, biting and tearing at his uniform.

With grim countenance, he cut a swath through the alien menace in the room, heedless of the terrible wounds he earned in the process. Gone was his pleasant demeanor and playful expressions; replaced with the silent engine that drove him through the soldiers as efficiently as a machine - geared only to violence.

His body lit by the eerie green glow of his enhanced healing, backlit by the surreal scene of flailing chaos created by Franky's spell, the Rikti invaders began to fall back towards the far wall of the store, pushed before him, retreating into the remaining transport portal as he struck savagely and without mercy. The last of the aliens retreated into the portal, firing point blank at Misericorde with little effect as it dragged a wounded comrade to safety at some point far from the battle site.

The blast gave the Rikti enough pause to escape through the portal, as the beacon winked out of existence suddenly, leaving Misericorde alone in the room.

The boy turned for the door, rubbing his face as the battle-fugue slowly drained from his body, leaving him weary, hungry, and...vulnerable.

As Misericorde stepped towards the door, he felt a sharp pain split his chest, as he was hoisted from the floor from behind; he clutched at the Rikti blade that nearly bisected him, before the blackness crept in from the edges of his vision. He felt his mind slip, tumbling into unconciousness.

"W'all, nice try you sunuvabitch," the Commander uttered.

Franky banged futilely upon the reinforced material of the revolving door outside. Cursing, she ran a few score meters away and spun, readying an incantation for a spell of lightning that would most likely decimate the front face of the store.

As she chanted, the environment around her crackled with energy, tiny arcs of lightning dancing across light poles, power lines, mail boxes and trash bins. Her hands and eyes crackled with power as she focused the spell's intensity upon the front of the store.

Without warning, the entire entry was vaporised, the Commander of the Rikti forces stepping through the debris, holding the impaled Misericorde before him as he might a shield. The boy hung doll-like from the blade, a forgotten marionette.

Losing focus, the spell dissipated into the air, the smell of ozone fading from the area. Franky covered her mouth with one hand, the other clenching into a tight fist.

The translator at the alien's side crackled into life.

"W'all, now, little lady. Ah reckon it's time to palaver."

The fear fell from her countenance and the narrowed eyes and grim face of the one who had faced the Cabal readied her hands and mind for a vicious battle. She could see that Misericorde still lived, the shallow breaths escaping from him told her so.

She shook her head, "Dammit Mis," She muttered, "I'm not the one who needs saving."

"Boys..."

The Rikti Commander strode out, the people still left on the sidewalks screamed and scattered.

"I'll fix yer wagon." crackled through the out-of-date translator now barely holding on after the massive damage it had sustained.

Franky smiled, in any other situation this would be funny, but the ridiculousness of the Rikti's accent only added to her growing anger and irritation. All she wanted was one nice afternoon with lunch, maybe a movie, and if she was lucky, some making out. Instead, she got Rikti..and they kept trying to kill her would-be boyfriend.

It was enough to steam any girl.

"Alright you piece of alien shit." She snapped. "Put down the boy, or I'll fry you worse than your translator."