"Please baby, I'm begging you," a new mother pleaded, near tears with exhaustion. Colic wasn't just some health issue that mother's told their daughters about to scare them into not having children. It was a real issue and meant nights of little to no sleep that bled into weeks. There just seemed to be no end to her daughter's wails, and the neighbors above, below, and on both sides let their displeasure over the noise show. Their pounding on the walls, floor and ceiling of her apartment just upset the crying baby more. All she wanted was some sleep for her small family. Was that too much to ask?

The atmosphere inside of the two bedroom apartment became all the more tense as the mother lifted up the wailing infant. The cries were raising up to a newer pitch, as though something was physically hurting the baby. The mother couldn't tell which was worse, that her daughter seemed to be so pained or that she just wanted her to shut up. The walls were pressing in on them both, and her nerves were so tightly wound that they would snap in the next breath. A powerful thunderstorm trapped inside of a cramped apartment, needing to break.

And then her daughter yawned, the action interrupting the wailing. A dazed expression settled in on her little rosebud's face, as though that bottle of warm milk had finally taken affect. The mother yawned, feeling the exhaustion draining the last remnants of frustration out of her. Maybe tonight they would be able to get some rest if the trick or treaters managed to stay away from their door. The tv had been turned off in an attempt to keep the baby from crying, and now that sleep seemed to be at hand, the mother was going to call it a night. Her arms felt so much more heavy than the small weight of the infant, and her own head started to droop.

Wind carried the heavy and intoxicating scent of roses up into the nursery. The bushes had been planted the week before hand and offered a bit of beauty to look out over as she rocked her child. Even the sounds of the city, normally so loud and frantic, seemed to soften up. The world could be so peaceful as long as her little rosebud slept, as though time had frozen. Another round of yawns started up, and the young mother found herself quite unable to stand up out of the rocking chair. Her mind was becoming fuzzy as sleep seduced her.

Last year David had been out on the streets of New York, doing some shopping in the wake of the blackout that had rolled through the city. Money, and a little bit of flirtation, had been on his mind that night. The events of the following day had kept him lying low from his downstairs neighbor. So tonight, on Halloween, the man known as Sledgehammer was tucked up in his flat, lying to himself and saying that he had no interest in what she might be doing. There were more important things to think about, such as the latest turmoil in Washington. It seemed that no matter what nation you were a part of, the government would lead itself into trouble and then scramble to find a way out. You would think that at some point there wouldn't be any of these issues, since what happened in one country could provide an example of what not to do for others. Still, the same mistakes were made over and over, with the people of the different nations crying out for change.

I really should get out and do something, David thought. He frowned into his empty coffee mug, waiting for the machine to finish percolating his freshest batch. Whenever a new project consumed him Sledge practically lived on the stuff and waited until after his work was done before crashing. This new one had just started up and was already promising to drain him of his time. He'd snuck his way into a hospital before as a new intern, dressed in scrubs and looking slightly frazzled. That had given him the idea of studying birth records within the last ten to twenty years. One way of finding mutants was to find people first. Medical records might give an indication of a mutation. Reports from schools with students who had suffered from burns could point to a pyromancer for example. The more intelligence he was able to gather, the quicker it would be to find leads. Only dull old people stay inside on Halloween. Next thing you know I won't care about New Year's either.

Watching as the last few drops of coffee dripped out of the machine and into the waiting pot below, David's jaw went slack and a small grunt like noise issued. Faced with such a monumentous task he already was feeling a little worn thin. He was overdue for a refuel. At last the coffee pot was safe to remove from it's burner and the Brit prepared himself for pouring a fresh cuppa. His arms were feeling a little heavy today, much like the first time that he had punched through a wall, which made trying to pour himself that cup of coffee all the more challenging. Luckily what David had lacked in control over his power, he had started to make up for with creativity. Still, it would have been nice to have his caffeine fix without risk of either shattering the mug or scalding his palms.

For a second he thought that he had actually crushed the pot when he heard the sound of breaking glass, and inhaled sharply in an attempts to dull the burning pain that boiling hot coffee was sure to bring. But no, the pot was still intact, no signs of any damage that he had done to it. What then had broken, and why? The coffee pot was set back down as he went to investigate his flat. Visions of his home being ransacked danced through his head, and his hands clenched into fists. Nobody was invading his place tonight, not when he had so much work to do.