Towering skyscrapers looked down at the insignificant youth that had stumbled into something over his head. As Alex walked out from the subway he spun in a quick circle marveling at the steel giants that made up the New York City skyline. He hadn't left Detroit since his parents had died, and he had never been anywhere near New York. It was everything Detroit was supposed to be and then some.

A burly man in a fake leather jacket knocked into him and shoved his shoulder out of the way. Alex, struggled to stay in human form and grunted at the effort. He really needed to learn to get that in check. Worrying about scaring the snot out of a crowd every time he got jostled wasn't going to work. He slipped into an alley and tried to calm himself. He tried to get his mind off of the change his body was trying to force on him, so he thought about why he had come here in the first place.

After his run-in with the Flare in Detroit, he had first checked on his sister. He had wanted desperately to stay with her at their Aunt's, but he knew he was a liability. Though it pained him immensely, he left his sister and went in search of the fabled Mansion where he would be accepted... or at least tolerated. He had also hoped the Flare wouldn't leave their hometown to follow him to New York.

As he leaned up against a dumpster in the dank, dark alley, he didn't notice the group of shadows rise up form further down the street. At the head of the team stood Gorilla, his least favorite Flare member.

"Don't you remember what I said last time Sarris? The Flare blazes its own trail and all that's left in its wake is ashes," said the hulk of testosterone on the other side of the alley as he pulled out a nightstick. Several other gang members also brandished clubs and they made a great show of dropping them into their meaty palms.

"That's a nice speech. Did you come up with it on your own or did you have Mama Ape help you?" All hope of a friendly chat dispersed. Ape-man gave him a gruesome, sinister smile as he and his pack descended upon Alex.

He really needed to get better at fighting. His initial instinct had been to try to repeat last time's brawl; unfortunately, it's hard to call on a recent, formerly latent, mutant ability when you have no idea how you did it in the first place. So, he was going to get the crap beat out of him again.

    

This is the end, you know

It wasn't raining, which was sad, but it didn't rain enough here for Memo to only run while it was raining. Even if raining was awesome, and the best weather for running.

Out of my life, out of my mind, out of the tears we can't deny

Earbuds tucked securely under his cheerfully neon headband - hey, it was Underarmour, not just proud - Memo mouthed the words to the current song as he trotted through the streets, almost completely heedless of the people around him (he was more than brightly coloured enough to be noticeable, and anyway they should be watching where they were going). He wasn't going anywhere in particular, although he was getting thirsty enough to be starting to be thinking about turning around. He usually got thirsty before he got tired, unless he started thinking about feeling tired -

and now he was exhausted.

Great.

He leaned against an alley wall, dipping into the shade to pant as exhaustion as much current as remembered set his muscles on trembling fire laced against glacial water. Actual water recently from actual glaciers, not that bottled stuff that hadn't been ice for months and months.

>> -s wake is ashes-

Say what? Memo fumbled for his phone, trying to get his half-numb fingers to cooperate so he could pause the music that was masking everything he could hear.

No it's not a raptu-

Paused!

...

He swallowed, the devolving scene in front of him sinking in. The exhaustion in his limbs and torso faded, replaced by a quiet chill and the ghosts of a handful of memories he was too distracted to entertain. Fortunately; while it might distract these people if a solitary stranger suddenly began to sport broken bones and spurting blood, it was not going to be as effective as

er

Running at them screaming bloody murder?

Because that's what he was doing right now.

Yup.

Because that was so going to keep him from forming anymore pain-related memories. Those were so painful to remember. Because they were about being in pain. And his memories were so detailed. And brought the physical state associated with them back with them.

Whatever. Right now he was running and flinging himself bodily at one of the oversized strangers attacking a random kid-stranger. He was so going to get beat up, and probably murdered.

Again.

As the five bulldozers approached, Alex tried to call on that power that had protected him the first time. No luck.  He was going to die and it was not going to be pretty. He thought about his sister and her oblivious state. At least she already thought he was gone.

Suddenly, hurling himself on to the nearest colossus, a screaming banshee with a death wish became his chance at survival. He quickly rolled over and kicked a  distracted gang member between his legs. Yes, it was a cheap shot, but they were the ones that had started the five-on-one.

The neon ninja had distracted two Flare members including the Hulk himself. That left two more if you didn't count the cursing colossus rolling on the ground and moaning. These odds were just great.

"You two gonna stand there or are we going to make this interesting?"  he taunted as he slipped his hand into the dumpster behind him and grabbed for the closest thing to a weapon he could find.

"All right, your in for it now. I've got a..." he looked down at his hands to his horror. He held a toothbrush that looked like it had been used to clean a porta-john and a cheetah print high-heel. "Yeah, that's right be afraid. Be very afraid."

The two who were unarmed looked skeptically at Alex, paused, and readied their meaty fists. The first charged him and he gently placed the radioactive toothbrush in his left eye socket. More cursing erupted as the other goon attacked him. He chucked the cheetah print heel at the goon's face hopefully, but it was easily dodged. Stink. Back to getting flattened.

Badideabadideabadideeeaaaaaaaaa

Memo clung to the bruiser's back and slapped him around the face, strong enough to mostly hold himself in place but not exactly enough to do any damage. Maybe he should take up bullriding, staying on while this guy flung himself around wasn't so -

Hands on his ribs. Bull-bruiser's arms were not pointed that way.

Memo turned to look as the second bruiser plucked him from bull-bruiser's back like a tick that hadn't had a chance to bury its head, and reacted to his squirming about as much as if he were just a tick.

Anti-tick-bruiser held him impassionately while bull-bruiser spun around with a flying punch. Apparently having someone cling to his back and smack him in the face from behind had made him really ang-

That was pain. That was definitely pain. Very much pain in his ribs. Definitely broken ribs. Damn that guy hit like a bull.

Anti-tick-bruiser threw him aside, coughing blood, and turned away. If it had just been Memo there, he would've left it at that, because it felt like some of his ribs had retreated from their assigned position and were attempting to find cowardly refuge in his organs, but he'd run into this mess because of the kid.

So he managed to get his phone out of his pocket without wheezing on it, and swiped up for the emergency screen. This wasn't going to permanently kill him, was it? Nah, he'd done this before. Ow. Coughing hurt and made a mess. Oh, the 911 people picked up.

Memo whispered their location, and then did his best to whistle and catch the bruiser-gang's attention. "Eat cops," he said reasonably, and rolled onto his back. Might as well get this over with.

The highlighter hero, who had saved his life, was about to lose his. The second gang member chucked him over to the other side of the alley and started towards him. As the two late arrivals joined the fray, Alex finished his cheetah transformation and was delighted by heightened senses and the idea that he could was top of the food chain.

He was a flash of black spots as he lunged for one of the henchmen's neck and smacked his paw across the side of his face. He backed off and crouched a few meters away from the four remaining gang members.  This is where he would usually make a witty statement like: Hey King Kong, remember what happens next? Unfortunately, he couldn't speak. Instead a garbled mess of growls and purrs were all he could muster.

The group of simian delinquents stared at him while their leader, Donkey Kong himself, cowered in the back muttering to himself, "It's happening again!"

Alex pounced onto the first goons' chest and leapt to the second, accidentally slapping a third with his thick paw. Relying completely on animal instinct he sunk his teeth into second goon's leg. Agh! It tasted awful. In his moment of disgust, the last goon clonked him on the head with a nightstick, knocking him to the ground. 

He tasted blood again, but this time it was his own. He looked past the goons to see his rainbow rescuer lying on the ground, a phone clenched in his hand His quick reflexes and heightened senses started to fade and he could feel the adrenaline drain out of his body along with his cheetah defense. For the third time today he thought to himself, Well, I'm screwed.

Memo had a very nice view of the building tops and sky-without-enough-rain, with a soundtrack of not-especially-human noises. He couldn't find the strength to turn his head anymore, though, so he didn't get to find out what was going on just yet. He also couldn't really breathe anymore, and when he did think he was going to get some air into his lungs all that moved was blood. Kind of intentional, super unpleasant.

Hurry up and diieee oh hey he couldn't see the sky anymore. Progress.

While Memo's vision and awareness dimmed, sirens rose in the distance and grew louder. Likely forgotten in the background, having gurgled his last, Memo lay in the grime. His skin was streaked with white rather than black now, and here and there markings faded from existence to make room to use the extensive, detailed memory of what his body was supposed to be: not broken and bloodied, and with properly substantive lungs.

The mutant airhead sat up and rolled his shoulders, looking around at everything and trying to figure out what exactly had happened. Oh. There was blood on his chin, still wet, and HIS EARBUDS WERE BUSTED COME ON!

He sprang to his feet and whistled sharply at the standing muggers or whatever. "Hey a******s, you gotta do better than kill me," he growled, stepping over a stray - hey, that would work well in his hands - stick thing and slinging it up in front of him as he approached the remaining whatever-idiots, "if you want to go around breaking my earbuds." The bloodied, crumpled mini speaker dangled from his neck, still held up by its partner.

What the heck! Neon was back on his feet and he looked like he hadn't even taken a hit. Besides the blood on his chin he looked exactly the same as when he had come tearing into the alley. Alex backed up against the dumpster again and hoped that the other guy had a plan because he wasn't planning on finding another toothbrush, let alone ruining another eye socket with it.

He heard sirens in the distance. There was hope for them yet. Wait I can't go to the police. Gorilla will take me down with him. He remembers Detroit and what happened there.

"Boys, boys. Do you hear that. That is the sound of New York's finest coming to give you backseat tours of the city. So why don't we all relax and go our separate ways." At that moment Grape Ape swung a roast ham at his head. "Oh crap,"  was all he could get out before contact with a cinder block fist rocked his world. He could feel his brain rattle as he crashed and crumpled into the side of the dumpster.

He hoped disco boy could distract the glee club while he took a long, much-needed nap.

Police were coming, but they weren't here yet. And since the kid had turned into something (monkey? snake? tortoise? No, it was no use. That memory was long gone) he probably didn't have healing powers and -

Memo winced in sympathy as the kid's face played catch with an oversized fist. And then slapped his hand with the end of his acquired stick. It had some good weight to it. Good thing he hauled tile and hardwood all day at work.

"Didn't anyone-" crack to the back of the head of the guy who'd punched the kid, maybe he should have tried paying attention to his surroundings, "-ever teach you-"

That was one of the other remaining guys. One who had been paying more attention. Punching him in the gut.

%^&* but that hurt

Doubled over, he saw the first police car pull up at the end of the alley, blocking it off. He grinned, and straightened up. Punched in the gut? Nah, he'd been distracted. Out of sight out of mind might be the saying, but sometimes life was more out of mind out of sight.

The whole not-staying injured thing seemed to be bothering the punch happy guys too, and one of them even stood still while Memo charged him and lay about his head with the stick. Take that, you child-muggers!

Alex shook his head as he slowly rolled over onto his back. Staring up at the sky he watched little flashes of light play tennis in the clouds. A jackhammer rattled against his head, throwing firework displays of pain across his body and dismembering all thoughts of dancing stars.

He heard animalistic grunts as towering skyscrapers tumbled down into heaps. The human wrecking ball, that had danced between the hulking masses with a stick, had a satisfied look on his face as he finished off the last gang member.

Looking up at his rainbow rescuer, Alex tried to form a coherent thought. I can't go to the police. If they investigate what happened in Detroit, I'm toast. They could even track down my sister if they realize she doesn't have a legal guardian.

He stained his eyes to make eye contact with captain color and tried to make words form in his head. "I... do-nnn't..."  He pursed his lips and forced the words to come out, "ppo...ppo- leese."

Slumping foreword he realized that he needed a doctor. I probably had a concussion. I'll be fine though... I can watch the star tennis championship while I wait.

He was still standing and they weren't and he'd only died once probably! Maybe twice. It was always kind of extra hazy, except when it was notable enough to be impossible to forget and then he seemed to get stuck in a loop of dying and not dying, which was really very horrible and he very much did not like it -

Memo poked the most mobile seeming of the downed bully idiots with a running shoe toe to satisfy himself that he had some time to chill, and then turned to the kid he miiiiight have forgotten about for a bit.

Kid didn't look good. At all. A beat up face he probably couldn't just forget about. That meant that medical attention was required. Too bad what-was-her-name wasn't around. She'd been something medical-ish, right? Froyo lady.

He was getting distracted, that was bad, kid needed help. And something about police? Huh? Sure he could call the cops? Where was his phoneeee..... no wait that was something about no cops? Er. Oh. As a foreign born dual citizen and person of mostly-not-European mixed race, Memo had had a share of accusations of illegal immigration and undocumentedness. Not cool things. People should just be allowed to live wherever worked for them. America had worked better than Canada for his mom, so he was here. Simple as that.

But! If the kid were undocumented then he couldn't really go to the hospital either, never mind afford it. Heck, Memo was a citizen and he couldn't really afford to go to the hospital. Even if they'd been able to do anything permanent about any of his injuries. He'd just forget that it had healed or that it ever existed regardless of what they did.

If he couldn't go to the police or to the hospital, but he needed medical attention...

Er, not exactly a scenario Memo was personally familiar with. WAIT "I know a mutant-y place!" he exclaimed, snapping his fingers with the rush of the memory. "Never been there before, never seem to remember when I have time, but that's totally me so whatever. Lots of mutants though, so one of them ought to be able to heal other people, right? Totally makes sense. Super logical. Not sure how far away it is, but come on, I'll help you up and you can lean on me and we'll get closer to there than here before these guys get closer to waking up."

Somewhere in his rambly spiel of rambling, Memo ducked down, grabbed the kid by the arm, and attempted to haul him to his feet. Fortunately for them both, Memo had already forgotten about his recent exertion and murder, and the running before that, so he was in as good a condition as if none of it had ever happened.

Because, in some senses, it hadn't!

Well, the guy was back up and definitely looking like he hadn't just gotten back from getting the living snot beat out of him. He offered his hand to Alex who was still lying on the ground in the alley. Alex choked up blood and fell down on his back. Lying there, he realized he needed to get out of there before the police arrived.

The other guy said something about a mutant place and going and healing. That last place sounded too good to be true, but Alex lost his ability to be picky when he almost died again; so instead, he focused on getting up.

Rising with most of his weight on his left arm and the rest on his rescuer, Alex felt lightning shoot down his side and throughout his body. He cried out and grabbed at his side with his hand. Which put all of his weight on the strangely healthy individual who had risked his life for him.

It was then that he realized he should at least try to thank him for his sacrifice. He opened his mouth and tried to make words come out, but all he felt was a rumbling in his stomach. He'd thank him later. He struggled to get to his feet, but as soon as his right foot touched the ground another thunderstorm of pain started in his ankle and worked its way up.

As pain currents reached his brain, the rumbling in his stomach grew worse and he opened his mouth to moan. Instead of a disturb guttural sound though, a torrent of vomit surged out of his throat and flooded his assistor's bright running shoes. He puked until he ran out of ammunition and started to dry heave.

Well his day was going great. he was in a place where no one knew him, he had almost gotten killed (again), a 80's throwback jogger, had saved his butt and he repaid him by blowing chunks on his disco shoes.

Memo dug his feet into the ground to balance the kid's weight, nearly slipping even in his running shoes. Had it rained recently? It felt like the soles were wet.

Oh, maybe it was blood. Y'know, again. It seemed to happen a lot.

...

Not the time to think about that. Memo focused on the kid he was trying to get off the ground before the vague twinge of memory grew into OH LOOK I'M BLEEDING AGAIN LOL OOPS like it had wiiiiittthhhhh um. At least one person. Involving soft pretzels? No. Something tart. Huckleberries! But not whole huckleberries.

He was getting distracted. Sure, he'd wanted to be distracted, but that was too distracted. The wrong distracted.

...

Was

Was the kid throwing up on him

Yes

Yes he was

Awwwwww man, Memo couldn't forget things out of his clothes! He really, really wished he could, but noooooo he could just forget about himself. Dramatic sigh emoticon. "Errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr." What was he supposed to say to that? Random social polite reassurances? Memo was not thrilled, although he wasn't exactly all that bothered by it. He was probably just going to forget to clean them and then he'd gross himself out later.

WAIT THEY HAD TO GO PLACES, places he couldn't remember for reasons he couldn't remem-

injured kid, mutant shelter place, that jazz. He remembered the what! Now how about the where? The word 'mansion' seemed important. Should they ask random people on the streeeeet his phone was in his pocket somewhere, right? Hah, yes! He could feel it poking into his butt. Back pockets big enough to hold things were amazeballs. Missed out on those so much as a kid. Anyway.

"Hold on a sec," he said to the kid, leaving him the one arm for support or clinging or whatever ended up happening, and fished out his phone with the other. ... the screen hadn't been broken before this, had it? Eh, he couldn't remember. Whatever, it still unlocked and mostly responded to his stabby thumb. Internet, internet.. there. Search! mutant mansion, enter. While they waited...

There was really quite a lot of vomit on his shoes. Memo carefully shook his feet cleaner, even casually rubbing a damp spot on one of the downed muggers-or-whatever's pants. The shirt probably would have done a better job of drying but it looked too loose to be useful. "Worse things have probably happened. Actually, I think dramatically worse things have happened to my face, possibly in the last week. I dunno, I'm not the one to ask. Hah, that's what I'm talking about, little phone!"

He had a bunch of results all about the same place, Xavier's something school something, sounded vaguely familiar, had to be the right place. He poked at the screen with his thumb, slicing the pad a few times but noticing the cuts so little that they healed about as fast as he opened them, and got his phone to start verbal navigation cues.

"Travel north on Saundership Road West for one kilometre." Metres were so much better than miles, boo America for that.

Alex drifted in an out of consciousness. Something about the mansion again was happening and he could feel movement like someone walking. He crashed into the blackness again.

---

Alex slid the key into the door and turned the knob. He was greeted by his exuberant sister as she leapt about and hugged his neck. Dumping his bag onto a couch that looked about as bad as he did. But, he never looked very good after the local gang, the Flare, decided they required his assistance.

They needed someone to cover their tracks. Someone who could use resources to hide ex-convicts, who had joined the gang, from police sight, had to do it, and none of the members of the gang were smart enough. He was just what they needed: a broke teenage orphan with a poor job and a high IQ. The Flare had come and “politely asked for his services” three or four times before. That’s just what it was, asking. They wouldn’t hurt him… too much. Who would do their dirty work if he got mauled? So he bode his time and hoped they would decide someone else was smarter or easier to access.

His sister, Clarissa, smiled and led him to the kitchen. Three burnt pancakes sat on a pitiful table. A golden butter slab was perched on top of the stack as if to make the blackened flapjacks and peanut butter look more appealing.

“This looks delicious. Thank you,” he said. “Did you get yourself something to eat?”

“No,” she replied, “I put the last of the batter into those three.”

“You can have them then. I already ate.” He hated lying to her but she needed to eat and she would if she thought he was still hungry.

“No, it’s okay really I-,”

A rock exploded through the window hurling shards of glass in every direction. A six-inch dagger stabbed into his shoulder and pain erupted into his chest. Knocking the table over with his foot, he pushed his sister down behind it and told her to stay quiet. After dropping to the floor he crawled over to the window and poked his head up just enough to see outside. Seven Flare members looked up at him. Two more rocks were sitting readily in gang members hands. Alex stood up slowly and held his hands high.

“Guys, normal people use the door,” he called as he cautiously lowered his hands. “I told you guys I’m not interested in joining your bowling team.” He was stalling but he doubted anyone would notice the exchange. No one lived around here, and anyone who did knew how dangerous the Flare was.

“Laugh it up, wise guy, we’re sick of asking politely,” belted out a tattooed behemoth.

“What are you going to do give me another black-” he paused. “Oh my gosh” he whispered as he looked at the huddled mass of twelve year old girl behind the table.

“Alright boys,” he started, “just let me get my bowling shoes and we can go.”

He slipped off to the side before any of the thugs could decide to throw another rock. Lifting his sister out of the fetal position, he wiped the tears off her eyes with the back of his finger.

"I need you to be really brave, okay Clarissa? I need you to take the money jar off the top of the fridge and ride a taxi to Aunt Ruth’s house. Do you remember where she lives?”

“Yeah… but she hates me!” she replied.

“That’s not important right now. You just need to get to her house as soon as possible and tell her that I’ll be there soon, okay?”

“Will you be there soon?”

“No, but she doesn’t need to know that, okay.”

“When will I see you again?”

“Soon, okay? Bye Rissa.”

“Bye Alex.”

She put her most courageous face on as she turned, grabbed the jar, and hurried out the back door before the tear on her cheek fell to the floor.

Alex turned around and yelled out the window, “I’ll be down in second. Good thing too, Gorilla doesn’t look too happy.”

Walking downstairs, he opened the door and exited the building into a dimly lit alley. His “bowling team” waited impatiently, some tossing pebble missiles back over their shoulders.

“You finally decide to help the Flare out huh, blondie,” said ape-man with a triumphant grin.

“Uh… no?” He knew it would violate his conscience to help these idiots.

“Good.”

“What?” They had been begging for his help for forever. What could possess them to suddenly stop now?

“We found someone with the correct skills… and a more obedient attitude. So that means you’ve gotta go.”

“Oh great, I was just leaving.”

“Not so fast, bigmouth. When the Flare is done with something, nothing but ashes is left.”

“Well, crap.” Maybe finally those two years of martial arts his mother made him take would help him now. Doubt it. One on seven, not the best chances.

Gorilla pointed and six goons charged him. The first guy launched a fist at Alex’s face but, he managed to duck to the left. He wasn’t so lucky on the second… or third… or fourth. As he fell to the ground, his nose started bleeding and his right leg was screaming in protest to the awkward angle it was placed in. He needed to buy his sister more time to get away. He didn’t know if she’d be followed but the longer the Flare was beating the snot out of him the greater her chance was.

Gorilla walked up and placed a heavy size twenty-seven boot on his chest as he sneered, “You put up a better fight than I thought Sarris. I’m impressed, but that won’t make this any less fun.”

Ape twisted his leg and pressed on Alex’s neck. The air sucked out of his lungs and a horrible taste crept into his mouth. Probably blood.

Suddenly, a feeling like being stretched apart started in his chest and sprang outward. As the feeling exploded through his body, he felt stronger, more aware. Once the feeling reached his head, Alex’s vision became ten times as clear and the alley was no longer dark.

Gorilla leapt back of Alex’s throat as black spots covered his cream colored skin… fur? A primal instinct nailed Alex’s conscience. Kill. Eat. He listened. He unleashed.

It was a good thing Memo had thought to set up navigation through his phone, because after a while he forgot where he was going. And also why he was dragging a not-very-conscious kid he didn't know. Clearly it had been important, though, so he kept lurching along and did his best to keep the kid's weight balanced. No need to fall over himself or anything. He'd probably land on his phone and break it and then how would he get to wherever he was going?

The walk dragged on, but finally Memo heard that wonderful sound: his phone declaring that their "destination is on the left."

Memo lifted his arms in victory, but there was rather a lot of weight on the one.

Oh, unconscious kid! Memo caught him again before he could slip very far, and hauled him the last few steps to the gate. Wow, how far had he dragged this kid? How had he dragged him however far that was? He must be exhausted!

And then his muscles clicked into that memory, and even if it wasn't the exhaustion of dragging the shifter kid's butt across the city it was still exhaustion, and Memo sagged against the gate post. Maybe he should just take a nap...

"No! I didn't kill them! I didn't! There was a leopard and claws and..."  He trained off as he realized his nightmare was over and he was sitting in a pleasant scene. A large gate rose up and over him and his rescuer. Speaking of which, he was slumped against the pillar behind him and his phone was next to him on the floor, still giving directions to "the mansion."

The guy who had saved his life looked better than he would have expected, but he still didn't look good. Judging by the information on his phone he had dragged him for a few miles (but the phone said kilometers), so he must have been exhausted.

Before Alex had blacked out he had heard him say something about a healer and the mansion. They were at the mansion so they needed only find the healer. Alex tried to stand while putting his weight on the pillar. Pain wrapped itself around his leg and wouldn't let go, but neither would Alex. He trudged, limping towards the door of the mansion, sliding his right leg behind him and grinding his teeth to keep from screaming.

Reaching the door just in time to use it as a crutch, Alex fell against the nice solid surface and ran his hand around the side of the doorframe in search of the bell. Pressing the button twice, he slumped once again against the door using his hands to protect his face.

A few moments later the door opened and Alex suddenly lost his crutch. He fell inside on his face, narrowly missing a older gentleman. The elderly man kneeled down to try to help him and Alex tried to tell him what happened but it hurt... a lot. He managed to make a few words out however: "Hurt... f-friend... out-sside."

The man looked like he understood and Alex nodded towards the door as if he should go get his rescuer. The man looked uncertain for a moment, but then he decided to go get the Alex's rescuer. Alex put his head back with satisfaction. He'd made it... wherever it was.