People were so convinced that the streets of New York City were dangerous in the night. Kealey hadn’t ever seen that side of the city though. The only things she’d ever seen at night had been groups of teenagers with mischief on their minds, but no real intent for violence. After all, teeneagers were s supposed to get into trouble. Weren’t they? Kealey was as far away from her apartment as she dared go by herself for fear of getting lost and it was late. Really late. She’d worked that night at a church function at a battered woman’s shelter. It was amazing what feelings could be drawn from people. Such strength in the women who were there, such fear too, and the children. It was incredible what kind of feeling range such young children could feel. It had been a rough night, and Kealey was ready to get home. Somewhere she could hide her head under a pillow. Underneath it all, though…underneath it all she felt good. She’d helped tonight, done something good for people, she’d chanted background noise in her head for an hour tonight and slowly…she’d been able to draw her own feelings out from the rest. Maybe Jacen had been right…maybe with practice she could handle it.

It really was late, and as Kealey walked down the streets she found herself staring at one of the subway terminals that dotted the New York streets. She stopped and looked at it. Most of the horror stories she’d heard about New York City had to do with the subways. It was so late though, surely it would be safe enough down there…and she’d get home so much faster. Besides, Kealey assured herself, if there was anyone there besides her, she’d be able to feel them. If they had any malicious intent, she’d feel that too. Checking her purse for the subway tokens she thought were there and finding them, down the stairs Kealey went.

It was strange, just how artificial and bright the lighting was against the white tiled walls as she made her way through the tunnel and towards the platform where she’d wait for the train. The other strange thing was just how utterly and completely alone she was in the tunnel. It was almost like being around Jacen…except the awareness was there. Through the turn-style Kealey went and around the corner, then she stopped dead in her tracks as a wall of emotion struck her hard in the chest just short of the entrance to the platform.

The fact that there were emotions wasn’t startling to Kealey, she was used to walking from silence into emotional noise by this point. It was what emotions she’d walked into that was so troubling. Fear…fear almost so paralyzing that Kealey stopped where she was and simply trembled for a moment, but there was something else. Something that made a surge of adrenaline rush through the blond as quickly as it made her stomach turn over. Malice, malice and dangerous intent. Kealey had felt that particular feeling before and nothing good had ever come of it. Nor had good come from the perverse pleasure and adrenaline rush that went along with it. Those were the feelings that went along with murder, and they were strong.

Kealey turned in spite of herself and looked back the way that she’d come. There hadn’t been anyone there. Nobody to help. There were only two choices, turn and run, leaving whoever was down there to their dark deeds…or try to do something about it.

As it turned out, it wasn’t really a choice for Kealey. It took her a few moments to fight down the panic that was growing by the second, but then she moved forward, slowly at first, then faster as the adrenaline fueled her. Her ballet flats slapped against the tiled floor with little to no sound and the skinny jeans she wore under the same baggy sweater that had served her so well several times at work did nothing to impede her movement.

Around the last corner Kealey turned, the emotions surging strong inside of her and she dropped her purse, ready to do whatever she could to help. Around the corner she turned and stopped dead in her tracks. There were two men, just as she’d suspected and one was backing the other precariously towards the edge of the chasm that held the tracks.

”Stop! Stop what you’re doing! Kealey screamed, voice echoing off the walls, her Irish accent thick with emotion. ”I’ve called the police!” she finished weakly, moving slowly closer to the two.

The man across the terminal from Roland was definitely a mark. With his lack of awareness of himself and his surroundings, Roland pondered if his name actually was Mark. A smile crept over Roland's face like tarantula's legs. This was one of many kill jobs Roland had received since leaving the employ of Slate. All of the other little masterminds around town needed a man of his expertise. The hacks who had been calling themselves mercenaries in Roland's absence hated that he had returned, as their paychecks decreased. They cursed his name. Not to his face, of course.

The setup couldn't have been simpler. Mark's information had been given to him on a silver platter. He was a securities broker who had gone rogue with some sensitive information that his contact could not afford to have divulged. It was a common problem. He was a pudgy stockbroker who sweated too much and he had to go. Of course, as the client was corporate, he had to go in an accident. The information provided to Roland showed that the man always took the late subway from this terminal after he left the information broker he had been visiting. There were no files to pick up, as the man kept it in his mind. It was really the only thing he had going for him.

Once the train prior to the kill train departed, Roland scanned the terminal for witnesses. A small camera seemed to be flickering enough to give the chance of a partial image. There would be none of that. As Roland's eyes scanned, the camera went dark, its little wires lying neatly on the floor below. It seemed clear, save for one old man sleeping near a vent. Roland looked at the nearest trashcan and saw a half empty beer can on top. He knew it was half empty because once it appeared over the man, it promptly splashed his face and then bounced off his head. he woke with a start, his eyes darting around like some sort of cave creature.

When the man's eyes met Roland's, the latter looked down his body at the pistol which hung from a shoulder holster beneath his coat. With a gesture of his head, Roland directed him to make haste. He did, choosing to scamper down the train tunnel. This, of course, snapped Mark out of the glazed look he had been carrying so well. He suddenly looked around in a jerky fashion, finally catching the image of his killer as he stepped from the shadows. It looked like something a bird would do, Roland imagined. Little did Mark know that soon he would be flying like one in a moment.

Eyes wide, perspiration flowing freely. The man knew what was about to happen to him. Roland appreciated the lack of blubbering and pleading. Be it acceptance of his fate or shock from terror, standing still made the job flow smoother. A briefcase appeared in Roland's hand as he stepped closer. The sight of the item's appearance only amplified what was clearly terror and a paralytic fear. Since Mark was about to expire, Roland felt little need to hide his gift. The briefcase soon disappeared from his hand and reappeared behind the man, providing something solid for him to trip over into the place of his imminent death.

Footfalls brought both the men's attention. Their heads turned to see a young blond woman running down to the platform. Her screams of warning immediately woke Mark up, who began to turn on his heel. He moved too far away from the briefcase. Next the woman claimed she had called the police. That couldn't be right. She had no idea. It ws a terrible bluff, but one that Roland could surely use against her. The seconds of distraction surely worked against Roland, as the train which should have been coming to an emergency stop as it crushed the mark pulled to a stop. The nearly empty train's doors opened and after Mark exchanged a look with the heroine, closed again with the the fat smug face smiling at him. Roland stood in the terminal, the briefcase returned to his hand. He stared into the man's eyes until fear returned.

As the train pulled off, Roland mouthed the words 'See You Soon' to Mark, who promptly crumpled into the seat and disappeared. Fifty thousand dollars and a sliver of Roland's reputation also went careening down the track. With the job canceled, the heroine was now the focus of his attention. Blue eyes went black with a simmering, murderous anger. " You just cost me some money."

It worked…it actually worked. Kealey was breathing heavily, the absolute terror flooding off of the man close to the edge of the platform warring with the eerie joy from the man who was slowly walking him backwards. They both looked towards her when she yelled though. Both of them. Kealey did everything she could to memorize the features of the one doing the intimidation, the other man wasn’t as important but she took a look at him too. The ‘victim’ looked like some kind of sleezeball. That didn’t mean he deserved to die in cold blood though. It wasn’t for those of this world to judge.

A train approached and Kealey said a silent prayer that the transit authority would be on it…the doors would open, they would walk off and this sudden nightmare would end. The train stopped, the doors opened, and the victims terror turned to complete and utter relief as he backed onto the car with little more than a cursory glance in her direction. The guy had been a piece of swine and Kealey had to remind herself of her earlier ascertations that humans were not fit to judge other humans in the face of the aggression surging through her. The man was smug as the doors shut…then he was afraid again as the train pulled out of the station. Kealey had forgotten about the other man, the assassin. He was angry, and disappointed, and the malice was still there. Full force, it still made Kealey’s stomach ache with the intensity of the feelings. She was shaking as she stood there.

A smart woman would have been turning and running while the wordless exchange had passed between the two men as the train pulled off. Kealey wasn’t that smart though, she was too transfixed by the emotions. Too startled still by what she’d done to move. Then the man turned and locked eyes with her. Suddenly, it felt like Kealey’s heart had dropped deep into her stomach and she had to swallow to keep from throwing up on the almost pristine looking subway floor.

Money. It had all been for money. This man really was an assassin, and he was furious. There wasn’t anyone else on the platform, so the anger had to be directed at her. Of course it was, Kealey admonished herself, she’d just spoiled a job…for an assassin…by herself.

The seething, murderous anger seemed to be rolling off the man in waves and Keaely glanced over her shoulder at the seemingly endless expanse of subway tunnel that had taken no time to travel just a few moments earlier. There was no way. Kealey turned back to the man, amazed at how singularly he was feeling, there weren’t even any other emotions she could hope to use against him. Just that boiling, potent rage, barely leashed. Leaking out at the edges. It made her shake with its power, spilling over into her slightly as she stared him down. If she couldn’t run…she’d stand her ground.

”You were going to kill that man.” Kealey said, blue eyes wide as she stared at the man. He wasn’t what she’d expect of an assassin. He was lanky and there was something refined in his demeanor. ”I wonder what price a man puts on his immortal soul.” she added, the man’s anger slightly fueling her foolish bravado. ”Now you’ve got the chance to walk away and save yourself.” Kealey said, still not looking away, hoping she could buy enough time for someone...anyone to make their way down into the train station.

(Consent given ooc by Kealey)

The young Irish lass locked eyes with him. There could have been a solid tunnel of willpower formed around the energy coursing between them. Her eyes seemed as if they were the deepest pools. Caribbean water, where everything is serene. Had Roland not been feeling particularly enraged at the woman, he might consider speaking with her for some time. Who knew what secrets those eyes held? Her stance wavered briefly, as the eons old fight or flight mechanism flipped its switch. Once the current was locked into a circuit, her feet locked down to the ground, the true symbol of Irish defiance. He wondered if his accent had caused the sudden posture change.

”You were going to kill that man. I wonder what price a man puts on his immortal soul. Now you’ve got the chance to walk away and save yourself.” Her unabashed bravery was quickly turning, in Roland's mind, to a reckless abandon which teetered on the edge of insanity. Could she truly be so daft? Roland eyes broke the lock between them. He looked at the grimy floor beneath him. The hard concrete, greeter to so many bright eyed newcomers.The briefcase left his hand. By gravity, not mutation. It hit the ground with a soft leathery thud, serving as a proper distraction. His right palm hung by his side, cupped with the knuckles facing her.

A small chuckle of something of his own which bordered on madness trickled from his lips. His head shook briefly as a cylinder of lead, about the size of a roll of quarters appeared in his palm, warm and ready to fly." His head rose and his eyes met her once more, accompanied by his small English grin of smarm." The man was going to have an accident. Now he isn't. As far as an immortal soul, mine sits in Hell, waiting for me to make a mistake and join it. Hasn't happened yet." Irish immigrants were a personal favorite of New York concrete. He felt happy to feed it.

It happened in one fluid and beautiful motion. A few steps for momentum, a drop to his right knee. The cupped hand twisted on the wrist, the kinetic energy of his body traveling down the pipe, much like a baseball pitcher's. Roland would strike them all out though. The moment the slug left his hand, it disappeared, charged with its own natural kinetic energy. It then reappeared a few inches from the young woman's face. He had gone low and aimed high to catch her in the forehead. His aim was off slightly, but fortunately for her, not off enough to permanently blind her. The slug struck her just above the eye. Before gravity could pull it down, Roland's hand was placing it back in his pocket.

Laughing. Now the maniac was laughing. A few moments ago the assassin had planned on walking a man into the path of an oncoming train, and now he was laughing. Perfect. Kealey was holding onto the anger rolling off the man towards her, but somewhere inside she was wondering why things like this always happened to her. Every time she tried to help someone, Kealey found herself in the worst imaginable position. Every day she saw stories on the news about good Samaritans who had stopped a mugging, or saved a baby from rolling out of control down a hill in a stroller. Why was it that every time Kealey tried to intercede, she found herself involved in something truly dangerous? How did she know it was dangerous? Besides the anger, there was something else, just a touch of madness. This guy really was drunk on whatever it was he did. Then he spoke and Kealey’s lip curled, just as any good Northern Irish Catholic girl’s would have. Of course he was English. She’d have put money on his being protestant at some point too.

The anger was really flowing now, still barely leashed and Kealey wondered how the man managed to handle all of that. The problem was, that the anger was the only thing there. That meant one thing, something Kealey was not necessarily comfortable with. If it gave her a chance though, she had to try. If he calmed down enough, he might let her go.

Concentrating and maintaining the eye contact she pulled the anger from the man, letting it flow into her even more strongly than it already was. It was such a powerful emotion, she felt herself shaking as she worked, growing more and more furious as time passed. The man dropped his briefcase and Kealey barely registered it, staring at him even as he broke the eye contact. Kealey should have moved, should have done something at this point, but she was too caught up in the anger flowing through her body. Until the man moved, but by that point it was too late.

The slug caught her right above her right eye and Kealey crumbled where she stood with a strangled cry of pain. She may have blacked out for a moment, but the next thing the blond knew, she was on the ground, her vision clouded, dark, and fuzzy around the edges. From her new vantage point she could tell that the ground wasn’t nearly as clean as she’d thought it was. In fact, it was filthy, she dropped the hand she’d clasped to her head in surprise at the pain and the floor got even dirtier. She was bleeding. What had he hit her with?

Kealey tried to stand and slipped, dropping to the ground again, then she got her feet under her and pushed up woozily against the wall, her hand returning to her bleeding brow once more. Something the man had said surfaced in the cloudiness of her mind.

”Yet…” she said through watering eyes and clenched teeth, ”Nothing has happened to you yet…but it will. And you won’t be laughing so hard when you’re rotting in those flames eternally.”

It was still there and Kealey concentrated all her woozy mind could handle on the man’s anger. There was something else there too now, satisfaction. Probably at the good shot. As she focused, her own emotions and pain faded into the background and he stood straighter, almost oblivious to the blood that now trickled down the side of her face, she still had a chance. First she focused on the anger, decreasing it again, swaying slightly where she stood as it flowed into her. Then, the satisfaction…if he was satisfied with his work, maybe he’d just leave her alone. That was fine with Kealey, she’d gotten a good enough look at the arrogant features, heard enough of the English accent to give the police a report at a later time.

Against the wall she leaned as she focused, her body and her mind working in conflicting ways as the emotions of the man in the tunnel with Kealey overrode her bodies own warnings that she was injured. Her vision was swimming slightly still and Kealey lifted the same eyes to stare again at the man who’d just hurt her. ”I feel so sorry for you…” she said, ”What must it be like for you? Feeling this way all the time…what’s made you this monster?

She went down like a house of cards. Roland stood from his former stance. The back of his hand grazed his forehead. Not so much as a drop of sweat. She moaned and twitched a bit as consciousness made its way back to the forefront. Roland looked over his shoulder at the clock. Five minutes and the next train would come through. He needed something from the beautiful woman that he was going to get before all was said and done.

Unfortunately, the motor functions were working well in the woman before him. Perhaps it was pure fiery Irish sass that made her push herself back up to a stance similar to standing. His handiwork had left a lovely swollen bruise which was already going dark over her eye. Her fortitude was astounding for a normal woman. He completely expected her to lie there, maybe fail at playing dead. This was something else.

The preaching returned. Roland's soul was out of touch of angelic redemption. Roland let his attention return to the job at hand, considering that the clock was ticking. His footsteps approached her as she asked him what made him into such a monster. A monster. Roland felt proud of the moniker, yet he also felt it was a shame she couldn't enjoy sherry with him over a delicious meal. His silenced sidearm slid into his hand comfortably. "Snips and snails and puppy dog tails? That's what I am made of." He chuckled again, though it seemed to resonate from a hollow log. The smiles and vestiges of courtesy were evaporating by the second.

Roland tapped the long barrel of the gun against the wall that the girl was propped against. If it didn't wake her up enough from her revival fantasy, he would press the silencer against the freely bleeding laceration. " All joking aside, you are on a very precarious perch, my dear. I would suggest answering only with yes and no for now. Otherwise..." The gun's barrel floated in the immediate field of vision of the good eye." You can truly become a martyr. Perhaps even a canonized Saint. There's just one way to get there. Say something else I don't want to hear."

He moved to the girl's side, supporting her and moving her away from the wall. His arm around her and then his own handkerchief against her wound. To an average person, he might seem as if he were the good Samaritan, helping the injured woman to somewhere safe. Roland had completely different motives.Whispering, he offered words of advice." I don't see your purse. I'd like you to help me find it. Soon all of this unfortunate business will be over." He waited for either compliance or a reason to send her to the angels.

Footsteps approaching. Pride at the insults she’d slung at the man. Kealey shuddered in spite of herself and the pain resurfaced as she let go of the man’s emotions. She struggled not to vomit and further dirty the floor, however nice it might have been to damage the assassin’s English shoes. He was close now, and quoting nursery rhymes to describe himself. Kealey had let her eyes slip shut to fight the nausea, but they snapped open at the tapping sound against the tiles of the wall.

Up she looked into the eyes of the man she never should have provoked and for the first time, Kealey felt a real tendril of her own, healthy fear worming its way through her body. The hairs on the back of her neck rose and she shuddered as the barrel of a gun floated into her field of vision. It only extended to her nose, and Kealey realized her right eye was swelling shut. She wondered if it was still bleeding.

The man spoke again and Kealey held his eyes as his voice promised malice and worse. The gun was very real and her bravado crumpled into tiny pieces as he legitimately threatened her life. Kealey whimpered when he touched her, for once completely focused on her own feelings as terror nearly paralyzed her. She listened very carefully to his instructions, yes or no answers, she just nodded, not trusting her voice.

Kealey’s head was pounding as the man took her weight against his own lanky frame and she cried out softly as the square of fabric pressed against the very wound that he had caused. Kealey’s heart was pounding and her stomach was rolling. He wanted her purse? He wanted her to help him find her purse. It would be over then? Kealey nodded again, praying that the man was not lying. His words rang true…the malicious intent was still there, and the simmering anger, and the pride, and was that the smallest twinge of regret? But where was her purse?

The memories of the last few minutes were fuzzy and Kealey struggled to remember what had happened to her purse when she’d stumbled on the attempted murder taking place. Then she remembered and gestured around the corner. There it was, laying on the ground, her apartment keys and notebook and pen spilling from the open zipper. ”There…” she said quietly, closing her mouth immediately as her stomach lurched. She’d acquiesced to his request, the rest was up to the man, Kealey shuddered again, taking shallow breaths to try and calm her rolling stomach and narrowing vision. For once, she wished she was feeling anything but her own feelings.

Whatever confidence or courage the woman had previously clung to had finally subsided. Roland was pleased as she succumbed to her role as the victim. It had certainly taken long enough. Now she was a tame little kitten, happy to appease the literal master of her destiny. Her tears rolled and she was becoming a sickly pale with the blood loss and the terror. It was understandable." I am glad we can be friends about it."

Now she was gesturing around the corner. She was as eager as he was to end this little play. He wasn't sure of her schedule, but his own was quite full. His little hunt had been successful. There lay the treasure at the end of the adventure. Seeing that there were no witnesses, Roland let his grip slip on her, hearing her body thud limply against the concrete as he squatted over the spoils. An icepick appeared in his hand to serve him as he fished through the contents of the purse. Keys were wholly unnecessary to a man of Roland's talents. Small items were moved from the bag until he found what he was looking for.

He popped the wallet's small magnetic latch open with the leverage of the pick. It fell open with displays of pictures. The picture he sought made its way from behind its small plastic jacket and into his hands as the icepick left them. It was smooth and laminated. It couldn't have been that old. He was proud to see the newcomer was legitimate. "Kealey Quinn. A lovely name." He rose and turned his body to squat again, this time facing the foolish woman.

As she lifted her head, Roland thought she might empty the contents of her stomach then and there. Her vision couldn't be that good, but surely it would recognize two familiar objects. His gun was in his right hand, her ID in the left. The card was facing out, as if she should read it." I believe we both know that you did not call the police. Otherwise they would be here already and you would be dead. I am aware that you will more than likely feel the urge to call them once I am gone. Before you make that decision, I just wanted you to know something. You may think you know who I am, but now I definitely know who you are. Keep it in mind."

With that, Roland rose and turned on his heel, the card and the gun replaced to his person. He folded his handkerchief over so there was a clean spot and dabbed at any remaining marks she may have left on him. He could hear the next train pulling in as he ascended from the terminal and found the living streets of the city waiting for him. They enveloped him and he became them, disappearing into the night.

They found the purse. He’d said it would all be over once they found her purse. Why wasn’t he leaving? He said they could be friends about it….friends? Kealey shuddered again, still not trusting herself to open her mouth. Then he let her go and she stumbled, unprepared. Her body hit the ground with what she was sure was an impressive thud and she added a bruised knee and elbow to the laundry list of injuries she was putting together from this incident.

Her vision was still blurry, made even more so by the unbidden tears that panic had brought on a few minutes earlier, but Kealey could see the man rooting through her purse with something sharp. When he’d said it would be over…had he meant he would leave her alone or had he just wanted to find her purse before he finished her off?

He had her wallet and Kealey hoped that he really was just enough of a creep to take the little cash and make off with it. It wasn’t the case though, and as he turned to her, Kealey shrank back slightly. He was holding two things, two things it took her a moment to focus on. One was her ID, her non-driver’s identification card that she’d gotten so she didn’t have to carry her passport with her everywhere. The other was that gun, the same one that had threatened her moments before. For some reason, now that the man had what he wanted, it was even scarier. Then he spoke, her name, and Kealey whimpered softly at the sound of it on his lips.

He’d known that she hadn’t called the police, and if Kealey concentrated her spiraling thoughts she could feel the confidence radiating from him as surely as the anger had before when he said that if she had she’d be dead. He was really that cold blooded and as she looked at him, Kealey had to swallow to keep the food in her stomach. He really did make her sick and as shocking realization of his words set in her body started to tremble uncontrollably. He knew where she lived…. All her plans of calling the police crumbled to pieces as she stared at the ID card. Then, the man was gone.

Suddenly, the subway wasn’t the modern marvel that it had been just a quarter of an hour ago and even though there was a train coming into the station Kealey didn’t hold out hope that there would be help on it. Her head was pounding and the contents of her purse were scattered on the ground. Holding herself up off the filthy ground grew harder by the moment and slowly Kealey lowered the uninjured side of her face down to her arm as the tears came on in full force and her vision faded into complete darkness.

The subway was soothing for Garrett. Prior to his time at the Mansion, he had spent hours on it. It was a warm and fairly safe place to sleep at night. Now it served as a different type of retreat, keeping him from the yards of red tape and bureaucracy that had become his life as of late. The more time he spent around those of the Order, the more incredible it became to him that they weren't completely wiped out, locked up or scattered. There was very little organization besides the occasional order to act like maniacs. Many there needed little more than a slight nudge to achieve that status.

He missed Maya. He could dance around the topic all he liked, but there was no denying the fact. Seeing her eyes of dripping honey and seeing her smooth wrinkles from her skirt or apron was something that he longed for. He could understand why things were strange. He was a jumble of misguided ideas and wrong way signs. He needed some sort of signpost. The I Ching and Taoism had kept him on an even keel for so long. Ever since the Haywire entered his body, all was chaos in his mind.Here he was arm in arm with those that had destroyed him.

It was more than enough to ponder. Garrett let out a long sigh as the train entered one of its smaller stops. Rather than meditate on the shambles of his life, he chose to exit the train. No one seemed to mind as the only companions at the moment were people who had once been like him, broken and confused. No reason to wake them from whatever they dreamed of. He hoped it was something good.

Stepping out into the terminal, Garrett did the normal subtle scan of the area as most New Yorkers did. Not doing so would welcome those who preyed on the weak and the innocent. Not that Garrett was either. His mind would naturally wander back to his musings of angst, except that there were spots of fresh blood appearing before him as the light caught his eye. He steeled himself, hoping not to find a corpse at the end of the trail.

A purse had been violated, its contents spilled out on the floor of the hallway leading up and out to the street. Nearby was undoubtedly its owner, who also seemed to be the source of the blood. Garrett hoped she was not violated as well. He gathered the items together and dumped them into the purse, bringing it with him as he knelt at the side of the woman, whose state of consciousness was hard to gage. She was breathing, judging from the rise and fall of her clothes. That was one small note of positivity.

His hand touched her neck lightly, both to check her pulse and to see her neural body. Both were lively. There was a specific area around her head that was particularly lively as nerves itched and buzzed in the area. Judging from the blood, that would be the source of her recent misery. " Miss? Are you alright?Miss?"

Kealey didn’t know how long she’d been laying there. It felt like a long time from the way her head was throbbing and she floated somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness. Every time her heart beat she could feel the gash in her head throb. Thump.throb…thump…throb… it was almost lulling, and it was easier to concentrate on that then try and work through what had just happened.

Kealey couldn’t stop shaking and she barely even heard the train as it pulled into the station. She’d just rushed into a situation that could have very well gotten her killed without a second thought. She’d acted on the emotions she’d felt and now she was bleeding on the concrete floor of a subway station and a paid assassin had her ID which meant he had her address…which meant he knew where she lived. Kealey’s stomach rolled again and she swallowed convulsively to try and keep herself from throwing up.

Suddenly, Kealey wished for something she hadn’t wanted since leaving Ireland months ago. She wished for the dark cool halls of the convent with the soft light and softer sounds. The tranquil emotions and the gentle study. Why had they made her leave? Why had they made her come somewhere like here in search of something she didn’t even know how to start finding? How was she supposed to make a difference in the world when she couldn’t even protect herself?

She needed help. Someone who wasn’t going to treat her like an 8 year old and who was going to teach her the things that she needed to know in order to really survive. Kealey didn’t know how long she’d been laying there, but then hands came down on her. She hadn’t even heard the man putting the things in her purse back. Kealey jumped involuntarily when she felt the hands checking her neck and she wondered if this was just someone else there to hurt her.

Concern, genuine concern. That’s exactly what she felt from the person who was now hovering over her still form. Then he spoke and Kealey knew she either needed to move or he’d call the police. He couldn’t call the police. The assassin had said if she called the police…

”Fine…no police…” Kealey managed to stutter as she turned her head painfully to the side and looked up at the man who was helping her through the narrow slit of her right eye and the blurry swimming vision of the left. The man felt…confused…but that concern…that genuine concern. Kealey latched onto it like a life line, ”Help me…out of here.” Her voice sounded so weak, so pitiful, but hopefully this stranger would help her.

Garrett was genuinely concerned for the woman. Something stranger occurred to him. At the present moment, her genetic makeup meant nothing. Only that she was a living, breathing person who was in dire need of assistance. As he moved his fingers a it, she made a jolt of a motion. It was as if he had just laid an ice cube on her while she was sleeping. He was glad she was coming around, but was also worried that he might be implicated in the attack. Anyone who happened upon them could easily take things the wrong way.

Fortunately, her consciousness returned with a quickness. Her first words were at once odd and completely believable. "Fine..no police..." This was a common first utterance of many a New Yorker. No one was so injured to have the police involved. Perhaps that was why the city suited Garrett so well. Everyone had a skeleton. Even a nice lady like this. Her accent sounded European. Scottish? Irish? He hadn't been around enough to tell the difference. Perhaps she was illegal. Either way, she definitely needed his help.

She turned her head with considerable effort. Garrett winced as the bloody and swollen wound showed itself. It truly marred what would otherwise be serene beauty."Help me...out of here." It was something they could both agree on. Garrett cradled her under her arm and braced himself so that she could stand. It was a shaky and tenuous process, akin to helping a girl who had one too many at a frat party before the after party started. Garrett had always found himself helping others who couldn't help themselves.

Once she was on her feet, he took the liberty to do a little bit of neural upkeep on her. Standing had been a small triumph, but making it out of the terminal and avoiding police required that she not be so swimmy headed with pain. She was extremely fortunate to have such a savior. His eyes fluttered closed briefly as his hand lightly brushed the swollen, wet tissue around her eye and brow. The nerves beneath were lulled to sleep. They were not rendered useless, rather they stopped sending what must have been jarring signals to the brain of the obvious injury." That should help a bit. Now don't try to use your eye. It is not healed. It simply no longer hurts. You don't want to touch it wrong and injure yourself further. I know somewhere we can go to get you fixed up. No police there, I assure you." The shuffle to the street began.

The man really did want to help her. There were so many other emotions there that it was difficult not to dive in and simply lose herself in the flood, especially the way that her head was spinning. She held on though, actually using the pain to keep her head clear of the influence of the man’s emotions. The concern she still clung to, and he had understood her request that he not call the police. Only in a place like New York would someone take that in stride enough to not comment, and he agreed overwhelmingly that they should get out of there.

It didn’t occur to Kealey that she’d managed to escape the mercy of one stranger only to put herself at the mercy of another. Her head hurt too badly as she struggled to sit up to think about that, especially with the encouraging feelings that the newcomer was feeling. Kealey barely even looked at him, just enough to know that he was young. For some reason that made her feel better too.

Getting to her feet was a struggle, but the gentle pressure and assistance from her helper made the process a little easier, even if the spinning of the terminal did not. Once she was shakily on her feet, Kealey returned to the shallow breathing to calm her rolling stomach and tried to get her equilibrium back. The pain she’d been focusing on before to clear her mind almost blinding her now.

She didn’t see his hand rise because that part of her peripheral vision was blocked by the still swelling bulk of her eyebrow but momentary pain blazed through her head as he touched the wound, but then it was gone. All of it. For a moment, Kealey wondered if she’d been found by some sort of mutant healer or miracle worker, but then he spoke and her hand froze halfway to where it had been going to touch the wound. He’d just numbed the pain? It made sense, Kealey thought, as a little time passed. She still could hardly see out of the eye. Now that her head had stopped pounding, though, she could think and her stomach had calmed down a bit. The vertigo was still there though, and walking in a straight line was a little difficult at first as they made their way out of the subway tunnel. Thankfully, her helper was doing a good job keeping her going in the right direction, wherever that was.

Kealey suddenly felt awkward as she walked in such close contact with a complete stranger and she felt the need to say something. Her stomach had calmed considerably and opening her mouth did not pose as much of a risk as it had earlier. As she moved, and stayed upright, the vertigo was slowly dissipating as well, ”Thank you…” she said softly as they walked, ”I’m not sure what I’d have done if you hadn’t come along, or if someone had called the police. I’m Kealey.” She paused for a moment, wondering exactly where it was he was taking her but almost too embarrassed to ask, he was unconditionally helping her though, or was he? ”You said we were going somewhere I can get help with no police interference…can I ask whre?”

Garrett's words of warning seemed to find roots as the lady stopped before poking herself in the eye. He hoped that one day he could exert more control over his gifts, allowing for more fine detail. For now, it had to be what it was. Once the pain had been eliminated, her steps were more solid and she was aiding him in the walking process.They had moved through the terminal and it was time for stairs. Garrett brought them to one side and he let her use her free hand to guide herself on the rail as he aided her from the other side. Looking back briefly, he could still see the small pool of blood.

”Thank you…I’m not sure what I’d have done if you hadn’t come along, or if someone had called the police. I’m Kealey.” Garrett smiled as they took each step up slowly. "Hello Kealey. My name is Garrett. Garrett Wills. I don't know what would have happened either, but it's best to just be happy that I did, right?" He did his best not to wax Tao on her. In his opinion, there could have been no other explanation. The stream carried him to the particular train at the particular time to arrive at just the right moment. Everything worked like that, but few could recognize the subtle signposts.

The sounds of the city were coming into earshot as they ascended. She paused for a moment and Garrett was worried that she might have a spill."You said we were going somewhere I can get help with no police interference…can I ask where?” He breathed a small sigh of relief. Her question was valid, considering that she had been pulled from a crisis. Hopefully, he thought, she would relax more after some concrete details had been exchanged. He resumed their stepping up as he answered."Of course you can. We are going to the Sanctuary. It is a shelter and safe haven for mutants. Obviously, with the touch I gave you, I am one. I am also currently their Public Relations director. Although we generally avoid aiding humans, I believe this is the only viable way to get you sorted out without alerting the authorities."

When they reached the street, glances of concern flashed from people, as she surely didn't look well. He situated her near the top of the rail, on the side opposite the stairs should she fall. " Stay here and I'll get us a cab." Feeling that she was getting herself together enough to leave her, he stepped to the side and hailed down a taxi. He opened the door and handed the driver two twenties, informing him that he and his injured passenger needed a ride to the Sanctuary. Garrett then returned to her side to help her walk to the cab and, hopefully, safety.

He gave his name freely, that was a relief to Kealey. The concern and general good will was still flowing from the man and he was so nice as he helped her to the stairs. Kealey put her hand down to the rail and helped keep herself upright as they mounted the stairs. It wasn’t a long walk, but it felt like an accomplishment when they made it to the top. It was strange how bad she still felt, even though the pain in her forehead had gone away. Kealey understood though. She could take pain away too, in a fashion. Small children with easily fixable wounds, shots, old people dying….Kealey had shared their pain with them as she’d moved through the ranks in the convent. She was able to take it away physically, but the wounds had always still been there. She had something in common with her rescuer, Garrett, it would seem. Perhaps she’d tell him.

Garrett spoke of their encounter almost like it was fate and Kealey almost cracked a smile as they exited the tunnel and emerged into the streets that would only look desolate to a resident New Yorker. “It is. I’m a lucky woman to cross paths with someone so inclined to be helpful.”

He gave freely of the information Kealey had requested and she nodded her head in acknowledgement as he explained about the place that he was taking her. There was a shelter in the city for mutants? Like the one she’d left for battered women just a short time before? Did the provide meals, and job searches? It made sense, almost too much sense that such a place could exist and suddenly Kealey wondered at the fact that she’d never thought about the possibility.

Only…he thought she was a normal human. Kealey started to say something to correct the man when he moved away to hail a cab. He returned to her side and Kealey wondered more at the statement he’d made that usually this shelter didn’t help humans. Shouldn’t a shelter help everyone? Then Kealey remembered where she was. The wounds from the concentration camps that mutants had been herded into like animals was still so fresh, it made sense that there would be safe havens exclusive to mutants.

The walk to the cab was the easiest part of the journey yet and Kealey found herself relaxing in the back of the vehicle as it made its way through the streets and musing at the fact that she had a tendency to end up in vehicles with men she’d never met before. She turned to look at the man and mused at how odd it was to look around with only one eye available for looking.

”As it turns out…you don’t have to worry about your public relations position, or your organizations stand on helping those of human persuasion. I’m a mutant too…that’s how I knew I could trust you. ”

Now that the pain was gone from her forehead, Kealey realized how much her elbow and knee hurt. There would definitely be bruises. Looking down at herself, Kealey was surprised at just how much blood there was dotted down the front of her shirt, but then again she'd heard that facial wounds bled copiously it wasn't surprising. Some of the shock was wearing off, but thinking of the event brough the assassin's face back into Kealey's mind's eye and she shuddered involuntarily and started working on something she could tell these people that wasn't a lie, but also wouldn't give that man a reason to use the ID card.