Van didn't like vigilantes. He decidedly didn't like them. They bothered him even. Every time he encountered one he got mentally scarred or hurt or in trouble with the cops or--Okay,so he'd met two of them recently (the only two he'd met in his life besides the fictional kind) but seriously POLICE WERE POLICE FOR A REASON RIGHT? There was a reason PEOPLE GOT SPECIAL TRAINING for jobs related to peacekeeping and HAD TO PASS TESTS before they got weapons used to keep order. There was a PROCEDURE and FAIR PRACTICE that usually went along with the Law. Van was sick of seeing that thrown under a bus in the name of 'mutant rights'.

What the hell were 'mutant rights'?

They were all people, all human. There shouldn't be a separate version of rights. They were HUMAN RIGHTS. Van was so sick of people trying to tell him that human rights and mutant rights were two different things. He was sick of getting punched in the face and he was sick of all the hate. The hate coming from BOTH SIDES. It wasn't just that humans were bad or that mutants were bad. THEY WERE ALL BAD...at least on some level. They were all bad and there were innocents and people in between wherever you looked. It wasn't FAIR to the AVERAGE JOES who just wanted to LIVE THEIR LIVES, not to hurt anyone or claim superiority or any of that garbage.

The young mutant's head was so filled with angry, murky thoughts that it took all he could not to scream at the top of his lungs as he walked down the street.

PEOPLE sucked but so did MUTANTS. Van was ashamed of his genes,ashamed of the way that similar ones made other people treat him different, made them treat him differently than they would humans. An image of the metal woman flashed in his mind. The only reason she hadn't dealt with him more harshly was because he revealed himself as a mutant. That was RIDICULOUS. And it certainly didn't make sense, not even to someone with such strange logic as Van. He was a person that RAN AWAY from people with FACIAL HAIR and he didn't understand why he was apparently SO DIFFERENT from everyone else.

It was stupid. More stupid than stupid. It was what Stupid wanted to be when it grew up (minus Stupid's dreams of having stupid babies with its stupid someone). And Van was fed up. He just wanted to run out of his skin. Run away from being mutant and human and to run so far that he became a Something Else. Something that wasn't so petty and weak. Something strong that could keep the average Joes safe from the bad things. Something that made the bad things nonexistent.

That wasn't going to happen. Van knew that it wasn't going to happen.

But a boy can dream, can't he?

As he walked the streets of New York City Van kicked at snow piles angrily. It didn't make him feel better. Not even taking pictures earlier that day had made him feel better. Every time he caught a look of the bruised mass that was his noes he was reminded of the night at the bar and every time he walked down a less populated street he got paranoid that he was being followed by someone with metal feet...

Sanctuary. That's what he needed. A quiet place to think. Peace.

Normally Van wasn't a religious person--he just wasn't brought up that way. He'd been to Mass a few times with his grandmother but he didn't really know anything about God or Jesus. He assumed Jesus would be a pretty good guy to talk to about his current issues with humanity--he preached love for everyone, right? Van would soon try and find out. His feet hurt from walking all across town but finally he'd found a cathedral that looked like something he could get behind. He didn't look for the name, just walked up the stone steps and pushed open the door.

The sanctum was quiet. Apparently Van had missed Mass or whatever they called it here and he didn't mind. The quiet was nice, peaceful. He was slightly nervous as he made his way towards the alter at the front/holy middle/back(?) so he didn't go all the way to the thin table with the Bible on it, just sunk into one of the pews a few from the front. His slight experience in a church told him that he should probably kneel to pray, so that's what he did.

The boy's voice was very soft as he spoke aloud to a God he wasn't sure existed.

"Um, hi. I've been having some issues lately...I figured you could help me..." He proceeded to softly spill all of his thoughts to the stained glass window of Jesus behind the alter, his grey eyes never leaving the half smiling face of the man with the thorn crown.

When he was done, Van looked around, and dropped his hands. He knelt there for a moment as if waiting for something.

Sometimes life just had a way of kicking you in the head when you least expected it. There had been a time, not so very long ago, that Juka had been sure of the world and his place in it. He was a performer, a musician with his hidden secret gift of bubbles. To the world he was the flamboyant and flirtatious Juka Miami; always impeccably and exultantly dressed and always with a compliment for everyone. And when he wasn't able to be Juka Miami the public figure, he had his floating bubble that allowed him to float many hundreds of feet above the city and just be alone with himself and his thoughts. At the time he had thought he had everything going for him; his public and private selves separate and yet existing within a harmony. So what if his parents didn't love him and had disowned him for refusing to live up to their image; he still had his music, his fans and his bubbles. Life and the world, as far as he was concerned, was good.

Coming to New York had been a drastic change to be sure, but it hadn't changed the things that truly mattered in his life. He still had his art and his bubbles; he still had his hands. So what if he no longer had his band and was no longer able to perform every week in front of his adoring fans, that was merely a temporary setback. Even now he was working on getting a new band so that he could return to the art he loved so dearly. No, that wasn't something that mattered, not really, not so long as he remained dedicated to its return. The biggest change, really, came with unveiling his own private gift with others; showing them his bubbles and what he could do with them and, more astonishing, meeting other mutants with their own beautiful gifts. But that, of course, was a good change in every possible way. Before he had thought life was good but with that revelation he knew that life was even better. Truly, Juka was blessed.

In the past two months, however, things had taken a turn for the worst. First had come Aura and her pink spinning saw; caught by Juka killing a human for no other reason than that he was human and she was a mutant. Juka had tried to stop her and, while her killing had been halted, it had been only temporary and almost at the expense of his own life. Somehow his bubble had saved him. Somehow in a way he still didn't fully understand. It wasn't even his near death that had so horrified him, however, not really. It was why she had done it; or more particularly why she had been killing humans to begin with. Stories of human torture and imprisonment, of the hardships she had faced at the hands of humans. She was only getting vengeance, only fighting for her kind. His kind. But did that justify murder? Of course not. How could it?

And then there was Juka's more recent encounter with Abyss, brother of his beautiful Prince Venus. How could the two of them be so different and yet be clones of one another? His gentle red god and the horrible killing machine? Abyss too had been killing humans, humans who had attacked him, humans who hated mutants. And he too had spoken of human cruelty and torture, of their hatred of mutants. Had spoken, as well, of a potenial innocent mutant girl with no powers but who happened to look just a little different. What if those humans had attacked that girl instead? What would have happened to her? Yes, Abyss had killed the humans and Juka had merely knocked them out. He thought he was doing a good thing, but what if Abyss was right and it was better that they died?

Juka had seen for himself the hatred that humans had for mutants. For a month he had been trapped in his bubble, unable to walk around like a normal person. He had seen the looks of disgust, fear and, yes, even hatred directed at him. Did that mean Abyss and Aura were right? No one had tried to attack him, after all, and looks alone weren't justification for murder. But what if someone had tried to attack him? What then?

As Juka thought, he floated within his bubble, far above the city. Usually that was enough, to merely escape the hustle and bustle of the city below and be alone with the sky and his own mind. But not tonight. Tonight his thoughts were in turmoil and he needed something more, perhaps an ear to listen to his own inner torments. He wasn't normally the religious type, it simply had never played a role in his life. But something drew him to a simple stone cathedral below him and, not quite understanding why, he landed gently just behind the building and dismissed his bubble and then proceeded to walk in the front door.

For a moment Juka stood just inside the door, not quite sure what to do next. He had never done something like this before, wasn't quite certain why he was doing it now. Was there even a god to hear him? He didn't know. He only spotted one other person in the church, kneeling in a pew not too far from the alter. Juka decided that he should, perhaps, follow suite. Instead of stopping where the stranger knelt, however, he walked right up to the alter and knelt, in similar posture. There he remained, quite unsure what it was he was supposed to be doing. Why had he even come here? A momentary flash of the preacher Aras flashed through his head. An amusement there, considering that first meeting, to think that he was now kneeling in a church.

"Amen." That was the only part of praying that Van was sure of. You say 'amen' when you're done and if you're a certain flavor of christian you cross yourself. Van was pretty sure he was supposed to be catholic so after he was done he crossed himself and looked up just in time to see a very tall...woman walk past him up the aisle to kneel at the alter itself. He paused for a moment, not wanting to get up and ruin the other person's moment and then he took another look at the kneeling figure.

That's an interesting look for church. The woman at the alter had bright orange hair and wore an outfit that looked more like some kind of costume dress than anything. Van had seen a lot from just walking around the streets of his home city but not many of the people he'd met could compete with what this particular person was wearing. The outfit seemed at odds with the stark insides of the cathedral--not that Van could say that his look was appropriate either for the building. It was just that any ripples he made with his tattoos and earrings and ripped clothing were drops in the bucket compared to the tidal wave that was the woman's outward appearance. Thin fingers itched to press the trigger of the Polaroid camera strapped with the colorful wires to the boy's neck but somehow that seemed inappropriate, stealing pictures in a holy place. Jesus probably didn't approve of paparazzi--especially not in his house.

Since it was either get up and disturb the woman--not that from Van's angle it appeared that she knew what she was doing--or hunker down for a few more moments the boy that was half up from his kneel decided to return to the appropriate stance and wait out the other person's prayer with some more babbling of his own. Clasping his hands together, Van spoke again to a God he was pretty sure he was bothering with his loft questions. "Hi, again. I thought of something else--how is it that some people say they don't hate mutants until their children turn out to be them? Like, why do normal seeming people just cast out their sons and daughters because of the genes that they themselves gave them? I'm asking because Etta, that girl I met a few weeks back, her mom totally shipped her out because she can do something wicked sweet with her hair. How is that fair?" The young mutant's tone got a little louder and more heated as he spoke.

This time instead of the stained glass Van kept his eyes on the gowned woman , waiting for her to speak her piece so that he could safely make his exit. He felt a little better, expressing his ideas but not getting a response to his questions was mildly frustrating. Maybe you had to be a certain type of person to hear God? Or maybe Van was just deaf.

Kneeling before the alter, Juka still wasn't certain what he was supposed to say or do but, almost against his will, words started poring out of his mouth. "Dear god." It seemed a good way to start. "Why is there so much evil in the world? Why are decision so complicated? If one person lives does that mean that another person may have to die? And why are mutants hated so much that their lives are at risk merely for the fact that they are mutants? Is it ever right to end a life, even if ending that life might mean the eventual saving of others lives?" No one was there to give him an answer. Not that he expected one, not really. But some small part of him was disappointed anyway. Life would be so much easier if only someone were there to listen and to advice him. "God, all I need is a little guidance."

Behind him, Juka heard the man kneeling on the pew also mention the word mutant in his prayer. He didn't catch the rest of what was said, but perhaps that was the sign he was looking for? Was it possible that this stranger might be there to offer him the guidance he so desperately sought? Quietly, Juka crossed himself and rose to his feet.

The man seemed deep within his own prayers and Juka wasn't sure that he wanted to bother the other man. If it was a sign from God, however, he couldn't ignore it could he? He was pretty sure that God woudln't like it if he did. "Excuse me," Juka said, with uncharacteristic tentativeness. "I'm very sorry for interrupting you but I couldn't help but hear you mention mutants and...I think you might have been sent to help guide me." His voice was both hesitant and hopeful. What if he was wrong and the man was horribly insulted by his interruption? Or, flash of a thought, what if he was praying about his hatred of mutants? Well, not much he could do to change his mind now, the words were all ready spoken.

Wait a second, that was not a girlish voice nor was it asking for the usual things--or at least what Van assumed the usual things were. Actually, there were probably a lot of people that brought their mutant issues up before his Epic Godliness, what with all of the issues mutants seemed to bring with them. An image of Grumps came into his mind and Van wondered if he was a religious man. Had the fat man ever prayed to his God for something with an anti-mutant idea behind it? For every pro-mutant prayer there had to be ten anti-mutant ones. Did the anti-mutant ones cancel out the others through sheer numbers? Or did the big guy up top decide what to listen to on a daily basis?

Back to the lack of girlish sound coming from the gowned woman/man/person(?), the boy wasn't trying to listen--there just wasn't enough noise in the chapel to cover up the cadence of the other person's voice. Soon that noise stopped, leaving Van without any definite conclusion as to the gender of the blazing carrot top. For the second time that day Van wished he could take a picture of the gowned figure--enigmatic people always made for good pictures. Distractedly, he messed with his camera strap and was still doing this when a familiar voice was heard above him.

Gray eyes looked up to meet the face of the person that had been praying. Upon closer inspection, the gender of the figure was still a toss up--all that Van could tell was that this being took great care in her/his appearance. The boy looked confused for a moment. Sent to help guide someone? How could he do that when he was so lost himself?

"Um, I'm sorry but..."Van paused a second, thinking things over. "Maybe...maybe...This is going to sound really weird but...maybe we're here to guide each other? I'm a little too lost to guide someone else, but maybe I've got the longitude and you've got the latitude?" Like half a GPS or something. What he said sounded really lame out loud, but it was honestly what he was thinking. Van stood up, feeling awkward looking up at the fellow lost soul. "My name is Van, and I'm a mutant." He held out his hand, waiting to see if his issues were similar to the gowned wonder's or if the person across from him was at the other end of the spectrum.

"Um, I'm sorry but...Maybe...maybe...This is going to sound really weird but...maybe we're here to guide each other? I'm a little too lost to guide someone else, but maybe I've got the longitude and you've got the latitude?"

Comething clicked and somehow those words spoken made perfect sense. It was strange, in a way, that they seemed so right. When one looked at them in a purely logical manner they didn't amoun to much but something within him told him that they were true on a very personal level. Maybe it was their current where abouts, being in a church, but they seemed right on an almost spiritual level.

"Maybe you're right," Juka agreed. There was a personal sense of peace in the statement and he bowed. If the bow was not as long or formal as he was sometimes want to be, it was filled with respect. This was another lost soul and together, perhaps, they would be able to find themselves. How had he never seen the beuty in such an idea before?

"My name is Van, and I'm a mutant."

"My name is Juka and I am also a mutant." He accepted Van's hand. There was curiosity there, about the manner of Van's powers, but the curiosity was mutant. For now it didn't matter; all that really mattered was that they were here, together, with mutual problems, here to guide each other in whatever imperfect way they could. After all, mutant or not, they were still the merely human and that meant all sorts of confusion and imperfection. But at least they could be confused and imperfect together.

Having made that connection Juka wasn't certain where to start. He had never had a guide before, nor someone he was meant to guide. He looked down at his feet, deep in thought. "Why does life always have to be so complicated? Its hard enough just living, let alone having to deal with the problems relating to being a mutant. How do you deal with it all?" It wasn't exactly what he had meant to say, but then he hadn't really meant to say anything in particular.

Cue laughter, rolling of the eyes, and an awkward shrug off of Van's shaky proclamation. The boy waited for it, still in shock that something so very emotional and lame had come sprung from his mouth. Yes, the boy with the choppy hair was waiting for many reactions--agreement was not one of them. So it stood to reason that when the gowned someone--the more he stood there Van got the feeling that he was talking to a costumed man--not only didn't mock the statement but hesitantly agreed the young mutant was a little taken aback. And then the man--the person was decidedly a man, although a young man--bowed. Part of Van wanted to comment on the gesture but a stronger part of him didn't want to disrespect it. Instead of saying anything, the young man bobbed his head back hesitantly, trying his best to copy the move.

They shook as Van discovered the name of the man was Juka and he was also a mutant. That cleared up a few questions and also made the situation, in Van's mind, a bit easier. They were both mutants so they had to on some level experience some of the same things, right? Or at least if they hadn't maybe they could fill in each other's knowledge or something...the boy really had no clue. He'd never gotten philosophical about being a mutant until recent events and recent run-ins with different, but still intensely similar thought processes. While the metal woman and Bat Boy had been doing different things, they both claimed a connection to fighting for other mutants. The metal woman had extracted some kind of justice or something that Van didn't totally understand yet and Bat Boy had taken on an angry mob in the name of mutant kind--beating people to a pulp for the mutants scattered in the crowd at the bar. Van still didn't get why they did what they did, it seemed like such a strange concept to him--using violence to make people look at your species in a better way.

Now, Van was just guessing, but to him it seemed like Juka of the pretty clothes was not usually so hesitant or quiet in conversation. To the young man it seemed like anyone with brightly colored hair and elaborate make up would be a bit more self-assured. Van could relate--thinking about mutant issues made him less cool too. He looked down at his hands that had somehow wrapped themselves around his camera as he thought. "I guess I didn't realize I had to deal with stuff--until recently. Before I guess I just pretended I was normal or something. Now that doesn't seem quite right..." He dropped into the pew and moved over so that there'd be room for skirts if they so chose to grace the seat with their presence.

The boy looked around, the sanctum was still deserted. It seemed that the next service was not going to start for a while, the mutants had some time to talk. "Why should it be different for us, mutants I mean, why are we the ones to deal with different issues?" Usually Van's tone was angry when he asked himself these types of questions, but anger didn't have its place in this particular conversation.

Juka noted Van moving aside so as to give Juka room to sit beside him. He sat, moving his skirts out of the way. On the surface the two of them appeared to be very different, but inside they really were quite similar, weren't they? Both of them mutants, a fact entirely hidden by their outwardly human appearance, and both of them dealing with the difficulties that were a part of the mutant experience. Was it the same for all mutants? He didn't know but suspected that it might be, at least on some level.

"I guess I didn't realize I had to deal with stuff--until recently. Before I guess I just pretended I was normal or something. Now that doesn't seem quite right..."

"You aren't the only one who didn't realize," Juka answered with a ghost of a smile. "I didn't even know the world was like this, that people were like this. Such cruelty and so much of it directed at mutants." It didn't seem fair but was it for him to say what was fair and what wasn't? He was, after all, merely an imperfect human just like any other. Why should he even be forced to ask these questions?

"Why should it be different for us, mutants I mean, why are we the ones to deal with different issues?"

"I don't know," Juka answered with a shake of his head. "If I had the anser I'd tell you. But I think...I think maybe its because we've been given a gift and there needs to be something to offset that. Every gift comes with its price and this is that price." Juka hadn't ever really looked at it in that way before but, having uttered the words, they seemed right somehow. His bubble was, undoubtedly, considered a gift. He wouldn't have survived without it.

"And I think we need to put our gifts to good use." Maybe not directly relavent, but also true in Juka's mind. Why be given something so wonderful if he wasn't meant to use it? Of course, not everyone agreed. He hadn't even agreed in the past, not until he was forced to confront life in all its many angles and difficulties.

The skirts did end up gracing the smooth wood of the bench next to Van. Secretly, the boy wondered what it would be like wearing skirts all day. It had to at least be interesting or women and Scottish men wouldn't put up with it. It was a random, totally off topic thought process but he couldn't help the strange places his mind took him--and they were pretty weird sometimes. I'll have to peruse some thrift shops and see if I can get my hands on a kilt. Van quite liked the idea of a kilt as the image made him feel manly and more than a bit like Mel Gibson in Braveheart. It was a good image and a heroic one and it almost made the young mutant howl in laughter.

He really would have to look into getting a kilt though.

'You aren't the only one who didn't realize', there was comfort in those words, even if it was slight. "Everyone kinda sucks though, in their own way. Angry people suck because they direct their hate at mutants but some mutants themselves suck because they throw that hate right back...and that's not really justified, is it?" In the back of his mind he knew his questions were too Big for most people or possibly anyone to answer, but he was going to ask this Juka them anyway to see if he could at least solidify his own position and help hammer out the awkwardly lovely man sitting next to him. As if by themselves, fingers twitched toward his chest and the Polaroid that rested somewhere between his heart and his navel.

The restless hands went up in a sort of steeple in front of Van's face as he listened to Juka's thoughts. He understood them quite well, although it was giving him flashes of re-run Charmed episodes that he'd once spent his entire summer watching because there was nothing better to do at his grandparents' house. It smelled like 'the power of three' and magic coming back to you in the end and all that. Personal gain came back to bite you, after all according to Leo and The Elders. After the man stopped speaking the boy nodded slowly, processing the idea. "I think I know what you're talking about--you've got to have balanced books and all that." Maybe he wasn't making sense himself, but Van knew what he meant. "I think that if we don't put our gifts to good use that nothing good will ever come of them--people won't have a reason to stop the hate."

Another thought occurred to him and he blurted out: "If only everyone's perception of 'good' was the same..." That thought was as laughable as Van's plans for a kilt.

How could words make so much sense and yet their meanings make no sense at all? Juka really wasn't sure. The words were there, he comprehended them, knew that they fit together to make sentences, knew what those sentences meant. And yet he had no idea how those sentences were supposed to fit into the practical mold of his real life. It was one thing to be aware of how things were, in all their complicated angles and another thing entirely to know what to do about it. Clearly Van understood this and just as clearly he swam in the same confusion as Juka himself did. What were they to do? What was the right answer? Was there even a right answer to be had?

"Everyone kinda sucks though, in their own way. Angry people suck because they direct their hate at mutants but some mutants themselves suck because they throw that hate right back...and that's not really justified, is it?"

"I don't think its as simple as anger." Juka thought back to the words of Abyss and his very recent outing with the giant red mutant. "Anger is a part of it, but I don't think its the only motivation, at least for some. I met someone and he killed humans but he killed to protect mutants. There was a glowing blue girl, I don't know if she had any powers to help her, and he killed the ones attacking her. She was grateful. Is it so very wrong to kill when it saves another?" That was the crux of his dillema. Anger was no good motivation, but what about the motivation to protect and save? That was, after all, what he sought to do with his powers anyway. The difference being that he didn't kill in doing so, but maybe he should. Maybe Abyss had been right and the only way to solve some problems was to eliminate them permanently. Maybe.

"If only everyone's perception of 'good' was the same..."

Juka sighed and shook his head. "That is the crux of the problem, isn't it? Everyone's perception of what's good and proper are different. Some preserve life at all cost and some sacrifice the lives of some for the well being of others. Maybe we just have to find our own image of what's right regardless of what's right for others."

Van sighed. Juka had hit the proverbial nail on the head with his hammer of musings. What was justified? The boy with the bruised face looked up at the stained glass window behind the alter. For a moment his thoughts were lost as he watched the late light dance through the colors of the image of Jesus Christ. What would he think of this business? It was all so complicated and vast and so very human, the issue they were discussing. It was a dynamic situation that was constantly getting tossed around by almost everyone--changing into something new with every hand, mutant and human alike, that dug around in the mixed bag. There was no simple answer, Van knew that now. No one had an actual answer--just their version of the truth. The boy's eyes slowly made their way down from the holy image and to his hands.

"The question is: who is worthy of protection and who isn't? Did he just save her because she was a mutant or would that person have help an innocent girl regardless of her genes?" Van picked at his already short nails, thinking on the metal woman who had justified her crime with the fact that Grumps had hurt mutants in some way. "Retribution and revenge don't get anyone anywhere..."

Van thought about the idea of killing with a 'good cause'. Was that okay, so long as it was justified? Who got to decide what was and was not a good premise for killing someone? Was it ever okay to do the ultimate thing and take away another person's life? Van knew one thing--he believed in the system. it was imperfect in many ways but it was rules and it kept some order. There was no reason to take it upon one's self to bring justice. He knew his thought process was more than a bit naive--he knew he didn't understand enough of the world yet to totally prove his point. "I don't think killing is ever justified..." he started slowly. "I think there has to be a way around killing someone to achieve your goals--whatever they may be. Slaughtering one to save a million is still slaughter and it still hurts others besides the murdered." His thumb nail was bleeding now, he'd ripped off too much of his nail.

"Juka," He turned to the man sitting next to him. "I think you're right--the only people who can tell us what's right are ourselves. It's the perfect human freedom, right? I can think what I like and you can think what you like and I can tell you what I think but I have no right to impose my ideals on you. Like a 'do what you want so long as it doesn't mess with what I want kind' of thing..." Maybe. Or something. Maybe the boy was just going off now, a product of his immaturity.

"The question is: who is worthy of protection and who isn't? Did he just save her because she was a mutant or would that person have help an innocent girl regardless of her genes? Retribution and revenge don't get anyone anywhere..."

Having spoken to Abyss, Juka was fairly certain that the blue girl was only saved because she was a mutant, but could he be certain? And perhaps the more important question was, was it wrong considering that humans had those willing to stand up for them where as so few mutants did. "I don't think I want to be a killer. I don't think I want to be the one who seeks vengeance on behalf of others. But I also don't think I want to just stand by passively and let all this evil happen. Humans have their defenders, but where are the defenders for mutants? Who is willing to stand up for them when they are wronged? I think I want to be that person, the one they can turn to when they need help."

Juka looked down towards his hands then back up again, meeting Van's eyes. Things slowly began clarifying in his mind; who he was and who he wanted to become. He didn't want to be like Abyss, he knew that for certain now, but he didn't want to be like the Juka of past either. Maybe violence sometimes was necessary, maybe bad things were sometimes justified if they meant the prevention of worse things. Juka was changed by his experiences with the big red mutant, he couldn't deny that now. He had been shown things that he never thought to see, things he never thought even existed and he could never forget them. The only thing that was left to him now was to decide who and what it was that he wanted to become. It was a difficult decision but he was beginning to feel that maybe, just maybe, he was on the right path.

"I don't think killing is ever justified...I think there has to be a way around killing someone to achieve your goals--whatever they may be. Slaughtering one to save a million is still slaughter and it still hurts others besides the murdered."

Juka nodded, his usual enthusiasm finally starting to show itself again. "Not right to kill, of course not. But its right to defend and sometimes its right to show people that they're wrong and to condemn their actions. We can do so much more than kill, we have more power than that. Killing just brings ourselves to their level, doesn't it? But we can still make a difference."

"I think you're right--the only people who can tell us what's right are ourselves. It's the perfect human freedom, right? I can think what I like and you can think what you like and I can tell you what I think but I have no right to impose my ideals on you. Like a 'do what you want so long as it doesn't mess with what I want kind' of thing..."

Juka frowned in thought before replying, his words carefully chosen. "I think that sometimes you have to mess with others though. When they do something bad, when they harm an innocent or take advantage of someone defenseless. Doesn't that sort of give you the right to punish them for their crime? Not kill them, of course not, but show them that what they did was wrong and they can't just do whatever they want to. Don't we have the right to do that much?"

Van nodded, feeling much older than he really was when Juka responded to his comment about retribution and revenge. He understood the gowned man's position, but he didn't totally agree with it. "There are supposed to be defenders of everyone--government, the system, law enforcement. I know that the system is flawed but it can be fixed--it just needs some TLC from some younger minds that are a little less conservative...or something." The words were out before Van had thought them through, but he found that there was truth in them that coincided with a belief that was growing in the pit of his stomach and creating a small fire in his heart. He believed in the system, he really did. Maybe that was why the vigilantism had bothered him so much--people taking things into their own hands (metal or otherwise) was in blatant disregard of that system and all of the rules and laws and people that made the system run. Intriguing.

When Juka looked him in the face Van met his eyes for a moment before turning back to the stained glass man behind the altar. Belief made people do crazy things--build giant monuments, hurt themselves, hurt others--entire wars were fought for the cause of belief. How far would Van go for his? Would he go as far as he could or was there some line he'd hit? There were certain things he knew he wouldn't do--intentionally kill someone being at the top. Would he figure out his limits one day? Van hoped that he didn't ever have to.

Nope. He respected the man's words, and his right to express them, but he didn't totally agree with him on every level. "I think it depends on what your definition of condemn--a violent response a legal one or words? I think that someone needs to tell people that some of the things they are doing are wrong but I'm not sure who exactly that should be...Killing does bring you down to their level though--it makes you coarse and weak." He was surprised at the words escaping his mouth and how much they tasted right.

Now it was time for his sudden epiphany to voice itself in words. Juka was asking if someone was doing something bad to someone else do you have the right to punish them. "Then we're just like them--if we take the distribution of justice into our own hands I mean. Everyone's definition of bad is totally different--if we all extract justice on who we believe are the wrong doers of the world there can't be society. I think in order to have a functioning world we need to follow certain protocols. Vigilante justice just makes things more complicated for elected officials and law enforcement." Here Van was, chirping about the virtues of the cops that he'd hidden from before and the politicians he made fun of on TV. What the heck was going on with the world?

"There are supposed to be defenders of everyone--government, the system, law enforcement. I know that the system is flawed but it can be fixed--it just needs some TLC from some younger minds that are a little less conservative...or something."

"There are supposed to be," Juka agreed readily, "but all too often there aren't, especially for mutants." His mind wandered back to the poor defenceless blue skinned mutant. What Abyss had done in killing her assailants was wrong but he wasn't sure that it was more wrong than doing nothing. "And I don't think a little tender loving care is going to fix it. There's too much discrimination going on, too much division between mutants and humans. Hell, the system doesn't even work for humans half the time let alone mutants. We have to do something!" Every word made things more clear in his mind. Someone had to do something and if not himself then who?

"I think it depends on what your definition of condemn--a violent response a legal one or words? I think that someone needs to tell people that some of the things they are doing are wrong but I'm not sure who exactly that should be...Killing does bring you down to their level though--it makes you coarse and weak."

"If only a legal actions were enough," Juka said with a sad shake of his head. "If only they did what they were supposed to do and defended the innocent as is their job. But they don't, don't you see that? They don't and someone needs to. And I think...I think I need to be that someone." It was as if he were in the midst of a grand epiphany, an ephiphany that had started some weeks ago with Cthulu, continued with Abyss and the blue skinned girl and now completed here and now. He had wanted to be a super hero before and he was only just beginning to realize what, exactly, that meant. It meant more than just glory and went further than helping old ladies chase theifs of purses. It meant confronting bad people and protecting good people. Sometimes it meant doing something a little bit bid himself in order to stop something much worse. It meant making sacrifices.

"Then we're just like them--if we take the distribution of justice into our own hands I mean. Everyone's definition of bad is totally different--if we all extract justice on who we believe are the wrong doers of the world there can't be society. I think in order to have a functioning world we need to follow certain protocols. Vigilante justice just makes things more complicated for elected officials and law enforcement."

"Aren't there some evils that are universal though? If someone kills that's bad, no matter what and the killer should be punished. Not by killing in turn, of course not, but somehow. They need to know there are consequences, that they can't just do whatever they want to. If the police did their jobs then heroes wouldnt' be necessary, but sometimes they don't and sometimes we are." Maybe Juka wasn't yet a hero, but he vowed that he would become one. He would make the statement true by his actions. "Sometimes vigilante justice is necessary. Sometimes its the only justice."

In his heart and mind Juka knew that it would be a difficult line to walk; to give justice while not falling prey to the same evils that he was trying to stop, but he also knew that it was a line that he could walk. Those things that were truly good were rarely easy to achieve and those things that were easy were rarely worth it, in the end. He could do this. He would do this.

Van tapped his chin thoughtfully with three fingers as he mulled over what Juka was saying. He had a point, it would take a lot of work to fix the system, make it more equal again. The thing was, the system had changed before--for different reasons new laws had been made to replace government sanctioned discrimination and even if some people didn't follow them or respected them it seemed like most people did. After all, everyone was strongly opinionated about certain things, weren't they? Some racists would disregard laws based on protecting mutants but this was already done on a day by day basis when people ignored laws that made all men equal and that protected minorities. Or was civil rights different than mutant rights? Were they similar or totally unrelated? Was he truly a different species and did that make him better or worse than humans? Van was confusing himself by getting ideas bigger than himself. He pulled his eyes away from the altar to watch with intent interest the emotions flicker across the face of the gowned man that had seemingly became as impassioned as he had, although for different reasons.

Juka wanted to be 'that guy', huh? Part of Van sincerely hoped that he did a good job doing that and the rest of him screamed something about vigilante justice as images of a mob and some boots above his face flashed before his gray eyes. A hand, on its own, went up to gingerly touch the boy's nose and the bruised area there. Bad vigilantism ended...well, badly--and innocents got hurt in the process, namely innocents named Van who really just wanted to get his friend and leave but ended getting his face kicked in and otherwise thrown about but his 'savior'.

Finally Van brought himself to reply to the man after his last response. "I think some evils are universal, but the human and mutant conditions leave so much room for opinion and free will and corruption. I don't think I'd be able to be that person, at least not alone. You'd probably be alone, you know that right? Unless you joined the X-men or whatever those guys on the news are. Vigilantism implies in itself going around the law and doing what you believe is right so you'd probably be wanted for something after a while--even if whatever you did you did for your version of right and justice on the wicked." Van's tone wasn't angry or condescending, he was just musing, thinking that he'd never be able to administer that kind of justice but how he wanted to be someone that helped people--human and mutant alike. "There shouldn't have to be two kinds of justice, the people that are assigned to the duty of protecting people should be enough--I know that you're telling the truth, sometimes they aren't enough and I wish that I couldn't believe you." Sadness found its way into Van's tone and he suddenly felt very old and very tired.

So what could he do about it? Van was a poor, degenerate hoodlum--who was he to talk about good and evil things when sometimes his own morals were a bit on the fuzzy side? He wasn't cut out for, nor did he have the desire to live, the life that Juka seemed to be heading towards. What he wanted to do was his small part in the bigger picture, not to take the word in his hands and rest the weight on his shoulders. "I need to help too..." The boy didn't even realize he'd spoken as his eyes wandered across the empty pews and around the cathedral. There weren't any answers written in the polished wood, he'd have to find them elsewhere.