Kami stepped off the plane and looked around. Having spent his whole life up at the monastery he was still adjusting to the modern world, and America was the biggest change so far. Walking through the airport he collected his bag, which carried all his possessions, and headed for the exit. As he made his way through passport control he was stopped and brought into a side room.

Warily he followed the pair of security guards, his bag lung over one shoulder. They motioned for him to sit, and he set down his bag and took the offered chair. “Due to a new law that has been passed we need to take a blood sample from all foreign nationals entering the country,” one of the guards explained.

“What for?” Kami asked, uncertain of the men’s motives. His experience with American’s had not found them very tolerant of mutants, and so he was immediately on guard.

“To check for the x gene,” the other guard answered, drawing a hypodermic needle from a draw, “All mutants must now be registered.” Kami did not like the sound of that. As one of the guards reach for his wrist to pull his arm out and take a blood sample Kami went into action.

Snatching the man’s wrist he twisted it into a lock as he rose from the chair. A straight kick to the other guard’s knee as he went for his gun caused him to collapse. Changing his grip on the first guard he flipped the man onto his back and delivered a blow to the temple, rendering him unconscious. Turning back to the other he saw the man’s gun halfway drawn. Creating a small ball of energy he threw it, knocking the gun out of the man’s hand and across the room. Making another he hit the man in the head with it, knocking him out.

Picking up his bag Kami cautiously opened the door and looked out. The coast was clear, so he stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. He swiftly navigated out of the airport and into the streets of New York. The law about mutant registration would mean he’d have to keep on his toes, but he felt confidant as he began to explore this strange new world.

Kami made his way through the New York streets. His clothes were so different from everyone else’s that he was given more space than you would normally receive on a busy New York street. While impressive, the sights of the city were nothing compared to the sights of the mountain monetary where he grew up.

Having decided that the horde of people were not to his liking he set off down a side alleyway. He had not immediate concerns for food or shelter, for it would be at least a week before he needed food or rest. Instead he was content for now to simply roam this new land. A pity others were not.

“He you,” a guy called from behind him. Kami stopped and turned slowly. The man was no more than twenty, wearing ragged jeans, a t shirt with a sleeveless vest over the top and his hair spiked up. In his hands he carried a baseball bat. “What you doin’ on our turf?”

“Your turf?” replied Kami calmly, but a little quizzically.

“Yeah,” said another man who stepped out from the other side of the alley, bulkier than the first, but with a similar dress sense and a chin in his hands, “This is Black Skull territory pal, and you gotta pay us to pass through.” As he spoke a further six men entered the alley, all carrying various weapons.

“I was unaware that America was split up into territories owned by petty warlords who demanded tribute in order to pass,” said Kami as he set down his bag, “I have nothing of value. I suggest you let me pass.”

The mocking laughter he got in reply told him that it would not be so easy. “Look at the big bad Chinaman,” said the one with the baseball bat, “Let’s see just how tough you are!” Raising the bat over his head the man charged. Kami waited patiently for the man to close the distance between them. Just before he had a change to bring the bat down Kami stepped forward, inside his reach, and delivered a single sharp blow to the temple. The man dropped like a stone.

His comrades, now more wary of their foe, sent forward two, one with a lead pipe and the other with a pair of knuckle dusters. They came forward slowly, flanking Kami who stood there with his hands behind his back and simply watched their approach. The one with the pipe swung, but Kami sidestepped it. Knuckle dusters came at him, but Kami weaved around them, his hands still behind his back.

He dodged around the pair for a time without moving his hands until he got them in position. Ducking a swipe from the pipe the metal object hit the man with the knuckle dusters instead, knocking him out. Staring dumbfounded the man with the pipe left himself open, and so Kami attacked, sweeping the legs from under him. The man fell backwards, cracking his head on the floor and knocking himself out. Kami stood up again calmly, his hands still clasped behind his back.

The expression of anger was evident on the others’ faces and at a bellow from the big man with the chain they charged. Kami was not in the mood to have to defeat them all through his superior hand to hand skills, which he was quite capable of, so instead he conjured a ball of energy in each hand and flung them out towards the gang members. Two of them were knocked off their feet by the impact and the rest halted their charge.

“It’s a mutie Chinaman,” the big man cried out, “This is too hot for us, we’ll let the Stalkers handle him.” There were shouts of agreement as those still able to ran for it. Kami went back to his bag and picked it up. He didn’t know what a Stalker was, but he had a feeling that he didn’t want to find out.

Kami made his way down the street away from the alley where he was attacked. While not hungry, he was a little thirsty and so decided to find somewhere he could procure a drink. He spotted a small café called “Bite to Eat”, and made his way inside.

Taking a seat at one of the tables he pulled out a small Chinese tea set and began preparing his tea. A waitress made her way over to him and asked for his order. “Some hot water please,” Kami asked. The waitress shrugged and went to fetch some hot water.

“Kami, you’ve been in America for less than an hour and already the local authorities are after you,” said a man in Chinese. He sat down opposite Kami. His hair was short and blonde and he was wearing a grey business suit. Reaching into his briefcase he pulled out his own Chinese tea set and began preparing his own tea.

“How do you know my name?” Kami asked, also in Chinese, as the waitress returned and set down a kettle of hot water. The man thanked her before pouring for first Kami, then himself.

“Well when you knock out airport security and then flee the scene you’re unlikely to go unnoticed,” the man remarked, taking a sip of his tea, “And then following I up by attacking a gang is a sure fire way to end up on the top of the local authorities list. I’m here to offer you a way to escape that.”

Kami took a slow draught of his tea before answering. “Why should I trust you?”

“Good question,” the man replied, “Well first of all I am being rude, I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Nigel Banks. I work for a man who disapproves of the current treatment of mutants in this country and is working to change the laws. He is currently offering a safe place for all mutants, and a chance to fight against this injustice.”

Kami thought this over as he finished his tea. “Very well,” he said, packing up his tea set, “I will go with you.”

“Excelent,” said Nigel, packing up his, “If you’ll come with me to my car, it is a long way on foot.”