It'd been close to two weeks since the Whitfield residence had been hit. Six million dollars in jewels and rare coins. More, it was history. Jewelry commissioned by the royal family, coins printed with the kings face. Two enthusiastic entrepreneurs thought they'd gotten away with it. The woman was in her early twenties, tall, blonde, blue-eyed and painfully gorgeous. Her boyfriend looked like a bald Irish Gimli. He was barely five feet tall, barrel chested and lumbering in his gate. He wore a mangled beard of bright orange hair, his head was shaved, and his face had the look of a man who'd gotten in a fight with a cement wall and won. 

He'd been tracking their moves for several days and found their second story apartment, over a local bookstore and coffee shop, earlier in the day. By rights, he could have called the police and been done with it. There were two problems with that, the first being he wasn't 100% sure the jewels were inside. He'd need to get in there and look around to be sure. The second problem was he hated cops. 

He sat at a small table across the street at a pizzeria. It was a cramped New York pizzeria with bright red booths and he stuck out like a green thumb. 

He wore a full wool coat that hung by his ankles. Silver dress pants, silver vest and silver shoes of rhino leather. From a distance the best looked to striped, up close it had micro stitching with his full name, and the name of his company. Six buttons of carved obsidian and two small pockets. He wore ballistic armor beneath a shirt of  black Egyptian cotton and a black silk tie with reflective black stitching to replicate Rembrandt's "Christ on the Sea of Galilee Storm". 

He also had guns, one smith and Wesson strapped to his left ankle, and two 9mm's strapped in hidden holsters on his lower back. They were Israeli designed Baby Eagles, the best double tap combat pistol he'd ever fired. His wool coat held extra ammo, two flash bang grenades, and a collapsible baton. He also had his special briefcase. 

Across the street the runty Irishman and his out-of-his-league girlfriend were laughing as they got into a black van and drove off. Thomas smiled and stood. He picked up his hat, black on silver, dropped a twenty dollar bill for an eight dollar meal and exited the pizzeria. 

Perhaps he could have called the police, or dressed in camo and snuck in at night. Maybe he could have made a flashy costume and kicked the door down while they were still home. This was better, a fifteen thousand dollar suit to steal six million. He crossed the street expecting cars to move for him, they did. 

He passed a cute girl with purple skin, or under skin, flashed her a smile and gave her a wink. The area was known for having more than a few mutants, specifically the freaky looking ones, thats why the rent was so cheap for the humans who chose not to move away. 

It only took five minutes to pick the lock, find the safe in the closet under the pile of dirty laundry and see the combination. Seven minutes after entering the building he walked out with a briefcase worth six million. 

The black van was back.

The tall blonde was getting out, but Thomas didn't want them to see his face. He sat down quickly with his back to the van. If he was a little lucky, he'd only need to stall a few minutes. He found himself sitting across from the purple girl. "Hello," he said, "I'm Thomas. You should let me buy you coffee." 

It had been a week since Skydancer had been rescued from the streets and gone to The Mansion although it seemed like a lot longer than that had passed. She still hadn't gotten over her distrust of the place or the apparently altruistic people who ran it, mainly because she know longer believed altruism existed. For the time being, however, she was content with biding her time until she could discover what their true motivations were and where she stood in the whole situation. Really, what more could she do other than returning to the streets where she was miserable, hungry and cold? That was no kind of life to live and even knowing she was probably secretly being used or being groomed to be used for something was better than returning to that. For the moment at least.

The only way Skydancer was ever going to have a chance to actually get out of the potentially constricting situation, she decided, was to actually start learning to once again interact with the world at large. She had met two mutants recently, two freaks like her, both reptiles and between the two of them, she had actually started to feel like maybe, just maybe, there was a chance to make the best of her situation. It was never the fact that she was a mutant that bothered her; she truly did love her powers. It was the fact that she was a freak and a monster and no matter where she went or what she did she would feel the judgement, fear and hatred of the humans around her. But if her two reptile friends (if they could be called that since she didn't exactly know them well) could make the best of it, then she had to at least try herself. Especially Dahlia, the sweet little lizard who had only been a mutant for a very short while. Her optimism was a true inspiration.

The first thing Skydancer wanted to do was to acquire herself a wig. Just because she had no hair didn't mean she couldn't get herself some fake hair. So, dawning a long trench coat, gloves, dark glasses and a wide brimmed hat, she left the safety of the Mansion walls and went into the city. She had asked around and been told about an area of the city that was more accepting of mutants and that's exactly where she planned to go in order to get her wig. Surely someone there would be more understanding and willing to help with her own rather unique dilemma. Hair wouldn't' solve the whole purple skin problem, but it would at least make her look a little more normal. And maybe she could even get some heavy duty makeup to hide her purple skin too.

While walking to her destination, Skydancer received a smile and a wink from a young man passing her on the street. Aside from some momentary confusion as to why anyone would do anything vaguely flirtatious in her direction, she didn't pay much attention to him. This was a big city, after all, and everyone was out doing their own things. What concern of hers was it really?

Deciding she needed a small break from all the walking, Skydancer sat down on a bench and simply watched the world around her for a few minutes. Startled, she suddenly realized the man who had winked at her before was now sitting beside her and offering to buy her coffee. Trying to mask her surprise, and mostly succeeding, she replied in kind. "Skydancer. And why would you want to buy a freak like me coffee?" Her tone was only slightly self-deprecating, the edge taking off with the smile she offered to accompany it.

"Tsk task Skydance, we mutants should not be so fast to put ourselves down. Only gives the humans license." Though he was looking at her, he was paying attention to a lot more. The blonde girl had just gone inside, the stout Irishman was singing loudly off key to some Irish rock song, and about a dozen people were mulling about on the block, mostly in couples and groups. He hadn't been too concerned with covering his tracks, so he only had a minute or two before she realized the safe was empty. If he played it calm, he could still walk away without spitting copper. 

"As to why, look at me!" He gestured his hands broadly. "Black shirt, black tie, silver suit, and pasty white skin,"he said with a bright wide grin. He wasn't quite pasty white, but it was spring and he sure wasn't tanned. "You know what I need in my life? Color. And you're a gorgeous shade of purple." 

He stood then, his two minutes counting down fast in his head. He was careful to keep his back to the van. "Come with me, I know the best place to get coffee in town, and I can guarantee a fun time" He offered his gloved hand and smiled once more. Sitting down had served the purpose now he had to get moving, he'd look less suspicious with the girl on his arm, but not so much less to waste time. 

"Tsk task Skydance, we mutants should not be so fast to put ourselves down. Only gives the humans license."

Everyone, it seemed, was more posative about the whole mutant thing than Skydancer was. Then again, Thomas probably had it a lot easier than her. Whatever his power was, and she had learned enough that she knew she couldn't begin to guess by appearance alone, at least he blended into a crowd. None of those who fit in could fully understand what it was like for the freaks among the mutant kind. None of them.

"As to why, look at me!" He gestured his hands broadly. "Black shirt, black tie, silver suit, and pasty white skin. You know what I need in my life? Color. And you're a gorgeous shade of purple."

"I appreciate the sentament, Thomas, truly I do." Skydancer flashed him a grin. It was easier when the person she was talking to wasn't put off but the fact that she was purple; it made her almost feel human again. "But why would you ever want to be purple or even be associated with a purple woman? We colourful mutants aren't well liked you know." What was his game? Anyone who was willing to flirt with her, in broad daylight, wasn't to be trusted. When she still looked human, well, that might have been different but she had learned a lot in the short time she had been a mutant. She had learned not to trust.

"Come with me, I know the best place to get coffee in town, and I can guarantee a fun time"

Skydancer looked around suspsiously, while trying to keep her glances subtle. Something was up, she could feel it, but nothing seemed out of place. Was it possible that he was, in fact, just wanting to go for something purely innocent like coffee? Doubtful. But maybe worth the risk anyway. "If you don't mind a few stares following us and you're buying, how could I possibly say no to a charming offer like that?" Another charming smile was offered in his direction.

> “If you don't mind a few stares following us and you're buying, how could I possibly say no to a charming offer like that.”

Thomas barked a short laugh. “Sky, I’m wearing a suit worth more than a years rent for most of the apartments on this street. I’d be offended if no one stared at me. As to humans not liking our kind, I have to quote the late great Clark Gable; frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.” He took her hand and lead her away. His gaze though sought out the reflection in a nearby window. The blonde burglar wasn’t back yet, good.

“But there is a topic far more relevant and important to a day with weather this fine that needs our immediate attention. Did your parents name you Skydancer, do you fly, or are you just an outstanding dancer?” He shifted the briefcase in his hand, the weight pulling at his shoulder. He pulled it in as close to his body as possible, trying to keep his wool coat between the case and the van.

He seemed a little full of himself and that wasn't exactly a trait that endeared Skydancer to people, although the fact that he was open to talking and not judging Skydancer was a counterpoint to that particular trait. Watching him, Skydancer was beginning to get the distrinct impression that something was up, if only she could figure out what that something was.

“But there is a topic far more relevant and important to a day with weather this fine that needs our immediate attention. Did your parents name you Skydancer, do you fly, or are you just an outstanding dancer?”

The question distracted Skydancer from her suspicions. "Skydancer is the name I gave myself. The name my parents gave me was Devyn but it just didn't seem appropriate anymore. As for flying..." Skydancer shook her head and smiled. "Not exactly. But it wouldn't be so far off as to say I can dance in the sky."

Thomas' actions caused Skydancer to glance down at the briefcase, a frown on her face. But of course, there was nothing unusual about that, nothing unusual at all, so why did she feel slightly uneasy about the whole situation. "So, what about you? What can you do?" Didn't quite seem fair to be the only one to hint at fantastic gifts.

> "Skydancer is the name I gave myself. The name my parents gave me was Devyn but it just didn't seem appropriate anymore. As for flying... Not exactly. But it wouldn't be so far off as to say I can dance in the sky. So, what about you? What can you do?"

“Me?” Thomas hadn’t told anyone an honest truth about his power since he was sixteen. “I have an empathic ability to track people,” he lied. The lie came out easy and smooth, it was an easy lie to tell when he’d not spoken the truth in his entire adult life. It was hard to express on the one hand, as it felt like giving away an edge, but also partially because it was a fundamentally unprovable power. He had his back lightly on her mid-back leading her down the sidewalk at a slightly quicker than natural pace. “Let’s just say if hide and seek was accepted as an Olympic sport, I’d win the gold medal.”

That’s when the blonde woman stuck her head out the top story window and started shouting. His two minute guess was off by about a minute, he hadn’t considered she’d shout out the window. “Someone broke into our apartment! They’ve got to be real close!” the woman shouted. Her voice carried well and a pained face struck Thomas’ face.

“Don’t look back dear, just keep walking. No worries, just walking. I guaranteed a memorable time right? Don’t forget to keep smiling.” Behind them the Irish man lumbered out of his van and began bellowing about in a heavy Irish accent.

Skydancer had no reason to believe that Thomas was lying to her about his power, so she didnt' think twice about it. Hiding something he may have been, but use use could he have to hide the nature of his power? "Sounds like you could be a useful person inthe right situation. Could you track down wanted criminals?"

“Someone broke into our apartment! They’ve got to be real close!”

Skydancer half turned her head to get a better idea what was going on before she was counselled to keep walking and look normal. She listened to the advice, grudgingly, keenly aware of the fact that mutants like her were likely to be blamed for crimes for no other reason than the fact that they were mutants. If only she looked normal, just like everyone else, maybe then she wouldn't have to worry. The wig was supposed to help with that, but that didn't apear to be happening now.

Keeping her voice low and trying to remain casual, Skydancer continued to walk as she spoke. "What do you know about what's going on? Talk and be honest, you're power might not be too dangerous but I gaurantee that mine is." She wasn't used to being in a position of making threats and wasn't certain just how effectly it came off, but it had the advantage of being true. She had injured people with her tubes before and she could do so again, if it came to that.

> "Sounds like you could be a useful person inthe right situation. Could you track down wanted criminals?" 

"I'm useful in all situations my dear," he replied with a cocky smile. "Though you are quick to guess my profession. Thomas Regal, of Regal Consulting, stolen asset recovery extraordinaire, at your pleasure." He looked back one last time. "Funny you should bring that up."

> "What do you know about what's going on? Talk and be honest, you're power might not be too dangerous but I gaurantee that mine is."

"And the self-deprecating girl shows some fiesty!" Thomas laughed, a big smile spreading across his face. "I'm sure you are dangerous girl, without a touch you've wounded me and made me weak at the knees." Right or wrong, Thomas was not going to take a girls threat seriously. He wouldn't cower before the power of purple, whilst wielding the copper and lead. 

"Short answer, they stole six million in jewels, and now I got em. My car's around the corner, as long as we don't give ourselves away we'll be sunshine and wine." 

"'Ey Ride," the Irishman bellowed towards his girlfriend still with her head out the window. "Iv got 'im, the plonker w'theh bahg!" The accent was awful. Thomas barely understood every other word. It was as if a drunken leprechaun was chewing on marbles. Fighting his instincts he turned around, he couldn't keep on walking away unsure if the guy was talking about him. 

It was a bad decision. The instant he turned around he saw that everyone else on the street was already looking. The Irishman was pointing in the other direction, but the instant he turned around, the beautiful blonde girlfriend started pointing at Thomas. "There Stout, the man in black! He was the only one not to look when I started shouting, then he turned afraid when you did!" 

Darn. 

Thomas turned fully to face them, he was still smiling. From behind he pulled out his Baby Eagle pistol. He didn't raise it or aim, just held it relaxed at his side. "No worries. I'm dangerous too," he said to Skydance. "Just walk away boyo, I'm no cop, so no jail. Just walk away. And as for you girlie, you could do better. A lot better." 

That's when the Irishman, shimmering a bit, lifted the van and threw it. The blonde girl faded away, invisible, teleporting, or something else, Thomas hadn't a clue. 

Damn.

Now Thomas' smile did fade.  He pushed Skydancer and himself out of the way, himself winding up on the ground. The van struck concrete and slid into a parked Mazda Miata. "Actually girl, now's probably a bad time for coffee. Might be you should start running."

It bothered Skydancer, just a bit, that her threats of violence weren't taken seriously. It wasn't that she was a particularly violent person or that she even really enjoyed being violent, but one of the few advantages that actually came with being one of the freaks is that people were afraid of her. Or at least that was an advantage when she actually wanted people to be afraid of her, which was actually rarely, but in those rare occasions it almost served to make up for the fact that people were usually afraid of her even when she didn't want them to be.

Of course, then there was the admition of being a jewel thief and Skydancer was pretty sure she didn't buy his whole, liberating from the real thief explanation. "I think I'd rather not be going into your car." Yes, she was pretty sure that much was true until the thought occurred to her that he had just admitted to stealing $6 million in jewels that may or may not have been stolen from the real thieves and the question then became, as a mutant with exceptional powers, did that make her responsible for stopping him?

"'Ey Ride, Iv got 'im, the plonker w'theh bahg!"

The words were not exactly comprehensible but Skydancer was pretty sure that made her moral quandary a moot point. The van being thrown cemented that point and if Skydancer had time to feel gratitude at Thomes shoving her out of the way of the flying van and probably saving her life, she would have.

"Running sounds like a very good plan," Skydancer agreed, allowing herself to be pulled up. Running is exactly what she began doing, looking above as she ran in hopes of finding some sort of bar or small object she could wrap her tubes around to pull them both up to something resembling safety. Because, jewel thief or not, if he had saved her life it was only fair she return the favour, if she could.

>  "I think I'd rather not be going into your car."
Thomas was about to reply, but events behind him took off. 

> "Running sounds like a very good plan," she agreed.

Thomas rolled to his feet, grabbed Skydancers's hand and helped her up. The Irish mutant was now barreling down the street. Thomas lifted his, loaded with rubber slugs, and shot twice. Two rounds bounced off the man's chest with hardly a notice. 

Thomas pulled out his other Baby Eagle pistol, this one loaded with live rounds, and fired again. Again, they bounced off, this time Thomas noticed a distinct reflective sheen where they bounced off. 

"What the f***?!," Thomas cussed as he turned around to run after Skydancer. "Super strong and a force field?" He cussed again as he ducked beneath a flying stop sign. "We need to get off the street," he called, meaning they should duck into one of the buildings they were running past. He didn't know how many more things he could safely dodge. 

Skydancer hadn't had much experience with guns and never had a particularly high opinion of them, but right at that moment she was quite thankful that Thomas thought otherwise. Of course, the fact that their enemies apparently had super strength and force fields wasn't something that really worked in their favour. At all.

Out of the corner of her eye, Skydancer spotted what she was looking for. A bar sticking out of the side of a building ahead of them, about 2 stories up. Across from that building was another, much taller building with barred balconies, the type that was easiest to grab onto and climb up. If they couldn't fight their pursuers then maybe, just maybe, they could outrun them. After all, what were the chances they could scale buildings as well as Skydancer could?

"Give me your hand I'll get us up and out of here," Skydancer yelled to Thomas. She was profoundly thankful, right at that moment, at her years of gymnastics training. It might be a little different than long distance running, but at least she had the fitness not to be too out of breath.

> "Give me your hand I'll get us up and out of here," Skydancer yelled.

Thomas looked to her, and then towards a glass door fifteen feet away from them, splitting up might be a good option. He felt a little guilty getting the poor little girl caught up in a violent street fight. Then he looked back towards the Irishman Stout.

“Queck shuitin' so oi c’n club yah. So f’yah’ll beh keepin it I’ma beatin yer head wit me beeg shillelagh stieek!” Stout shouted. His voice was deep and and grumbling, like angry thunder on a quiet night. And like Thunder echoing through the night sky, there was no meaning in it.

“What are you saying?!” Thomas shouted back. “If you don’t start talking english I’ll shoot you in your face!”

“Ooh, yiv git meh uhpto neenty!” Stout roared in return.

Thomas put away his first gun and leveled his second. He squeezed off three more shots, these two at the Irishman’s face. Both shots hit home with the same flash of reflective light, this time it had some impact: the man lost stumbled and growled.

Deciding with disgust that his gun was useless he grabbed Skydancers arm, just above the wrist and squeezed. He didn’t understand how she danced in the sky without flying, but he didn’t want to face plant the concrete. “Show me your dance moves girl, but be quick eh?”

Stout stopped running to grab a 2002 Chevy impala parked on the side of the street. It was cherry red and in pristine shape. “Transa ort féin!” he shouted, no more coherent than before, just before he hefted the impala in their direction.

It was becoming a depressingly common occurance for Skydancer to be involved in potentially life or death situations. Between almost being sacrificed to an M addicted human cult to more than one incidence of dealing with bigoted humans thugs and now somehow being dragged into someone's else's crimes, it was becoming something of a lifestyle for her.

Skydancer didn't much care what the man chasing them was saying, she just wanted him not be be chasing and/or trying to kill them. She didn't need to be told twice, however, to get the two of them to safety when Thomas gave his permission. A moment later, three tubes burst from her flesh, two at the base of her neck and one from her side. The adrenaline from the situation was such that she barely even felt the sharp pain of the tubes puncturing her skin.

"Hold on tight and keep that gun firing to keep those guys off us," Skydancer warned. In truth, the holding on tight part wasn't really necessary. The tube from her side wrapped itself tightly around Thomas, securing him easily in its grip. She was careful not to tighten to much and risk suffocating him. Simultaneously, one of the tubes at the base of her neck reached up and wrapped itself around the bar. A couple of large swings later and the second tube on the other side of her neck attached itself to the higher balcony of the building across from them. It was possible to simply lift herself on her tube because the tube itself had more than enough strength, but she found swinging to be more effective and less of a strain on the rest of her body.

Thomas wasn’t an easily scared man, Fallujah had seen to that, but he could still be creeped out and tubes popping from the lady’s flesh were certainly creepy. As much as he wished he’d been born with a flashier power, he was grateful not to have been cursed with being a freak.

> "Hold on tight and keep that gun firing to keep those guys off us,"

Easier said than done, he had one hand on his briefcase, one hand on her, and one hand short to keep firing his gun. Then she wrapped one her tubes around him and he supposed he had to trust her. “Just don’t drop me girlie.” He released her arm and pulled his gun back out. He was about to shoot, when his body was jerked hard as she started swinging. The Impala stuck the sidewalk and slid into a dry cleaning store, he didn’t see anyone die, but he also didn’t see anyone walk away.

Down the street a motorcycle raced towards them. Just a motorcycle, no rider. It was a bright red crotch rocket from kawasaki, Thomas owned one very much like it, he didn’t really like motorcycles, but he’d seen it for sale and bought it anyway. His didn’t drive it self, and he doubted this one did either. He was about to shoot at the motorcycle when the Irishman picked up another car, this one a civic, so he aimed his fire at him and missed every shot. It was a lot harder to hit a midget fifty yards out while dancing in the sky than perhaps one might suspect. The civic, bright teal, was up and in the air arcing just ahead of them while the driverless motorcycle quickly overtook them, and Thomas wasn’t sure which would be more dangerous. That’s when a bullet struck his briefcase and ricocheted off, and he guessed the invisible driver had an invisible gun too. He fired at the motorcycle’s driver not knowing if he was hitting her. “Car!” he shouted “Flying civic! Duck!”