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There was a science to Locke’s mutation. Not in the sense that he was moving throughout the periodic table of elements, or converting one gas to another. Instead Locke dealt with geology. The way that the earth stacked up underneath those trees was of importance to the teen. He would look at anatomy books in hopes of making his golems more efficient to move and maintain. Locke also knew a little about natural events that occurred with the earth. Growing up in San Francisco he would have to be an idiot to not know what caused a quake, and to not know the dangers of them was to ask for a death wish. Volcanos might not seem like they had anything to do with him. He didn’t live near one, and usually they are associated more with fire, but Locke had learned a little about them in his studies. Sometimes those earthquakes that Locke was so familiar with were what caused volcanoes to erupt. The fire that people thought of with lava wasn’t just liquid heat, it was liquid stone. Thankfully lava could sometimes be felsic, a fancy term meaning that it was made up of the same sort of materials that made up sand and quartz, both being a material that Locke could work with. If he could get past the scorching heat of over a thousand degrees. Forget about the fact that his lungs would collapse from the heat and kill him, he wouldn’t even be able to stand close enough to lava to do anything with it. This also was ruling out such hazards as air filled with a mixed cocktail of deadly toxins, the possibility of ash hot enough to burn through aircrafts, and tremors from the earth rushing up and out that he could not contend with. You cannot fight against nature.

Maybe that was what the problem was. All that they had been doing upon landing was to fight against the island in one way or another. Be it by reversing the quicksand, fighting off boars, or swatting at birds. Locke wasn’t going to be able to take down or stop a volcano from erupting, not if the process was already underway. The lava needed to go somewhere and the pressure was going to have to be released. Locke nodded his head to the plan, acutely aware of the danger that he was facing, perhaps more aware than others. Koga seemed to think that Locke could easily make a trench to divert the lava, but that still would require him to be in the danger zone. Given the choice though, he would rather risk death with his feet on the ground instead of in the air.

His mind was turning over possibilities. Would Cervantes be able to use the water at all so close or would he be super steam and not able to do anything? The last thing that the Californian wanted to do was to dry up the detective. Molehills and ditches were easy enough for Locke to do, it was what happened whenever he failed with a Fluffy, but he hadn’t tried to make a trench deep enough to lead anything away. But what else could they do? Once the volcano blew, the lava had to go somewhere. Slate, do you think you can connect my mind to the island’s? I’m kinda just talking to a hand with it. Maybe Jorge and I could lead the lava down and out? It’s pissed that we’re here right? Why not give it more space?

”It’s ok Kendra, really,” Locke said, shifting his new cell phone so that he could pin it between his shoulder and ear. His backpack that had survived this long with duck tape needed both hands free to pick it up. Inside it was over a hundred pounds of loose rocks and pebbles that Locke took whenever he was going someplace that might be dangerous. ”I’ve been living here for years now. It’s just moving from one building to another.” He paused while his step mom started to argue that she should be there to help him move into his dorm room, that he shouldn’t be starting college off without seeing his family. ”You said Mai’s got the flu, Chris is probably going to be coming down with it soon. Don’t fly out here for one kid when you’ve got two sick ones that need you.” Locke could understand why Kendra wanted to be there for him. She did care about him, and it probably meant a lot to her that he not only figured out what he wanted to go to college for, but had also been accepted to one. Hard to believe that eight years ago they didn’t know how they were going to get by. Hugo was gone, the twins needed constant care, and Locke’s health had taken a harsh blow. Both Kendra and the teen had emotional pain that had to be dealt with. For Locke it had just scabbed over, and it would take years for him to recover. And recover he seemed to have done. It still hurt him to think that his dad wouldn’t be there, but his throat didn’t have the vice on it anymore, and certain words were allowed to slip out. If nothing else proved that Locke was at last moving on with his life, his hair had remained short since he had cut it. There was no curtain or safety blanket for him to hide behind anymore.

”What am I doing later tonight?” Locke asked in response to Kendra’s question. He crouched down and grabbed the box that had a large portion of his clothes and his dvds. Locke would have to take a couple of trips to and from the Mansion to get everything. Of course if Kendra had been able to fly out there would be less of a need to do so, but the twins weren’t feeling well, and he really didn’t want to stress them out. Chris could get so needy when he was sick. ”Probably will just watch Saw.” Why on earth did Kendra want to know his plans for the night? For the past three years Locke had been on his own in New York and his plans at night were never very thrilling. His first college semester would be starting the next day and there wasn’t any homework that he had to do yet. ”Noooo… pretty sure that I’m not going to descend into debauchery,” he said, a little less exasperated than he would have been three years ago. The corners of Locke’s mouth even twitched a little into a smile. ”Hold on a sec?” Even with his cell phone pinned Locke couldn’t manage the campus dorm apartment’s door and the box at the same time. He’d been given three different keys. One opened the first outside door, the next one opened a second door that was in a foyer like thing, and the third was for his room itself. Locke fumbled with the keys, trying each one until he managed to get the door open. Apparently there was suppose to be someone in that foyer section that could electronically buzz the second door open, but at the moment they weren’t there. Using his body as a door stopper, Locke dragged his box into the foyer. ”Alright, I’m back.”

It occurred to Locke that hearing Kendra was getting to be harder the closer he drew to his dorm room. Someone had decided that the best way to fight against the dubstep was to blare their bad rap music louder. Well, there was going to be enough noise to keep him from having troubles sleeping, if he could fall asleep in the first place. ”Sorry, can’t hear you. Skype later?” he asked. One of the other inhabitants of the apartment building belched as they walked past. Locke stared as they went past, amazed that someone could be shaped exactly like a barrel. ”Yeah, eight your time. Tell Mai to get better soon for me? Alright, bye.” No sooner had Locke closed the cell phone than a plastic horn trumpeted. He looked about for the source of the sound, spying the love child of Shaggy and Kurt Cobain. The trumpeter used the vuvuzela as a pointer, the wide end aimed at the Californian.

“FRESH MEAT!”

I'd like to point out that if you would like to add some political chaos to it, there is Sledge. His mutation might not be the most visible, but he is from England and could pass himself off as a tourist if the need be. Police brutality on a foreigner would spark debate. Just look at what happened withElián González, and the political minefield that is Julian Assange. Granted in neither one of those cases the police abused the people. There were certainly sparks that flew about racial profiling in the aftermath of 9-11. I think I read somewhere about a British teen being charged for piracy or something like that, in the United States for using a file sharing program. Sledge has that innocent look to him too, and it's not as though he hasn't gotten hurt before. He also is muchly a con artist and would be willing to go along with a scam that the Order plans up.

There are things in the world that it is simply impossible to believe, even with the idea of a twist in genes making people levitate or play literal mind games. One such thing was that there was something worse than being on the jet. Like being in a jet that had lost an engine. When Slate tried to reassure Locke with that bit of knowledge, the Californian stared at him as though he had lobsters crawling out of his ears. How do you lose an engine? It's not like it goes anywhere and why didn't you make sure it was working the whole time?! Clearly Locke wasn't meant for the jet set life.

Being in the jet was bad, but not nearly as horrible as getting out of it. Yes, the sooner he jumped out the sooner he'd get to the ground. Just please, not too quickly. A second chute was provided to Locke and he eyed it warily. He set it down, grabbed his portable Fluffy, and wore that like a baby carrier. No way was he going to be going out of this plane without his companion. Now it was time for him to make his jump.

One one thousand. Two one thousand Locke had left the spare chute up in the Blackbird, holding onto his backpack for all he was worth. Just having the stones in it pressing up against his chest kept him from screaming. Either that or that he wasn't even sure that he could open his mouth. His eyes were watering as he plummeted and he kind of had to squint them. Three one thousand four one thousand. Ten seconds can seem like forever when you are dreading what will happen at the end of it. Time seemed to swell with each one thousand that Locke counted off. Five one thousand six one thousand. What was going on down on the beach? Those that didn't need the packs of floating were just standing around there. Were they waiting for Slate, Koga and himself? Seven one thousand, eight one thousand Was he suppose to aim for them? Koga had said when to pull the cord, and that if he needed help that Rebecca could help him. Locke didn't want to stop thinking those numbers though. The ground was coming at him fast, and for an instant he could feel what it must be like to be on the wrong side of Fluffy. Nine one thousand ten one thousand pull! Locke's hand flew free from the backpack easily, but getting it to the pull chord required him to fight against the breeze. For a frightening second, the most heart stopping moment Locke had ever experienced, nothing happened. He was still falling.

But nothing had gone wrong. Locke's parachute opened the way that it was suppose to. The teen just had expected an instantaneous halt. Instead of going down Locke was, rather painfully, jerked back up. If he was going to hurl the moment was passed. That sudden lift when his chute caught the air had pulled his stomach so rapidly that he didn't have time to lose what little breakfast he had managed. Oh yes, a parachute was worse than a jet, as impossible as it may seem. At least the jet's movements were comforted by foam seats.

Locke couldn't help it. Laughter fell out of him. Not a joyful, “That was a blast! Let's do it again!”, sort of laughter. Rather it was the “Holy crap on a cracker how am I not dead yet?” kind of laugh. The worse of the mission, to Locke at least, was almost over. All he had to do was drift back down to where he was suppose to be, like an oversized dandelion puff in summer. With his two feet on the ground he was going to be unstoppable.

And his services were required immediately. Cervantes and Saph looked to be sinking into the ground. Saph's descent made sense to the teen. He had to have hit the ground pretty hard and probably was in the crater that he had created. But Cervantes had landed in the ocean. Unfamiliar with the workings of his chute, Locke ignored the fact that he was covered with an inverted silk hammock. His mind was in the sand on the beach. Water was in it he'd bet. The sand had the bloated feel to it that it got whenever it was wet. Time for some math that Locke could actually do. Sand, plus water, plus high speed impact equals..”Quicksand?” he asked. Jorge was doing his best to get the water out of the sand, which was useful to Locke. It was at a mixture he felt more comfortable with. Large hands, each the size of a beach ball rapidly were forming at the edge of the quicksand. Locke was mixing what was safe to stand on with the less wet sand. ”Grab 'em,” the parachute that was Locke called to Jorge. Like Saph, Locke was aware of the danger approaching. He couldn't say what it was that the earth was being so kind to inform him of, but it weighed a good deal, and there was multiple things. Or at least something with many legs.

Becoming a trainee for the X-Men had been unbelievable. Locke had had to wander around in a Danger Room created desert and fight some form of pissed off scorpion on the way to getting water. Graduation from the trainee program was within his aim, graduation from high school already obtained. After years of dealing with emotional baggage, or at least acting as though he had, the teen was making his way not only into adulthood, but a new life.

Not nearly as frightening as the precursor of this ceremony.

Before even setting one foot on the jet Locke had been pale and shaking, looking very much as though he had just watched Samara’s tape and the long haired ghost was crawling out of the television. He was going to die before ever getting a grade in college. In his seat the entire flight, Locke had not moved an inch, looking much like he was carved out of the stones in his battered, duck tape repaired backpack. His knuckles had turned white with the tight clenching of the arm rests. As they were drawing near Mabaodi, his grip grew tighter, and the Californian felt a greater pressure on his chest. People died in plane crashes. Planes disappeared, they were torn apart, they crashed into mountains or oceans and all that would remain was a little black box that said what had gone wrong. Screw the fact that more people died from a car crash. The way he figured it, his odds of surviving a plane flight were nil. It was of very little (or no) comfort that he was sharing the trip with a mad man who he had to save from a gun fight, and a detective who was less effective at finding out who his stalker was than a disobedient nine year old. Ever the skeptic, Locke was looking at things with, to say the least, a unconvinced eye. At least if they crashed into the ocean Cervantes might be able to keep them from drowning.

”Locke,” he said through gritted teeth. He wasn’t angry at anyone, just trying very hard not to either vomit or groan. Jets were nearly as bad as boats, and once again the world was totally flat to him. He couldn’t even see half of those on the jet with him. No contact with the ground meant that Locke’s earth sense was turned off and he was not a happy camper about that. Resolving the disappearances he’d be alright with because it meant that he’d be where he was meant to be. Both feet planted firmly on the ground. ”I‘m not going to do us any good up here. Earth stuffs,” he offered as an explanation of his mutation.

Something that Saph had mentioned, in a brief moment that might have been a joke cause Locke to do a double take. "Wait, we're jumping out of this death trap?"

Since Locke's going to be at college, I can't toss him in, but Sledge could easily be blackmailed into escorting her to the school and playing the role of concerned uncle.

There was to Locke a big difference between getting one girl's attention and drawing in a crowd. Eaan purposefully sought out the attentions of the opposite gender, and because of that he did have a few followers. Locke's dad, as much as Locke could remember at least, didn't want that focus on him. For Hugo there could only be one lady, at least it always seemed that way. Maybe Locke didn't know much about dating, but he knew that he wanted something more sturdy than his best friend's revolving door of dates. He admired Eaan's confidence, but his dad's commitment was what Locke wanted to be like. Being the quiet guy in the background worked for Locke. It gave him the chance to quietly reflect.

"Alright, let's say I'm..." Locke trailed off, trying to figure out a plausible situation, "Let's say I'm suffering an aneurysm and actually manage to talk to her. Because, let's face it, with a healthy mind that isn't going to happen with me. How am I even going to ask her out?" Locke was clearly uncomfortable with just asking about it. He hated, absolutely hated, any uncertainty, and this was a brand new ballgame. His shirt sleeves didn't seem to be long enough, because Locke kept tugging them farther over his wrists. One foot kept stepping on the insole of the other. "You can't just ask the cashier out. There's a little thing called harassment. I kind of have to go into the book store every now and then."

Gina's play acting didn't address that issue. What if KD found him weird for asking her for a cup of coffee. After all he was just one of what had to be hundreds, no thousands of people who went into Barnes and Noble any day of the week. He would probably come off as some sort of deviant or psychopath if he just out and asked her. "And how do I know if she's not already dating someone?" he held up a finger to hold off Gina before she could answer that, "And don't say just ask her. I don't want to look creepy, and that just screams 'Stay away from dark corners around me!'"