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When he had first come to the United States, the man called Sledgehammer had been trying to escape his name in England. He had become too visible, too much of a presence on the police radar. Sledge wouldn’t have been in such a position the in the first place if he had been content with his lot in life the way his mum and da were. But it isn’t easy for a teen to accept being in poverty. Living each day having to playact like you had seen the popular TV shows, or hating that your uniform always looked like shite because you had no spare to switch between. Forget about spending any time with your mates or trying to impress a girl after school or on the weekend. Every stitch of clothing that had been provided for him was second hand. His parents did their best to make sure that there were no large stains and that any holes were mended, but that did nothing to hide the fact that nothing he wore was new. Clothes had been the first thing that Sledge pinched. He wanted so much to look like he wasn’t the son of factory workers.

Of course stealing clothes wasn’t enough to change who he really was. You can put lipstick on a pig but it doesn’t change the fact it lives in the mud. Sledge needed more things, and not just physical objects, but money as well. There were plenty of other blokes around the neighborhood and hanging about Charlie’s shop that didn’t mind liberating funds from people. Getting them to accept a scrawny kid like himself was hard. Sledge’s mum would confine David to the shop whenever he came home bruised and battered, claiming that he had a row with his mates. Half the times that she complained she didn’t know the extent of damage that her younger son had been through. Hospitals could be costly and Sledge didn’t want to let his parents in on what he’d been up to. Wounds had to heal in whatever fashion they could.

New York was suppose to be a change from all that. There were hundreds of success stories from people no better off than he who had made the long journey and started with nothing. For a time he had been one of those stories. Sledge had a flat of his own, not having to rely on his parents or his brother for shelter. No major run ins with the police, nothing that he was unable to talk his way out of or could be overlooked with a bit of ”persuasion”. There were girls from time to time to keep him from being lonesome. Money was no problem. Life had never been better.

And then it happened. The very thing that he had been blackmailed to prevent happened anyways, and Sledge knew the truth about what happened. It was the only source of pride the man had left. With New York City looking like a nuclear fall out his way of life had fallen back to what it was before. No, this was worse than England. At least in England what food Sledge found was identifiable as such. Picking his way through what had once been a gas station’s store, the man scratched his cheek. Holding that secret was the only thing that allowed him to feel greater than he was. Right now he felt the way
he looked. Grungy. There wasn’t much call for shaving in this new age, and David now had a beard, and his hair was no longer short. His flat had been looted, taking most of his clothes. What Sledge was able to find for warmth mad him look like some sort of army veteran he thought. Broken glass crunched under his feet as Sledge lifted a bit of drywall that had fallen. What he needed was some sort of food that was not raw meat, spoiled vegetation, or had in life been in the water. “Never realized how much shopping you do in a petrol station until they’re not ‘round righ?” he asked his companion

When he had been included in this scheme Sledge had expected that a bit of muscle had been required. While others may flash their power about, he need not go punching through every wall, the name spoke of what he was capable of. It wasn't that surprising to him that he'd be asked to participate for destructive purposes, after all, his enlistment had him knock some poor sod in the noggin with his silver hammer in hopes that it would knock some sense out. There was no delicate part of his power, no subtlety, and it annoyed him at times. His experience on the streets had taught him that you don't just go rushing in like. Pigeons flew away if you did so, and you wouldn't even get to keep the crumbs. He'd sneaked a peek at some more easily hidden powers and felt the touch of the green eyed monster. Didn't take him too long to remember though that had it not been for what he did, he'd probably be rotting away in a prison at Her Majesty's pleasure.

After seeing who he was partnered up with Sledge was glad to see it was his other talents that he was wanted for, the talents that he had been exercising since his teen years. One of them was physically incapable of speaking. Seriously. There hadn't been so much as a grunt from the mime. Why did it have to be a mime? Sledge was grateful for the chance to be used for something other than making holes and destroying things, but mimes were flat out wrong. Nobody sane liked them. You would think that there would be some sense of camaraderie since Sledge could be a street performer with his hat juggling, or at the very least, he made money running his three card monte games, but no. They gave him the abdabs. Maybe it was how they were always silent and their facial expressions had to be exaggerated. Or maybe it was that mimes were related to clowns and there had yet to be a single clown in history that was not to be feared. As far as his other companion, well. People weren't too fond of pit bulls because of their reputation and their teeth. Aurion could very well be a giant cuddly... thing, but appearances often dictated a response. No way would Sledge be letting them try to talk anyone into anything.

Walking around New York wasn't too bad. Sledge had grown up in the streets and did not fear the darkened alleyways. Nor did he care to carry a fire extinguisher. The man had some pride and did not want to seem the looby. Whenever they split up the Brit hid his extinguisher where he'd go back and pick it up. He failed to see how one little thing could help him when faced with an arsonist. There were fire hydrants he could just knock the top off should the need arise, and you don't have people staring at you, wondering how you fared on the sanity scale. One question kept cropping up in his mind as they took their own paths to find whoever this was they were working for. How would they call the others for backup should there be a need? He felt pretty confident in himself, and Mr. Alien/Lizard, could defend themselves, but what of the quiet one Dorian? Mimes weren't renowned for their fighting capabilities. Trapping themselves in invisible phone booths, struggling against wind, having anvils dropped on their heads (that was from cartoons admittedly), did not give him reason to believe that Dorian stood a chance on his own.

The prior night had been a total bust. Hours of wandering had brought only sore feet and the longing for his bed. About the only productive thing that had happened was the degradation of his liver. Sledge hadn't been a part of the working force that clocks out at five, or ten or whatever hour the factory shifts ended, so this was the closest he came to going to the pub after a day of hard labour. Tonight was shaping up to be the same. Sledge retrieved his extinguisher from where he had ditched it to go meet up with the others. This time he really was going to have to go back to his flat and get a decent night's sleep. That was until Dorian did his strange and creepy pantomiming and offered to buy drinks again. Eh, what the hell. It wasn't as though there was much for him to do during the day anyways. Once again Sledge set down his fire fighting device. Thing was heavy. He shrugged his shoulders. “Wouldn't be proper of me to turn down the invitation now woulddit?”

All day long Sledge had been wandering around the Sanctuary like a lost puppy. There was no rhyme or reason to where he chose to plod about. He just traveled whatever direction his head and feet were pointed, a sad look in his eyes, as he gently supported his left arm with the right. Of course the sling that immobilized his arm did a perfectly acceptable job of lifting it up. There was no need for him to hold on to it as though it would fall off, other than to bring comfort to himself. Using his powers was well and good, but trying a high speed punch when his arm was spent was ill advised, especially for this reason.

Still looking much like someone had kicked little Fido in the side, Sledge made his way into the rec room. Tucked into the sleeve of his shirt was a slip of paper which he had been periodically scribbling down numbers on. The sling was incredibly awkward and annoying, and it was making him break out in a rash underneath his shirt. Discomfort though was a small price to pay to walk about the Sanctuary without someone trying to get him to help out or send him off to do work. Should anyone suggest he do so he could simply point out that right now, should he use his powers, he'd incapacitate his good arm and then what good would he be?

Those numbers he had jotted down were the number of steps it took for him to travel from one point in a room to the other, or the length of a hallway. Sledge was gathering information about the Sanctuary slowly and informally. Nobody had asked him to do so, but he had the feeling that it was going to come in very handy in the future.

David took a slice of toast and nibbled it most politely, studying little Seyta. She was probably around Kaitlyn's age, which meant that he had pretty much no idea what to do with her. That girl Gina said that nail polish and body glitter were a given as far as gifts go, but that meant he'd have to dip into his stockpile of bribes for someone that he was hoping would turn back into an adult. For now she was a confused little girl who probably shouldn't be left alone. He wasn't going to bring her up to his apartment. The idea was to impress her, and inviting an underage girl up to his flat was simply going to reek of creepy. It wasn't common for him to ask birds over without there being some sort of adult desire, even if just for some more drinks. There had been beer in the fridge, which he had as well, but in Sledge's cupboards were other types of alcoholic beverages, most of which were of the hard variety. Additionally there were some things he had in his flat that he didn't particularly wish for her to see.

When Seyta said that she wanted to get to Salem Massachusetts, Sledge's mind started to wander away from thoughts of how to handle the little girl. He knew how to drive there, though he could not do it himself. Despite his spending many afternoons in Charlie's shop, the Brit did not have the foggiest idea of how to drive a car. Charlie had tried to get him to do some work, but all that David ever did was beg off and find a way to not participate. Cars had engines, brakes, and a petrol line, but that was the limit of their components that he knew of.

Yet again because his focus had been off from Seyta, Sledge found himself wondering what they had just been talking about. Enough that he had blanked on who this little girl was, but not enough that he wondered why he was eating toast with her. She had been crying, he could see the evidence of that. It was strange to see this small thing in clothes meant for an older, and taller, lady. This didn't look like someone playing dress up. "Where did your parents run off to?"

I cannot for the life of me draw Paul Dano. I don't know if it's because I can't find a reference picture that I like or if it's that his head looks weird to me. Anyways, here's a picture of Locke and Fluffy.

"A sarnie is an excellent start to the day when everything's gone pear-shaped," Sledge answered as he was granted entrance into the apartment. Giving her a bit of food meant that he would be able to eat as well, and after spending a weekend trying to avoid a serious medical emergency based entirely around food it sounded like the most appealing plan. "So much easier to think with a full stomach, wouldn't you agree?" Food was life. That's all there was to it. You can't function without it. Food also brought about comfort. For David nothing made him feel as warm and secure as a stomach full of lamb stew. It was the one shining moment about Christmas the way that his family presented it. Lamb stew meant home and seeing both his Mum and Da. The next best thing to the stew was a simple peanut butter and jelly sarnie. Lunchtime revealed a great deal about your home life. Buying a lunch was common place, but having a lunch from home meant something. It meant that someone cared enough for you that they sent you off with food they had made. Peanut butter and jelly was a classic, and as long as your parents understood the whole jams and jellies situation you were golden.

"Now where do you keep the peanut butter?" Sledge asked, pulling from the top of his grocery bag a loaf of wheat bread. The jelly no doubt was in the fridge, which meant that he was only in need of one critical element for their breakfast, which was actually a lunch item. Ah well, if one could consider pancakes and bacon an appropriate option for supper in the States why shouldn't lunch be moved up? Bacon and eggs was only to be eaten before ten in the morning in David's book, but he was game for a sandwich at any point in the day.

Whilst waiting for Seyta to reply on the peanut butter Sledge opened the fridge. There was the jelly, as he expected, and it was strawberry. Grape might be the more traditional option, at least there seemed to always be more brands of it and varieties at the grocer's, but traditions can get to be bland. "I can't claim to be a four star chef but I do alright with a loaf of bread and some basic staples," he addressed Seyta, his head poking about in the fridge for milk. Simple and timeless. Upon the discovery of the dairy product, Sledge turned back towards Seyta.

Maybe this was the Seyta he knew. Changed by some circumstances that he didn't know. Or maybe the woman he had those brief encounters with wasn't the real her, and he was only now seeing it. Mutants were on the rise and you couldn't always tell at a glance who was one. The milk carton was opened and he gave it an experimental sniff. Just as there was no guarantee that what you saw was what you get with "humans", milk was not always as good at first glance. Even the sell-by date could lie. This smelled fresh though, and he set it down on the counter.

"Not much in the way to drink in there," David said with a smile. Milk and beer did not exactly say "Child friendly". There had been no toys about, no teen magazines. On the whole nothing in the apartment gave any indication that a preteen lived there. The address on the license had matched up with their location, which meant that his Seyta did indeed live here. Somehow it was easier to believe that he was talking to a young version of her than to think that a kidnapping had occurred. And as cruel as it might sound, the con man was hoping that something had happened to Seyta which resulted in this young state. As an adult she had always seemed irked by him, but younger he had to be looking more like a good guy. If this situation was to be fixed somehow perhaps he'd be in her good graces for a change.