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He started walking around to get his thoughts in order, to make a plan. What would he tell the legal aid from the embassy? His steps reverberated through the hallway amplifying in intensity, until he finally decided, that it was no good. This walking would only make things worse for both himself and the other prisoner. Crouching himself on the mattress, he found, that there were more inhabitants to it, then just one mutant human. The little bugs that were crawling away from the light he simply let be and relocated himself calmly to the wall on one side of he door. There was better speaking there anyways, though it was pretty cold. All he got for his efforts at serenity was another shock, which was commented by a hissing noise. Who had invented these things? Oh no... These were not... He remembered Sarah talk about concentration camps and restraints.

But there were much more pleasant matters at hand then the things around his hands luckily. And his voice sounded quite friendly as he started talking.

“Oh they were somewhat surprised, that I did not reveal my x-gene to them on first sight. Apparently it is courteous to do so. They were... not pleased.”

Courteous and necessary on those forms he had to fill out as he came into the country anyways. If they found those he would be in real trouble. And seeing that they were connected with his fingerprints he was surprised, that they hadn't already. And unpleasant, yes, that had been one word to describe it. He had been given a few rants on what a good citizen should do. Not that mutants were much of citizens, but they had a responsibility supposedly. He had felt calm during the whole bunch of it and not stirred an inch, he had not even acknowledged their existence really, which had just made them furious. Furious with their own lack of power to make him comply. Furious with their lack of skill at discovering mutants and therefore themselves for trusting their vision. -Ho could that scrawny boy have posed any threat? Quite simply actually- Furious with mutants for dispatching so many officers effortlesly. Furious. They were angered children really. They did not comprehend him, nor did they comprehend the depth of his ability. That he did not comprehend much himself. But they still wanted to play in his league and they could not. Furious.

“I will be honest with you. If I had had the chance to disappear I would have. I do not care much for being expelled from the country.”

Which was a plausible consequence for this encounter, that he did wish for all too much. He had already gotten fond of this city and would not endanger his foothold here so easily. But now that matters had gotten out of hand.... Why had they gotten out of hand really? Because he had not been able to keep himself composed. This mistake would not happen again all too soon.

“I'm Martin.”
So there was not only someone there, but the girl that had been taken with him. This thing was really getting ironic. Or maybe it wasn't. He was a mutant, she was a mutant and both were here in that cell block. His voice was getting... hollow, empty. And that was not only the result of those walls around him. Oh $%&$ those armbands.

“You could call me a time manipulator.” He let out a small laugh. A dry laugh. It was an echo to her own lacking any amusement. “But that sounds quite grand. Basically there is a good chance that anyone who comes in contact with my skin becomes locked in time with me. Thats why I don't want people touching me. ”

Now she knew that bit of his powers. And the other one... was #ouch# useless now anyways, so why bother telling her? He looked at his hands uneasily. He hadn't really seen his own skin in a long time and he did not enjoy that feeling of air and grease on his fingers.
His gaze also fell on the door. A few more steps and he was standing there in plain sight of Ghost, who had been thrown in a cell diagonally across from his. He waved at her.

Yes he stood in the middle of a huge mess of concrete floor and steel bars. He was deeply unsettled both by thoughts and acts of the past hour. And he waved at Ghost with an old familiarity and a friendly grin. They both wore the same armbands. They were the same.

The warmth of her fingers was seeping slowly through the leather to his fingers. He didn't even care that she touched him. It would in all possibility feel sleek and cold to her. A warrior was she? A fighter? Maybe. His voice sounded calm and steady. Unlike he felt really, and his fingers clearly gave those feelings away.

“Thank you.”

The gratefulness in his voice was just a little too much, as if he wanted to make her forget the lapse with the glass, but then her next words came through to him and the glass fell on the ground in a clang that told of its breaking. His words were those of complete disbelief.

“They did... WHAT?”

Now he was on his feet. The sound of his voice complete disbelief, quickly turned to an icy cold. The implications of such a foolish and dangerous act were obvious.
“How terribly stupid of them.”

Here more blood had been split, then at home. Here they had done the unthinkable.

“At home they never would do such things. There it was quiet. Some simply vanished and it were not many. Someone did not want to look suspicious.”

He shook his head as the old memories washed over him a second time and threatened to overwhelm him, yet he continued.

“How did the people let it happen? How could they?”

Never again. Never!

Help he cried. Help.
Had someone heared?
When would it arrive finally?
Help.
His heart was aching. People were walking in his direction, unable to see the hole in the ground, that had opened there a few minutes ago. It lay directly in their path, shovel stills ticking in a heap of earth at its side. They were coming closer now.
Help.
They had heard him apparently, for there was a stir among them. Yelling and pointing in his direction. He desperately waved his arms. He even took his red shirt of and waved. Dont come here. Go away! More pointing and waving from their side followed.
They started running in his direction.
He closed his eyes as friendly faces faded into darkness.

It hand been another dark night. Another dark day. His sleep was getting more and more uneasy the more he stayed in this city it seemed. The sound of his steps on the concrete walkway was inaudible, because he was walking at one of the main traffic lines. Cars standing on several lanes were honking and stinking and screaming lay in the air. It truly was to be screaming. People did not hesitate, when bumping into each other, but continued on their ways without a second glance – but only after affirming the presence of their wallet or purses- at the person who had been so careless.

People went by unbothered. A totally normal day in New York.

He could not stand it.

For once the prospect of becoming someone like these people made him feel uneasy. Not afraid, but certainly uneasy. It was a feeling, he was not accustomed to having to deal with. He already was blending in far too well with the crowd, wide steps he took in exact proportion of the ones the person before him was. He had even mastered the subtle laws of subway transportation to some extent. No more run ins with angry ladies or worse -canes-. A fact of which he was quite proud. That feeling could not change the little bit of bad feeling, that leaped nagging at the back of his mind. And to make things even worse, he had still not gotten a real job. The job interview a certain lady had gotten him had been rotten by the fact that this possible future employer wanted him to get into contact with groups of tourists for he had no formal training in gardening. Well he had actually, but pulling out a gardening license from some five years prior, would make him appear quite ridiculous. There were some inherent problems with his condition of looking as he did, that he had not yet found a way to work around elegantly. Instead of declining outright, he had instead asked for time of consideration, which he was then granted. He did not really have a choice now, did he?

So he had walked into Central Park to relax. He just wanted to find a little peace right now, so he ignored most other travelers. He even ignored the fact that there were none any more, as it was getting dark in a blink. The last rays of the sun fell trough the trees leaves, illuminating the paved walkway with a strange display of light and shadow. A sunset in a park, that through the history had been renown for not only being a refuge to stressed New Yorkers, but also to the petty misfits of society. What would this night bring...

What would await him here?

So she understood his little game. In a way he had not anticipated it. Yes she was a mutant, but he was one of the better examples himself, of how those little gifts could affect the workings of the mind. Alas a cat would be able to hear the undertones of his voice easily- or the overtones for that matter. And this one had not shown all her claws with the warning earlier. Not in any way he could think of at least. So he gave her a small smile. Was it a reward for him, or for her? Just these little ambiguities made them so much fun.

And then came a question, that he had not posed himself very often. How bad was it really? If you have nothing to judge it by, bad doesn't look so bleak any more. His statement was quite business like. Friendly, noncommittal. Did he really commit himself to anything lately?

“Oh you put too much weight on my opinion with that question.” Well no one seems to see it, but it is there. Was there?

He was crouching in the shadows of an alley in his beloved haven. Lately there had been rumors, that warned of them, for here mutants were building their territory, one fighting the other, gangs forming alliances and breaking them again. Out of sight enough not to be noticed on first glance, secluded in the very heart of the city there was war. And today a pair of gray stones had come to investigate. All he saw though were few stains of blood on walls, the lingering metallic smell. His hands and eyes were searching for the source, but it could not be found any more. This battle was over. But the winner was unknown.

“I will give you facts: Blood and tears are running in the streets like rivers, yet no one is inclined to notice them. Do you really want me to count those in numbers?”

If she wanted he would. It was not his blood. Not his tears. Those had been shed long ago. The small clacking of glass was rebounding throughout the room. It came from the glass in his hand, in which a storm seemed to have whipped up waves in the water, since its container was shaken by an earthquake.

He could feel time pass in slow seconds, drawn out by him intentionally, to regain control of himself yet a little more -Control was what he needed now to stop this pathetic show of weakness, emotions, distress-, when he heard the voice of a man in brooming sounds.

>>Iii thoooouught youuuu weerree juuust leeeavingggg? Ooorr waaas one victiiim not eeeenoughhh forrr oneee niiiight? <<

A different voice it was now, a male speaking into the night. More of a disco right now though, for the stroboscope lights were still flashing overhead and the basses booming. All with a certain laziness that came with prolonged time of their existence. But he now had almost constant light.
It was the content of those words, that made his already racing heart miss a beat. Yes, victim. But three people on one night? He was really having horrible luck. Well he was horrible anyways, so his luck just went with it it seemed.

He spun around instantly, well he tried. He still had not released his grip on the girls arm as she spoke her calming words. They were but a whisper in his ear, but a wisp of such reassurance, that he could easily pick it out from the background noise. A warm feeling was creeping about in his stomach, where previously the worms had been digging around. It was pure kindness he was experiencing here, and he was grateful for it. Now that he had somewhat compose himself again, his thoughts started working in their normal pathways again. It was as if he awakened from a dream, slowly pulling back into the waking world.

rm, well where was that arm anyways? And where was his hand? He could not feel it any longer, a strange sensation it is, when something that does not even belong to you rightfully suddenly disappears. It still is a loss that is noticeable, maybe even more so, because it is not your own that is lost. It was there again quickly, yet something had changed. The hand, that it had held formerly, was now gone and again in tight control by its actual owner.

A mutant owner this had to be, otherwise this would not have been possible. His grip was not strong, but that kind of numbness did not come out of nowhere. So why did she not do anything during the next events, but become palpable? There was no one here, who would notice her using her power, but him. Though he was unsure, what her powers were at all. Maybe they did not work for fighting. That had to be it. She had to know best herself. And apparently she did, as she easily disarmed him.

And so did he for himself. When the guy knocked her away from him, he wanted to step in.

But a lady in the gutter? Murder? This was getting a whole lot worse then he had expected. Murder was beyond him. He had killed people in ways other people might not see as such, yes. He had killed people in accidents with his powers, yes... -Well driven them insane at least- But he had never committed one murder in his entire lifetime. Another missed heartbeat this was.

She obviously knew her way around fighting much better then he did, so he let her be for a second or two more. This little time was enough for the man to kick Ghosts side, and the girl went on the ground in another instant.

Well crept would be a better word from his viewpoint. Times progression was almost nonexistent. This was his way to fight. It was a little bit like a chess game, where you had a certain time to think about your moves, and then make them, while your better opponent gets less time for him to think. Just evening out the chances it was. His think time was the time from the beginning of one move, to its completion. And there he went, before Ghosts body had even hit the ground his mind was made up.

“Look: I don't know, what you are talking about, but if you want to fight, choose someone your size.”

His taunt was ironic really, for his very scrawny self was no match for the officer, that was probably in top physical condition. While he completed his words, the last steps in front of the girl were taken. For his action he got a confused look first. This was just so wrong. So very wrong.

“Looks like you're resisting a police officer. Oh I will get you good, scum.”

His words dripped with the self confidence of an experienced officer. This one was absolutely sure, that he was right and even more so about his own superiority. He was so sure, that he would probably be blind for anything that did not fit into his view of their guilt anyways. One more reason to get this done with. This man was almost maddened by the thought of an arrest. But this time there would truly be resistance.

And so the game began with a classical opening. In the light of a flash, one could see the officer starting to charge at the opponent to try to get a good hold on him. At least that was, what the officer was trying. But somehow, where he had focused on gripping the felon, there was only thin air. The criminal had ducked away from him and had started an attack of his own. A gloved hand gotten hold on the outstretched arm, that had been so intent on clinging to anything in its wake, but it was from below and to the wrist. Making sure his grip was tight for a split second, Martin then pulled at it with all his physical strength, leaning forward in the process. This was a heavy guy and he needed ll his own strength, plus all of his weight, but finally he made it work.

And in a moment, that had not even lasted the time between two flashes, the officer was lying on the ground for the first time in the fight. It had been both of them standing there, then only one, that was crouched on the ground and the other lying. Sadly the officer got back on his feet all too soon. He was truly determined to get them.

The touch of her hand was warm on his shoulder. Her face, having suddenly appeared amidst the blur, had conflicting emotions written all over it. Those things that still lay cramped in his lap. She was sad and angry, scared and brave, warm and cold. Yet she was not confused like him and showed it openly. Her presence was reassuring in so many ways. He just wanted to be a little longer right now. Here was someone, not afraid of him. Here was someone who cared for him even though he was both unknown and dangerous. And yet she still asked, whether he was alright.

The cannon shots from the sky continued without any sign of notice of the scenes below. Why would they not continue anyways? They even rose in intensity. The air filled with static charge, making every hair on his body stand on edge, while the faint smell of ozone entered his nose as there now was nearly continuous lighting from above.

This warmth of her hand.

Hand.... on..... Shoulder?

As his mind had slowly processed the implications of that warm feeling he finally got to realize something.

Her hand was on his shoulder. On his shoulder!

He pulled himself together completely and suddenly, his world sliding back together in a split second. The blur in his vision was still there, but it started to disappear, as he blinked it away, while a hand, that awful hand, not his hand, just a hand, had already gotten a tight grip on hers. Right now it didn't matter whether he harmed her physically; his focus was crystal clear. All that mattered was getting that hand away. Out. It was far too close to him for safety. She had almost touched his skin. And that would -with his bad luck- not ended well for both of them.

His eyes were Ice now, glittering with the last remnants of tears. He had a responsibility. For himself, for her. And that one was greater then petty things like the lives of drug addicted teenagers. He wanted to say I'm sorry. He wanted to spill all those awful worms out of him. The worms of 10 years. He wanted it so badly it almost hurt physically. And there he stood, her hand in a tight grip, ready to throw her. He was disgusted and yet this was the only thing he could do.

“Don't touch me!”

It was not a whisper, it was not a strong male voice. It was a voice full of fear that spoke from somewhere. Why was there wind blowing into his mouth now. That had not been him, right? Oh no. It had been him.