AN: Rated Mature because it's Black, and later another. Trigger warning: human trafficking, child abuse.

As usual I won't really bother too much with typing out accents less it suits me or I'm in a mood where it comes naturally.

Edited 07/25/2018

The cry rang out, unheard by the rest of the populous in the bar, but piercing through Manchester's mind sharp enough to make the pool-stick eat the table. He glanced around, but the rest of the bar inhabitants paid no mind. None but the guy he was currently beating in this game, who raised a brow at the response. Black put on a smirk.

"Headache, mate." he got a nod and lined up the shot, before another cry rang out in his mind. No, a sob. From a child. A heavy sigh escaped his lips, the weight of that agony already pressing against his back. Time to wrap this up. He set the stick into that white ball, and used a touch of his telekinesis to make the little things go exactly where he wanted them to, knocking the rest of his balls into the holes before a neat wrap of the eight ball dropping in. Of course the guy was pissed. Of course he didn't believe it. But Manchester didn't care. He just swiped up the cash earnings all the same.

"Pleasure playing with you."

"You cheat! You-" before the man could take a swing Manchester just waggled a finger with a tsk. The guy froze in place, a look of sudden realization and horror striking his face.

"Now lets not go doin' anything stupid. Why don't you have another drink?" he waved the finger in a circle and the guy spun on a heel to go do just that. Wonderful. Now, onto business.

He stepped out into the chill air, instantly lighting up a cigarette and bringing it to his lips.

"Alright, where are you?" dark eyes scanned the alleyway, ignoring the usual stench of stale rubbish and piss that greeted nostrils from the city streets. Not that he could smell much past the steady and constant flow of cigarette smoke. Or taste much. No big deal. He dared to reach outwards with his telepathy, and felt it hit him in an instant. Wind knocked from his lungs, doubled over and heart rattlin against its cage. Pure panic, agony, helplessness...replaced quickly by boiling rage. His fists closed as he stood himself tall, moving towards the cause, narrowing in and following to the source, only to slow down when he got closer. Big scary tattooed man, probably not the best thing for a clearly terrified child to see right off. Ease up, Black. He flicked his cancer stick away, kneeling down to rest elbows on his knees so not to be so big, and reached out with his mind more gently.

"I know you're scared. I know you're hurt. I heard your psychic shout. It's going to be okay, Manchester Black is here to punish the bad men." there was definite intention behind that last part. Punishing bad men was what Black did. It's what he lived for. Who ever was responsible for the emotion he'd encountered was going to pay. In tears and blood and broken bones. But, Jesus, he still wasn't prepared for what crawled out from behind the rubbish bin. She couldn't have been more than eleven, black messy locks of hair framing gaunt face. Eyes sunken in and raccooned, the rest of her looking just as malnourished with just an over-sized t-shirt hanging off bruised skin. Manchester was no stranger to suffering. He was no stranger to poverty and a childhood no on should have to struggle through, but even so the sight of her made bile find the back of his throat. He reached out a hand, but let her be the one to take it. He spoke out loud this time,

"You have a name?" She managed to return thoughts to him with an ease that let him think maybe she had some psychic ability of her own, a tiny hand placed into his own with a shaking hesitance.

"We have to help the others." it was as desperate as the first cry, consumed by a need to hurry, but her legs couldn't even hold herself up. She collapsed, one hand finding the pavement as he scooped her into his arm, no thought necessary.

"We will, Luv, we'll get everyone out. Lets get you looked at-"

"N-no! Hospital..." the terror translated without the expression, wincing with the effort of speaking out loud.

"Okay, okay, no hospital. But I've got a friend, she'll look after you. I'll just take a peak around, and see where you came from, yeah? Get everyone help before you wake up. Just leave everything to me." she was already fading, too exhausted to stay awake.

Manchester frowned down at the child passed out in his arm, lifted her up off the ground, cradling the fragile thing as if she could shatter at any moment. He knew better. He didn't know the full extent of what she'd been through so far, but he had some ideas. She'd survived this long. Not without damage, he was sure of that, trauma. But she'd survived. She would be tough. Tougher than most would even be able to realize. But for now, he needed to find out where she had been. And where those others were she spoke of.

In he dove, carefully, trying not to damage anything that wasn't already broken. Next thing he knew he was floating in a inky black, glancing around.

"Alright, Luv, let's see where-" screams cried out around him, dozens at once, shattering the silence and piercing into him. Or was it hundreds? He couldn't tell. He could see, nothing. He could only feel the vague sensation of cold stone and hear the cries surrounding him, boring into him, bringing him to his knees. And then silence fell. He glanced up to notice a pair of eyes in the dark. A set of six, moving in tandem, sharing whatever face was unseen in the dark. They reflected light the way a Raccoon reflected the flash of car lights at night. The same sheen. The same primal, beast-like intelligence. Watching him. He barely had time to part his lips, before it was rushing towards him. He braced himself, before the shock of cold moved through him, imparted to him a numbing sensation of emptiness. Manchester had never felt numb. He felt angry. He felt justified in revenge, and in justice, in all that he had done to date. They deserved it. But this? Made him feel empty. There was no spark of rage. There was no hunger for revenge or for justice. No hurt left over beneath it all for the injustices of the world. There was simply...nothing. Manchester Black stood there in the darkness, and he felt...nothing. He was...nothing.

And then he opened his eyes in the real world as he was jolted back into his own head, gasping for breath as the wave of emotions returned to him.

"What...What the hell was that?" he took another look at the tiny thing curled in his arms, her brow furrowed and breath quick, no peace even in sleep. He didn't get shaken up easy, about to reach out and try again, and yet...didn't. Something instinctive, something primal at his very core, warned him against it. Well fuck that, he's Manchester Bloody Black! As if he could be frightened away by...by what? Some pair of eyes in the dark?

Why had her mind been blank? It shouldn't have been. It should have been easy for him to pull up memories, scenery, something. He hesitated at the corner of reaching out again. And instead, decided he'd better get her seen to first. His friend Missy had girls of her own about this age. Missy'd know what to do.