"It's Grimm! Over there! Mr. Grimm! Mr. Grimm! Any words for the Human Torch? Any words for your friend? Thing! Thing!"

Ben pushed the cameras and microphones of the fighting reporters aside and tried to mount the steps of the Carlton hotel. A specially commissioned mega-bucket of KFC chicken swung from his forearm. "I'm gonna clobber that punk." He turned back to the TV camera and shoved his face into the lens. "I'm gonna clobber him permanent."

:::

...PRESUMED DEAD +++ REED RICHARDS PRESUMED DEAD +++ REED RICHARDS...

Johnny switched off the TV set and pulled the scratchy blanket up over his legs. They felt unusually cold. The motel owner had obviously recognized him, but Southern hospitality extended to customers who paid double. After an hour, there had been no approaching sirens, no helicopter searchlights, and no need to bust out of the room and rampage into the Georgian countryside.

He looked at the cellphone in his hand. It was a trivial little clamshell that he had been reluctant to throw away. He used the antiquated scroll button to select the address book and arrow down to the name 'Bruce B.'. His finger hovered over the call button, but he knew it was a mistake. He started to key a short text message "Why…" but cancelled. He stared at the phone and felt the anger build within him. Before he could throw the handset to the side, his hand flashed red then white, then the dust fluttered to the floor.

He was not sure if he had decided to destroy the phone, or if a primitive fear had overwhelmed him. But it was the right thing to do. They could track him no more.

He tired of the endless cycling news. The same pictures of the downtown office block on fire. No-one knew anything. It was all endless speculation. When the shopping channels also brought him no relief, he jumped up and grabbed the stolen leather jacket hanging on the back of the door. Outside the room, he jumped carelessly from the top of the wooden stairs to the parking lot and mounted the stolen Harley. It was time to get a drink.

:::

...COLLAPSES +++ NEW BAXTER TOWER COLLAPSES +++ NEW BAXTER TOWER…

"You gonna buy me a drink?"

The young woman looked too pretty to be there on her own, but Johnny nodded to the barkeep and let him set them both up with more shots of bourbon.

"I'm just passing thru," said Johnny as an aside. "I'm not going to be good company for anyone."

Her well kept teeth grinned. "How'd a handsome guy like you get so miserable? You on the run?" She was trying to engage him with a joke.

He turned slowly. He smiled firmly. "I just want time to clear my head. No baggage. No offense." He noticed her well-kept curls and casual clothes that matched her smile. She did not seem at all like the kind of person who hung around bars at the side of the freeway. Maybe a sales rep?

"Amen to that," she said turning back to the drink he had bought her. "If you want somewhere to clear your head there's the Crater Lake over the hill out back. No-one'll bother you there if you want to sit and think tomorrow. Whenever you get over the hangover you're going to have."

"Thanks," he mumbled. "But I'll be gone by tomorrow. You're not a therapist are you? Maybe a psychiatrist?" He pointed to the empty glasses and nodded again at the barkeep.

"I'm just Amy," she replied throwing a ten-dollar bill onto the counter as the filled glasses arrived. "Keep the change."

"Just bring another two while you're at it," he added. "And I'm just Johnny." He felt in the pockets of his ill-fitting pants for the last of his cash.

:::

...SEARCH FOR HULK +++ BRUCE BANNER LEADS SEARCH FOR HULK +++ BRUCE BANNER LEADS...

"I wanted to dance," Johnny giggled. "I do an amazing flashdance." He felt implausibly happy.

Amy propped him up at the back-door of the bar between the dumpsters. "Just stay on your feet, Johnny. Then we can think about walking and running."

He felt a rush of sadness that maybe she was about to rob him. And he had no money left. He did not want to hurt her.

"Don't make me angry, Amy," he tried to mumble. "I get a little hot-headed when I'm angry."

"Shut up," she said grabbing his mouth roughly with one hand and the cheap buckle of his belt with the other. He stood stupidly with his eyes closed, trying to work out how much of the Storm he could unleash on this poor little thief.

There was a flash of light from high over the roof of the bar. His Harley was picked out specifically by the searching beam. The muted sound of a chopper came gradually closer. Johnny's head cleared quickly, but not completely.

"Damn," said Amy looking up. "I guess it's time." She let go of Johnny and reached quickly into her purse.

Johnny wobbled on his feet and grabbed at the handle of the oversized bag. "Don't be stupid," he tried to say. "We'll both be killed."

Her slender hand reappeared without any effort, a slim knuckleduster crowning her fist. The tiny silver ornament crashed upwards into his firm jaw and pressed his teeth around the top of his tongue. Johnny lashed out at the purse and stumbled into the shadows, a sharp pain and the taste of blood filling his head. He fell onto his face in the dirt screaming aloud.

Amy stood in the darkness over Johnny's writhing form, ignoring the descending helicopter. Some idiot from the bar fired a random pistol shot into the air which she also ignored. Johnny screamed as he twisted onto his back, pain tearing thru him. His arms flailed in the air reaching out at nothing then stretched and swelled and punched at the dumpsters.

"Torch Smash!" he roared.

"Good," she said and slipped away from the emerging chaos.