Griff Tannen had, without question, inherited his grandfather's hatred of the McFlys. Biff Tannen had always looked down on that strange family, despised them and antagonized them just because of their existence. This, Griff understood whole-heartedly; he shared these feelings completely. However, his grandfather had always had a kind of grudging respect for and fear of the McFlys, something that Griff himself had never, ever understood. At least... until today. Sitting in the backseat of the police car, glowering at his scraped up palms, he couldn't help but remember.

…

"What's it gonna be, McFly?" he asked fiercely, as Martin McFly cowered in front of him. Griff's gang stood on both sides of him, and together they formed an intimidating semicircle around the unfortunate Martin. "Are you in, or out?" Griff watched in satisfaction as Martin stumbled over his words, an undeniable note of pleading in his voice.

"Um, I'm just not sure that I should, you know?" Martin managed in a rush. Griff almost laughed at the sheer weakness of his attempted resistance. "Because I think that I should discuss it with my father."

"Your father?!" Griff yelled, infuriated at the mention of yet another McFly. "Wrong answer, McFly!" They had roughed Martin up a little before, but clearly it hadn't been enough. Which was just fine with Griff; his quickly-increasing irritation was longing to be let out. So he reached out and picked up Martin bodily, throwing him right over the Cafe 80s counter in a satisfying show of strength. Martin slammed into the wall of TVs behind the counter before crashing painfully to the tiled floor, momentarily blocked from Griff's view. The whole cafe was now watching the dramatic scene unfold, and the two bikers had stopped pedaling. They stood up together, halfheartedly wanting to intervene.

"Keep pedaling!" Griff screamed, pointing at them dangerously. They sunk back onto the bike seats, reluctantly complying. That taken care of, Griff turned his attention back to the empty space behind the counter, waiting for Martin to stagger back into his view. And then - Martin stood.

Griff couldn't help but take several involuntary steps backward, shock writing itself plainly across his slack features. Martin looked the same, sure. But there was something indefinably different. The young McFly stared back at him calmly and coolly, with an air of defiance and sureness that Griff had never before seen - not on Martin, not on anyone. Griff actually tilted his head out of sheer confusion, watching this new Martin, suddenly uncertain.

And then, to top it all off, Martin leaped over the counter. The movement was smooth and silent, nothing like the clumsy Martin he had bullied and badgered his whole life. He wasn't awkward or nervous or frightened. He was deft, confident, experienced. For a moment, Griff could only continue to stare. But Martin still had not agreed to help him, and his gang was still behind him, waiting to see what he would do. So he snapped himself out of it, letting his hatred and anger fuel him.

"Now," he began again, grabbing hold of Martin in a vice-like grip. He made sure to infuse every syllable with as much danger as he could muster. "Let's hear the right answer."

Martin, in fact, gave no answer. But he wrenched himself out of Griff's hold and shoved the bigger man back several steps, all in one fluid movement.

"Wow!" Griff shouted, surprised, annoyed, and eager all at once. "Since when did you become the physical type?" For the first time, Martin was actually fighting back. And that would make it so much sweeter when Griff won.

"Answer's no, Griff."

"No?"

"Yeah. What are you, deaf and stupid? I said no!" And with that, the boy turned and headed for the cafe doors. Griff couldn't believe it. This was it. It was falling apart. The perfect scenario in which Martin fearfully gave into him was crumbling down around him. Griff stepped forward aggressively, unwilling to let Martin walk away, unable to let himself lose to a McFly.

"What's wrong, McFly?" he called, a last ditch effort to prevent Martin from leaving. "Chicken?" And to his delight, Martin stopped. He stilled right in his tracks, suddenly, almost eerily immobile. One of Griff's friends pressed a button, and the sounds of a squawking chicken echoed in the tense cafe atmosphere. Martin turned.

"What did you call me, Griff?" he asked. And if Griff hadn't been so busy trying to rile him up, perhaps he would have been more alarmed at the fact that Martin could sound dangerous, too.

"Chicken, McFly!" he yelled instead, through gritted teeth. His friend played the chicken sound again, and Griff took the opportunity to expand the bat that was hidden safely behind his back.

"Nobody," Martin began, throwing his hat away, "calls me-" But he broke off as Griff pulled the bat out from behind his back, and lowered it threateningly in front of Martin's face. Martin sighed, with a wry chuckle. "...chicken," he finished. But he didn't seem scared or threatened, or even shaken in the slightest. There was only resignation and determination in his eyes.

Griff swung his bat back wide, and launched at Martin with all the force he could muster. Martin shouted, but ducked out of the way with uncharacteristic agility. Too late to change course, Griff's bat embedded itself into the TV waiter, sending an unpleasant shock through his whole body. Shaken, he whirled around only to find Martin at the ready, fists raised in a fighting stance. And in that instant, one question struck Griff like a knock-out punch from a professional boxer: Who was this kid?

No, Griff reminded himself. This was nobody. Despite everything, the boy before him was still Martin McFly. Weak, spineless, pushover McFly. So Griff straightened up and raised himself to his full height, satisfied as he towered over Martin, whose eyes widened comically.

"Alright, bug!" Griff shouted, furious yet again.

"Hey, look!" Martin yelled suddenly, pointing off to the side. Instinctively, Griff turned his head. Martin used the distraction to take a swing at him, but Griff's state-of-the-art gadgets were, like always, on his side. His arm rose up to block Martin's swing, and Griff caught his fist easily. He crushed it in his strong, mechanically supplemented grip, and watched in satisfaction as Martin winced in pain.

But just like that, Griff's easy victory was snatched away once more. With his focus on Martin's failed swing, he hadn't seen the other boy bring his knee up with surprising force. But he did feel the pain that came right after, and he doubled over, now brimming with a furious rage that pounded in tandem with his humiliation and pain. But Martin grabbed him before he could straighten, and shoved him into his gang. They tumbled as one ungraceful heap to the tiled cafe floor, and watched as Martin dashed away through the double doors.

…

The situation had only gotten worse from there, and at every turn, Martin had been faster, stronger, and more strategic. He had moved with the ease that comes only with experience, as if he had spent his days navigating dangerous obstacle courses, rather than nervously cowering before any form of conflict. It was as if Martin had practiced it, as if he had lived this moment before, as if he knew how everything was meant to unfold.

So by the time Griff and his gang were flying through the air, seconds from crashing through the tinted glass of the courthouse facade, Griff had felt a sudden reversal. He had always been the one in power, the one dictating the moves and calling the shots, while shivering little Martin had been powerless, helpless, hopeless. But now, sitting alone in the back of a police car, Griff was the powerless one. Helpless. Hopeless. Defeated. In his mind's eye, he could see Martin's expression - calm, cool, confident. Powerful.

And for the first time in his life, he felt it - the strange respect and fear that his grandfather would never admit to, but nonetheless obviously possessed. There was something different about the McFlys, something bigger. Some strange sort of meaningfulness that hung around them, like destiny, or fate. An incomprehensible air of limitlessness, like the hands of time could not even restrain them.

Worn and discouraged and thoroughly unsettled, Griff doubled over in his seat, resting his head in his lap. He sighed into the denim of his Calvin Klein brand jeans that his grandfather had always mysteriously hated, and tried to set his mind on anything other than the McFly family. But his brain seemed determined to taunt him, and a vision of the new, unfamiliar Martin swam before his closed eyes.

"Nobody," Martin growled, voice low and menacing, "calls me chicken."