It had been far too long since Matt Garetty had sat in a comfortable chair with a cup of coffee in his hands. He was always on the move, never staying in one place for more than a few days. It was better that way. It kept people safe. It kept him safe. Luckily, every once in a while, respite would always present itself.

Today, it presented itself in the form of an elderly woman with a pleasant smile and a soothing voice. Mrs. Price hadn't stopped talking since she had invited him in, which he didn't mind one bit. Friendly conversations were hard to come by in Matt's nomadic lifestyle, even harder than hot coffee and nice chairs. He was grateful to find both in one place, and he sipped the warm beverage as he listened to the old woman talk about the illustrations that decorated the far wall.

"This particular piece was one of Elijah's favorites, a classic depiction of good versus evil," she began, glancing enthusiastically between Matt and the piece. In it, a costumed hero squared himself against a villain dressed like a jungle cat. "Notice the squareness of the Slayer's jaw. This is common in comic heroes of the time. Now contrast that with how disproportionately large Jaguaro's head is compared to the rest of his body. This is also common of the time period, but only when drawing villains."

Matt studied the illustration with an inquisitive eye. He had never really been one for comic books, and yet he couldn't help but appreciate the realism of the piece, and how reverently it was displayed.

"Mr. Gla-. . . Elijah must have really loved his art," replied Matt as he took another sip of coffee.

Mrs. Price turned to look at Matt, but he could tell that her eyes were a million miles away.

"That he did," she replied. Her voice broke a little.

Matt couldn't help but feel empathy for her. After what had happened in Seattle, Matt had been searching for answers. What was the crystal that he, Steve, and Andrew had found in that underground cavern? What had it done to the boys to give them their remarkable abilities? Could it possibly be undone? These were the questions that burned within Matt's mind. It was in searching for their answers that he'd first learned of Mr. Glass.

The Internet had become Matt's handiest tool. In a chat room about conspiracy theories, Matt had discovered a contact in Oregon with information on what he called "The Tip-Toe Man." The contact had sent Matt footage of a man in a green rain poncho, walking down a sidewalk under cover of night. The man had stalked someone nearly six blocks before throwing him inside a dumpster and sealing the lid down with a rebar. Ordinary men didn't have that kind of strength. As it turned out, the man trapped in the dumpster was responsible for the murder of a shop owner not thirty minutes before. Somehow, The Tip-Toe Man - or The Overseer, as the Internet had come to call him - had known.

But that hadn't been the only strange thing Matt had learned from his contact. In the same city where The Overseer made his rounds, a man had been arrested in 2000. The man had blown up a plane, set fire to a hotel, and sabotaged the Eastrail 177 train. His name was Elijah Price, and there was a catastrophic death toll in his wake. That same Elijah Price had been the one who released the footage of the Beast and the Overseer's battle outside the Raven Hill Sanitorium. He had issued a call to all superhumans to step forward and make themselves known to the world, and to the ones who had tried to keep them hidden from the world. Matt's head dipped as he concentrated on his thoughts.

He had run into the Clover Organization before, though not in person. Matt had heard of a man who could not be hurt. Evidently, the man's body changed to accommodate roughly any incoming trauma. Unfortunately, his body couldn't adjust to the handcuffs he'd been put in when the Clover Organization found him. Matt remembered hiding in the alley. He recalled peering around the corner as The Survivor, as the man was called by the Internet, was led away. Matt realized at that moment that he would never be safe.

Matt was shaken from his thoughts as someone knocked sharply on the front door. Matt set his coffee mug down instinctively. His eyes went to Mrs. Price, who looked over shoulder with a warm smile.

"Come on in!" she called out from the living room.

Matt turned to look back towards the door. It swung open, and someone stepped inside from the rain. A man in a green rain poncho, a few years older than Matt, stood on the welcome mat, stomping his boots dry and hanging his poncho on the coat rack.

"Sorry, Mrs. Price," called the man as he rubbed his hands together, looking past Matt. "I tracked in a little water."

"Don't be sorry, Joseph," replied Mrs. Price. "It's pouring out there."

The old woman walked into the front room and wrapped both arms around Joseph, who hugged her back warmly. Matt smiled.

"How are you doing, Doll?" she asked Joseph as she pulled away.

"I'm good," replied Joseph. "Been a busy week. I don't know if you heard from Casey, but I got the interview on Truth Bomb tomorrow. I'm going to talk about Da-"

Joseph's voice cut off abruptly as his gaze fell upon Matt.

"Who's this?" he asked.

He regarded Matt as one might regard a new dog, or a replacement chair that looked considerably less comfortable than its predecessor. Matt had grown accustomed to such looks over the last seven years. Mrs. looked back at Matt with a smile, then at Joseph, and cleared her throat.

"Joseph," she said, putting one arm around Joseph's shoulders and gesturing to Matt with the other, "this is Matt Garetty. He's the reason I asked you to come."

Matt stifled his grin as Joseph fixed him with a skeptical look. He felt Joseph's eyes pass over him studiously, but it didn't bother him. This was not the first Matt had been under the proverbial microscope, nor was it likely to be the last. At length, Joseph stepped forward and held a hand politely. A sheepish grin worked its way across his tired face.

"Joseph Dunn," he introduced himself as Matt shook his hand. "I'm sorry, I'm a little out of it today. And you are?"

"I told you his name already," interjected Mrs. Price.

"Matt Garetty," answered Matt, flashing a grin at Mrs. Price before returning his attention to the inquisitive Joseph.

"Where are you from, Matt?" asked Joseph, sinking his hands into his pants pockets.

"Seattle," replied Matt. "Originally."

Joseph's eyebrow rose a little.

"Seattle, huh? What brought you all the way across the country?"

Matt's eyes flitted to Mrs. Price, who gave him an encouraging nod. He took a deep, long breath and released it. Telling people was always hard. He had found a long time ago that the best way to avoid resistance was to show them. Matt held up his right hand, open, fingers slightly curled. He made a beckoning gesture with his index and tall fingers. Joseph watched him curiously, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed. Suddenly, his jaw went slack.

Matt was now holding the coffee mug in his hands, the one he had set down on the table behind him. It had risen from the tabletop and floated into his hand. Not a drop of its contents had been disturbed. The surface of the liquid hadn't even rippled. Matt took a sip of the coffee and let out a nervous laugh, looking from Mrs. Price to Joseph as if he had just told an embarrassing joke.

Joseph's hand rose, locking behind his head. He stared at Matt's hands with eyes as big as oranges, and his jaw moved up and down like a fish on dry land. Joseph whirled around, looking at Mrs. Price for confirmation. She smiled and nodded her head. A tear ran down her cheek, and she dabbed at it.

Matt had to look down at the floor to keep from turning bright red as Joseph finally found his voice.

"This is seriously the best thing to happen to me today!"