Author's Note: Fun fact, I've actually had the bulk of this written for years. Rereading it is what inspired me to redo this entire fiction. So a special thanks to Vic Stone. Also, spring break is over and I'll have to slow down again. We're almost to the end of Part II! Enjoy, as always, and let me know what you think!

The cyborg looked out into the city night. He could see it in great detail now, the night, alive with the swarm of humanity. One eye was now comparatively dull, fleshy, two-dimensional. It could only see the surface of things. But the other glowed red and saw heat, movement, even the magnetic field of the cell phones that clung parasitic to their human hosts. He was amazed, even now, at the difference, at the depth of the night and the vibrancy of the human's electronic fight to escape the darkness. His mind ran numbers and scenarios, statistics of people out there getting drunk, getting engaged, riding a merry-go-round with their kids. Getting mugged. Getting killed. He'd known before, obviously, that these things happened, but now, listening to the police chatter over their wireless frequencies, it felt real. The world felt real, but the cyborg did not. His human mind was consumed with existential crisis. Because even though he perceived this world now in a mechanically perfect way, his humanity didn't know what to do with that knowledge. If he couldn't accept himself how could he expect others to allow him to come to their aid? What could he do? Trapped like he was inside this body that could do so much and yet would never again feel the warmth of a human hand? And yet he had to do something.

"Vic," came a tentative voice from the door. He'd known this person was entering before he'd slipped the key into the lock, knew who he was, and yet a bitter resentment kept him from offering greetings. "I brought your favorite from the waffle house."

"Surprised you even know about that," the cyborg spat, not turning to look at him. "Anyway, it's pointless. You know I don't have to eat anymore. You did this, after all."

There was the jingle of keys being set in a glass jar in the hall and then a man came into the kitchen. Dr. Silas Stone ran a hand over his dark and lined face. A golden wedding ring caught the light as his hand lingered over his mouth, perhaps trying to filter the magnitude of things he wanted to say. It had not been easy, maintaining a marriage and raising a son while working at S.T.A.R. Labs. Little Vic had all but grown up without a father, despite his extravagant gestures meant to redirect Silas's attention. Top of his class, acceptance to Ivy League schools, star football player, none of it seemed to be able to take his father from his work. No, Victor had to die before his dad paid him any mind. They both knew it.

"That's true," Silas confessed, setting the still hot waffles down on the island counter. "But you like to. You can still taste, still feel."

"Not enough," the cyborg said. There was a beat, then he spoke again. "It doesn't matter anyway."

"Why," probed Silas, his frown deepening. "What have you decided?"

"I've decided it's time," the cyborg said, still keeping his back turned.

"Vic, you can't!"

"Can't?" A that he did turn, all broad shouldered, six-and-a-half feet of him. He was mostly metal now, save for some of his arms and half his dark face. His eye- his human eye, was livid. "You may've made me, but you can't stop me."

"You don't know what they'll do to you if they find you."

"So I'm just supposed to sit here instead? Do nothing for the rest of my life, however long that is."

"No, Vic," Silas sighed, already defeated. "You're special. You're going to do great things… But I'm afraid for you son. Out there… I can't protect you."

The cyborg- Vic, let out a low sigh through his nose and relaxed his hunched shoulders. Shook his head.

"Dad," he said, quietly. "I can't stay here."

"You're just a kid."

"Not anymore. Look, I understand you saved my life when you did this, but I'm not Victor Stone anymore, I can't keep living in his home, sleeping in his bed. I'll go away, to Jump maybe. I can play the stocks for an income and, I dunno, maybe do some good. Anything's better than this."

"Please, son, I'm begging you."

"I waited for you to come home to say goodbye, and now I've said it."

Vic pulled a hood over his head, so deep only the slight glow of his red eye gave away his true nature, and pulled on a pair of gloves. He moved past his father to the door, twisting a deadbolt that looked delicate in his hands and never looking back.

"Vic, wait! Just, please, if you take nothing else with you, remember that you're still Victor Stone. Nothing will ever change that, you hear me? You're Victor Stone, my son, and I love you."

Garfield held his fists up by his face, imitating a defensive position he'd seen other guys use. His attention was entirely focused on the overly muscular teenage male directly in front of him, or more precisely, on the pocketknife he had clasped in his right hand. The upside to this was that he was prepared for whatever move the creep wanted to try; the downside was that he'd forgotten about the other guy. An unexpected punch from the left sent him back a few paces, causing him to double over in pain. Another one came for his face, but he managed to hop out of its path, exhaling sharply.

"I told you," he hissed, his malachite eyes flashing in the dull light of the back alley. "If you want me to leave, I'll leave. I don't want to fight."

"See that's funny, because we do. We don't like people messing around in our part of town, and we really hate stray dogs."

Garfield gritted his teeth, staring hard at the pavement as he straightened.

"Just leave me alone. I'm warning you!"

"Oh no," mocked the one with the knife. "The little green freak is warning us! What ever should we do?"

"I don't know, Ryan," answered the one who'd hit him, rubbing his knuckles gleefully. "Maybe we should teach it who's really in charge here."

'Ryan' grinned, picking his thumbnail with the tip of the blade. Garfield made to put his fists up, but then seemed to reconsider and let them relax slowly back to his sides. His whole body seemed to relax, actually, a rather counterintuitive move for someone faced with thugs. The other man frowned a little in aggravation, thrusting his head into Gar's face.

"He doesn't seem to know who's in charge."

"Dude, whatever it is you think is about to happen," Garfield breathed in a low voice. "I can guarantee you're in for a surprise."

"Why don't you just shut the hell up," shouted Ryan, closing in like a predator anticipating the kill.

"And why don't you pick on someone your own size."

All three heads turned towards the street-end of the alley, keying in on the newcomer. There was a figure silhouetted against the streetlight, a dark, massive figure. The thugs: they were big. This guy was massive. He had to be at least six and a half feet tall, broad shouldered, and imposing. He was wearing simple black gym pants and a grey sweatshirt with the hood pulled up over his face. There may have been a dim, red glow under that hood, but it was hard to tell. Ryan and the other guy jolted away from Garfield, staring down the alley furiously.

"Back off," Ryan barked, jabbing the small blade in the newcomer's direction. "This is between us and the freak!"

"That's not how I see it," the man responded coolly. He had a low voice with a silky character that lent itself to an African American description. "Now you can walk away, or I can come over and make you. Personally, I'd rather you just leave. Wouldn't want things to get messy."

He took a threatening step forward to emphasize his point. Garfield watched him with great interest, his face uncharacteristically serious, his nostrils flaring. For a tense moment the thugs alternated between looking at Garfield, the other man, and each other.

"Walk… Away," he repeated.

Ryan was the first to back down, snapping the little blade back into his pocketknife. His jaw was rigid as stone and his fingers were curling and uncurling like he wanted to hit something, but he backed down.

"Come on," Ryan spat, turning slowly towards the other end on the alley. "I don't know about you, but if I wanted a freak show, I'd have gone to the circus."

The other man looked like he was about to protest, but reconsidered.

"Whatever," he snorted, following his friend with the manliest, most aggressive, and least likely to be confused with retreat demeanor possible.

They walked, one trailing after the other, down the alley way and out the other side. The new man followed their withdrawal until he met Garfield, keeping his steps slow so he wouldn't catch up too quickly. Garfield, for his part, was still looking strangely serious, as if he'd seen something he wasn't entirely sure he was meant to see. Even as the predatory bluffs were exchanged with his safety in the balance, he didn't seem concerned. Rather, he was perplexed.

"You okay," asked the new man, placing a gloved hand on the green kid's shoulder.

"Yeah," Gar said back, nodding. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Good." The man seemed to nod back, turning to leave.

"Dude, I would've been fine too," Gar called after him.

"No offense little man, but I kinda doubt it."

"Maybe if I was just some regular dude, but I'm not." The other man kept walking. Garfield licked his lips and tried again, stepping after him. "I'm like you!"

"You know nothing about me," the other man snapped. But he also paused, which was all Gar had wanted. He grinned, standing up a little straighter with pride.

"I know you're not normal," he said very quietly. "I can smell it… and I felt it just now when you touched me." He paused for a moment, his eyes flicking down. "I know you're made of metal."

A moment of volatile silence passed between the two and hovered in the air long enough for the first shadow that this might be a bad idea to enter Garfield's mind.

"Not all metal," the other man said, finally glancing over his shoulder to meet the green boy's inquisitive gaze.

Slowly, almost timidly, he dropped his hood. A smooth, silver head with glowing cyan circuitry and a red eye stared forever unblinking at Gar. The two froze again, as if each was waiting for the other to chicken out. Then, with a sigh, the other man shrugged and turned around completely, confronting the changeling. A brown eye matched the red one and dark skin completed the face.

"Only about half. More or less. So what about you? What's your nasty little inhumanity?"

A mischievous grin flashed across Garfield's face and he held out his hands.

"Okay, don't freak out," he said, patting the air then rolling his lips. "These are the only cloths I brought, so, um, give me a sec."

"For what," inquired the metal man, frowning deeply as the green boy scampered behind the nearby dumpster.

The second he'd asked for ticked by and the metal man was about to give up and go on his merry way, but then he sensed… movement. A swirl of movement, all in one place, like a singularity behind the dumpster. He took a step forward, concerned.

"You still there little man?"

An emerald green dog leapt out at him, barking and wagging his tail. Stunned, the metal man placed a hand on the edge of the dumpster and peered behind it. No human, just a pile of cloths and the green dog. It barked again, pressing its front paws into the ground and raising a wiggling butt high into the air. Then it let out a whine, scratching at the pile of cloths and giving the metallic man a very human look. Getting the memo, he turned and gave the dog some privacy.

"Gar Logan," the green boy said excitedly, emerging from behind the dumpster and pulling his sweatshirt over his head.

Grinning a one in a million grin, he extended his hand. The other man considered him for a second, looking at the green hand, evaluating how his nails curved into little points. He then looked into his face, into his predator wide pupils and the fangs that didn't quite fit into his mouth. As much as he was a machine this boy- this person, standing in front of him was an animal. And yet he was also a child, maybe a year or two younger than him. He assessed his age to be seventeen. Just as Gar's smile started to fade the metal man made up his mind, rolling his eyes and engulfing that little green hand in his massive fist.

"Vic Stone," he answered. "Nice to meet you."

When he'd come to a small guy's defense against two significantly stronger looking bullies, Vic hadn't expected anything out of the ordinary. A routine rescue, so to speak. Look intimidating, save kid, walk away heroically. Just another tally on his list of good deeds. He hadn't expected the 'victim' to be green and as irregular and socially unacceptable as himself. A shapeshifter, no less. And he certainly had not anticipated that, fifteen minutes and one trip through the dumpsters behind a Chinese food restaurant later, he'd be having 'dinner' with said shapeshifter. Nevertheless, there he was, munching on still-hot noodles with his feet hanging off the end of the pier, listening to Gar Logan talk like he had a motor in his throat.

"So, you're like, half man, half machine, right? You're, like, some kind of cyborg!"

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," Vic answered with intentional disinterest.

"Dude, that is so cool," Garfield gushed through a mouthful of fried tofu. "Were you born with it?"

"No, I was not. I was definitely born as normal as anyone else."

"Dude! Me too! What's your story? My parents were biologists working in Africa, Upper Lamumba. It's a country, or it used to be, but last time I looked at a map, it wasn't there anymore. But when I was little, it existed, and my parents were working there, studying Sakutia, and-"

"Look man," Vic cut in. "No offense, but I really don't care. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for dinner and all, but you and me, we're not friends. We don't share life stories, okay?"

"No," said Gar quickly, though he looked hurt. "No, I didn't think we were. I mean, of course we're not! Dude, we just met, we couldn't be friends… And there's no reason you'd care… obviously…" He trailed off, looking out across the water and taking another bite of tofu. "It's just that… I've never met anyone else like me before…"

"I'm not like you."

"No, you're not. Not really. But you're not like anyone else either. Not anymore, anyway. So we're kinda similar, yeah? I haven't been like anyone else in a long time and, well, I guess I thought that, you know…"

"How old are you," Vic probed softly, looking over at the green boy. He had his hood back up, but not as far forward as it had been before. There was clearly a person under the hood.

Gar scrunched up his face and wiggled the fingers on his left hand, as if counting. Vic cocked one, disbelieving eyebrow.

"Seventeen," he said after a minute. "I'm seventeen."

"And you live on the streets?"

"Now I do," Gar snapped back defiantly. He made to eat more tofu, then seemed to think better of it and set the box down, folding his arms instead. "Tonight's my first night out and I'm doin' just fine."

"You were attacked and almost mugged. That's not fine."

"All I had to do was go Sasquatch and boom, problem solved."

He laughed a little, obviously imagining the looks he might've received as a giant green Bigfoot. Vic sighed heavily.

"Look kid, if you've got a home, you should go back to it. Today you got lucky and I was there to help you out, but there's no tellin' what'll happen tomorrow. You're not mature enough to be out here. You're gonna cause a scene and then the cops'll come and then they'll stick you in some sort of lab for the rest of your life and that'll be it."

"Worth it. I may have somewhere I'm supposed to be, but it's not a home," Gar hissed back, contempt lacing his words. His jaw was growing taught and a scowl darkened his features. "Anyway, who are you to talk? What makes you so much more "mature" than me?"

"Well A) I'm two years older," Vic started, ticking off reasons on his fingers. "And B) I've been out here for a year now."

"You don't understand," Gar burst out, leaping suddenly to his feet. "I can't go back, I won't! There're bad people and they make me do bad things. Galtry says it's the only thing I'm good for, that I have to stay with him because he's the only one that would accept a freak like me, but he's wrong! I'm not a thief and I'm definitely not an animal!"

"Whoa, whoa," said Vic, holding up both hands in a calming gesture. "Chill man."

Gar frowned at him for a moment, but eventually sat down. He exhaled loudly through his nose, his jaw tight and his lips pursed.

"There's something else I'm good for," he said to the water. "Something I can do, something other than… this."

"I get what it's like to be used for someone else's amusement," Vic continued, bitterly. "But have you ever stopped to think that maybe this Galtry guy is right? It's a nasty world out there and what just happened back in that alley way should tell you these people won't accept people like you and me."

"Not everyone's like that," Gar muttered, pulling his knees to his chin.

"No, they definitely are."

"My parents weren't like that…" He chewed his lip nervously, his malachite eyes a little shinier than they were minutes before. "My parents were good, kind people. They weren't afraid of me."

"Where're they now," Vic asked, genuinely curious.

"They died."

There was a moment of silence.

"I'm sorry, bro. That's rough."

"Dave says I should blame them for the way things are. That if I'm unhappy, it's their fault, because they made me this way."

"I would say he's right," said Vic coldly. "If your parents are the ones that did this to you, then you should blame them. They took away your humanity and for what? To satisfy their own perverse curiosity?"

Vic was talking about himself, but Gar was too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice. He shook his head, staring out once again at the water. The ocean sent little wavelets into the harbor, disturbing its black surface.

"That's not how I remember it. All I remember is that I was sick and my parents made me better, not because they were curious about the green monkey or because they wanted to test their invention, but because they loved me. And they kept loving me right up until they died. Then King Tawaba took me in and he loved me too. The tribe wanted me gone, but he loved me. It wasn't his choice to give me up. It's not their fault I ended up here, with Galtry and Dave. And Quinn. And they wouldn't want me giving up on people because there are a few jerks in the world."

"There's more than a few."

Gar smiled a little, sad smile, looking over at his new cybernetic friend. His green eyes caught the city glow and seemed to sparkle like gems, his green skin and hair undeniable even in the dark. This kid had even less of a chance fitting in than Vic, yet he seemed twice as determined to do so. And three times as convinced of his inevitable success.

"You're not a jerk," he said simply. "You pretend to be, because you don't like the way you are and I guess you don't want anyone else to like you either. But you're not. You're a really great guy and people will see that, if you give 'em a chance."

Try as he might, Vic couldn't come up with a reply that adequately expressed how utterly stupid, yet simultaneously profound that little speech was. Gar pursed his lips and shrugged, standing up and stretching. He made a move to leave, then paused, looking down as a goofy grin threatened to spread across his face.

"You want dessert," he offered, gesturing with one thumb over his shoulder. "I know a place that serves non-dairy ice cream."

The sing-song tonality was meant to entice interest, but instead Vic grimaced at the thought.

"What is the point of ice cream if it's non-dairy," he asked in a disappointed voice. "As a matter of fact, I think that might even be some form of blasphemy."

"Tastes the same," Gar shrugged.

"Sure it does," Vic almost laughed, but he caught himself at the last minute.

He wasn't the high school athlete anymore, and Gar most certainly wasn't some normal kid off the streets. The idea of them going and getting ice cream like two, every day buddies wasn't just absurd, it was almost insulting. These simple pleasures weren't part of their world and to pretend otherwise was just salt in the wound. Like it or not, they were both freaks in a world that was only so tolerant of differences; it was their fate to be cast out. This kid just hadn't gotten that memo yet and the more he thought about it, the more obnoxious his optimism became. Vic's face settled back into a passive-aggressive frown and he turned away from Gar.

"I'll pass," he said coolly. The green changeling sensed Vic's change in mood like a drop in temperature, and found himself deflating with it.

"Alright," he breathed back, though it was clearly not alright. "I guess I'll see you around?"

"Yeah," Vic waved him off, staring out at the black water of the harbor. "See ya later."

Vic stood in his grey sweatpants, oversized shoes, and grey hoodie in what other people would've described as sweltering heat. It was 14:32 hours according to his internal chronometer and Terra should be just now arriving at the bank to start the latest of many jobs. This bank, like the others, would no doubt be mysteriously robbed in the next few weeks. The earth inside the vault would open up like a portal to hell and cash would be stolen. A week later Terra would quit for "personal reasons" and go on to find her next target. Vic wondered if Garfield knew about that, about how his apartment was being financed. They'd only met the once, but still, Vic had serious doubts. The Gar he'd met was predominantly guilty of being overly generous in his assessment of people's character. No doubt this made him easy to manipulate. Vic was actually counting on that now as he banged on the door.

"Gar," he called softly, relying on the acute hearing of those pointed, green ears. "It's Vic. Open up."

His infrared eye picked up a form on the other side, sitting on the couch. He put something down and got up, hesitantly, then came over to the door. Peered through the peep hole. Vic looked right back and waved, knowing that, from this straight on angle, he could at least see the reg glow of his cybernetic eye. The figure brought hands up to the door, then paused, considering.

"I can see you, Gar. Look, it's just me. No tricks, I just wanna talk. Open the door."

There was a sliding noise of metal on metal as Gar released the chain, then the click of a lock, then the door cracked. Through the sliver Vic could make out a dark green eye and a slice of emerald flesh. His hair was poorly cut, shorter than the last time they'd met, and his square face had gained a definition it had been lacking before, but there was no mistaking him.

"Vic," he asked quietly in a voice that was almost too high to be masculine. "Vic Stone?"

"In the flesh," he said back with a grin. "Well, you know what I mean."

Gar looked at him, then left and right down the hall, then stood aside, making sure to keep his body hidden behind the door. Vic moved inside, taking in the surroundings. It was a modest apartment, sparsely decorated, with pictures of mountains and furniture that didn't go together. Gar himself looked like an absolute bachelor in a wrinkled purple T-shirt and black sweats. His feet were bare and, as Vic let his hood down to show he was comfortable, he beamed. It had to have hurt; the left side of his face was swollen, scratched up, and he had a black eye.

"Vic," he exclaimed, coming in for an unexpected hug. "I didn't think I'd see you again! How are you?"

Then he paused, frowning. Before Vic could decide whether or not to return the hug he withdrew. Licking his lips, he stepped around the cyborg and into the kitchen. Grabbed a glass and filled it with water, then offered it to Vic. He wasn't smiling at all anymore.

"How did you find me," he asked in a low tone, like he was afraid of the answer.

"Finding people isn't hard for me," Vic said evasively, accepting the water and, to prove he appreciated the gesture, taking a long gulp.

"That's not an answer," Gar stated simply.

He'd positioned himself so that the half wall dividing the little kitchen from the living room was between them. Vic looked around, at the pizza boxes and dirty dishes, at the video game pause screen. It wasn't far off from how Vic had pictured Gar living; he was just surprised another human put up with it. Or maybe it was Terra who was the mess and Gar was just living in it. Vic took another sip of water, wondering how honest to be.

"You seem on edge," he observed. "I think you know how I found you."

"I…" Gar trailed off, his hands making fists at his sides. He looked at the ground in shame. "I shouldn't have gone out. She told me I couldn't, that I could never- but I did it anyway. Someone saw, didn't they?"

"It's worse than that," Vic said in a grave voice. "There's a tape."

Gar looked up in horror, his green eyes wide and afraid, his lips parted in shock such that his little fangs were apparent. Unwillingly, he took a step back, bringing up his arms defensively. Vic set his glass of water down on the coffee table and held out his hands to calm him.

"It's not public; someone with a lot of money made sure of that. But Gar, it's still bad. I know you were just trying to help but whoever has that tape saw you. And your girlfriend Terra, she's going to trade you to them. You for the tape and her freedom."

"Terra," Gar repeated, shaking his head. "No, she wouldn't. Why would you say something like that? You don't even know her."

"I know she's a killer," snapped Vic, annoyed with how not seamlessly this little venture was going. "It's all on that tape."

"It was an accident! She told me she didn't mean-"

"She smashed a rock into the side of your face and then crushed that man's skull! More than that, she's robbed every bank she's ever worked at! How can you defend her? How can you stay here with her?"

"Stop it," screamed Garfield, bringing his hands up to his head and running his fingers through his hair. "Stop lying to me! That's not- she would never-"

"It's the truth, Gar. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you."

"No, you shut up! You have no idea what it's been like. Terra's been there for me. She's protected me, taken care of me. And now, what, you're saying she's going to betray me? That she's a thief and a murderer? I don't believe you."

"She's already done it! The deal's been made; they're coming for you Gar. I came to get you out of here. Come on, man, just leave with me now and I'll make sure they never hurt you."

"Leave with you? Are you nuts? Do you think I'm stupid? Last time we met you didn't want anything to do with me and now you want me to leave with you? Just like that?"

"I know this is sudden but we don't know when they're going to act. Look, you can hate me all you want, just come with me now."

"I don't think so," Gar hissed, hunching his shoulders. "And I don't think you can make me. Get out Vic. Take your filthy lies and just get out."

Vic scowled and stepped into the kitchen. He was a good two heads taller than Garfield and twice as broad. He'd been an imposing human and now, made of metal like he was, he didn't see that the little man stood much of a chance. He grabbed Garfield by the arm and hauled him out into the living area where the ceiling was vaulted. Gar struggled and protested, but his human form could do nothing against Vic's iron grip. But that wasn't his only form. There was the sound of shredding clothing and the arm in Vic's hand expanded until he had to let it go. He turned and a green grizzly bear reared up onto its hind legs and roared so loudly the paintings on the wall trembled. Vic took a step back as six-inch claws swiped at him. It wasn't an attack, Gar had missed on purpose, but it made for a good message. Unless Vic wanted to fight him and kidnap him, Garfield wasn't going anywhere.

"Please Gar," Vic begged. "Once they take you it'll be almost impossible to break you out. I know you have no reason to believe me and I know you're scared. But please…"

The bear dropped back onto all four paws with a thump that made the floor shudder. His white eyes were unreadable, but his lips were pulled back into a snarl. Vic deflated, recognizing that he'd lost. And that that loss would have consequences. Pulling his hood back into place, he turned his back on Gar and left without another word.