Me: Yea, yea, yea, people, don't get your panties in a bunch. =.= I'm not completely giving up on this story, it's just I'm having a really hard time finding inspiritation, and I've been writing random one-shots to save in my DM. =P But, whatever. Ooh, ooh, I might have a small little contest at the end of this for one of those one-shots I was talking about...stay tuned for more details, cheesecakes!

(Narrator's POV)

It was downtime in Manhattan, New York. Even the speeding cars on the numerous highways seemed to be slowing down, if only for one single evening. As we tune in to our favorite gang from ChewandSwallow, we find everyone off vacationing in slumber land. Sam had been peacefully resting in the Guest Ward for several hours, and occasionally a nurse would come by to check up on her, to make sure nothing bad had happened to the exhausted redhead.

Flint was asleep in his hospital room as well, one arm hanging off the side of the bed and the covers messily strewn across the metal bed. It made every nurse who stopped by laugh quietly.

Steve, not surprisingly, was dreaming happily about gummy bears in the Amazon Jungle (please, don't ask) and Mr. Lockwood was slumped in one of the shockingly-comfortable lounge chairs, none daring to bother the man.

Everything was peaceful and serene, the kind of atmosphere hanging over the hospital that made you want to cuddle up with a fluffy teddy bear and a soft blanket, temporarily shooing away all the worries and problems in a human's life.

Naturally, though, a scene like this certainly couldn't last forever.

Around four o'clock in the morning, Flint's father bolted upright, startling our favorite nurse, Janet, who was just coming in from her well-deserved break. She put a hand over her heart and breathed out in relief, "Oh, I'm sorry Mr. Lockwood; I should have shown you one of the guest rooms."

Mr. Lockwood was in a daze for a moment, then shook off any remaining traces of drowsiness, smiling beneath his furry moustache at the young nurse.

"No...it's okay. I'm fine."

Janet nodded, still concerned, before heading to the back room, getting ready for the long and tiring work day ahead of her. Mr. Lockwood rubbed his thinning--not bald people, thinning--head and calmed down, sighing heavily.

His own son was in the hospital...because he had been beaten practically to death and halfway back. It wasn't something he had ever planned happening in his lifetime. No father really planned it happening, he supposed.

But how could it happen to Flint? It seemed that his son always had some sort of trick up his lab coat's sleeve, naturally making Mr. Lockwood not worry about him so much. Well...that was a lie. He often worried about his offspring.

After all, Flint was picked on a lot as a kid, and still did, to a length. It was like the inventor was a prime target for the cruel things of the world. First his mother passing away, then the food incident back home, and now this? Apparently, nothing harsh would steer clear of Flint.

Mr. Lockwood sighed yet again and stood up, heading towards the hospital doors. He exited the building, breathing in the unfamiliar scent of city life and the morning air combined. The man liked it somewhat, finding it oddly soothing.

He trudged along the sidewalk, drowning in his own thoughts and concerns. Mr. Lockwood didn't notice the blue BMW trailing behind him steadily and quietly, earning glances from anyone up and about but drawing no further attention.

As Mr. Lockwood turned a corner, the blue BMW sped up and zoomed by, just as two patrol cars passed by. Mr. Lockwood looked up to see a small, cozy-looking café that was open. He stepped inside, the scent of mocha filling his nostrils.

He ventured over to the counter, spotting an elderly woman placing a fresh rack of blueberry muffins inside the display case. She smiled at him, the wrinkles on her face tightening.

"Hello. Quite the early riser, aren't you?" she said in a soft, aged voice. Mr. Lockwood nodded, and eyed the rows of different muffins hungrily. The elderly woman noticed this, and laughed heartily. "Here, since you're the first customer of the day--and you look awfully tired--you can have a free muffin. Which kind would you like?"

Mr. Lockwood blinked, and replied, "...Poppy seed, please. And a macchiato, if you don't mind."

The elderly woman nodded and set to work, pulling out a warm poppy seed muffin and placing it on the counter. As she went about getting his macchiato ready, the old-timer faintly wondered why he was out and about so early. It was common among Manhattan's residents, but he didn't appear as if he was from around here.

She decided to keep her curiosity to herself, and happily handed him the macchiato. "That will be seventy-five cents for the muffin, son."

Mr. Lockwood fumbled around in his pockets, and handed the woman a single. Taking the beverage and snack, he said gratefully, "Thank you. Keep the change."

He walked over to a small table by the corner window, placing his mini-meal on the surface and relaxing in the chair. He observed out the window thoughtfully, seeing Manhattan begin rising. The resident of ChewandSwallow released a sigh one final time before biting into the muffin, not being able to concentrate on the flavor. There was that question that was running a continuous marathon in his brain, and it wouldn't allow him to focus on much else.

Would everything go back to normal after Flint got out?

Me: Yosh, I am a huge procrastinating freak. And I know this was a REALLY short chappie, but I had to focus a little bit on the father of the victim, now wouldn't I? I guarantee--this time for real--that the next chapter won't be in two months! Probably about a week or so, or whenever I'm not booked with assignments.

Ja ne!

~Peachuz =3

Next chapter: Release