Why is it that whenever someone makes an oath of celibacy, that suddenly there are suitors jumping in left and right? Fate must have a funny sense of humor. Or just hates single people.

Re-edited as of 10/11/14

Chapter Ten

Natus Occidere

As it turned out, all it took was a really good push to get those thick metal doors open.

Falcon supposed she could have just forced her way into the safe, through sheer strength of her telekinetic abilities. Then again, she wasn't there to make Smoke's job easy, and she had no idea that a rock would be guarded by a goddamn Terminator hell-bent on killing them both.

Together, she and Smoke ducked and dodged, weaving through the traps they just past with relative ease. Thanks to massive property damage via telekinesis, Falcon must have put a dent into the security system, enough that the airtight containment was, well, no longer airtight. Smoke was finally allowed to phase through otherwise dangerous projectiles and walls, and disappeared into shadow at will. He was gone before Falcon made it to the door on the other end.

She slammed through it with all the mental force she could summon, throwing her shoulder into the metal to help punctuate her thoughts. The door gave almost instantaneously, and she went through, only to slam the door back into place, just as the Terminator (what else was she going to call it? It was like every nightmare after watching those movies come true) was about to charge through the opening.

There was a loud WHOMPH! as the door shut once more, locking into place. There was a subsequent boom as the Terminator smashed into metal, leaving a large indent on the other side.

"The traps didn't even slow him down!" Falcon cried, her heart pounding out of sheer terror. The bullets had not phased the cyborg, he had moved too fast for the wall, and the lasers, blades and other assorted threats did absolutely nothing. The man literally ran through fire. "Holy...he's going to break down that door! What is he?"

"You really think that's important right now?" Smoke said, materializing from the shadows. He still had the rock in his hand. "In my book, we leave now and ask questions later!"

Without waiting for Falcon's reply, he grabbed her wrist and they phased through the floor just as the giant metal door was thrown off its hinges. Falcon barely remembered to hold her breath before the sensation of carpet, wood, and metal traveled through her body. The feeling of her molecules getting shifted around was, not surprisingly, very uncomfortable.

When they hit solid ground again several floors down, Falcon finally managed to gasp and say through her nausea, "I hate it when you do that!"

"I know." Smoke flashed a grin, just as the ceiling started to shake and scatter dust to the floor. He looked up and said, "Well, you've got about ten seconds before he gets through. I'd better fly if I were you."

"And what about you?" she demanded. "You're just going to leave me here to fight him off by myself?"

"Hey, I've done my quota of service today!" Smoke replied, starting to turn translucent and disappearing into another wall. He gave her one last smile, saying, "Thieves gonna steal, boy's gotta eat. You know how it is. Ciao!"

And he was gone once more.

Typical, Falcon thought to herself, just as cracks started to form over her head. She had just leapt out of the way before it came crumbling down on top of her.

The Terminator slammed into the ground, his metal fist punching a crater into the floor and nearly going through to the other side. Falcon had just picked up a chair, considering throwing it at him to somehow delay the cyborg – then realized that if fire wasn't going to stop this guy, a chair would mean nothing.

Instead, she turned and threw it at the nearest window. It shattered, with her following the glass a split second later.

Wings unsheathing in a split second, Falcon took air and shot away from the building as fast as she could. Cold winter wind cut through her suit like a knife, sending a jolt of adrenalin through her system. Despite the obvious dangers of a booby-trapped safe, at least it was warm. Falcon quickly shook off the chill, the effort of flight keeping her blood and muscles going.

Thinking she had lost the Terminator fellow some blocks ago, Falcon was surprised when she turned around and saw him far below, still chasing after her. Like a bulldozer, this guy slammed cars and trucks out of his way like bowling pins. Stop signs and street lights fell as traffic quickly got out of his way. The few police cars that dared engage him were quickly dismantled with a mighty kick to the grill.

Falcon could only stare. Jeez, what did it take to stop this guy?

She was not about to go looking for large smelting factories with lax safety features, but right now it was sounding like a good idea. Falcon couldn't head straight home, not with this guy following her. And even as the early strain of fatigue set in, Falcon had settled herself for another battle.

The Terminator decided to start early by jumping at least thirty feet into the air, launching himself onto the rooftops and closer to Falcon. Firing with both guns, the cyborg sent bright bolts of energy in her direction.

Sensing them early, Falcon easily dodged them. She was disgruntled, not necessarily alarmed to find that he had the same weapons the White Rose did. Coincidence? Unlikely.

"Fine, you want to fight?" Falcon grumbled to herself, altering her trajectory so she was now flying straight at the cyborg. "Then let's fight!"

The cyborg didn't convey whether or not he was surprised by this maneuver, just let out a meager grunt when she collided with him head on, sending the man skidding across the roof and over the edge.

Falcon grabbed the nearest gun he dropped and twisted into a pile of useless metal. "One down, another to go."

She was just about to pick up the other one when a massive boot descended on her hand, crushing it to the gravel below. Falcon cried out, looking up just to get kicked in the head.

The blow sent her tumbling back. The helmet, thankfully, did not give under the boot, but her head was still spinning when she managed to look up and see the cyborg pick his gun off the ground, dust it off, and start walking towards her. His speed was incredible – not only was he a fast enough runner to keep up with Falcon in flight, but he had recovered from a blow that would otherwise incapacitate a normal human being.

He was clearly not a normal human being.

Falcon was sort of glad to make this conclusion, because that meant she didn't have to go easy on him. This time, she didn't have to restrain herself– a usual problem when dealing with the everyday thugs or burglars. And it was clear that it was going to take a lot more than the usual effort to take down this man.

She smiled to herself. Challenge accepted.

Getting up once more, Falcon rolled her shoulders, dispelling some of the ache from the most recent attack. The Terminator raised his remaining gun, holding it in both arms and was about to fire when Falcon flicked her hand the gun was jolted aside.

Aim disrupted, several bolts going far over her head. Falcon crouched and dodged to the right as he continued to fire automatically, ducking behind a brick chimney before the plasma could touch her.

Surprised, the cyborg stumbled and readjusted his footing, contributing to his poor aim. As Falcon deliberated on a plan of action, he loaded another charge into the weapon and was about to fire when the gun exploded in his face.

Distracted and reeling from the sudden explosion, the cyborg did not see Falcon as she flitted around the corner of the chimney. She caught him by surprise, slamming a spin kick into his chest.

Falcon nearly dropped from the pain that reverberated up her leg, gasping. She managed to knock him back a little, but the cyborg was mostly unaffected by the move. In fact, it seemed as though Falcon managed to injure herself in what she now considered a very ill-thought-out maneuver. How could Falcon outfight an opponent bigger and clearly much denser than she?

Her ankle seemed to have taken most of the impact and when she stepped on it, Falcon winced in pain. Oh, good, a limp, just what she needed right now.

The Terminator, although without firearms, was not unarmed. Shaking his head, he withdrew a large, serrated knife from his belt, at least a foot in length. He held it in reverse grip, the blade opposite of his thumb.

There was a second where neither of them moved. Falcon swiped her arm, but the blade did not move from the Terminator's cybernetic arm. This gave her pause – his grip, enhanced by the metal, was far stronger than what she was used to. Stronger than her telekinesis? Perhaps not, but Falcon didn't get a chance to try again when he lunged at her.

Falcon dodged the first swipe but was blindsided by a feint to the side. Metal crunched against bone and she choked, the wind knocked out of her.

She managed to bring up her arm in time to keep the dagger from descending on her throat, but the weight the cyborg put into that blow sent Falcon to her knees.

She struggled for a few seconds, desperately scrambling for a way out through the suffocating lock in her chest. Falcon felt herself starting to panic as the cyborg managed to force his blade closer and closer to her neck. Her arm was shaking from the effort of holding him back, and her telekinesis had no effect on his inorganic arms.

Thinkthinkthinkthink, Falcon finally managed to suck in a grateful breath of air, before her arm gave way to the blade.

However, instead of letting it fall on her, Falcon rolled out of the way, letting the arm descend over her back as she slipped by the cyborg. The cyborg fell, losing his balance from the sudden action, and barely managed to catch himself before Falcon slammed a foot into his kneecap, which made a satisfying cracking sound and finally eliciting a howl of pain from the seemingly implacable man.

Falcon managed a grim smile. It seemed that he wasn't entirely robotic, and his legs were not as indestructible as his arms.

She turned and stomped on the blade, preventing the cyborg from picking it up. He did so anyways, in turn bending the blade and rendering it useless.

Falcon jumped back as the man regained his footing – he, too, had a limp, but was managing surprisingly well considering he had a shattered kneecap. Either he had a regenerative ability like she did (Falcon wasn't counting on it), or this man really was part Terminator. How much pain could this man take?

He threw the bent knife away, raising his hands and curling them into fists. His stance lowered, feet placed wider apart. Falcon imitated the movement, finally glad that she could fight her way.

The cyborg threw the first punch.

Falcon dodged, slamming the heel of her palm in the side of the man's face, cracking the skull mask and twisting his neck.

She meant to slip by him, but the cyborg saw her coming. He swept his leg, catching her ankle with his foot and sent her to the ground. He bent to pick her up, a move she anticipated. Rolling on her back, she hauled up on her shoulders and kicked her legs into the air, her heel catching his face again as she flipped back to her feet.

Remembering that this guy could punch through solid metal and travel through buildings by busting through floors, Falcon realized that fighting on top of a residential building may not be the smartest idea. How many people were below her right now, wondering what the hell was going on up here? No doubt someone would call the police, if they didn't come up to the roof to settle the matter themselves.

That was the last thing she needed right now. What if this man killed civilians, just for being in the way? Falcon was not going to let any more collateral damage happen if she could help it.

So, while the cyborg made to attack, Falcon weaved around him and started running, stepping onto the ledge and leaping into the air.

She hit the tarmac below, rolling to absorb the impact of her landing and get out of the way of the cyborg, which came down after Falcon. His jump wasn't nearly as graceful, bouncing off the wall building across the alleyway, punching a hole through the brick, before slamming down onto a car below and setting off its alarm.

The car squeaked on its chassis as the Terminator rocked off it, the enter cabin crushed beneath the cratered hood. Falcon took a step back, considering her next move. At least they were out of the vicinity of any passerby, and off the street, in case this guy thought of smashing more cars (he already caused a huge traffic jam down 27th Street).

The glowing red eyes behind the mask flickered ominously, the light so bright in the dark area that it reflected off the ground. He cricked his neck from side to side, cracking bones and loosening muscles, just before he charged.

Falcon reacted on instinct. She found the nearest object on her radar and threw it at him – in this case, a Dumpster.

The hunk of metal, combined with the weight of at least two dozen bags of trash, was enough to send the cyborg flying back a good twenty feet, but he was up again in an instant.

He ripped one of the lids off of the Dumpster beside him and threw it at Falcon so hard and so fast that it was a blur she barely managed to dodge. It whistled by her like a deranged Frisbee, smashing into a wall behind her and crumpling to the ground.

He chucked the other lid at her a split second after the first, this time managing to hit her shoulder and knocking Falcon aside.

It was long enough for him to charge again, covering twenty feet in less than two seconds and wrapping a giant metal hand around her throat before Falcon could get out of the way.

Falcon gasped, the metal unrelenting as it squeezed so hard she couldn't even speak, never mind breathe. He lifted her up like Falcon were nothing more than a sack of feathers and slammed her into the wall, forcing his hand into her trachea and almost knocking her unconscious.

As she struggled against the hand pinning her to the wall, Falcon saw that there was an inscription on the cyborg's arm, black painted words. It took her a second to read them through her haze of suffocation.

"G-Goliath?" she choked, wondering if she was seeing things. "Is that your name?"

The man's head jerked, as if recognizing the word. Instead of responding like a normal civilized person, he seemed to get angry, his grip tightening around Falcon's throat to the point that she was seeing black spots. Just as she thought her windpipe might collapse, Goliath uttered a snarl of rage and pulled her back. Falcon actually thought he would let her go.

Oh, he did. By throwing her into the street.

Falcon was so dazed she didn't even remembering flying, or hitting the ground. Her hearing was shot and head aching. She coughed several times, her throat protesting to the grip that had been around it. Falcon took in deep, painful breaths before she shakily got to her knees.

Then, her hearing kicked in, just to get an earful of noise.

BEEEEEEEEEP!

Falcon looked up just in time to see the headlights heading straight towards her. She threw herself out of the way, doing a backwards somersault and felt the rush of metal and burned rubber as it whipped by her.

Her throat hurt and her chest had a hard time sucking in all the air she needed. Falcon could feel the bruises around her neck forming. Hopefully they would be gone by tomorrow – that would be hard to explain to the nurse.

Or she could wear a scarf. That sounded like a reasonable solution.

These mundane thoughts brought a bit of relief to Falcon, who was still in the midst of a fight with a cyborg named Goliath. He was already emerging from the dark alleyway, appearing from the shadows like some demon bent on utter destruction.

Realizing that brute strength and metal arms immune to her powers was not something she wanted to fight anymore, Falcon unsheathed her wings again and returned to the air.

The height was reassuring. At least the guy couldn't fly, although his leap-buildings-in-a-single-bound trick was not amusing. She looked down on Goliath, who seemed to consider using that tactic again when she telekinetically picked up one of the abandoned vehicles left from his rampage and dropped it on his head.

Falcon flapped her wings, rising higher and higher into the air. She looked around, hoping for something else to throw at Goliath when the wind picked up and nearly sent her tossing through the air.

Thankfully, the wings adjusted automatically and Falcon maintained flight. She looked up at the dark clouds above her, realizing: a storm?

Suddenly, it started to rain.

The sleet hit her like a ten-ton wet blanket, almost overpowering her. It took a few more seconds for the water to permeate her suit and reach her skin. Falcon jolted, her nerves going on end. Cripes, that's cold!

At least it didn't stick to her wings, like freezing rain did – despite the incredible technology of Falcon's wings, they had a bit of an icing problem that Falcon had neither the expertise nor the resources to fix. So when the weather got bad, Falcon stayed indoors – anyone crazy enough to commit crimes in those conditions were both very brave and very stupid. She'd usually just let nature have its way with them.

Forcing her mind to forget about the cold (not easy), Falcon steeled herself for another fight with Goliath.

Only when she looked down again, he wasn't there.

What? Falcon looped around the block, trying to find where Goliath went. When she didn't spot him, she widened her canvass to a three block radius, then five, then ten. But he was gone.

Why had he left?

Falcon didn't know. She double-backed a couple times, to make sure he wasn't somehow still following her, but her radar never picked up on him.

Eventually, Falcon gave up. Deciding that sleep was better than an all-nighter searching for a Terminator, she went home.

OoOoO

I wasn't paying attention when I crashed into the boy with the coffee.

I had just turned a corner on my morning jog. It was an overcast Saturday, usually a time when teenagers stayed in bed until noon. Not me. This was part of my routine, how I kept myself in check. After this, a snack and meditation for an hour.

I didn't know if the meditation actually worked or not, but I did it anyways since Bruce suggested it. I couldn't tell if it had any physical effect on my body, or done anything to my mind. I still felt as stressed as before, as tense and as scared before I ever started. Sometimes I could feel relaxed long enough to enjoy a movie or two, but never enough to get a good night's sleep.

Sometimes meditation didn't work at all and I'd be stuck sitting in the lotus position, bored out of my mind and waiting for the hour to be over so I could do more important things, like fighting crime.

It didn't make it any easier that I was still sore from the fight with Goliath the other night. I was terrified I might run into him today, in my civilian identity, and he'd recognize me. Or start a rampage. Something to ruin my day.

But I still saw nothing of him. Goliath had dropped off the map. Police scanners didn't have anything to reveal, and the news even less informative. They didn't even have footage of our fight, just the aftermath. It was kind of discouraging. And scary.

But I digress. I had gotten distracted by the pigeons flying overhead (wasn't meditation supposed to help me concentrate?) and not noticing the door that just opened and the person stepping out. They, of course, didn't see me either.

I looked around at the last second, alarmed by the sudden jump on my radar, just in time to smack straight into his chest and feel the crunch of Styrofoam between us.

The sudden heat made me jump back, flinging my hands out and pushing away from him in an instant. "Ah! Watch it!"

The boy gasped at the same time I did, dropping his cup and wringing his burnt hand to free it of the hot coffee. He shook his head, saying, "Agh, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! It's my fault. I'm the one who just walked right in front of you."

I tried to brush off the brown stain now on the front of my jacket. At least it was waterproof, but now I smelled like coffee. Great, this was going to take forever to wash out. I tried to ease past the boy, hoping to make this a quick encounter and leave without further embarrassment, saying, "It's all right, I'm fine. I, uh, I have to go..."

But he reached out and caught my arm, looking surprised and a little hurt. "Wait, where are you going? I just spilled coffee all over you and you're just going to leave?"

"Uh," I bit my lip. Man, I just wanted to finish my jog, not make this a whole scene. I stepped back, finally looking the boy in the face and was surprised by what I saw. Light blue eyes, a friendly smile, a face that made me freeze in my spot.

Huh. He was actually kind of cute.

What? No! Don't get distracted! "Yeah. Places to go, people to see, that sort of thing."

"You're not even going to let me make it up to you?" the boy asked with an uncertain smile, clean white teeth in neat rows. He was tall and thin. I couldn't tell how old the boy was but he appeared to be my age. He had a thick wool hat on and a blue jacket, looking very warm, which was the opposite I was feeling besides the stain on my jacket.

"It's not a big deal." I replied, keeping my tone dull and face expressionless. I had to make myself look away from that face, filled with childlike eagerness. It made him even cuter. Why was he being so persistent? "Don't worry about it."

"Well, at least help me get you cleaned up," the boy offered just as I moved past him. "It's the least I can do."

"Oh, fine." I muttered, turning back around to face him. I had the bad feeling that the boy would keep following me if I didn't agree to something, so I just gave in. Maybe he'll leave me alone after this. "But I can't hang around."

"Deal." The boy smiled, pulling open the door to let me in. "Come on, it's warmer inside. How are you not freezing without a jacket on?"

Well, I was cold now that I'd stopped moving. I kept my tone curt, "The cold doesn't bother me."

"I'm sure Napoleon would disagree," the boy laughed as I passed him through the door, motioning with his arm like some sort of butler. "After you."

I frowned at him over my shoulder. "Was that a comment on my height?"

"What? No!" the boy replied, looking offended as he followed me inside. A little bell rung as the door closed behind us. "Napoleon was much taller. I don't know what you're talking about."

I just rolled my eyes and kept walking. We were in a little cafe, with window seats and retro tiles. Slow jazz played on the speakers above and I felt like I just walked into some weird beatnik scene where people had poetry slams and snapped their fingers in applause. I picked a seat by the frosted windows, covered in light condensation.

The boy went up to the condiments table to get some napkins, and asked the barista for some water. I tried not to pay him any particular attention, but my sensitive hearing betrayed me. The boy must be a regular here, because the barista asked him who the girl he ran into was. The boy explained the situation and the barista laughed, his afro bobbing up and down.

I tuned out their conversation, focusing instead on the other people inside the room, who were as normal as could be. Secretaries and office workers having a break, college students discussing lecture, a couple of kids playing Magic in the back. People, who didn't have to worry about the next super villain attack, didn't have to think about the White Rose making their next move. They lived in a blissful, normal peace.

I felt a little jealous but didn't dwell on it. I made this choice to be who I was, and I wasn't going to let petty feelings get in the way.

"Here you go," the boy returned, offering me the napkins and cup of water. I took them without a word and began dabbing at my jacket as the boy sat down in the seat opposite me. There was a new cup of coffee in his hands. "I'm Dorian, by the way."

"That's nice," I said.

Dorian laughed, apparently getting the wrong message. "Uh, usually this is the part where you tell me your name."

My gaze flicked up to him. There was a second where I considered the option, then decided it better of it. I went back to cleaning my jacket without another word.

As the silence stretched, Dorian seemed to catch on to the fact that I wasn't going to answer him. He raised an arm to scratch the back of his head, the red in his face telling of the awkwardness he was feeling. Dorian said with an uneasy chuckle, "Look, I'm not playing any angle here, if that's what you're thinking. I'm just doing what any other decent human being would. That's all, I swear."

"Oh, I know." I replied in a light tone. Dorian seemed nice, and I knew it was rude but I didn't care. "I'm just not interested in making any new friends at the moment."

"Uh-huh," Dorian blinked, his hand falling back to the table. Either he didn't believe me or was surprised he did. His brow furrowed. "Well, at least you're being honest about it."

"I'm not a very complicated person." I replied, still looking down at my jacket.

"Really?" Dorian made a face, leaning forward on the table and propping his chin on his hand. The charmingly inquisitive look he was giving me almost made me blush, but I dug my nails into my palm to keep a straight face. He pointed a finger at me, "Because you're acting exactly like you've got something to hide. There's more to you than what meets the eye."

"I bet you say that to all the ladies," I shook my head. I didn't know if that was a pick-up line or not (because no one ever tried one on me), but decided to play it safe. Still, I felt a little uncomfortable, like Dorian knew more than he was saying. But it was probably just my paranoia acting up again. It's not like I had any experience in flirting to tell.

"I'm not that kind of guy."

"Sure you aren't," I said, glancing up at Dorian to see him giving me a quizzical look. "Believe me, everything you see – that's all there is."

"So, you're just a jogger girl with no name, no family, no life?" Dorian said, not buying it. He just shook his head and smiled again. "You've at least got to have a story. Something about yourself that makes you different from everyone else."

Like super powers? A secret identity? A mother kidnapped by New York's most vicious mafia family? Sure, different. I told him, "Maybe I do. But you won't get to hear it."

I didn't know when a group of kids came in through the door, about half a dozen or so. Their loud chatter drew some eyes, but surprisingly enough Dorian had my full attention. I didn't notice one particular girl who saw us, looked away, and then did a double take. Dorian was about to open his mouth, perhaps to weasel more words out of me, when the girl interrupted him.

"Oh, heeey, Amy!" Mary Jane, in all her red-headed glory, appeared at the table. There was a big, horrible grin on her face. "Who's your friend?"

"Your name's Amy?" Dorian asked when I didn't respond right away, looking from her to me with eyebrows rising.

Damn it.

"He's not my friend," I muttered, glaring as Dorian stood up and introduced himself to Mary Jane, hand shake and all. Neither of them seemed to have heard me.

"I'll catch up with you guys in a second," Mary Jane waved to her compadres who had walked in with her. They must be from her other school, because none of them I recognized from Midtown. Did I mention she attended Midtown only for theatre program? Well, she did. And now I had to live with seeing her five days a week, for the next two years, after this. I was never going to live this down.

To me, Mary Jane asked, "Sooo, how did you two meet?"

Wow, I could hear those matchmaker gears turning in her head. Why wouldn't she just leave me alone?

I said, "He spilled coffee on me. Five minutes ago."

Dorian's shoulders hunched up in embarrassment. He gave me another awkward smile; it must be a classic move of his. "It was an accident, I swear."

I rolled my eyes and Mary Jane looked between the two of us, contemplating something truly evil. Had she caught onto the fact that I really didn't want to be here yet? Or maybe she didn't care. Maybe she wanted to watch me suffer.

"You know, Amy and I are going to a party down on Bleakers Street," Mary Jane told Dorian, leaning against the table with one hand while placing the other on her cocked hip. Why couldn't Dorian hit on her instead? She was clearly the more attractive between the two of us, and was more adept at flirting. And was, you know, interested.

"We are?" I looked up at her, caught off guard.

"Yeah, remember what I told you the other day?" Mary Jane nudged me on the shoulder. She winked at me, as if she were doing me a favor. "I think it's going to be a lot of fun. You can come, too, Dorian."

Dorian, being not completely braindead, understood that the glare I was throwing in MJ's direction was not because I liked the idea. He frowned and said, "Uh, are you sure? I don't want to be a problem or anything..."

I shot Mary Jane another look, mentally telling her to drop the subject and crush this party idea. But apparently I had yet to develop mind control powers, because MJ went ahead and chirped, "Of course not! The more the merrier! Just show up around eight on Bleakers, in front of the coffee shop, and we'll meet you there. Here, I'll give you my number...Amy?"

"What?" I snapped, perhaps meaner than absolutely necessary.

Mary Jane motioned to Dorian, who gave me a little wave, with her hand and said, "Why don't you give this nice young man your number?"

"Because I don't have a cell phone," I replied before standing up, throwing onto the table the napkins I had crushed into a tiny ball to prevent from doing the same to anyone's face – and walked right out of the shop.

Behind me, I heard Mary Jane say in a genuinely disappointed tone: "Sorry, she's just having a hard time right now, don't take it personally..."

Dorian said something as well but at that point the door had slammed shut behind me and I was already crossing the street.

As soon as I started to run, I knew they couldn't catch me.