I've actually got quite a bit of the next few chapters written, which is why I've been updating so frequently. I hope it lasts. I really want to finish this darn fic before the summer ends.

We're finally reintroduced to some familiar characters, which you might recognize from a certain Marvel TV series, as well as the start of a new arc. Yay!

And thank you to Heart 'n' Soul 2, I really appreciated your review! I have to admit, I wasn't expecting anyone to say that, and it makes me so happy. I would also like to thank everyone else for their reviews and time spent reading this stupid-long fic, because it really makes my day when you take the time to write a personal response. It's the best thing ever! I wish I could hug you!

Anyways, hope you enjoy!

Chapter Nineteen

Festina Lente

I had to come up with a good excuse to be out past curfew for Aunt May. Turned out, all I had to do was tell her the truth; Aunt May actually laughed and said it was all right, just so long as he got his number. Which I had, thanks to the infuriating efforts of MJ.

I almost wished she said no. I wanted Aunt May to keep me in. Because then I'd have an even better reason to not go besides my own reluctance.

I mean, Dorian didn't deserve that, but maybe I was a terrible person, because I didn't particularly care. Well, it didn't matter now, because that next Friday, at seven o' clock, I found myself standing in front the Big Screen, a small cinema near the Village, dressed in my favorite jeans and Mom's favorite scarf. I fingered the colored wool, laced with silver thread. I had forgotten I even had still had this, and it was startling to still smell Mom's perfume on it. It sparked a dozen old memories, of Mom taking me out shopping (even if we couldn't afford it), or to go skate at the Rockefeller Plaza or see Lady Liberty.

It was distracting, to say the least. I felt my eyes burn a little, just thinking about it. I really did not want to start this whole date off teary-eyed and weepy.

Come on, get a hold of yourself, girl. You've made an image for yourself, stick with it!

Luckily I managed to control myself and clamped down on the tears a few seconds before I spotted Dorian. He weaved through the crowd of recent movie-goers having just finished their film.

"Hey, Amy!" He found me quite easily, standing stock-still in the middle of the sidewalk, and a big grin pulled on his face. I gave a little wave in return.

"I gotta be honest," Dorian came up to me, tripping over someone's heel before regaining his balance and stopping in front of me, looking a little bashful. "I seriously thought you were gonna ditch me again."

"I tossed a coin, chose heads, and lost," I said, shrugging my shoulders.

"Really?" His eyebrows shot up.

"No," I rolled my eyes, trying not to smile. It had been a lie, but it felt a lot better to say than the truth: that Mary Jane had been bugging me ever since she heard the news, and even got Peter in on the act. I couldn't stay home and bear the relentless teasing without punching him, or else Aunt May would ground me. Again. "I'm just teasing you. Do you want to head in now or get some popcorn? I've already got the tickets."

"Well, it wouldn't be a real movie experience without popcorn," he remarked.

"Good choice," I said and we started heading towards the concessions stand.

He was quiet while we waited in line; I wasn't exactly trying to make conversation either, but I suppose I was at a loss of what to talk about. I didn't really know any ice-breakers, at least none that were lame. And I had no intention to embarrass myself in front of him.

Thankfully, Dorian broke the silence first, just as it came to our turn at the register. "I just wanted you to know, I'm not really like that. The way I was at the party, I mean. I'm not really, erm, assertive. I guess I was just angry about the way you treated me."

"Oh," I said, brilliantly. Then I wanted to kick myself for not coming up with a better response. So I quickly added, "I kind of figured. And, um, I'm sorry about that. The past few weeks have been kind of rough on me."

"You mean, besides the shoulder?" Dorian asked as he handed the cashier lady a dollar bill.

"Um, yeah."

"Like what?"

I winced internally, wishing I hadn't brought it up now. Great, how was I going to put this in a way that satisfied his curiosity and didn't incriminate me at the same time? "Family trouble. My mom's been, uh, sick recently. I had to miss school on top of everything else, to help take care of her."

"Oh, man, I'm sorry," Dorian said, throwing me a sympathetic look that made me half-smile in response. "I hope she gets better."

"Yeah. Me, too."

"So!" Dorian said, a brighter tone in his voice, as if to indicate a change in topic. I breathed out a sigh of relief; anything besides my personal life, please. "What's Midtown like? I heard you guys gave great scholarships, especially in the sciences."

"Uh, yeah," I shook my head, getting myself to forget the other topic and instead think about school (ugh). "It's, uh, pretty popular for kids in that field. It's also got a good theater program."

"You auditioning?"

I snorted. "Me? Talking in front of a giant crowd? No thank you. And their doing A Midsummer Night's Dream."

"Well, that can't be so bad. That's one of Shakespeare's comedies, right?" Dorian asked, raising an eyebrow as he took the bucket of popcorn from the cashier lady. It was a large one, which I appreciated; I had been eating a lot recently, and any more calories were put to great use.

"Yeah, but anything written by Shakespeare is automatically a tragedy to my mind, so not gonna happen," I replied, and was pleased to get a laugh out of him. See? I could be funny and charming when I wanted to be (who was I trying to convince, myself?). "Me and the Bard don't have a great relationship, if you couldn't tell."

"Aw. He's probably rolling in his grave, hearing you say that," Dorian made a silly pouty face, and he threw a kernel at my head.

I swatted it out of the air before it could touch me, reacting purely on instinct. I glared at the kernel as though it had personally offended me, while Dorian laughed. "Wow, nice reflexes."

"Thanks," I muttered, stuffing my hands into my pockets again, feeling frustrated with myself. Even though most of my powers were still out of commission, I couldn't deny my own instincts, particularly the self-defensive ones. Did I almost give myself away? "I'm sure Shakespeare is more worried about all the bad adaptations of his plays rather than little ol' me, who doesn't even bother to read them."

"There are worse crimes to commit," Dorian agreed with a sage nod. Although he was taller than me, Dorian was extremely skinny, and for some reason I felt like I had to be careful around him, lest I snap him in half (despite the fact that I, myself, was in no condition to do that even on accident).

He went on to say, "You seem more like the kind of person who'd be in a fight club, instead."

I threw him a strange look as we headed into the theater hall. "What do you mean?"

"You know, a fight club? Where you beat people up?" Dorian raised his fists and pretended to box with them as if to demonstrate his point. Then he shrugged, "MJ told me you get into fights at school. Now that I've finally met you, I'm not surprised."

"It was one time!" I groaned, throwing out my arms. "I break one person's arm and suddenly I'm the villain!"

"I never said you were!" Dorian brought up his hands in surrender, shaking his head frantically. "That's not what I meant. I'm just telling you what MJ told me. Clearly, she likes to exaggerate. But my first impression of you turned out to be right: you're definitely one of the toughest people I've met."

"Oh," I said, dropping my arms, feeling myself deflate. Well, get myself all worked up for nothing. "Uh, thanks, I guess. You're not so bad yourself."

Dorian grinned at the compliment. "Awesome. Come on, the movie's just about to start."

The date went pretty well, considering how hard I was trying to convince myself it wasn't, so I'd win. After the movie was over, Dorian and I headed to the Silver Spoon, which was only a few blocks away. During the walk, we talked about what we thought of the movie — and I found myself holding my half of the conversation pretty well.

I hadn't talked this much in a while. It was actually kind of refreshing, and I found myself smiling during the walk, during the meal. I actually felt a little sad when (admittedly late) dinner had to end.

We were just walking out when Dorian, still holding the door open, asked, "So, what'd you think? Am I worthy of another date?"

The comment made me laugh — not for the first time tonight. Still, the question made me nervous, and when I didn't answer right away, Dorian just ducked his head, scratching his cheek as he said, "You know, that whole bet thing, it was just a joke. You don't have to see me again if you don't want to."

"No, no, it's was great, I just..." I started to say, turning to smile at him, but my voice died when my gaze fell on something behind him. Across the street, in the cone of light from a street lamp, stood someone I never thought I'd see again.

Eddie Brock.

Watching me. Smiling.

My mind went blank, and I jerked back when a hand waved in front of my eyes. I shook my head, distracted, while Dorian asked, "Amy? Earth to Amy, you there?"

"I, uh," I blinked, trying to remember what was going on. A sudden panic filled my chest and I spun to look at Eddie again.

Only he was gone.

"What's the matter?" Dorian asked, and I focused back on him again, feeling strangely hollow. "You look like you've just seen a ghost."

My mouth hung open for a few speechless seconds. Still staring at the spot where Eddie once stood, I started to back away, my tongue completely dry. "I think I just did."

OoOoO

In, out. In, out. In, out.

I counted my breaths as I pumped my legs, my footsteps skipping across the pavement. I ducked between shoppers with their bags and businessmen with their briefcases and kids on their bikes. I was dressed lightly for the weather, in order to go faster and stay cool. The bitter wind was refreshing rather than crippling, although my fingers were starting to feel a little numb.

I finally had the energy to return to regular exercising, although anything criminal-related was still off-limits. I was still trying to make another costume, which was extremely costly and time-consuming. I hoped I'd have something finished by the time my shoulder was flight-ready again.

But that really wasn't what I was concerned about — not my health, not my powers, not Doc or Smoke or any various bad guys that have made their resurgence in the past few weeks — rather, I couldn't get Eddie out of my head.

After seeing him last Friday night, I was in a constant state of paranoia. I thought Peter might've just been seeing things when he mentioned it to me last week, but it was clear that something was going on. Was it really Eddie? Was he back? Where had he even been all this time? I knew he had gotten away after we took care of the symbiote, but apparently he had been keeping his head low, because this was the first time I'd seen him in months.

What did he want? Revenge? It was the only possible thing I could think of; because, really, what else would he want? Peter and I ruined his life, on purpose I might add. How he failed to understand how his actions were detrimental, that revenge was wrong, I didn't know. What would he do this time? Would he attack Aunt May again? She was getting better after her heart attack, but I imagine a run-in with him or Venom would definitely set her back, if he didn't outright kill her. I didn't think Eddie would go that far — or at least I hoped — but it was still a threat to consider.

Fortunately, it seemed as though he hadn't recovered the symbiote yet. Was he still powerless, or would Eddie Brock find some other way to become strong again?

I was so caught up in these thoughts that led back into themselves in endless circles that I wasn't paying attention to where I was going. One second I was racing over a crosswalk (jogging was too slow for me) in Hell's Kitchen, and the next second there's a man right in front of me, and I was going too fast to stop.

"Watch out!"

My shoulder hit his and we both went crashing into the sidewalk. I gasped in pain as terrible jolt shot up my arm and across my back — of course it had to be my bad shoulder!

I clutched my right arm, my chest heaving as I tried to pick myself up, trying to move through the pain. Instead I just sat on the tarmac, trying to catch my breath and waiting for the worst of the pain to subside. Okay, that was a little much.

I had no way to prevent it from happening. My radar had been going on and off for days. I had been so excited when it returned a little over a week ago, only to find that it was weak and fuzzy for just a few hours before going out again. Since then, I had begun to ignore it and act without it, until the radar came back for good.

Of course, that made sensing things I couldn't see very hard to do. And thus, I bulldoze into innocent people and batter them with my too-strong body.

I didn't even remember the other person until I opened my eyes again and saw him, on his hands and knees, scanning the sidewalk with his hands. A pair of round sunglasses was nearby, red lenses cracked, and a white cane had rolled up against the wall of the nearest building. For some reason, the man couldn't seem to find them, although they were right there. I stared at him for a second, wondering why it was taking him so long to find his things, why he couldn't spot the things that should've been easy to spot.

Then all the pieces clicked together and I realized with horror of what I've done.

The man's eyes were blank and unfocused as he continued his search, squinting slightly as though he might've been hurt. I didn't even realize he was speaking to me until his hand found the toe of my sneaker. The touch jolted me back to the present.

"Are you all right?" His face canted upwards in the direction of my body. "You sound hurt."

"...w-what?" I blinked, barely even registering his words before shaking my head and finally reacting to the situation. "Oh — oh my god, I'm so sorry, I didn't see you! Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

"Relax, I'm fine," the blind man actually smiled, while I just stared and wondered how he wasn't cursing my head off like a normal New Yorker would. "Surprisingly, I'm not as helpless as I look —"

"Whoa, dude, what happened?" another man burst in on the scene, wearing a suit like the blind man, but bit rounder in the gut. He bent down, taking the blind man by the elbow and helping him up. "Did you fall? Man, you gotta be more careful —"

The blind man let out a beleaguered sigh. "I'm fine, Foggy. Just a minor collision, no one got hurt."

"What? Who?" the newcomer, Foggy, turned his gaze on me, still on the ground. He scowled, pointing a finger at me and demanding, "What the heck's wrong with you? Don't you know a blind man when you see one? Why you gotta go knocking 'em over like bowling pins —"

There's the reaction I was expecting. I scrambled to my feet, wincing as a new tremor of pain coursed through my shoulder. I tried to apologize, stumbling over my words, and trying to be heard through Foggy's rant, but it was the blind man who held up his hand, placing it on the hand holding him up. He said, "Hey, calm down! It was just an accident! She's already apologized."

"Well, I want it in writing," Foggy declared, as I grabbed the fallen cane and sunglasses. I felt bad that it was my fault they were cracked — not that he would notice. "Or I'm gonna call for a class-action lawsuit and..."

Then I wanted to hit myself for thinking that. Good lord, what was wrong with me?

Unsure how to approach a blind man and not wanting to touch him because it was kind of weird to touch a complete stranger. Still, I rested the tips of my fingers on his upper arm. "Here, your things,"

"Oh, thank you," he reached out, using my arm as a guide to find the items. He slid the glasses on and it seemed almost a transformation as he seemed to fall back into a comfortable form. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Your glasses are cracked," I said, completely deaf to the last question. I was practically wringing my hands and I didn't know what to do with myself to make this all better. I mean, apparently everything was all right, but I still felt like I had to make it up to him. "Sorry."

"It's fine," he repeated, starting to sound tired of saying that so many times. He smiled wryly, "It's not like I need them to see, anyways,"

I let out a surprised blurt of laughter, before cutting myself off in mortification. Was it okay to laugh at blind jokes when it was a blind man making them?

"Matt, she laughed!" Foggy exclaimed, pointing another accusatory finger at her and turning to his friend, who just seemed amused by his friend's exaggerated outrage. "We could sue her for that!"

"He's just joking," the blind man, Matt, said with a gesture to his friend. "He likes to think I can't defend myself outside of a courthouse."

"Because you can't see crap!" Foggy reminded him, then to me, he added, "I'm allowed to say that, as one of the perks to being best friends with a blind guy."

His behavior towards me seemed to have finally toned down now; he fell back on his heels, giving me an easy smile. Well, a smirk, really. I guess he was really proud of that privilege.

I could only nod dumbly. The two were clearly all right and weren't angry at me (although I had the strange feeling I had seen this Matt character before, but I couldn't recall where).

"Are you from around here?" Matt asked, and I was about to open my mouth to answer when I saw something over his shoulder.

On the other side of the street, standing at the corner of the next block, stood one lone figure. Black jacket, blond hair, a knowing smirk.

A chill went down my back. My breath came out in a whisper. "Eddie."

"What?" Foggy frowned at me, then glanced behind him to see what I was looking at. "What're you looking at?"

But a dump truck had just blown by, and by the time it passed, Eddie was gone. Vanished into the wind.

Matt frowned, following the turn of Foggy's body in the direction of the street corner. "What is it?"

"I don't know," Foggy replied, obviously not seeing what I had, what had left the look of horror on my face. Not that they would know who Eddie was even if they had seen him.

"Is something wrong —?" He turned back around to face me, only to find that I, too, had disappeared. Foggy blinked, taken aback, glancing around. "Wait, where'd she go?"

"She's gone?" Matt frowned, gripping his stick in both hands. "What happened?"

Foggy just scratched his head. "I have no idea."

OoOoO

After that absolutely horrifying experience, I had to distract myself by finding out more on Goliath, which meant a trip to the library.

Unfortunately, three hours at the computer led to absolutely nothing. The bank that he was in claimed no relation to the events surrounding the fight or why he showed up on their security camera feeds, which had been leaked to the press. If anyone else knew who or where he came from, they were keeping quiet. And the images of Goliath's face were unrecognizable — he had been kept away from cameras as they stuffed him into an armored van and hauled him to Ravencroft, where he would no doubt be locked up in a high-security cell.

Danny, my new favorite blogger, also had no idea who he really was. In an effort to at least get something out there, I sent him an anonymous email with the information I discovered, hoping that he'd read it and not send it to his spam box. I wasn't sure how to convince him it was really me, Falcon, giving him this information, so just hoped that he'd at least look into it. What did he think of my almost-a-month-now disappearance? Did he think I was finally gone, or just staying out of limelight?

Either way, someone had to know. The people in this city couldn't stay blind forever.

Ugh. I smacked my forehead, groaning at my own stupidity. All day I thinking of jokes and insults related to blindness, and even though I never said them aloud, I still felt incredibly guilty. What was wrong with me? Nothing bad even happened, but here I was obsessing over the incident like I just killed a man.

I mean, maybe it wasn't so bad. Just because I wasn't Falcon right now didn't mean I didn't have to care about other people, right? And Matt No-Last-Name and Foggy What's-His-Face had been pretty cool about it, even though the latter certainly wanted to rub it in. I wasn't sure I liked him so much.

Unfortunately, even in the library I was not safe from trouble. As I was getting up to leave and head home before my curfew ended, I spotted a couple of kids hunched in a dark part of the library, between two very dusty and used shelves.

They seemed to be trading something, passing their hands over each other before quickly stuffing their barter in their jackets, carefully hiding the objects to prevent identification.

I knew this behavior well. You'd see it all the time in school, kids hanging out under the bleachers or in the stairwell, passing cigarettes and other contraband between them when they thought no one was looking.

I paused, backtracking and sneaking in the aisle next to them, crouching down so they wouldn't see my shadow behind the books. At least my hearing was in good condition, because I picked up on their voices with excellent clarity.

"...telling you, man, it's all good!" the first one said, waving his hands in the air in a gesture of reassurance. "There's plenty more where this stuff came from. I know a guy. He's good for it."

"You sure, man?" the other said, sounding unconvinced. "I heard this shit was high-market. You don't just find this stuff on accident. They have to give it to you first, after testing to make sure you don't snitch."

Whoever this 'they' was, I had a good feeling they weren't looking out for the well-being of New York City's youth. I continued to listen, hoping the dealer might reveal where his supplier was.

"It's easy," the dealer said with a little chuckle, sounding a little too overconfident for my tastes. But it was all right; that just meant he had no idea they were being eavesdropped. "First you gotta look the part. If they catch you doing anything a little less than legal, or you're already good at dealing, they'll approach you. This stuff is heavy, so they don't keep it just anywhere. I heard they set up a new spot at Original Johnny's Pizzeria. I usually go to the Circle-Q, but they closed down a week ago. I'm selling what's left of my stash before I head over there. I've been vetted by some very influential people, so they'll know I'm good for it."

Johnny's Pizzeria? I knew that place. It was down by the Park, where a lot of vendors sold their wares, and families went on picnics and trips. A lot of school kids went there, because of the museums and nature walks. An excellent spot for targeting new buyers.

The two dispersed after that, and I followed the dealer, a scruffy guy with curly red hair and some beat-up combat boots, looking to be about in his mid-twenties. He walked in a weird sort of slouch-strut, which kind of made me want to punch him on that quality alone.

Following him was going to be a difficult matter. I wasn't Falcon, so I didn't have the advantage of flight or disguise to hide myself. I had no experience mundane stealth — all I knew came from the Mission: Impossible movies, so I hoped that they would prove to be accurate while I tailed this guy.

Either those movies had it right, or this guy was an idiot, because I didn't get spotted once. Keeping my distance, I followed the dealer out the library and down the avenue, going at an easy pace. I blended in well with the crowd and, thanks to my height deficiency, wasn't easily seen over the shoulders of big businessmen and ladies in heels. My clothes, some jeans and a dark green jacket, didn't stand out in anyway. The feeling of being invisible would usually be kind of sucky, but in this moment I felt sneaky and smart, and allowed myself to gloat a little. Maybe if this superhero stuff didn't work out, I could be a spy.

Once we got to the park, the dealer started getting a little antsy, and that's when my skills were tested. There were fewer people on the sidewalks now, and I knew that the dealer had seen me when he glanced behind him once. I pretended to be looking across the street, where some construction workers were working on some water pipes.

The dealer continued walking, not picking me out. I waited a few seconds before I decided to get any closer to him, in case the dealer figured out what I was doing.

I planned on not being seen again. If the dealer recognized me, he might not think I was just someone heading in the same direction anymore.

I didn't necessarily have to follow him, but I would prefer if the dealer got busted along with everyone else working shady business at Johnny's.

The Park opened up to a large grey sky, and I headed onto the snow-covered grass, keeping my eye on the dealer from beyond some bushes. I waited until he passed the streets and crossed the road, pausing once more to look around before he went inside the Pizzeria.

Johnny's wasn't exactly the nicest place. Its canopy had holes in it and the door's paint was chipped. There was no sign, just a piece of paper taped to the door with handwriting all over it. Apparently it had fallen on hard times. Maybe the suppliers knew that this place was desperate enough to take their business, or too desperate not to.

I found a payphone nearby — while I couldn't bust them as Falcon, at least there were the police. They had to be good for something, right? And leaving an anonymous tip would certainly protect me.

I wasn't sure how long I had to wait after hanging up, but I definitely wasn't expecting results within the next few minutes.

Sirens came screeching down the streets, and I watched in surprise as two cop cars skidded to the curb, police officers jumping out and bursting inside, guns already out and loaded.

Whoa, whoa, whoa! I panicked, wondering if I sent the wrong message. I said a drug deal was going down, not terrorists building a bomb!

I scrambled out of the park, hoping that no one was going to get shot. Yet, even as I emerged from around the bend in the park path, I saw a policeman come out, heading to his car and sticking his head through the window, reaching for the radio. Had it gone down all right? Was he calling back-up?

I had no idea. Instead of just waiting around, I ducked by into the alley next to the building. I could see that there was an access in the back, where trucks could unload their goods. I hurried back there — if anyone thought of escaping through the fire exit, I might be able to stop them somehow.

Pulling up the hood of my sweatshirt, I crept around the back, staying careful not to be too loud as to draw attention. Just as I stepped into the clearing, the back door burst open, and out popped the drug dealer, looking panicked and ready to run. Out of his pockets fell tiny packages, filled with what looked like red candy. But I knew what it was.

Rosebud.

Crap.

The guy stumbled when he underestimated the drop of the steps, nearly falling flat on his face. More Rosebud fell out of his over-stuffed shirt; he was practically brimming with the stuff. Apparently he thought he thought he could get away and sell whatever he could grab before the cops confiscated everything.

As he picked himself up, the dealer spotted me, and froze. We stared at each other for one long moment, not quite sure how to deal with the unexpected development.

"You again?" the guy demanded, and I knew I was screwed.

Suddenly, he was shouting, "SNITCH! SNITCH!"

Startled, I had no idea what he was doing, and almost didn't notice when the dealer reached for something in his waistband. But I already knew what he was going to do, and charged at him.

Before the dealer could even aim the gun at me, I swung my left arm, delivering a swift blow to the right side of his face. His head snapped back so hard he was knocked off his feet.

When he hit the ground, Rosebud exploded from his pockets and the gun fell away from his hand. The dealer dropped like a rock, completely out.

I was a little surprised. Damn, I thought he'd be harder to take out.

Wham!

The door flew open again, making me yelp in surprise as a cop burst out, gun raised. He took one look at the situation: first down at me, then down at the dealer, then back to me again.

My hands flew up. "I swear, I'm not —"

But I didn't get a chance to explain myself before he fired.

"Whoa!" I threw myself out of the way, the bullet lodging itself into the wall behind me. I stared at the cop, my jaw dropping in disbelief. "What the hell, dude!"

But the cop wasn't done. He kept firing more shots at me, his gun trailing while I kept moving. Luckily I had regained some of my speed and I ducked, throwing myself at him. The cop tried lowering his gun to follow my path, but didn't get a chance to hit before I launched upwards, throwing a leg directly into his chest.

My foot connected and as he fell back, I used the momentum to throw myself into a spin, using my other leg to kick my heel into his face. The guard uttered a surprised cry before dropping, landing a second before I did.

Breathing hard, I considered finishing the job, since the guard was still moving. But I remembered that I wasn't wearing a mask — just a hood that may or may not be covering my face all that well — and that the sooner I got out of here, the better. I couldn't afford to hang around in case anyone else got involved.

The cop was still reaching for his fallen gun when I took off in a run. Instead of going down the alley, which would have been predictable and made me an easy target, I instead headed for the opposite wall.

A meter before I collided, I bent my knees and propelled myself upwards, twisting at the hip to plant my feet against the wall and launch myself up at the brick building. I reached out, my hands catching on the old iron fire-escape a story up, and hauled myself on top of the railing.

I could've taken the steps, but instead I threw myself back at the other wall, recommencing the game of Pong between buildings until I reached the top. I flipped over the side, making a three-point landing on the flat roof. My shoulder ached from having to pick myself up, but I felt angry and scared and excited, so the pain was only a dull reminder in the back of my head. I was safe now.

But I couldn't just leave. I peeked over the side, careful not to be seen, as I watched the cop scan the area, having already gotten up. He looked up, apparently trying to figure out where I went, while yelling into the radio attached to his shoulder.

"...Got a female on the run, teens to early twenties," I heard his voice echoed off the buildings. "Caucasian, about five-two, wearing a green jacket and a hood that covered her face. Be warned, she is hostile and dangerous, super fast and strong, may be one of those weird supers again..."

Aw, crap. I ducked down again, yanking on the sleeves of my jacket. Well, not gonna need this anymore.

Then the air went silent, and I glanced down again. Frowning, I watched as the police officer bent down, picking up the Rosebud that had fallen on the ground and — incredibly — started putting them into his own pockets.

Just when I thought things couldn't get weirder, the policeman bent over the unconscious dealer, shaking him awake. Actually, he kicked the guy, which worked. The dealer jumped when he saw the cop standing over him, but didn't try to run away.

Instead, he asked, "Did you see her? I think she was following me!"

"Idiot!" the cop spat, smacking the kid across the head. "You should've watched yourself next time. Now, scram, before someone sees you!"

I watch, jaw-dropped, as the kid nodded and scampered off, down the other end of the alley. I stayed just to see the cop shake his head and not report the dealer to his radio before going back into the building, shouting at someone still inside.

I fell back on my butt, clutching my head as I looked up at the sky. Holy crap. This was even worse than I imagined.

There were corrupt cops in the NYPD.