Stryfe was walking down the street, when he came upon a Starbucks. He knew Starbucks was a popular place for coffee in the 21st century. He didn't know whether that coffee was any good or not.

He entered, his armour half smashing the glass door as he barged through.

Nobody in the Starbucks stared. They had all seen it all before - battles between the X-Men and Magneto, the Avengers and MODOK, the X-Men and the Avengers… nobody cared. The baristas kept calling out orders and serving, the customers kept doing their thing.

Stryfe didn't like that no attention was on him. But still, he looked at the screens above the check out register.

What the hell was an Espresso Macchiato? He knew what an espresso was, and what a macchiato was. But why combine them? And what in the name of Apocalypse was a Chocolate Java Mint Frappuccino? And a Mocha Frappuccino? And an Iced Cinnamon Dolce Latte?

'Can I get your order?' asked a particularly blasé barista, who looked like he didn't want to be there at all. Not that Stryfe could blame him with all these crazy menu items.

'I want a regular coffee,' said Stryfe. 'Do you have that?'

The barista shrugged. 'Cappuccino? Americano? Latte?'

Stryfe grunted. 'Cappuccino.'

'Cow milk?'

'Regular milk.'

'So, cow milk. Size?'

'Regular.'

'We don't have regular. We have small, large, grande, or venti.'

Stryfe was losing his patience fast. 'Large then.'

The barista nodded and pulled out a twelve ounce cup and a Sharpie pen. 'Can I get your name for your coffee?'

'It's Stryfe.'

The barista looked at Stryfe for a moment before rolling his eyes. 'Strife. Okay. Sure.' He went to write on the cup.

'My name is spelled with a Y,' said Stryfe.

The barista snorted. 'So it's S-T-R-I-F-Y?'

'No, it's spelled with a Y,' Stryfe said, emphasising the Y.

The barista showed Stryfe what he'd written on the cup. 'That's what I wrote.'

Strife grit his teeth at the spelling.

Strify.

'No, you wrote "Strifee",' he said. 'My name is not Strifee. It is Stryfe. I saidStryfe.'

'Oh!' The barista nodded and crossed out the name, rewriting it on the other side of the cup. 'Like this?'

Stryfe didn't know whether he wanted to laugh in the idiot barista's face, or repeatedly slam the idiot barista's face into the coffee machines using his telekinesis.

Stryfy.

'That says "Stree-fee"!' Stryfe couldn't help it. By now, he was shouting.

'No, it says Strife,' said the barista. 'Look, you told me it was with a Y -'

Stryfe slammed his hands down on the countertop. 'It is with a Y! But the Y is in the wrong place!' He pulled himself off the counter and took a step back. 'Forget it. I'll just burn this place down.'

'Alright,' said the barista, still not wanting to be there. 'So, you don't want the coffee?'

Stryfe glared at the barista and dramatically whipped his cape as he walked out.

What an infuriating place.