­ The vast Milky Way galaxy is home to innumerable planets. Within eons a handful of these planets developed the first signs of life, and now the Milky Way is one of the most populous expanses of space in the known universe. Only here are species so close together that evolution and advancement became a contest. Yet no matter how many trillion competitors a contest may have, or how many billions of years it may run, there is always a beginning and always a victor. And the first species of the Milky Way to crawl out of their planet’s primordial ooze, once known as the Chi-al’reck before discarding such trivial things as words, now roam the galaxy free of mortal limits. Each one akin to a god in power, they have long surpassed the need for technology or other material goods. Instead they seek only to protect and nurture their younger brother and sister life forms as they see fit. So that their wards may more easily comprehend them, in millions of different tongues these ancient beings have named themselves, “The Guardians”. But to those few mortal organisms truly aware of their presence, they are more commonly known as, “Those Meddling Ghost Bastards”.

It is with them this story starts, as do so many of the galaxy’s most historic moments.

…

The Guardian known as Compromising As A Black Hole uttered the psychic equivalent of a groan as the universe came back into focus. Compromising and its slowly stirring companions, Quiet As A Super Nova and Bright As A Moon With No Sun, basked in the light of the local star. “(Ugh, too much.)”¹ Compromising adjusted his energies and, failing to dim the sun in its disoriented state, moved the nearest moon into the path of the irritating wavelengths. “(Much better).” Compromising coiled within itself, cutting off all sensory ability in order to rest, for the events prior to its awakening had been taxing even for a Guardian. The trio of immortals had spent the equivalent of many earth-hours honing their powers of illusion and manipulation on each others’ consciousnesses. It was an intense and necessary, but recreational, practice known as a “Bender”.

Compromising felt the last signals of light and vibration fade away to nothingness when a shrill wave of anxiety from Quiet shattered the peace like an explosion. “(Where did this baby come from!?)” Compromising and Bright both lurched to full alertness and focused their sphere of vision on Quiet and then on what was between them. A mammalian infant was suspended where the three’s trailing energies mingled.

“(Huh. Why did we steal a baby again?)” Bright queried, when Compromising lashed a psychic appendage across the top of Bright’s existence.

Bright rippled in pain but Quiet blocked him out. “(We didn’t mean to, we were hi-)”, Compromising struck Quiet next and reared up proudly, carrying the baby with him. If his audience had not also been Guardians they never would have noticed him search nearby solar systems for life.

“(We were helping!)” The strength of his proclamation shook the moon beside them. “(Helping,uh, Earth! The life on Earth is always in trouble and this…Nauxien? How in the universe did we-Nauxiens! Nauxiens are tough and the Earth needs tough! So we’ll give him to a pair of Earthlings and he’ll grow up to be the great champion they need!)”

“(But Nauxiens are even less evolved than Earthlings, and doesn’t Earth have more-)”

“(We’re sticking him on Earth and that’s final!)” Compromising whisked away down a slit in space-time, infant in tow, without another thought. Quiet and Bright focused on each other, then followed.

…

Catherine Wolfe glared viciously at the small plastic tube clenched in her hand. Or more specifically, at the two mismatched lines of blue and red at the tip. In a fair and just universe the device would have melted under the pressure of her gaze and provided Mrs. Wolfe some small outlet for her frustration.

Instead, her bubbly husband Arthur came bouncing down the stairs with a light in his brown eyes. “H~honey! So what’s the good news?” The pregnancy test brushed by his grinning face fast enough to burn flesh. Already a thin, angry line formed on his cheek.

“There is no good news,” Mrs. Wolfe snarled. But with each word anger and frustration melted away into quiet disappointment. “It was negative.”

Her husband’s shoulders sagged. “What? But the treatments-your period?”

“A coincidence apparently,” she admitted sourly.

Mr. Wolfe went behind his wife to hug her around the middle and bent down so their heads were side by side. “Don’t worry sweety, it’s alright. We can always keep trying.” He could see her expression change in the mirror, a playful smirk, but before she could speak the door bell rang loudly. The two stood in the bathroom a moment longer, surprised, while the brief echo faded. “I’ll get it,” Mr. Wolfe said. “It’s probably just a door to door or a Jehovah or something.” He released his wife and headed up the steps and down the hall to the door. Arthur peaked out the window. No one was there. However he did spy something brown sticking out of the corner of the window pane.

“Oh, Cathy I think it’s those holiday mugs.” Mr. Wolfe opened the door while his wife leisurely made her way to the door. “…Or not.” Mrs. Wolfe stuck her head out to see around her taller husband, but ended up having to push him the rest of the way out the door in order to get a proper look. Not a package, rather a large woven basket sat atop their homey welcome mat. More than a moment’s glance was enough to notice something was off. The weave of the basket seemed to smooth in places, almost melted together. A thick, more mundane blanket covered the contents and it drew their attention instead. Something was moving under it.

“Oh my God,” Catherine whispered. “Arthur hurry and close the door there could be-” Then the wailing started. The couple froze, halfway back inside. They were completely still for several seconds before Mrs. Wolfe grabbed the basket in a flurry of motion and pulled it inside. Her husband was just locking the door, acting on reflex more than anything, when she pulled the cover aside. It was a crying baby boy, with just a little patch of dark brown hair and little tips to his chubby cheeks and nose. Mrs. Wolfe absently ran a finger through her own dark locks and then looked up at her husband’s pointed features.

“Catherine, what is-Catherine? Catherine, honey, are you there?” She brushed the baby’s cheek. “Oh. Oh no. Catherine this could be so illegal-” The crying suddenly stopped, and Arthur found himself gaping at a pair of shining brown eyes above a bubbly grin. And it was done.

…

“(I told you you got the basket wrong).”

“(Shut up).”

…

Dr. Warren, having seen Mrs. Wolfe not a month earlier for fertility treatments, was reasonably skeptical that little Adam Wolfe was a home birth like his parents insisted. But he had known the Wolfe’s for years and they were good people, in so far as Mr. Wolfe senior letting that little slip with the car keys during his heart surgery go by at least, and the paper work covered his ass. So Dr. Warren happily christened Adam the newest member of the Wolfe family. The following physical showed nothing but a perfectly normal, healthy little boy. Well, except maybe that instead of a window-shattering shriek, Adam’s only response to his first shots was just a displeased gurgle.

The second sign that perhaps the Wolfe’s precious baby boy was a little different from most came when Mrs. Black, a close friend of Adam’s mother, brought over her baby daughter Lilly two months after Adam’s “birth”. Lilly had just started properly crawling and was currently employing her new skill to explore the Wolfe household when Adam suddenly pulled himself onto all fours and followed suit. Mrs. Black, in all her finery, wore the most gob-smacked expression upon her face as the two infants played and poked at each other as though they were not months apart.

Arthur and Catherine did their best to laugh it off. They themselves assumed Adam was a little older than they had first thought. Catherine did her best to distract the other ewoman with talk of baby clothes and dresses. It was but moments later when fate struck with the third sign of Adam’s secret origins, when peals of gurgling laughter came from the baby girl. The adults broke from their conversation to see what their adorable children were up to. The two laid together in an awkward pile in such a way that Adam was barely distinguishable as above Lilly, and while she giggled he made a soft rumbling noise, like laughter…or a growl.

Of course none of the parents noticed any possible aggression in the innocent, chubby face of the baby boy. Before the deceptively adorably antics playing out in front of them could advance to enlighten them, little Lilly twisted awkwardly in an attempt to sit up that sent Adam tumbling backward onto the floor. There was a moment of prepared silence, a collective cringe, after his head hit the carpet. But little Adam did not shriek or cry. The first sound was when Lilly giggling, having crawled forward so her head was above Adam’s. The boy lay still as Lilly hovered over him and did not rise until, apparently bored, she crawled on elsewhere. Then he quite followed behind her almost everywhere she went.

After the obligatory cooing, conversation resumed between the mothers and Arthur gladly accepted the task of keeping an eye on the children.

…

Adam’s parents could only claim pride that by six months of age he could crawl faster than most toddlers could walk. His parents had both been athletic, and a small part of each of them liked to think their genes could somehow rub off on him. When at eight months he escaped his cradle to walk over to where his mother was making lunch, they were still more joyful than surprised. It was not until shortly after his first birthday that his parents truly realized Adam was different:

Adam grew quickly in every way, down to even his teeth. It soon became too difficult for Mrs. Wolfe to feed him without pain so she turned to bottling her own milk. A bit of an awkward process, and one Mr. Wolfe was not allowed to watch, but it worked. Until Adam started leaving bottles half empty and solid food barely touched, yet demanded twice as many feedings. He hardly ever cried like most children,  instead Adam’s chest and throat would thrum with a clear but soft sort of rumbling noise. Nevertheless, his point always became obvious after awhile. It was one day when Mrs. Wolfe went out to purchase more baby food that Adam slipped from his sleeping father’s lap and disappeared. His parents thought they were frantic when they were searching for him. But it was when he reappeared pawing at the front door, with a half-eaten bird in his jaws, that Mrs. Wolfe fainted.

Dr. Warren fell more than sat into his comfy office chair. After thirty years as a medical professional, the good doctor thought he had seen just about everything the world could throw at his private practice. In fact, he felt that way every five or six years or so and inevitably the world would send a little something to prove him horribly, horribly wrong. This year’s reminder came in having to pump bird chunks out of a perplexed one-year old and then fend off that same one-year old’s subsequent attempt to maul him. Dr. Warren rubbed the gauze on his right arm. The parents’ hysterics were almost soothingly familiar by comparison. Not to say he wasn’t thrilled when they finally calmed down enough to hold the boy still so he could lick his own wounds. The ensuing physical had still been tense, with the held down infant glaring at him the entire time. Dr. Warren was sure it was just the total strangeness of the day that made him see slits in Adam’s eyes, but he was still very happy to send the Wolfe family on their way. With a hesitant suggestion they return if Adam showed any signs of fever or illness.

After that incident Catherine and Arthur could only watch as their son’s differences grew in number. Once they started slipping bits of burger and steak into Adam’s apple sauce he no longer disappeared from the house to hunt for birds, but the following years offered no hope of putting the memory out of their minds. Small things at first that they could pass off as coincidences or figments of imagination. Like how his hair grew thick and coarse, resembling his mother’s only in color. Or how some days, when he was upset, Adam’s pupils seemed to narrow into slits. Then his ears started to grow longer, and teeth too many and sharp for a human’s mouth began to come in. It was when they found him one day hanging upside down from his crib, feet curled around the highest bar that Mr. and Mrs. Wolfe finally admitted their son was not normal. Maybe not even human, they feared. They only knew one thing for sure: that he was still their son.

When the first day of preschool finally rolled around, Adam walked proudly with his mother to the door. Catherine, on the other hand, felt as if each step was another bringing her son to the chopping block. She and her husband honestly had no idea what would happen if Adam was discovered for…whatever he was, but their imagination filled the blanks. For one, they did not much fancy the idea of their son becoming an anti-superhuman weapon for C-BLOCC². They only hoped the measures they had taken were enough.

The kept Adam’s hair  long and laid over his ears so the extra half inch or so at the crest was hidden. It also served to shadow his face just enough so that on those few occasions he looked others in the eyes, no one could see his own brown irises in great detail; not enough to notice when the pupils flexed at least. Mr. and Mrs. Wolfe worried over his extra teeth, another set of canines one the upper and lower jaw as well as a third set of larger fangs just in front of his molars. Luckily it seemed that no matter what his eyes reflected or how his brow moved Adam’s lips never more than tipped up or down. Only at food, or the thought of it, did he grin at all like a normal child. But even then it was a too wide expression; one clearly meant for devouring a meal…or prey.

His parents only hoped they had drilled him well enough so that the boy might control or cover the gesture some. Then so long as no one placed their head on Adam’s chest and felt the strange echoing thump of two heart beats, he would be okay. They considered it a miracle the phenomenon didn’t start until shortly after his last official physical. The one after the bird incident. That did not make it any less unnerving, especially now that Arthur and Catherine knew their son could never risk visiting a doctor again.

Young Lilly knew none of this; she cheerily greeted her friend by way of a running hug. Adam did not budge more than a centimeter from the force of it. Rather than return the hug, he happily rubbed the side of his face along Lilly’s. From behind, his mother discreetly poked his shoulders. Adam embraced his friend back immediately, as he was slowly learning was proper. The change was not for the girl, she smiled and laughed at the familiar tickle of his hair against her ear and cheek, but for anyone watching. Lilly easily untangled herself from him, only to grab Adam by the hand and eagerly drag him to class. Watching them, Mrs. Wolfe listened with less than half a mind to Mrs. Black’s commiserations and forlorn comments on growing up.

…

Adam’s insides hummed with anticipation, like they always did whenever he went somewhere new. The sights, the sounds, the smells nigh overwhelmed him here. So many different people had gone to and fro within these walls. To Adam’s pointed nose it was like a newspaper decades old. The literal comparison may have been beyond him, but the sensation could be described no other way. So Adam was especially docile while Lilly lead him around their new classroom. Some part deep within him disliked having his hand held down in such a way, rendered useless, but Adam had grown up with his friend’s odd ways and deferred to her wishes like always.

“Sit, children, sit. Sit!” Their teacher came in from outside. She was an aged woman with graying hair pulled up in a bun, face wizened but still pretty. She wore a simple blue dress and no decoration but for a pair of silver rimmed glasses resting low on the bridge of her nose. A few last, reluctant students followed at her heels. They joined the mass of children sitting on the comfortable blue mat that stretched the length of the floor while she moved to stand at the head of the room. She beheld the students with a strong but kindly gaze.

“Welcome to your first day of school, everyone. My name is Mrs. Smithy. Now, I am going to say ‘good morning students’ and you are all going to say to back ‘good morning Mrs. Smithy’, okay?” The fidgety crowd of school kids offered an unbalanced way of nods. “Good morning students.”

“Good morning Mrs. Smithy,” came back in a variety of tempos, times and pitches.

“Almost, let’s try again. Good morning students.”

Adam stopped paying attention at this point. Far be it because he deemed the exercise below him, but rather because everything else that had ever happened to anything ever seemed more interesting. Adam was hardly alone in this conclusion, but he was the only one who ceased following directions. Mrs. Smithy noticed at once. “Aren’t you going to tell me good morning, Adam?” she asked him sweetly.

Adam’s attention snapped from the faint urine smell of the carpet back to his teacher. His mind caught up to her words and he frowned, confused, without looking at her face directly. “But…I did.”

“Of course you did dear,” Mrs. Smith assured him. “But if everyone doesn’t say it at once these old ears can’t make out what any of you are saying. Be a dear, won’t you?” That did little to make Adam understand any better; to him every voice was loud and clear. But grown-ups were strange, he knew, and maybe they got stranger as they got even older. So Adam nodded his head and followed along with the other kids. They were all staring at him now, he noticed. Nervous under so many eyes, Adam rolled his head back, an instinctual tick that happened to expose his neck, while he chorused ‘good morning’ with all of them. But none of the kids paid him any further attention after Mrs. Smithy started up again anyway.

Things went smoothly for a time after that. Mrs. Smithy brought out a ‘A Cow Goes Moo’ and then sent the kids off to the play stations to unwind after a hard fifteen minutes’ listening. Lilly and Adam ended up part of a gaggle of little girls having a tea party. Adam sat patiently through the giggling and chatter. Lilly gladly talked for both of them and he took the time to investigate the smells of his plastic cup and wares. The girls teased him about being a messy eater, which he took with a light, open expression as good as any smile. His mother always said much the same thing, though he was still figuring out what exactly she meant by it. All was well until two little boys waddled over to them. They were tall for their age, one was a little fat and one was a little skinny.

“Ew, you’re playing with girls,” the chubby one said.

“Cooties, cooties! They’re going to give you cooties!” the thinner one chirped. Adam had no idea what a cootie was, but if they were anything like his mother’s cookies then he was definitely game. This thought occupied his whole attention even while the girls all called out things like “leave him alone” or “go away we’re playing”. The exchange seemed to settle into a steady pattern and Adam gave up keeping track, his eyes roving the table for something that would resemble a cookie instead. Besides, Lilly was at the head of things already. What little of him noticed the goings on knew that she was taking charge and all was well.

The skinny one pushed Lilly to the ground. Adam was over the table, in his face, then on his face and screaming like a howler monkey before the boy had even had time to pull back. The only thing that spared the boy his first mauling was that his chubby friend had the poor timing to start crying and reminded Adam of his presence. Adam hoisted the large boy up by his collar and threw him roughly on top of the skinny one so he might savage them at once. Mrs. Smithy, who had been halfway to the situation before all this, never lost a step and calmly but firmly grasped both of Adam’s arms and hoisted him in the air. As the teacher felt the force of him thrashing in her grip, even with her years of experience as educator and disciplinarian both, it shocked her a little to realize that if she had only tried to hold his arms back, the two quivering preschoolers still on the ground may very well be sporting more than tears and snot.

Some minutes later the Wolfe home phone started ringing.

…

Considering no one was really injured, the school was quick to forgive and forget when it came to preschoolers. And few similar incidences followed throughout the rest of Adam’s elementary school career. After a severe dressing down on why not to attack his classmates and to stop rolling onto his back to show his belly when anyone started scolding at him, Adam displayed much more reserve. It helped of course that for the rest of the year his class was terrified of him. Anyone who was not, were cowed by Lilly and the other girls from that day. The former especially felt guilty that Adam was punished for protecting her; she seemed to grow a little fiercer every day as if to make up for it. Most important to Arthur and Catherine’s however was that no one had any other opportunities to realize what Adam was, not even Lilly.

Over the next few years the other girls drifted away from the increasingly tomboyish Lilly but she stuck with Adam regardless. By third grade the two were always together and almost always by themselves. They were teased plenty for it by their peers, whom Lilly spitefully ignored and Adam rarely even noticed. Mr. and Mrs. Wolfe worried at times, but he always seemed content and active at home, and Lilly was such a sweet girl. It was a phase, they were sure, or perhaps just another little one of Adam’s unique quirks, and left him to his own devices.

Then, at the end of Adam’s fifth grade year, Lilly’s father was promoted and the Black family moved. The two families had grown fairly close, not just Lilly and Adam, so they naturally went to wish the Blacks farewell. Arthur and Catherine had spent the last several days explaining the situation to Adam. He seemed irritated, but demonstrated little special concern. Indeed, his parents wondered if he understood his childhood friend would not be returning. Both of his parents were very surprised when the Black family car revved to life and did not budge an inch. Surprise turned to horror when they realized Adam was stubbornly clenching the bumper with his heels dug into the pavement.

The determined set of his jaw broke into cries of anguish when his parent pulled him free with panicked strength, just in time for a puzzled Mr. Black to push the gas again and take off like a more puzzled bullet. The Wolfe’s, as each furiously struggled with one arm to keep Adam tightly in between them, never stopped waving with the other. Their eyes were so glued on the turned heads of Mr. and Mrs. Black they never noticed Lilly’s wide-eyed stare.

Adam’s entry into middle school the subsequent year did not go according to his parent’s hopes either. He now actively avoided his peers. When children from his old school attempted to tease him about Lilly, he growled like a beast. Few dared try again. By the end of the year he had made no friends and his grades, which had never been stellar, declined even further. Mr. and Mrs Wolfe, desperate, decided that he needed an extracurricular. With a little socialization and some common ground to make friends they were sure their Adam’s old bubbly self would return. So Arthur and Catherine convinced their son to join the school football team. That worked out about as well as should be expected.

…

As Coach Bulle very loudly reviewed the rules of the game before their first practice, Adam felt excitement start to course through him for the first time in a long time. Just the idea of a group of people, a team, working together toward one goal filled a hole inside him. And the goal was chasing a ball! But that was when he stopped paying attention.

The team broke into two and lined up for practice, Adam’s opposition in possession of the ball first. The eighth grade quarter back explained their play to the team and Adam happily took his place on the line. His eyes flickered from the football across the field to his fellow players beside him. “Yes…” he whispered, his voice an odd across between pleasure and determination. The kids on either side inched away from him.

Suddenly the opposing team broke apart and the quarter back hurled the ball to a speedy eighth grader. Once he grasped the rough leather ball in his hands, he turned his head toward the goal–and Adam’s howling face, three inches from his own. Adam made full, air-borne contact, driving the other boy into the ground with enough force to break through the grassy turf. He ripped the football from his downed opponent and high-tailed it for the goal post. Adam had already started dancing and shouting in triumph at the end of the field by the time the first people snapped from their stupor and rushed to the groaning player embedded into the dirt. No one noticed Adam had carried the football in his mouth the entire run.

The unfortunate middle schooler was admitted into the ER fifteen minutes later with multiple, if minor, upper body fractures. Coach Bulle spent the entire time vigorously shaking Adam’s hand and going on a tirade about moxie. He backed Adam completely on the incident, citing it as just another inevitable sports injury. So long as the school had the waiver the victim and his family had signed they sided with the coach and their future foot ball star.

…

Adam sat alone at the base of the small hill that was the center of the school’s courtyard. His back was against one of the handful of trees decorating the courtyard; he was only still on the ground at all because of numerous prior reprimands. His face was drawn into a long pout. Despite his new status on the team, most other students were even more wary of him than ever for some reason, his parents had scolded him again about going all out and the cafeteria was out of muffins! Things were not going well for him.

“Hey!” a voice called. “You’re Adam Wolfe right?” Adam looked up from inspecting his empty lunch box. The speaker was another seventh grader. A tall, lanky boy with curious blue eyes and short hair of a brown several shades lighter than his own. He smelled of burnt air and car. Adam had no idea what his name was. “My name’s Cole. You hospitalized my cousin.”

As oblivious as Adam was to social niceties or common sense, even he was pretty sure that was a bad way for a conversation to start. “Oh. Um…sorry?”

“Don’t worry about, he was a jerk. Mind if I sit here?” When no objection was immediately forthcoming, Cole plopped down beside Adam. “What’cha doing over here by yourself?”

“Eating.” Adam glanced at his lunch box again. “Was eating.”

Cole blinked. “Lunch just started like two minutes ago. What did you bring?”

In his head Adam counted off three roast beef sandwiches, eight carrots, a juice box and a cinnamon roll. “Not enough,” he mourned aloud.

Cole didn’t say anything for a moment, instead pulling his own lunch box from the depths of his back pack. “Here, have a couple granola bars. Mom always packs like half a dozen in here with everything else.” As Adam eagerly accepted the proffered treats, Cole had no idea that the other boy’s moment of hesitation prior had been all that saved his fingers. Nor that he may have just made a friend for life. Instead, he only observed Adam eat, nay, destroy one bar after the other– wolfing the entirety of each down his throat in a few gulps. “Hahaha, man, you eat just like my dog.” And the name stuck.

…

Adam, newly christened Dog by Cole and soon everyone else, bonded quickly with his new friend. It wasn’t long before they were as inseparable as Adam and Lilly had once been. However, Cole had almost as much energy as Adam and none of the social confusion. Adam was immersed into Cole’s existing circle of friends, mostly the nerds and geeks of the school. The integration was slow at first, as Adam had little in common with his less athletic classmates. It was especially uncomfortable for those more withdrawn and restrained members who suddenly found themselves on the receiving end of Adam’s unleashed need for physical proximity and contact.

But Adam, childishly sweet and ever-eager, eventually found his niche among them. For one, just watching him eat anything much bigger than his fist was practically show worthy to many of his crasser new friends, Cole especially. And within days of Adam joining the lunch table the weekly handful of hecklers dropped to nothing. No one, not even the nastiest, most over-active pituitary gland driven eighth grader dared to keep talking the second Adam started growling.

That group dynamic remained much the same upon entering high school, with the exception of a few new faces. And that no one but his parents called Adam by his birth name anymore. To all the students, then his coach and soon even the teachers, he was Dog.

…

Classes ended almost two hours before football practice did. So it was peacefully silent as Adam headed toward the edge of the school grounds. It was when he reached the outermost building that a loud “Boo!” shattered the quiet. Cole appeared over the edge of the roof, leaping to the ground in front of him. Adam just cocked his head to the side. Cole let his arms, upraised to scare, sag to his sides and sighed. “You are impossible, Dog. How far?”

“Thirty yards,” Adam replied simply.

Cole’s growled and stomped in a halfhearted tantrum, more routine than anything. He had been trying to sneak up on Adam ever since he discovered how difficult it was. After a time he had naturally resorted to parkour: the art of getting from point A to point B no matter what lay in your path, whether it be a wall or the laws of physics. Cole had always belonged to what he called the school of “kinetic nerding.” He preferred eccentric sports like parkour and light saber duels to hardcore gaming, and the hardware of his father’s garage to computer software. His greatest claim to traditional nerdity was an obsession with comic books; one that had fueled his desire to run across rooftops in the first place.

He was surprised to realize that the idea of leaping from roofs or trees or over walls wasn’t new to Adam, but he was floored that the other boy was not only better at it, he had no idea what parkour was. But it hadn’t dissuaded Cole at all. And thus the present.

Their Monday ritual completed, Cole pulled an about face to lead the way. The two chattered mindlessly as they navigated the familiar shallow slopes their school rested on. Well, Cole chatted. Adam mostly nodded his head while watching squirrels out of the corner of his eye. The street was finally leveling out for the final stretch to the intersection when Adam stopped walking. His neck was arched back and he squinted off toward the familiar building on the other side of the fence.

“…and so, see, the series is totally more than just T & A, but-Hey, Dog? Earth to Dog, you okay?”

“Cole,” Adam asked, his gaze never moving. “What’s it called again when a guy with a knife is trying to take your money?”

“Uh, that’s called getting mugged, Dog, why do you-”

“Oh. Then a lady is getting mugged behind your dad’s car fixing place.”

“It’s called a gar-Oh shit!” Cole was scrabbling over the fence by the time Adam finished sounding out ‘garoshit’ with a confused twist of his brow. “Haul ass, Dog! Damsel in distress!”

“A what in what?” But Adam dutifully monkeyed up the fence after his friend.

Cole decided to simplify things as they hoofed it toward the scene. “Girl. In trouble. We help.”

“Okay.” It did not take long to cover the distance, but when they made it to the mouth of the alley the woman’s attacker was already leaving. He shouted, surprised, when two teenagers popped out of nowhere. That doesn’t mean he hesitated. The man swung hard with his knife at Cole, the closest. Adam intercepted with surprising grace, pushing Cole to the side and grabbing the offending limb with one movement. Had Adam paid less attention to punching the mugger in the face and more to his target’s free hand, things might have ended there and the future may have unfolded very differently. As it was, he took a second knife in his gut. Cold steel drove all the way to the hilt before it was roughly ripped out. Adam’s fist fell short and his grip loosened enough for the assailant to pull back.

Cole screamed an unintelligible war cry and charged, hand outstretched. The mugger lunged and his knife met a thin bolt of electricity rather than flesh. The current coursed through metal and into softer tissue. The effect was visible and immediate—he seized up violently before collapsing in a heap. One step away from hyperventilation, Cole slowly lowered shaking hands. Then, without another moment’s pause he all but threw himself to where Adam would be laying in a crumpled, bleeding pile. He was more than a little surprised when instead he collided bodily with a standing, bloody teenager. Cole’s eyes were immediately drawn too Adam’s torn stomach , even as the rest of his mind tried to reason why his friend was still standing.

For one, what should have been a gaping hole exposing intestines and organs was a slowly closing cut that was barely still bleeding. “How-” they began at once, mirroring each other, then stopped. Each tried again. “I mean, what are-” At the same time. “Gaaghh!”

A tinkling laughter from the alley cut off another attempt. “My oh my,” the original victim said, her form skewed in the darkness so she was no more than a silhouette. A silhouette that was clearly shucking it’s dress. Cole squeaked and covered his eyes as the woman came out of the shadows and into plain view. Adam just cocked his head to the side. Both reactions seemed to amuse her, and she laughed again. And this time it was guffawing, not a giggle. Cole slowly uncovered his eyes at the noise, and his already racing pulse almost blew out his veins.

She was a tall woman, broad-shouldered and wide-hipped, with a mane of blond hair that cascaded around her masked face and armored bust. A black leotard was visible around the joints, but form-fitting steel hugged everything else. A little black strip with the eyes whited out ran from ear to ear. “You-you’re Damnsel!” Cole exclaimed.

“And you are two unregistered supers, I’d wager,” Damnsel replied. She glanced down briefly before surveying them again. “Unrefined.” A metal heel prodded the lump at her feet. “Potent enough, though.” She put a hand to her chin and smiled at them, an expression meant to be cute made predatory. “Now what should I do with you? You did mess up my little operation you know. I’ve been trying to lure old Ripper out for months and you went and stole my fun.” Cole paled considerably and his eyes doubled in size. He stared at the upended mugger, especially at the all-too familiar wreck of scars that was his face. Adam’s expression still held much of the confused glaze it had when the conversation started. His body language on the other hand screamed a readiness to grab Cole and run the Hell away.

Cole didn’t notice and Damnsel casually ignored it. “Not bad at all for your first super villain,” she continued. “Congratulations. A solid B-lister.”

“Th-thank-you, Ma’am,” Cole replied automatically, his voice numb.

“Mhmm,” she muttered thoughtfully. “Although, I suppose I should set you two up properly if you’re thinking about super hero-ing around,” Damnsel said suddenly. There was an undertone of seriousness beneath her amusement now.

Cole’s formerly blank eyes lit up like fireworks and the words he had longed to say for years all bubbled up behind his lip when Adam gripped his arm like a voice. “No. That’s a bad idea.” Any sense of drama was ruined when Cole’s free arm yanked Adam by his collar so their faces were inches apart.

“Dog, please, please, please don’t have one of your freak outs right now. She already knows about my-our powers,” he snapped a look at Adam’s visibly healing stomach, “there’s no reason to hide anymore and seriously I want to know how the Hell you took that and are still ali-ah, ah, ah,” he said, catching himself on a tangent. “No, I mean we really might as well, now…please?”

Adam looked uncertain now, the conflict in his mind raging across his eyes and brow. His mouth never moved though, not until he spoke. “But Mom and Dad said it would be bad for people to know… Not safe.”

“You have good parents, kid.” Damnsel placed a hand on each one’s arm. “But naive. Come on, I think we need to talk some.” The grip looked, even felt, gentle but if the brief time Adam spent furiously trying to claw his way out of it was any indication, then Damnsel was not making a suggestion. She only stumbled when she asked Cole for directions to his home and he suggested the building they had just been behind and were currently walking away from. Adam seized the opportunity and his struggling became a frenzy, until Damnsel’s soft features hardened and she spoke a few clipped, and very painful-sounding words.

Both stayed quiet as she turned them around. “Hey Cole,” Adam whispered after a few moments of tense silence, “What’s naive mean again?”

…

Cole’s parents were fairly laid back about the whole thing. As a little boy he had always gone on and on about superheroes real and fictional. After the third time he was struck by lightning and his electrical powers manifested, they knew his own escapades were inevitable. The way his parents saw it, they had done their job keeping Cole out of the spandex long enough to find someone who could actually teach him how not to get killed.

Adam’s parents were a little trickier. First of all, just finding the Wolfe household became a chore the moment Damnsel released Adam’s arm. He ran for it as soon as she turned away. Two hours and an arduous pursuit later, Cole mentioned that he knew where Adam lived and how to get there. Damnsel’s grateful smile in no way revealed to Cole just how close he had come to a painful end.

Adam spent quite a while longer trying to lead his absent pursuers around town before he realized that Cole was one of those pursuers and that he could tell the metal woman where he lived. Hurried as he was, Adam arrived home moments after them–ample opportunity for an ambush.

It is not every day that you respond to a knocking at your door to see your child carried under the arm of a super heroine, his wrists and ankles bound in what looked like freshly wrought cast iron.

“Hi, I’m a friend of your boy here. Mind if I come in?” Damnsel’s smile was dazzlingly disarming, but her metal boot was placed well into the doorway. Half a dozen of the plans Mr. and Mrs. Wolfe had spent countless hours of Adam’s youth crafting in case of discovery crashed to the forefront of Mr. Wolfe’s mind. But face to face with this bullet-proof woman who could crush steel like paper, they all seemed a little lacking.

There was a rush of air followed by a strained croaking. Then he spoke, voice hollow and mechanical. “Of course. Would you like something to drink?”

Things went about as smoothly from there as they could have, under the circumstances. Damnsel sat upright but comfortably in the middle of the couch and made peacefully awkward (and one-sided) chit-chat with Adam’s father over mundane subjects; the weather, the economy, favorite brands (especially one-sided), etcetera. On the other end of the couch to her right sat Cole, twitchy and looking everywhere but at Adam or his father. Seeing the color drain from Mr. Wolfe’s face like water down the sink as soon as he opened the door, Cole suddenly felt like he had done wrong by dragging Adam into his dream-made real. Adam, freed from his bonds, initially sat at the dining room table and facing Damnsel. However, he slowly lost interest in what was going when it became clear that Cole and his father were safe and instead meandered into the kitchen. The soft slapping sound of a sandwich being stacked ever-higher was the only sound in the house beside awkward small talk.

The topic burning in two of three heads was unofficially thrown to the way-side until Mrs. Wolfe arrived.

But once the metaphorical fan and feces were respectively turned off and mopped up, things went pretty well. The Wolfe’s were more than hesitant to let Adam go gallivanting off to fight super-villains, but Damnsel’s reputation for integrity and heroism eased her own arguments and assurances through.

Of course, what they thought hardly mattered once Adam heard “danger” and “Cole,” in general proximity, and caught up on events from there. He declared in no uncertain terms that he would watch his friend’s back, no matter what.

It took Damnsel and Cole the better part of the day to explain the importance of alter egos and costumes to him, though.