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In New York City, warehouses were the preferred hangouts of masked criminals and the occasional super-hero. One renovated warehouse, nicknamed “The Crash Pad,” was home to a team of young super-heroes known as the New Warriors.

Among the many renovations the Crash Pad had gone through over the years, its most recent was a series of frilly pink curtains that hung over the many windows. This was an improvement that New Warriors leader Night Thrasher was less than enthusiastic about.

“The windows are covered in black paint,” he pointed out to Ultra Girl, the young woman that had done the decorating. “Its not like anybody can admire those from the outside,” he added while gesturing at the curtains.

Ultra Girl popped her bubble gum loudly in response, and chewed loudly as she spoke. “Well, excuse me for trying to add some of my personality to the place. This place isn’t just a headquarters to me, ‘Thrash. I have to live here.”

From her position on the couch, Crux glanced up from her magazine. “Uh, hello? I live here too, mallgirl. But for some reason, my opinion doesn’t count for squat.”

“Grow some taste, then we’ll talk,” Ultra Girl shot back. To Night Thrasher she said, “Have you met my roommate, the girl who likes to turn this place into her own personal skating rink?”

“That was once!” Crux yelled, throwing her magazine to the floor. “And what do you care if the floor is covered in ice? Newsflash, blondie, you can fly!” Crux was on her feet now, in the face of the incredibly powerful human/Kree hybrid. “Unlike you, I actually have some talent, a skill that needs to be maintained through practice. Now, keep in mind that by talent I’m talking about something useful. So you’re finely honed talent of being a bitch doesn’t count.”

“Oh, but masturbating to Playboy is?” Ultra Girl pointed to her eye. “X-Ray vision, dyke.”

That was Night Thrasher’s cue. “I need to get out of here,” he muttered to himself. Behind him, fire blazed and furniture was being thrown about. Night Thrasher didn’t pay any attention to that, however, except to the extent of occasionally moving his head to avoid getting hit as he walked away. As he neared the exit of the Crash Pad, Night Thrasher put a hand up to his helmet radio. “Hindsight, the faster you find Ricochet and Hornet, the better.”

---

“Hey, Mickey! Wait up!”

Michiko “Mickey” Musashi turned at the voice calling for her. At the other end of the lobby in the Daily Bugle building, Mattie Franklin was jogging to catch up with her teammate in the New Warriors.

“Mattie, what are you doing here?” Mickey asked the other young woman when she stopped.

“Well…” Mattie rubbed a hand against the back of her head. “I had it in my head to try and get an internship here, but rather than bring it up with Jonah at home I figured it’d be better to approach the guy who actually did the hiring. Somebody who doesn’t know I’m the Publisher’s foster kid.”

“Yeah, avoid any hint at nepotism.” Mickey nodded her head. “So, how’d it go?”

“Not so well.” Mattie’s face got all scrunched up with embarrassment. “She was in the middle of kicking out the annoying little girl when Jonah stormed into the office yelling about…. Uh, I’ll probably never know, because once he saw me he had a whole ‘nother thing to yell about.”

“Ahh.” Mickey nodded her head further, this time with a smile. “So you were responsible for that loud incoherent tirade I heard as I was leaving.”

“And as you can see I slinked away as quickly as I could. What about you? Off to cover an exciting story on the streets?”

“Uh, no. My workday is over, so I’m going home.”

“Oh.” There was a slight hesitation before Mattie continued. “Mind if I tag along? Going home wouldn’t be a very good idea for me at the moment.”

“No, I don’t think it’d be a good idea at all.” Mickey started to turn, but indicated that Mattie should follow. “I’m kidding. Yeah, come on. Not to my place because, well you’re place is probably a lot nicer. But I was going to stop for a bagel and coffee. You can join me for that.”

Nearly half an hour later saw the two women at a Starbucks five blocks away from the Daily Bugle. None could be built any closer because of numerous columns written by J. Jonah Jameson and petitions placed before the City Council.

“My dad was rich too,” Mattie said before she bit into her bagel. A quick sip of coffee to clear the palette and she continued. “Huge mansion. As a kid I would get lost.”

“Is this where you throw in the whole lonely kid routine?” Mickey asked between sips of her own coffee.

“Nah, more like a rebellious kid. I used to spy on my dad, learn about his business dealings. I heard about this Gathering of the Five ritual and decided to poach it from him.” Mattie shrugged. “Granted I might not have if the words death and madness had ever come up. All I heard was ‘power’ and I saw an opportunity to soar alongside my idol Spider-Man.”

“Oh, I think I see where this is going,” Mickey said with a smile. “Jameson was good friends with your father, so you immediately disliked him and everything he stood for. Hence his grand crusade against Spider-Man in fact drew you to the wall-crawler.”

That was how it had been for Mattie. “Does he realize how much those rants undermine his paper?”

“I don’t think he cares. Journalistic responsibility and all that.”

“Well, I could certainly be used to make a case for that.” Mattie took another bite of her bagel. “Playing super-hero, it didn’t work too well for me out of the gate. Only team-ups I had with Spider-Man were when he swooped in to save my life. Here I was with all this power and…”

Mattie suddenly went very quiet. This got Micky interested, but also a little subdued. In their community, sad stories were common. “What happened?”

“Drugs.” Shame dripped in Mattie’s voice. “In our world, being what we are, it brings on a rush. Sometimes though, the action slumps, and you find yourself wanting something, anything to get that feeling again. Danger, excitement, just a joy of life. For me, that something turned out to be too much.”

Mickey understood, or at least thought she did. Her hand reached over the table to press over Mattie’s. “Hey, we’ve all been in that situation. A villain gets something on you, exploits a weakness, next thing you fear there’s no way out. Anything you did, it was under duress.”

Emphatically, Mattie began shaking her head. “No, no it wasn’t anything I did. I mean, I wasn’t forced into robbing banks or anything, wasn’t really forced into anything at all. The guy, he wasn’t a villain, just a drug dealer. And me…while I was drugged out pieces of my flesh would be cut out, used to manufacture a drug that--”

“Oh my god, it was you.” Hearing this had stunned Mickey. Her eyes were down. Suddenly she couldn’t look at Mattie. “There was an article Urich did, but nobody was named.” Slight effort brought Mickey’s eyes back up. “Who knows?”

“As far as I know, Urich, the Jamesons, and a private investigator that got me out. I’d rather not give her name.”

The cell phone in Mickey’s bag rang. She fished it out and looked at the caller ID. “Dammit.” The phone went to her ear. “We agreed you don’t call me. Be quiet. No names. He and I have an understanding. My life does not get intruded upon. Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can. We’ll discuss this later.”

Mickey put her phone away. “That was the lad. Our token boy has left to chase some strays. We need to get to the clubhouse where a catfight is in progress.”

For several seconds, Mattie just looked at her. “Was that some kind of code?”

Mickey rolled her eyes. “Yes. We are in Starbucks you know.”

“Just wondering. That token thing, it sounded a little racist.”

“I said it because he’s the only man in our group.” Shaking her head in disbelief, Mickey picked up her bag and got up from the table.

“There’s also the term lad. And you referred to him as a boy, which traditionally--”

“Okay so I should use better codewords. I get it."

---

From the outside, the warehouse that was the New Warriors’ Crash Pad appeared to be intact. Inside, however, the place was a shambles. Clad in her Turbo armor, Michiko Musashi surveyed the damage while circling a forlorn Ultra Girl. Broken furniture lay everywhere, and millions of dollars in equipment had been drastically reduced in value.

“Nice curtains,” Turbo eventually said. Tatters of pink fabric still hung at several of the windows. “How much did you pay for them?”

“Not really sure. Maybe five hundred.” Ultra Girl shrugged. “Used my daddy’s credit card. Didn’t look at the price.”

“As it turns out, they cost a bit more.” Turbo focused her eyes on her teammate. “You will be paying Night Thrasher back for this. He may accept credit cards, but I doubt it.”

“That’s not fair!” Ultra Girl protested. “Crux is every bit as responsible for this as I am!”

“Which is why she’ll be paying half the costs.”

The whining didn’t stop. “But Night Thrasher was here when it happened. He just walked away.”

Beneath her mask, Turbo raised an eyebrow. “A regular guy didn’t get in the middle of a brawl between two super-powered teenage girls? Yeah, I would have rather walked away and billed you later myself.”

“You would,” muttered Ultra Girl.

Turbo heard that, and immediately got into the other woman’s face. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“First, I’m not a girl.” She went up into Turbo’s face. “Second, who the hell are you to order me around? What suddenly puts you in charge when Night Thrasher isn’t around? For that matter why should I even listen to him? Neither of you have powers!”

Turbo raised a hand, balled into a fist with knuckles pointed at Ultra Girl. The turbine at her wrist whirred, brushing at her hair as well as Ultra Girl’s. She raised her index finger. “First, if you want to change your perception, then stop calling yourself Ultra Girl.” Her middle finger lifted. “Second, I’m acting like an adult around a bunch of children who like to bicker and fight with each other.” Her ring finger joined the others. “Third, you are more than welcome to try tearing this suit off me and try using it yourself. The latter is extremely unlikely. The former has no chance of happening at all.”

As fast and sudden as the punch was, Turbo was ready for it. The spinning turbine at her wrist moved faster, hardened the air in front of her and stopped that fist mere inches from her face. The other turbine on the wrist at Turbo’s side also whirred, smashing solid air high against Ultra Girl’s chest. As the super-strong heroine flew back through a sudden pocket of empty air, Turbo refocused the air manipulated by her first turbine and halted Ultra Girl in place. Struggle as she might, the super-strong girl who could usually fly was trapped in the air.

“If it means anything,” Turbo mocked. “Night Thrasher would have had you down in even less time. We like to call it experience.”

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