Tyler Marius had left the bar once everyone present agreed to meet him downtown at the fountain of Pittsburgh's Point Park the next evening for their first training session. Jimmy and Specialist Spencer disappeared almost immediately. The bartender went back to his spot as new patrons trickled in, unaware of what they had just missed. Srinivas warbled for a bit about the potential of their new situation before noticing that Varanelli was locking lips with Smith, whereupon his mood soured and he left with a remark that he had work the next day. Before Sergeant Pain could corner him, Mike called for Varanelli to drive him home.

Of course, Smith followed them in his car. Mike pondered the lingering charge of precursor in his mind. "You figure out how to do anything with the charge, Varanelli?"

"Not yet. So far it's just a pretty thing floating around in my head."

"I want to use it," he said.

"Promise not to knock the house over while I'm entertaining Smith."

Mike grunted. "You know the guy's a douche, right?"

"He's nice."

"For a douche."

"Don't make things awkward, Ski. Just because you never have sex doesn't mean I have to be a nun."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm not making anything awkward. I'm only saying that you're setting yourself up to get disappointed again."

"It's just a one time thing."

"A one time thing for, like, the tenth time."

"Sixth time, actually."

Mike snorted. "So you are keeping count."

"I will promise not to get too attached if you don't weird him out."

"Weird him out? I don't even know what that means."

Varanelli blew out a hard breath. "Just stay in your room until we leave in the morning."

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"What if nature calls, should I water my garbage can?"

"Ski . . . just don't intimidate him. Is that so hard?"

Mike shrugged. "I'll head out to Sharky's then."

"You're not driving."

"I can drive."

"Ski."

"Fine. I'll walk."

Varanelli didn't reply other than to issue a theatrical sigh. When she parked the car at the apartment, Mike exited the vehicle, checked his pockets for keys, wallet, and phone, then marched off down the street towards the nearest bar. It was ten blocks away, easy walking distance. Behind him, another vehicle arrived. Moments later, the door to the apartment slammed shut. Mike didn't look back. He knew how this song and dance would end. Varanelli would get all emotional and yammer at him for weeks about how men are awful and why does no one ever want to stay with her. A month or two later the cycle would repeat when she found a new douche-bag eager to get in her pants. He liked to point out to her that the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. But while she was on her boy-high Varanelli thought herself in complete control of the situation. The inevitable crash surprised her every damn time. And the aftermath always made him miserable. The only thing that made it bearable was knowing that Suzie hadn't done much better when she had been the voice of sanity for Kendra Varanelli.

Mike thought it a pity that most people never broke out of their normal, self-destructive patterns. Come to think of it, he didn't do too good when it came to not self-destructing either. Walking to a bar because I want to booze it up for a while to forget what a miserable shit I am. I can't stand the sight of my beer gut, I hate that my endurance goes so fast when I spar, and I don't really have the funds to be going out like this. I'm twice the mess as Varanelli and I'm not doing anything to work on myself.

He froze in the middle of the street. An alien dude had just taken him on as an apprentice to learn magic superpowers. This was his chance to escape the abyss he had fallen into after Suzie's death. If he didn't screw it up by obsessing about how things could have been different during the day and drinking himself happy every night.

The mysterious charge still shimmered within him, eager to be used. It seemed slightly diminished from the time he had received it. Mike contemplated the potential power within him. How was he supposed to make it do something? Simply being aware of the charge didn't translate into manipulating it. As he studied the power, Mike began to discern some structure to it. It wasn't cohesive, but existed as three separate elements chilling together in the same space.

Those elements pulsed at different rates. The frantic pace of the first one begged to be unleashed. That understanding opened a path and a third of the charge erupted outward to fill every corner of his mind with eager energy. It spread from his thoughts out towards physical reality like the bud of a flower opening to the world. The chaotic power churned around him and the grass around him rustled with sudden movement. Then the power was spent, gone as if it had never existed.

Mike licked his lips. That had been somewhat of a disappointment, but it had happened. He had moved things with his mind. What else could he do? He studied the charge once more. Though diminished, it still shone with an inner vitality. He tuned himself to the element pulsing at the slowest rate, almost like the slow breath of an immense beast. As it reached its nadir and began to wax, the essence of it inflated Mike's thoughts. The dulling effect of the alcohol faded away to leave him with a crystalline clarity. He glanced down the street, effortlessly memorizing license plate numbers. He perfectly recalled thirteen of them before the essence lost pressure, taking with it his momentary brilliance. The numbers he had so easily memorized were entirely gone from his mind and the buzz from the numerous beers returned.

That left just one element of the charge. It blinked on and off at a regular rate that he soon recognized as matching the beating of his heart. The tempo of both increased with his excitement. The power oozed into him, a viscous, sticky sludge. Nothing happened. Mike had the impression that the final element of the charge was more in control of the situation than he was. It just coated his mind like a layer of oil atop water, refusing to accept his will. And then it drained away without ever doing any useful work.

Mike grunted. So much for doing something cool. He looked down the road. He had made it halfway to his destination. Did he still want another drink? No. Not really. He wanted more of the power. A bigger charge this time. And actual training on how to use it. He wanted it more than he had ever wanted a drink in his life, and there had been some days post-Iraq that he wanted a drink pretty damn bad.

"Superpowers," he muttered to himself as he turned back towards the apartment. "Maybe my happy hour didn't suck after all."