The motorcycles roared viciously, angry that they were being edged off the interstate and forced down to the more sedate city roads. Big Ben's bike was in the lead, and the old rider wove an expert path through the city traffic. The fresh tang of the ocean was just the next deep breath away, and the air was soft and warm.

Soon the gentle curves of the Art Deco District rise on one side of Ocean Drive, while the ocean grumbled on the other. Big Ben turned off onto a drive that pointed toward the ocean, and his tail of bikers followed him. Parking on the thin strip of asphalt masquerading as a parking lot, the bikers emptied out their saddlebags, revealing the beers that they had picked up on their way into Harmony City.

Strolling to a nearby bench, the biker gang settled down, waiting for their contact to show up. Beers were cracked open, and male voices rose in good-natured banter as women were spotted strolling the sand.

Spartan found his ribs being nudged. "Hey," Spoke said, pointing at a tanned beauty walking along a wooden boardwalk. "Ain't she something?"

Spartan duly looked, but before he could say much, another set of young women caught his eyes. These women were not like the others; they weren't wearing bikinis that looked like they came off the same designer rack. Their clothes weren't even all beach wear, but a mixture of shorts, shirts, bathing suits and bikinis. Their appearance spoke of poverty or maybe just a desire to stand out and seem thrown-together. Some of them had piercings, and more than the standard belly-button. There was a distinct sense of individuality. And that was when Spartan noticed that they all had some fur trimmings.

"That looks like... cat fur," Big Ben muttered, leaning forward around his beer gut.

The woman walked like predators, and the other people responded, clearing a path for them. One of the women glanced their way, her expression curious and slightly contemptuous. Silvo grinned, running his fingers through his blonde goatee. "I think she likes me," he chuckled.

Immediately, a round of jeers and taunts rose from the other men, daring Silvo to go get her. With a tug on his pants, Silvo began to strut after the girls.

But things didn't go as expected; when he reached the women, they didn't bunch up like a herd. They spread out, surrounding Silvo in a rough circle. Silvo was shamelessly flirting, and it only took a moment of observation for the other bikers to realize that the girl he was talking to was only fooling around. "Figures," Spoke muttered. "She's a tease."

Silvo seemed to figure that out, too. His body language changed to a more aggressive stance, and he caught the woman by the arm. Without hesitation, she slapped him - but after his head had rocked to the side, the bikers saw the arc of blood flying away from his face.

There was a moment of silence; then the cruel laughter of the women reached the bikers' ears.

Originally Posted By: Hard facts

There are 12 bikers and eight women. The bikers are clearly going to initiate combat and hurry to Silvo's aid. You are on sand, so drop one from your speed when you run.

Tim Duke had never seen the ocean before, its wide expanse of blue-green stretching on for what seemed like forever. “Freedom” he breathed quietly to himself. He took off his boots and felt the warm sand on his feet. He took a deep breath and tasted the salt in the air. He could definitely get used to this. Spoke was talking to him but he only barely paid attention to the honey-skinned beauty as the sun warmed his skin and the jovial atmosphere of the bikers drove away any dark thoughts Tim might have been harboring.

A small tickle in the back of his mind disturbed his reverie but Tim pushed it away as a can of Bud was passed to him, the cold metal a stark contrast to the warmth of the day. Tim contemplated the can with a slight sense of loss. He’d never really drank before getting powers and now he was immune to the intoxicating effects. He just didn’t really see the point to it.

As he contemplated drinking the beer just to fit in, that tiny little tickle in his mind flared into a numbing clatter. His danger sense was screaming at him and he’d ignored again. His attention snapped up to the developing violence in time to see Silvo fall and the blood flow. Great, just great, he thought as he scoped the situation. 8 girls had surrounded Silvo and were laughing at the wounded man. His 12 biker comrades were moving up. These were good guys but you don’t sucker punch a biker and expect his friends to mind their own business. This was their business. Tim looked back at the chopper that had his gear, including his costume, in one of the side carriers. Where’s a phone booth when you need one?

Tim quickly considered his options. There was no way he could get between the girls and the bikers without revealing he was different. Clearly there was more to these girls than met the eye. He needed a way to end this quickly. He felt the condensation from the unopened can in his hand and made a split decision. Winding up, Tim called out to the girl standing over Silvo “Hey bitch, This Bud’s for you” before hurling it at her with his great strength. The can caught her square in the side of the head and ruptured in a shower of golden brown liquid. To Tim's suprise the girl turned fully to him and hissed her irritaion like an angered cat as she wiped the brew from her face.

"That was a mistake," the beer-sodden girl said, flicking the moisture off her hand. A low rumble of agreement rose from the other woman as they turned as a unit. It was a perfect pack formation; one remained hovering near Silvo, drawing a lean foot back and landing a vicious in Silvo's ribs.

The other seven women dashed foward, crouching low and darting forward in a strange rush. Their fingers curled like claws, and Spartan had an uncomfortable image of Silvo's blood spraying from a strike from their hands.

Then the beer-soaked one was on top of him, and she was slapping at him with those curled fingers. Tim felt her fingernails rake like claws and given some of the shouts he was hearing from his friends, it wasn't just him getting torn at, either.

Tim was ready for the girl as she lept at him but she was faster than she looked. Were it not for a last minute twist, her claw-like fingers would have torn away flesh. As it was the strange woman was rewarded with only a handful of the would-be Hero's shirt.

I have to stop underestimating her, Sartan thought as he shifted his stance to one that would give him better leverage and maneuverability.

The two combatants half circled each other, sizing the other up before Tim suddenly lauched a vicious and powerful backhaned fist towards the woman's head.

The strange girl's head snapped to the side; with a snarl, she put her hand to her mouth, wiping away the blood dripping over her lip. Enraged, her eyes meet Spartan's and he's shocked to see that they're slitted like a cat's. Had they been like that? he wondered, but she jumped him and he let the thought go.

She gave a couple of fients before slashing at him with a controlled, precise kick. The deadly glitter of claws shine there as well as she missed and tipped into the sand with a grunt. Immediately, she started to climb to her feet, clearly intent on pretending that never happened.

If Walt taught him anything about fighting, it was never show an opponent mercy. These girls were out for blood and the one in front of him had to have powers to survive his last punch. The kid gloves were definitely off.

Taking quick aim Tim delived a quick and devistating kick to the girl's midsection.

She tumbled several feet through the air and landed on her back, holding her midsection and groaning. She glanced at him, and the hurt look in her eyes was mixed with confusion. She didn't seem to understand how he had hurt her.

Another of the girls screamed, an angry feral noise. With a cacophony of hisses and growls, the girls began ti disengage from the fight, leaving the battered bikers and the victorious Spartan behind.

Only the leader, a tall, athletic black woman hesitated to look Spartan in the eye. "I have your scent," she hissed, "and I won't forget you, boy."

"Good. You remember me and you remember the beat down you just recieved," Tim said grimly as he stepped confidently over to Silvo. "I'll remember each and every one of of you and if you ever mess with me or mine again I will break you."

Uncertainty crossed her beautiful, dark face. With a hiss that is less hostile than before, she turned and darted away, joining the other woman in their retreat.

Spartan slowly became aware of the groans around him. While he had fared well against the woman, his companions have not, and many of them are hurt or bleeding. "Hey," a deeply tanned blonde in a skimpy bikini called out. "Do you need a phone or something?"

"An ambulence would be a good start," Big Ben muttered sarcastically, holding his twisted arm against his side.

"Ok!" the blonde chirped and called 911, looking very proud of herself.

A trickle of sweat beaded on his forehead as Tim stood silent vigil over Silvo, watching the women retreat. The immediate threat averted, he bent to check the wounded biker. My god, look at all the blood! What do I do? A sliver of panic shot through him briefly and he took two deep breaths to restore his calm. Easy Tim, easy. Remeber. You know know what to do, you just have to find it in your head.

Eyes closed, Tim let his mind drift. His mental storehouse took form. It was not unlike a giant warehouse with multiple levels all filled with shelves full of iconic representations of Tim's menories. There were books he'd read, images of his life, people he'd met and movies he'd seen. Anything that could be remember had it's palce in Tim's memory construct.

In his mind's eye, He flew through the shelves with an inhuman speed, stopping every now and then at a book or image until he came to what he was looking for.

Even before his eyes had opened his hands were already in motion. Tim pulled the remains of his tattered shirt from his chest and began to staunch Silvo's bleeding as he asessed the severity of Silvo's injuries and bandaged his cuts. Tim worked swiftly with a steady hand. Only seconds had passed between closing his eyes and starting treatment but he was worried that those seconds would make the difference between life and death. Silently he prayed the paramedics would get there soon.

A set of shapely knees dropped into the sand next to Silvo, and a lightly accented voice said, "Move aside." Spartan's gaze rolled up a lean body; it was bronzed and lovely, if one appreciated the female form. Her face was less lovely; too firm and hard, with a nose that was sharp and almost piercing. Straight blonde hair was piled on top of her head, carelessly yet securely in place.

Her hands and eyes quickly surveyed his work; when her blue eyes met his, the no-nonsense attitude had been replaced with respect. "Are you an army medic? Because this is a good field dressing. I'm a doctor, and I couldn't have done it better." Her strong, weathered hands ran over Silvo's body one more time. "This is great work. Who are you?"

In the distance, sirens sang their terrible song, their lights dancing in the distance. She glanced their way, her blue eyes narrowing as she peered through the high sun at the approaching vehicles.

"Hey," a voice said, and all the bikers spun, their guard up. But they relaxed when they saw Chain standing there, the sun glinting off his chest and the links of chain holding up his pants. Walt had warned him that Chains was a handsome man; with the features that hinted at a Native American heritage, he was darkly exotic. The frown that crossed his handsome face couldn't mar his natural appearance. "What the hell happened?"

Tim flashed the woman a winning smile as he rattled off a glib excuse. "It's a hobby," he said casually, as he stood and stepped out of the paramedic's way.

He was watching her and the other paramedics, attempting to pick up a few new techniques when Chains showed up and Tim immediately saw that Walt had been right about him. Tall Dark and Handsome, Chains was most definitely what you would call an Alpha Male. He exuded a natrual charisma and aura of authority that made Tim uncomfortable, although considering the young man's background one could hardly find fault with him for harbouring such feelings.

He listened silently as Big Ben and Chains talked, suddenly becoming acutely aware of his half naked state as the man's gaze settled on him. "Nice ink" he said as Ben described Tim's handling of the situation, and Tim reflexively ran his hands over the tribal knotwork covering his upper arms and shoulders. He wished now he'd found something other than his own shirt to bandage Silvo.

"Thanks," Tim said simply, figuring that was as close to a thank you Chains was going to offer him. He turned back to the flurry of activity on the beach and was impressed at how quickly the ERT had bundled the injured into the ambulances. The cops were already talking to some of the bikers and the other witnesses. He sighed realizing it would be a while before he'd be free to go so he settled himself in to wait for the investigators to get to him.

The man stopped in front of him, and he didn't look like a detective to Tim. He was lean and fit, well-tanned and toned. He looked like he went to the gym and ate lean fish with steamed vegetables. "I'm Detective Barton," he said in the honeyed tones of the deep South. "I've got a few questions, if you've the time."

"Sure," Tim said, trying to cut down on his nervousness.

Light brown eyes studied him for a moment, looking from the dusty black boots to the ripped jeans, to the tribal tattoos decorating his upper body. "Let's start at the beginning," Barton said, "tell me how you got here, right now, talking to me." Those eyes hard as he said, "Tell me everything."