Six months. Six months since he'd left London for Chicago. Six months since he'd stood in the League hall with hundreds of other colourful hopefuls and been told that he was the future of world security. Six months since he'd fought Shank, Boomer and co alongside Sonja and Olympia. Six months since he'd fist stumbled onto Legion. Six months and still no more sign of Obsidian, other than the occasional second hand report. Six months, and he still couldn't work a webcam. The apartment accommodation the League had supplied Tommy when he joined had been fully kitted out with a small TV, desktop and phone, really everything he could have asked for. The computer even had a built in webcam, an extremely useful tool for anyone like him from across the pond, eager to get in contact with folks back home but who wanted something a little more personal than the telephone. The only problem being was that you could lead a horse to water, but you couldn't make it drink, or in this case teach him to drink. Even with Silvertongue's coaching he still struggled for about ten minutes to get the screen to show anything other than fuzz. Tonight he was trying to contact Clara Lord, his ex-girlfriend and one of only two confidants he trusted with his secret identity. Clara was giggling, enjoying his losing battle with technology a little too much for his peace of mind. "How can you, Hi-Voltage, Lightning-Slinging hero extraordinaire, a veritable God of the new age, admit defeat to a humble web cam? What would the tabloids say." Usually Tommy thought there was no hard feelings between them after the breakup, but moments like this made him wonder if maybe she wasn't quite as amicable as she made out about the whole thing. He didn't get much time to think about it though as suddenly, and for no reason he could discern, the webcam blinked into life, his face jumping onto the screen. Clara gave a sarcastic slow clap and he accepted the praise graciously with a flamboyant bow. "So then Miss Lord, how's thing back home?" he asked after settling himself into his chair. "Oh you know, same old. Szymon is still up to his old tricks. Did he tell you. . . " After that they spent half an hour just chewing the fat, discussing a variety of topics ranging from the antics of his old friends from home, a new reform that Parliament were discussing that would require all superhero's living in Britain to register with the government, and the latest adventures of The British-Bulldog. Since Hi-Voltage had left London the Bulldog had really stepped up, filling Tommy's spot as the United Kingdom's pre-eminent hero. He'd surprised everyone by showing a maturity a responsibility that he'd never displayed before, and Clara suggested that perhaps he'd even become League material. Tommy decided to mention his name to Zenith next time they spoke. As usual the conversation ended the same way it always did lately, with an argument. It was the same one they always had, and they both knew it was coming, but like a deer in the headlights neither could do anything to avoid it. "So. . .Tommy. When do you think you can come home?" She said it hesitantly, like she knew she shouldn't ask. Tommy sighed heavily, running his hands through his hair to put off the answer as long as possible. "You know I can't come home Clara, not yet. Obsidian is . . . " "Jesus Tommy, his name is Donald Sharpe! How can someone like you, someone so against being a costumed hero, keep calling that serial killer by a fucking codename. It's ridiculous." The venom in her voice was enough to make him bow his head in sorrow. It hurt, to hear her speak like that, but it hurt even more to know she was right. "Just come home," she said, sounding close to begging. "Leave the League to deal with him. You've done enough." She was just saying things he'd already said to himself. He'd been doing this for years now, living a lie for no other reason than he was guilty. But guilt was a powerful motivator, or so he'd found. Yeah, she might have been speaking the truth, but her truth was no match for his guilt. He raised his head and sat up straighter, and Clara knew she had lost him again. "Listen Clara, I have to go. League business." They made some rushed goodbye's, Clara managing to elicit a promise from him that he would call the next week, before he flicked off the cam, this time with no fuss. He took a few minutes to adjust his half mask and goggles, being one of the few heroes to always wear his costume around the League base. He thought about the task ahead of him. Zenith had asked him to help Apogee with making the new kids feel more welcome. Tommy didn't know why he'd been singled out for this one, but when the big guy asked him to do something he usually just got down to doing it. He took a second to lock his door behind him before heading towards the common room. [i]After all, it always pays to be careful, even in a building full of superheroes. . . Especially in a building full of superheroes.[/i] ---- There she was, the lassie that Zenith had asked him to look out for. Whisper, or Cordelia Holmes if you wanted to be proper, which Volt generally didn't. Be a bit of a brass neck if he did, going about telling folks his name was 'Hi-Voltage' after all. She looked like a bit of a ned right enough, and the big man was worried that she was having difficulty fitting in. Didn't take a genius to figure out why. Whisper was cut from a different cloth of just about every other new kid here. Where the rest were all trim and shiny, looking like they were decked out in their Sunday best for the occasion, Cordelia looked like she wouldn't give a toss if the whole place caught fire and went up in smoke. Hell, she looked like she might enjoy that wee spectacle. [i]Still, best I don't judge the book by it's cover, even if books are giving covers for a reason.[/i] The lanky Scot ambled over to Whisper's table, pulling a chair out across from her and seating himself without asking permission. He remembered a time, not to long ago, when he'd done similar with another lassie who had struggled with the League at first. Midnight never made it in the end though, but Volt couldn't be sure what would happen with this one. Wouldn't hurt for him to offer her a hand, anyway. He never spoke at first, merely sat and idly watched Chrome put some recruits through their paces in the training room. Volt felt for them, he really did. [i]Five years I've been risking life and limb in this game, and I ain't ever had a doing like the one I got offa Chrome, and that was just in practice![/i] Eventually he turned back to Whisper and offered her an open and friendly smile. "Hey Whisper, I'm Volt. I hate super-hero's too. Weird that, huh?" It was a line Pariah had told him to use. Apparently Whisper wasn't sold on the whole costumed heroics deal, so the founders had decided to send her Hi-Voltage. Volt's distaste for the super-heroic lifestyle, while perhaps not as pronounced as Whisper's, was still more well developed than just about any other member of the Leagues. He felt like a charlatan every time he donned his costume, but did it out of sheer moral obligation and personal guilt. They thought he had a better chance of connecting with her than anyone else here, and if that failed then maybe his friendly demeanour might get through to her. Well, now the ball was in her court.