[u][b]New York March, 20th, 2005 8AM[/b][/u] Heart in his chest, beating like Cozy Powell's drumkit. Lungs working like bellows, desperate to fill a tired, old body with air. Muscles burning so bad it was a wonder they hadn't burst into flames. Sweating so much that if he did combust then he'd probably just douse himself pretty quick. Damn, but if getting old didn't suck the joy outta a morning jog. Just the mere thought that [i]time[/i] might be winning the fight gave the old boxer a second wind, leaden legs pumping harder as he powered through the next three blocks, a rictus like grimace on his battered face as he ignored the aches and pains that tried to slow him down. It might be said that 'Time Always Wins', but Ted Grant was just to damn stubborn to go down without a fight. Still, he'd traveled much farther than he'd meant to when he'd first set out, partly just to prove to himself that he still could, but mostly because his mind hadn't been on the run and when to end it, but hovering elsewhere. Fixating on the re-emergance of Hydra, and the return of the Red Skull in fact. Ted hadn't been able to get his mind off the subject in the last two days, not since the damned Nazi had plastered his big, ugly mug all over the internet. Not since that SHIELD prison had fallen and Director Dugan had gotten himself killed. He still couldn't quite believe it had all happened. Still kept thinking that it wouldn't have, not if the Justice Society was still together. If Alan and Jay and all the rest hadn't been so quick to jump into retirement when things got heavy then they might still have been active today, still defending America from scum like the Skull, keeping her borders safe from all those that would do her harm, who would try to infringe upon her freedoms. But no, the old men all chose cushty retirement, preferring to fade into obscurity while leaving the fate of the world in the hands of men like [i]Tony Stark[/i]. Mice living in the shadows of giants, left to fumble with the nations security. Only then did Ted realize he was gripping his fists so tight that his knuckles had gone white. He slowed to a halt, leaning against a waist height brick wall to grab a breather while trying to master his temper. Just last week the Doc had warned him about his climbing blood pressure. It was just that the wound of what had happened with the Society had never healed right for Ted, not really. Green Lantern, The Atom, The Flash, Hourman, they had all those amazing powers, powers they could have kept using to help people, but instead they'd let the people tell them they didn't want them no more. That they'd done enough. That they didn't need protecting any longer. And then what happened? The people got burned, because nobody was protecting them. It was small consolation that Wildcat had called it, during that last JS meeting when they'd all voted on their future. He'd told them that just because the world didn't think that it needed them now, didn't mean they wouldn't need them in the future. Yeah, he'd called it. Wonder if it was too late to call Jay with an 'I told you so'. Small consolations are the only consolation you get some times. Break, and bitch, over, the old fighter made for home, taking three steps before the muscles in his left calf cramped something awful and he was forced to another stop. With a pained grunt he dropped to his knee and began to massage the tortured muscle. Jesus, who was he trying to kid. There wasn't anybody in the world that needed a broken old man like him. [center]*****[/center] [u][b]New York March, 20th, 2005 9AM[/b][/u] An hour later and he was on the homestretch. It hurt his pride, having to walk back like this, but at least he'd still managed it under his own power. He'd have to be halfway in a casket before he'd have got a cab. His mind was on a hot shower and fresh coffee, two things he would have quite happily killed for right then, when he heard a commotion from the alleyway. He couldn't rightly have said what it was that possessed him to peek his head in, because it might have been anything that cause the indistinct noise he'd heard. Could have been a racoon in a dumpster, kids playing, the wind, a hobo love-in. But of course, it wasn't. The alley contained a row of dumpsters, a fire escape, a chain link fence blocking the only other exit, one sedan car, and three strung out meth-heads. The junkies were hard at work trying to jimmy open the sedan's lock, obviously figuring if they could then their next fix was as good as paid for. Why, Ted couldn't imagine, cause the car was a beat up looking piece of shit that probably wasn't worth the money to scrap it (though the meth-heads weren't looking much better). Still, it was someone's property, and Ted wasn't the sort to just step aside and let this kind of thing happen. "You know, back in my day the criminals had the decency to rob folk at night," He called, his tone light, like he was just starting a conversation with old friends. The trio started guiltily, realized he was just one old man, and then began swapping uncertain looks. He was an unforeseen variable, and it was throwing them for a loop. If the fact that they weren't master criminals wasn't evident before, then it certainly was now. "But then, you boys probably feel pretty safe right now, huh? Pretty secure, pretty sure you're gonna get away scot-free. After all, SHIELD just took a shiner, the whole world's waiting for what the Red Skull's gonna do next. Ain't nobody watching out for the little guy. Ain't nobody punishing the little crimes, the little criminals, not when the big ones are out there, waiting to strike." As he spoke Ted strolled towards the sedan, calm and easy. He didn't realize it, but all his aches and pains from earlier had disappeared, like early morning fog blown away by a fresh breeze. "Look old man, you don't. . . " Began one of the junkies, but Ted just kept on talking, steam rolling over whatever point the thief thought he was gonna make. "Or maybe I've got you boys all wrong. Maybe this wee 'crime-of-the-century' ain't got nothing to do with Hydra, the Skull, or the worlds woes. Maybe you're just too stupid to realize what a bad idea this was." The trio's faces hardened at this. Even brain dead meth-heads don't like being called stupid by a complete stranger. The closest of the would-be-thieves stuffed his hand into his pocket. "So which is it boys; Confident, or stupid?" Ted was close now. So close he could see every black pore on their noses, every greasy strand of their hair, the frightened flicker of their eyes as they desperately looked for a way out, only to realize the sweaty old man blocked the only exit. He grinned, and they blanched. The closest junkie, a man so skinny he looked like he was on the verge of anorexia, took a jump back before pulling a flick knife from his pocket with a flourish that was probably supposed to appear intimidating, but ended up looking clumsy. "You shoulda kept on walking, old man!" Rasped the junkie. Funny, Ted thought, his grin growing wider as he clenched his fists, I don't feel so old anymore.