Bored. Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored. . .  BORED!  I really haven't the faintest clue as to how _ordinary _people do it.  How do they manage to live their dull little lives, without even a sliver of excitement or mental stimulation, and manage to keep themselves from blowing their feeble brains out.  That's the real Question, now that I come to think of it.  Maybe that's the real difference between myself and the rest of the world.  Maybe it's just that they're better equipped to deal with boredom, to sit and mull their dreary lot in life while a slow yet incessant rot begins to waste away their drive and interest, a self perpetuating cycle of non-explosive self destruction.  

The merest inkling that I may be surrendering myself to the fate that befalls _normal _people is enough to supply me with the drive to banish my crippling ennui.  If excitement will not come to me then I shall have to supply my own.  Necessity compels when the devil drives, and all that. Or perhaps its a case of the devil making work for idle hands?  Either way I must act, and the devil probably has a hand in it.  

I practically leap from the comfort chair that had supported me during my latest bout with monotony.  Though spartan in the accoutrements, the items that do fill these quarters are all well made and comfortable.  Not that such things concern me unduly, I could live on the streets if an investigation required it, but I will not refuse myself luxury when it presents itself so readily.  I pass the mirror on my way out, stopping to inspect my reflection.  Some call me conceited, but I am merely a man who takes pride in his appearance.  Mind, body and spirit.  Keep these things in order and the rest will fall into place.  A moment spent straightening my tie and and I am ready, grabbing my overcoat on the way out.  

I set a steady pace through empty halls, heels from leather shoes clicking away upon the polished floors.  Who does clean this place?  I've never once seen any of my teammates pick up a broom nor mop, and there has never been a _custodian_, that I am sure of.  I log the query for further investigation at a later date.  I may be going half mad in need of a Question to answer, but I am not yet at the stage were _'the case of the invisible janitors'_ is enough to pique my entire interest.  Instead I make for the exit, sure that in a city like Star there will be mysterys a plenty for a man willing to put in the leg work to find them.  

My thoughts are disturbed as an ear splitting shriek shatters the relative silence, echoes tearing through the corridors.  My body bursts into action, propelling me towards the source even while my mind begins going into over drive, forming split second connections and deductions.  _Deduction_; Based on my location in the base and from the direction of the scream then the screamer must be in the relaxations area.  _Deduction_; Tone indicates the individual to be female, age between sixteen and twenty four.  _Fact_; Team roster indicates we have six female members, no information at the moment to indicate which are on sight, though could be a visting member of the League.  Outside party unlikely though, based on deduction that indivdual is a young female, no outsider meets profile.  _Deduction_; Scream lacks the urgency of physical stress, perhaps emotional pain, or a shriek of fear. 

_Fact_;  I begin to feel alive. 

My breakneck pace would impress even an Olympic sprinter as I near fly through the doorway to the relaxation room, my quick eyes taking in the surroundings before I've even skidded to a stop.  No attackers.  No enemies.  In fact there is only one other person in attendance, the woman known as Cassandra, formerly Foresight, given name Kendra Martin.  It wouldn't take a genius to figure out that she was the source of the scream.  Even now she shudders uncontrollably, a sure sign of heightened anxiety and uncontrollable stress.  It goes hand in hand with the sweat droplets beading her forehead.  She's making noises, such unseemly grunting, which indicates she may be trying to stifle a sob.  Her cheeks are a deep red.  Could that be embarrassment? Interesting.

I study her intently, reading the small details that form like words on a page to tell me a story of her and her situation.  I'm told I study people more often and more closely than is comfortable for others.  Apparently I make them feel like they are animals in a zoo.  That is a most unfair comparison in my opinion.  Animals are placed in a zoo for the amusement of the masses, despite the inherent barbarism of such an outdated practice.  Though it is not the association with such a disgusting procedure that bothers me.  It is more the fact that unlike animals, people rarely amuse me.  They are merely a means to an end.  

I come to my conclusions as to what caused her screams quickly.  Childrens play really, from what I know of her personality and powers, the fact she is in a mostly empty room with very few emotional stimulants, and her current mood and demeanor.. 

"What was the vision of, Miss Martin?"  She has earned my attention.  Lets see if she can keep it.