"I have to hand it to you America, you really know how to show a guy a good time."
America Chavez's eyes shot daggers at the telepathic mutant from across the abandoned warehouse, before slowly moving her middle finger towards him and into the upright position. Ignoring the smirking gaze that came as the boy’s reply, America turned her attention back to the warehouse. It looked relatively the same from when she had been here the day before. Empty. Desolate. America hated it.
Agitated at the fact that she had yet to make any headway, the super powered heroine made her way back towards her temporary partner.
“You getting anything, Chico?”
“Let me just take a gander, chica.” Quentin Quire jeered in response before bring his hands up in front of him. After a failed attempt at cracking his knuckles to show that he was ready to tackle the challenge, Quentin coughed awkwardly before slamming his eye sockets shut. America watched in awe as the young mutant seemed to scrunch up his face in agony. She could only imagine what was going on that head of his. Even America Chavez had to admit that telepaths were interesting. It was a shame then that Quire here was a massive asshole.
As if on cue, the mutant slowly opened his mouth. “I’m hearing…I’m hearing the letter B. Does anyone in the room know of someone starting with a B?”
“Piss off Quire, this is serious.” America groaned, rolling her eyes. “Quit your stupid medium impression and get the hell back to Staten Island.”
Angrily, America turned on her heal and began to head towards the warehouse door. This had been a mistake asking Quire. Telepathy wasn’t the answer to this. She would have to find her guy some other way. Somehow…
“Wait…” Quentin called nervously, running slightly to catch up. “I’m sorry, I was just messing around! Please, wait!”
America continued walking, striding out through the warehouse door and out into the Manhattan street. She was about to take off into the sky, when a hand pulled her back down.
“I found something.” Quire explained quickly, before letting go, fearing that America might strike.
“You know who’s behind this?”
“Not exactly…” America turned to leave. “No, wait. I don’t know who it is, but whoever came through this warehouse from your… dimension, was thinking about one person.”
America turned to face the scrawny teenager, a mix of confusion and accomplishment on her face. “Who?”
“Mr Bishop.”
“
Oh dios! Who the hell is Mr Bishop.”
Quentin shot a smile, before indicating for America to turn around with a nod of his head. Turning, America eyes scanned the street, before finally landing them on a brightly coloured billboard. Despite the mass of graffiti, America could just make out the writing; Bishop Packaging. To the right of the company name sat a huge image of a middle-aged man in a suit, whom America could only assume was Mr Bishop himself. A smile spread across America’s face. They were finally getting somewhere.
“Hey, maybe he has a hot daughter.” Quire joked from behind.
America shot him a look of both anger and intrigue.
“Sorry Princess, your psychic defences aren’t that great!”
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