The Protectors - The First Class

The floor vibrates below in a steady hum, dropping just slightly every few passing seconds. The turbulence and smell of recycled air is both familiar and identifiable to only one past experience: the jet.

The gray metal of the floor follows onto the walls and ceiling of the jet, accented by soft white lights that illuminate the cabin just enough to see glimpses of the black seats folded up against the walls, as well as various storage lockers and cabinets. A mesh net dangles lightly overhead. There are seven small, circular windows on both sides of the jet where one can see cotton-like gray clouds pass against the night sky.

A similar view can be seen out of the cockpit window through a door that's open just enough to see the pilot's seat, but not enough to see the pilot without leaning.

Seated on the other side of the cabin is a young boy no older than 13 years. He nods his head, humming a tune as his light-brown hair bounces with it. He is dressed in mostly black leather that glistens in the accent lighting. He wears a pair of goggles on his forehead, as well as gray fur along the rims of his sleeves and the hood that hangs from his back. He has his right leg crossing his left, and snaps his fingers.

With every snap, there is a small puff of mist that rises from his fingertips and disappears into thin air.

On the opposite side of the jet from the young passenger sat two other people, though at first glance some might have thought that they weren't people at all, but robots. In reality they were simply wearing robotic suits. One was more lithe in appearance and looking out one of the windows; the other had a build closer to a tank and wasn't looking at anything in particular. Aside from their suit-types, it was impossible to distinguish one from the other by looks.

By personalities was another story.

"Are you sure that I can't try racing it?"

"Positive."

"But it'd be so much fun." The slimmer one whined, his voice deep and distorted inside his helmet. He broke his gaze from the window and fell back against his seat with a dramatic whump. 

The bulkier one didn't move, but there was the impression of eyes being rolled. He replied in an identical voice. "It'd also be pointless and wasteful." 

"Don't you think the suit could handle it?"

"Maybe."

"You need to have more confidence in your work."

"And you need to have more common sense."

"Excuse you, I am incredibly sensible. The sensiblest. Lord Sensible Supreme Esquire." 

"I am full of so much regret right now."

"For what? Questioning my delicate sensibilities?"

"For letting you wear that suit tonight." The bigger one said as he made a show of facepalming. The metal of the suit's hand made a loud clang upon impact with the helmet. Why was he wearing that one again?

("Who do you want tonight, the brawler or the ninja?"

"I'll take the ninja. Gotta honor my heritage and ancestors and all that."

"You're Chinese."

"Close enough."

"Dishonor. Dishonor on you, dishonor on your family, dishonor on your cow.")

Right. That was why.

"C'mooooooon." The lithe one whined, jabbing at the other half of his dynamic duo, who blocked his every strike. "I can totally keep up with the jet."

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Pleeeeaaaase?"

"Look, do you want to clean the suit after you inevitably crash into a bird?"

"...No..."

"Then sit your fool butt down and shut your fool mouth up."

Just for that, the fool stood up and paced the aisle instead, peeking into the pilot's cabin when he got bored of pacing. So after a single lap.

The big one heaved a mechanized sigh.

In the cockpit there are many things to catch the eye: a panel of buttons and keys all illuminated in various colors like blue, red, yellow, and green. There are monitors in the center and on both sides, documenting various information like elevation, pressure in the cabin, as well as the obvious speed. One monitor displays a world map upon a grid, focused in heavily on the United States of America. From a quick glance, it's easy to decipher that the jet currently traveled over the state of Arizona.

However, there is no pilot.

The jet coasts along without flaw even without visible hands to guide it. While this too seems familiar, the sight of it is still uneasy, like one had not gotten entirely used to it yet.

----------

"Oi!"

The young boy in the cabin has ceased his humming, leaning in on his knee toward to the two suit-wearing young men bickering in a friendly matter. He quips at them with an unmistakable Australian accent, and from the snarky grin on his face

"You two are just itchin' to get all Rock 'em Sock 'em robots on each otha. Just wait 'til we get back, will ya? Kinda got bigger troubles down there."

The boy's pearly white teeth come out.

"I'll even be the bloody ref!

"But that's such a long time away." The one in the larger suit laments, shooting the volunteer ref what might have been a doleful look if the helmet wasn't covering his face in its entirety. "And he's being stupid now."

"Whoa, wait!" The smaller one squawks, attention instantly drawn away from the cockpit. "Why are we talking about hitting? No hitting! Violence is not the answer!"

"I beg to differ. It's quite a satisfying solution." The big one counters, making a show of slowly standing up. 

His friend squeaks and suddenly vanishes. 

"...You know I can still tell where you are, right?"

"No you can't!" Comes the frantic reply. 

"I really can. Not to mention I can also hear you."

"Maybe I'm an expert ventriloquist."

"Maybe you're full of crap."

"How would you know?"

"You're terrified of dolls."

"THEY HAVE SUCH BEADY LITTLE EYES!"

Once again the impression is given that the bigger one is rolling his eyes. He grabs a book he'd been reading earlier and lobs it behind him, and it connects with something unseen with a metallic thud and a familiar squawk. 

"Rude." Says the target, abruptly visible once more and making a show of rubbing his helmet. 

His friend just snorts and sits back down.

"Mission Update: Gentlemen, we are approaching your destination. Drop will initiate in three minutes."

The cabin is filled with a voice that seems to come from nowhere. It is cold, nearly emotionless, but but not threatening in any way. The boy in black stands up from his chair, pulling down his goggles over his eyes with boy hands.

"Thanks Mr. E."

Yes, the voice belongs to someone named Mr. E.

"Roger Dodger!" The one rubbing his helmet stops to give an aimless jaunty salute. He picks up the book that had been thrown at him, pausing when he straightens up and gets and better look at it. "...Isn't this mine?"

"Yup." Confesses his friend, standing back up again.

"Why do you have it?"

"I wanted to read it."

"That's thievery, you know. People have been put behind bars for that. We've put people behind bars for that." 

"Thievery makes it sound so much worse than it is. Call it, eh...indefinite borrowing."

"You have your own copy!"

"Yours is hardcover. More durable. Better for an improvised weapon."

"Yeah, that's true." The slimmer one rubs his helmet again. "Wait, hey! Don't use my book as a weapon! I forbid it!"

"Only as a last resort." The other concedes as he strides over, reaching out a hand to take said book when he gets close enough. "Ooooooor if you're being stupid."

His friend backs up and holds it above his head in an ineffective game of keep-away. "Nope, nope, not at all." He says, and quickly puts the book away in a hidden compartment within the suit. "There will be no more of the using of the books as weaponry so long as I have a say in it. The crimes you have committed must not go unpunished. Your book-having privileges are hereby revoked until further notice, when it is agreed upon by the council that you can use them responsibly and not give in to the temptations of evil. Court adjourned."

The so-called criminal shrugs and crosses his arms. "Suit yourself. Just means I don't have to carry it."

"...Aw man..."

Two minutes tend to pass quickly when armored knuckleheads are having a slapstick routine with each other. With the vacuum of silence in the jet now blasted to bits by a book and makeshift court hearings, one would think it easy to miss a soft-spoken disembodied voice preparing the start of a mission.

However, there was more than one way to catch attention.

Laser lit up in a grid in the center of the jet, bending over each other until they formed a single, unmoved face of blue light. With pupil-less eyes looking to no one in particular, the voice of the being known as "Mr. E" addressed the cabin.

"Mission Update: Attention. Attention. Drop zone is in-reach. Please initiate personnel drop. Protector ID #103: Kid Winter, please take point."

"Don't gotta ask me twice, mate," the Aussie in black made his way to the back of the jet, reaching up and grabbing a hold of the dangling cargo net.

"Lowering rear launching ramp. Attention Protector ID #103: Kid Winter, please fasten a parachute for safest results."

"Right, right, here's to ya, Mum, now open the ramp, please?"

With a hiss and a solid thunk, the back of the jet suddenly began to lower! Air from within the cabin whipped out into the new-night sky with enough force to rock the net Kid Winter held on to with excessive force, doing the same with his brown hair.

"Oh yeah, party time!"

Kid walked past the parachutes set up to his right.

"Protector ID #103: Kid Winter, please fasten a-"

"What?" Kid said, cupping a hand to his ear.

"Please fast-"

"I can't hear ya, mate! Too much noise!"

"Ple-"

"YEEEAAAAOOOOHHHH!!!"

Winter picked up from his walk into a full on sprint, whipping right past the parachutes and onto the ramp, launching himself in a free-fall out of the jet! He descended for a a passing moment, all while laughing to himself.

The air around Winter began to shift, his breath becoming more and more visible with each second. At peak level, his skin began to shift as if freezing over, growing paler and paler until he was a shade of pale white, his hair and eyes now a dusty gray. He held out his hands, and from it two beams of mist and dazzling beams of white and blue light blasted from his palms and onto his feet, solidifying into ice around them before branching out and forming into what could only be described as a snow board!

"Skydiving! You little beaut!"

With that, Kid flipped upside down, turning in a corkscrew like a helicopter as he descended.

The one in the lithe suit whooped. "My turn!" He hollered over his shoulder, not bothering to wait for Mr. E to announce Bolt and whatever his ID number was before leaping out the jet. Forgoing the parachutes as well, he dive-bombed straight down, only activating his flight system at the last possible second, laughing all the while.

Scrapper just shook his head and followed his teammates.

"#103, impact with Earth's will occur in forty seconds."

Through the radio piece in his ear, Mr. E attempted to warn Kid Winter, but Kid would have no time for the warnings. He just kept his eyes on the Arizona ground, the sand getting closer and closer, and his heart beating faster and faster.

"#103."

This was what he had signed up for. He felt alive. He felt like he was flying. If only Robbie could've seen this.

"#103, please initiate-"

"Ah belt up, I got it!"

Kid Winter kicked down, flipping himself back right-side up. He thrust his hands out again, and the brilliant beams of energy and mist shot out toward the ground! Quickly, ice began to rise from the point of impact, growing upward and shaping until it was obvious that Kid Winter was building a ramp. He bent down, arms behind his back and angled down, landing on the ramp and sliding forward! With one hand he shot another beam, growing his path more and turning it right back, until his momentum had ceased. His board quickly melted from his feet as he stepped onto the desert.

As he placed his hands on his sides that slowly returned to their original color, he had only one word to say.

"It's too bloody hot out here."

"#103, reckless action may lead to endangerment of your mission and your team. Ten points have been subtracted from your one-hundred point total. You have ninety points remaining."

"What?! Y'kiddin' me, E? I handled it!"

"5 additional points subtracted."

"Gah!"

"Fifteen points from Gryffindor." Bolt quipped on the private line shared solely with himself and Scrapper, who snorted. Upon landing, he switched to the public speaker and clapped Kid Winter on the shoulder. "Don't worry, man, an 85's like a B here, that's not bad. Besides, you have a 90 in spirit. A for effort and all that." 

How did they grade stuff in Australia, anyway...?

That was when Scrapper landed, the heavy thud muffled by sand. "85 is still passing." He agreed, taking note of their surroundings, or what little surroundings there were in the middle of the Arizona desert. It was largely empty, and despite Kid Winter's complaints, rather cold, as desert were known to be at night. After the cursory check was over, Scrapper asked "So where do we go from here?"

As his metal-clad hand touched down on Kid's shoulder, Bolt would find it quickly freezing, the ice creeping up his hand. Kid shrugged him off, flaring a nostril as he did so.

"You used to gettin' failin' grades, mate?" he smirked, holding his hand out to blast the ground with an ice beam, quickly building up a seat. "Woulda fooled me what with those real nifty science fair suits ya got on. That a rubber band I see?"

"Cool it, Winter."

Another young man's voice spoke up through their public radio channel, carrying both the tone of a friend and an authority. Kid arched an eyebrow, his jaw slightly slacked.

"An ice pun? Really? You stealin' my gimmick, Greshem?"

"Got your attention, didn't it? I have eyes on your location. Arriving momentarily."

Headlights sparked up in the distance just behind Kid Winter, growing exponentially the closer the vehicle arrived. The motor grew audible, and from there an entire brown jeep came into view. It closed in on the group, and stopped just short of them. The engine shut off, but the headlights stayed on. The driver's side door opened, and from it stepped a figure. It walked through the headlights closer to the group, until in the shadows they could see a man of about 19 years of age, light brown hair swept to the side, dressed in what one could describe as military garb mixed with casual clothing.

Merrick Greshem had arrived.

"Glad to see you all in one piece, guys. Ready to get to work?"

Bolt didn't react to the freezing of his hand beyond flexing it to make sure it still worked properly. To Kid Winter's words he reacted even less, which was to say not at all.

"Ready when you are." Scrapper answered for both of them. Then he switched back to the robo-duo's private chat. "Right?"

"Of course." Bolt agreed, shaking off what ice he could from his hand.

"How is it?"

"Feels fine."

"Bolt."

He chuckled. "It's alright, geez. There's nothing to worry about, so stop worrying."

"You know I always do." Scrapper replied, and Bolt rolled his eyes but smiled fondly under his helmet.

Both switched back to public speakers. "Hey there," Bolt greeted Merrick, raising his unfrozen hand in a lazy wave, "good to see you too. But yeah, ready and rearin' to go! Where are we going, anyway? Aaaaaand what exactly are we doing? I may or may not have zoned out during the explanation..."

Scrapper just shook his head, exasperated.

"Protector ID #102, Ping," the voice of Mr. E spoke to the group through their comm channel, "Failure to pay mind to mission briefing. Ten points subtracted. Ninety points remain."

"Ouch," Kid Winter responded, making a set of finger guns at Bolt while winking.

"Hey, guys, let's keep it together," Merrick played babysitter as he pulled his tan jacket back to reach for his belt, where he removed an octagon-shaped device. He palmed the gadget, tossing it onto the desert ground. It lit up, the octagon opening up flaps on all eight sides until a similar soft blue light beamed up from the small platform, forming a grid until a map of the area could be seen floating between the team.

"Boys.....we got a live one," Merrick, who had been known to keep things serious in the field, couldn't help crack a small smile himself, "At 23:00 there were reports of a vehicle collision just 10 miles south of this location."

A red blip appeared on the digital map as Merrick pointed to the location in question.

"Crikey! A car mishap?! Well I'm all nerves now! A bloke got hit by a car!" Kid responded, an eyebrow raised.

"The 'bloke' was the one that hit the car....with his fist," Merrick swiped the map, showing a holographic recreation of the scene. A pick-up truck seemed to have imploded in the front, a tunnel sucking into the middle of the grill like a black hole. In that, an obvious fist mark.

Kid Winter's eyes were wide, his jaw slightly gaped, "blimey."

"Right now we don't know who John Doe is....and that's where we come in," Merrick continued, returning to the map, "the mission parameters are as follows: track down unknown super "John Doe" and identify, assess...and if need be, apprehend. Guys, this isn't a training drill. Can we do this?"

"Yup." The robotic duo chorused, sharing a look. Neither had a hint of doubt in their identical, mechanized tones.

It wasn't exactly their area of expertise, chasing down, observing and subduing people. While they were perfectly capable of doing so if they needed to, Scrapper and Bolt were made as a search and rescue unit, not a pursuit and combat one. People like the Avengers could deal with supervillains trying to take over the world and whatnot, but there were always smaller things to deal with, things they sometimes overlooked or left behind. Collapsed buildings, falling construction workers, sinking ships, suicide attempts, natural disasters, fires, and, well, car accidents. Those were more along the lines of what they'd dealt with in their time before joining the Protecters. What they still dealt with when they weren't with the Protecters.

But they'd done this and other similar things plenty times before, so it wasn't like the mission was out of left field or anything. There was always the occasional mugging or gang fight they stumbled across, the drunkard in need of a watchful eye on their way home; exceptions were sometimes the rule in lives like theirs. They had done that all that and more before, so they could do this too. They could do this, and so they'd help. That was their whole reason for doing this, after all. They wanted to help people in the ways people couldn't help themselves.

They just wanted to help.

Even if helping consisted of tracking down a guy who could pick a fight with a moving vehicle and win.

"The things we do for humanity." Scrapper drawled privately to Bolt, whose only response was to laugh.

"I...." Kid Winter slid the goggles over his eyes up onto his forehead, his eyes expressing the type of thoughts one would expect someone to have when they hear they're chasing a human wrecking ball, "I'm startin' to think joinin' you blokes'll be the death o' me."

He wiped a bit of his cold sweat (pun!) away before looking to Merrick. "Gah, whateva," he gave a thumbs up.

"That's all I needed to hear," Merrick nodded, holding out his hand over the holo-deck, which immediately retracted and jumped back into his hand. Merrick slipped the device back onto his belt and motioned to the jeep, "I'll drive us into town. Should be a few minutes and we can get to work tracking Doe down."

"Shotgun!" Kid Winter called, hopping to his feet from his icy chair and briskly making his way toward the front passenger's seat.

Neither of the robos protested Winter's claim, slipping into the back of the car without a word, though Bolt kept quietly chuckling until Scrapper flicked the side of his helmet. He shifted to look at his partner and whined. "Mean."

Scrapper hummed indifferently, then switched to their private chat. "He's not gonna understand, you know."

Bolt switched as well, leaning back in his seat to stare up at nothing. He didn't bother to play oblivious; he knew what his friend was talking about. "Yeah, but it makes me feel better."

"There are better ways to do that."

"I don't mind a handicap. He was right about one thing, at least."

"Don't give me that."

"Relax, relax."

"Shouldn't I be telling you that?"

"It'll fade, it always does. And I kept my cool better than he did. Speaking of, what do you think even set him off?"

"Beats me. Maybe just avoid talking to him about grades. And maybe avoid touching him too."

"Worth a shot."

"You gonna apologize?"

"When I can mean it. Probably after all this is done."

"And if he says sorry?"

"Then I'll forgive what I can."

"You've gotta stop getting so worked up about that sort of thing. It's not worth it."

"It is if it's you. It is if it's your work."

"Hopeless."

"But you love me anyway."

"Hmm, I wonder."

"Aw, punch me right through the heart why don't you!"

"Ha. Speaking of punches, what do you think we're up against?"

"Dunno. Size of the fist was about the norm for a human...maaaaaale, I think? Maybe? So prooooobably not the Hulk."

"Well that's a relief. You catch anything from E that we didn't get from Merrick?"

"Nah, E and Merry gave us the same info."

"Someday you are going to slip and call him Merry and I will laugh at you."

"How cruel."

"But you love me anyway."

"Yeah, yeah."

For the longest few minutes of their lives the jeep drove through the sand, bouncing on a rock here and there to jar the body and remind everyone on-board that there was no sleep to be had tonight.

Kid Winter acknowledged that with a long yawn, snapping his tongue against his lips multiple times.

As the jeep rolled into town, the early hour was apparent. The streets were clear of human traffic: a car parked on the side of the road here, a lit sign on a gas station there. It was a small town even by small town standard, more like a strip of stores with some houses scattered around it, leaving the next section of neighbors and stores far enough to be another town over.

Merrick parked the jeep in front of a small general store, shutting off the engine and killing the headlights. As he stepped from the vehicle, Kid Winter doing the same, he placed his hands in his pockets.

"I have the wrecked vehicle in storage at the local scrapyard. We can look it over when everyone's ready," he passed a few more glances around the town. A local bar seemed to still be alive, though on its last legs with the music just slightly audible in the night. In the gas station, a young man behind the counter could be seen looking in their direction, specifically at the two men in robotic armor.

"Should check for a trail too," Kid spoke up, "couldn't hurt."

Scrapper and Bolt both hopped out of the jeep. The latter, catching sight of the gawker in the gas station, waved.

"It'd probably be best for us two at least to head straight to the wreck." Scrapper said, looking at his partner in crimefighting. While the area was mostly deserted, it wasn't entirely so, as proven by the man Bolt was waving at. In their robotic suits the two of them would draw more attention than desirable if more people showed up, which was possible seeing as the local bar seemed to be on the edge of closing and pushing any stragglers out the door, where the employees would shortly follow. Asking any of them what they knew about the incident would likely be unproductive as well; asking anyone would be, really. Checking for a trail was a good idea, one that should probably be done soon if they didn't want it to go colder than the four hours cold it already was, but Scrapper wanted a better idea of what they were searching for before they went looking for it. Therefore, junkyard. "Bolt?"

"Yeah, sounds good to me." Bolt agreed, dropping his hand and turning back to face his teammates. His thought process had been similar to Scrapper's. "Ready when you are."

"Right, not a bad idea to get a look at that dent, see what kind of target we're looking for, any traces of energy or the like" Merrick said, nodding with approval. One punk kid catching a glimpse never mattered. They weren't necessarily covert in this mission, but their target could still be in the town. That would be a good enough reason to avoid too much contact with the public, "You guys go on and check it out."

"Have yaselves a right party, gents," Kid Winter quipped.

"You're going with them, Kid," Merrick responded.

Kid snapped his head to Merrick, "so you can go off alone?"

"Yes. You're just as mechanically inclined as anyone here. You can help."

"Ahhhhh...fine."

"Good. The scrapyard's about three miles out. If any of you can drive, you can take the jeep. I'll go check the scene of the incident, see what I can find."

"Alright, good luck. Tell us if there's anything interesting, we'll do the same." Bolt said to Merrick with a nod of his head. Then he turned to Kid Winter. "So neither of us can drive, with or without the suits. Don't suppose there's any chance you can...?"

"If not it's not like we can't just fly there." Scrapper added with a shrug. "We could fly you there too, or you could just skate. Whichever works. Preference?"

"Not one for being carried, Mate," Kid responded, pulling his goggles back down over his eyes. He took a bit of a jogging start, holding his hand out as the brilliant beam of mist and light shot from his palm, glassing the ground over as he slid with surprising speed, picking up even faster the further he went along.

"Hope he doesn't ice up the roads." Scrapper commented privately to Bolt. "That'd be troublesome for any late night drivers."

"Nah, I doubt he'd do that." Bolt responded in kind, watching Kid Winter go. "I'm just surprised he'd rather skate than fly the whole three miles."

"That's only 'cause you're lazy."

"Not always." Bolt denied, then tilted his head at an angle that Scrapper knew meant he was smirking. "Race you."

"You say that like we're not wearing suits with different top speeds and aren't gonna match up with him." Scrapper replied, but then took to the air and entirely disregarded his own words by adding one more as he rocketed away. "Go."

Bolt laughed. "Cheater!" He called, and shot off after his teammates.

The breeze against Kid's face would've burned a normal man with the chill it carried, but to Kid Winter that coldness was like a warm kiss. That same wind whistled over the steel exoskeletons of Bolt and Scrapper, who caught up with Kid in a matter of moments. It was a feat that nobody was stunned by. Perhaps it was Kid's ability to move at the same speed using only momentum and ice that was shocking.

A few spotlights overhead gleamed like stars pulled closer to earth than the rest. They shined over barbed-wire fences that surrounded what could only be seen as dozens of hills formed from scrapped metal and ruined cars.

"Bingo," Kid said, spying the scrapyard.

After a few more moments, they arrived at the yard. The fence was much larger than it seemed, enough to hide a building if not for it being chain-link. In front of it stood an man of middle-age, a trucker cap on his head and a permanent frown on his face. He uncrossed his arms as the three arrived.

"You're with the kid in the camo, I guess?"

"Assuming we're talking about the same kid in camo, then yes. We're with him." Scrapper agreed, touching down. Bolt kept to the skies, opting to do a few light-speed 'victory laps' around the junkyard. He'd been just a little bit ahead of Scrapper, after all. "You work here?"

Bolt landed almost immediately after that, waving at the stranger and then knocking his side into Scrapper's, wrapping an arm around him as he did. "I won the race!" He singsonged.

"Congratulations." Scrapper replied dryly, not budging an inch. Over their private comm, he added, "Anyone around?"

"Thank you." Bolt said, oblivious to any and all insincerity. Privately he answered, "None besides him that I saw. Anything interesting about this dude?"

"Nope. Just an average Joe so far as I can tell."

"Gotcha. I'll keep an eye out anyway."

"You do that." Scrapper told him, then elbowed the other half of his dynamic duo in the ribs to dislodge him as he went back to the public speakers. "Alright, that's enough of that."

"Aw, don't want to bask in the secondhand glory of my victory?" Bolt teased, dancing out of range of potential additional blows as he also switched back to the public speakers. "Are you jealous?"

"Yes, I'm jealous of the suit that was designed to be faster. Clearly that is what's happening."

"Don't be jealous! Who knows? Someday you might actually beat me in a race!"

"There are times when I question my life choices. This is one of them."

Bolt just laughed.

The older man in the hat squirmed his mouth around as he looked over the armored duo, as well as the younger boy whose pale skin and icy white hair seemed to deepen the chill in the air that was already nipping on the back of his neck. He wiggled his nose as he spoke,

"Yup, just me. Not much need for security in these parts, 'specially for junk. Couple critters, maybe some kids? Only need me."

He unhooked a hinge on the large gate door, sliding it open with a metallic vibration that shook the ear. He motioned over to the group of heroes, half-way into the yard.

"Come on in. Truck's around the corner."

"Can't wait," Kid Winter groaned sarcastically as he stepped closer to the gate, following the older yard watchman.