Why we fight.

"What are you doing?! Give him back to me! You can't do this. We belong to each other, I need to be with my brother to take care of him, don't you see? He's fragile. You can't take him away like this! YOU MONSTERS!!!"

The girl stands in the center of the orphanage, pulling on the coattails of one of the four men carrying away her little brother, who kicks and screams with all his might. The man at the head of the awful procession, a tall, pale fellow with a spotless white tie, says dismissively: "We don't need the girl. We only want to-- adopt-- the boy. Remove her grasp from my associate's clothing so we may be on our way. Our time is a precious commodity."

The orphanage manager stammers politely, avoiding the eyes of the men, and firmly but gently pries away the clutching fingers.

This is when Syca jumps down from the ceiling.

"In what universe does kidnapping mean the same thing as adopting?" she asks politely, hands clasped demurely behind her back on the hilt of her concealed sword. "Just release the boy, and I won't tell the police about your little definition slip."

"Who are you?" scoffs the leader. "I wasn't aware this orphanage housed common ruffians as well as children."

I jump down beside her. "We're not ruffians, and we're certainly not common. We would rather think of ourselves as Protectors. We're here to defend the weak, the young, the innocent, from being abused or manipulated. The girl says she doesn't want you to take her brother. It would be wise to listen to her. We don't like to use force. Well, actually, we do, but it's frowned upon in most centuries."

The men give an assortment of not-so-charitable laughs, and then quiet down immediately as the leader lifts a gloved finger. "I don't think that will be necessary, or effective. You have no jurisdiction over us. We have acquired this boy by the usual legal methods. He is now the ward of our company CEO. He shall be treated fitly for a boy of his-- nature-- and that is all you need to know. You have no evidence to dispute our claim. You have no power to deny us our due. Now step out of the way."

This is when Laila also comes down, on a rope rather than risking the considerable distance, since at the moment she has no sheild or flight to lessen the impact. She produces from her pack a series of photos of different children, hooked up to terrible machines of light and wires, their eyes haunted. In the background, on the wall, stares the insignia of an eye gazing boldly out of the center of the sun.

"You work for SolarFlare? The solar energy plant?" Laila questions.

"Perhaps," replies the Tie-Man stiffly, "But I don't see what this has to do with--"

"Are you aware that your machines are harvesting the energy of certain children's imaginations instead of the energy of the sun?"

"Why, that's preposterous! We would never--" I jump into the conversation.

"Save your breath. Already, pictures and videos of your crimes are being leaked to news sources around the world. What you did to these special children will be seen. It will be heard. The eyes of parents and grandparents and single mothers around the world will be watching you. They will not judge lightly your conniving abuse of these orphans, not to mention all the children that went missing from homes around the world. Your time for exploitation is over. Hand over the boy, and no one else will get hurt."

The villains decide, of course, to make a run for it. The leader slips a small device out of his pocket and, deploying it and flinging it to the ground, runs away into the ensuing chaos and smoke.

"He's headed for the back door!" Syca shouts.

I dash toward it and manage to catch sight of the fleeing coat. The man hastens to a waiting car, but I pursue it with all the muscle and brainpower I can possess this early in the morning. There is no way I am letting a criminal this terrible escape. Those who would willingly hurt children earn a special place in my book...

Tackle. Crash. Scuffle.

I do pride myself on being able to subdue an ordinary, weaponless human in three action words or less. Besides, longer fights are too exhausting...

We head back inside, my new prisoners and my own ragged-looking self, to meet the inevitable swing of Justice which the manager called on the phone during the fighting. As police sirens wail increasingly louder, I sneak over to have a chat with the sister.

"You defended your brother quite bravely today."

"I wish I had superpowers like you guys. Then I could really keep him safe from harm."

"I thought the same thing when I was your age. Turns out, most of these things are in your head. When you need them, and fervently believe in their power, they'll come to you. Or, perhaps, when you least expect it."

I get up and walk back over to the others, leaving her to develop that small, untapped potential of imagination dwelling in her brain. We have to wait here until the criminals are processed, then return for trial to make sure they are well and truly put away.