“A bloody cat! You made me do all that for a bloody cat?!” I yell at the mind numbingly stupid old crone who has just wasted three minutes of my life, time that could have been spent on far more valorous endeavours, saving her overweight tabby.  The nerve of some people!  She then insists on stuffing a five dollar bill into my hand, instructing me to [I]‘share it with my friends’[/I] before making her long overdue escape.  I am starting to hope that the Rogues win this particular encounter, if only to put an end to my suffering.  

A quick scan of the battlefield tells me that crowd control has been taken care of, the unwashed masses finally getting the idea that hanging around here could be disadvantageous for their continued wellbeing.  Captain Cold, leader of the rogues, is down, Hellfire standing over the villains prone form like some Homeric hero, standing proud in his victory. . . And Fenrir wants me to watch over him!  He appears to be one of the few competent members of this group I am forced to work with.  

Case in point; Bolt.  That knuckle dragger, graciously joining us in the teleporters instead of driving here (Never mind that teleporters are far more efficient, eco-friendly and [I]quicker[/] mode of transportation.) quickly decided that blasting foes with electricity just isn’t ostentatious enough.  No, he had to jump into the closest overpowered muscle car, rev the engines then attempt to commit vehicular homicide.  Doesn’t he know that Top has no superhuman defences, other than ‘spinning real quick’!  Or that the average weight of the vehicle he is currently driving, with driver, is just under two tonnes.  Or the mass of that vehicle, travelling at those speeds, will be more than enough to kill Top!  

“Move Top, bloody move!” I begin yelling.  Yes, I am aware that I am helping the villains.  Its not that I particularly care for Top’s continued existence.  It’s just the sheer stupidity being showcased here offends me.  If I am to be a member of Young Justice then the team must show, at the very least, a sliver of awareness for the powers they possess and the responsibilities they shoulder.  (Perhaps more important is the fact that I hate today’s vulture-like media with a passion unrivalled, and the thought that such a catastrophe would provide them with such newsworthy stories sickens me.)

Of course I am distracted from my course by the ongoing battle between Heatwave and Armoury.  Miss Tea has got herself into a spot of bother, staring down the barrel of the unimaginatively named ‘heat gun’.  As I said before I hold no grudges, but now I have a choice.  I can either continue trying to get Top’s attention and get him to move, or I can intercede on the behalf of the team mate that earlier found cause to strike me.  As loathe as I am to admit it, that isn’t really much of a choice.  I kneel and retrieve a small rock from the ground, the perfect size and shape for ‘hucking’ 

[I]Deduction[/I]; Top will very likely die, but Armoury, and the child she is protecting, takes precedence.   I throw the stone, my aim sure and true, a high pitched ding alerting me to my success as I hit Heatwave on his helmet.  

Success!  The villains attention has shifted from Armoury.  Unfortunately he has found a new target.  Who?  Well, that is the Question, isn’t it.

“Damn,” I sigh as the pyromaniac bears down upon me.