[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/lG2uCuo.png?1[/img][/center]

By morning, America Chavez was still contemplating her situation. It had been a long night, with the super powered teen tossing ideas back and forth in her head. In the end, America found that she would have to do it. If not, she may never find whoever it was behind the Mutant Growth Hormone distribution. Sure she could always try and find Reed Richards, Tony Stark, or even Hank Pym, but that would waste time that she simply didn’t have. The easiest and quickest solution would be to find a telepath, and if the guy she was considering was anything like his counterparts from across the multiverse, then this day was probably going to end in a similar manner to how it had the day before. Badly.

After showering she dried her now frizzy hair, before pulling on the same t-shirt and shorts that she had worn the day before. She didn’t like having to keep wearing the same clothes every day, but until she could get back to her apartment or go shopping, she was stuck with what she had. Putting the thought out of her head, she approached and window and gazed out over the city. New York was a big place. In fact this entire world was a big place. How the hell would she even find this telepath? He could be anywhere!

Remember the number which S.H.I.E.L.D had given her for emergencies, America flopped back onto the bed. Surely they wouldn’t mind searching their databases for her? Besides, it would help them keep an eye on her location. Save them having to send a bunch of agents parading after her. After taking a second to think this over one last time, America put on her war face and dialled the number. 

[center] ★★★★★[/center]

Luckily America didn’t have far to travel. According to S.H.I.E.L.D, the guy lived over on Staten Island with his parents. She received some good news in the fact that the kid hadn’t come up on their radar before, other than the fact that he was a mutant. Maybe he was different than his counterparts out there in the multiverse. America decided to hold all judgements however until she met him. As for she knew, he could still be a massive dick.

Originally she had planned to take a taxi, or even a bus, although after stepping out of the hotel and witnessing the traffic, America decided to take to the skies instead. Flying was more fun anyway. 

Before long, the hero was descending down upon the streets of Straten Island, her eyes darting from the piece of paper in her hand with the address, to the various street signs below her. Navigating to the place wasn’t too difficult and after a few minutes she found herself stopping next to the white picket fence at the bottom of the house’s lawn. Taking a deep breath, she made her way towards the front door, taking note of all the generic lawn ornaments on her way. People actually owned lawn flamingos?
Rapping her knuckles on the door, she soon found herself face to face with a stern looking middle-aged woman, who instantly gave America the impression of being a typical suburban soccer mom. The teen stood for a few seconds, forcing herself to contain her laughter.

“Well?” The soccer mom, who America now decided was probably called Helen, asked demandingly.

“Is your son home, ma’am?“ America asked politely.

At once, the woman turned and bellowed through the house. 

“[b]Quentin[/b], there’s a girl here for you!” At once, the woman disappeared was the doorway, only to be replaced seconds later by her son. 

To say the least, he wasn’t anything like America expected. She had expected to find some kind of rebellious punk sporting a Mohawk and a leather jacket from Grease, not [url=http://i.imgur.com/W64akJc.png?1]this[/url]. America probably wouldn’t have recognised him on the street if it wasn’t for the signature surly look that was painted across his face. That face changed at once however when he spotted America to a look of pure bewilderment, with his eyes narrowing.

“Who the hell are you and why can’t I read your mind?” He asked, his snarky voice almost as demanding as his mother’s. 

America smiled. Looks like her psychic defences were working perfectly. [i] Fantástico[/i].

“Quentin Quire?” She spoke confidently. “My name is America Chavez, and you’re going to help me find some drugs.”