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[center][b][color=forestgreen]HEROES FOR HIRE
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A SNAKE IN THE GRASS[/color][/b][/center]

[b]Danny Rand’s Apartment[/b]

If you’ve never hung out with your ex-girlfriend while researching a snake assassin and some ancient Indian rock, let me tell you, it’s a hoot. So far, other than asking for a glass of water, Misty and I haven’t said a word to one another. There’s been a few fits and starts, some long looks, and a ton of awkward silence, but I’ve learned more about what the hell I’m up against than where Misty’s head’s at.

“Find anything?” she asks, looking over her shoulder at me. She’s been staring out the window at the city for the past twenty minutes, probably worried about the others. I don’t blame her. This isn’t anything I want to be doing either.

“Sorta, yea,” I nod. “The exhibit focused on ancient religions and artifacts of them. The Indian section focused on old, Hindu cults. It was believed to contain treasures that could shape the world. What the rock she took was actually supposed to do I can’t say yet. But I’m doing my best to find it.”

“And her?” she asks, this time not looking back.

“That is a much more interesting story,” I respond, tapping the side of the bed where I’ve slid my legs to the side. I hope she’ll take the seat, but I’m not holding my breath. So I’m surprised when she approaches and playfully pushes me over, slipping under the covers and throwing her arm around my waist. It’s a familiar position, one that the two of us have slipped into on countless nights. Normally we’d lay like this and watch an old kung fu movie, marvelling at how freaking good Bruce Lee was. It feels like an eon ago.

My brain clicks off for a moment, and I forget where I am. It’s like it’s two years ago, back when I was far more naive and way more happy to be a superhero.

Her dark, deep eyes narrow, “So, Copperhead?”

“Huh? What? Oh, right,” I shake my head and try to regain my focus. There’s a job to be done. “I can’t find anything on this one, but there are, well others.”

“Others?” Misty squints at me.

“Yea, it looks like Copperhead may be part of a lineage,” I nod, starting to get excited at the prospect. I’m far more interested in the person who nearly killed me than I should be, truthfully, “There are stories of half-snake, half-man killers throughout history. Most are said to have killed people of import who encroached too far into exotic lands. Official cause of death is usually attributed to malaria or some kind of native disease. I’m willing to bet that’s because no one understood what that kind of poison could do.”

“Are there recent sightings?” she asks while putting her head on my shoulder.

“No,” I shake my head in frustration. “Some war letters in WWII mention snake people in the Pacific, some even insinuate they fought with the Japanese. Nothing substantial, though. Then nothing.”

Even though my brain is focused on finding out what’s going on, the haze of weakness begins to cloud my vision. I may have survived Copperhead’s poison, but it’s still taken a toll. My eyes droop, and my head bobs as I fight off sleep. Instead, Misty lays us down, her warm embrace ushering me into a restful sleep.