NOT CANON.
Just something the muse cooked up...
Mike let down from the dizzying height above the museum. It was one of the first landmarks he had memorized in this pretentiously named Millennium City. It was also the only landmark that he knew other than Renaissance Center. He didn’t want to meet him at Ren Cen (as it was called colloquially). Mike wanted to meet him someplace public, but someplace without lots of things to be used as projectiles.
He saw the motorcycle ride up and park outside of the museum’s grounds, in the rear parking lot. The big blond man got off the bike, and walked into the rear of the museum. Mike took a breath, and walked into the front. They met about two-thirds inside, where there was still construction. Knight walked right by him.
“Hey, Knight.”
Knight turned around to face Mike. He peered at him. “You?”
“Me.” Mike smiled and bowed.
“I thought this was some kinda prank. I thought Scott was fuckin’ kiddin’ when he tol’ me.”
“It’s real.”
“How come y’ don’ look like him?”
“Different body. Same soul. Do I need to prove it?”
“Nope.” So Knight punched Mike in the jaw.
Mike stumbled back, holding onto his jaw, even as it knitted itself together. There was no pain.
Knight advanced, not caring that he was in the museum, not caring that artifacts surrounded them, encased in glass. Mike backpedaled as the werecat leaped at him, catching him and throwing him to the wooden floor.
Someone yelled, and Mike struggled to summon an exploding rune, while Knight’s hands turned into claws and wrapped around his throat.
“You son of a fucking bitch! You put Scott through goddamn hell!”
He completed the rune on Knight’s shoulder and counted backwards from three. The rune exploded, sending flesh and bone flying, as security came running into the room. Knight yelled in agony, putting a hand to his shattered shoulder and rolling to the side.
“I’m not giving up without a fight this time!” Mike yelled, and got up, screaming “Jas go povika demonot -” before someone clapped a hand over his mouth.
“There’ll be none of that in here,” said a voice in his ear, as a burly security guard held onto him. Mike tried to bite the hand, but the man held him tight. Three people held back Knight, whose arm was starting to knit itself together.
“Goddamn son of a bitch, I swear t’ fuckin’ God, I’ll kick y’r fuckin’ ass!”
A very big, very broad member of the MCP got in Knight’s face. “Not here you won’t, and not outside, and not in this city!”
Knight growled at Mike, “I never wanna see you again,” as the three men pulled him away. The MCP followed Knight, writing up something on a pad.
Mike screamed “Feeling’s mutual!” into the security guard’s hand, though it came out as a muffled sound. He struggled against the security guard, but it was no use. Finally the MCP came back, this time he motioned with his hand and the man took his burly hand off of Mike’s mouth.
“Now, spellslinger, are you going to talk like a man to me, or do I have to use twenty questions?”
“I’m all right,” Mike said.
“I think,” said the MCP, “the best thing for you to do is not to see that man ever again.”
“I won’t see him again,” Mike repeated, glaring at the door Knight was dragged through.
The MCP handed him a piece of paper. “Citation for disturbing the peace and a few other things I felt like adding in there. Report to court in two weeks. And go out that door,” he pointed to the front door.
Mike tore the paper out of the cop’s hand. As he went to the door directed he heard the man say, “Now, do you see why we need power dampeners in here?”