When I stretch my senses, I find two working signals that fit the criteria. Both are prickly with graphene-based batteries instead of the retail lithium-ion, which can only mean they've been issued to the finest.

Good news: I've found him. Bad news: He's not alone.

I pick a path hurriedly through the rubble and poke my head through an alleyway, only to groan at the pile of broken building pieces, poles, and upturned cars. Danger zones of broken electricity spark out at me. Steel beams poke out of broken infrastructure. Another survey around, and it seems like this is the least dangerous way to get to the other side.

One foot, one push; another palm, another pull. The climb takes a bit, because with every stretch of an arm or leg, my limbs stretch with ache.

Eventually, I heave myself high enough over the edge of carnage that I can pop my head over, prepared for the worst.

I really shouldn't have worried. Below, looking in no rush to be anywhere but here, supervillain Burner is making out heatedly with superhero Lockdown. There are a lot of very NC-17 noises happening in broad daylight.

Propping my hip against a slab of concrete, I fold my arms across the top, stifling a laugh. I worried for nothing. “Have you even met his parents yet, Don Juan?" I call out, feeling mischievous.

Here's the thing with supervillains. In some way or another, we all end up knowing each other, and we take a lot of liberties. It isn't like there's a too little or too many of us. The Institute trains you to understand that adapting to each other is the best skill to have, even if loyalty's not mandatory. Burner may have graduated last year, but he's not exempt from being teased.

"Wh--" In panic, Burner yanks his broad and big form off Lockdown, head whipping to my direction. Sparks circle his thick fingers until the moment his eyes meet with mine. Then, he can't seem to figure out whether or not he should block Lockdown from view, or punch in my direction with 1000 degree Celsius flames. "River? What the hell? What are you doing here?"

"Love you too," I cheer, giving a little wave as I clamber down. I land on all my feet like a cat, which is only slightly less painful for a human being to mimic than you'd think. "Can you give me a ride to work? A building fell on me and it's all your fault."

Burner is clearly not thrilled that I've interrupted his steamy rendez-vous for the abuse of car privileges; Lockdown's already pushed his way out of his arms, wiping his mouth. The flush on his cheeks has faded, leaving just his iconic scar crossing one eyelid and brow. "Please excuse me," Lockdown says, brusquely, moving to stand. The scowl on his face resembles every picture I've seen him in. "I hadn't realized."

He feels much more intimidating in person. Gruff lines sit along his mouth and on his forehead. Shocks of grey pepper through the natural faded blond of his cropped hair and beard. Even when he bends down to grab his trademark motorcycle helmet from the ground and readjust his riding jacket, every movement is brimming with danger. I take a step back.

"Neil." From the look Burner is sending me now, I'd probably have been better off under that building where I crawled out from. "This is a misunderstanding. River's just a friend."

"Oh," I say, realizing. Oh shit. "That is definitely not--Burner and I are--yeah, we're really just friends--"

"Enough," Lockdown interrupts, holding his hand up. His voice is raspy, like he's spent half his childhood chain-smoking. "I'm late enough for work as it is." Lockdown bends his arm to check his watch, and hits a button at the side. "Christ. How'd I get talked into this?"

From the looks of what it'd been earlier, talking seemed to have been the last of his worries. I tamp down on my thoughts, glancing guiltily at Burner whose eyebrows have furrowed.

"Neil," Burner tries again, with a softer tone to his voice. It matches up with his face and head, both of which are balder and softer than baby's butt, but completely comes at odds with the largeness of his arms and girth. "I know you're mad, but--"

He's interrupted by the roar of an unmanned motorcycle. It hops its way over the wreckage, sliding to a screeching halt beside Lockdown. It's in the same splash of white and neon green as his gear, and designed for more than aerodynamics. Lockdown, as they say, always likes to make a statement as well as shut down a premises. I flinch. Burner, as big and barrel-chested as he always is, stands firm and tall.

Burner glances between the motorcycle, and then Lockdown. Deliberation pours over his features, before he sighs. "Neil--"

Without looking at him, Lockdown swings a leg over the seat of the motorcycle. He pulls on his helmet and he revs the engine. Once, twice, and then he's off.

"River," Burner says, after a moment, as we watch him disappear around a corner. "If he doesn't call me, I am straight out coming for you."