When I was in my late-50s, I found a small diner to order myself a vanilla milkshake, a large cheeseburger, and a box of salty French fries.

But as I sat down at the lunch counter, an unusual tattoo caught my eye: two pairs of bright yellow scales stretched across a woman's bare arm.

Her red hair is fashioned into a wild mohawk.

Her ink-black tank top exposed her slightly hair arms, frayed jeans masked her bare legs, and to top it all off, the goth woman wore this enormous pair of black, clunky boots.

After I had given the young waiter my order, my impatient feet danced across the teal blue tiles. The customers sat in luxurious chairs and devoured everything off their plates.

Scraping forks, casual words, and bittersweet 60s music tumbled inside my ears.

Lifting the wrinkled newspaper in front of me, I began reading the New York Times when the mohawk woman plopped on an empty seat beside me.

I remembered the smell of her strawberry perfume, washing away the rancid odors in the greasy kitchen.

Bold amber eyes examined my gray business clothes. Intricate tattoos paint her porcelain skin like an empty canvas.

Graceful, black cursive paraded across her exposed stomach while two black dragons blossomed on her two shoulders.

My eyes began to wander at her tattoos until the waiter handed me my meal, causing me to jump in my seat. The punk female laughed; I started eating my fries, feeling the fire burn on my cheeks.

At first, I thought the woman hated me. But when I detect a mysterious smile appearing on her oil black lips, I begin to relax a little.

She told me that her name is Ruby then asks how got my facial scars. I told her about my years serving in World War II and the stories my friends and I had shared.

In response, the woman showed me the golden scales tattooed on her right arm. When she was eighteen, the woman had gotten accepted as a lawyer-her former lifelong dream.

Now, Ruby used to be idealistic; bright-eyed, and full of hope. She had established helpful strategies to help rejuvenate her city and regain her community's former glory.

So, to commemorate her talents, Ruby heads over to a tattoo parlor and selected a pair of luminous yellow scales. To her, the scales had reminded her about her determination to repair the failed court system.

But over time, her bright yellow tattoo turned dull. Ideas turn into doubts as no one—not even her employer-took her seriously.

Virtuous people were still in lockup, several missing persons' cases have been rejected, and when it comes to race, black males were often wrongfully incarcerated and sentenced to death.

Like numerous passionate lawyers, Ruby had attempted to "fix" the broken system several times.

But it seems as though no one wants to hear her opinion. Ruby became so disillusioned by the lies and corruption that she quits her job and begins her career as a journalist.

Looking back at her younger self, Ruby told me that her dream is to help people believe in the justice system. But she was too blind to see the fables dancing right in front of her face.

Often, the golden scales represent courage and self-righteousness. Yet, it is hard finding hope in a world that doesn't give a damn about making a difference.

Brooke, Caleb, Johnny, and Nessa realized this when their beloved boarding school was ripped away from them.

Friends and families separated; homes threw mutants and their sympathizers out on the polluted Californian streets. Though the kids manage to survive on their own, they needed someone who can give Apollo passports and plane tickets out of the country.

So as soon as Johnny and the kids evacuated Chinatown, his companions had agreed on finding a tattoo salon called The Midnight Parlor.

According to some newspaper ads, it was a dark purple facility with neon-colored lights, windows, and various doors. But the tricky thing is, the saloon is in Los Angeles—a dozen miles from Chinatown.

After Johnny fills the car with a steady supply of gas, he backs out of the gas station and maneuvers around multiple cars.

Boiling gas exhaust flew past Johnny's sharp nose, compelling the young driver to switch on the air conditioner.

In the meantime, Brooke and Caleb began coaching Apollo on what he needs to do when they get to the saloon.

"First, do not tell anyone about your powers," insisted Brooke. As she says this, her eyes were full of concern. "And don't show your face to anyone until the cops drop those charges."

Apollo casts her a quizzical stare. "I thought your boyfriend had erased the cops' minds."

Caleb made a disgusted face. He is a little irritated that Apollo hardly acknowledges him. What Caleb and his friends did to the police officers was disturbing.

However, the kids only did it as a way to help Apollo leave San Francisco.

Even though Caleb eradicated the cops' memories, it won't before long that the kids will be pulled over, questioned, and thrown behind bars.

Adjusting his bottom on his car seat, Caleb crossed his arms and says to Apollo: "Just be patient, man. Mind control is not the quickest trick in the book."

Apollo swerves his head to him. "So, what you're saying is that if your mind control doesn't work, then the cops-"

He cuts himself off in mid-sentence. Anxious sweat dribbled down his face, provoking Apollo to wipe them with his hoodie.

"Oh God, what if the cops remembered what happened?" he thinks anxiously. "What if the cops are following us right now?"

Giving attention to his exhausting thoughts, Caleb tells Apollo to calm down.

"Relax, man." the telepath sighed. "Nothing bad is going to happen."

Apollo cried, "Bullshit!" so loud that Johnny failed to put on his turn signal. "You didn't have to beat those guys to a fucking pulp-"

"Yeah, we did," Nessa argues, cutting Apollo off. "Because if we didn't, those pigs would have thrown our asses in jail. Is that what you want?"

Brooke expresses a sigh. Even though she empathizes with Apollo, he must go through with the plan, or else something bad will happen to him. 

"Everyone needs to calm down," Brooke says patiently. "Apollo, we know a friend who can help us, but it will take some . . . persuasion."

The piercing ache swam deep inside Apollo's stomach. His body tenses up like a paranoid cat.

"You mean, like murder?" Apollo asked her in a shaky voice. "Does this mean that we are going to kill someone?"

"Oh, for God's sake," Caleb groaned, "we're not going to murder anyone. We are asking an old friend to help us out."

Nessa nods softly as she plants her feet on the dashboard. The cold air teased her brown locks; her fingers twist the frayed hems of her shirt. 

The radio station blared "Crash Into Me" by Dave Matthews. According to Johnny, it was the only good song KROQ has-much to Nessa's desperation.

She abhors Dave Matthews, but if Nessa changed the station, then she would be forced to listen to cheesy pop artists, like Spice Girls or Aqua.

Nessa's hazel eyes float on the side mirror to see Apollo's alarmed face. His thin eyebrows looked like they were ready to fall out of his forehead.

"Have you guys ever broken any laws?" he asked.

"Yep." Nessa beamed.

Apollo's blue eyes begin to dilate. If Martin were here, he would have condoned this kind of behavior. But for the first time, he does not know anyone who is like him.

Before he met Nessa, the few people who knew about his powers were Martin, Jason, a couple of scientists, and his dead best friend Harper.

But even so, Apollo couldn't help but feel like he is the only freak in a lab. He observes a peaceful Brooke shaking her head at Nessa, whereas Johnny hurls her a tired glare.

"Please don't brag about it, Nessa," he says in a scolding tone. "The last thing I want is Mom and Dad giving me eight-hour lectures about not keeping you safe."

His sister slouches in her seat, like a rotten child. "I am not bragging," she pouts. "I am just telling Apollo that we're total badasses."

Reclining in his seat, Caleb peers at his close friend. His posture is relaxed, but Brooke can sense the pain in his shoulders.

"Johnny's right," agreed Caleb. "I am pretty sure that what you said just now is the definition of bragging."

Nessa furrowed her eyebrows. She was about to say something witty when Apollo begins to laugh.

"What?" Nessa whips her head to face Apollo, who struggles to control his laughter. "Are you making fun of me?"

"I am sorry," he says to Nessa. "It's just that you guys sound like you're in a dysfunctional family."

"Say what now?" Caleb squeaked in surprise, looking at Apollo funny.

Apollo's laugh dwindles into an optimistic chuckle. Brooke tilts her head at the giggling boy, half-amused, half-unsure about what is going on.

At times, the four teenagers can be aloof and merciless, but on some occasions, they would squabble, share jokes, and look at the stars.

"Wow, you guys are quite the rebels."

Johnny couldn't help but frown a little at Apollo's astonished compliment. His left foot gently pressed on the gas pedal, while his right settled near Nessa's malodorous sneakers.

"Well, I wouldn't say we're rebellious," he says humbly.

"Really?" questioned Apollo. "Why?"

The young driver clenched the steering wheel with his left hand. "Ever heard of the saying, 'to make an omelet, one has to break a few eggs?'"

The blond-haired kid merely shakes his head.

"Well, to get what we want," Johnny began hesitantly. "We sometimes hustle a little, you know?"

"Hustle?" Brooke repeats coolly. "Don't you mean stealing?"

Searing heat appears on Johnny's cheeks.

Nessa snickers at her brother's flustered face, whereas Caleb executed a lazy eye roll.

"You are such a smooth talker, Jay," he says sarcastically.

Johnny responds by flipping Caleb off. Drizzle spread throughout the glass, only to be smeared away by windshield wipers.

After Dave Matthews is finished singing, the hit song "Tearin' Up My Heart" blared through the speakers. The vibrant lyrics and catchy beat drove Johnny and the boys insane. To them, it was like listening to an ocean of screaming preteens.

Infuriated, Caleb leans towards Johnny's radio then manually presses the buttons with his impatient finger, until "Bring Da Ruckus" by Wu-Tang Clan came on.

Turning up the volume, a goofy smile grew on Caleb's face. It was a powerful mixture of sampling, expletive lyrics, and mind-blowing music—something Apollo had never heard of.

For years, Harper introduced him to Toad the Wet Sprocket, Bad Religion, Bad Brains, and other punk fueled songs.

The only rap songs Harper introduced Apollo to is Rakim and LL Cool J—not much else.

"Aw Caleb," a weary-eyed Nessa turns her head in his direction. "You know much I hate rap!"

The telepath made a disgusted face.

"Hey," he scoffed. "Every time I turn on the radio, it keeps blasting me that stupid boy band shit."

For once, Johnny agreed with him. This year, Backstreet Boys, N'SYNC, New Kids On the Block, and other teen pop bands began resurfacing on MTV, radio, and television series.

Like Caleb and Apollo, Johnny is tired of seeing four white boys wearing oversized clothes and serenading teenaged girls.

He prefers listening to music from ten years ago than this type of junk. But Nessa and Brooke, on the other hand, seem to adore it.

"What's wrong with pop music?" Brooke asks as Johnny parks the car in front of the tattoo saloon. "They have pretty good songs."

Nessa unbuckles her seatbelt and placed it to her side. Automobiles come and go. Lights dominated Apollo as he shuffles towards the door.

Pulling the car keys out of the ignition, he explains to Brooke that boy bands are like child actors.

"On the outside, they're friendly and sweet," he grunted. "but on the inside, those boy bands are as fucked up as the rest of us."

After Johnny closes the door, Brooke's sharp eyebrows shot up.

"Geez, I never took him for a cynic," Brooke says to Caleb as she unbuckles her seatbelt.

"Are you kidding?" Caleb snickered, reading her thoughts. "You weren't exactly Little Miss Optimistic when we first met."

"That was a long time ago," she says, feeling defensive. "When I was a.  . . different person."

Caleb's smile lingers; his hand caresses her back. He felt embarrassed by his earlier statement that he apologized to Brooke.

"Sorry, babe." he chuckled nervously. "I guess I wasn't thinking clearly."

Brooke smoothes out her frizzy hair. Her eyes looked at the white vapor growing in the car window, like fungus.

As she watched the fog smeared the smudged glass, Brooke raises an issue about Apollo capable of living on the streets.

He tries to come up with a scenario in his head, but Caleb couldn't think of anything.

"Nah," he says finally. "I doubt he can take care of himself."

Brooke swings her head to look at Caleb.

"No, he can't." she agrees sharply. "Apollo is an emotionally unstable kid. He can't talk to someone without burning him into a crisp."

"Honestly, I don't care about him more than Nessa does. But Apollo is like us when we were kids. God, we used to believe that the laws are made to keep everyone safe. Now, we're like seashells the ocean wipes away."

An attentive Caleb tries to tuck a lock behind Brooke's right ear but it fell between her eyes.

"Apollo is going to be okay," he reassured. "I don't know how, but Johnny is going to come up with a great plan."

Caleb carries her loose strand behind her left ear. "I mean, at least Apollo is out of jail."

Brooke frowns disdainfully.

She didn't think his words were comforting, so she picks her backpack off the floor and shuffles towards the exit.

"Hey." Caleb grasps her arm. "What's going on?"

"We have to go." Brooke shoves her hands through the flexible backpack straps and heaves the bag over her shoulders. "Nessa and Johnny are on their way as we speak."

Caleb bobs his head silently. He takes his belongings and stumbles after Brooke, but his mind is racked with thoughts. 

He wondered if she was upset with him. Cold air aroused their goosebumps. Crickets chirp loudly. Dirty water warmed the soles of their shoes.

"Hey, lovebirds!" Nessa cried, as her older brother and Apollo stood in front of the entrance, waiting for them. "What the hell took you two so long?"

The sore couple circled their eyes in unison.

"Shut up, Nessa!" Caleb growled. "We here, aren't we?"

Sighing, Johnny tells the duo to calm down, pulls open the door, and gestures his head to a room filled with darkness.

"Our mission is not over yet." he reminds them. "Let's go."