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Colorfully garbed people danced casually or stood in clumps, yelling to be heard over the pounding techno hip-hop. Men in suits, rich kids, lingerie and fetish models casting painted eyes around for the right agent, the right photographer.
    Sue pushed her way through the throng of humanity, keeping herself invisible for now. Up on the stage, a dominatrix dressed like the Black Widow raised a stiletto heel onto “Daredevil’s” back, whipping him lightly as he crouched on all fours. The costumes, Sue noticed, were really sharp: every zipper, choker, and billy club in place. But none of the patrons seemed to care.
    Sue stopped to watch, more thoughtful than aroused. I’ve missed a lot these past few years. While I was raising Franklin and little Valeria.
    She realized she couldn’t even identify the song playing.
    Johnny had taken the Stamford disaster harder than anyone else. He’d always been an emotional kid, and the death toll had shaken all of them. But Sue realized something else: Johnny was closer in age to the New Warriors than anyone else on the scene today.
    And Johnny had made plenty of mistakes in his own life.
    I could have been an Olympic swimmer, Sue thought suddenly. When I was fifteen. I used to practice every day; I even passed the prelims. I was on my way.
    But I gave it up when Dad…stopped trying. Gave it up to take care of my little brother.
    Years later, she was still taking care of him.
    Johnny wasn’t the sort to mope around when he felt bad. He went looking for trouble. Which meant—
    A young man in a skinny tie bumped into Sue, nearly spilling one of his four drinks. He looked around, puzzled. Sheepishly, she faded back into view, mumbling an apology that vanished into the roar of music. The young man blinked twice, frowned momentarily, then shrugged and held out a brown cocktail.
    Sue started to shake her head, then smiled and took the drink.
    Just then the music blipped off. Some sort of technical glitch. Sue turned at the sound of raised voices.
    Across the room, a freestanding metal staircase led up to a platform and a door set halfway up the wall. A mixed group of clubgoers stood gathered around, ogling someone or something at the top of the stairs. A bright orange flame flared up from the platform, and the crowd shrank back, oohing.
    Johnny.
    Sue pushed her way through the crowd, leaving Skinny Tie behind. She tried to call out to her brother, but the room was too noisy. When she reached the base of the staircase, she could see Johnny standing before the door, waving a flaming hand down at the crowd. Some of them seemed impressed; others were…well, it was hard to tell. A trashy blonde hung on Johnny’s arm, gesturing drunkenly.
    At the top of the staircase, a bouncer swung open the door. “VIP Room, Mister Storm. Paris and Lindsay are waiting.”
    “Thanks, Chico.” Johnny pulled out a fiver, then accidentally set it aflame. “Ha, sorry! Wait, here you go.”
    Sue grimaced, then moved toward the staircase. But a big woman in a tight backless dress clanked a boot up onto the steps, blocking her way. “How come that loser gets into the VIP Room?” the woman asked.
    Johnny paused at the door, turned slowly around.
    No, Sue thought. Don’t do it, kid.
    “Tell you what, Gorgeous.” Johnny’s eyes flashed. “Next time you save the world from Galactus, you can borrow my pass . ‘?”
    “How ’bout the next time you blow up a school?”
    The woman’s companion, a trim man in an all-black shirt, laid a hand around her shoulders. “Yeah, jackass. How ’bout the next time you kill some innocent kids? ”
    Johnny tottered drunkenly, took a step toward the edge of the staircase. “Hell are you talking about, hipster?”
    The bouncer watched, eyes narrowing. Johnny’s date disengaged from his arm, casting a quick worried look his way.
    Sue tensed, prepared to will herself invisible again…but stopped as a look of shame crossed Johnny’s face. “Look,” he began. “I