[ WP ] A super-hero/heroine returns home , having failed to save the world . He/She has but a few minutes with his/her family before the world is destroyed .

*I have a bad habit of writing in the present tense. I wish I could drop it. It comes of role-playing by email, I think. * 
 
 ***** 
 
 “ It ’ s done. There ’ s nothing more we can do. ” Leverage Man ’ s broad shoulders slump; his square jaw doesn ’ t tremble, but it ’ s set as though it were taking effort to keep it from doing so. He focuses his gaze on the floor, careful to avoid his teammates ’ eyes. 
 
 Feral reacts first, smashing his clawed hands into the wall of computers, tearing the control panels free and sending a shower of electrical sparks across the room. 
 
 “ Stop! ” Hypnogirl cries and throws her arms around the angry beast-boy. She buries her face in his back. “ Please… stop. ” She ’ s always been the only one who could bring Feral back from his rages. It works again this one, last time. He turns and wraps his arms around the petite blonde, a low whine rising in his throat as Hypnogirl shakes, sobbing against his chest. 
 
 Vulture spins on her heel. “ Idiots. ” she spits, her black cape billowing behind her as she stalks out of the situation room. 
 
 Careen feels suddenly ridiculous. In the end, this is what The Extraodinary are? Useless? Immature? Throwing tantrums? She looks down at her spandex: orange and pink, with a stripe racing up one side and then veering off horizontally across her chest. Ridiculous. 
 
 One of the screens that Feral has not destroyed displays a countdown. Eight minutes. She has time. Thanks to who she is, she has time. 
 
 “ I have to go. ” She says apologetically to Leverage Man. He waves her off vaguely. She wishes that she could say more. That she could tell him how much it means to her that he had chosen her for the team, even though she was young, even though she was inexperienced. That she could tell him that he is a good man, that he did good while he was able to, and that that still counts for something in her eyes. But there isn ’ t time for that. Not if she ’ s going to make it. 
 
 She races out of the command center and down the street. Anyone looking would see only a pink streak blazing around the corner. She makes it to the suburbs in four minutes, thirty one seconds. Seventeen more seconds and she ’ s there, scooping the emergency clothes up from the playhouse where she ’ d been stashing them for the past two years, hopping on one foot to wiggle into her jeans as she dashes up the driveway. 
 
 The house is flooded with warm lamp-light. Soft music fills the air. ( No Screens from Dinner to Bedtime is the hard and fast family rule, but Dad played his old CDs in the living room every evening until they all turned in. ) 
 
 “ Karen! You ’ re home? I thought you had a project for school? ” Her mother walks in from the kitchen, smiling to see her so often absent daughter unexpectedly home in time for dinner. 
 
 “ We finished early. ” Karen does her best to smile, but her eyes blur over, and she throws herself into her mother ’ s arms. 
 
 “ Why Karen, whatever has gotten into you? ” 
 
 “ Nothing, mommy. I just wanted to see you. ” 
 
 “ Darling, you ’ re crying! ” Her mother strokes her hair, “ Sweetie, what ’ s wrong? ” 
 
 Karen says nothing. She just holds her mother as tightly as she can. When the explosion comes, neither of them hear it. 
 
 *edited for spelling, word choice*
