Americana sipped from her coffee and shook her head.

"The Son of the Son of Sonic Man, now?"

There was a bitterness in her voice that Norman Roswell was not used to hearing. He took a bite of his chicken sandwich and chewed it thoughtfully.

He swallowed, sat back and said, "Well, if his father was Son of - "

"Yes, thanks, I get it, " she snipped, then immediately felt bad about having done so.

"Look at it this way," Roswell spread his hands, "How many Kirbies do you get where you start out knowing their names - and by association their address?"

"So why aren't we there?" she leaned forward and stage-whispered. "Why the heck did we meet in a mall at a 'Chickfilla'?

"That's 'Chic-fil-A'," Roswell smiled. "You haven't touched your sandwich... "

"Not hungry."

"Come on, just taste it," Roswell leaned closer. "You're not setting a very good example for those kids... "

"Oh, for - !"

Americana grabbed her sandwich, tore off the wrapping and took a large bite.

She chewed it deliberately, and looked at Roswell as if to say -

This... was good?

No, really good.

It was just breaded chicken in a bun - okay, there were some pickles too - but it tasted... ohh, like heaven?

She took another bite. Could it be the thin coating on the chicken? The bread tasted... buttered, somehow.

Oh, my gosh, the chicken - could it be any better? Thick enough to taste, thin enough to get her mouth around... ohh... this... this beat her mother's chicken, hands down.

There, she said it! She grabbed another bite - this was beyond good!

Roswell handed her a napkin as she finished off her sandwich. "Like it?"

She nodded happily.

"I'm almost tempted... to get another one!" she squealed. "Wow!"

"That's why we're here... and not there," Roswell remarked. "Just remember when you come back - they're closed on Sundays."

"Yeah, sure," Americana smiled and looked around. This particular store stuck rather prominently out into the mall, and it was double-wide, too.

"Serious. They close on Sunday, even when the mall's open. Family time, church time."

"Oh."

Americana thought about how many sandwiches they sold on a cold Wednesday night, how much business they must be voluntarily forgoing each week.

She admired them for that.

"Excuse me, Americana?"

She was snapped back to reality by a tiny girl, no more than eight, who stood there transfixed.

"Yes, honey?"

"I just... wanted to say 'hi'," she mumbled.

"Well, hi," Americana sat up and turned in her seat, to get a better look at the girl. She wore a pink jacket and had blonde hair piled atop her head. "What's - "

"My brother says you work at the mall and my daddy says Americana wouldn't be eating at a Chic-Fil-A, but I believe it's you. I figger even you have to eat sometime - "

Americana laughed at that.

"First time here," she glanced at Roswell. "Won't be the last, I can tell you that. What's your name, hon?"

"Nancy..."

"Pretty name. Well, Nancy," she leaned in close to the girl and whispered, "You want to show your brother and dad that I am the real Americana?"

"Okay."

Americana glanced up at Norman Roswell. "Back in a few?"

He nodded.

The heroine suddenly stood up and placed Nancy under her arm. She waved to the girl's startled family, "Be right back!" Then she flew over the rails separating the food court from the mall!

Nancy squealed with delight as Americana looped through the wide atrium space between the floors, shot down around the large pillars in front of the candy shop, back up again to pause in front of the toy shop's windows, then down to the first floor food court.

"Thank you, Americana!" The girl squeezed Americana's arm.

"Ha! You're welcome, Nancy. Ready, Roswell?"

Nancy's blue eyes widened. "Are you... her boyfriend?"

Roswell laughed and showed her his badge. "No, honey, I'm F.B.I.."

"I like your tie."

"Thanks, kiddo," Roswell laughed as they flew toward the exits.

"Somebody has to like your ties," Americana smiled.

The building had once held Sonic Industrial Innovations, one of those small start-up companies that dotted the industrial parks around town. Now it was shuttered and dark, like many other small businesses.

Yet unlike its competitors, Sonic Industrial Innovations had been shut down not by lack of money or failed products but because it had acted as a 'cover' for a supervillain base of operations.

And the villain in question was Sean Strickland, Son of Sonic Man!

Americana tried to recall as many details as she could, but found herself coming up short. Sean Strickland had decided to get revenge on her because she had withstood attacks by the Nightowls and their Screech Owl guns; evidently his father had developed that technology for Cyberus.

His father spent his days in prison rather than enjoying the profits from that technology - supposedly he'd be rolling in the dough if she had just... gone... down.

Sean Strickland had set a trap for her, pretty good as traps go, she reminded herself. But the tale ended the same way, with the attacking devices destroyed and Sean Strickland joining his father in striped-pajama-land.

Now this guy, third in line, is still mildly upset about the bank's refusal to fund the technology - even though it evidently works better, far better, than before. Aside from his little demonstrations earlier today - that he could both shatter bank glass and knock Americana out with little trouble - this one was a cipher, really.

One the F.B.I. was not fooling around with, Americana thought as she flew down with Roswell toward the Jeep that held the agent in charge.

"Phillips - what do you have?"

"Agent Roswell, sir! We have had the building surrounded since fifteen hundred hours. It remains cold, dark, and unoccupied. The building has been under constant surveillance, with no movement reported. Entranceways still retain original police tape, faded but holding. Handles still maintain dust signature, entrypads the same.

"No one has been here for some time."

"Good work, Phillips," Roswell said, clapping him on the shoulder.

Wow, they're listening to him, following him, Americana thought.

This was a side of Roswell she hadn't really noticed before.

"Americana? You've been here before - wanna take a quick look around?"

"Umm, sure, Agent Roswell," she said as she turned to Phillips. "Um, you wouldn't mind if I... enter via the roof, would you?"

Phillips stood stunned for a moment - she was asking him?

"No, ma'am - no objection here!"

She flew up over the building... wasn't there some way she got in - yeah, with that... fire in the spiral pattern?

Hah, she thought as she descended, they hadn't even bothered to board it up or anything. She flew feet first right down the mirrored shaft.

Of course, now most of the 'mirrors' were shattered, exposing four enormous cannon barrels - Screech Owl technology, she thought, biting her lip. She had destroyed most of the working parts of those, too...

Before they had destroyed her.

She didn't land, but remained hovering a good few inches over the floor. Slowly she turned, using her bility to see in the dark to its fullest.

Her eyes narrowed. Some of the technology, the wiring...

That wasn't here before, was it?

No, no it wasn't... it would be crumpled or at least crooked, from when she had fought her way out the last time... certainly not neat and straight.

Slowly she rose out of the shaft and into the night sky.

"Well?" Roswell called.

Americana landed near him and picked up a good-sized rock.

"I think it's booby-trapped," she said casually.

"What?" both Phillips and Roswell exclaimed simultaneously.

"Guess we're gonna find out," she smiled, hoisting the rock in one hand.

Americana simply flew to the roof... and dropped the rock in.

Instantly there could be heard from the hole the opening notes of Born to Run, played in such a way as to generate those crazy concentric waves of sound! Americana staggered back from the edge and fell over on her back, her hands pressed over her ears!

D-damn - still too close!

Americana grit her teeth - sound... travelled up and out... she had to get farther away or the sonic energy would finish her...

Lying there on the rooftop, she brought her knee up so that her leg formed a triangle shape. Then, taking a deep breath, she shoved off against the roof as hard as she could!

She flipped over her own head - and off the roof!

She landed with an ungainly thud and lay still, sprawled in the dirt and snow.

Two agents quickly appeared over her head.

"Americana?"

"You awake?"

"Are you OK?"

"Oh, sure," Americana said casually as she pulled her neck out from under her shoulders and rolled to a seated position. "Peachy."

The amazed agents just... looked at her.

"'Course, I'm going to be plenty interested in what's inside once that trap's run its course."

The music grew louder, more raucous!

Tramps like us!

The entire building started to vibrate... then to shake.

Baby we were born to run!

And as the ceiling fell in the entire building collapsed in a cloud of dust.

Americana and the dozen or so F.B.I. agents just.... stared.

"Or," Americana breathed, "Maybe not."