The aftermath of his Tuesday telepathy lesson involved Varanelli yelling at him and confiscating the four beers he had left from his six pack. She sent them home with Smith to get the alcohol out of the house, which Mike thought a good trade. Before Varanelli could give him any more crap, he retreated to his room. A few hours of training later and he had failed to reverse his mind-vasting to reclaim the nous precursor. He went to bed once he was unable to fuel his talents anymore.

He managed to get up in time to have breakfast the next day, then drove into work. Srinivas immediately began harassing him to put in his official vacation request for Friday, when he had scheduled his day-long session with Tyler Marius. Then the work began in earnest. He didn't sit back down until lunch time, and then it was at a Lebanese restaurant that Mike was able to swipe his credit card for. Combined with the previous day's meal, that brought his total cash reserves up to thirty-five dollars. Not even close to making rent. Srinivas was out Thursday, then Mike Friday, so there would be no more cash infusions.

Mike remained quiet the rest of the work day, ruminating on the inevitable reckoning when Varanelli spoke to his former in-laws. They had always thought him an idiot and this would cement their opinion forever. Everyone in her family knew that Susie liked her men dumb. Not like her sister, the golden child, who married a rich foot doctor and popped out four children for his in-laws to dote over. When he arrived home, Mike microwaved a hot pocket and reflexively checked the fridge for beer. No luck there. The beer fairy had once more forgotten to stop at his house.

Varanelli saw his inspection from the couch where she was eating a salad topped with meat and french fries. "Smith took it home, remember?"

"The guy is a real hero," Mike grumbled.

Before they had finished their respective meals, someone began pounding on the door. "Hey! Let me in, Kendra!"

"Speak of the devil," Mike said. "Do you think Smith brought my beer back? Maybe he's the beer fairy!"

"Dear God, Ski, do you want to get kicked out of these lessons for being an alcoholic?" Varanelli shook her head as she walked to the door.

As soon as it opened, an irate Smith pushed in. Varanelli folded her arms and fixed him with a firm look. "Hey! What's your problem?"

"Tyler Marius screwed me over, that's my problem." Smith balled up a fist and lifted it to shoulder level as if he was going to hit something, then pulled it back to his side. "I attuned to just one of the precursors. All I will ever have is animas and it is impossible to do anything useful with it using a normal human brain."

Varanelli put a hand to her chest. "What? How did that happen?"

"One of his stupid exercises. It just happened. Then he acts like it's no big deal. 'Most people get this outcome.' Well, this is bullshit. Bullshit." The white's of Smith's eyes were too large as words tumbled free of him.

"Calm down, Greg, it's going to be OK. You still have one of the talents," Varanelli said.

Mike put down the last bite of his hot pocket and moved slightly closer, just enough to be within lunging range of the raving lunatic.

"You don't have a clue, Kendra. It's useless when I can't make myself into a genius."

"It's better than nothing," she said.

"Oh, it's just wonderful, ain't it? Well, Kendra, if you think I've got it so good, then you can have a charge of animas from me." He stretched out his hand and Varanelli pulled away from it. "See? You don't want just one talent either."

And that would do it. "Smith, it's time for you to get going."

"Shut up, Ski." Smith screwed up his face into a deranged angry smile. "You are a joke. A pathetic loser who had to be rescued from homelessness by his dead wife's friend. You act like you're some big shot because you punched out a couple of marines. Everyone knows you sucker punched the first guy and you had fifty pounds on the second guy. After all that, you go home on bereavement leave and the rest of us have to deal with the aftermath when every marine on that base wanted to murder someone from our company. Everyone hates you, Ski. Except Varanelli, who can't get over her pity. You. Are. A. Joke."

Mike's jab connected just to the side of Smith's chin, setting the man wobbling on his legs like a newborn colt. "Time to leave, Smith."

A strange sensation hit him, as if he were spinning even as he stood still. Realization hit him suddenly. Smith was trying to brain push him. It was poorly executed, but still a murder attempt. Mike grabbed Smith's same side wrist with his right hand, then seized the upper arm just above the elbow with his left and pulled Smith past him with an arm drag. His right arm, no longer tied up with controlling the wrist, shot around Smith's neck. He got under the chin in an instant, positioning the nook of his elbow over the trachea so that his bicep muscle compressed one carotid artery and his forearm the other.

Rather than go for the traditional rear naked choke, Mike opted for the short choke. He gable gripped his hands, hiding the non-choking one behind Smith's back, elbow down, and pushed his forehead into the back of Smith's head as his arms tightened the choke. The sense of vertigo had released him after he closed the distance, but now Smith fought with more traditional methods. He swung his fist down in an attempt to backfist the groin, but Mike used his knee against the back of a leg to throw off Smith's posture enough that the strike couldn't land. Then the hands rose to try clawing at Mike's eyes, but Mike's face proved hard to reach from its current location behind Smith's head. The hands then dropped to the arm choking him, frantic to stop what was now inevitable.

Smith went limp in his grip. Mike counted to ten and let the unconscious man flop to the ground.

"Was that really necessary, Ski?" Varanelli seemed oddly calm at the moment.

"He was trying to brain push me, Varanelli. I think my response was appropriate as hell. Help me get him out of the room before he wakes up. We don't have long."

Mike lifted from beneath the arms and after a moment's hesitation, Varanelli got the legs. They took Smith through the open door and set him in the hallway. "You ready to go? I don't think we want to be here when your boyfriend gets back into a fighting mood."

"He was never my boyfriend," Varanelli muttered.

Groaning on the ground as Smith sat up. He cradled his sore jaw with both hands and glared up at them. "I'm going to get you two for this."

"I'll be sure to tell Tyler Marius that," Mike said.

The darkness on Smith's face retreated. "You're not going to rat me out, are you Ski? Come on, don't be a pussy, man."

Mike felt his lip curl up into a sneer. "Screw you, Smith. I unloaded on a couple of guys talking shit to me the same day I found out my wife died. You came over here to make trouble because you didn't get all the superpowers you wanted. You're the joke here. And yeah, I want Tyler Marius aware that you're a problem."

Smith attempted to storm off, but his balance was off and he had to stagger away with a hand on the wall instead, muttering obscenities as he went.

They went back inside to finish their meals in silence, then both hopped in Varanelli's car for the ride to that night's lesson.