“Yeah, I'm talking to you,” the man shouted, “Or should I just beat the answers out of you?”

Sam looked at him from across the street with a sense of dread in his chest. He could just fly off, but he thought it only fair to come clean. Even if it meant there was a chance of an inevitable beating. He walked toward the junkyard with his arms in the air.

“Whoa, I'm unarmed, I mean no harm,” he stated as calmly and confidently as he could.

“Tell me why you've been watching me.”

“Okay, okay,” Sam looked to the ground like a lost puppy, trying to find a way to tell the truth without sounding insane. Or just plain stupid.

“I had watched you fight last night, at the gas station. The honest truth is, I just wanted to make sure you weren't a threat to the city, like those gang members.”

The man looked Sam up and down. He laughed.

“What? A threat? I'll ignore the hints of judgmental racism for a moment, because I want to know who you think you are? Are you like an undercover cop or something? You look pretty scrawny.”

Sam flinched at his words, because he knew he was judging a book by its cover. The best way out of this was to be honest.

“Yes, you're right. I was in the wrong to think the way I did. My name is Sam. I'm... I guess you could say I'm a preacher now, at the Tabernacle.”

The man laughed again. “A preacher? Look, I'm a lot of things, but I'm not an idiot. Are you just scoping the place out to rob me?”

“No!” Sam exclaimed, “I'm telling you the tru--”

“Fight me,” the man interrupted, “If you're truly a vigilante preacher, then you must be able to take me down, right? Let's go!”

Before Sam could protest, the man had gone into his boxer fighting stance and came at him. He was quick on his feet, and on Sam in just a few short moments. Should he just take a hit, or risk giving up his identity?

The man did not give a second to think before he started swinging at Sam. These were not wild punches being thrown, either. These were meticulously thought out attacks.

To Sam's surprise, he was dodging them. A lightning fast right hook, and he dodged left, narrowly avoiding a broken nose. A powerful uppercut, and he swayed backward out of harm's way.

These powers must enhance my reflexes, too. I've never moved this fast!

The man kept advancing, sweat falling from his brow. You could tell in his eyes that he was shocked at how none of his punches were landing. Still, he kept the attack going strong, not letting up.

Sam kept backing up, deeper into the junkyard, avoiding punches and not wishing to throw one back. It almost seemed deliberate, where the man was forcing him to move...

Sam felt something beneath his feet trigger. The man had purposefully led him into a trap! As his foot activated the pressure-sensitive trap, a bola-type device shot forward to his ankles. It wrapped around his legs tightly, and strung him upward, leaving him flailing like a fish out of water.

“You're too quick. Who are you, really?” The man was now more serious than he was before, and seemed distressed. “Did someone send you out here? I'm trained for taking down any threat, you know! I don't care if they send an army of you freaks, punks like you don't scare me! I can handle anything, I ain't scared!”

As the man continued to rant, Sam's conversation with Evangelos came back into his mind.

God is sending someone my way, Just as Moses had Aaron. This guy isn't scared of anything. He's everything that I'm not.

The man continued to rant, getting louder now, “Give me one good reason why I shouldn't use your head as a punching bag!”

Sam's eyes glowed a bluish hue, and his wings formed on his back. They lifted him up so he was no longer upside-down. He summoned his lance and cut the bola cords effortlessly. He spoke.

“Because you are the one I'm supposed to find."