<hr/><em>Mark Milton, the Avenger with boundless faith in mankind's nobility and man's capacity for compassion towards its fellow man.</em><br/><hr/><br/>Mark shook Logan's hand when offered, matching the firmness and strength of it. He added a nod.<br/><br/><strong>"It is too late for that."</strong>Mark said softly as Ororo questioned the necessity of what was about to happen. The time for talk was long past. That time had been during the initial conversation, when the quarterback was sticking up for the . . . 'honour,' such as it was . . . of the cheerleader Logan had rejected. With a flick of the wrist, Mark tossed the remnants of his frozen yoghurt over and into a waste bin, and then crossed his arms. It was hard to tell who was the injured party deserving of recompense here. To Mark's mind, both parties were at fault.<br/><br/><strong>"Perhaps someone should call an authority figure in place of appealing to reason?"</strong>The tall, muscular alien asked aloud, largely for rhetorical purposes.<strong>"I am sure this sort of scenario falls within the purview of the principal's responsibilities."</strong>