the barrio, Puerta Mibela
Hector excitedly dashed into his family's two-room shack. "Mama! It's the Christmas Visitor!"
Ana Veracruz put down the dough she was kneading and made her way outside. To her amazement, her son - for whom she had never been able to afford so much as a new shirt - was twirling around excitedly, holding up a brand new soccer jersey that would have cost almost a hundred American dollars.
"Where did you get that?" the concerned mother asked.
"I was playing with Carlos and Jaime," Hector explained, "when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around, but I couldn't see anyone. I saw footprints in the grass and followed them to the end of the alley, and I found this!" He held up the bright red jersey with his name lettered on the back.
Ana's eyes widened. "I don't believe it!"
"And that's not all!" Hector went on. "Juan, Fernando, Carlos, Rebeca... all of them got presents too!" His eyes sparkled. "And all from the same invisible man!"
Ana Veracruz was puzzled. Invisible people weren't new to La Perdita, but since when did anyone care about the children in the barrio? For almost a week now, this 'Christmas Stranger' had been handing out presents many of these children could never have had otherwise. It was a mystery, to be sure, but a welcome one.
New Orleans
"Working late, aren't we, Detective?" Sergeant Reynolds asked.
"Just wrapping up some paperwork," Frank Patterson replied.
Reynolds made his way over. "You know, tomorrow's Christmas Eve, and..." He paused.
Patterson's desk was covered with articles culled from both respectable newspapers like the New York Times and tabloids like the Weekly World News. All of them featured 'The Unidentified Man' prominently, and all of them wondered if he was still alive.
"Still can't get over that, can you?" Reynolds asked.
Patterson looked up. "Over what?"
Reynolds shook his head. "The one that got away. New York. Smith."
Patterson chuckled and shoved the clippings back into a manila envelope. "It's... nothing."
"You think he's still out there, don't you?"
"Well, I know he's still out there," the detective replied. "He was here." Patterson sighed. "I was this close to him." He looked down. "I'm just wondering what happened after that."
"I've been asking around since then too," Reynolds replied. "I'm sure you know rumor has it he's been working with some sort of metahuman mercenary group for some time now."
"The MBL?" Patterson asked.
Reynolds shook his head. "Not them. Some team based out of the Caribbean." He thought a moment. "V something... Victory... Vanity..."
"Vanguard," Patterson said.
Reynolds looked up. "That's them. They were just in the news. Something big went down in Antarctica, and they were there."
"Do you know where they're based?" Patterson asked.
"Oh, yeah," Reynolds answered. "Everyone does. They've got a damn website." He pointed to a map on the wall. "La Perdita. If you're really going to spend your Christmas vacation tracking this guy down, that's where to look."
Patterson smiled. "Let's go, then."
Reynolds' eyes widened. "Are you kidding? Over Christmas? My wife would kill me!"
Patterson picked up an obviously fake tabloid photo. The headline above it read Unidentified Man ELVIS In Disguise?
"Do you want to have to read any more of these?" he asked. "Or would you rather spend Christmas in search of a modern-day legend?"
Reynolds rolled his eyes. "I'll call my wife," he said. "I know I'm gonna regret this."
"Relax," Patterson said. "How many times have you been able to bring sunblock on your Christmas vacation?"
