Nightbird's finely tuned sense of hearing picks up on the vehicle before he even sees it. Once he hears it, though, he's able to spot it from his perch high above the unassuming citizens below. It's coming closer. Yes, he thinks Come to me. You surely won't regret it.

He does get a little nervous as the vehicle approaches his block, though. Others have noticed it by now and he doesn't want a scene. He needs to be the first to get there. After all, he doesn't want to have to wait for a whole crowd to disperse before Justice can be served. He continues to track truck, attempting to predict where it will park. Where will they be unloading the goods?

He wonders, briefly, if this is even a job for him. Maybe someone else would be better suited to the task. Just then, however, he spots his mother heading toward the street the truck is driving on. No! He can't let her be there. There will be a swarm of people, he has to accept that. There will be dozens screaming and grabbing. He can't subject his dear Momma to that sort of chaos. It must be him.

He jumps down from the highest platform, landing swiftly on his feet in a pile of sand. His mother gasps. "Blainey, how many times have I told you? You can't jump from highest one! You have to climb down to the lower level, of the play structure first."

He would correct her, and tell him he's Nightbird, but there isn't enough time. He only has a few more seconds to intercept the truck before a crowd forms. He only hopes this won't foil his plans. "Sorry, Mommy," he says to placate her, "I'll remember next time." Then, he gives her his sweetest, cutest pout. She sighs, but starts getting out her wallet. Success!

"Here, Blainey," she tells him as she hands over a couple of dollars, "You've been a good boy, eating all your veggies. You can get some ice cream."

"Thanks, Mom!" the young superhero beams. By now, the expected throng has gathered against the side of the ice cream truck. He gets in line.

He gets a little nervous as he approaches the front of the line. He's still not very good with money. But he knows, if he gives them the two dollars, he should get two quarters back. One time, they gave him one quarter and three other, smaller coins, but his momma said it was the same amount. He wonders if he'll ever really understand money as well as his momma. It's time! He's at the front of the line.

"A Justice League bar, please," he requests as he hands over the bills in his hand. He receives his quarters, followed by the ice cream. "Thank you!" Justice has been served, and it tastes so good.