So, I finally have a new story in the amnesia!Harry 'verse.

Beta'ed by the lovely WtchCool.

- o – o -

This Place About to Blow

My name is Quentin Lance.

I used to be a wizard. (Don't ask. Please.) Now I'm a police detective, on the hunt for a vigilante almost as elusive as magic is these days. (Seriously. Don't ask about the wizard thing.) Except now we're working together, because the other color-coded nutcase is about to destroy my city.

I love my job.

Not.

Felicity Smoak, a hacker friend of the green vigilante (green means good, black means bad) is talking me through finding a city-destroying earthquake maker. It's in a subway tunnel that hasn't seen use in years. And…fuck it, I have to defuse it. Why can't I be like normal cops? The ones that deal with purse snatchings and dead bodies. Normal dead bodies, ones with bullet holes instead of arrows. Nice, normal dead bodies. No vigilantes involved, in any way.

And there's the device. It's big, it's metal, and it's glowing blue. Very, very sinister.

I add "blue" to my mental catalogue of "bad" colors and let Felicity know I've found it. She's got schematics up on her computer in that basement of Queen's place, Verdant. (Stupid name for someone who's not a vigilante, or so he claims. Color-coded good guys and bad guys. I hate this place some days; others, I love it.)

But blue and glowing is bad. Blue is bad, and this is going to destroy the Glades, just as much as that riot upstairs will.

The computer girl talks me through this, telling me about the wires. She's a lot calmer than she ever was any other time I spoke to her. Despite the stress of the situation and all, I mean. The world's about to end and she's damn close to Ground Zero.

The crucible is the best place to find heroes.

Except I'm not feeling too heroic. I'm terrified out of my damn mind, I'm probably going to die down here, and what's going to happen to my daughter and Bob? Laurel will have someone to look after her. But Bob… Someone's going to sell him off at a yard sale if I die down here.

Jesus.

Cutting the blue wire (I'm beginning to hate that fucking color now, almost as much as green) doesn't do anything.

And

the

world

stops.

Don't ask me how I got from that machine to the stairs. Don't ask me why that thing blew up. Don't ask me why I didn't panic or collapse when the world fell apart as the redundancy plan went into action.

I don't know.

And then it gets clearer and I'm at Laurel's office—CNRI. Laurel's running out. And she's saying something about Tommy.

I'm still on autopilot, and the world's moving too slow or I'm moving too fast and there's a wall collapsing and then not. My heart's going too fast, everything's going too fast, there's fire and screaming and—

I black out.

Wake up in a hospital bed. Private room.

Mostly.

My roommate's in a medical coma.

Donald Morgan, a not-friend from when I was Harry Dresden and apparently crazy, is standing at the foot of my bed.

And the world slows back down to normal.

"You blew out three blocks worth of electronics with your little hex, Lance," Morgan rumbles. He smiles. "You did good."

What the hell?

- o – o -

So, what did you think? Good? Bad? Think that Quentin remembers being Harry yet? Drop a line and let me know.

For anyone lost at home, this is a semi-crossover with The Dresden Files (tv show, anyways).