When Phoebe leaves the house that afternoon it's in a huff. She's annoyed with Max and Max is happy to see her that way, her full lips pressed into a thin line, her usually smooth brow deeply furrowed. She's taken her superhero uniform with her - she's still obsessed with winning her cape - and Max can't find it within himself to care too much about what good deeds she'll be performing, except that they'll be performed out of anger at him, which amuses him on a childish level.
The good thing about being a villain in training? Childishness is a virtue.
He spends the rest of the day hacking into her little-used handheld gaming system and destroying all her saved scores. It's petty and delicious and he hopes she comes home soon to toss it at her with a smirk. He starts waiting for her arrival at five o'clock, keeps waiting as Mom and Dad cook whatever goop they plan on presenting and when she doesn't show up to dinner, he texts her a picture of something delicious that they aren't serving, just to be his own special jerkish self.
More hours pass. Max starts glancing at the door every few minutes, texting after each bout of silence greets him. Phoebe doesn't answer but that's not too unusual, she ignores him when she's annoyed. But something is bugging him, so he texts her an apology, which usually gains an immediate "ok' in reply but ... nothing.
Max's breath catches in his throat. Mom picks up on it, her Thundersense - or her Momsense - tingling as it's now close to eleven o'clock at night. "Where did Phoebe say she was going?"
"She didn't say." He texts his apology again. Maybe the network is being stupid. "She was dressed for a cape mission though."
"Oh." His mother sits back, her arms crossed over her chest no doubt remembering the uncertain time schedules of cape missions in her own past. "I guess we can give her a couple more hours."
Max nods, but continues to text. Frantically. "I'm sorry, Pheebs. Please text back, I'm worried about you. You can slap me later, okay? Just let me know you're okay. I'm having this bad feeling. Just one word, okay?"
The evil part of him is ashamed for such groveling, the Max part of him is trying to shove down a burgeoning panic that's climbing up his throat as even this pathetic text goes unanswered. Something is wrong, his sister wasn't that angry and she wouldn't have ignored such a stark plea even if she had made the pledge not to talk to him for a week, which usually only lasts for a day and a half.
With a shaky breath, he rises, trying to look nonchalant. "I'm going outside to get some fresh air. It smells like Splatburgers in here."
His father Hank, who's in the kitchen, starts guiltily which distracts his mother. "Hank! Are you hiding something from me again?"
"No, honey!"
"Then why does Max smell Splatburgers?"
Max only vaguely listens as he sneaks out, making sure to snag the Thundervan keys as he goes. He starts the cybervan up and turns on voice activation, strapping himself in as the vehicle lights up to life. "Track Phoebe Thunderman via suit. Bring me there."
The van takes off and Max has never been gladder that he'd secretly installed tracking devices in all of the Thundermans hero suits, ostensibly for nefarious purposes, but mostly because he was nosy and it could turn out to be funny or embarrassing for them at some point.
This situation is neither funny nor embarrassing. His Thundersense, hell, his twin sense is going off the charts into panic mode as the van speeds along to Metroburg, sliding up the dank riverfront the moment they hit the city limits. He keeps texting as the van rolls along, telling Phoebe that he's going to get her good if this is a prank, but not mentioning that he's on his way to her ... just in case.
The van keeps going, past the somewhat respectable areas next to the river straight into the dark heart of the city's waterfront. These piers are old and filthy, known for the crime that goes unchecked there for decades. Max taps his fingers impatiently against the wheel that's out of his control, hoping they'll go a bit higher into a better neighborhood, but his hopes are dashed when the van screeches to a stop in front of a broken down pier shack, in a corner of the riverside so dark, he wishes he had Mom's light skills to help him along his way.
Taking a deep breath, he enters, whispering Phoebe's name. His heart is pounding and he's sweating in a decidedly non-super villain way. "Are you here?" he says, as the dank smells of the polluted river and rotting wood hits his nostrils. "Come on, Dweebs, it's me. Your better half."
A low groan is his only response.
Every hair on the back of Max's neck stands up. "Pheebs?"
"Ma... Max?"
The response is hoarse and tiny, but he knows that voice as well as he knows his own. With a desperate wave of his fingers, Max tries to hit what there might be of a light switch along the walls and thankfully, a single dim bulb goes off.
He almost wishes it didn't.
His sister is lying on the dirty floor, her right arm twisted at an unnatural angle, obviously broken. Her face is a mass of bruises, especially her left eye which has been beaten shut. Her throat convulsive as she swallows, her chest rising shallowly with breaths she struggles to take. Worst of all, her skintight suit is torn in places that make Max's heart stop, his bile rise and the rage ...
God, the rage, it's almost too much to bear. Max makes it to her side, his entire body shaking and fortunately, he has enough wits about him to send out the high-priority emergency signal to his parents, the one none of them have had to use until now. His cell phone beeps red and he kneels down on the dirt-covered floor, too frightened to do anything but rub the back of Phoebe's hand with his fingertips, wondering why his eyes are burning.
Anger, it's anger, Max thinks, irritably wiping away the wetness rolling down his cheeks. "I'm here, Pheebs," he whispers, barely able to look at her, but he does because he wants her to be absolutely sure that she's safe now. He leans down to press his forehead against hers, hoping that she'll know ... she feel ... all the protection he wants to give to her. "I'm taking you home."
She swallows again, her throat working harshly. He knows the effort it takes her to nod at him and he shakes his head, telling her not to bother, but it seems that she wants him to know something too.
That as long as he's there, she'll be all right.
Max can only wish that were true.
His parents arrive in less than two minutes, his mother allowing herself to be carried through the sky in uniform by Thunderman who takes in the situation with a sharper eye than Max would have ever given him credit for before.
With a grave face, Hank pulls something from his belt that looks like an old-fashioned cell phone and in what seems like a minute, dozens of super denizens are there, including Metroburg's finest paramedics, with a fully equipped superhero ambulance.
Much to his chagrin, Max is pushed aside as the paramedics take over, hovering over Phoebe with various instruments, braces and bandages. He starts to yell at them to let him back in there, but he can feel the strong embrace of his mother wrap around him like a vice and he knows that it's to help her control herself as well as him.
"Mom ..." he gasps. "We can't let her go by herself."
"We won't." Barb's voice is thick with tears. "But we have to let them do their job."
"They're hurting her!" he cries as he feels Phoebe's pain over their twin connection, the second they move her arm to stabilize it. "Stop them!"
"It has to be done," his mother replies, sounding just as distressed. "You need to trust us, Max."
"No!" The waves of Phoebe's agony coming over their unconscious link are almost too much to bear. He pulls himself free of his mother's grasp, but Hank is there in a second and there's no breaking free of Thunderman's embrace. "Let me go, Dad! You don't understand."
"Shhhhh," Hank whispers, his grip as strong as steel and yet as gentle as cotton around Max's shoulders. "You need to understand that we love her too and sometimes, love is forcing yourself to let others take care of those we care about, as hard as that can be."
"Who did this to her?! Why?" Max's cry is loud enough to make the most hardened of Metroburg's super folk glance away in discomfort. The tears are flowing freely now and he couldn't care less how it looks. "I'll find them! I'm going to kill them!"
Hank hushes him again, but weakly, as Phoebe is lifted onto a stretcher and rolled away to the waiting vehicle, with Barb following on obviously unsteady legs. "Come on, Max. You and I will go in the ambulance, Dad will follow." She nods at Hank who hesitantly lets Max free, his wide face pale. "Everything will be alright."
Barb threads her arm through his and he's glad for her support, even if he'd never say it. They are allowed to sit in the back of the ambulance but not allowed to get close to Phoebe who is still surrounded by what seems like a half-dozen paramedics crammed into the tiny, swaying space.
Max closes his eyes and tries to reach Phoebe but there's no response. He can hardly feel his mother's tight grip around his fingers or her hand smoothing through his sweat-damp hair. He can't think of anything except his sister and her broken body, with wounds both obvious and worse, unspoken.
The dark part of Max vows revenge, as bloody and foul as any villain might. The other part of him ... that part can only pray for the best.