A/N: The flow of this chapter was hard to get right, especially since I'm using sort of my own justice system. However, you'll get to find out more about the whereabouts of the wonderful Twilight cast, and hopefully I've made it interesting enough to tide you over for the introductions.

Disclaimer: …is getting old already, but is still true: I am not, in fact, Stephenie Meyer and so don't own the rights to anything Twilight.

Charles Swan was in no way, shape, or form an amateur. Not only had he held the position of Chief of Police since before the start of his (unhappy and doomed but still totally worth it) marriage, he had survived in it up until present day. In Forks City, this was no small task.

Yet in essence, he wasn't the confident, cocky type that one would expect to excel as a police officer of his status. Instead, he was a very private man of few words. The muscles of his body, while very clearly there, never built to an impressive bulge. His eyes would have fit much better in the image of a cop in a sleepy town, his slow blinking and shy mannerisms very unsuited to the city. And anyone could see that despite how scattered the broken fragments of his family were, he still cared for them as if they were Hallmark material. His care, however, showed up in subtle, quiet ways, so that no one could ever comment on it without feeling as if they were touching on personal business.

So it was with some surprise that Carlisle Cullen, entering the police station to gather the complete files of one of his more mysterious patients at the hospital (who he suspected had been dabbling in criminal affairs prior to his accident -- but who didn't nowadays?) turned and almost got tackled to the ground by an impatient Chief. Or maybe he wasn't all that surprised, after all.

"Charlie? What's wrong?" he asked, calm and concerned as only Carlisle could be. He took in Charlie's shaking form, his lips smoothing out to a half-frown.

"Just about everything," Charlie replied, his tone much too close to a snarl. "It's only been a damn hour since I found out my daughter's being held hostage, and they're trying to send me out to capture a bloody thief. As if I didn't have enough to worry about already…"

"Hostage?" Carlisle replied, a bit like a parrot. He allowed his expression to grow tight, barely controlled. Charlie and he had worked together often enough before, seeing as Carlisle worked with some of the rescue teams for victims in the more violent goings-on in the city, but Carlisle had remained aloof enough that people could rarely pry under his acting ability. Charlie, in his state of distraction, saw only what he expected to see – incredulity and horror. "My God, have they really made a move that drastic?"

Charlie shot a dark glare at the floor, not even bothering to answer, but instead opting for clenching and unclenching his fists.

Carlisle paused for a short moment, before speaking again. "This was truly the first I've heard of this. I'm so sorry – are you sure they can't send in anyone else to deal with the robbery?"

Charlie snorted, at Carlisle's words remembering to keep preparing and started loading his gun expertly. "Like there's anyone more able than me on hand at this time. The crime rate in this place calls for a few sacrifices to be made." His voice was still dripping with bitterness, belying his panic for Bella. Carlisle grimaced, in genuine sympathy this time. "Sam's got some of the best of the pack down with his team… I'm just going to have to hope Mike and Tyler will do with this one. Unless some wandering vigilante decides to show up, which I doubt."

"I'm sure you'll be able to handle it. You always do," the doctor reassured him quietly. He gave Charlie a sad smile. "I'll hold down the fort a bit while you're away, shall I?"

"Thanks, Cullen. But I doubt I'll be gone long – from what I gathered in the distress call, I'm probably going to be arriving after it's too late to catch the culprit, and then it'll just be a matter of telling the boys what to do…"

"Where did you say you were going, again?"

"Seventh and Bells," Charlie murmured as he finished his hurried suit-up and shot a glance at the front of the building, where Mike appeared to be waiting but Tyler was nowhere in sight. He scowled a little.

"Ah. Well, good luck."

Carlisle watched as Charlie walked off, barely acknowledging the doctor's good wishes. He waited until the police officer was far enough away, then began a brisk walk around a corner in the white-tiled halls. Stopping to make sure no one was around, he pulled out a small, unobtrusive black phone.

"….Rose? Em? If you're in the area, you might want to check out Seventh and Bells…"

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There were both advantages and disadvantages to being a petite, female, psychic thief. The easy grace that defined each movement, and the ability to disappear into crowds at some times and stand out charmingly at others were certainly pluses, as well as the fact that she could fit in tight spaces. However, Alice was grappling with some of the worse disadvantages of her position at the moment… although with the same amount of practical good cheer with which she handled everything.

It had been a while since she attempted an art robbery – usually she was commissioned to steal weapons or something of the like, given how Forks was a regular Gotham. As such, she had rather forgotten just how heavy some of the valuables could be. And though in a battle she could hold her own, her upper body strength wasn't the reason for that.

She had already made it past most of the security problems, but she had to wonder how she would be able to hoist this thing onto the ropes that would allow her to get it out the window. Skipping lightly back and forth in front of the sculpture (which actually wasn't all that large, but surprisingly dense, like most people) she was carefully thinking through the situation when she encountered disadvantage number two.

Psychic-ness.

Usually she could shake off a vision while she was working, but from the first moment of it she knew that she should probably hear it out. And so, in that not directly suicidal but still altogether too carefree kind of way the she had, she stiffened and allowed the scene to wash before her eyes.

It took place in a factory of some sort, or at least somewhere where the walls were made up of shiny metal. It was in a hall, but doors led to many sides.

A woman, or girl… or somewhere in between, with a heart-shaped face and kind eyes, had her arm linked around Alice's small body, holding her up. Although she didn't recognized the face, she recognized the concerned look the woman gave her and the answering smile of reassurance that her future-self gave back. They were friends.

Alice couldn't really tell why she was being semi-carried, however, because a gun blocked out most of her body due to foreshortening (visions had a bad habit of being displayed in the most impression-making way possible, as if fate had something to prove). The future-Alice noticed it before her friend, getting a knowing but still frightened look on her face (probably due to already having seen this vision in the past and guessing what was coming), and she yelled something to the woman. They both stopped where they stood, the woman whispering a name…Alice couldn't really tell what it was she said, although it looked sort of like… "James"?

Another vision flooded into this one. The same woman was on the floor, gasping for breath. A bullet-wound was in her side. It was fatal, and very surprisingly, Edward Mason was standing over her, his eyes wild with panic and helplessness. The woman coughed, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth, but she licked it off. She tried to comfort him with a weak movement of her hand to his arm, but he hardly noticed, intent on her face. And…he suddenly leaned forward, and Alice noticed, with a jolt, that there was something wrong with his hand –

"Hello? I'm sorry, but did you not hear me when I said, 'put your hands up'?"

Alice calmly let the vision subside, fading back into the reality of the art museum. A very familiar pissed-off blonde woman was pointing a gun at her with all of the confidence of the queen of the world. Behind her was the large, beefy form of her partner-in-crime (except not, since they were do-gooders, she supposed), who appeared to be a lot more amused with the situation.

"Oh, hey Rosalie," Alice laughed, smiling, "I didn't see you there for a sec."

"Damnit, do we always have to listen to your attitude? If you try and get cocky with me one more time I'm going to blow your brains out!"

At least I have them, Alice thought automatically, but decided that it was an unfair assumption. Rosalie Hale certainly had an intellect, but it just starved for air a little due to how much of her brain was focused on her looks. In any case, completely ignoring Rose's fairly good advice, she smiled again.

"You wouldn't have to listen to my attitude so much if you could actually send me to prison for once," she retorted.

Heroes were rather interesting, let it be noted. Despite how purple Rosalie was getting in the face, the color contrasting rather unfortunately with her hair, she only tightened her grip on her gun and didn't follow up on her threat. Hell, she didn't even try and hit Alice, although she looked like she truly wished to.

Emmett, much more composed, stepped closer to Alice as well, his teddy-bear-ish grin simultaneously helping Alice's sense of humor and giving her warning signs of danger. "Looks like she won't have to listen anymore then, eh Al? You've had a long run, but people have better things to do than follow you around." He looked at the statue behind Alice, and his grin widened. "Couldn't you have stolen anything more interesting than a life-sized Barbie doll, by the way?" he asked, referring to the (she had to admit) rather superficial stone female's bizarre connection with her plastic counterpart.

"Couldn't you do anything better than date one?" Alice asked, and both she and Emmett laughed, genuinely enjoying the exchange, despite the difference in their respective positions. Rosalie scowled at her boyfriend, trying to subconsciously urge him to turn back to her side.

"Well Alice," Rosalie spat, drawing the attention back to her, "you heard Emmett. Your time is up. Now put your hands in the air so that you're on your best behaviour for the police."

Alice sighed a little and began to raise her hands when a shot rang out.

Crouched on the sill of the window in the wall behind Alice was a blonde man dressed in black. His gun, which had been pretty close to hitting Emmett before the hero had jumped out of the way, was now trained on Rosalie, and he fired again.

Alice looked up into his serious, emotionless eyes and then laughed cutely.

"My partner-in-crime has arrived, so I suppose I'll see you guys later?"

Emmett struggled to get back on focus and brought his gun up to prevent her from scrambling up the rope, but the other man shot the gun out of his hand. Under the man's protective cover fire, Alice alighted on the window sill with ease.

"Thanks for coming, Jazz," she said. "I guess there's no way to take the statue with us now, is there?"

He just gave her a look before turning his focus back to the job at hand. Both of them disappeared onto the roof, and then presumably into the night.

"Good always wins in the end, by the way!" Emmett yelled after them. Rosalie just pursed her lips and swore.

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