As soon as Marley spread a message about Santana in jail, there was an initial moment of doubt on the part of the other vigilantes, much for the lack of information. Until Quinn took a lead and called a videoconference, promptly attended.

"What exactly is the situation?" Quinn asked.

"I'm going to police department right now to know what's going on, but by the tone of Santana, it looked like serious."

"The best of all is that she was arrested for drunkenness. Worst of all, she's been arrested for being the vigilante," Mercedes explained. "The truth is that the police have nothing against the person Santana Lopez, even if it proves that she is a vigilante, because there is no way to prove that she or any of us participated in the episodes that the police could point to as a crime. There is no law against vigilantes, although this is under discussion in the city hall."

"There is no law to specifically criminalize vigilantes, but there are a number of laws that inhibit the citizen from doing justice with its own hands. Creating jurisprudence to criminalize us wouldn't be difficult." Quinn explained, since she was specializing in criminal laws.

"It sucks!" Artie was discouraged.

"Let's think about the current situation. They're mostly behind two vigilantes: the strong one and the flying one, right?" Quinn was coldly analyzing the situation. "So we need to introduce a strong vigilante to a show tonight."

"How?" Asked Mercedes.

"I don't know, but we have to find a way."

"I know how, but that requires another person in the group," Artie said with some trepidation.

"Who?"

"My friend who has done some work for us. I know in fact that he has a kind of mechanical arm that he is working to help porters in the rural area. It's a prototype and doesn't even come close to what Santana is able to do naturally, but that already helps a lot these people. Honestly, I think you could help us right now."

"This friend of yours is pro-vigilant, correct?" Quinn made sure.

"Yes, he said it more than once."

"Artie, you and I are going to pay a visit to your friend now. Marley, when you go see Santana, do not pay bail today for nothing in this world. It's critical that she stay in jail till tomorrow. And Mercedes... take Santana's watchman stuff and come to the cabin to stay with Beth. She'll be sleeping and the house locked, but I'd feel better if anyone was here. You know where the key are."

"I can do this... this time," Mercedes warned, making it very clear she was no one's nanny. "What about Rachel?"

"Rachel has powers, but she's not one of us. She stays out of our scheme for now. People! To work!" Quinn closed the transmission.

...

Marley arrived at the police department accompanied by Ryder Lynn, a newly formed lawyer and considered a small prodigy who already had a position in the company at age 25. Lynn was hired by the Fishes' offices, but it wasn't from there that he and Marley met. The Lynn family, along with the Fishes, were part of the country club group that brought together the city's privileged families. The Lynns were farmers, and they dominated the production of chicken and corn of the region. Ryder was the youngest son, who, unlike the other two brothers, decided to pursue a career that didn't involve agribusiness.

When they arrived at the police station, Ryder demanded to know all the information about Santana. A brief analysis already showed that there was absolutely nothing to justify differential treatment. Words exchanged in the heat of a discussion can hardly be taken into account. It would be like arresting a person and passing a vivid clip on her life, just because someone in a fight called him a thief or a corrupt one. The retention would only be justified by concrete evidence.

Ryder even made formal complaints against the detective at the head of the case for abuse and violation of rights, something that would make the detective respond to a disciplinary process. However, Santana would still have to pay bail to get out of jail because of the restaurant fight. If the cops couldn't put a finger on Santana, the bail was Marley's perfect excuse to keep her at the police station all night.

"Santana." Marley approached the cell and was horrified to find that her friend was still cuffed. "Guard!" Marley shouted. "Why is she still handcuffed?"

With a nod from the superior, the guard unwillingly went to the cell and removed the handcuffs.

"Hi." Marley forced a smile on the lookout, who looked frightened by the situation. "Did they hurt you?"

"Not physically. Can I get a glass of water? I threw up in the bin and they refused me water."

"That's absurd!" Marley was furious. "An inhumanity."

"I know. They're trying to pressure me in every way they can."

"I'll get some water, but San, listen to me carefully. You're staying here this night, okay?"

"Why?"

"We need to sort out some things to clean your side. But tomorrow I come here and bail you out. It's all right?"

"Marley..."

"Do you trust us?"

"Of course."

"I'll get some water. You're going to try to nap a little. I'll bail tomorrow."

"Marley."

"What?"

"Is Jenny all right?"

"How can you still care about this person after what she did to you?"

"She's hurt."

"I'm too."

"Sorry about that. I didn't have the intention."

"I know you didn't. See you soon, Lopez."

Santana watched Marley leave the cell area and then sat down again. Five minutes later, a guard came to her and handed her water in a paper cup. It was all courtesy that Santana would have in that place. She thanked him, drank water, and tried not to cry.

Marley left the station a little more relieved. Ryder's performance was perfect, and she didn't think it was too bad to owe her friend another favor.

"How about paying my fees? Dinner?" Ryder asked charmingly as the two of them stepped out of the police department.

"I'll have dinner with you tomorrow. Then, we can think about something more." Marley walked to her car.

"Do you have a date now?"

"Not at all. I'm just exhausted."

"Marley... about Santana, she's the vigilante, isn't she?"

"Santana?" It was Marley's turn to lie using some charm. "No. She has a thing for trouble, but she is not the vigilante."

"Then why do you think her girlfriend accused her in front of everyone?"

"The truth?"

"Would be nice."

"Because Jenny knew I had sex with Santana and she wanted revenge. Jenny is a dangerous lump, if you want to know."

Ryder was perplexed by the revelation. He shook his head and tried to swallow jealousy. Marley and he have known each other since they were kids, because she was the little girl, the daughter of an employee, who frequented high society in company with her father boss's kids. In a way, Ryder always liked Marley. And to think that he would be the lawyer of a potential competitor didn't suit him that much. But what in the world wouldn't he do for Marley?

Quinn was astonished at Artie's friend house. The man looked like he lived in a junk yard, so much was the amount of junk that was in front of the house. Quinn put on her mask and exchanged glances with her friend. They both got out of the van. As Artie entered through the front door, Quinn circled through the back door. She was frightened when two dogs went up to her. In the reflection, she raised her hand to the front of her body and closed her eyes. When she realized, the dogs were whimpering with their noses frozen. Quinn was pissed. She didn't like to hurt any animal, but she also had to defend herself. The back door opened abruptly and an indian-looking young man came out of the room terrified by the condition of the dogs.

"Wrap a dish cloth with warm water around the muzzles. Quick!" Quinn instructed.

The man poured the coffee in two cloths and pressed the heated cloth to the muzzles of the dogs. Fortunately, it seemed to work. More relieved, the man turned to the two unexpected visitors.

"I didn't know the vigilante had glacial powers," he said angrily. "Next time, all you have to do is press the buzzer."

"Sorry, but they attacked me."

"Because it's night and you're a stranger. They're tame, okay? "

"Sorry."

"What do you want here?"

"George, we need to talk. Remember when I told you I knew the vigilante?"

"You told the truth." George pointed into the girl. "Let's talk inside."

When Quinn walked into George's house, she was impressed by the amount of gadgets and trinkets inside. That was definitely an inventor's house. She could spend hours in there trying to figure out the function and usefulness of all those things. But she was there on business and in a hurry.

"Artie said you're developing a prototype to boost a person's strength. I need it to solve an issue tonight."

"Why, if you're naturally strong?"

"Let's just say I've had some problems with my strength lately."

"George, could you please not ask questions? It's an emergency." Artie asked.

"I understand. I don't know if Artie told you, but I'm a fan, even though you almost killed my dogs. Only if you came here trusting that I could do you a favor without questions, I want you to show that you can trust in me too."

"Do you want me to take off the mask?"

"It's the price."

Quinn thought for a moment. George was Artie's friend, right? Right. He did some paid favors for the vigilantes, right? Right. He was pro-vigilant, right? Right. And the worst: there was an emergency still to be resolved that night. Quinn removed her mask and stared at the inventor.

"I never imagined you were a blonde." George frowned. But he smiled at the beautiful woman standing before him.

"Will it make a difference now?"

George raised his finger, begging for a minute. He went to a room in the house and came back with a contraption that looked like a waistcoat with hanging irons.

"My brother worked on a farm near here. His back is in bad shape with the weight he carried daily. I invented this because of him, but he called me an idiot, because if he used a contraption like that, besides making it look ridiculous, he would lose the compensation." George opened his vest. "I think you're going to want to wear it underneath your uniform, correct?" Quinn nodded to George and took off his uniform coat, revealing the fit body, even if still covered by a T-shirt and bulletproof vest. "This is so exciting." George could not stop smiling. "Excuse me," he said before helping to put the vest on Quinn.

Then George stuck to the flat balls that formed the metal set on his shoulders, on his elbows, and over his hand, close to his wrist. Then he turned the device on. Quinn felt a small shock, which soon passed. Suddenly, it was as if her arms were tight.

"Try to relax a bit and move your arms normally," George instructed.

Quinn spread her arms and moved. It was very strange to be with that device. She felt like an android, especially because of the noise the hydraulic bars made.

"Lift something you normally couldn't" George challenged.

Quinn went to George himself and held him up. Artie was right and wrong at the same time. The apparatus increased strength, but not that much, and was nothing comparable to the Santana's natural strength. But she could break a branch. All she had to do was arrest some robbers, either, in front of a public security camera.

"It'll work." Quinn nodded to George. "Don't you come?"

"Me?" George was thrilled.

"If something wrong happens with this thing, you need to be ready to fix it." Quinn said as she wore her vigilante uniform, with the exception of the mask.

George just took the coat from the hanger in front of the door and followed the other two.

...

Quinn made constant movements with her arms as Artie drove the van adapted for his condition. George watched the vigilante trying to simulate moves she might have made in a few minutes and noted that, no matter how interesting the invention was, there was an operational discomfort, not to mention the strange volume the device underneath.

"I think I'll work harder on this prototype when I get home." George frowned.

"I think it's fine for now." Quinn stared at the invented in the dark of the interior of the van.

George was a fellow about six feet tall. He was Indian descendent, with straight black hair, he wore glasses, had a beard to be done, his skin was bronze-colored similar to Santana Lopez's. George was definitely nerd-like, but an attractive nerd in Quinn's eyes.

"Is there somewhere in mind, Fabray?"

"I don't know. Maybe a place with convenience stores or pharmacies? There's always some robbery in those places."

"Don't you listen to the police station?" George asked, noting the vigilante's nervousness and a odd amateurism. The vigilantes were definitely not like Batman or the Avengers.

George didn't know about Santana. He didn't know that the the dosal spine of that group was being held in a police station that night. Santana listened to the police channel on her cell phone as she patrolled the streets. When the watchtower started its operation some months ago, Quinn sometimes listened to the police radio channel, but it was mainly because of specifics. Marley was the one who else was in that chair. The same could be said about Quinn acting in the field: she fights only when there were specific tasks to perform. She didn't have the same experience as the others and much because she was a mother of a little girl, she was the bread-winner, she was trying to study as the Community College, and therefore didn't have the same availability.

"The radio, of course." Artie disguised and turned on the police radio channel. "I was thinking of doing something more spontaneous." He tried to disguise himself.

"Turn on the radio and park the van." Quinn rolled her eyes.

Domestic fights? It wasn't the vigilante's intervention profile. Not even cases of prostitution points, unless some booing was spotted, like the time when Santana saw Big Sea beating a girl he explored, or when there were kids involved. Fights in the bar also didn't concern the vigilante. The night was weak. Quinn suddenly jumped out of the car, carrying the cell phone with her. One thing she knew very well was that Santana patrolled, that is, she used to walk in certain areas of the city, so that was what Quinn was supposed to do.

Quinn removed her mask, put a jacket over her uniform, and began to walk around the city. Santana usually moved over the lower buildings of that region, which had three to four stories. But Santana jumped and ran beyond normalcy. It was easier for her. Quinn would have to do everything on the ground. Walking alone through the night alone was strange and different. There was danger in the air because of the empty streets. Quinn lived in a poor, violent neighborhood, so evening night was something she avoided because of Beth. She had to be home for the kid.

She passed by a slightly busier street due to some bars and nightclubs that still worked at that time of the night. Nothing but some guys walking down the street, some women, caps, people smoking. Nothing news or unusual. Quinn was flirted with by a guy on the street, but she kept walking, ignoring the guy's rude and sexist comment. The next street was emptier and calmer, but she kept walking. Two streets ahead, she saw something strange going on in front of a small building. Quinn hurried into an alley where she put on her mask and removed her jacket. Then she saw a, armed man screaming for someone else. Something was definitely wrong.

Quinn ran toward the man who was watching the event. When the man realized the presence of the vigilante, it was too late. Quinn grabbed the man's wrist so he wouldn't shoot. But in the process, her body was so cold that she froze the man's wrist, burning his skin in the process. The man screamed in pain. Quinn seized the advantage and punched him in the face. With her strength magnified with George's invention, the man fell bleeding nose and very stunned by the power of the blow. Another man appeared while Quinn was focused on the first. He shot it once, but Quinn was also wearing a bulletproof vest. She crashed into a car parked at the impact of the bullet. The alarm went off. The second man approached her in a mixture of fear and curiosity. Quinn didn't waste the only gap she had to grab the guy's wrist and freeze. He set the revolver down and walked away.

"What are you?" The man said in amazement. "An Arctic Bitch?"

Quinn began a fight. Although she made extra effort because of George's invention, which made her wearier faster, at least her punches were stronger and had an effect. She pushed the man hard, and he bumped into the car. The man screamed in pain. Quinn knew she could not hesitate any longer and reached for the side of the man's head, who screamed again and fainted. It was long enough for Quinn to turn her attention back to the first one who was already recovering and trying to reach for the gun on the floor. Quinn ran, punched the man and kicked the gun. With no time to waste, she put her hand on the man's head and made him faint with shock. It was done. Quinn breathed breathlessly, she could feel the electricity, the heart racing, the adrenaline. It was like getting high. The action gave her an impressive rush. A lot better than when she experienced ecstasy at a school party with Beth's father (that bastard). She was exhausted, but what a feeling.

Quinn saw some people walk out onto the sidewalk.

"The vigilante took the guys who shot my father!" A younger man shouted and ran toward the scene along with the people.

"You can not lynch those guys." Quinn stood between the bandits and the enraged group. "They won't pay for what they did to their father if they were dead. Call the police... I'm sure you've already called the ambulance."

"But..."

"These guys deserve to rot in hell. It's what the prison does. Believe me."

Seeing that the group calmed down. Quinn took the seals that Santana used to trap people and used them on fainting men. She waited long enough to hear the sirens in the background. It was the cue to leave. Mission Accomplished. She ran into an alley, the same one where she'd left her jacket. How did Santana scale those walls so easily? That's when she was surprised by the flying man.

"Do you want a ride?"

"Let's get out of here."

...

Santana woke up in the early hours of the little nap when she saw the shaking in the cells. The police were arresting two men who had shot at a 60-year-old man during an armed robbery. But, according to five witnesses, the vigilante prevented the escape. Santana heard the story that arrived at dawn and couldn't hide the satisfaction in seeing the guard look guiltily toward her.

"That bitch was made of ice. I swear to god." One of the men said to the others.

Santana listened to everything in the next cell with a smile on the corner of her face. Quinn solved the problem. The leader of the guards would leave the police station with only a warning. Santana was safe for now.

...

Santana stared at the group at the end of an exhausting day. She had just gotten out of jail because Marley was late on bail. Anyway, she was proud of everyone. From how Quinn took the leadership initiative, how Marley managed to act coldly in crisis, and even of Mercedes who, in the heat of events, didn't think she was being diminished by being Beth's nanny so that Quinn could act. But it was time to stop and reflect on the events of the last days, and also to vent, each one saying what they thought. That was why that meeting was between Santana, Quinn, Artie, Mercedes, and Marley. There was no Rachel, there wasn't much less this new member, George. There was no Matt, who had been away for months.

"With all pardon for Marley here, but I said that the involvement of the two of you was bad news." Quinn was emphatic.

"With all due respect, Fabray, but my love life and sexual life doesn't concern you."

"No?" Quinn snapped. "So the fact that you slept in a police station because your crazy ex-girlfriend called you a vigilante in front of everyone doesn't concern any of us here? It's not just your ass that's on the line, Lopez. Everything that happens to you as a vigilante affects us all. Especially when your love life crosses that line."

"I don't want to be a party pooper San, but Quinn is totally right." Mercedes chorused with her best friend. "I'm not against you and Marley get involved. Just look what it did to you. What caused us."

"You're blaming the wrong person." Marley folded his arms and frowned. "So what if Santana and I spelt together sometimes? This work is stressful, even for me who stays here watching everything through the monitors and talking on the cell phone. Do you want a guilty one? How about the fact that Santana maintains a relationship of years with an unbalanced possessive bitch? Or how about the Rachel factor?"

The Rachel factor. This is a crucial point in history. Everyone there knew the effect that Rachel had on the vigilante, because somehow, they all witnessed in some way the beginning of the relationship. It was nothing more than a cliché narrative of the archetype of the hero who lives a romantic but impossible love for the girl of history after a traumatic rescue. Marley would only find out how Rachel had messed with Santana a few days ago and in the worst way, after an unfriendly conversation with Jenny. It infuriated her.

"Look, I agree that Santana's love life has put us all at risk." Artie tried to ponder and turned especially to the leader. "But that is not a problem that will be solved here and now. Our problem is that Marley and her lawyer friend got you out of jail, and Quinn and I produce evidence that disassociates you from the figure of the vigilante. But this is temporary. I don't say the part of jail, because a bar fight wasn't that big deal, but that doesn't mean the police won't keep an eye on you for some time."

"I agree." Mercedes, Quinn, and Marley came to a consensus while Santana was silent.

"What do you suggest then?" Santana wondered what the answer might be, though she didn't like it at all.

"May you hang the mask for now. You can no longer be a vigilante or patrol for yours and our sake."

"I don't agree with this. Not when we're investigating." Santana raged.

"That doesn't mean you're not going to help investigations anymore," Mercedes mused. "I agree with Artie. You just have to stop being the vigilante for now You have to stop patrolling the streets for at least a few weeks. San, why don't you dedicate yourself to graduate? And you can help me. You can also continue to help Quinn and Artie to practice. Who knows, even Rachel?"

Santana felt betrayed, attacked in the back, cast aside and deeply irritated. But deep down, she knew the group was right.

"Wants to know? I think I can take a break. I deserve it."

Santana left the apartment. Quinn took a deep breath as the door closed. She knew the leader didn't bring the little riot into sport, though she couldn't do anything. She turned to her friends and sighed.

"This problem is apparently solved, for now, we need to think about what we're going to do with Rachel." Quinn positioned herself as a leader. "She almost knocked over a building and unfortunately became a threat."

...

Santana arrived exhausted in the dormitory building after being in jail for as long as she liked and the discussion with the group. All she wanted, at least at that very moment, was to take a shower and put her head on the pillow. There were a few students there, walking to the concierge's door or walking out of their dorms for evening classes or other types of meetings. Santana was practically dragging her feet. She walked into the building, picked up the elevator, and walked to the bedroom. She rolled her eyes when she saw that none other than Jenny was sitting at the door waiting for her.

"We need to talk." The older girl got up and faced her ex-girlfriend still in the hall.

"There's nothing to talk about, Jen. I think you screwed me up enough for a long time. Why won't you leave me alone?"

"I need to talk with you. Please Santana. I've been waiting for you all day." Jenny positioned herself between Santana and the bedroom door. "I know I acted badly, but you need to understand my side of the story."

"Listen." Santana approached Jenny with dangerous, tense body language. Then she said softly, enough for her ex-girlfriend to listen. "You've done nothing but be a thorn in my way over all these years. For God's sake, leave me alone your stupid crazy bitch. You screw up my life enough for a decade just in a few days. So, take a plane or your car, go back to your city, to your rich parents, to your business. You should take care of your mental health. You urgently need psychiatric counseling. Or you can just go to hell and burn there for eternity. I don't care anymore, Jen. Get out of my life."

Santana pushed Jenny aside, in a gesture of utter disdain and contempt. Then, she put the key in and unlocked the door. Santana tried hard to ignore Jenny's presence. Her intention was to close the door immediately, but Jenny was already inside the dorm.

"Santana, please!" Jenny was crying. "You're right, I need help. But you're the only one who can help me."

"Jen. Get out of here before I lost my cool."

"But I love you. You're my life."

"That's why you should get another one. I'm done!"

"I love you, Santana."

"And I hate you!"

Jenny leaned against the door. She was in tears. She saw Santana turn her back on her, ignoring her completely.

"You hate me, but you love that Rachel bitch, right?"

"Yes, Jen, Rachel is the love of my life. Now leave me alone." Santana said with coldness without even turning to Jenny, in an act of total contempt.

"I won't let you stay with her."

"What are you talking about?"

As soon as Santana turned, she saw Jenny with the gun in her hand. The next second, Santana was on the bedroom floor.

all she did was feel a sting in the back that made her lose her strength and trip on the table that served for her and Mercedes to study. He fell with his face on the floor.