An Imago of Rust and Crimson

Chapter 3.07

I lay in bed curled up in a ball under the covers. I hadn't bothered to take my clothes off. My vision was blurred and my heart was hammering in my chest. I had to do something. Anything, just to stop feeling like this.

I tried telling myself I couldn't have known. It was the police's fault. They'd been on the raid, not me. I hadn't told them to shoot two innocents. I never wanted this.

But no matter how I justified it, I couldn't deny the truth. If I hadn't tipped the police off, they wouldn't have found him.

If I'd done more, if I'd waited longer, if I'd found somewhere else, somewhere other than his home, the police could have gone for him without his family being in the crossfire. But I hadn't. I hadn't waited, I hadn't done more research. I'd been so happy to be helping and just like that, everything had turned to ash.

Ash and rust and rot. Just like my power showed me. I let out a bubbling sob. Why was I surprised that everything went wrong? I just saw everything as corrupt and decaying and worthless. How could a power like that help people?

No! I didn't believe that. I couldn't. I had to show that I could make things better. That even if my power showed all the filth and the horror hidden under the surface, I could make things… less bad. I'd seen places which weren't as bad! I'd stopped the sweatshop! I knew I could make things better.

It didn't matter how I tried to persuade myself. My thoughts kept spiralling down. I felt like I was sinking deeper and deeper. The paint on the walls flaked away, and I found myself in the Other Place. I didn't really care. Not really. The Other Place didn't change the world. Normal people might not see the filth around them, but in the 'real' world ordinary cops could shoot two innocents and – then what? Did they feel guilty about it? Or did they just go home at the end of the day, congratulating themselves on a job well done. My vision wavered and blurred through my watering eyes. Would they even be punished for it? At all?

My mind ran in circles, always returning to that simple fact. Two people, two innocent people, were dead. And they'd still be alive if I'd been smarter. If I'd done something different.

I had to set things right. Make things better. Make up for this. But how could I, if I couldn't be sure if I was even doing the right thing? What if I just made things worse? What if more people died because of me?

I couldn't function like this. I couldn't cope. I couldn't do anything. I didn't really choose to make a construct. I just exhaled, and out rushed all the horror and fear and guilt that I didn't want to keep inside anymore. The black smoke burned my throat and I coughed and spluttered, tasting rot.

I didn't feel any better. In fact, now I felt ill, on top of everything else. But I hadn't crippled the thing yet, had I? It took a solid minute before I could twitch aside the covers and see whatever horror I'd produced now.

Empty eyesockets gazed down at me. They weren't wounds – this thing had never had eyes. There was just blank skin there. Her cheeks, though, they'd been slashed with a knife so she looked like she was crying. She had a cage around her mouth – the kind of thing they put on criminals to stop them biting - and was wearing deep crimson robes. Her clawed hands were clutched around a rusty, unpainted crowbar.

"St-stop it!" I commanded, trying to stop my voice from shaking and failing.

She growled at me. I thought it was a growl, at least. It was a wet, reverberating sound that came from the back of her throat. Maybe she was laughing. I shivered anyway. My constructs weren't normally very vocal. The fact that it was making a sound – I didn't like it. I didn't like it at all.

Cruel Justice. Yes. That was what I'd call her. She was cruel and blind and she was my guilt. She told me I'd done something wrong. Something I felt was wrong, anyway.

"N-no," I muttered. I screwed my eyes up, imagining the chains that would stop her from doing what she was doing to me. "No. I'm… I'm going to make up for it! It wasn't my fault and I'll still g-go out and make things better!"

She growl-chuckled at me, and swung her crowbar toward me, almost experimentally. I flinched, but I didn't give in to the implied threat. It felt like trying to wade through mud, but I pushed and pushed until iron chains slammed shut around her, dragging her down, and the weight on my mind lifted. It was numbing, but it was better than feeling the crushing guilt.

This freedom wouldn't last forever. I needed to act quickly, before she got free. I rolled out of bed, glancing down without a hint of remorse at the monster kneeling before me. Should I leave her here? No. It was my weight to bear. I inhaled Cruel Justice. She burned at my lungs and made me splutter, but I had more important things to worry about.

It wasn't my fault, but I had to set it right. It was the only way I could live with myself when Cruel Justice was free, and I couldn't keep her chained up forever. And since I couldn't bring the dead back to life, I just had to do it properly this time. I needed to find and catch a murderer. Tonight. And this time, it wouldn't go wrong. I couldn't just leave it up to the police.

I shed the Other Place and dried my eyes on my sleeve, mechanically, ignoring my smeared foundation. I had this strange nagging feeling, like there was something else I should be doing, or something I was forgetting to feel, but I wasn't sure what it was. No time to sit and think, though. I needed to find a new target, so headed through to the computer in the study.

I only had so much time to do this. I looked out at the window. It was drizzling down, although it looked like heavier rain had passed, and though it was still light it was only an hour or so until sunset. Why was the stupid computer being so slow? If anyone tried to call home, they'd find that the line was busy. I sat drumming my fingers as I waited for it to boot up, and then waited more as the modem made its dialling-up racket. was my destination.

Search… dropdowns. I considered. Homicide had to be the worst. Complexion, height, weight, gender? I… uh, wasn't entirely comfortable filling those in. I didn't care what they looked like – I just wanted the worst criminal. I'd go down from the top. City – Brockton Bay, of course. I wasn't going to head down to Portland. I probably could, via a barbed wire angel if nothing else, but there was no need to go that far when there were so many criminals to catch here. I clicked search.

Then I waited thirty seconds for the page to load. 112k modem? Hardly. Though I guess there was a photo for everyone on the page, so it wasn't surprising it took so long. I started working my way through them. The first one was Charles Haythorn marked as 'deceased'. I flicked past him, the nagging feeling strengthening for a moment.

The next three had red 'captured' banners under them. Why, thank you, website. Why did you show me them, again? A few, I couldn't find. Watcher Doll just returned without an image, and Sniffer just vanished. Maybe the pictures weren't good enough quality, or maybe they weren't near technology or… I didn't know.

I was getting angry by the time Watcher Doll succeeded. A wave of static washed over the speakers and a video popped up on the computer, behind the monitor's glass, made filthy in the Other Place. Lew Chong, wanted for two counts of homicide and suspected of links to other assaults and robberies. He was a short, stocky man with bad skin and a nose that looked like it had been broken and set badly. The website said he was part of the White Lion Association. That looked about right, unless he had a very good reason for the lion mask slung over the back of his seat. There were other men around him who had that same sort of hard-bitten, hard-drinking look. They were playing cards around a table in a smoky bar.

Keeping that image in my mind, I dashed back through to my bedroom and dug my map out from under my bedside table. I brought it back through to the computer room, and exhaled Sniffer. Her long-limbed bulk filled up most of the space in the tiny study, but I needed her.

"Sniffer," I whispered. "Where is he?"

She looked down at me with her overlarge eyes, looked at the screen for a few long seconds, and reached out with one extended finger. She placed it on the map and I marked it with a sticker. Down south of the Docks, in Brockton Bay's oversized Chinatown.

… uh, not that I meant that there were too many Chinese people around. But after New York got wrecked, refugees got spread up and down the East Coast. Something which had used to be a few streets became a whole neighbourhood overnight. The neo-Nazi street gangs really didn't like that place, even if the people living there had accents that tended more toward New York than China. The White Lions returned the sentiment. Of course, they also hated the Japanese immigrant Boumei, and… like, super-hated the triads who were mostly made of Chinese people, rather than the White Lion Chinese-Americans.

Well, I wasn't doing it because he was Chinese, I thought. I'd just picked the first person I'd found from the website. And he was suspected of two murders. I had to remind myself that it was only 'suspected'. Even if he was a member of a gang, that didn't mean he was necessarily a murderer. I wasn't there to punish people. That was the police's job. I was just helping them to do it properly. I was going to bring him in alive.

And to help me do that, I made myself a coffee, scribbled down a few notes of prep, and then went to talk to the second necessary component of my plan. Sitting at my desk, my notes on her close to hand, I tuned my TV to static and sunk into the Other Place.

Watcher Doll didn't have any trouble finding Victoria Dallon. It was easier when I had people's faces, so I had a picture of her stuck in my notebook. The moment the screen flickered open, bliss hit me like a hammer. It took me a moment to stop relaxing in it, but I managed to get a grip on myself and force Watcher Doll to switch its eyes back to the real world.

The blonde girl was wearing jogging bottoms, a grey hoodie, and had headphones in. Most people dressed like that would be going out for a run. Instead, she was beating the crap out of a big slab of scrap metal. She was surrounded by rusting, broken nautical parts, so she was probably down at the ship graveyard at the coast towards Red Beach. Most of them were heavily dented. Maybe she had a habit of going there to let out some steam.

I let out a whistle, impressed despite myself. Bouncing up and down like a boxer, Victoria was just literally taking the junk apart, punch by punch. She was shorter than me, and while she looked sporty, 'sporty' didn't exactly cover punching an old cargo container and with all the force of a wrecking ball.

It only made the contrast between our powers more clear. She had proper, heroic powers. Her powers didn't force her to see horrible things. Her powers would let her just save people by taking a bullet which would have hit a hostage. Her powers let her fly.

Maybe she was happy. Maybe she was… was feeling good that she'd helped take down a wanted criminal. Well, if that was the case that was the end of our association. I couldn't work with someone who didn't feel bad that two innocent people were dead.

I took a breath, and screwed my eyes shut. I imagined Phobia, her mask crying blood. I imagined her bound in barbed wire within my head. It only took a moment. I couldn't be scared for this. This was important. "Glory Girl," I said. "This is Panopticon. Stand by for your briefing."

From the way she squeaked and jumped into the air, whirling around, I guessed she'd heard me. "P-Panopticon," she stammered. "How… where are you?"

"Your music player is a valid receiving device," I said. "Please stand by."

"But how? It's…" she pulled it out, "it's not even in wi-fi range!"

"We have our ways," I said. This managed to be both completely accurate and totally useless. I really was quite proud of it. Anyway, it wasn't like I was lying to her. About that, at least. Obviously I was lying about a lot of other things. "Charles Haythorn is dead," I said. I felt numb. Nothing more.

Victoria scowled. The light from the setting sun caught her face as she peered around, trying to check if I was hiding somewhere nearby. "Yeah," she said sullenly. "And I know I fucked up, but I couldn't talk them into letting me do it! No one treats me with any respect!"

Wait, what? I took a breath, and tried to get past the feeling that a step which I'd been about to stand on suddenly wasn't there anymore. "Explain," I said. It was a useful word. It gave me time to think.

She kicked a cargo container viciously, tearing the door clean off. It had been bolted and locked. "I don't get to do anything!" she growled. "I'm not a real hero. I just show up at photoshoots and… and I'm a celebrity! I don't get to join the Wards! I don't get to even help out! I can fly and I can stop bullets and… and I'm strong and fast and I don't get to use it for anything at all!" Each exclamation was accompanied by a punch into the poor abused cargo container. She took a deep breath, and obviously tried to get a grip on herself. "Sorry," she added. "But… but at least Amy gets to do things."

Well. Uh. I swallowed. This was almost too easy.

Maybe it was a trap.

…or maybe she was just like me. Stuck in a world which didn't... which didn't seem to want to be helped. Sure, her powers were the kind that a real hero should have, but she was too young to actually use them. I hadn't thought about what that would be like. I mean, sure, it was a good thing that America wasn't like those backwards places which made parahumans fight as child soldiers. I didn't want to live in a country like that. But I – and I guess Victoria too – just wanted to stop the bad guys and… I shook my head. I was getting distracted.

"Intel leads have produced the location of a new criminal," I said. "A murderer, name of Lew Chong."

"Really? Where?"

"Uh…" I hated myself for that, "we are still trying to confirm the leads. But I want to know if you will be free to participate in a possible raid this evening or night." I glanced down at my notes. "This will not be a tip-off. We need your help for the capture." I paused. "It won't be possible without you," I added. I quite liked that line.

Victoria paced up and down, frowning. "Tonight," she said, eyes widening. "I… yeah. I can do this. Amy's working and… yeah, I'll say I'm going to a friend's house. You can contact me if I've got my phone, right?"

"Yes." It was moving so fast. I needed to flip over my notes. "This raid must remain off the public radar," I said. "You should not wear your Glory Girl costume." This would fall apart if people knew it was her. There'd be questions and they might find out I wasn't a real government agency. "Wear dark colours, and a balaclava. Cover your hair. If this works out, we will consider getting you an alternate costume for use."

Her eyes lit up. She seemed to like the sound of that. "Dark clothes, balaclava. Should I get a mask? Oh! I think I know where I can get one of those sad theatrical masks. That'd totally scare the criminals!"

"Yes," I said. I hadn't planned for this. I wanted her to just look entirely generic, not build a second secret vigilante identity. But a mask couldn't hurt, right? I needed to draw this to a close, either way. "You will be contacted when we confirm the target's location," I told her, and added, "I have a strong lead, but he might move."

Victoria pumped her fist. "Yes," she said enthusiastically. "Uh… see you later? Like, will I see you? I want to meet you, if we're going to be working together."

It would be a mistake to meet her. She might realise I was just some teenager in a costume. "I'll… uh, talk to my bosses," I said, and realised that that hadn't been anywhere near formal enough. I wasn't in control. "We will be in touch," I repeated, and told Watcher Doll to stop conveying the sound.

I sighed and slumping down on my bed. I didn't feel scared, but I felt tense all over, and suddenly exhausted. I stared at the stained Other ceiling of my bedroom. Should I be feeling bad about lying to her? I didn't feel bad. No, I decided. I shouldn't feel bad. We were going to punish criminals, and this was the only way to get her to work with me, so it was the right thing to do.

Although she did seem to be pretty naïve. I guess she'd accepted me after my first attempt at passing on intel turned out to be real. She wasn't suspicious of someone playing a long game to fuck her over.

Well. I guess she was one of the popular kids.

I rolled off my bed, and prepared for a fake evening where I'd get Dad off my back so I could sneak out later. In the end, I wound up setting Cry Baby on him at about eight, and he was in bed at nine. He needed more rest anyway. He worked too hard, and was always worrying. It was better for his health that he got a good night's sleep.

When I unfolded my map and checked on Lew Chong, he was still sat in the bar. Perfect. Actually, a second look showed a lot more empty glasses on the table in front of him. Yeah, he was definitely drunk, which might be a problem. I'd wanted him to go home, away from all the other White Lions. I guessed I'd need to wait until he went out for some reason. I didn't think they'd be okay with us kicking down the door. Well, Glory Girl kicking down the door.

I took a deep breath. She might not even get involved, tonight. It'd just be me going there, at first. I'd only call her out if I worked out how to get him out, or if he left of his own accord. I wasn't the police. I wouldn't risk getting anyone killed.

I snuck out the door and took a bus ride down to Chinatown wrapped in Isolation. Sniffer sat beside me, too-long legs bent right up in front of her face. I left my gas mask off for now and spent my time trying to adjust the straps. I just couldn't get the stupid thing to fit properly. At least it occupied me for the journey.

Chinatown was down south of the Docks, made up of early twentieth century redbrick housing built for dockland and industrial workers. The streets had that too-narrow feel which told you plain as day that it hadn't been built with cars in mind, and matters hadn't been helped by the newer buildings which reached up over the redbricks. The city had actually put up a tacky dragon arch at the formal boundary of the neighbourhood, but Chinatown was already spilling out from around the edges, Chinese writing trailing out into nearby shops and restaurants.

The whole area looked much better off than the bits to the west of the Docks. Or around home, come to think of it. The buildings looked more freshly painted and there was even brand new construction going on here. It was dark and I could see the floodlit cranes. I mean, I'd known they existed, but it sort of rubbed it in. Even in the Other Place, it was a bit less worn down and dilapidated.

I also found that the Other Place didn't do ethnic theming. I couldn't tell most of the monster-men-and-women walking the red-lit streets were Chinese if I just looked at them. Uh, thank you, Other Place, for telling me that the hearts of men were all the same and were just as horrible and evil-looking, regardless of what they looked like on the outside.

… the Other Place was a really terrible conveyer of moral lessons.

But at least that meant I was even less likely to be tempted by any of the skinhead or Patriot gangs around. Dad would literally disown me if I turned out as a Republican, let alone a skinhead. The only reason he wouldn't was if he was too busy trying to murder me with an axe.

I wasn't even sure if I was joking. It'd be a pretty terrible villain origin story for him, either way.

Sniffer pointed out the bar. It was a tall redbrick building down by the waterfront, with a big red illuminated sign on the top that faced back towards the city, adding another storey to its height. The narrow entrance and stained wood door suggested it'd been a drinking establishment even before Chinatown expanded. Maybe it had been a speakeasy in the Prohibition, or something. Its sign said it was called Ocean Lemon, which sounded like someone had just stuck two randomly-chosen nouns together.

From here, I could see the government facility out on the oil rig in the bay. When I dropped into the Other Place, I could see beautiful flares of light overhead, like shooting stars or fireworks. I sighed. Heroes or tinkertech craft, I thought dreamily. They were so wonderful. But all too soon, they moved out of sight. I checked my watch, and blanched slightly at how long I'd stood there. No more time to waste. I put on my balaclava and mask, and let myself in.

Well, technically I tailgated in behind someone else, walking right past the bouncer. He didn't bother me and I didn't bother him. That was how I liked it, really.

Gloved hands in my pockets, I strolled through the bar, Sniffer trailing behind me. Thick clouds of blue cigarette smoke wafted through the air, making me really, really glad I was wearing my gas mask. This just looked normal. Even the Other Place wasn't warped too extremely. But then again, this was a real bar, full of ordinary men and women getting drunk. People moved to avoid me and my halo of monstrous butterflies, while Sniffer just walked through the twisted Other Place figures like she wasn't real.

Tapping me on the shoulder, she pointed directly upwards. I had to walk up two floors before I got to where Lew Chong was, and then I had to tailgate in past another level of security. The bouncer on that door was rather more serious looking. He still didn't notice me, but he clearly wasn't there to check IDs. In the Other Place, he was a horned beast with hands coated in that black oil which meant death. Bulging wires protruded from sores on his arms. Definitely not a nice guy.

There was a second bar up here – the one I'd seen through Watcher Doll's eyes. It looked really professional in the real world. It had a proper bar counter with a ton of different bottles stacked behind it. If it anything, it looked nicer than the one downstairs. It looked like a legal place. I didn't think I'd ever wind up in a proper speakeasy like this. Gangs ran illegal drinking establishments all the time in movies and books, but I'd always thought they romanticised it a lot and most places which illegally sold drinks would be much cruder.

…maybe it wasn't actually illegal, I considered. Maybe it was just a private club. It'd probably be a lot more work to actually make a hidden place which illegally sold perfectly-legal alcohol, especially when it was literally right above a normal bar. That was a pity. I kind of wanted to be sneaking through a speakeasy to arrest a criminal. It had a certain cachet. Or maybe I'd just seen too many late night Hong Kong flicks. Dad was a fan.

But even if it wasn't illegally selling the drinks, this was clearly a White Lion Association hang-out. The Asian men in the ill-fitting suits were easily identifiable. It's really not that hard when people have those white masks they wear dangling off the back of their chairs. Not everyone had one, though. Maybe they were just 'associates' of the gang.

A lot of the real gang members were carrying weapons. Most of them had pistols, but a few had rifles or shotguns leaning against the tables. When I poked my head behind the bar – out of curiosity if nothing else – I noticed that they had more guns. Alcohol and guns. A wonderful combination. Was this normal for gang-run drinking places, or were they on edge about something? I didn't know. It wasn't as if this was the sort of place I usually went to.

Admittedly, going to somewhere like Winslow meant that I was one of the only students who wasn't going out and getting drunk in places which'd serve teenagers, if I trusted the rumours. I didn't, but that's beside the point.

Anyway, there was Lew Chong, squatting in thick layers of rot and decay in a circle of brutish monsters. He was a pale, grey-skinned figure with flesh pulled tight over his bones. His eyes were hollow pits, and fires guttered from his mouth when he spoke. Anger issues, if I had it right. I checked his hands. Bloody, raw knuckles, leading down to long claws for fingernails. Yeah, anger and violence. I couldn't see any sign of death on him, but he was clearly violent and dangerous – and I couldn't see any signs of chains on him. No restraint. There was a rotting figure snuggled up to him, vaguely feminine, her tattered and worn dress barely covering anything at all. I winced at the open wounds on her forearms and shoulders.

He was also firmly ensconced in his corner, and didn't look like he'd left all evening. I checked my watch. It was nearly half-ten. He'd been in this bar for at least five hours. He couldn't stay in here among the gang members forever, right?

Rising back into reality, I found a stool at the bar and sat down, watching him and his friends. It was sort of interesting. There was something I hadn't appreciated in the Other Place, which was the female gang members. I'd expected girls to be here as eye-candy, like the one hanging off Lew, but not to see women wearing the same cheap suits as the men. Didn't seem to be any men wandering around shirtless, though. That didn't seem very fair.

… not that I wanted shirtless men wandering around here. It wasn't like the female arm-candy was that pretty anyway. Most of them were so plastered with make-up you'd probably see cracks if they relaxed their mouths out of that rictus grin. Fake little dolls, smiling for the guys who 'played' with them and covering up the bruises with paint. Disgusting. I didn't even need to look into the Other Place. I knew I was right.

I decided to head up to the roof. I could still keep an eye on him with Watcher Doll from up there, and I wouldn't… you know, be totally doomed if I let Isolation slip. Anyway, I wanted some fresh air. The gas mask was hot and stuffy and really limited how much I could see or hear.

Outside the pool of light coming from the door, the illuminated sign was the only light on the roof. The puddles left over from the rain earlier caught its red glow. It made them look like blood. I shivered at the morbid thought. I'd spent enough time thinking about that recently. No one was going to die here. I was going to do it right this time. I was here. I wasn't leaving it up to useless cops.

I made the call.

"Glory Girl. This is Panopticon. The suspect has been located. My superiors have authorised me to initiate this mission. Are you ready?"

She was ready. Hell, she was more than ready. She was still in her room, but this time she'd found a set of biker leathers with red trim. On her desk, there was a balaclava and a Wicked Witch of the West mask. "Ten four, Panopticon," she said, obviously trying to sound professional. She wasn't as good at it as me. "Just tell me where I need to go."

I gave her the address. "Land on the top of the building," I told her. "You will be briefed further there." That delay was partly so I'd seem more cryptic. Mainly, though, it was mostly doing it because… uh, I still sort of needed to work on a plan. Like, what if he didn't come out for hours? There were still hours until midnight, and what if he stayed here until 2am or something? My mind was whirring as I tried to think of ways to isolate him, running over all the things I could do with my powers.

"Got it!" Victoria said. She pulled on the balaclava, added the green-skinned mask on top, and then left via the window. I found a dry patch in the wind-shadow of the illuminated sign, and made some cherubs – one to keep an eye on her, one for Lew Chong, below my feet in the bar.

I was left waiting rather longer than I'd hoped. When I checked up on Glory Girl, she was periodically swooping down and consulting street signs. She was lost! Honestly!

Sure, it was probably harder to navigate from the air when it was dark, but still! If you had flying powers, why wouldn't you memorise the aerial layout of the city so you could fly equally well by day or night?

In the meantime, I puzzled over how to get him out. I couldn't just send her into the bar to drag him out by the scruff of his neck. They had guns down there! Even if she was immune to bullets, no one else in there was. If they started shooting, they'd hit someone. Maybe each other, maybe the bar staff, maybe someone downstairs! If that happened, I wouldn't be any better than the police. I couldn't let anyone else die.

It had been hot in there. Hot and smoky. Yes. I needed to make him feel like he needed to cool down. I needed to make him want some fresh air. He'd probably come up to the roof, but even if he went out the main entrance, she could still grab him there. He'd be all on his own. Glory Girl was strong and tough. She could even fly. It'd be easy for her to take him down, and then she could go deposit him at a police station.

So… Hot. Smoky. Choking. Trapped, confined, needing to get outside. That's what I wanted him to feel. What made me feel like that? Tasting the stink in the air, seeing tiny cracks of light that only emphasized the darkness – no! No! I couldn't think about that! I- I wasn't after claustrophobia. I just wanted heat and smoke and stuffiness. Like a classroom in the height of summer, where there's no air conditioning. Like the discomfort of wearing my mask in a warm room.

I focussed on that feeling, that raw desire to be outside, and exhaled. The black smoke hissed through my gas mask, taking form before my eyes. It was a squat, impish thing with an ugly dog-like face and a few scrappy combed-over strands of grey hair. The cigarette clamped between its teeth let off a trail of blue-white smoke, and a heat haze wafted around it, rippling the air. I didn't want to think of the word 'demonic', but there was a distinctly… uh, demonic edge to it.

"Smoker," I named it, "go down there. Find Lew Chong. Make him want to come outside."

The little impish thing grinned – or at least bared its teeth – and blew out a smoke ring. Was it just me, or was it getting bigger? I wasn't sure. Either way, it darted off, scampering across the roof and heading down into the building. I sighed, fanning myself from the unpleasant warmness it had left behind, and looked up at the sky of the Other Place. The dingy red moon and strange dim stars shone down on me, peeking between patchwork layers of cloud. Or maybe it wasn't cloud. Maybe it was smoke. Emotional pollution, escaping up to the sky.

Shaking my head, I looked around, trying to catch an early glimpse of the Glory Girl's corona. I perked up happily at the gleam coming in low. The sight of a parahuman was more than enough to banish the dark thoughts I was having, although she didn't seem quite as bright as the previous times I'd seen her. Maybe she was focussing her power more in preparation for a fight. I had no idea how other people felt to use their power.

"Glory Girl," I said. "This is Panopticon. Our surveillance has confirmed that you are nearly in position. Land on the roof. There are multiple armed individuals within the location." I checked the screen floating in front of me. I'd timed it almost perfectly. Lew Chong was getting up, shuffling his way around the table.

Victoria touched down lightly on the rooftop, outside the light spilling from the doorway. I could see her perfectly anyway, of course. I had to repress a happy sigh at the sight of her brilliant pyre of white light. She was shedding embers, and one fell on me. I poked at it. It didn't burn – it felt warm and safe. She was such a good hero, compared to me. I wished I had powers like hers.

"Panopticon?" she asked. I heard her voice in stereo, one coming from the image of her in front of me. "Where are you?"

I had to focus. The bliss of being near a parahuman power was still there, but right now I had to think of other things. "I have you within sight," I said. I was still shrouded in Isolation, so she'd only hear my voice coming from her headphones. "The suspect is leaving his table." I forced myself to look away from her. It was easier if I turned my back on her and only looked at the two screens. "He is heading up to the roof."

"What? Already? Are you sure?"

"I am watching him," I said, staring at the monitor. I heard a rush of air as she took off, floating up above me. To someone who wasn't seeing her as a brilliant flame, she would probably be totally invisible. The stairs leading up to the roof creaked, and right on cue, Lew Chong appeared, heading out onto the roof. I forced myself to surface from the Other Place. I needed a clear head.

"Is that him?" Glory Girl whispered.

"Yes," I said.

She struck.

Have you ever seen a teenage girl take a grown man down like he was a sullen toddler? This was the first time I'd ever seen it in real life. She just threw herself at him, like a living battering ram. I flinched at the blur of motion and that was enough for her to knock him to the ground and pin him down, her knees on his shoulders.

He was thrashing and struggling, but she must have been using… whatever force she flew with to push down. He couldn't get free. The first impact knocked the wind out of him, and he only managed some wheezing yelps before she got her hand over his mouth.

"Shut up," she hissed at him, kneeling over him. She was lit up in red by the billboard, and I swallowed, hard. I was impressed. "Or things'll go even worse for you."

He stopped moving entirely, and just lay there shaking. She pulled out some duct tape from a pouch at her waist with her free hand. I'd brought some in my bag, but apparently she'd come prepared too. "If you scream, I'll hurt you," she said, before carefully moving her hand away. He didn't scream, and she started picking at the roll of tape, trying to get the end up despite how she was wearing gloves.

She'd just started taping him up when things went wrong. A man started shouting. I whirled. There was a man in the doorway back down from the roof, wearing an ill-fitting suit.

He was shouting at us in Chinese so I didn't know what he was saying, but he looked pissed. Crap. Someone else must have thought it was hot and smoky in there. Maybe Smokey… or whatever the hell I'd called that construct… had been sort of indiscriminate. Or maybe it really had been hot and smoky down there.

He was a blocky guy, but that didn't matter so much because he had a gun. Not just a normal pistol, either. It was bigger – some kind of submachine gun or assault pistol or something. The kind you see criminals using in films which are really inaccurate, but spray bullets like a hosepipe. If the movies weren't lying to me, at this kind of range he could hit anyone here. Randomly sprayed bullets wouldn't care that he couldn't see me. Glory Girl might have been immune to guns, but I wasn't. I really didn't want to get shot. I didn't want anyone to get shot. Even Lew Chong.

"Shut up!" Glory Girl shouted at him. "Or I'll hurt him!"

"Let go of him, or I'll fucking shoot you in the face!" he retorted.

My heart was pounding like a drum in my chest. He was pointing the gun at Glory Girl and I didn't know what to do. I needed to get the gun off him. But I hadn't ever tried to disarm someone before. I needed something better. An angel, not a cherub. Yes. Maybe a barbed wire angel could do it.

I sunk down, focussed and exhaled, all in one motion. A gas-masked figure of wire stood between me and Glory Girl's pyre. "Take his gun," I whispered. "Bring it to me."

The skeletal figure bowed to me, and vanished. It reappeared next to the piggish monster, reaching out with its long, clawed fingers.

I think the man must have squeezed the trigger as the angel snatched it. The next few events occurred all in a blur of noise and violence.

Gunshots are really loud when you're close by. I found that out that day. It's not like hearing them at a distance, or in a movie. Something pattered against my coat and brick shattered behind me. I could see it in my mind's eye, bullets tearing through the wall just as easily as they could have torn through flesh. My flesh. Now there were holes in the wall behind me. The same wall I was standing in front of and if I'd been a little bit to the side I would have been shot.

I screamed. Just a little bit, but I screamed. It might just have been my imagination, but I swore I'd felt the bullets zip by. I'd certainly heard them.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. That had nearly hit me.

I almost didn't notice the gun clattering down next to me where the angel dropped it, my ears were ringing so badly. I could smell acrid smoke. And then Glory Girl blurred into motion and she was on the other man, slamming him into the wall.

That was that, I thought numbly staring at the literal smoking gun. I was getting some kind of body armour. Any kind. If I was going to help heroes out, I had to be near the scene, and stray bullets were apparently a really big problem.

I had to focus. Someone must have heard the gunshots. I had to move. I had to tell her to get out of here and take Lew Chong to the cops.

And then I realised that Glory Girl was staring straight at me. Her knuckles were wet. The man she'd been beating was down on the ground, groaning. His face was covered in blood. It… it must have been a nosebleed. Or something like that. He sounded in pain, but he was alive. "Panopticon?" she asked. "Is… are you Panopticon?"

Oh crap. Isolation stopped working somehow. I must have drawn attention to myself by screaming. "Yes," I said, backing away. "Well done. Deliver the captive t-to the police." I was shaking from the adrenaline rushing through my veins, and couldn't keep my voice steady.

"Wait!" she shouted. "I want to talk to you."

"Not now. They'll have heard." I stepped up to the corner of the billboard. "Get out of here. We'll be in touch," I said, stepping out of her line of sight. I needed time to think. I needed to get out of here. Focussing, I brought the barbed wire angel back to me. I almost didn't use it. But the thought of an angry gang heading to the roof was more than enough to overcome my more abstract fears.

The next thing I knew the barbed wire angel had me and I was in the nothing-space again. There was no sight, no sound, no feeling, no sense of my own body. Nothing at all.

I reappeared on a balcony across the street and collapsed, retching. I managed to get my gas mask off, but only bile came out. I could feel hotness running down my cheeks. At first I thought I was crying, but when I touched it I could see the redness on my black gloves. I tested my skin, gingerly. One of the scars on my face had opened up again. Just a little bit.

Fuck my powers. Seriously. I curled into a ball, arms tucked in tight. I felt worse than the times I'd done this before. I must have over-stressed myself with all the other things I'd done before. One use of a barbed wire angel seemed to be the equivalent of – like – ten uses of cherubs or something. And having it carry me, rather than making a tunnel through space, was even worse for me.

By the time I felt ready to stand, Victoria had gone. There were men on the roof opposite, shouting, but they wouldn't find anything. Thank goodness. She was probably going to dump him outside a police station, or something. I didn't really know how you handed in criminals when you were a vigilante.

… probably something I should find out, if I was going to make a habit of this.

Numbly, I picked myself and looked at the gun in my hand. And the rust-red handprint staining it. I was getting a collection of them, confiscated from criminals. It could join the others in my hideout. I shook my head, and shed the Other Place.

Except I wasn't in it. I brushed frantically at the rust and it came off, leaving little reddish black specks on my fingertips.

No. That was impossible. The… the Other Place wasn't real. It was just a way of looking at the world. It was how my power communicated things. There was no way that it could make real rust appear from nowhere.

Yet it had.

I couldn't deal with this. Not now. Not right now. Not when I'd nearly been shot and I was aching and hurting. I wasn't thinking straight. I'd just limp back home and… and go to bed and hope that the rust was gone in the morning.

It wasn't much of a plan, but it was the best I could do at the moment.