"What the hell are you trying to pull?" Bobby growled, slapping Arnaud's personnel profile down on the Official's desk.
Eberts threw open the office door and rushed in, completely rattled. "Sir! The C-8400 files, they're...." Darien held up the file folder in his hand, revealing the fact that 'C-8400' was emblazoned prominently on its front. Eberts cleared his throat, somehow managing to stop himself in mid-panic. "...Oh. Apparently they have not been stolen."
"Fawkes!" the Official barked, ignoring the fact that Bobby's face was inches from his own. "Why did you break into the archives?"
Bobby frowned. "Excuse me sir, but I was the one who--"
Darien interrupted before Bobby could finish. "There were some things I needed to know." He walked over to the Official's desk and gestured at the photo of Arnaud, saying in a deceptively casual manner, "I found something extra."
The Official considered this for a moment and then droned, "Arnaud was transferred to the QS-9300 project from C-8400."
"We now believe he tested an earlier version of Quicksilver madness on Miss Blaque," Eberts interjected, "since the disorder Miss Blaque exhibits and the symptoms Mr. Hobbes exhibits seem to be extremely similar." He glanced nervously at Bobby.
"Shut up, Eberts!" the Official growled.
Bobby's brow knitted in a puzzled frown. "So this Blaque chick, she needs counteragent too?" He found it hard to believe that, once someone had experienced the madness, they would actually run away from the thing that would prevent it.
Eberts looked down at the ground and gave a nervous cough. "Actually, no.... There is no cure for Miss Blaque's disorder. It is irreversible."
The Official's face turned red with anger. "Eberts!" He turned to Darien and Bobby. "Alright, the two of you found out what you came here for. Now get out of my office." He glared at the two men, practically daring them to do otherwise.
Bobby gave the Official an indignant glare and started to protest, but Darien grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out of the room. "Fawkes!" Bobby protested as Darien slammed the door shut, effectively shutting them out in the hall.
"I know what you were about to do in there," Darien said, "and the only thing it would've done was to get you locked up in the padded room for a month."
Bobby raised an eyebrow. "This place actually put up the dough for a padded room?"
"Well, with a chronic nutcase on their hands, they thought it'd be a good idea!" As he took in Bobby's enraged expression, Darien realized he'd gone too far and held up a hand apologetically. "That's not what I meant."
"Oh yeah? Then what did you mean?" Bobby challenged, crossing his arms and glowering up at Darien. It was at times like this when he wished he were about a foot taller. Just once, he wanted to be able to tower over the person he was angry with.
Darien opened his mouth to reply, but before he could get the words out a shapely knee connected with his crotch. He collapsed to the ground at the feet of an irate Sophie. "You bastard," Sophie hissed as she kicked Darien roughly in the gut. "You knew that file was gone, didn't you? You sent me in there and made me pretend that I was actually attracted to that... that sniveling little pencil-pusher," Sophie made a face, "for nothing!"
Darien groaned and rolled over, trying to guard his vulnerable areas and catch his breath. "At least he got something out of it..."
Sophie bent down and wrapped her fingers in Darien's hair, yanking his head up so she could look him in the eye. "If you ever try to pull anything like that on me again I will personally see to it that you're unable to have children." She let go of Darien's hair, straightened up, turned, and walked off icily down the hall.
Hobbes cleared his throat. "Well, I was seriously thinking about hurting you there, but I think she just covered it..."
Darien coughed as he finally managed to pull himself to his feet. "Yeah, with interest."
"Thought you said she couldn't fight?" Bobby inquired.
"That wasn't fighting. That was just plain dirty. MacCleary's always been good at dirty."
"I'll remember not to get on her bad side, then," Bobby muttered.
Darien nodded. "Definitely a good idea..."
"You seem to have a hard time remembering that," Bobby smirked.
Darien frowned. "Let's just get back to work..."
**********
"OK, so we've got three possibles," Darien stated. "Rick Sampson, Jonathan Fulton, and Richard Minosa."
Bobby nodded, looking over the list. "And Sampson looks like a write-off to me. I mean, sure, he was an important member of the project, but he's been retired for a while now. Long before... well, before Blaque went over the edge," Bobby stammered, loathe to mention his suspicions as to Allianora's willingness to participate in the project -- or lack thereof -- to anyone just yet. His last psychiatrist would have said that he was merely trying to project his own feelings onto someone else so that he wouldn't feel so alienated. Bobby didn't think that his last psychiatrist's opinions were worth crap, but he wanted to be careful just the same.
Darien shook his head. "Nope, we shouldn't rule him out yet, Hobbesy. We don't know enough about Alli to do more than guess at her motivations."
Bobby strongly disapproved of Darien's nickname for Allianora, but said nothing on the subject this time around. "I'm telling you, we don't need to worry about him."
Darien sighed in exasperation. "Who's the senior agent here, you or me?" Her didn't wait for an answer. "I know what I'm doing here. And I might actually be able to teach you a thing or two if you're willing to learn."
Bobby crossed his arms. "I might could teach you a few things too, ya know. Things like you don't go after a guy you got no grudge against. Blaque probably never saw this guy in her life and even if she did, she probably has no reason to hold a grudge on him. He never poked her with a needle or anything, did he?"
Darien's eyes narrowed. "So you're sure enough that she wouldn't go after him that you'd risk his life by not bothering to protect him?"
"Watching him would just be a waste of our time," Bobby insisted stubbornly. "These two need protection more," he tapped Fulton and Minosa's profiles with his index finger, "because they had direct contact with her. You want revenge, you want it on the guy who did the damage, not the guy who sanctioned it."
Darien snorted contemptuously. "Fine. If you're such an expert, then tell me who Alli's gonna go after first."
Hobbes stared at the two remaining profiles, and then finally pointed at Fulton's photo. "He's the one she'll go after first."
"Got any proof to back this up?" Darien challenged.
Bobby shook his head. "Just a gut instinct."
Darien gave Bobby a stern look. "In this line of work, gut instincts can get you killed."
**********
Half an hour later, Darien parked his car in front of Fulton's house. Bobby, comfortably situated in the passenger seat, shook his head as he observed the quiescent neighborhood around him. It was a classic example of suburbia. Neatly trimmed hedges, close-clipped lawns, and long rows of houses plopped side by side, each one looking almost completely identical to its counterparts.
Such sights always gave Bobby the impression that some massive factory had dropped the houses down one after another in a giant assembly line. He couldn't help but wonder if the people who lived inside the houses looked as obviously manufactured. How people could live in these oversized doll's houses never ceased to amaze him. Better a crappy apartment building that actually looked like it had some sort of personality than one of these lifeless domiciles.
Darien stepped up onto the small slab of concrete that served as a porch and rapped his fist sharply on the door. Much to both his and Bobby's surprise, the door readily swung open. However, there was no one standing inside to greet them. "That's not good," Darien said, his hand automatically straying to the holster around his waist.
Bobby bent down and examined the doorknob, and then pointed at the lock, which had scratch marks on it that indicated it had been picked. "Someone broke in. Didn't do a very good job of it, either."
Darien motioned for Bobby to step out of the way and drew his gun. "Looks like your gut got lucky."
Bobby shook his head. "I hate it when I'm right...."
Darien cautiously stepped into the house, gun at the ready. Bobby followed, making sure to keep a respectable distance between him and the gun barrel. He raised an eyebrow as he and Darien walked into the living room. The place was a shambles. Books, videos, and any other items that hadn't been glued down were scattered all over the room. The coffee table was overturned, and one of the couch cushions had been ripped open.
"Well, I think we can rule out a robbery," Bobby said, pointing to a thin trail of blood that led out of the room.
Darien looked suspiciously at the blood trail and bent down to touch it. "Still fresh," he said, grimacing at the sticky redness that remained on his fingers after he lifted them up off of the carpet.
"So... she's here?" There was no need for Bobby to clarify the statement. It was fairly obvious whom he was referring to.
"Might be," Darien said, shrugging his shoulders noncommittally. The tight grip in which he held his firearm belied the casualness of his tone. He began to follow the blood trail, walking out of the kitchen and down the hall, coming to an abrupt halt as he beheld the closed door of the master bedroom. Bobby walked up behind Darien, dread congealing in the pit of his stomach as he saw that the blood trail went right under the closed door.
"After you," Bobby said, gesturing for Darien to open the door.
"You can go invisible. I can't."
"Yeah, but you're the senior agent."
"Oh, so now you'll admit it," Darien griped. He reluctantly reached out and twisted the doorknob.
The door swung open slowly, revealing a gruesome sight. Fulton lay on the bed, his eyes frozen wide in terror and glazed over with death. A dark-haired woman straddled him across the chest, nonchalantly licking blood off her fingers. Bobby recognized her face from the photographs he had seen earlier; there was no doubt in his mind that this was Allianora Blaque.
Allianora turned and surveyed the two men who had swung open the door with a cold, red-eyed gaze. Bobby shivered. Was that what he looked like when he was Quicksilver mad?
"Well," she said, flipping a strand of hair away from her face with one still-bloodstained hand, "you boys are a little late."
Darien aimed his gun at Allianora with one hand and fumbled for his handcuffs for the other. "OK, you're under arrest for the murder of..." he paused for a moment, calculating mentally, "seven people."
"Eight," Allianora said, a cocky grin on her face. "And they all deserved it. Every one of them deserved to die. It wasn't murder, it was justice."
Bobby pointed at the dead body Allianora was sitting on. "That isn't justice. That's just sick."
"What's sick is what they did to me," Allianora hissed, climbing off the body and standing to her feet.
Darien lunged for Allianora and slapped one of the cuffs on her wrist. "Yeah, well, you can tell us all about what they did to you and how unfair it was from a nice little eight- by ten-foot cell."
Allianora gave Darien a cruel smile. "Haven't you heard? I'm dangerous. You're supposed to handle me with care." Before Darien could react, she grabbed his wrist and bit his hand. Darien jerked back and pushed Allianora away, swearing loudly.
Bobby hurried over to Darien's side and barked in a take-charge tone, "Hold still." Then, before Darien could protest, Bobby Quicksilvered his hands and placed them on the spots where Allianora had made contact with Darien's skin.
"Damnit, that hurts!" Darien yelped as the ice-cold surface of the Quicksilver touched his skin, trying to pull away.
Bobby held on firmly. "I said to hold still!"
Darien bit his lip, but stopped struggling. Bobby held his hands on the wound for a moment longer, and then let go. "I think that'll keep the poison from spreading," he said, allowing the Quicksilver to fall from his hands.
"Where'd she go?" Darien asked, looking around the room for Allianora.
Bobby rushed over to the bedroom window just in time to see her climb into a car and drive off. He heaved a deep sigh. "She got away."
Darien shook his head, cradling his frostbitten hand to his chest. "That's just great. That's just freakin' great."