A/N: This used to be four pages longer, but it included an interlude that I think would have only been an annoying and unnecessary stretch of the tension. The interlude will appear later, because it is important, but not just yet. Right now, Virgil, Richie and Hotstreak deserve our undivided attention.

Warning 1: Ebon's... uh... actions. If you're squeamish, be warnied: this is only teh beginning.

Warning 2: If you're afraid of the dark, you might want to read this during the day.

Book II

Chapter One: Assault

"It's been really quiet lately," Virgil said as he slipped out of his shirt and reached for his costume. The time on the small clock Richie had installed read eight twenty-one. The sun would set in about half an hour. "That's why I kept telling you Static hasn't been seen much, and there hasn't been anything on the news about him. It's like all the dangerous Bang Babies took a holiday."

"No such luck," Richie said as he slipped his helmet on. "Backpack says the concentration of metahumans in Dakota is as high as it's ever been. And if they'd gone on holiday, they probably would have caused a stampede out of that area." He laughed. "And as far as I know, there's nothing weirder in California or New York City than there usually is." He checked to make sure all his Zap Caps were settled in their proper places, then silently called Backpack to him. With the robot settled as well, Richie felt invincible. He lifted a hand and touched one of Backpack's "arms". "BP says there are two concentrations of metahumans: one downtown by the movie theater, and one a few blocks away, closer to the fancier restaurants and museums. We could fly down there together and split up."

Backpack and Virgil answered simultaneously.

"Rich, maybe that's not-"

-not recommend it, Richie. It might be-

"-I don't want us apart like that. Stuff happens when you split up. Look at Scooby Doo."

And Virgil has been having premonitions. Do not ignore those. Human intuition can be a very valuable asset.

Richie threw his hands up. "Okay, okay!" he cried. "I hear you!"

Virgil blinked. "Rich, I just-"

Richie shook his head, smiling ruefully. "BP was saying the exact same thing in my head, Virg. I give. We go together."

One more thing. Backpack climbed from Richie's hack and scuttled over to Virgil. A panel in his top opened and he held a small device up to Virgil. He considered asking Richie to relay the message (he could tell Virgil didn't like it when he, Backpack, used Richie's voice) but decided that he didn't want to waste time. "This is a small device that reads thoughts in a very rudimentary way. It's a variation of the homing device you sent to Richie. When you are in danger, it will notify Richie. In this way, he will know when you are safe. It will help him worry less."

Virgil didn't take it yet. "Are you saying he'll be able to read my thoughts?"

"More like your impressions and strong emotions. And it differentiates between being on high alert- when your adrenaline is high- and real alarms."

Richie asked, "Is this why you wanted to see the homing device V gave me?"

"Yes. You have a device like this as well. Virgil will know when you are safe and when you are in danger."

"But when we're on patrol we're in danger a lot," Richie said. "Won't these things send a call for help at the wrong time?"

"I have programmed them only to send out an alert when you are in a situation you cannot get out of on your own."

"No offense, BP, but how can a machine, unless it's as sophisticated as you, know when we're in mortal peril?"

Backpack's voice was a little quieter. "I am not sure, Richie. I programmed them as best I could. They are not a complete safety, it is true."

Virgil, wondering why he was moved to help Richie's robot, said, "But it's good to have as many safeties as possible. We can test them tonight, if we get the chance, and if they work, we'll keep them. If not, maybe Richie and I can help you figure out what it is the little things should be reading." He took the small device as a gesture of good faith and asked, "Where do I put it?"

Backpack seemed startled, but answered, "Anywhere where it won't fall out."

Virgil put it in a pocket with a zipper.

Richie dropped to one knee beside Backpack. "I sounded really mean just then, didn't I? I'm sorry."

Backpack climbed to his accustomed place and said softly, "I could feel that you didn't mean what you said in a hurtful way." He turned his senor eye on Virgil. "Thank you."

Virgil smiled. "We're all in this together," he said. "Come on. Let's get to work."

oOo

Ferret scented the air and licked his lips. "There's bread in there," he said, pointing at the bakery.

"No duh," muttered Carmen Dillo, who was watching the alley across the way. He couldn't see far inside because the sun was about to set, but he didn't need to. When Ebon wanted to be seen, he'd make himself known.

And when Ebon showed up, Carmen knew that he and Ferret had better be ready. They were the bait.

Ferret's stomach rumbled and he groaned, rubbing it.

"Oh, shut up," Carmen snapped. "When Static's dead, Ebon'll own Dakota and you'll get everything your idiot belly wants." He laughed. "And I'll get what I want."

From where he crouched on the fire escape above, Hotstreak sneered at what he thought of as the 'lower Bang Babies', those that had either seemed to lose their intelligence when they gained their powers, or hadn't been the brightest light bulbs to begin with. If Carmen really gets what he wants, I'll go jump in a lake. Thinking of Carmen trying to slip between Foley's spread legs made him snort. His mind wandered to Slipstream…. It tried to show him what the "top dog" might look like, naked, sweating and crouching over an equally naked Richie. Hotstreak's stomach turned. Not even remotely funny.

Grimacing, Hotstreak looked towards the alley where Ebon would make his appearance, and was more than a little startled to see Gear sitting on the ledge of the building on the alley's right. His little robot was back in its proper place, instead of riding around with Static, and the blonde had his walkie-talkie out.

Where the hell is Ebon? Why didn't he warn-?

Just then, Ebon shot straight up from the pavement below, meaning to engulf the superhero.

But Gear either heard or sensed the rising shadow, because he took off, dropping something from his left hand as he did. An instant later, Hotstreak had to shield his eyes as the thing Gear had dropped exploded in an intense burst of light. Ebon screamed. But even as he was forced to retreat and get himself together, he yelled, "Now! Now!"

Carmen and Ferret exchanged a comical look of surprise. Hotstreak ignored them; taking aim, he threw two fireballs at Gear, one slightly to the left, the other just that much off in the other direction. If Gear managed to dodge one, the other would almost certainly hit its mark. The fire missile on the left caught Ger in his side, miraculously missing his arm as he pitched another sphere. He would have been left with third-degree burns if not for his costume. As it was, the teen tipped sideways and started to fall. Flames skittered up and down the material that had saved him, never quite catching.

Hotstreak followed the blonde's progress, thinking, This isn't the way it was supposed to happen, but maybe it can still be salvaged. Once he falls, I'll- He watched as Backpack moved to cover the smoking place, putting it out. Gear had righted himself and was hovering a few feet off the ground, struggling to work something out of his belt.

The projectile Gear had thrown hit an unsuspecting Shiv, who had been rushing out to take care of his part of the plan. Metal arms wrapped around Shiv and he fell on his face, probably crying out. No one heard him.

That was when Static made his entrance, soaring over the same rooftop Gear had been sitting on only moments before. Surrounded by a white-purple skin of electricity and his teeth bared in a snarl, he looked to Hotstreak like a vengeful god. Static's cry rent the air like one of Zeus's thunderbolts. "Gear!"

Yes, definitely like a god. Not that Hotstreak was discouraged. Turned on (it was the power and not the person, he assured himself) but not afraid. Now was his chance to do what he had promised himself he would. It was even better than he could have hoped, maybe, because everyone was running around and confused. Ebon's carefully-laid plan had been ruined by one simple thing he hadn't taken into account: what if Static and Gear arrived, but not at the same time? What then, black ass? Hotstreak laughed. I'll tell you what; a free-for-all where you grab what you can and leave the rest to chance. He ran out of the alley, taking aim once more.

A water-missile hit him in the chest.

Fuck! I'm on your side! he wanted to scream at Gear, who was pulling another projectile free of his belt. How many different kinds does he have, anyway, and how many is he packing?

Static flew to Gear and the two of them rose as one away from the street.

I'll get him next time. Hotstreak wasn't bothered by the prospect. Much as he wanted Static, he wanted the funky fresh hero on his own terms. And Gear being involved wasn't a part of those. We're going to lose them! Hotstreak thought, elated. And I didn't have to do anything but-

Replikon, looking like an eagle that had grown to the size of a pterodactyl, dropped out of the sky then, colliding with Static. Now it was Gear's turn to shout for his partner and head into danger.

Static hit the concrete with Replikon on top of him. As the eagle-dinosaur thing tore into him with its claws, Gear reed another Zap Cap and pulled back his arm, ready to throw.

Maybe he can stop this before it goes any further, Hotstreak thought. Then he spotted Slipstream flying up the street, his eyes intent on the blonde.

Gear let the projectile fly.

Damn it, Foley, just go! He'll be fine! Just go! Hotstreak looked down at his soaked shirt and his relatively dry pants. If I lose the shirt, I might be able to use flames again. He stripped, leaving the shirt behind him like a useless snakeskin. Now if I can just rescue Static before Slipstream-

A tightly-wrapped ball, almost four feet through the middle, flew over Hotstreak's head and slammed into Gear. The blonde once again started to fall as Carmen somersaulted and landed on his feet a little distance away.

But again Gear didn't fall. This time, he was buoyed up by a faintly purple breeze.

Shit! Hotstreak stared as Slipstream drew Gear towards him. Cursing, he turned his attention to Static. He'd come back to the problem of Gear. There had to be a way to help Static without- Wait. Hotstreak grinned.

The Zap Cap hit Replikon's back, probably hard enough to leave bruises if the man hadn't transformed into something with thick skin, but when it exploded, it released only a small electrical charge, no more than half of what Static was trying to use to push his attacker away.

Hotstreak charged Replikon, shouting, "He's mine! He's mine! Ebon gave him to me, so just take your filthy claws out of my prize!" He sounded spoiled and totally unlike himself, but Hotstreak figured everyone was too busy trying to salvage the situation to pay much attention to what he was saying. He was betting on it, in fact. He turned his fists into flames and bore down on a surprised Replikon.

oOo

I'll never be able to watch The Wizard of Oz again, Gear thought as Slipstream's air currents wove themselves around him, tightening like chains. But he didn't care about the Bang Baby who had trapped him much; all he cared about was the fact that Static was down and he, Gear, couldn't do anything about it.

Backpack, you need to-

I will not leave you here, Richie. That is one thing you cannot order me to do.

There really wasn't time to argue. Then call the police! The wind-chains dragged him inexorably towards the grinning metahuman and Gear realized he wasn't going to be able to use any of his inventions to get out of this. He glanced over his shoulder again, afraid to see what the creature- most likely Replikon- had done to Static, but needing to know. He was in time to see Hotstreak- Hotstreak!- slam into Replikon, knocking him off Static. Then he was pulled around a corner into the alley he'd been sitting above less than ten minutes ago. Gear turned, wanting to glare at his attacker- only to have his helmet wrenched off. Suddenly the world was a blur, and he was hard-pressed not to panic.

Arms encircled him then and a wet mouth found his.

The touch was blessedly brief, but it left Gear disgusted. His helmet was pushed back down and Gear stared in shock at Slipstream's gloating face.

"I knew you were that little hero running away with Sparky," he said. "And now that I'm top of the food chain, it's time to get paid like the-"

Backpack leapt over Gear's head and tried to poke out Slipstream's eyes with two of his arms.

Something small and spherical whistled in from the left and slammed into Backpack, sending him flying.

BP! Furious and terrified, Gear wrenched one arm free of Slipstream's hold and punched the Bang Baby in the face. He tried to hit him again, but a new thing sped past his ear and the world to his right exploded. Gear threw up his arm to shield his face instinctively.

Slipstream took advantage of this to wrestle Gear into submission.

Gear turned his head, not caring for a moment that he was trapped again, only needing to know if Backpack was all right. When he saw the way his friend's back had been crushed, he opened his mouth to scream. In his mind, he was already crying, Backpack! Backpack! Answer me! Answer me! BP, please!

Then Slipstream's grip tightened and Gear suddenly found it impossible to breathe. Much sooner than he would have thought possible, the world started turning grey. No! I have to get to Backpack! And I have to find Static! I can't pass out! I can't!

oOo

Over Replikon's feathery, enormous shoulder, Static saw Slipstream draw Gear close. At the same moment, an alarm went off in his head. Like I can't see for myself. Do something, Backpack! He thrashed under Replikon, ignoring the pain in his back, the dizziness that came from having his head slammed into something incredibly hard and the agony on his chest where his lightning-bolt symbol used to be. He was opening his mouth to scream the order, praying the robot would hear him, when searing heat made him turn his head away. An instant later, the weight on his chest was gone and he was up, looking for his saucer and looking for Gear.

A little to his left, Hotstreak was fighting Replikon.

Static saw his disk almost at once and called it to him with his powers. Everything hurt, and the dizziness was much worse, but he fought his way into the air. Still unable to spot his partner, he shouted, "Gear! Gear, where are you?"

A resounding explosion rocked the street, and Static ducked as bits of debris were turned into dangerous missiles. He flew in the direction of the blast, which seemed to have come from between two buildings. He plunged into the dust and smoke and used his electricity to blow it away. He saw Gear almost at once. His partner was draped, unconscious, over Slipstream's shoulder. Slipstream was standing on something, and after a moment Static saw what it was.

A large hole had been ripped in the side of the building on the left, and bricks lay everywhere. But it wasn't the bricks that had taken out Backpack; Static knew instinctively that the robot was too strong for that. The explosion hadn't been directed at the building, but at Backpack. Somehow he had become separated from Gear, and Slipstream had taken the opportunity to-

"Hey, babe."

Static gaped as Replay stepped around Slipstream. He held a small grenade in one hand. When Static narrowed his eyes, realizing who had really thrown the explosive, Replay wiggled his eyebrows almost flirtatiously.

"Surprised to see me?" The actor laughed. "Well, you'll be seeing a lot more of me in a just a minute."

Static heard something crunch behind him, and he whirled. He saw four purple blurs, all with red hair. His clones, Static thought. But that was as far as his understanding went. Something hard and metal collided with his temple and darkness began to swallow him up almost immediately. Gear! he thought as the world shrank around him. Richie!

oOo

You will not hurt my Richie! Memories of Brainiac fueling his rage, Backpack sprang at Slipstream. I will take his eyes out and when he drops Richie-

He heard the projectile approach, but even his reflexes weren't quick enough. Richie! Shield your-

The missile struck him, knocking him off Slipstream. But it didn't explode at once. Perhaps it is only a rock or a metal ball.

BP! shouted Richie over the connection.

Backpack landed on the sidewalk and turned his eye to Richie. He saw Richie strike Slipstream. He started to respond to Richie's cry.

All of this happened in less than three seconds.

Then half of his sensors disintegrated and Backpack blanked out for a moment. Not blacked out; he was a computer, not a man, but still every single connection in his "mind", as well as those to the outside world, misfired.

When he came back to himself, the first system Backpack checked was the connection. Richie?

No answer.

Richie?

Still nothing.

Backpack reached out as best he could, needing to sense something, anything, from Richie. He hit a wall of dead circuitry almost immediately. Then the failure is on my end. Perhaps Richie is still alive.

He turned his attention to his outer systems. Most were gone, and he felt the weakness that signaled a general power failure. I will shut down automatically within five minutes. And it will only be that long if I don't try to see where I am. I wonder how much damage there is and who will fix it if Richie…

If Richie dies, he decided, I will also cease to exist. Even if someone tries to bring me back, I will resist. I will not return to world where Richie is dead.

But if he is still alive, I must find a way to get the help I need and rescue him. I wonder where Static is. He wasn't still fighting that bird-thing, so why didn't he come to help Richie? Anger bloomed in his mind, but it was rapidly draining him, so Backpack fought against it. That, too, cost him precious energy.

Richie, I will find a way to rescue you. He knew how low his reserves were, how impossible the task was, but Backpack refused to give him up. If Gear, that dangerous half of Richie's mind, had taught him anything, it was to never give up.

Please do not lose hope, Richie. I will come to you. I promise.

oOo

Hotstreak stood, leaving Replikon on the ground. The other Bang Baby was bleeding freely from one ear, and it was with no small amount of pride that Hotstreak acknowledged he'd been able to do a great deal of damage without his powers.

Not that I couldn't use them, but if I'd killed Replikon, I'd be under heavy suspicion. This way, Ebon will probably think I just lost my temper, like I've done a thousand times before. He knows I've kicked Ferret's ass more than once. This is just a step up from Ferret. He looked down at Replikon. A small step up.

"Gear! Gear, where are you?"

From the alley where Ebon had supposedly been waiting to warn them of Static's approach came a belch of dust and bricks. Static after ducking a few bricks, headed in that direction. Hotstreak glanced over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being watched. Ferret was currently creeping towards the bakery, and Carmen was trying to help Shiv. Replikon still hadn't moved. Hotstreak followed Static at a distance.

At the alley's mouth, Hotstreak crouched behind a pile of trash and watched Static move to confront Slipstream. Hotstreak hated Slipstream when he saw Gear draped over the big Baby's shoulder. If he's badly hurt- If Static loses it-

Replay stepped out from behind Slipstream and greeted Static. He held a grenade in his hand.

Hotstreak had just about made up his mind to shoot the grenade out of Replay's hand when three of the Bang Baby's clones appeared out of nowhere and tried to sneak up on Static.

That won't work, Hotstreak thought. Static's sharper than-

One of the clones picked up a pipe and hefted it. Static turned, having heard them approach and got a pipe bashed into his temple for his trouble.

Hotstreak gave up being cautious and trying to make things look like they weren't his fault. He'd never get his chance at Static at this rate. He hurled a fireball that took out the three clones in an instant and made Replay drop the grenade. It exploded, of course, sending he and Slipstream (and the still-unconscious Gear) flying further down the alley. But the blast did a good thing for Hotstreak: it flung Static in his direction. He caught the superhero and leaned him against a wall.

Turning his attention back to Gear, Hotstreak rushed into the alley, burning the dust away as he ran. When the last cloud had cleared, he saw Ebon, looking a little weak, but determined as hell, suck Gear into his vortex and disappear.

"FUCK!" Hotstreak screamed at the unsympathetic sky. "Fuck it all!" He spun on his heel, running back to Static, afraid he'd find the other superhero gone, too. But he'd been granted a small bit of luck. He scooped Static into his arms and took off running, not caring where he was going just so long as he was away from the scene before anyone came to their senses.

oOo

"There are two groups of Bang Babies," Gear said. "One two blocks north, the other one block east of the first. If we split up, we'll able to check out both." He sensed Backpack and Virgil getting ready to protest, and he added, a little annoyed, "I won't engage them without you there, but I can at least spy on them."

"Send Backpack to do that," Static argued.

Gear glared at him. "For someone who was so eager to protect me from being controlled, you're acting a lot like my keeper." He felt how his words stung Backpack, and felt the echo of Virgil's pain down the link. He stopped flying and hovered in the air, waiting until Static returned to him. He could feel his partner's mounting anger and frustration as well, and made a decision not to fuel it, even though he could. "I meant that. You both know it, so I won't lie about it. But I shouldn't have said it that way. I know you're just trying to take care of me." He touched Backpack's arm with his fingertips and reached out to take Static's hand. "I love you both and I hate hurting you. But please let me be responsible for myself a little. Partnerships are about trust and striking a balance between protectiveness and letting the one you love go it alone sometimes." He met Static's gaze. "I let you go, Static. Please let me go once in a while. And I won't be alone; BP will be there. And you'll only be a block away and I won't fight. I just want to see. If there are two groups of Bang Babies, we need to know which one is causing trouble, or if both are."

Static closed his eyes for a moment. Gear felt him collecting himself. When he opened his eyes, he met Gear's gaze and held it. He moved closer so that they were only a hand's breadth away from each other. "I'm afraid for all of us, Rich. Promise me you won't fight until I get there."

"I swear I won't."

"Then I trust you." His words had taken on a strangely echoing quality. "Be careful, Richie."

I'm an idiot, Richie thought. I should have taken his worries seriously. I thought he was acting how I am sometimes: jumping at shadows. I should have known better.

He had awoken perhaps five minutes ago, but so far no one had come to disturb him. Richie was grateful for this, though thoroughly confused. Slipstream wanted me for something; where is he?

He almost laughed. Oh, get over it, Richie. He wanted 'something' all right and you know what that something is, even if you don't want to admit it.

When did I suddenly become a target for every horny bastard?

Hey, maybe it's like vampires: once you're bitten by one, others can smell or sense it and they all come looking. Some sharks are like that, too, I think.

Now he did laugh; it was a rusty, weak sound, but it felt good to know he still could show a little spark after all he'd gone through. He pulled at the ropes that bound his wrists to the headboard above him and his laughter died quickly. Okay, it's out of my system. Next step: figuring out how to get out of here.

He opened his eyes cautiously, double-checking to make sure there was no one in the stone room where he'd awakened. I'm still alone. Good. He scanned the walls, trying to find a crack, a gap, anything. He'd already spotted the tiny ventilation grating and wondered if he still had his homing device on him. If he did, he might be able to send it through that shaft (after a few modifications, of course) and call for help.

And the homing device was useless to him now, anyway. He couldn't sense Virgil in his mind anymore, but that didn't mean anything one way or the other.

Or so he kept telling himself.

When he'd awoken, his world had consisted of a throbbing headache and a disturbing quietness in his mind. He knew at once that Backpack was gone, and upon further searching he had discovered that his link with Virgil had been severed as well. Memories of Brainiac- Will I ever be free of these?­- had tried to send him into a spiraling, self-sustaining panic. I won't lose it. Not now. Not when BP surely needs me and Virg may need me, too. So he had centered himself, using the techniques he had promised to teach Virgil earlier that day.

Except it might be yesterday by now. There's no way to know how long I was out. Then he had laughed for the first time. It had made his head throb, but, as it would later, it relaxed him a little. I don't have to pee, so it can't have been that long ago.

Richie recalled those first waking moments with a feeling of triumph. I didn't lose it. I kept my head, even when I realized that my hands were tied over my head and my legs were spread-eagled. No question about what I'm here for. At least whoever tied me here didn't take off my helmet or the rest of my costume. Of course, Slipstream already knows who I am. He was still examining the walls. But if this is Slipstream's room, why isn't there a way out? And why is the bed so narrow? I can't imagine Slipstream fitting on this thing.

Frowning, he was forced to consider the fact that he wasn't in Slipstream's room. But if he doesn't want me, who does? And why did Slipstream kiss me? And how did he make the connection that Gear is really Richie Foley?

And if he knows, how many other people know? Gear shivered slightly. If Slipstream told Ebon, then everybody knows.

He sighed. And maybe they've known for a while. I just about confessed who I was to Hotstreak by fighting him with Backpack at my heel. Hotstreak's not a moron; he knows. Did he tell Ebon?

But as much as his mind would have liked to take that idea and run with it (taking his pounding heart along for the ride), Richie thought it unlikely. Hotstreak doesn't like giving anything to anybody. He probably doesn't feel any loyalty to Ebon. There's that hope, at least. Still, it doesn't change the fact that Slipstream knows who I am.

Okay, Richie, take a deep breath. You can't afford to keep this fight or flight response going on in your body when you need every bit of strength you can get. Just calm down and wait. You'll have your answers soon enough.

And as for Virg and Backpack… I can't do anything better for them right now than rest, conserve my energy, and wait for my chance.

oOo

Alone in the shadows of a bridge, Ebon turned the Shock Vox over and over in his hands while he waited for the clock two blocks away to strike midnight. He figured two hours was enough time. Gear should be awake in two hours. Slipstream would have given up looking for him in two hours. The city would have half-fallen to the frustrated Bang Babies who were releasing their energy. The plan had only half-worked, and they all knew it. Ebon wondered distractedly if his street cred had been lessened by his failure. He somehow doubted it. I've come the closest to finishing off Static. And now I have his partner. He ran his thumb over the Shock Vox. I have Gear all to myself.

And just maybe Static would have been found. Replay swore up and down that he'd taken out the superhero, maybe even killed him. Yeah, and I'm a hoochie-koochie girl, Ebon thought as he listened to the rumbling of the cars above him. Aquamaria, Talon and I do the strip-tease for Joker on Saturday nights.

He slammed his fist against the stone wall beside him. How am I supposed to enjoy Gear if I'm worried about Static? The fly boy was supposed to be dead before I took my prize. But… He groaned. What else could I do? I couldn't let Slipstream have my whore and I couldn't let him go. If I didn't take him, someone else would have. He was unconscious by the time I came back. If Slipstream hadn't taken him, Carmen would have. Or Replay would have killed him just for spite.

Remembering why he'd been put out of the fight so early, Ebon glared down at the Shock Vox. I can't wait until Static is found, dead or alive. Gear needs to be punished.

The clock struck midnight and Ebon smiled in the darkness. He laughed softly, a sound that would have chilled the blood of those that drove over the bridge above him. But they couldn't hear. Like most men, they had no idea what lurked in the innocent shadows. And, like most men, they didn't want to know.

Half furious and half aroused, Ebon thought, Ready or not, little whore, here I come.

oOo

Backpack?

The connection was probably still down, but he kept trying. It was either that or let his fears in. He also tried Virgil, but less frequently; he wasn't sure how much that connection actually communicated. If I'd looked at the plans beforehand, or analyzed it with Backpack, I would know. Too late now. Besides, it's a mechanical connection, as opposed to the one BP and I share. And since it's non-organic, it can be traced. If Virg is hurt, or if he's on his way here to rescue me, I'll be damned if I'd give away his position.

Staring blindly up at the ceiling, every thought turned to the connections that might be rebuilt, Gear's lips didn't even twitch at the thought, even though he liked to think of himself as someone who wouldn't use words like damned. Likewise, he had ceased praying. Everything had coalesced around the need to contact Backpack.

I don't know how long I've been here, he acknowledged, and I saw how badly that missile or whatever it was hurt BP, but if I don't do something besides conserve my energy... He had wondered, half-seriously, when he awoke how long the body could remain on full alert. Now he knew that the dangerous answer was that the human body couldn't go on indefinitely. Yes, he'd known that on some level, had tried to keep his heart from racing. But he hadn't counted on the mental slothfulness that accompanied being held immobile for so long. Trying to contact Backpack was the only way he to keep him from turning into a vegetable. When the Metabreed shows up, I can't afford to kick my mind back into wakefulness.

The only light source in the room dimmed, flickered and went out. All at once, Gear found plenty to occupy his mind.

As if they were alive in their own right, his other senses took over for his thwarted sight. He heard the thundering pace of his heart and the sudden shallowness of his breathing. Fighting against terror- it's natural for people to be afraid of the dark, he thought, but I can't afford to be natural right now- he used the warm feeling of the sheets beneath him to ground himself in a world that defied his most relied upon sense. Gear swore he could smell something wet, but he thought that might be only his imagination. What could have entered the room that hadn't been there before? And how could a smell be so strong when the air had been odorless only moments ago?

A question, brief as heat lightning and just as meaningless, lit his mind. Did the Big Bang make me like this, where I can immediately use my other senses to the amazing degree disabled people are said to be able to do? His senses, especially smell, wouldn't let him even get a proper grasp on the question; in the next instant, it was gone.

But even as he turned his mind away from the phantom smell, as he strained to hear, his mind refused to be left completely out of the business of seeking understand and information. Now I know whose room I'm in. As distasteful and groundless as the idea was, Gear couldn't deny a certain rough logic it possessed. I'm tied to a bed in Ebon's room. And he turned of the lights because he doesn't need light and because he's trying to frighten me.

He considered calling out, but didn't want his voice to give away any part of what he felt. Because, even if I deny it until perpetual motion's a reality, I'm scared. My heart is beating faster and my breathing is still struggling to shorten. He couldn't center himself properly; ground himself a little, yes, but not center. His senses wouldn't stop trying to feed him information, false or true. Silently, he swore, unconsciously using anger as his shield when serenity failed.

Something heavy and decidedly warm draped itself across his chest. If the blonde was going to lose his battle with fear and scream, this would have been the time. As it was, Gear tensed, bit his lip and waited to see what would follow. At least I'm still dressed. I wonder how long that will last.

Shut up before you make things worse!

That smell of something wet had invaded his nose, conquering any doubt that he was imagining things.

The thing on his chest took shape and Gear sensed the general outline of a man above him. He couldn't be sure of the impression since he was immersed in total darkness, but he trusted his intuition.

His suspicion was confirmed when a hand was laid over his groin. Long fingers stroked lightly, seeking not only to arouse but to trick their victim into relaxing.

Is it Ebon? Yes, I think it is, but if I'm wrong… And forget my attempt to keep fear out of my voice. If it's out, it's out, and if it's heard, it's heard. I must speak. "Is this the only way you can get anyone in bed with you?"

No answer; the hand continued its caress. Gear felt the first stirrings of pleasure.

Unsure who he was talking to, only knowing that he had to cover his fear with anger, Gear thought, Fuck you, then. "Ebon, you've sunk really low if this is the only way you can fill your bed."

Still no answer. Another hand was playing with the fastenings of Gear's costume. The catch beneath his chin was released, and the zipper seemed to part of its own free and malicious will. The hand between his legs at last moved away. The fabric covering his chest was pulled back and down, exposing his t-shirt. Both hands came to rest on the last, thin protection. Thumbs dipped under the costume to find Gear's nipples. Here the hands lingered, working the sensitive flesh into firm points.

I've got to say something. I can't just let him… But he found a part of him wanted to do just that. This was the part of him that should have been strongest: his superhero side. But the darkness had robbed him of strength. And what good would talking do, anyway? Ebon- or whoever this is- is going to do what they want. If I just lay here, they'll probably be done with me sooner. A whore who gives as much of a response as a hole in the wall isn't much fun.

That wet smell was more like rotting, drowned worms, he decided, than like wet leaves or anything even half so innocent. Wet leaves had a way of reminding Richie of the time last fall when he'd flown with Virgil just after a light rain. The park they'd stopped in had been-

The hands had left his nipples and were unfastening his belt. The loss of comforting weight shattered Richie's memory.

It was dark inside Brainiac, too. But I felt safer there. At least I could touch the walls. Here I don't know the dimensions of my prison. He didn't understand how that fact made things worse, but refused to deny its truth. My only defense now is to believe what I know is true.

And why do I need a mental defense, anyway? I'm about to be raped, but at least I'm alone in my mind.

I don't want to be alone in my mind. I want Backpack. I want VirgilHe felt the burning in his eyes and realized he was about to cry. At least whoever's about to rape me can't see that.

The weight had left his chest and for a moment Richie wondered if his trick had worked. Had lying still convinced the presence above him that the teen on the bed was either unconscious or determined to be unresponsive?

Then his right shoe was unlaced, and Richie knew it had been foolish to even hope for such things. The wet smell had retreated slightly and Richie was grateful for that. He found it much easier to breathe without worrying if drowned worms were going to be dropped on him. Yeah, my face is covered, but still- His left shoe was removed. An instant later, twin cracks were heard. Those were my shoes hitting the wall or the floor.

In spite of the darkness, in spite of the invisible man above me, I'm still in a room and still in charge of my sanity. I'm safer here than I was with Brainiac; here I can think. Cold hands were pulling his socks off. Richie shivered. H-Here I can reason. I'm much better off here than I was with Brainiac. I'm in charge of my mind. I can use my mind as a weapon. If I can keep it clear.

His socks were gone. Something hot and wet- my God, it's either his tongue or a slug warmed in the sun- traveled up his arch, forcing a breathy giggle from Richie's lips.

If I can keep it clear.

Wait. God! Yes, God! Lord, you've got to help me! Keep me calm if you can't free me. Please help me. No immediate reassurance or mind-stilling calmness wrapped itself around him.

The slug slimed its way up the instep of his other foot. Richie managed to keep his surprise to himself.

Virg! Virgil, please.

He likewise kept from releasing the wild bout of laughter that leapt into his throat. I wonder how he'll get my pants off. If he has to untie me, I can fight. But how will that help? I can't get out of this room; there's no door.

You don't know that. Maybe whoever's in here made it dark so you couldn't see the door opening.

But if it's Ebon-

What if it's not?

A sound much like Backpack's arsenal of tools springing from his back heralded the answer to some of Richie's questions. A moment later, something sharp touched his leg. Richie did his best not to move as the knife cut through his pants.

At least he isn't trying to purposely cut me. There's that to be grateful for at least.

Richie thought that if he tried to be grateful for one more thing he might burst out laughing. Not good. I'll sound crazy and broken and vulnerable, but, much worse, I'll move, then whoever is undressing me will really cut me. He'll have no choice.

His pants fell away.

The dead-worm smell grew stronger. A hand touched his chest and Richie tensed; he couldn't help it. How does he know where to cut? Maybe I was just lucky he didn't cut me to shreds when he was-

The knife-tip touched his chest.

Keep it together, Rich, he thought, surprised to find that the voice in his mind was more like Virgil's than his own. Not that he thought the connection was working again. No, he knew it was his own mind speaking. Still, the mental voice kept him still as the knife slit his t-shirt up the sides then cut it away from around his neck.

Something went bump as it was put down, and Richie realized that it was the first sound he'd heard (or at least concentrated on) in a while. He'd been so preoccupied with that smell. And with the feeling of the slug-tongue and the knife, of course.

Hands removed his ruined t-shirt.

Next: boxers or helmet? Richie honestly wasn't sure which he dreaded losing more. But he guessed the boxers would come off next; there was no light to reveal who he was, after all. What was the fun of unmasking a superhero if you couldn't see who he or she really was?

Full lips attacked the naked flesh of Richie's chest and neck. The blonde tried to lower his chin, wanting to protect the sensitive pulse-point on the side of his neck, Virgil had yet to really suckle at that place, but Brainiac had done so, and Richie dreaded the memories that would come if his invisible assailant found the same place. Having Brainiac's lips there made me jump and made me hard. He shivered and felt the lips that had moved nearly to the juncture between his neck and shoulder smile.

A hand touched his helmet, then, but seemingly not to remove it. Instead, the hand urged him to tilt his head. Richie refused.

That hand remained where it was, but the other hand went between Richie's legs. The lips left his shoulder. Fingers closed around Richie's balls, not tightly, but-

They will if I don't do what he wants. Richie knew he would be no use to anyone if he could scarcely breathe, let alone walk. Besides, I'm scared. I don't want him to hurt me. He tilted his head.

The smiling lips were back, this time against his neck, suckling just where he'd feared. How did he find that one spot so quickly in the dark? Another shiver ran through him, but his time it wasn't a wholly unpleasant one. Fuck. He felt the tears starting again. I can't fight, I can't run, I can't even speak, because it won't do any good. I'm trapped. I'm a whore, and there's nothing I can do but submit.

This is a lot like my dream. Except the man next to me isn't huge, and he isn't on top of me. Yet. How did I handle myself in the dream? Easy; I submitted in every way. And that includes in my mind. I let myself be used, knowing that I had no choice and accepting it. I can't do that here.

Or can I? What if I give control over to whoever this is and then, either when I'm trusted or when I'm in a place where I can fight, I break free? It's better than giving up an inch at a time. I can seem to give up without really surrendering anything. Richie kept the smile from his face and tilted his head a little further, giving better access to his precious neck. And even if my body likes it, that doesn't matter. It's what I think that matters.

Teeth nibbled gently on his ear. Richie tried not to tense as it occurred to him that the teen might actually bite. But they didn't and he relaxed again. He considered moaning, but thought that might be a bit much. Let him think he's winning me over in stages, that I've never been touched before or pleasured. Overacting could be more disastrous than not acting at all. Richie wasn't sure where he'd heard that, but it made perfect sense. He continued to stiffen whenever the lips moved to a new place, then to relax again as they still did him no harm.

And, if nothing else, his plan ensured that he ceased to think of the dead worm smell that hovered around the man above him, or the darkness that had threatened to destroy his reason only a few minutes ago.

oOo

Virgil blinked at the face before him, wondering how hard he'd hit his head. Hotstreak was sitting in front of him, and he, Virgil, hadn't been roasted yet. What sort of screwed up, hit-over-the-head dream was this? Unsure if he would be able to move, figuring he would at least find himself tied down, Virgil reached up to see if his mask was still in place. He could tell he was still wearing the rest of his costume, but sometimes he wore the mask for so long that it started to feel like a part of his face.

His fingers touched his own skin by his eye and he saw Hotstreak smirk. Now what do I do?

"It's nice to know I was right," Hotstreak said.

Virgil started to sit up, but Hotstreak pointed upwards and Virgil followed his finger. Above the couch that he lay on (Where am I, anyway?) was a bucket. Virgil understood what that bucket meant immediately and sighed, relaxing back on the cushions. "What do you want?" Then, remembering Slipstream carrying Gear, he added, "And where's Gear?"

"Richie's with Ebon, unless Slipstream took him for his own use." Hotstreak turned a chair backwards and straddled it, folding his arms on top. He relished the shocked look on Virgil's face for a moment, then said, "I've known Richie was Gear for almost a month. I came to the hospital the same night the K jerks tried to kidnap him. And you weren't there to defend him, so all he had was a bucket of water and his walking computer."

"And you didn't take him because…?"

"I don't care about Gear or Foley, either." Hotstreak grinned. "I have what I want."

Virgil sighed. "Look, Hotstreak, I don't have time for this. I don't know what Ebon wants with G- with Richie, but I need to rescue him. We can fight later, if you want. I'll even come soaked so I can't use my powers." Hotstreak snorted, but Virgil ignored the contemptuous sound. "But I need to get to him."

"If I let you go, I'm an idiot. And if you really came back, you'd be an even bigger one. Besides," Hotstreak added, holding up his faintly-flaming hand to stop Virgil's protest, "Ebon's probably already gotten what he wanted."

What could Ebon want from Gear? Help with some world-altering machine? "Richie wouldn't sell out."

"No, but he'll play the whore easily enough, I'll bet. Especially if Ebon convinces your boyfriend that you're in danger."

Virgil leapt off the couch. "Take that back you son of a bitch!" The bucket tipped, but only a few drops of water hit Virgil. He slammed into Hotstreak, so furious he didn't at first even think to use his powers. But before Hotstreak could take advantage, Virgil had regained a little of his common sense and hit the human torch with a tazer punch that would have knocked out most metahumans at twenty paces. Hotstreak stiffened, fought for consciousness, and lost.

Virgil jumped to his feet and kicked the unconscious metahuman in the ribs once, twice, and once again. Then Richie's voice seemed to speak up in his mind.

Virg! Virgil, please.

Please what, Rich? Do you want me to stop?

There was no answer.

I'm imagining things. But Virgil looked down at Hotstreak and for the first time it occurred to him that the other metahuman could have killed him and didn't. Could have bound him and didn't. Why? What did he want?

He glanced around the tiny room, looking for answers. He saw the window and thought, We're on the second floor of some run-down building. Virgil looked back at Hotstreak.

He said 'I have what I want.' And what exactly was that? To have me here, but for what? What was he planning to do with me? Sighing, Virgil realized that he couldn't go looking for Richie without getting a few things straight. He bound Hotstreak, put him on the couch, made sure the bucket was in place if need be, then stood back. Wait. He trusted me. I could look at where it got him, or I could try trust. He shook his head. He won't trust me after I jumped him.

Unless I apologize. He sighed. All right, I'll untie him. But this doesn't feel right. Still, I don't know if I'll be able to find Richie without help. Ebon probably assumes I'm still alive and if he has any brains at all he'll have either crushed Richie's Shock Vox or planted it somewhere dangerous. I can't trust it.

He groaned as he untied Hotstreak and sat down to wait. And I've got to find Backpack. He was damaged; he's still there in the alley. Unless one of the Metabreed picked him up. Or destroyed him.

Shaking his head, he decided that all he could do was wait and see. Hotstreak probably won't help me; he'll kick my ass and take me to Ebon or kill me. But what else can I do?

Then he grinned and said, "I could call the Justice League."

"If they go charging into Ebon's secret place, he'll kill Foley for sure." Hotstreak was struggling to sit up. "And you don't even know where Ebon's current hideout is." He rubbed at his side.

Is it my imagination or does he sound almost intelligent? Virgil thought he was being forced to ask too many unanswerable questions. "What do you suggest I do then?" he asked, not bothering to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

Hotstreak shrugged. "How should I know? All I care about is that you won't fight me until Foley's safe." He laughed at the second shocked expression he'd drawn out of Virgil that day. But the laughter was short; it made his head and his side ache. With his head in his hands, he said, "You've always been protective of people, Virgil, but especially of Foley. And when Gear showed up, and I saw Static imitate that pattern, I could have guessed who his partner was and who Static was."

He looked up, meeting Virgil's gaze. "So all I want right now is to save Foley so I can fight you on even terms again."

"Wouldn't you rather have me like this?" Virgil asked. "You know, distracted?"

"You're about as distracted as a lioness watching out for her cubs. You're a pissed off demon when there's even the slightest danger to Foley. So, no, I don't want to fight you when you're like this."

"You're afraid of me."

Hotstreak snorted. "Think about what you just said. I'm not afraid of anyone." He smiled a little. "No, I just want you like you normally are."

"You want to beat me to prove yourself."

Hotstreak's hands burst into flame. "Quit talking about things you have no clue about. Why I want to fight you is my own business. But I can't have what I want until Foley's safe." The flames grew smaller, went out. "So, let's call a truce. I'll help you find Foley if you agree that the Justice League won't turn around and drag my ass off to jail."

"And how do I know you aren't just trying to lure me into a trap?" But even as he said it, Virgil couldn't imagine Hotstreak going to such lengths to help Ebon. But if he wants me… No. He wants to fight me, not have me trapped. For some reason I don't understand, he wants a fair fight. Virgil weighed his options for another moment. "Agreed. They'll let you go after we defeat Ebon."

"And I'm not going to help you fight," Hotstreak said, standing. "I'll show you where Ebon has Foley, and that's all."

Virgil nodded impatiently and started towards the door.

"Wait. You can't go out like that."

Virgil turned, his eyes glowing. "And why the hell not?"

"Because Ebon will have scouts out looking for you." Hotstreak pointed to a long trench coat that had been draped over the back of a chair.

Virgil hesitated, then strode to the chair. He picked up the coat, thinking, This reminds me of Richie's. He began turning the coat in his hands, looking for the tag, curious to see if it was the same brand. The one he lost last year when… Well, that explains some things. Virgil stared at the tag inside the coat. Burlington, it read and below that in fading marker: R. Foley.

"You stole Rich's coat!" Virgil spun around to face Hotstreak.

"Hey, he left it alone for a minute and I was freezing."

Virgil laughed. "Right. You, cold? That's like saying it snows in the tropics."

Hotstreak shrugged and headed towards the door. "You coming or what?"

Virgil slipped the coat on, at once plunging his hands into the impossibly deep pockets Richie used to fill with strange gadgets, folded comics and even sometimes his lunch. "Just a minute. I want to find my-" His fingers touched something in the left pocket and Virgil pulled it out. Hotstreak was chuckling from out in the hallway. "My mask," Virgil muttered, putting his secret identity protector back in the pocket.

Rhaenen: Well, here it is. After this week, chapters should come more quickly. By the way, where did you come up with your e-name, and what does it mean?

Sailor Vegeta: I guess I need to make sure everybody knows when I'm writing a sequel. But it won't be happening for a while. I'm glad you're enjoying this.

Tristripe: Another cliffhanger, but mostly because I'm trying to keep all these chapters the same length a la Stephen King's Dark Tower series. But I'd be a liar if I didn't also add it's because I'm not sure if Backpack's bit is next, or the Justice League or what.

anacsadder: I wish I knew what exactly is going on with Hotstreak. Well, as soon as he tells me, I'll tell everybody else.

Moonjava: Richie definitely needs a hug about now. It's hard when he gets what he wants- to be alone in his mind- then he doesn't want it anymore.