Ellen wheeled her way to the TV room, humming cheerily. Her arms and upper body had strengthened from constant use and she was proud of herself. She'd made minimal progress with her legs; she could barely wiggle her toes. Dr. Branigan told her not to lose hope just yet, though, and today was a pleasant sunshiney day so she didn't feel bad--even if she was followed by all times by a police escort outside her room.

One of the other patients was watching the news she noticed, rolling her wheelchair closer.

A reporter was standing in front of a bunch of milling, shouting, nearly rioting people on the black and white television set. "I'm here on the scene where a group of protesters have turned violent," she said into her microphone. "They'd been calling for the immediate death of the patient housed inside the hospital known only as Otis B. Driftwood. Some are even armed and have continued to resist the police force sent to pacify them."

Shouts in the background could be heard. "Kill him!" "Death to the rapist!" "...a blight on society!"

"This is beginning to look like a lynch mob," the female reporter went on.

"Oh, shit! Oh, shit oh shit oh shit," Ellen exclaimed. It wouldn't take much for that group to turn on her and be here to drag her out and hang her, or worse. It had hurt her when she'd learned of her adopted brother's suicide attempt, and she still hadn't regained her memory, nor did it seem to be likely any time soon. "I gotta do something," she told herself out loud. "I gotta go!" She made for the corridor. One of the nurses called for a doctor while the officers ran after her. Man, she could roll when the mood hit her.

One of them managed to take hold of the handle and with a tremendous tug stopped her. "Let go," she cried. "I have to save him. They're gonna kill him!"

The officers looked at one another, at a loss. What should they do? They can't just shoot a woman in a wheelchair, but they were supposed to make sure she didn't do anything dangerous to herself or others. She kept trying to make the chair go and the cop refused to let go.

Dr. Lowell came dashing up, demanding to know what was going on. "A lynch mob is gonna kill Otis, and they can't be allowed to do that! It'll be chaos all over if they go through with it! I have to stop em!"

The black-haired young doctor crossed his arms, planting himself in front of her. "Listen to what you're saying. You, a woman in a wheelchair, your own position precarious at best, going to go confront a bunch of rioters?"

"What would YOU do if it was your brother," she challenged. "If you don't let me go I may have to do something bad."

"Bad," repeated Dr. Lowell, a worried frown forming on his face. "What would you do?"

"This," she said, ballling her fist and putting it in the cop's crotch restraining her chair. He doubled over, groaning, and the other policeman yelled in surprise. Orderlies had come to the rescue but surprisingly Dr. Lowell waved them back.

"Please, no more punching guys in the nuts," he told her, backing off a bit himself. "If you must go, then we'll have to go with you."

"Speak for yourself," squeaked the officer in the floor clutching himself.

When they arrived at the scene things had worsened; the mob had stormed the hospital, rolling over the doctors and orderlies on the ground floor, then had begun searching for Otis's room.

"Let me through! Let me through," Ellen barked, her visage and voice projecting authority. Surprisingly enough, the gathering crowd of onlookers parted to let the invalid by. She was flanked by two officers and Dr. Lowell, who was resigned at this point of losing his job at best. Someone recognized her as she pushed herself along. "It's Baby Firefly," they called. "She's here! The shit will hit the fan now!"

"Fuck off," she tossed over her shoulder. Jeez, did she look like a tank? She wasn't doing the whole guns-blazing-Bonnie-and-Clyde shit again.

They finally found a working, unoccupied elevator (one the rioters hadn't trashed to prevent easy pursuit) and made it upstairs to behold the lyncher duking it out with the officers guarding Otis. Gunsmoke filled the hallway and Ellen flinched every time a gun went off. God, that was loud indoors! One of her guards took hold of her chair and pushed her as the group sprinted toward the action. Otis bellowing could be heard over the lessening fire as the guards were gunned down. Ellen's wheels slid in the crimson pools leading to the room and she tried not to look at the floor.

"Come to collect the Boogeyman," taunted the wraith. "Will that make ye sleep better, fuzznuts?"

"Get him!" "Tie him up!" "Better yet, string him up!" "Naw, let's castrate 'im first!"

The doorway was clogged with bodies and sounds of a scuffle could be discerned from inside. "Stop! STOP IT," Ellen cried at the top of her lungs.

"Whoozat?" "Go look," came the voices of the rioters.

The cop gave the chair a mighty push and they were through. The room was butcher's block--nurses, orderlies and doctors all had been shot. Anyone who stood in the way of their quarry.

"Holy shit," one of the men said. "It's that Firefly bitch. Two for the price o' one!"

"Shuddup," she shouted, getting a surprised silence. "What the hell you think you're doing? Executing a criminal?" Sounds of assent. "Who made you judge, jury and executioner? What gave you the right to hurt and kill these people here? They'd done nothing wrong!"

"They was harboring this fiend," interjected a woman, one of the few in the group.

"You ain't seen shit," growled Otis, a man on either side of him holding his arms.

"Otis, damn you, shut up a minute," she shot at him. He blinked his faded eyes--that seemed like the Baby he was used to. "Lynching ain't justice, folks. It's being scared busybodies who jump the gun and hurt innocent people. That's what Otis has been accused of, harming innocents. Think about it. Without the Law, you're all just like him. Just like I was."

The group mostly look around and at one another, letting her words sink in. "Who are YOU to lecture us on the Law? You're Baby fuckin' Firefly! A murderin', thievin', kidnappin' whore!"

"Yeah? So? SO? You wanna wallow in that same filth, pig? I had to get shot 26 times all over my body and in the head to straighten my shit out. Is the same thing gonna have to be done to you?"

"Yeah? Who's gonna do it," taunted the bearded man. Weapons were trained on the little band of newcomers.

"Well..," Ellen said, bringing into view from under her dress a sawed-off she'd retrieved from one of the fallen lynchers. "This thing has a pretty good spray from that end, so I understand." Blue-green eyes glitter menacingly.

The big lug pursed his lips, sweat beading on his forehead. Sirens could be heard outside the building, the shouts of police and FBI, probably. They'd wasted valuble time. Turning themselves over to the authorities suddenly sounded much better than being peppered with buckshot. The bitch was outnumbered, but in this enclosed area it wouldn't matter, everyone would die. The slut looked like she meant business. He lowered his gun and the others followed suit.

"Let him go," she ordered, and they acquiesced. "Now get out, and go surrender to the police. Leave your guns with the nice officer behind me." She watched them slowly file out, handing their weapons to the cop. Dr. Lowell, astounded and speechless, ended up holding several guns still hot from heavy use. Only after they could hear the surrender of the mob did she breathe at last, lowering the shotgun. She wouldn't have known how to use it, but she sure had those dumbasses believing she did.

Otis limped to her, falling to his knees next to her. His wiry arms went around her. "Aw, Baby..." he sobbed. He looked up, scanning her face. "You're not Baby," he declared for the second time. "But she's in there. I saw her. I would say, now's the time for us to go, but we ain't in no condition to run, are we?" He chuckled. "You saved me from bein' offed like a little bitch, but I don't think there's much hope, is there?"

She stroked his lank, pale hair, considering how to respond. "I don't know, Otis. We can only make the best of it. I won't give up. Never."

He smiled. "That's my girl. My Angel."

Otis touched her face and she jumped then lowered her head till her forehead was touching his. "Otis? Otis," she said in a familiar tone. She threw her arms around him joyfully. "God," she said after looking him over "Half o' you is missin."

Otis, baffled, eyed her suspiciously.

"What's the matter with you? Why you lookin at me like that? It's me, Baby!"

"Angel Baby? Do you remember everything," he asked her, holding her hands in his maimed ones.

"I don't remember what happened to put me in a wheelchair. At least, I don't think." Her brow furrowed in thought. "Where's Daddy?"

"I think we should get her back to the hospital," suggested Dr. Lowell, motioning for the officer to bring her along.

"You ain't separatin' us again," exclaimed Baby, clutching Otis. "Where's my Pa?"

"He's dead, Baby. We all died, but we was revived. We went out fighting."

"No! No, that's not true," she cried, tears rolling down her face. "Not Daddy! No...," she hiccuped, eyes going wide. "I remember Wydell, he said Mama was dead...I remember..." She stiffened, then started convulsing, eyes rolling back in her head.

"Fuck, let's get her out of here," ordered the young doctor.

The young woman snatched the sawed-off still sitting beside her and twisted in her chair to use it on those standing in her way. Police and FBI were filtering into the small room but the officer who'd accompanied them shouted for them to stay back. The gun went off but thankfully the barrel was pointed at the ceiling, for Dr. Lowell had took hold of the weapon. The remaining shot went off, this time grazing some agents but mostly hitting the adjacent wall. Twisting the gun out of his grasp she smacked him in the jaw with it, making him see stars for a few moments. Then she launched herself out of her wheelchair, sliding on the blood-slick floor, grabbing another gun which was her intention, and brought it to bear.

Jeez, the young doctor thought, was she some kinda ninja? "No, don't shoot her," he squawked, stepping into the police line of fire. Desperate, he furiously kicked the wheelchair, sending it into her path. It hit her pretty hard, causing her to drop the rifle she'd siezed and earning a pained grunt from her. In a split second the place was crawling with officers who restrained a whooping Otis, whom they also had to relieve of several knives and guns he'd already managed to nick, and subdued a wailing, thrashing Baby. Dr. Lowell kept explaining she was under his care and needed to be back at the hospital for treatment. The FBI were more inclined to acede to this reasoning when she began spitting up and convulsing again.