To yellow 14: Fair question. At least the super-villain section of La Santé is closely tied to the prison infrastructure (for the power negation devices); moving them would have risked restoring their abilities. And given that they didn't know where the Tarasque would go or what it would do, there wasn't any safe place to evacuate the prisoners to. By the time they knew that the Tarasque was going toward the prison, it was too late and there were far too many other things going on at the same time. Regarding the cost, I forget which natural disaster I was looking at for economic impact, but I know I didn't take into account the hit to GDP. That could easily triple the cost!

That evening, Chrysaor left Headquarters at dusk, giving the city a quick flyby before he would begin his nightly patrol. Unfortunately, despite the city having been turned into a ghost town almost overnight, the city was far too large, with far too many people still living in it, for their very limited resources to be able to adequately patrol all of Paris. So many drones had been destroyed by the Tarasque, with so many more damaged – some beyond repair – that he was now down to 30% of the total number of droned they had had before the Tarasque fight. And unfortunately that number also included repurposing the cleaning drones along the Seine. They did not have the resources, even combining the Heroes of Paris and SLD, to be able to patrol the entire city; his attempts to make up that difference by himself were threatening to cause a breakdown soon enough.

But there would be time for recovery after Paris was on firmer footing, after the threat of the escaped prisoners had been neutralized.

He gave the city a cursory scan as he flew over it, flying straight up to the river before turning to follow it east toward city hall. Of the bridges over which he flew, only approximately 60% were still standing, of which a further 75% showed evidence of severe structural damage. Many of those had already been cordoned off by the Paris police, though a few remained open to pedestrians. Flying over one such bridge, Chrysaor scanned it carefully for signs of further structural damage before satisfying himself that it only had a 35% chance of collapse. Finally, flying a little higher on leaving the river, Chrysaor rotated forward, pointed his feet at the City Hall steps, and landed near the top, two steps below the pair of uniformed police officers standing guard. One of the two jumped slightly as he landed with a thud and deactivated his jets, but the other only gave him a thin-lipped nod. "Good evening officers," he greeted them, nodding.

The second officer sighed heavily, shaking his head with a sour expression on his face. "Not much has been overly good lately," he grumbled. "Not since that goddamn monster ripped a hole down the center of my city."

Chrysaor nodded. "Understood." Every day the police radio carried new reports of violence, of vigilantes – some would-be heroes; others civilians sick of the anarchy – fighting off looters and vandals. It had only been two days since the SLD began arming civilians; the violence had escalated on day one; he had not seen figures yet for day two to indicate whether the anticipated reduction in violence as the changed circumstances became known had materialized. Every day he waited for news that the SLD had succeeded in arresting or neutralizing more of the escaped super-criminals. Every night he took to the skies to lend his own night vision to the search. But so far, apart from the death of the first Mecha-Man pilot, a restoration of order to Paris remained nothing but a pipedream. But, despite the uncertainty, he had had time to work on his project today. "Perhaps that can change," he suggested, pulling a box out of the bag strapped to his hip. "Is he here?"

The first officer straightened his back, cleared his throat, and nodded. "Hasn't left yet."

"I expected as much," Chrysaor observed.

The front door opened, and both officers jumped to attention as Roger stepped out, looked both directions warily, and turned to the two officers. "At ease," he told them with a dismissive nod before his eyes settled on Chrysaor. "I wasn't expecting to see you here. You look… different."

"It is only a temporary disguise for patrols," Chrysaor explained. "Just until the current crisis is resolved."

Roger hummed. "Sometimes I wonder if it's ever going to be resolved," he muttered, frowning.

"That is a valid concern," Chrysaor agreed. "I think it will, though I have no timeline for when it will happen. But at present–" Chrysaor held his box out to Roger "–I have a delivery."

Roger took the box and opened it carefully, staring at the contents in surprise before looking up at Chrysaor, his eyes wide. "I–I don't believe it! How did you–?"

"Convey my apologies to Officer Luron that it is not of a higher quality," Chrysaor told Roger. "We have unfortunately been constrained by the low availability of quality materials. However, it will offer him some degree of dexterity, and the mounting port will be reasonably simple, both to install and to upgrade." He paused. "I intend to produce an upgraded version for him within the month, once I locate a few of the necessary components. Sooner… if normality returns."

Gently, almost reverently, Roger lifted out the prosthetic hand, examining it carefully, and rolled it over a couple times before returning it to the box and handing it to one of the officers. "Place that on my desk for now," he instructed him.

As the officer brought it inside, Chrysaor frowned. The prosthetic had not turned out quite like his initial design: he lacked the materials to cover the chrome fingers with synthetic skin and hide the metal frame. The fingers were clunky and thick, and without regular maintenance they could stick. But as long as the port was installed properly and did not become infected, Officer Luron would retain full mobility in the prosthetic and it would be simple to swap for an improved version.

"I think Ray will be happy – or as happy as can be expected, given the circumstances," Roger told Chrysaor. He chuckled humorlessly. "We've had so little to be happy about lately, seeing Ray up and about will be a good morale boost. Thank you."

Chrysaor nodded. "You are welcome. M. Vernant can install it?"

"After looking at the initial plan, he assured me it wouldn't be a problem." Roger sighed heavily. "But for tonight…" He nodded to the second officer, but hesitated on the steps. "You heard about today?"

"About the miraculous?" asked Chrysaor. Roger nodded. "I did. How is Officer Roux?"

Roger frowned. "He's… recovering. But we can't handle Sandy now – not when she has a miraculous. Do you…?"

Chrysaor hummed. Trusted though Roger may be, certain secrets could not be revealed. "We are discussing options," he allowed. "For now, my only counsel is to avoid confrontation."

Roger raised an eyebrow. "We already figured that out for ourselves," he pointed out.

The officer standing next to Roger cleared his throat. "Sir?" he began, looking up and down the street. "You shouldn't stay out here for too long."

Roger sighed. "Yes, you're right, Gomis." Turning to Chrysaor he gave him a hard look. "Keep me informed when you figure out a plan."

"Understood, Prefect," Chrysaor responded, nodding. "I will. Have a good night."

"You, too." Roger gave him a wry smile before walking down the steps and climbing into his car with Gomis behind the wheel. Almost immediately the car took off, tearing down the deserted streets.

Quietly, Chrysaor activated his jets, taking off into the sky and turning to parallel Roger's car from the air, scanning the streets in all directions for signs of movement. So far as they were aware, no one outside of the SLD and select members of the ad hoc city government realized the role that Roger played in keeping Paris in operation during this crisis, but it would not do for that information to get out – especially if Mind-Wipe were to learn of it. Roger and Gomis drove back to the Raincomprix apartment quickly, and as they arrived Chrysaor tasked one of his drones to monitor the neighborhood before he wheeled about and aimed his fists toward the Dupain-Chengs' bakery to begin his patrol circuit. A couple of the lights were on in the second-floor apartment; through the window he could see Emilie and Cosette setting the table. A long, lithe creature lay curled up on the balcony, scanning the streets on either side with unblinking eyes. It turned its penetrating gaze on Chrysaor, who gave the senti-guardian a curt salute, at which it lay its head back down.

Yet again, Paris was disconcertingly quiet and dark. While the remaining city workers had succeeded in extending power to most of the city, very few of the remaining survivors had moved back into those sectors, preferring to remain where they had taken shelter in the initial chaotic days, creating small pockets of life on the east and west sides of the city. In the light of the sunset, Chrysaor could pick out a small group of people walking down the street in one of the newly-powered arrondissements, looking about furtively. As they paused and examined the sky, Chrysaor turned in their direction. Two of the people carried long, thin pieces of debris, holding them like clubs. Another appeared to have what looked like an energy rifle slung over his shoulder. They could be looters – one of the roving gangs that had formed in the initial week after the Tarasque… or they could be an ad hoc neighborhood watch – one of the vigilante groups that had formed around the same time to stop the gangs. Quickly, Chrysaor summoned the drone assigned to that sector and assigned it to monitor the group.

"Now what are you doing out here, hero?"

Chrysaor froze and turned to follow the voice to his left. Finding the speaker he cocked his head, examining him closely. "Albailier? What are you doing here?"

Albailier raised an eyebrow dubiously, pumping his long wings to maintain his altitude while gliding in a wide loop around Chrysaor. Chrysaor rotated slowly in midair, constantly keeping Albailier in his field of view. "I would have thought that's obvious," Albailier replied sardonically. "I'm doing the same thing you're doing, right? I'm wondering what's going on around this city."

Chrysaor scoffed. "I thought you had escaped with the others."

Albailier held his arms out. "Apparently not." He shrugged. "Just as well, I suppose. Not much in it for me if I had gone with them. But here? All kinds of opportunities."

Chrysaor's eyes narrowed, studying the man's movements carefully. "Do you intend to capitalize on the chaos?"

"There are worse thinks to do during the apocalypse," Albailier pointed out, chuckling. He gestured toward the group below them on the street. "Take those morons, for example."

"After you assisted against the Tarasque, I am hesitant to fight you." Chrysaor pumped more power to his jets, ascending a little above Albailier. "But I will stop you, if you force me. The rest of us are trying to protect people, to restore a semblance of order in the midst of the chaos."

"Seems a little shortsighted," Albailier replied, catching an updraft and flying up above Chrysaor. He froze in place for a moment before pulling in his wings and twisting around into a steep dive. Flaring his wings out, he returned to Chrysaor's altitude, eyeing him carefully. "Me, I'm willing to do whatever I have to do to make sure I'm okay."

"Right…" Chrysaor nodded. "You are a mercenary. So… who is paying your bills currently? The Lynchpin?"

Albailier shook his head. "Haven't heard from him since all the madness started," he replied. "He offered €1000 for anyone who fought the Tarasque – €100,000 to whoever stopped it – but the internet's been out and my bank was trashed. I guess that leaves me… freelance for now."

"So he did not pay?"

Albailier shrugged noncommittally. "We'll see – if things go back to normal. He'd better have paid. But in the meantime…" He glanced down at the ground. "Looks like easy prey."

Chrysaor turned to follow his gaze. The three men he had seen before had stopped next to a convenience store which had been boarded up, the large glass windows lying shattered on the ground. One of the men pried off a board and jumped inside, handing objects out to the others through the opening. At a command, Chrysaor sent the location to the police.

Albailier swooped lower, only to wheel about and return to Chrysaor's altitude. He hummed. "Maybe not; doesn't look like they found anything more exciting than a few bags of chips."

"It is still theft," Chrysaor pointed out, his mouth set in a thin line.

"Maybe… but if it keeps them alive…"

"True," Chrysaor allowed, cancelling the police call. "But if everyone resorts to looting and hoarding for themselves, then the shortages will continue," he pointed out. "And if that happens, everyone will suffer."

"Everyone is already suffering; this is just a way to ease your own suffering."

Chrysaor frowned. "Is that what you intend to do? Steal to stay alive? Steal to look out for yourself while the rest of the city crumbles around you?"

"Well, if I have the skills…" Albailier mused, arching an eyebrow.

"If you have the skills," Chrysaor retorted, "you can do great harm or great good for the people of Paris. Which are you going to choose?"

Albailier shrugged. "I haven't decided yet."