Wednesday, May 17th, 2017
Camino Del Rio North, San Diego
21:09 GMT-7 (04:09 GMT May 18th)
Lilim and Riptide
The pair were accelerating down the road when they heard the unmistakeable chainsaw sound of a minigun engaging.
The sound sent a chill down each of their backbones. Miniguns were always bad and they both knew that neither Lilith nor Trauma was armed with such a weapon. However, they had their own problems as they raced east, attempting to put some significant distance between them and their pursuers. Somehow, they had to get rid of both SUVs, and the eight men within them, before they could meet up with the rest of their team. One thing that they had going for them was their unique knowledge of the immediate area around their former home. Lilim had been forced to learn every street, every sidewalk, every signpost, every road marking. At the time, Lilim had seen Lilith's insistence on something so mundane to be beneath her, but Lilim now savoured that intimate knowledge of her surroundings as she focussed on a plan of escape.
"Riptide, follow me!" she ordered as she overtook Riptide and took a right onto Fairmount Avenue.
Riptide did exactly that, knowing that his partner knew the roads in that area much better than he did. Catching the manoeuvre, the powerful SUVs followed suit, burning rubber as they took the same turn. The motorcycles had better acceleration but were worse over a straight stretch when high speed came into play. Without any warning and leaving the brakes to the very last second, Lilim turned right onto Camino Del Rio South and they accelerated hard. The heavy SUVs almost missed the turn, losing valuable time as they battled to re-join the chase. The two motorcycles raced at high speed along the street, dodging around errant drivers who got in the way. On the long straight stretch of the street, the SUVs with their bigger engines gained precious ground.
"You got a trick to get us out of here?" Riptide asked as he found the front bumper of a large SUV just feet from his rear tyre.
"Yeah," Lilim replied somewhat dubiously, hoping they would actually reach the point where her trick to get away would take place.
San Diego Mission Road
21:11 GMT-7 (04:11 GMT May 18th)
Lilith and Trauma
The minigun had come as a rude surprise to the pair, but they were professionals and they handled it in the only way they knew how.
"This way!" Lilith yelled as she spun her rear tyre and she reversed course, heading for the north exit and out onto San Diego Mission Road, heading west towards Qualcomm Stadium.
They were pushing their machines, accelerating hard in the straights and leaning on the brakes as they turned into the bends. Their agility and acceleration bought them precious extra seconds and put extra distance between them and their foe. Both Predators were experts at riding motorcycles and they used every skill that they possessed. Together, they performed a tight turn at the entrance to the stadium, picking up Friars Road, heading east. They took a green light at ninety before reducing speed and taking a red light at twenty, then ramping back up to fifty and on to seventy.
At the KFC on Mission Gorge Road, Lilith took the turn at speed before burning a six-metre strip of tyre rubber onto the parking lot blacktop as she came to a rapid halt. She did not even bother with the stand as she leapt off, leaving the motorcycle to crash onto its left side. She bolted for a row of shrubs which were planted along the south side of the store, yanking two of the shrubs out of the ground and feverishly digging in the soil beneath them. Several of the clientele wondered what the hell was going on – they were watching the vigilante, known only as Lilith, going crazy!
"Gotcha!" Lilith yelled as she pulled out a large holdall, shaking off the soil.
Trauma was holding position at the entrance to the KFC, his submachine gun raised. Lilith ripped open the holdall and she produced a pair of long tubes, passing one over to Trauma.
"Oh, yeah!" he growled. "Fucking little squirrel, you are!"
The pair of SUVs came racing down the street less than a minute later to find their targets kneeling down in the centre of the street. It took precious seconds for the men in the SUVs to realise what was going on and even as the M134D minigun began to chew up the street as the stream of bullets marched towards the pair of vigilantes, a pair of bright flashes turned night into day as the 66-millimetre M72E8 LAW rockets roared from their launch tubes, striking both SUVs, a little over a second later.
"That was cool!" a man commented before he went back to his bucket of chicken, enjoying the sight of the two SUVs exploding and lighting up the night.
As the SUVs cooked, Lilith and Trauma accelerated away on their motorcycles.
Camino Del Rio North, San Diego
21:19 GMT-7 (04:19 GMT May 18th)
Lilim and Riptide
With just yards to spare, Lilim turned left into the parking lot of a business.
She raced through the empty lot and out the back, taking her motorcycle off road up a steep bank before turning left again onto a track and accelerating hard. The SUVs skidded to a halt, unable to follow. Men jumped out of the vehicles and they began to send bullets after the fleeing vigilantes. After four hundred yards of avoiding bullets, Lilim took her machine up a barely visible patch which climbed steeply. Riptide was unsure if his heavier machine would make it, but he plunged after his partner without further thought. They climbed as fast as they dared, their tyres slipping on the loose mud and topsoil. One slip and they would roll back down the hill, and into the waiting arms of the Panther Brigade. After two-hundred yards of scrambling, they were close to the top, but the men pursuing them had reached the bottom of the small ravine. Bullets peppered the undergrowth all around them and Lilim screamed as she felt bullets strike her upper back.
Two minutes later, they were beyond the bullets and racing along a path between two properties and thence onto Ridgeway Drive before turning south onto Marlborough Drive. Less than a mile later, they turned onto Adams Avenue, heading east. They jinked around Van Dyke Avenue and Aldine Drive before picking up Fairmount Avenue. Just after the Montezuma Road exit, they again went off road, heading up onto Yerba Santa Drive. There was no sign of the pursuing SUVs, but they had to be out there somewhere. Ten minutes later, they reached Rally Point Delta to find Lilith and Trauma awaiting their arrival.
"Taking the fucking scenic route?" Lilith demanded.
"The expressway is so boring," Lilim quipped in response as she skidded to a halt.
Haven One
22:48 GMT-7 (05:48 GMT May 18th)
They had executed a large countersurveillance sweep before returning to their base of operations.
Once the motorcycles had been secured, they all stripped out of their combat suits and checked out their bruised bodies which were not as bad as might have been expected. While the youngsters were 'checking themselves out', Nicholas and Guinevere took the polystyrene container into a steel-enclosed room and closed the steel door behind them. The room was hermetically sealed, meaning the room was airtight. Carefully, they slit the plastic straps securing the lid onto the base of the container, then lifted off the lid. Inside, there were two items, both of which appeared to be identical. With immense care, they each removed one item, laying them on the steel-topped workbench. Each item was wrapped in a protective plastic which had been taped. After removing the plastic wrapping, two identical but weird-looking objects remained.
The objects were hexagonal in shape, each with a convex outer face and a concave inner. The sides sloped inwards, forming a kind of six-sided wedge. On closer inspection, the items were each made up of two substances, both of slightly differing sandy shades. In the top of each item, a circular hole about half-an-inch across had been drilled and a small plastic stopper had been inserted.
"What are they?" Nicholas asked.
"Buggered, if I know," Guinevere responded before she turned and reached for a tablet.
Quickly, she flicked through some emails before she found the one from Maddie. There was, amongst a lot of techno-mumbo-jumbo, a photo.
"What do you think?" she asked Nicholas as she held the tablet alongside the recovered items.
"Snap!" Nicholas growled.
The following morning...
Thursday, May 18th
Office of the CEO
The Tomahawk Group
Central Los Angeles
11:15 GMT-7 (18:15 GMT May 18th)
It did not take long for Rosa Müller to figure out that something had gone wrong.
Her boss was angry – very angry. He was in the middle of his third video call that morning and each call had just made him angrier. Uncharacteristically, Rosa had no idea what was making her boss so mad – it was, apparently, some scheme that he was cooking up with that foul creature, Anton Renke. As Dieter Mannheim's temper grew, Rosa knew that she would need to make a phone call of her own. Dutifully, she picked up her phone and dialled a number from memory.
"Hello, I.T. – have you tried turning it off and on again?"
"Never mind that, Roy . . . can you order up a new big screen for the boss, please?
"Has he tried turning it off and on again?"
"Permanently off, I'd say."
"When did he break it, then?"
"In about thirty seconds."
"Ah! He's lost his temper, hasn't he?"
"Just send up another screen, Roy."
Rosa replaced the phone and counted to thirty . . . at twenty-four there was a loud bang and the sound of breaking glass.
That night...
D-JAK:LA
18:57 GMT-7 (18:57 GMT May 18th)
"Maddie!"
Rosa was almost sent flying as her daughter pushed past.
"Ignore me!" Rosa grinned, glad that her daughter was happy.
"Fancy a coffee, Rosa?" a voice called out.
"Mollie! You're a saviour."
"You look like you've had a rough day," Mollie Hendricks commented as she handed her friend a mug of coffee.
"The boss has been on the warpath all day – I was glad to get out of there," Rosa commented.
"The girls seem happy," Mollie commented.
"They're always happy," Rosa countered.
Indeed, Cara, Maddie, and Kristen were happily gossiping as they kicked off their shoes and were marshalled into position by a scowling Sky.
"Come on," Sky called out. "We haven't got all night."
"Sky appears a little unhappy," Rosa noticed.
"Time of the month," Erika commented as she walked past grinning.
"You hear the news from Tuesday night?" Mollie asked.
"What news?" Rosa responded.
"Here."
Rosa took the newspaper from her friend and she grinned at the news article.
BLUFFS RIPPER STRIKES AGAIN!
After two more criminals died during a night-time robbery,
the Los Angeles Police Department report that they still
have no leads, despite the first murder occurring way back
in December. Lieutenant Frank Nielsen of the LAPD Robbery-
Homicide Division is in overall charge of the investigation
into the murders which now total twenty-two. Public opinion
is split on whether the mysterious killer, who uses claws to
tear apart their victims, is actually providing a service to
the city of Los Angeles, much as the Fusion vigilantes do.
Some have asked if the killer may be related to Fusion, but
many say no, as Fusion has never hidden its members and the,
so-called, 'Bluffs Ripper' has never been seen in daylight,
nor by anybody who has actually lived to tell the tail.
"While I don't condone murder," Mollie said, "this 'ripper' is only targeting people who deserve to be stopped – maybe they don't really deserve to die, but if they weren't breaking into properties, then they would not be killed. I think I support this person, kind of."
"I suppose I would support the person, too," Rosa conceded with a grin.
"I wonder what they are like – maybe they are just like you or me, living normal lives. Just imagine if you knew somebody who wore a mask, saving people each night."
"I can only imagine," Erika threw in, a twinkle in her eye, as she listened into the conversation.
..._...
A short distance away, three young girls were having the time of their lives.
Cara, Maddie, and Kristen were busy pummelling a punchbag with zeal. Together, they kicked, and they punched, easily pounding the dangling device into submission. The three had been firm friends for about six months and they were inseparable every evening or day they spent at D-JAK. Their long-suffering instructor, Sky, found it hard going, but she persevered, determined not to be put down by Maddie and her friends. Sky would never openly admit it, but the trio were very good, and considering they had all started with very little knowledge, they had learnt how to defend themselves – and how to fight – to a surprisingly high level. Sky had confided in her sister, Chrissy, that while she was supposed to be training only Maddie in offensive fighting, Sky had been training all three. Not that either girl realised that they were learning how to maim and . . . potentially . . . to kill.
Chrissy did not agree with what Sky was doing, but Sky believed it to be important. Erika had no idea – or so Sky thought – or Sky was certain she would be for the proverbial high jump. The girls had been taught how to disarm an attacker with a knife. They had also been taught how to react to an attacker with a pistol, effortlessly disarming said attacker. That training had moved on, one Saturday morning, to not just disarming, but also returning the weapon to the assailant – point first, in the case of the knife. The girls had giggled and laughed, seeing it all as a bit of fun as they stabbed the dummy, but Chrissy had seen it all, and she had not been amused. She had taken her twin sister to task and they had both argued until Sky had promised not to exceed her training instructions.
All three girls had grown in stature, both physically and mentally, as they had spent time together, learning to defend themselves – and the rest.
..._...
At the other side of D-JAK, Chrissy was looking after some of the younger members.
Two of the boys were watched every second. Nine-year-old Connor and eight-year-old Ben were often up to no good. The pair were often seen together and had gravitated together within their first month at D-JAK. Both tended to avoid the older girls, much as boys their age often did. Chrissy was very aware of who Connor was, and she hated to see the boy look over at his big sister, despite said big sister not wanting anything to do with the boy. Chrissy wished that she could do something about it, but Maddie had refused to enter into any conversation concerning her brother, knowing that her parents would never allow the contact, so why bother.
The two boys were fast learners, but they enjoyed winding Chrissy up, much to the teenager's chagrin. Connor and Ben both needed to learn some discipline, so Chrissy taught that, and she was hard on many of the youngsters in her class, but especially those two boys. Connor lacked discipline, probably because his parents had never instilled any discipline in the boy. That meant that he was at risk, in Chrissy's mind, and she had to ensure that he learnt some discipline before something bad happened. It had taken months, but the boys had eventually calmed down and learnt some serious martial arts skills. They both had a long way to go, to reach the level of their big sisters, but everyone had to start somewhere.
Chrissy had learnt the hard way that it was important to have friends, and that it was important to learn to fit in, therefore, Chrissy was passing on that knowledge to the next generation.
Oak Pass Road
22:50 GMT-7 (05:50 GMT May 19th)
Erika was lying in bed, tired after a long day.
There came a gentle tap on the door and Maddie poked her head into the room. Erika smiled, and she sat up in the bed as the pyjama-clad Maddie came over and climbed onto the bed, before sitting down cross-legged and facing Erika.
"What's on your mind, Maddie?"
"Armageddon."
"I see where you're coming from," Erika mused.
"That's three lenses and the core. There will be other components which will have passed us by – and what if it isn't just the west coast?"
"We're doing everything that we can, honey."
"I know – I just don't want..."
"The unthinkable . . . I know."
"What does Mindy think about all this?"
"She understands the gravity of it all, but like I said, she knows that we've done all we can."
Erika could understand where Maddie was coming from; she alone understood the physics better than most which scared the girl. Sky had told Maddie not to worry, over dinner that evening, but Maddie had lost her temper and she had explained to Sky exactly what happened to a human body when a nuclear bomb detonated. Maddie had used some very explicit terms to describe the effects of superheated bodies being torn apart and what happened when you were unlucky enough to have survived the initial detonation but were caught out by the fallout. Sky and Chrissy, along with young James, had both turned green after twenty minutes of it, such was the degree of horror Maddie had divulged. Erika had simply grinned at it all, despite having her own stomach churned by Maddie's speech – besides, it was good for Maddie to get one over on the twins, at least once in a while.
"What do we know about how the packages entered the U.S.?" Erika asked, moving things along, knowing that Maddie enjoyed putting her brain into action.
"From what I've been able to find out, the second package entered the port on a small container ship which had come down the west coast from Canada," Maddie explained. "Somebody is taking great pains to ensure that their imports do not get checked by U.S. Customs. Naturally, cargo from Canada receives less attention than cargo from across the Pacific Ocean."
"So," Erika reasoned. "That package must have entered Canada at some point."
"I think we need to pass this along to our polite friends up north," Maddie declared. "I'll get in touch with Concord in the morning and we'll try to track the package down."
"If we can track this back to the source, then we are onto a winner," Erika said. "We then have every chance of stopping this insane scheme."
She hoped.
That same time...
About 1,080 miles to the north
Vancouver, Canada
22:50 GMT-7 (05:50 GMT May 19th)
Safehouse Prime
The vigilante known as Phosphor collapsed onto the mat, breathing heavily.
She had never run so hard in all of her life. Her chest heaved as she forced herself to control her breathing. It was a good few minutes before she had finally calmed down enough to reach up and then pull off the dark green mask with the vivid fluorescent green eyes. A pair of trainer-clad feet approached and stopped beside the unmasked Carrie Milligan. Carrie looked up into the dark brown eyes of Dylan Page, AKA Coyote.
"You broke your ride again?" the fourteen-year-old boy asked in more of a statement than a question.
"Mechanical problems..."
"Bullshit!" Dylan responded. "You just can't fucking ride!"
Before sixteen-year-old Carrie could respond, the sound of motorcycles pulling up in the garage could be heard.
"Nobody brought you back?" Dylan asked in surprise.
"We got separated."
"Where's the bike?"
"Safe."
"You are truly certifiable, Phosphor!" Blackout announced as he walked into the training area from the neighbouring garage.
"Okay, I crashed – shit happens," Carrie admitted as she got to her feet.
"You think Hit Girl is just going to keep writing checks?" seventeen-year-old Jay demanded as he pulled off his mask.
"I thought I was the amateur around here," Ninja Girl stated, pulling off her hood and mask to reveal fourteen-year-old Ella Milligan.
"You are!" Carrie growled.
..._...
Carrie suffered continual verbal abuse as she pulled off her combat suit, took a shower, and then re-dressed in normal clothing.
Okay, maybe she had been a bit reckless, but you couldn't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs, she reasoned. 'Oh, fuck!' she thought. 'If you've reached the stage of using idioms to cover up your fuckups, you're on a slippery slope girl.' Carrie strived to be the best, although things often backfired on her – not her choice of course.
"You still moping?" Jay asked as he grinned at his favourite girl.
"I fucked up . . . again!"
"Nobody's perfect, Carrie."
"I know – but I need to be."
"You're a perfect fuckup," Jay tried.
"Not helping," Carrie replied sourly.
"Don't dwell on it," Jay suggested as he kissed Carrie on the lips.
"Cunt!" Carrie hissed as she kissed Jay back.
The following morning...
Friday, May 19th
07:02 GMT-7 (14:02 GMT May 19th)
West 47th Avenue
Carrie rolled out of her bed, annoyed at being summoned out of a deep and relaxing sleep.
School had been a rude surprise for the sixteen-year-old girl. The argument on whether she should go had been spectacular, but she had lost, just as spectacularly, and then she had entered Grade 11 along with Jay, while Dylan had joined Ella in Grade 9. Their day at Britannia Secondary School was due to start at 8:30 A.M., so they would have to hurry. With a groan, she glared at Ella who was already on the toilet, emptying her bladder.
"Hurry up!" Carrie growled.
"I am!" Ella retorted.
It was the standard morning ritual and after twenty minutes of arguing, the two girls were finally dressed and ready to head out.
"You two are pushing your luck," Amelia Milligan chuckled. "Car!"
08:22 GMT-7 (15:22 GMT May 19th)
Britannia Secondary School
"Why are you two always the last to arrive?" Jay asked.
"Not my fault," Ella responded as she grabbed Dylan and ran for class.
"I'm tired – don't give me any lip," Carrie groaned as she fell into step with Jay.
"Got an email from L.A.," Jay advised his fellow Predator. "We've got a mission – looks complicated. Glad it's the weekend – it'll take time to figure this one out."
"Is it related to that warning they put out the other day?" Carrie asked warily.
"Unfortunately, yes."
"I thought our lives were dangerous enough," Carrie complained. "Who the hell would want to build a fucking nuke?"
"Sssh!" Jay warned as they entered their classroom dead on time.
"Hi, Jay. Hi, Carrie."
Jay groaned as Anastasia waved in his direction while Carrie faked a smile, visualising, in her mind, the act of ripping Anastasia's head off at the neck and watching the blood spew across the classroom and ultimately over the bitch's seemingly perfect body.
That night...
18:47 GMT-7 (01:47 GMT May 20th)
Safehouse Prime
As was usual after a week's hard graft at school, not to mention a few nights out keeping the City of Vancouver safe, the youths were tired . . . and very hungry.
Normally, they were not allowed to go out on a school night, but when they were 'on a case', it was allowed – at least within reason. The boys dutifully turned up with four enormous pizzas for the four of them to dig into. The small kitchen within the safehouse had a fridge stuffed full of fizzy drinks. The ravenous teenagers each grabbed a large slice of pizza and a can of drink before dropping onto the various chairs and couches to eat and talk.
"What was all the excitement about?" Carrie asked with her mouth full of cheese pizza.
"I've got several hi-def images which appear to be of some packaging – here," Jay said as he displayed the images on the fifty-inch wall-mounted television. "They appear to be of some form of packaging. Apparently, whatever was inside that packaging was something very dangerous. We have been tasked with tracking down the source of that package."
"Why us?" Dylan asked.
"That might be because the package came from Vancouver, dickhead!" Ella proclaimed as she reached for her second slice of meaty pizza.
"Oh, I see," Dylan commented, ignoring Ella's sarcasm.
"The item was shipped from Vancouver before it made it to San Diego by sea where it was intercepted by the team, down there," Jay explained. "The contents were 'special'."
"You mean, they were nuclear?" Ella asked, a piece of pizza half in her mouth.
"Part of a nuclear weapon, yes."
"What the fuck is the world coming to?" Carrie asked nobody in particular.
"What really scares me," Dylan commented, "is that us idiots appear to be on the frontline."
"For once, Dylan, you are talking sense," Ella responded dryly.
"We have images of fingerprints taken from inside the packaging, so that should discount any shipping agents," Jay went on, then he paused as a red light illuminated above the television.
The red light announced the breaching of their perimeter.
"Only me!" James Milligan called out as he wheeled the hulk of Carrie's motorcycle into the garage.
"Dad!" Ella exclaimed. "Just the person we need."
"Oh?" James asked. "You mean other than clearing up another one of Carrie's 'mishaps'?"
Carrie slunk down out of sight on the couch.
"Can you run some prints for us, back at the RCMP?" Ella asked.
"You mean risk my job and break the law?" James sighed.
"Yep!" Ella responded, putting on her 'cute daughter' expression.
"How can I refuse?" James responded sardonically.
"Love you, Dad!" Ella grinned as she stuffed another slice of pizza into her mouth.
The following afternoon...
Saturday, May 20th
15:40 GMT-7 (22:47 GMT May 20th)
Safehouse Prime
The Vancouver Ninja was busy laying waste to a training dummy.
She wore her usual black Gi with the black belt while training as she kicked out. Ella was dripping with sweat, having been training for a little over an hour, non-stop. Not too far away, Dylan pounded his strong fists into a punchbag, relishing each strike. The boy's inner demons were still there, waiting to be exorcised. Carrie and Jay were training together; actually, they were sparring together. It was their normal Saturday afternoon routine. All four would spend eighty minutes at their chosen task and not stop during that training time. They each knew what might happen should they not be up to the task of fighting those in Vancouver who would do the illustrious city, which they called home, harm. It was a hard regimen to follow, but Ella knew that the three friends had an extreme background to fall upon.
There were times that Ella had considered her own transformation into a vigilante as being difficult, including the many mistakes which she had made along the way. What Carrie, Jay, and Dylan had endured, though, was beyond comprehension, at least to Ella's mind. It had also come as a surprise to her that the revelation to them that she had killed five times, had barely raised an eyebrow. It had not taken Ella long to figure out that her cousin and her friends viewed killing in a very different manner to herself, and indeed, normal people. Indeed, there were times when their cold logic, and even colder disdain for life, came to the fore, and scared Ella. They were ruthless, and while Ella would weigh the need to kill against the need to protect or survive, the Predators who she now fought alongside, took no time at all in weighing the options, or so she thought.
Carrie, Jay, and Dylan cared for life, however, their intensive training had taught them to judge a situation very quickly, and act before an enemy had the chance to strike.
..._...
The moment time was up, all four youths grabbed a bottle of cold water from the fridge before downing about half-a-litre in one go.
"That feels so good!" Carrie exclaimed as she dabbed a towel across her face and neck, absorbing the beads of sweat.
"I need a shower," Dylan commented.
"Yeah," Ella grinned as she wrinkled her nose. "You do."
"You smelt your own pits, recently?" Dylan responded.
Ella scowled as she made for the showers. Not surprisingly, she encountered the usual Predator nonchalance as Carrie simply dumped her clothing on the floor outside the showers, oblivious to the boys and Ella only feet away. Each had a private cubicle with a shower curtain, but Carrie rarely used the curtain, and she was known to step out and engage Ella in conversation while both were naked. Ella was no prude, but she usually demonstrated a modicum of modesty – unless one of the boys stole her towel, such as when she had chased Dylan to ground while naked. Ella also disapproved of Carrie's personal grooming habits which were laid bare for all to see, currently displaying a limited landing strip. For the moment, Ella decided not to consider the X-rated sex shows which Jay and Carrie put on, on a cringingly all-too-regular basis.
"What do you want?" Ella demanded as Dylan's head pushed through the shower curtain.
The boy simply grinned as he ran his eyes across the fourteen-year-old's soap-covered body. Ella was used to the intrusion and blatant leering over her naked body, but she did enjoy the attention, not that she was giving Dylan even the remotest hint of that. She watched his eyes move down her body, across her breasts and then down to her thighs, before pausing at what lay in between. For near enough four months, Ella had been leading the boy on, not wanting to appear too available. What really annoyed her was the fact that she liked the boy – a lot. They were the same age and they got on like a house on fire . . . she also liked his funny and often dirty jokes. Her Dad had noticed, and he had bought her two packets of condoms as a result – she had never felt so embarrassed. It did not help that Carrie teased Ella about her feelings for Dylan which Carrie said were blatantly obvious, not to mention the inadvertent flirting with the boy which Jay had noticed and crudely commented on when out of Dylan's earshot. The biggest problem was that Ella was a little scared. Beyond the fact that she was seen as a bit strange at school and had endured a nasty sexually-related incident as a result – which she had resolved in her own fashion – she was seen as having some desirable assets and boys had shown interest in her. Her nocturnal activities had always come first, precluding boyfriends, and that fact had meant that she had never actually reached third base . . . with a boy . . . let alone a home run. Ella knew that Carrie, Dylan, and Jay were experienced in sex, and while she was not exactly a virgin – she had never actually kissed a boy, let alone come into contact with a penis, by hand or otherwise.
Despite her groin presumably telling her that she wanted to take that next step, she did not dare, and she simply groaned inside as Dylan continued to leer. The boy knew what was coming – Carrie and Jay knew the script too; they were both counting down the seconds, until . . . Ella rinsed off the soap, watching Dylan's eyes getting bigger as more of her was revealed in minute detail. She could see that something else was getting bigger – if that were even possible – and that annoyed her, so she simply pulled back the shower curtain and kicked Dylan in the chest, sending the naked boy crashing onto the tile floor. It must have hurt, but the boy simply grinned as he lay on his back, naked for all to see, and stared up at the equally naked Ella.
"You disgust me!" Ella growled as she grabbed her towel and stormed off, cringing as Dylan began to relieve some of the pent-up tension in his groin.
Dylan's arrival was the very first time she had seen a boy playing with himself, up close and personal, so to speak.
"Your nipples say otherwise!" Dylan retorted, determined to get the last word in.
Carrie and Jay exchanged grins as a scream was heard, coming from the direction of Ella's room.
..._...
James Milligan tapped in the code and he pushed open the door to the safehouse.
He had long ago become accustomed to the seemingly-absurd secrecy and security, knowing that is was not just to protect the four kids, but it was also to protect their families. He could hear laughter with his own daughter's voice apparent above the others as she shouted something which had the others laughing. The chemistry between the four kids was exceptional and had been ignited from almost the day they had come together. Of course, three of them had known one another for years, Ella being the relative newcomer to the group. It still appalled James to think about what those three had been through before they had been rescued and rehabilitated. That young woman, Lucy Ford, had been very candid in her description of what they had been through. Considering the support which had filtered north from Chicago, for his vigilante daughter and her friends, he had a shrewd idea of who was supporting them, despite there being no open association between Concord and Fusion.
"I have your fingerprint results," he announced as he entered the bullpen where the youngsters were sprawled on beanbags.
"Hi, Dad!" Ella called out as she continued to giggle with Dylan.
"Hi, Mr Milligan!" Dylan added before returning to whatever was so incredibly funny.
James simply shook his head; he never could get Dylan to call him James.
"Carrie, Jay – here are the results. We have one clear set, belonging to a Canadian citizen. His address is inside. I assume that you will want to pay him a visit."
"That is correct, James," Jay acknowledged.
"Stay safe, please."
"Of course," Carrie replied.
East Pender Street and Columbia Street
21:05 GMT-7 (04:05 GMT May 21st)
Nathan Wilson had a rude awakening as he sat watching the TV, downing a few bottles of Molson Canadian.
His front door exploded inwards, shards of wood scattering around the small hallway. Before the man could move, his living room door smashed back against the wall, cracking the drywall behind. Wilson instantly recognised the black leather jacket, the black leather trousers, the black and green composite carbon-fibre grieves which covered the entire lower legs of the vigilante. The green and black gauntlets with the composite carbon-fibre backs which extended up almost to the elbows. Above all, he recognised the hooded, masked face with the luminous green eyes – it was Phosphor, and she was fully armed, a brace of pistols in holsters on her thighs, and her signature baseball bat with the luminous green illumination held in her hands. As Nathan Wilson made a vain attempt to scramble to safety, he came face to face with a very similarly outfitted vigilante who, instead of a hood, wore a mask covering his entire head. His luminous orange eyes bore into Wilson's and the man froze as the suppressor of the vigilante's custom Heckler & Koch MP7A1 PDW nudged against his forehead.
"I don't think so, fucker!" Blackout growled in his electronically distorted voice which struck fear deep into Wilson's psyche, even worse than the sight of the two vigilantes in his apartment.
"I isn't done nothing!"
"We think otherwise," Phosphor responded darkly in her own electronically distorted voice.
"I hate to sound like a stuck record when it comes to clichés, but we can do this the easy way . . . or my way," Blackout advised the man who shook with fear.
Nathan Wilson was no coward, but neither was he the bravest guy on the block. He also knew when he was licked.
"What is it, you think I done?"
"You been a bad boy . . . mailing bad shit," Phosphor advised.