Episode 4: Hidden Identity; Or, In the Name of Seattle!

The blue light of her computer screen blared up at Mallory as she pulled up the last of her news feeds. National, local, police, in a few varieties to cover ground. There had to be a reason, she knew it.

Kyle groaned from the top of the bunk bed beside her. He winced through the corona of brightness cast off from her side of the room. "Seriously? It's…"

She assumed he was checking his phone, but she knew how early it was. Unlike some people, she still had obligations to fulfill.

"…6:00 in the morning."

"I know what time it is." She continued to click away, running her browser extension to search all of the sites with the same criteria. "Turn over if it's too bright."

She entered the first criteria.

Sarah King

After reading through the results, there seemed to be nothing of interest. Didn't think so. It's probably a straight alias, then.

She tried again, making a slight change.

Gwen King

After several minutes, there was still nothing. She definitely wasn't convinced Gwen was really her first name. It was more likely another ploy to through her off. Even if it were her name, "King" might be entirely artificial. If it was fake, then she was out of luck and would have to get more information before she could go any further.

Mallory paused, staring unseeing at the screen of interest pieces and science papers. If she really had been reckless enough to let her first name split, what if she'd been that careless with the alias? Something similar, maybe.

Gwen King…ford?

Nothing.

Gwen Kingston

Hey, there's Gwen Stefani for some reason, but nothing else. She was running out of options.

Gwen Kingsley.

A hit.

She stopped, startled when the result spit out something on the regional law enforcement alert feed. Body jumping with sudden adrenaline, she clicked into the feed. At the top, there were two side-by-side photos.

She examined them. One was a stranger, but the other…she was younger, maybe, and had brown hair, but that was definitely Gwen. It must have been an old photo.

Victory sharp in her mind, she brought her attention back to the alert and began to read. This…didn't seem right. Not from what she'd seen, anyway. It just didn't add up. She frowned, beginning to grit her teeth as she read on, a theory piecing together. There's no way she's that stupid. She has to know; she'd using an alias.

Coming to the end, she noted the timestamp. Eyes bulging, she slammed her fists down on her knees, yelling, "Oh, you've GOT to be kidding!"

Kyle, and several of her housemates griped back at her, banging on the walls.


Rory crept into the junkyard in the wee hours of the morning, when not even the barest suggestion of morning lightened the sky. It was one of the only truly abandoned places she could think of—now that the police were patrolling all over, the lot they'd used during the school year was too visible for them to keep practicing there.

Narma had been reasonably confused when she'd asked her to come alone.

Rory watched as Narma's gray-dyed hair peeked around a nearby mountain of refuse. She looked out of place, hunched nervously in her fashionable patterned jacket and a bag hitched to her side like she was actually on the run. She relaxed when she saw her and trotted over. "Hey. Back at it again, I guess."

"Hey." Rory gave her a little salute. "Yeah, long as we don't think you got anything to worry about in the losing consciousness department. We've pretty much all been whammied at this point, being honest.

"Oh, great," Narma snorted.

There was something a little eerie about the junkyard, the way the darkness of the morning fell into all of its corners, its emptiness, the fact she was a little nervous that junkyard dogs were about to be a thing she wasn't prepared for.

Narma shrugged more comfortably into her coat, rubbing at the chill on her arm. "So, what's with this secretive schtick? I kind of assumed the others would be joining us when we started up again."

Rory's stomach turned at having been so underhanded about this. It wasn't that she didn't trust Narma; she did! She just…didn't want to get anyone else involved if she could help it, and if it was just the two of them, Narma was more likely to let her keep it under wraps. "I was actually hoping to work on something a little different? Hope that's not weird. I just thought if I was working on something a little riskier, I shouldn't ask the others. They don't exactly have the history to trust me with something that might sound a little crazy."

Narma dropped her bag to the ground, her heavily lined brow rising. "…I think they trust you plenty, girl. But now you're scaring me a little; what kind of crazy are we talking about?"

Rory waved her arms before herself. "Not that crazy! It's just…" she took a breath. "You know how that monster has been incapacitating people, right? We've had to work around people for the past few days while trying to take that thing down, because it's always leaving them right in the way." Rory dropped her own bag, lowering to her knee to begin fishing around inside it. "What I'm wondering is what if we had no other choice? What if this isn't over, or if something else crops up, and it's attack with someone in the way or someone gets killed?"

She pulled out her creation. It was basically a suit, but made of cardboard, old newspapers, and leftover yarn from past projects.

Narma looked offended to even be in the presence of it. "What is that?"

"It's some really sad body armor."

Narma eyed the crumpled pile of brown. "I'm not sure I like where this is going."

"We need to know what would happen if one of our attacks hit a person."

It was something she had been thinking on a lot in the past couple days: what was the difference between using their powers on a monster and using them on a person? Would they have any effect at all? On the other end of the spectrum, was it too dangerous? What was the risk?

Of course, though she couldn't tell Narma, she was lying about why she wanted to know.

Her stomach dropped as Narma crossed her arms. "That has happened, though. There have been times in battles when we got caught in the crossfire of one of the other's attacks."

Rory shook her head. "Not a direct hit, though. There have been people all over the place. Honestly, I wish we had the stuff to make one of those anatomically correct models, like they use in investigations?"

Narma stepped forward, taking the garbage suit from her. "So, we're going to be attacking each other instead."

Rory shrugged. "Y…yeah?" She shook her hands out. "We don't have to if you don't want to. We can just do some normal training. I just think it's something we should figure out eventually…?"

The other girl slowly pulled off her jacket, folding it into a neat square. She placed it in her bag. Rory made a soft noise as Narma took the bundle from her arms. "We might as well. Not like we're got anything else to do this morning."

Rory pumped a fist. "Yes, you're the best."

"Just try to minimize the bodily harm, if you would."

They took turns, having only one of them transformed at a time. Narma went first, which maybe wasn't the best decision as Rory's attack had the greater risk of injury.

Covering her head, Narma took the brunt of a Dire Gust, the shrapnel sinking to the cardboard as she was dragged back, heels through the dirt.

Rory let off quickly. "Did it get you?" She eyed the pocks in the material.

"Meh," Narma called back unhelpfully. She stepped back to the starting point, lifting her arms to examine the perforations. "They punctured pretty deep, but not all the way through. I think if I were just wearing my shirt though it would have been a problem." She dropped her arms. "Ironically, the wind knocked the air out of me, though."

Rory frowned slightly. "That's…something to keep in mind, then." But how deep was deep? Did the shrapnel remain even once the wind had vanished? She thought about the old victims of the pithos, Eddie and the others. They hadn't seemed overly injured. But how much had the corruption been shielding them?

After trying a couple more shots, Rory changed spots with Narma and untransformed. She opted out of most of the protection gear, arguing that it wouldn't be super effective against a water attack. She kept the chest brace, though. No need to get her bandages wet.

Moments later, Rory tried to brace herself as water poured down over her. Even holding her breath, she couldn't breathe with the force of the deluge descended over her. Her ribs, already having to do some healing, were especially unappreciative. It was like falling a long distance, combined with pinprick distinction of rain on a roller coaster. Yeah, I get what you meant by knocking the air out of you. It seemed force wasn't going to be a problem.

When the water blocking out her hearing stopped, she heard Narma call out to her. "Hey, you alright?"

Rory spit into the dirt. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Narma extracted herself from the pose she'd used to summon the attack, coming over to examine her. "Eh, at least we know that one wouldn't do permanent damage."

"Yeah," Rory grinned, but a queasy sensation lingered in her stomach. "If anything should happen, we know that one is safer."

She had gotten the information she needed. She just needed to decide what she was going to do with it.

They finished up, trying ways to manipulate the water around obstacles if need be, so they could presumably avoid civilians if need be. Once they were done, Rory changed back too, and they began to get their stuff back together. Her legs were a little shaky, but she tried not to let it on; this was her idea, and she didn't want Narma to feel guilty about it when she was the one who'd had the more dangerous job. She pulled the towel she'd packed out of her bag, wrapping up.

Narma watched her, eyes clouded with distraction. "It's crazy I'm not going to see you guys that much this summer. I feel like I'm just leaving you hanging to all this stuff."

Rory paused zipping her bag. "Now, don't be like that. It's a great opportunity! We're happy for you. And it ain't like you're going to be up there every day of the week." She cranked her arm out. "You'll probably see us so often you won't even have time to miss us."

She could admit to herself, though, that the meetings wouldn't be the same if they didn't have Narma's sarcastic quips thrown in. And if the previous week had proven anything, not having Narma around was a strategic disadvantage. More than that, though, with the task she was now bound and determined to undertake, it was really going to suck not being able to reach out to her best friend whenever she was feeling conflicted or overwhelmed. Narma had always been honest with her.

Course, that was going to be the case whether Narma was around or not.

Maybe it would be easier this way.

Man, oh man, did she hate this. She wanted to say Hey! Let's go get smoothies and you can complain about your parents while I work on making another of those little crop shirts to run in when the mornings get hot!

But she didn't do that. One, because it was four in the morning, and two because she was soaking wet in a junkyard, tricking her friend into showing her how to fight people so she could hunt and take down the gangbangers stalking their neighborhood.

She inhaled sharply. It seemed more real when she just spelled it all out like that. Like, she was actually doing this. They slinked off towards the exit, back in their civilian clothes. Thoughts of danger and isolation swirled in Rory's mind as Narma prattled quietly about the myriad of forms the Institute had sent her following her acceptance.

She couldn't tell her, tell any of them. She couldn't ask them to stand at another frontline, one that they hadn't been born into. Monsters? They appear, and you go home with a scratch or break or a bruise. An unspeakable terror filled her at the thought of sending any of them home with a bullet.

And that's why these guys had to go.

They had almost made it, when the tell-tale clank of metal crashing on a solid surface rung out into the pre-dawn air.

Rory, already on edge, threw herself back flat to the nearest mound of repo'd garbage as her heart slammed against her ribs. Like a protective mom in a traffic accident, she'd thrown her arm out in front of Narma beside her. Her friend blinked owlishly into the dark.

It could have just been a raccoon, knocking over a trash can. But then she caught the up-and-down cadence of conversation. Peering around the side, she sucked in a breath and quickly retracted. She felt stupid. Of course; an abandoned spot the cops weren't paying attention to, of course the new town thuds would have found it too!

"What is—" Narma began to say, but Rory shoved a finger in front of her mouth,

There they were. They were different guys from before, but the fact they were conducting business while the city was conked out was not a good sign. Straining, she could just barely make out their words.

"Where all did you make the offer?"

"I have folks on King and Main. What did you hear back?"

"I ask the questions. What did they say?"

"They can make the drop at the old warehouse on 6th. They'll send someone tonight."

Rory's eyes widened. She knew that building. It wasn't out of the way at all; there were civilian shops all over the place down there. And they would be there tonight?

This was her chance.

She jumped. From beside her, Narma tugged her sleeve. Lower than a whisper, Narma said, "We have to get out of here."

Frantically, Rory nodded.

Without further delay, they fled the yard, crawling through the cut gap in the fence and leaving the junk as if it had never been disturbed.


Mallory stalked the streets, trying to decide what to do. She had seen the report, but what could she even tell them? "Oh, yeah, that girl is possibly in the Seattle area?" "She was in the police station; you're idiots"? Logic dictated that yes, she could absolutely tell them that much, but something held her back. Gwen was right. The police seemed much more accommodating with her. Who knew what they might have told her? What if they knew the origin of the power surges? She couldn't sell her out now, where they might take Gwen somewhere out of reach, where she couldn't interrogate her.

Afternoon light bounced off shop windows along Main street, back in the vicinity of the last attack. She hadn't consciously decided to go there—maybe it was because the police station was relatively nearby, or maybe she had though examining the last corona of battle damage might tell her something. Who knew? Sometimes, she was an enigma, even to herself.

The portion of the street where they actually fought had been quartered off, though, so that was a no-go. She stood taking offense to the police tape for several moments before turning to cut through a nearby alley onto the adjacent street. Obviously, that wasn't going to get her anywhere.

She sulked, head ducked to her shoulders when the glare cleared from a certain building as she moved from one to the next. The room inside visible for a split second, her eyes passed over the scene within before passed. She stopped. Back up, to where angle of the sun left the room unobscured again. She narrowed her eyes, pulling her hands from her pockets. No way. All that research, and she just runs into her again?

She backed up, peering up at the business marque: SALLE AURIOL. She read the notice of the window. Why would she be there? Of all places? This was getting absurd. The balls on this girl continued to baffle her, but at least she didn't have to keep roaming the streets like a vagrant. She gave a salute to the sky. Destiny wins, yet again.

She marched into the building.

Inside, she could see more clearly what she had had to make out through a dirty window: manikins stood along the wall in bulky white uniforms with mesh masks. Cubbies stood beside a desk at the far wall, holding copies of the uniform. The wall was mirrored, reflecting the padded floor and the rack of weapons.

And who stood at the front of the room, but the very person she'd been looking for. Yes, destiny was a true bro.

Gwen turned her head to look when she entered. Her brows flew up, but she quickly recovered, directing her attention to the kids lined up along the pads. "Wow, I have to say, this is getting kind of stalker-y." She hands flexed aimlessly on the objects they were occupied with, one of the mesh masks and a dull-tipped, rapier-looking weapon.

"You're got some nerve," Mallory groused. She flung an arm out at the group of kids, who stared back at the interpersonal spectacle with interest. "Creeping around an investigation and handing out false information like cheap cigars, then you just…what. Decided to hunker down for the feel-good family hour like nothing's up? Teaching some kids how to fence, oh, why not, like some kind of Wholesome Hal at the PBS special?"

Gwen blinked heavily, before shaking her head. "'Wholesome Hal at the PBS special,' wow. You really are incredibly neurotic, aren't you? Look, if you're so determined to follow me around, you might as well make yourself useful. Suit up." She gestured to the wall of uniforms, and Mallory balked.

"What, now?"

The blond girl didn't back down. "I've got a class to teach. If you really want to talk, we can talk after the hour's up, but these kids are paying to be here. Now get dressed."

Fuming, but not sure what else to do, Mallory pulled out one suit that looked big enough to be one of the adult sizes. The kids, intelligent enough to have figured out she had no idea what she was doing, jeered at her, calling out suggestions on how to put it on right when she was inevitably stumbling over herself. After a few hapless moments, she managed to get it on in a way that felt correct. She pulled the hood on and grabbed an armament that looked like the one Gwen was holding. Fine. You really want to go, bitch, we can go.

Gwen tapped the mat in front of her and swung the sword out in front of her. "To the end of the mat." She turned her attention to the kinds, pulling on her hood as well. "Okay guys. Do you remember the starting position Moniteur Pirot taught you?"

The kids shouted out, slight variations of "shoulder-width," and "make an L!"

Ha, Mallory adjusted her stance. Little do you realize you are teaching me how to do this.

Gwen herself planted her legs apart, one straight forward and one perpendicular. She stood limply. "So, like this?"

No, the kids screamed in varying decibels. They added "arm back!" and "bend your knees!"

"That's right," Gwen nodded, adjusting. "So, does this look a little better?"

"Yeah!"

"Okay. So, I'm going to run through a basic en garde to refresh your memory, and you can let me know what you're having questions on before we move on, okay? Then, I want to see it."

Gwen turned her attention back to Mallory. "And of course, you would normally salute." She swept the blade out across her body, before pulling on the hood. Go time.

Mallory braced, holding the weapon up in what she hoped was an intimidating manner as Gwen continued to speak.

"So. When you're moving forwards, you want to push off with your back foot, and then step forward. You're using that momentum from your back leg to move without compromising your position." She moved forward. It was so clean and formal looking, Mallory couldn't help but feel clumsy as she copied in the unfamiliar uniform. She gritted her teeth. "And you just keep going that way."

Mallory slunk up the line—it was just back and forth, right? But when she changed the position of the blade, the class gave a disapproving ooooh. Through the mask, she could just barely see Gwen's mouth twitch up a bit. "When I'm holding the foil straight out from the direction of my body, this is position 6th. Moniteur Pirot told me he showed you guys last class." She brought her blade so her arm crossed her chest. "This is position 4th. Here, on the other side? That gives you an extra layer of protection between you and your opponent."

Stepping one foot at a time, Mallory brought the foil up to strike as the other girl advanced towards her on the mat. Mallory had to move fast; she just had to hit her, right? She thrust out the foil as the girl got close.

Effortlessly, the other girl turned the blade to the side and thrust forward, hitting her right in the chest. "Touch."

Mallory jumped at the contact. Oh, come on. She just caught her off guard, was all (that was a lie; she was never off her guard.) Plus, she'd never done this before!

Either way, Gwen looked pleased with herself. "If your opponent tries to land a hit, you can parry and repost to land a hit whilst they're open. Reset."

Gwen jaunted back to her side of the mats while the kids clapped. Mallory's face burned. This was humiliating!

"I know that's as far as you guys got, so we'll finish the bout with those. First to three." She swept the foil out. "En garde."

Gwen came at her, and Mallory pushed off, trying to copy the forward step enough to at least somewhat advance. They met at least sort of in the middle, their foils poised to strike. Gwen's class cheered, mostly cheering on their mentor, so not a friendly crowd. That was fine. This was between her and Gwen, anyways.

It occurred to Mallory that this was sort of ridiculous.

They hovered, crouching in their spots and waiting for the other to move. Taking a risk, Mallory quickly whipped the needle-like blade to the side, the tip striking Gwen in the arm.

Gwen just shook her head shortly, eyes squint. "Not the target area, sorry." She lunged, snagging her right between the left ribs. "Touch."

Dammit! "You could have mentioned that!"

Gwen shrugged. "Metal coat is the mark. Whoops." She didn't take her eyes off her, as if still expecting her to lash out again.

One more point.

Gwen moved back to her side, maintaining the same step. Determined, Mallory swept out her foil when she saw Gwen ready to do the same.

"En garde."

Mallory moved as quick as she could with the little two-step. The uniform was hot, and sweat beaded on her neck in even the little time she had been wearing it. It was the stupid florescent lights. She thrust her foil outward—Gwen parried. She tried to get her with the same move from the beginning, but Mallory retreated enough to clumsily parry back.

Gwen's brows flew up through a mask of mesh.

The sense of competency didn't last long. At the retaliation, Gwen advanced at rapid speed, forcing a defensive Mallory back to her starting position, By the time the stance wasn't practical anymore and she ran into wall, she felt a scream-inducingly gentle tap to the center of her chest.

"Touch."

Smirking like a sonuvabitch, Gwen turned away and addressed the children. "So. En garde, parry, repost. What questions are we having?"

The class proceeded thus, and Mallory slumped in the corner sulking, still in the maskless uniform. The kids paired off and practiced and, infuriatingly, Gwen didn't pay her another mind. After another half-hour the kid's parents began to show up, one-by-one carting them away.

And Gwen's time had run out.

Once the studio cleared, Mallory tripped out of the uniform and pulled Gwen outside by the arm, not wanting to spend another second in that den of character-building and lies. She hissed, pushing up her glasses. "You've got some balls,"

Gwen squinted. "Getting…a job?"

Well, yes, but not for the reasons she was probably thinking. Mallory hissed, "Waltzing into the police station when you've got a fucking Amber Alert out on you."

The other girl looked legitimately surprised for a second. Then, she looked away, grimacing. "Yeah, I hadn't accounted for that. My sister's birth father has been out of the picture for a long time; I didn't expect they would blame it on him. Sent up some flags, I guess. Really, I think they just wanted the police to take it more seriously—"

Mallory tightened her grip on Gwen's arm, inciting a small ow. "And what, you just hoped nobody would notice?"

Gwen pulled back, tugging her arm out of Mallory's grasp. She shrugged, rubbing the red, sore-looking spot. "Honestly, I was just hoping I was going to get really, really lucky."

A burst of outrage filled Mallory's chest, and then the ground began to shake.


The Professor stood over her plans, reading over the energy readouts for the hundredth time. Her regional experiments accounted for other sources, but none of them were practical.

The Benefactor peered over her shoulder from the feed on the screen. "This isn't going to last forever. We must resume collection. The longer we wait, the more the life force is going to decay over time. We have to keep feeding the amalgam if we want it to be sustainable."

"It's not worth it," the Professor pushed her glasses up into her hairline. She'd had this headache for days, couldn't it just please, please go away? "We can't expend what we already have to launch the next prototype. We don't even know if it has enough stability to be out in the world yet."

Something in the back of her mind suggested wryly that one she was physically experiencing wasn't the only headache in the room.

"It does," the Benefactor insisted. "I know it does. And it will be more effective. You just need to get enough of a surge to activate it. She paused. "What about the seismic engine?"

"Just to reach the ignition point?" She considered it. Another power surge alone wasn't going to do it. "…we can test it."

She abandoned her blueprints, moving over to the switchboard wired to her many experiments. She turned the dial to the turbine in question, using the map to locate a suitable place on the Faultline. "If it doesn't work, we're not trying again."

"We damn well would, and you know it."

The Professor's hand paused on the on switch. Her fingers shook, and she knew that She knew she was restraining herself from going for the locket.

"…you're doing what you have to do," the Benefactor said gently, her voice scratchy with overexertion. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to make this harder than it has to be. You're doing great. You're infinitely farther along than I was at that age."

The Professor pursed her lips. "I'm running the test."

She pressed the button.


The ground began to rumble, and civilians along the street yelped in alarm, grabbing onto the nearest solid thing. Mallory braced her boots on the sidewalk—an earthquake? Not unusual in Seattle, but this one felt pretty strong. Traffic ground to a stop in alarm and people crouched on the ground, covering their heads.

Mallory scanned the area as the rumbling continued, Gwen seeming as startled as she was. "We need to get somewhere more stable—"

Suddenly, there was a cracking noise overhead. Mallory's eyes flew up in alarm and she had only a couple seconds to take in the crack forming in Gwen's side of the overhang. Her eyes darted to the girl—she didn't see it. "Shit—"

Moving on instinct, she shoved Gwen down sideways out of the impact area as the building crumbled down at them, trying to block as much as she could. She heard the concrete hit the sidewalk with a heavy thud as her knees throbbed from the impact. This has got to be at least a 5… It had been a while.

They were still partially shadowed by the overhang, leaving opportunity for more of the building to throw more debris at them. Fully on the ground, dread set in as she felt smaller fragments of rock crash down on the back of her coat. Crap, I'm right in the blast zone…

But then, slowly, it stopped. The rumbles puttered off until the ground was still below them. Mallory could hear the sounds of car alarms going off in the distance, block formerly resounding with panicked yelled quieting to concerned murmuring as everyone tried to get their bearings back. Mallory winced, eyes still pointed over her shoulder at the overhang. Yeah, no, she didn't trust that. She shifted—ow, okay, her back was going to be bruised were the rockfall had gotten frisky. Knowing she needed to move, she moved her attention back to the space below her.

Gwen peered back at her, sprawled where she had pushed her out of the way. "Quick thinking there."

There was an unreadable expression on her face, but Mallory flushed angrily as it hovered around the same amused un-concern Gwen seemed to live in. And, okay, yeah, maybe she'd gotten a little closer than she had meant to possibly saving the other girls life, crouched down above her like some kind of human meat-shield. Which is not! Something she had been worried about! It was just instinctive, was all. 'Cause she was just that heroic of a person. Obviously.

She pushed away, pulling herself up. "You're welcome," she hissed as she bruises along her spine ached. "Get up. There could be aftershocks."

"My hero," Gwen drolled, staying a step out of range of the overhang. She whistled at the damage. "Mr. Pirot told me the building was old, but it really must have been flimsy…good thing the kids were gone." She turned her head, smirking. "I guess I was really lucky you just happened to be here."

Mallory crossed her arms, scoffing. "There's no such thing as luck."

The amusement dropped off Gwen's face. "Excuse me?"

"Luck. It's not real." She waved a hang at the marque above them, in its sorry state. "If something happens, it happened because it was destined to happened. Not because of some kind of dumb luck. I was always going to end up here." She pointed a finger. "And it's unbelievably foolish to expect luck to protect you from getting found out by the law. I don't know why you're here, but obviously you don't want them to know it's you or you wouldn't have changed your name. You're going about this the stupidest way possible. You're going to get caught."

Gwen frowned, eyes narrowed and judge-y. "That's the most childish thing I've ever heard."

Mallory jolted back. "I'm being childish?"

"You're setting yourself up to wind up in a ditch," she said harshly. "Look at the life of any person and you can see that luck is a force in the universe. If you don't respect it, you're going to be punished by it. Oh, and by the way, way to absolve yourself of any responsibility with that "destiny" business." She gesticulated sharply, flipping out her hands with the words. "'Oh, I'm not stalking this girl I don't even know! It was my destiny!' Grow up."

That was an absurd oversimplification of the concept; if she even understood it at all, she wouldn't sound like an idiot right now. "That is not even close to—"

"Oh, and by the way," Gwen cut her off, flipping her stupid blond braid back over her shoulder of her stupid fencing uniform. She peered back at her, relaxing her expression back into that I'm-so-amused-by-everything expression she loved so freaking much, she said, "If you were coming here to find out what I know, you're out of luck. I'm going to be too busy to help you, seeing as I'll be heading off to counsel the junior athletics camp in like a week. Lots of preparation to do."

"What?!" She was leaving the city? Just like that? After she'd put so much work in? This was unacceptable!

Before she could ask any follow-up questions, Gwen re-entered the studio and locked the door, heading for the back.

Malloy fumed. She stepped back, people weaving around her from the sidewalk as she yelled into the storefront. "How did you even get a job!"


Rory packed up that evening with a sense of finality. This was something she wanted to do, something she was sure about, and still it felt so outside of her wheelhouse she couldn't even imagine it going well.

But she had to try.

Celene perked up as she made to leave. "Where are you going?" She'd been frantic lately, pacing Rory's room as more time went on and they weren't able to identify their new opponents. She'd left enough fur around that Rory was sure Mama had figured out she had a cat, but so far, she hadn't brought it up.

At night, she would sleep next to the treasure box, as if she had a chance if someone decided to come take it. But it helped alleviate her anxiety, so Rory wasn't going to say anything.

"Just going for a walk," Rory whispered back, holding the window as she opened it to minimize the noise.

Celene sat up, her tail whipping metronomically. "Your mother said that was dangerous."

Rory sighed, slumping into the window seal. Yeah, Mama had been on her about not staying out too late. Which was why she had to stay in, and then sneak out later on. You'd think she'd be used to this by now. "I'm taking the safe routes."

Celene stared at her for a moment, before sinking back down beside the Box. "…okay?"

Thank goodness for Celene's lack of modern day knowledge. Rory gave her a thumbs up. "I'll see you later."

She let herself breathe as she made it out to the street with no sign of noise from her house. She glanced over to Narma's home across the street. All the windows were dark. Time to go.

As soon as she hit a non-residential building, she transformed and took to the roof. Sailor Boreas crossed the city, hoping she would be on time to witness whatever handoff was supposed to be coming.


It took her about thirty minutes to get out to South King. They had been trying to revamp the place over the past couple months, and so there were only a couple properties left unfinished. Only one, near the crossroads those guys had mentioned.

Only when she was right on top of it did Sailor Boreas descend back to the street, lowering herself down with a clack of boots on asphalt. This had to be the place they were talking about. For now, all she could do was wait for them to show up.

If she hadn't missed them already.

Crossing her arms and sinking down against the alley walk, Rory hugged her knees, straining to keep out of the grime. Very alone.

A monster works on instinct. A monster can't hunt down your family.

She waited.


Nearly two hours had passed when she heard the tell-tale creak of the warehouse's back door. The moon spilled orange light overhead as Sailor Boreas rose from her crouch, body numb from maintaining her position. No turning back now.

She waited a minute or so until she was sure whoever was there had made it into the building. She didn't want to chance running into them as she made her own way. Gulping, Rory approached the entrance. Stepping as lightly as she could, she crept into the building, holding the door firm as she went to minimize the noise. She could hear speaking. She sneaked forward, glancing around a stack of crates that had been abandoned near the back. Looking around, it seemed as if this had become a dumping ground for excess supplies, the area peppered with crates of different shades and specifications.

There was a bag on the floor. She couldn't see what it was, but she couldn't imagine it was anything good. Two guys stood at the far end of the room, near the entrance. The lights were still off, but the moonlight provided enough visibility that she could make out their silhouettes. Different guys from before, but their bodies held at similar aggressive angles. She listened intently, trying to make out the conversation.

"Man, how do I know you're not ripping me off?"

One guy flipped a hand to the bag, "Take a look at them yourself. It's a quality stash. I know you heard of Kilo-J, he's the one that hooked us up. You can ask him."

Stash? So they were making some kind of exchange, just like the guy had said. As she watched, she saw the glint of a gun in one of the guy's waste bands. Okay, also not a good sign.

The first guy didn't seem convinced. "I don't know, man. The YTBs don't like you moving in on their turf, you know that, right? Any deals in this area? That's a challenge to them."

A chill went up Rory's spine. The YTBs? Okay, she'd heard enough.

She stepped out from her spot, pointing out to them. "Stay where you are!"

The two guys turned to her. Immediately, they moved for their weapons, but paused when they saw her. The guy who was apparently being sold to leaned back a little. "Dang, I thought that shit on the news was a joke. That's a pretty neat trick. What the hell are you supposed to be?"

Rory sucked in air. She kind of forget she didn't exactly look like a regular person in-uniform, at least not to civilians. They could only see that dark-holograph overlay, the bright gold and orange of her uniform. Lowly, she breathed. "It's not a trick. I—I'm a soldier of truth and justice. You are bringing trouble to this city, and I command you to leave, or there will be consequences." She planted her hands on her hips, and tilted her chin up, trying to look confident. She hadn't felt so much like Rory in-uniform in ages. "I suggest you surrender now. I don't want to hurt you."

The other guy laughed. "Aw, she doesn't want to hurt us." He spit. "Scram, you freak. We got business to take care of."

They weren't taking her seriously. She shifted side-to-side, gripping her boots to the dusty floor. I gave them a chance. "Alright then." She nodded and stretched her neck out one more time. "If that's your choice—" How did this go? She remembered, and thrust out her arm. "—then in the name of this city, I will punish you!"

The guys grinned at each other, seeming to finally realize this was going to be a fight. The runner shook his head. "You showed up to the wrong party."

She tensed—He pulled out the gun.

The other guy grabbed his hand, wrenching the gun away where it clattered to the floor. "No, you idiot! You forget where we are? What if the cops hear?"

With the spastic energy of an arachnophobe crushing a spider, Sailor Boreas shouted, "Dire Stellar Gust!" The burst threw them off kilter into the wall with a meaty thud.

Rory covered her mouth, biting back a gasp. Oh, crap, this was a lot more real than she had anticipated. It occurred to her then, how did she plan to incapacitate these guys? And what then? Man, she really hadn't thought this through.

The assault didn't distract them for long. Flipping out a pocketknife, they came towards her. Little ole' her going hand-to-hand with some tactical, fully mobile human beings wasn't a situation she wanted to be in. She needed to take them on separate.

One of the guys charged towards her, obviously faster than his friend and she staggered out of the way. Good thing she was agile, these guys were pissed now. She could see, actually, where the shrapnel of the Gust left gouges in his skin. He had a tattoo of a tiger that looked completely mauled. Her heart pounded, not used to seeing gore she had inflicted. Get it together!

Sailor Boreas eyed the crates behind him as she noticed the guy coming up on the other side. It struck her; she didn't just have her powers! The thought was like a light in the grungy darkness of the warehouse.

Leaping up, she hoped the crates would be heavy enough to support her as she swung around to the other side of the stack. With the momentum, hanging from one crack she brought her feet swinging towards the one beside it. The force was enough to send the relatively heavy-feeling crate flying out to smash into the guy's side, where he went down with a shout.

Holy crap, she might actually be doing something here!

She yelped as the other guy thrust forward with the knife into the gap she had landed in.

Jumping back, she only had a second as the guy rounded the crates. She had to space to summon a gust as the guy swiped the blade out at her—she yelped as the knife caught the space between her glove and her shoulder braces.

The guy laughed, the strings of his rag whipping behind him like "That magic shit ain't that great then, is it?"

She had to make some space. Eyes scanning the room, she noticed a support pillar not too far off. Turning to sprint, she could feel the pounding of his tennis shoes behind her as she made a break for it.

"Oh, now you want to run. Sorry, you fucked up, girlie."

Oh Jesus! Heart pulse slammed at vision blackening speed as she crouched, praying to herself as she pushed off the floor, aiming a vertical climb at the pillar.

One, two, three, her boots kept the traction and on the third hit, she swung her arms up to grab the diagonal strut. With all her strength, she pulled herself up to hook one arm over, leaving her other arm free.

Glancing down, her pursuer looked annoyed, and a little baffled. Wow, she was not used to having to hold herself up for extended periods of time; her inner arm was screaming. Thrusting out her arm, she yelled once more, "Dire Stellar Gust!" Please let this work.

She'd gotten fairly good manipulating the gust, though never under such high pressure. With all her will, she urged the breeze to wrap around the blade—the guy yelled as the sharp particles sliced at his fingers, but ultimately grabbed the knife.

She flung it away.

The guy looked shocked for a moment, but in his search for his weapon his eyes landed on the fumbled gun he had originally went for. He shot down to grab it.

Nope, no way. She let go of the pillar.

Before the guy could straighten back up, Sailor Boreas crashed down on top of him, boots first.

The warehouse was quiet, except for the sound of her own heavy breathing. She kneaded the muscle below her armpit, and she turned her arm over. Yeesh, that was a nasty cut. She surveyed the seen. No time to worry about it now.

She noticed a sort of highlighter yellow rope connecting some of the crates together, and she located the discarded knife on the floor. Cutting the cord, she gathered up the length of it and brought it over to the pillar she had climbed. It was a series of actions and she was almost in a daze. She moved the crate off of Tiger Tattoo, dragged him over. Lined him and White Do-rag up on opposite sides of the pillar, so they couldn't reach each other. Secured them the best she could, fiddling nervously with the knots and hoping they would stick.

She collected a couple remaining weapons they had stowed in their pockets and moved over to the zippered bag. She unzipped it and found two things: some little bundles of white she didn't want to know, and guns. Like, a dozen. Frankly, quite a few guns.

Breathing, she zipped up the bag, keeping it away from her gash. She thought about it—where to go next? What should she do?

Eventually, she found a payphone nearby. She had to do this fast; she couldn't risk leaving anything behind. She dialed 911, fishing out a couple coins she had found on the perps.

"911, what's your emergency?"

Rory's mind whirled, what should she say? In a split-second decision, she lowered her voice, enunciating as far outside of her normal speech patterns as she could manage. "I'm at 6th and South Lander," she said. "I'm leaving it here. You can pick them up at the warehouse on 6th."

The operator paused. "I'm sorry?"

"You should hurry."

Sailor Boreas disconnected. She dropped the bag to the base of the phone booth, drugs and pistols crunching inside. The part of her that wouldn't stop being Rory placed a hand over her mouth, a sort of hysteria hovering in the back of her mind like a fly, buzzing in an empty room. What had she gotten herself into?

The clicking of her boots on the street was deafening as she made her way home.