To yellow 14: I do like Chloe's role in this story!

To Lyger 0: It's amazing what a couple of positive influences can do for a person.

To Cesar848: Chloe is definitely better than she was in April, but she's not by any means over her trauma. I'm glad you're enjoying seeing Bri interact a little more with the larger Heroes of Europe! That's part of the impetus behind "Group Therapy" as the follow-up to this story. And your English is fine; I hope my few attempts at Portuguese have been passable.

To StarDaPanda225: There are a few characters who need therapy after this, lol! Not all of them will be in "Therapy," but those two will.


The sun had been down for almost an hour already when Felix hopped through the portal ring into Iron Maiden's workshop. He frowned on catching sight of the disarray on the workbench. When he had arrived the night before, it had looked as though someone had thrown everything from the bench onto the floor; tonight it looked no different. If possible, it even looked worse, with wires and circuits scattered all over the workbench, the tools not replaced. Felix picked up a couple small screwdrivers from the floor and returned them to their accustomed spots on her corkboard.

Barkk whined piteously. "Poor Maiden," she commented, resting a paw on one of the wrenches.

Felix nodded, his jaw set in a firm line. "Poor Maiden, indeed," he agreed, frowning.

The Kwami gave him a sharp look. "You know you didn't actually do this to her, right?"

"Yeah, well, it doesn't exactly feel that way."

Barkk settled onto his shoulder and put her paw on his cheek. "Remember what Chloe said: what are you going to do about it now?"

He shrugged. "Other than what I'm doing? I don't know." He cautiously left the workshop and made his way down the alley before transforming and leaping up to the rooftops to start his circuit. The Ripper had struck two nights ago, so if he was following his pattern, he would probably attack again tonight or tomorrow night. And if the Hound was lucky, he would be close by when it happened so he stop him and could put an end to his reign of terror for good. It wasn't enough that the Ripper had terrorized the city for months. It wasn't enough that he had antagonized the Hound personally. It wasn't even enough that the Ripper had murdered countless women. He had traumatized Felix's friend. He'd had the opportunity to stop him once and failed to do it. He wouldn't make that mistake again.

"How are you tonight, dear?" his mother asked over the communicator.

The Hound sighed heavily. "I'll be doing so much better if I get a chance to beat someone up."

"Just be careful."

"Yes, mother." The Hound jogged around the city once at a brisk pace to work the stiffness out of his muscles after a long day spent sitting at desks in classrooms. The cloud cover had descended to hang mere meters above the roofs of the buildings he ran across; Big Ben itself was partly obscured by the clouds, as was the London Eye. In spite of the streetlights, the Hound found himself running across rooftops he could barely see, picking his way around obstacles purely by virtue of his miraculous-enhanced vision and the light coming from the streetlamps and reflecting obliquely off the clouds. Sound echoed strangely from below as the Hound shifted his focus to run specifically around the section he had identified as the Ripper's killing zone. Thanks to the citywide curfew, very few pedestrians were out this late; those that needed to go somewhere stuck close to the streetlights and gave alley entrances a wide berth. A handful of cars were on the streets. The Hound jogged above it all, following the Strand toward the border of the City of London.

He was only a block or so away when he spotted light reflecting off the clouds to the north from the same building where he had seen it over the weekend. The Hound furrowed his brows and turned north to investigate. Once could be attributed to an anomaly; twice could still be a coincidence. But all the same…

He hadn't covered more than half the distance when the silence was pierced by a shriek from the east – preternaturally loud in his miraculous ears. The Hound's eyes widened. A chill ran down his spine on hearing the cry; it cut off abruptly, and his heart dropped into his stomach. His boots almost slipped on the roof tiles as he skidded to a stop and changed direction, catching his leash around a chimney to manoeuvre himself through a sharp turn before swinging across the street. His footsteps pounded too loud in the stillness that followed that cry, his heart thudding hard in his chest. If that shout was what he thought it was, he didn't have any time to lose–

So intent was he on listening for another scream that he almost missed the whistling sound coming up from the street below him. Almost. On instinct he lunged forward through a roll, moments before a wad of chi-putty hurtled through the air directly in front of him and splattered on the building's angled roof. The Hound spun quickly to find the source of the chi-putty. It was the Vicar. With a groan, the Hound jumped off the roof, bent his knees to cushion his landing, and transferred his momentum forward, driving his fist into the Vicar's face.

"You again?" he demanded, ducking under the Vicar's wild counterpunch. "I don't have time for you!"

"Is it that Dark Acolyte?" His mother's voice sounded worried. "Do be careful!"

"Well you had better make time, miraculous abuser!" retorted the Vicar, eyes flashing ferociously. He planted his quarterstaff on the ground, spun around into the air, and aimed a kick at the Hound's head.

"A woman's life may be at stake!" the Hound shouted, springing back away from the Vicar's kick and lunging forward to punch him twice in the stomach as he landed. "There is a monster out there targeting women, and I'm pretty sure he just attacked again!"

"The only monster I see is the one who is using a miraculous which will throw the world out of balance!" The Vicar sprang back away from the double punch, flicking chi-putty at the Hound.

"You Dark Acolyte blokes need to get your stories straight," the Hound commented sardonically, sidestepping the chi-putty and jumping into a flying kick at the Vicar's head just as a bolas skipped across the pavement under him. "We aren't the ones imbalancing things! We are the ones trying to help people! And all you're doing right now is preventing me from helping someone in danger!"

"Ha!" The Vicar scoffed, rolled forward, and sprang to his feet, whipping around to catch the Hound with his back turned. He swung his staff two-handed at the Hound's leg. "If you truly wish to help people, then give up that miraculous. That will really help the world!"

The Hound snorted and jumped over the swinging quarterstaff. "I assure you, that's not going to happen." He flicked his leash down at the Vicar's feet, but the Vicar spun over the cord, planted his staff on the ground, and aimed a kick at the Hound's head. The Hound grimaced as he ducked under the kick and edged around the Vicar's chi-putty throw. He couldn't keep going like this – not when the Ripper was on the prowl – and may have just attacked. With a groan he hit the button on his leash handle to make the call.

Iron Maiden answered on the second ring. "What do you want, Hound?" she asked, her voice sounding oddly detached.

The Hound grunted and blocked a punch before aiming a blow of his own at the Vicar's face. "I hate to bother you, Maiden," he began, leaping back out of the Vicar's range, "but I find myself fighting this stupid Dark Acolyte again… and the Ripper is out – I'm sure of it. Um… any chance of an assist, partner?"

She let out a heavy breath. "I'm sorry… I do want to help, but…" Her breathing hitched. "With the Ripper out…"

"It's okay," he responded, grunting in frustration as the Vicar sidestepped around another punch, and knocked him off balance. "I probably shouldn't have called."

"No–it's okay," she replied quickly. "I just–" She sniffled. "I'm not ready yet. Are you…?"

"Oh, yeah," he assured her, too quickly. His eyes widened as the Vicar sent a pair of bolas skipping across the pavement at his ankles. He jumped over it and contorted his body to avoid two wads of chi-putty that flew by on either side of his torso. "It's just–"

A bloodcurdling shriek of anguish pierced the night, coming from the same direction as the cry he had heard before. The Hound's heart stopped; he stumbled as he landed, nearly losing his balance. He didn't react when the Vicar struck him across the back with his quarterstaff.

"What was that!?" Iron Maiden demanded, gasping.

The Hound didn't answer. Nothing mattered but speed. He left the Vicar in the dust and raced in the direction of the noise, sprinting down the deserted street. The wind whistled around his ears as he ran. Chi-putty splattered against a streetlamp next to him, but he couldn't stop. He strained his ears for another cry, afraid he would hear it and afraid he wouldn't. The streets were deserted, no cars or pedestrians to be seen. The scream had come from an alley just down the block; with a burst of speed he turned the corner and nearly stopped in shock.

Halfway down the alley the Ripper crouched over a motionless form in the deep shadows against one wall. As the Hound approached, he saw a pair of high heels, one with the stiletto broken. One leg twitched. The woman lay still, her arms splayed on the ground. The Ripper let out a guttural grunt.

"Hey, Jackass!" the Hound shouted, putting on a burst of speed and spinning his leash over his head as a lariat.

The Ripper straightened up and turned around in surprise, a wild look in his eyes. Wiry, tangled hair clung to the sides of his head. His flinty grey eyes narrowed on the Hound. Underneath him, the Hound caught a glimpse of the woman prone on the ground, lying in the centre of an expanding puddle of blood, a knife handle sticking out of her stomach. The Ripper opened his mouth and shouted something before plunging his hand down into the woman's stomach. Her back arched and she flopped to the ground limp as he withdrew his hand. The Ripper sprang to his feet, clutching something in one hand, and hobbled away down the alley, holding up his pants with his free hand.

Unconsciously, the Hound let out a guttural growl, eyes narrowing to thin slits.

"Please tell me," Iron Maiden begged. "What's going on?"

"You–you don't need to know." The Hound disconnected the call and sprinted down the alley, his eyes flashing with rage, whipping his leash out after the monster. But as fast as he could throw, he couldn't make up the distance in time. The Ripper turned the corner moments before the leash reached him, just as the Hound skidded to a stop next to the victim, dropping to his knees at her side. A long deep gash bisected her torso from neck to pelvis, her skin drawn apart to reveal her exposed ribs. Blood pooled in her chest cavity and ran down her sides onto the pavement. The Hound tried to force himself to turn away from the sight, swallowing down bile. The woman drew in a rasping breath, pulling the Hound's attention back to her face. Her mouth opened and shut feebly, her eyes fluttering open even as the light in them faded.

The Hound took another look down the alley where the Ripper had disappeared. He could go after him – and he might even find him, even with his head start. But what of the victim? In that moment, he could only see Iron Maiden as he had found her the week before, terrified and in pain. She hadn't wanted to be alone after that. And this woman was even worse – dying. Resolved, he took one of the woman's hands with both of his own and looked down into her eyes. The woman blinked up at him pleadingly. Her mouth moved, but no sound came out.

"I–I'm sorry," the Hound whispered, squeezing her hand, blinking back tears. "I wasn't fast enough. There–there's nothing I can do to save you." He let out a breath, his eyes taking on a determined glint. As the woman released her last breath, he promised her and all of the other victims, "But I swear I will stop the monster that did this. I will bring him down once and for all."