No one saw it coming. Not the Warden. Not the guards – most of them anyway. Certainly not the other inmates. A surprise visit from the State Department of Corrections a week after Winn and Alex's conversation with the Banshee had caused quite a stir. Most thought that she was being transferred. They actually breathed a sigh of relief. Whether it would be admitted or not, the general consensus in Van Kull was that the "new" Siobhan was scaring everyone. And those that weren't totally scared, would easily admit to finding her completely creepy.

On a daily basis the guards now actually bartered, bought, and fought to not have to be one working her cell. None of them wanted to venture in there and be forced to have to endure that cold, soulless stare. And they certainly didn't want to have to hear her taunting them.

There was a sigh of relief when the D.O.C. official said that he needed all the metahumans loaded up for transfer while an evaluation of their holding cells was conducted. It meant that Siobhan was going to be someone else's problem for a few days. The guards found it mildly amusing that even amongst the other metas, she was still looked at with apprehension.

A day later, when the evaluator never arrived and the Warden put in a call to the D.O.C., the truth came out. No official had been sent. There was no scheduled evaluation. What there was…was quite possibly the most ingenious prison break in California history.

The Silver Banshee was out.

The D.O.C. bus pulled into the warehouse, though none of the people on it, save for those posing as officers, could see it. The Banshee and the metas felt the bus stop, but the black hoods over their heads prevented them from seeing out. They were ordered to get up and were led off the bus. The Banshee felt the hood get yanked off her head and she immediately began looking around. There were what looked several weapons lockers arranged along the back wall and some stacked boxes near them.

There was a set of terminals on the right side wall with a massive screen above it, surrounded by smaller screens that had maps on the center screen and faces and profiles on the surrounding screens. The Banshee noticed that the top spot on each of the smaller screens was held by Superman and Supergirl.

Standing near them were a group of men and women carrying various tablets, phones, and devices. Probably everything they have on the aliens and us, the Banshee thought.

"Thank you for coming," said the woman from a few days earlier. "I hope you'll forgive the clandestine way in which you were transported, but we can't take any chances this early in our endeavor."

"Just who the hell are you, lady?" came the voice of one of the men that had been pulled off the truck.

A large man in hood that covered his face began walking toward him. "It's alright," the woman stopped him. "My name is Lillian Luthor, and I lead an organization that needs all of your assistance, more specifically the assistance your gifts can provide."

"Gifts? You mean our powers," the Banshee corrected.

"The powers of people such as yourselves make you all the only humans on Earth who can possibly match the aliens that have invaded our planet," Lillian told her.

"And we're just supposed to what…challenge them to a fight at noon down on main street?" one of the other female metas asked.

"Close," Lillian said. "I was thinking a small skirmish first, to test your abilities, and see who holds their own adequately enough."

A few of the assembled prisoners began snickering, a few complaining. The Banshee stayed impassive.

"So, you spring us to take on the mean, nasty aliens, but first you want us to audition for your little…X-Files?" came the accented voice of a man a few spaces down from Banshee. A quick glance over revealed a slightly tall, almost gangly thin man with purple hair and a piece of tech around his head similar in style to the shock collar the Banshee was wearing.

Lillian moved closer toward him. The hooded man followed her. "And you are, sir?"

"Manchester Black," he said smugly.

Lillian looked back over her shoulder at one of the men that was standing behind her. He typed into his tablet. "Manchester Black: 29 years old, originally hails from London, parents unknown, one sister. Powers: telekinesis and telepathy."

"Not while they have my head wrapped in this crown though, love," he grumbled.

"Well let's just see what we can do about that…for all you," Lillian said as she made her way back to center stage. "In the standing lockers and stacked foot lockers you'll find what we hope are suitable replacements for the gear, weaponry, and outfits you wore before your incarceration."

The assembled metas moved toward the foot lockers. The Banshee joined them, finding the one with her name on it. She threw it open and found a fairly accurate copy of the costume Leslie had put together for her as well as the make-up necessary to give her back her skeletal look. But what was surprising was the change of civilian clothes also in the locker.

"Would you prefer I address you as Silver Banshee, or Ms. Banshee?" she heard Lillian ask from behind her. The Banshee turned and looked at her liberator.

"Banshee is –"

The Banshee stopped as one of Lillian's aides came up and proceeded to remove the collar from around her neck and the shackles from her hands. She shot him a look of contempt for the interruption and the aide immediately cowered, his eyes falling to the floor as he backed up quickly.

"I apologize for that, but I assume that you would want those off," Lillian said as she watched the Banshee rub her wrists.

"You really think I'm going to let you just use me? That I won't decide to just kill you?" the Banshee tried to intimidate.

Lillian simply smirked. Before the Banshee could say anything else, or wait for a response, she suddenly felt a sharp pinch in the back of her neck. She groaned from the pain and turned to see a different aide standing behind her, a gun looking device in his hand that was used for whatever just happened. She growled at him and his eyes widened as he realized that he'd angered her. Without warning, the Banshee grabbed him by the neck, lifted him off the floor, and threw him one handed away from her.

"Feel better?" Lillian asked. The Banshee turned back toward her. "That pinch that you just received – that all of you just received – was a small capsule containing a neurotoxin that can kill almost instantly by releasing it into your bloodstream if it's ruptured. Turn on us in any way, I rupture it. Try to attack us in any way, I rupture it. Don't do as you're told, I rupture it. Don't live up to expectations, I rupture it. From this point on, we are in control, not you."

The Banshee glared at Lillian.

"Now, Silver Banshee, I have a special mission for you. I need to bring Supergirl to a desired location for our earlier mentioned skirmish."

"And just how am I going to do that?" the Banshee asked, clearly angry at essentially being put on a leash.

"Ms. Smythe is acquainted with people that Supergirl is also friends with. I want you to attack who you think will draw the best ire from her to get her to come after you. Once she does, simply get to a location I've already picked out."

"Do I really have a choice?"

Lillian smiled. "No. So please, get changed into the regular clothes, and get to work."

Winn was sitting inside Noonan's, finishing up his lunch. It had been a long morning at the DEO. J'onn had him trying to pinpoint where an unknown signal that the satellites had picked up was coming from. He'd gotten close, but for some reason the source of the signal was fluctuating and he wasn't able to narrow it down. He was beginning to get so frustrated to the point of nearly breaking his keyboard that he'd been ordered to take his lunch break and clear his head.

Now, after a cheeseburger and fries, he felt calm and more in control. Most of the tension of the morning was gone and he felt like he was ready to show that signal who was in charge.

Suddenly there was a commotion from the outside that caught his attention. Three big black SUVs forced their way through traffic and stopped in front of the restaurant with screeching tires. One look at the guys filing out and it became clear to Winn that something was wrong. Their clothes, weapons, and movements all said one thing: trained personnel. His thoughts were confirmed when they rushed inside and surrounded him.

"Don't shoot," he called out as the troops grabbed him and forced him from his chair and outside and into one of the SUVs. "Alex?" he gasped out once he was in the backseat and able to see her in the front passenger seat. "What the hell is with the Men in Black abduction?"

"Siobhan's escaped yesterday," was all Alex said right before she gave the order to head back to the DEO. "You're going into lockdown at the DEO until we find her."

The door to Winn's apartment flew off its hinges and into what would be the living room. The Banshee charged in after it, slowing to a saunter once she was inside. "Honey," she sang before her voice took on its normal, deep, menacing timber, "I'm home."

When there was no response she began to pace the apartment. It was nearly exactly the same as the last time, she thought as she accessed Siobhan's memories. The leather chair adjacent to the couch, which was the only new piece of furniture in the place. Siobhan had made him buy it since she thought the old one was way too old and way too ugly. She glanced at the worn couch, a small smile ceasing her lips as she remembered all the times Siobhan and Winn had made love on it when they knew that wouldn't be able to make it to his bed.

Leave.

The Banshee shook the stray command from her thoughts. Shut up Siobhan, she thought, knowing where it came from, I don't care how special you think this place is.

She took a couple of steps and then stopped. Something on the end table caught her attention. She picked up the picture frame on it and gazed at the picture. Winn, with some strange blonde. Judging from the facial structure, the Banshee assumed it was an alien. The boy does like them abnormal, she thought. But the most telling thing in the picture was the way they were positioned: Winn standing behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist. Her head was leaned into his shoulder. They were both smiling, the kind two people who care about each other do.

Before you, he used to smile that way with me.

Suddenly a rush of anger swept through her and she flung the frame, picture and all, across the room. The end table followed after it. She picked up the chair and, with a pained scream, tossed it, not caring where it went, but it landed in the kitchen.

She glanced back at the couch, and flashes of Winn and that woman on it blazed through her mind. She bent down, grabbed one end of the couch and lifted it as she rose, flipping it over, the cushions sliding over the floor. She went into the kitchen, grabbed the biggest knife she could find, and began slashing away at the cushions. Eventually, she began screeching as she caused more and more stuffing to begin flying out as she went nearly insane with anger.

"Who the hell are you?"

The Banshee stopped, knife in mid-swing, at the sound of the voice. She turned and saw the woman from the picture. She was carrying what looked like a few grocery bags. "Well, if it isn't the missus," she said. She stood up, knife still clutched in her hand.

"I'll ask one last time: who the hell are you?"

"Me? I'm the ex."

The Banshee dropped the knife and started moving toward Lyra. Lyra dropped the bags she was holding and rushed the Banshee, catching her off guard with a hard punch to the face. Before the Banshee could turn, she felt herself being kicked in the stomach. Lyra then delivered a hard right uppercut that sent the Banshee flying several feet into the wall that led to Winn's bedroom.

As she struggled to shake off the quick hits, the Banshee looked up and saw Lyra charging toward her. She saw her wind her right arm back, her fist balled up, and then watched as Winn's new girlfriend started bringing it down. Unfortunately for Lyra, the Banshee caught her fist. As she tried to yank her hand back, she felt the intruder begin squeezing. She started groaning in pain as she felt the bones in her hand start to buckle and crack under the pressure.

The Banshee stood, grabbing Lyra by the neck as she did. Once again, Lyra felt a hand squeezing down on her, this one cutting off her ability to breathe. Thinking quickly, she swung her left arm, landing a punch to the intruder's face, though because of the lack of oxygen, the blow lacked the force it should've had.

Without releasing either of her holds, the Banshee swung Lyra around, slamming her against the wall. She gripped Lyra's throat tighter and pulled her head off the wall, only to slam it back up against it. Lyra groaned in pain.

"W-who are you?" Lyra choked out. The Banshee slammed the back of Lyra's head against the wall again, this time causing a large crack to open on the sheetrock. She then drove her knee into Lyra's ribs several times, not stopping until she both felt and heard the breaking of bones.

As she watched Winn's new girlfriend gasp for air, she leaned in until she was nose to nose with her. "I'm the person who'll be deciding whether you're more valuable dead or alive," the Banshee answered. Lyra tried to struggle, but the Banshee head-butted her before she could muster up the attempt. She let go, watching as Lyra crumpled to the ground. She knelt over her, patting her down until she felt what she was looking for.

Winn slammed his phone down into the desk in the conference room he was sitting in after he'd been rushed to the DEO after being told of Siobhan's escape. He'd been trying to call Lyra since Alex broke the news and all he got was ringing and voicemail.

"Winn, calm down," Alex instructed him as she sat across from him.

"Calm down?" he asked, his voice raised almost a whole octave. "My super crazy ex-girlfriend just escaped prison and is probably looking for me. What happens if she Lyra first instead?"

"Lyra can handle herself," she told him.

"I'd still feel safer if I could warn her," he huffed.

Alex smiled. Seeing Winn so worried about Lyra told her that the relationship the two of them had wasn't just some passing fad or Winn experimenting. There really was something between those two. She figured Lyra was at least invested in the relationship after the whole art theft situation. Lyra maybe a good con artist, but there was no faking the look of relief when Winn told her he forgave her.

"I'm sure she's fine, Winn. Lyra's smart and knows how to take care of herself," Alex reassured.

Winn nodded. Suddenly, his phone started ringing and he practically leapt at it when he recognized Lyra's ringtone.

"Lyra," he said as he answered.

"So that's her name," came the voice on the other end. "It's pretty…kind of like her."

"Siobhan?" he asked, dread quickly filling him. Alex sat up at the sound of Siobhan's name.

"Sorry, Winnie," the Banshee replied. "Still Silver Banshee," she laughed eerily.

"Where's…what did you…?"

"Your girlfriend? Don't worry, she's alive. Beaten. Bruised. Probably a few broken bones. But alive…and unconscious on your living room floor," she taunted.

"S-Siobahn," he whispered.

"Don't call me that," the Banshee snarled over the phone. "We need to talk. Tomorrow – one o'clock. Follow the phone," she ordered just before hanging up.

The phone fell from Winn's hand.

"Winn. Winn what happened?" Alex asked as she watched him go practically catatonic.

"She was at my apartment," he answered, his voice hollow. "She…she hurt Lyra."