Author's Note: I would like to add a special note of appreciation to my co-writer, Luna, who betaed this chapter in a rush because I'm terribly impatient. Much thanks hun!

Edit: I don't know what went wrong with the paragraps, but I've fixed them now. did something funny.

Chapter 4 - Why is a raven like a writing desk?

The gate had been threaded with chains and padlocks, barred off with molding crates and cardboard boxes, and left to idle in the dark and silence, home only to a thriving nest of rats. When its tranquility was invaded by bleak beams of light and the low rumble of voices and footsteps, there was a frantic flurry of activity. The rodents possessed the uncanny realization that their home would not withstand the force that was heading unerringly in its direction.

Albeit slowly, and with much complaining. "Oh ew. I am so glad I can't see what I just stepped in."

"Suck it up bro," Clint said. "At least this isn't the sewers."

"Well the steam tunnels aren't much cleaner. Yuck." Bobby's voice was loaded with disgust.

Cooper deliberately changed the subject. "We're almost there, right Bends?"

"Hmm." There was a ruffle of paper, and a huge map expanded in the blond's arms. Lights danced on its surface, doing the best they could to illuminate the faded print. "Should be just ahead…uh, hang on. That's not supposed to be there."

Their flashlights found the gate in all its rusted, immobile glory. John pushed against it experimentally, the outline of deep blue skin carved monstrously in shadow. True, Bends was getting used the way the four brothers looked now, but in such stark lighting they all looked as strange and fearsome as they had on that first day.

"We can probably break through it," John said. "Come on guys."

They could also see a lot better in the dark than he could, and Bends had to resist the urge to jump as he felt rather than saw them sliding past him. He offered them a shaky grin that probably went unnoticed anyway. "I think I'll just sit back and watch. You guys are much better at the heavy lifting now anyway."

"Gee, thanks a lot Bends," Bobby grumbled, putting his shoulder to the barrier.

"On three," John ordered.

With one decisive push, the gate gave way with surprising ease, leaving the brothers staggering not to just fall on their faces.

Clint recovered first. "Man, I keep forgetting how strong we are now. I probably could have done that myself."

"If you'd actually done any of the work just now, maybe I'd believe it," Bobby told him, irritated.

Cooper was already looking past the wreckage of the gate. "Is this is?"

"Yep." The space ahead was a few shades above being in total darkness, just light enough to get around without a touch. Bends stowed his in his bag, picking his way cheerfully over the crates and jumping down the short drop to the floor level. "Home sweet home."

"Home?" Bobby echoed incredulously. "It's a dump."

The wide room had originally been intended as the basement level of a maintenance station that had never seen completion, and as such there were crumbling, unfinished walls, discarded scaffolding, and more than a few drafty holes in the ceiling. Not exactly as impressive as Bobby had hoped.

"It's a fixer-upper," Bends conceded. "But beggars can't be choosers. You need a place to hide out until things cool down top side, and I can guarantee you no one will find you here."

"No one except the rats," Bobby observed.

"At least you'll fit right in," Clint sniped.

"Would you two cool it for a bit?" John said, exasperated. Truthfully, he actually had a soft spot for rats. He thought fleetingly of his own pet, Hilary, and hoped Lena had managed to check on her. With all the mess they'd gone though, it had been a few days since he'd been home to feed her.

"It's not too bad," Cooper offered. At least one of them needed to stay optimistic. "I'm sure when we've cleaned the place up a bit, it'll be great."

"Add a few creature comforts and you'll never want to leave," Bends agreed. The thought of the project filled him with glee. It was no secret that Bends liked to make things, and turning the place into something habitable would be an interesting challenge. He already had half a dozen ideas he couldn't wait to try out…but it was too easy to get ahead of himself. This wasn't a job for one person.

"I don't suppose you guys have any DIY experience do you?" The brothers looked at him unhelpfully. "Fixing stuff around the house? Anything more complicated than changing a light bulb?" More blank stares. He sighed deeply. "Alright, this may take a while."

Clint snorted. "Well it's not like we've got anywhere else to be."

"Don't be so sure," John said darkly. "What about Paradigm?"

An electrified spark jolted through the brothers, fascinating and alarming to witness. The name was spat like poison.

"You guys aren't serious about taking him on, are you?" Bends said, pushing up his headband uncertainly. "He'd got everyone convinced you're the bad guys, and even the mayor is under his thumb. The whole city is on his side."

John eyed him sharply. "And you think things should stay that way?"

"Well, no." Bends shifted nervously. "But you should be careful. He's got the big guns and we've got the water pistols, you know?"

"But we're the only ones who know what he's really up to," Cooper pointed out.

"The man's got a few screws loose, but he's still dangerous," Bobby added. "The city's just a nice, easy target for him."

"Sooner or later, he's gonna slip up," John finished. "If we can expose him, then Dad can come out of hiding and he can change us back."

"And some payback would sure be nice," Clint smirked. "We have a plan for that already."

Bends stared warily. "You do? Since when?"

John waved him off. "Since yesterday, but depending on what Lena finds out, it may not work."

"You sure it was a good idea to get her involved?" Bends asked. "If Paradigm finds out she knows about you guys…" He let it hang but the implications were obvious.

"I trust her judgment," John said easily. "If she can give us the inside story on what he's up to we can stay one step ahead of him. Hopefully that'll be enough."

"Well that didn't take very long at all," Lena muttered to herself, surveying the office that had once belonged to Luther Paradigm. Seemed the Professor was moving on to bigger, better things now that he had the Mayor's ear. As the only remaining expert available to counter the supposed 'Bolton threat', Fission City's council was more than willing to accede his every desire, including a brand new laboratory in the city center.

Even if she hadn't known the man was crooked, she might have started to suspect. Oh, he played the part of civil servant very well. For someone she'd always known to be socially abrasive, he was an amazing actor. It made her wonder how long he'd been hiding his real feelings, his real agenda. What even made a person like that?

There was no real point in stopping to wonder. Bends had worked his spell on her keycard to get her through the door, but now it was up to her own detective work to figure out what the doctor was planning. Everything in his office was already packed up and ready for transport, and she'd never been more grateful for the doctor's precise nature; everything was neatly sorted and labeled.

Still, she might have had trouble figuring out what to look for, but as a lab assistant she already knew the value in research. Detective Michael Brock had come back to interview her a second time about Doctor Bolton, and it was easy enough to pose a few innocent questions about his work.

"The easiest way to track someone down is their bank accounts," he'd told her with a smile. "The world runs on money as much as we'd like to think otherwise. All you have to do is follow it."

The box marked 'Financial Records' was sitting right on top of the stack, like a gift. With one last, nervous strain of her hearing to make sure no one was coming, she pulled it open and began shuffling through it, looking for anything that stood out. All the top sheets were University pay slips, identical to the ones she got herself, and were of little interest. Then there was a delivery bill for some place called the Meshinda Institute, which she'd never heard of. Car repair, textbook sale, supermarket receipt, another delivery for the Meshinda Institute.

She took a second look at it. The logo in the corner was strangely familiar; red and black, circular, with an inner design of geometric shapes that looked kind of like a stylized fish. Hadn't John mentioned something about Paradigm's other creatures carrying a symbol like that? The resemblance might only be passing, but perhaps it was Paradigm's idea of a little joke. Whatever the Meshinda Institute was, it probably belonged to him.

She flipped quickly though the rest, looking out for the logo. All of them were delivery receipts for various pieces of equipment. Lab equipment. Excitedly, she memorized the address before carefully placing everything back the way she'd found it. In all likelihood, the Meshinda Institute was a backup Laboratory for Paradigm's more unsavory experiments and, if so, John would want to know about it.

Satisfied that she hadn't left a trace, she slipped quietly out of the office, making sure the door locked behind her. All clear. She breathed a sigh of relief, smoothed out her coat, and headed for the door, only to nearly run into Paradigm in the corridor.

"Doctor," she greeted reflexively, startled. Surely the guilt must be showing on her face? For a moment she thought she would give herself away under his hard glare, but clenching her hands in her pockets, she steeled herself and tried for a weak smile. "Back so soon? I thought you'd moved out of your office already."

The look he gave her seemed to linger too long, and for a moment she thought he suspected, but his gaze wandered when she didn't back down. "I had to come back for a few more boxes. It's amazing the kinds of trivialities one collects, and it's never certain when they might actually come in handy."

He sounded so…normal. Normal for him anyway. She almost forgot to be afraid of him. "It's a shame you're leaving. The place is going to be rather empty until they can find a decent replacement."

The smile he gave her was unusually fond. "They'll be hard pressed, I'm afraid. In spite of things, I can freely admit that Robert was a spectacular teacher. His students loved him. I never quite managed to inspire the same level of devotion." His expression faded. "A wonder, how quickly the wheels of fate turn."

Paradigm had obviously missed his calling in a theatric career. Even Lena almost doubted for a moment, but all too quickly the Doctor turned back to business. "Actually Lena, I wondered if I might have a word with you. As it seems your presence here is superfluous without any teachers to organize, perhaps I could offer you another employment opportunity at my new office?"

Seeing her surprised expression he quickly added, "On a part time basis, if you prefer. I'd just forgotten how much trouble it is, breaking in a new lab assistant. I've yet to find anyone with skills to your equal, and wondered if perhaps it isn't more efficient for us to simply continue working together."

At least on that point she could believe him. Paradigm had terrified every other worker before her, much to Bolton's bemusement. His inter-city office would be in the public eye as long as Bolton was a threat, and thus it wasn't very likely to be a trick or a trap. Of course working with Paradigm had never been a pleasure – he was a demanding task master, quick to criticize – and the university was her love…but this was a golden opportunity and she was willing to make that sacrifice.

"I'd love to."

Light and water were the two barest of essentials that couldn't be done without. Bends trusted John to take care of the former, while he himself was up to his ankles in a slimy pool of ooze, trying to coax the rusty pipes to reconnect to the rest of the water grid. It was really quite an artistic process, stealing other unused pipes from the rest of the steam tunnels, before adding them to his winding creation that was slowly weaving towards the mains.

"The roof is probably gonna leak when it rains," Clint said dourly, staring at the ceiling without enthusiasm as he paced. Staying still was a continuous struggle against the Shark's instincts that he didn't really feel like bothering with. "And sleeping down here is going to suck until we find a way to keep the rats out."

"I'll get you a cat," Bends muttered distractedly, tightening bolts and soldering metal to make sure nothing would leak when the time came for it to perform its job. "We'll just take it one problem at a time dude."

"We don't have anything but time," his friend retorted. Personally, Bends didn't think he had much call to complain. Unlike Bobby and Cooper who were hauling the trash out, Clint had landed himself the cushy job of helping Bends which didn't involve more than bending a few of the purloined pipes when they didn't fit the shape the mechanic-come-plumber was aiming for. The unreal act of strength barely registered as an iota of effort, but Clint had always been under motivated. More so now when the only thing he wanted to do was go out and tear Paradigm's face off.

"What's happening with the shop?" he asked suddenly.

Suspended Reality, the comic book store they'd founded together, was his pride and joy, not to mention a sweet piece of income. Bends worked multiple jobs – mainly because he had a plethora of expensive hobbies, but also because he enjoyed keeping busy – but Clint had been coasting along quite happily for the last year, tending the store from middays till closing and then enjoying his own wicked pastimes. All the Bolton brothers were extremists in their own way; Clint's favorite adrenalin rush was nighttime street racing.

"Closed for personal reasons," Bends mumbled, holding the wrench between his teeth as he shifted the next pipe into place. "I can probably afford to take another couple of days off, but after that I'll need to get back to it. And find someone to take your shifts."

Only until he was changed back, Clint reminded himself to suppress the irrational surge of jealousy that someone else was going to be running his baby. Then he had a thought. "What about Jets? He mentioned he might be interested once."

Bends seemed to be concentrating very hard on his work. "Jets went back to stay with his folks for a while."

Clint blinked a bit. "Oh. Is he--?"

"He's still in shock about the whole thing," Bends admitted. "I haven't seen him since the manhunt. We're," a pause, "not really talking at the moment."

The hammerhead was staring in earnest now. "Why?"

He, Bends and Jets had graduated together and been inseparable the whole time since. Fighting, other than the requisite roughhousing between friends, was a bizarre concept.

"I've been with you guys most of the time," Bends pointed out reasonably. "And he doesn't know that. But with you gone and me spending most of my time elsewhere…"

Clint swore under his breath. "You think we should tell him?"

It didn't sit right, having Jets left out like that, however good the reasons. They'd been covered at length last night, and Bends was quick to remind him. "It's safer if he doesn't know. John was right about that, and you know how Jets is. He can get a little…enthusiastic." He allowed Clint a beat to snort in amusement before adding more seriously, "He'd want to confront someone about it. And you know he used to be in Paradigm's classes. He thinks the man is pure gold. I'm not sure how he'd take being told otherwise."

"He liked my Dad too," Clint pointed out a little acidly.

"Yeah, but he doesn't really see your Dad all that often, whereas up until a week ago he'd been Paradigm's best student for the third year running."

Scholastic prowess wasn't something Clint had ever really picked from Jets during high school – they'd both spent too much time playing around to achieve more than passing grades – but college had really turned Jets around. It was all a matter of doing what he really wanted, channeling that enthusiasm into the right venues, and from the beginning he'd been earning top grades and scholarships offers left and right. Clint had felt absurdly proud of those achievements, and Jets himself, and there'd been nothing more than playful riffs when Clint had decided the university scene bored him to tears and had dropped out to pursue something a bit more lucrative (and far less demanding).

"I knew it!" Bobby's voice carried loudly in the cavernous space. Clint turned to see his younger brother pointing an accusing claw in his direction. "I knew you were slacking off again, you bastard."

"Our parents were married," Clint observed sweetly.

"We've been slaving away to clear out all this garbage for hours, and all you've been doing is sitting on your ass, and I'm not touching another damn thing until you start pulling your weight. Coop, get over here. We're going on strike."

Bobby flopped down, looking decidedly disgruntled. Coop followed his lead, although it looked like he was more interested in placating Bobby than any real objection to the uneven workload. Both of them were dirty, streaked with grime and a host of other things best left unidentified.

Bobby groaned, brushing ineffectually at his pants. "At least tell me we'll have a working shower by the end of the day."

"Maybe a cold one," Bends offered. "But I'm working on it."

"Lena said she'd try and get some of our stuff this afternoon," Coop added. Work suited him better than it did Bobby, so he didn't seem quite so disheartened. "You could have a change of clothes at least."

"I guess that'd do," Bobby muttered. He would have liked to keep up the complaints, but it was oddly shameful to have their youngest brother as the only voice of optimism. Coop didn't deserve his cynical attitude. Propping himself up a bit he glared mildly at Clint, but his tone was lighter. "Well I hope you're happy that we've done all the work. Now there's plenty of space. Don't know what we're going to do with it all though. Can't exactly go out furniture shopping, can we?"

Bends paused in the act of fitting another pipe. "Actually.…"

Bobby stared. "What?"

"I have some ideas on that front too." Bends smiled mysteriously. "How would you guys like to go out for a bit?"

That was definitely met with interest; straightened postures, bright eyes, flexing muscles. 'Out' was a magical word at the moment. Anything that got them out of the dark, vermin infested tunnels.

"Really?"

"Where?"

"Right now?"

"Yep!" He pulled himself away from his work, wiping his hands on a grease towel. "I don't think they'll be much risk of you being seen, and it's not all that far from here really."

Bends was willing to bet that the brothers didn't have more than the vaguest idea of where their new home was in the overall scheme of things, but Bends did. They'd probably be surprised by how central it was to a number of significant locations, like the one he was about to lead them to.

"It's gonna mean a bit more heavy lifting though," he warned. "And you'd better tell John first."

The former didn't seem to even register on Bobby and Cooper who were already enthusiastically moving to track their eldest brother down. Clint was a bit more sedate, waiting for Bends with an inquisitive look at the hold up.

In response, Bends kicked the mess of pipes to prove their sturdiness, and then turned a small, unremarkable wheel on the wall. There was an unearthly groaning, shuddering sound, followed by the much more satisfying splashing of water in the pipes. A nearby tap spluttered with an unhealthy wash of brown, murky water that slowly became clearer until it looked clean enough to drink. Clint smirked as Bends turned it off.

"One problem at a time," the blond repeated, sharing the grin.

It was hard to judge how far they'd walked underground, but Cooper counted off at least fifteen minutes of walking before the inevitable complaints started.

"You sure you're not lost dude?" Clint asked, eyeing the haphazard labyrinth of tunnels dubiously. "You didn't bring the map."

"I don't need it," Bends said, swinging his torch in tune with his jaunty step. "I've explored this way a time or two."

"You spend your free time down here?" Bobby asked incredulously. "You know, I could give you a few tips on managing your social life."

Clint snorted. "As if he'd want any tips from you."

Cooper automatically pushed between them, deftly blocking Bobby's punch before it connected with Clint's shoulder. "We're almost there, right?" he asked plaintively.

"It's just down this way. Check it," Bends pointed. 'It' turned out to be thick grate embedded into the wall at the end of the corridor, but moving with surety, Bends simply tugged at it until it came loose. The screws had been removed long ago, leaving clear passage to the room on the other side, except for one minor detail.

Bends looked between the hole and the brothers, gauging the comparative sizes and scratching his head sheepishly. "You know, I remembered this hole being bigger."

"No way my fin's fitting through that," Bobby said, crossing his arms. Bends hadn't really taken into consideration the fact that the brothers were now a lot bigger in both bulk and height. A human could climb though with a bit of squeezing, but a mutant? Not so much.

"Well maybe you can--" Bends made a demonstrative, enlarging movement with his hands.

Clint stepped up to the wall, eyeing it dubiously. "It looks pretty sturdy."

He tried anyway. Instead of concrete like the rest of the tunnels, this wall was tarnished steel like the grate. The hammerhead pulled at it, feeling the metal give a resounding groan but not quite give way.

He grunted with effort. "Stupid…wall…arg!" What came next was entirely instinct – it certainly wouldn't have occurred to the human part of his brain – but sharks didn't have hands or arms. Their only real tactile sense was their mouth, and before he stopped to think about it Clint bit down on the edge of the hole, getting for a feel for the toughness of it while his razor sharp teeth pitted new weaknesses in the surface.

Bobby grimaced a bit. "Nice."

Clint let it go and started pulling again. "Shut it." Surprisingly, it tore much easier after that, and he managed to widen the hole by another two feet. He stopped for a moment to reflect. "You know, that wasn't nearly as gross as it should have been."

"Guess sharks aren't very picky," Bends observed, looking at the jagged bite mark cautiously, but he now hand plenty of room to step though and even Cooper's broad shoulders fit with a bit of contorting. Brushing off some of the grime from the tunnels, he turned with a grin. "I bet you guys can't guess where we are."

Bobby looked around. He couldn't see anything except a dozen, formless uninteresting shapes draped with mismatched sheets, but the stagnant smells of cloth and wood were pretty overwhelming. "Is this where the dust bunnies come to die?"

"This," Bends continued, with light glare, "is the basement level of the University's library."

Clint scratched his head. "The library doesn't have a basement." Otherwise there would have been much less complaining about the overstuffed bookshelves and the cramped work desks from Jets.

"Oh it does." Bends grinned. "Or it was supposed to, but the budget ran out before they finished down here and since then it's just been used for storage. Most of it is from classroom renovations, but three generations of teachers have been secretly stowing their stuff down here too."

He dragged a nearby sheet down with a flourish, revealing what was underneath. Clint blinked. "Woah."

An antique wardrobe, carved in mahogany with brass trimming on the doors. Beside it was a full length mirror stand, cracked a little in one corner, but otherwise in perfect condition.

"I figured a few people probably moved house, left their stuff down here to save on movers bills and then just forgot about it. There's one of just about everything down here. Tables, couches, maybe even a bed or two. We can just sneak it back to your hideout and no one will ever know."

"Dibs on the mirror," Bobby said quickly, pulling it out so he could admire it – or maybe his reflection – more easily.

Clint dragged down another sheet, a tall stack of boxes marked with smudged labels like 'plates' and 'utensils'. His eyes gleamed a little; they were the metaphorical kids in the candy store, with the doors thrown open and everything declared free. "Oh man, we're gonna have too much to carry."

The older two were getting right into the spirit of the idea, but Cooper was frowning, his spots seeming to ripple with unease as he tenuously said, "But isn't this kind of like stealing?"

There was an uncertain pause from the other three as they considered that new, unexpected angle of thinking. The thought hadn't even entered Bends's mind, and he blamed the fact that he was still operating in crisis mode; all the normal rules were suspended until the world started making sense again.

"Well…" he paused awkwardly, thinking. The resurgence of a concept that should have been natural left him reeling, but it wasn't enough to deter him. They needed this stuff, and he knew in his bones that it wouldn't be missed, but he wasn't sure how to convey that in a way that wouldn't sound unscrupulous. It felt disturbingly like he was about to corrupt his own little brother. Thankfully, Bobby and Clint had far more practice at that, and stepped in to rescue him from floundering

"Listen Bro," Bobby put an arm around Cooper's shoulder, remarkably intent for a change. "We don't like it either, but at the moment we don't have a whole lot of choices. Lena and Bends might be able to snag a few personal items for us, but they can't exactly start hauling furniture into the steam tunnels because that's gonna get noticed real quick, and you can bet Paradigm's watching them."

"We'd be putting them at risk," Clint confirmed. "And if Bends is right, this stuff belongs to people who aren't coming back for it anyway. We just take what need so we're not sleeping on the floor and eating off our laps, kay?" With a twisted smile he added, "Trust me, I did that when I first moved out, and it's not even slightly fun."

"And I'll keep an ear out in case anyone comes looking for their stuff," Bends chimed in. "That way we can return it before they even realize it was moved. It's not like we're intending to keep it forever. We're just…borrowing for a while. We can totally bring it back once everything blows over. No keeping."

Cooper digested those arguments slowly, but no one was willing to rush him, and they were finally rewarded with a weak smile. "Well okay."

Bobby slapped him heartily on the back. "Atta boy. Now lets figure out how we're going to get this stuff back through the tunnels."

They brothers resumed their exploration, while Bends reflected uneasily that they'd just crossed the first of many lines to come.

"Having fun?" Lena asked, watching John wobble perilously on top of a stack of crates while he fiddled with the lights.

"Just like the light bulb experiment in high school science," John dryly repeated back Bends's words. He'd been almost willing to believe that until he'd seen the mess of wires he was expected to connect. "Tell me you have good news."

She smiled, the crimson gloss of her lipstick flashing in the light of the gas lantern. "I have good news and better new. Good news is I managed to get into your Dad's house. Had to sneak under the crime scene tape but I did find those books you wanted."

"Lena, you're a life saver." John jumped down from his perch, accepting the heavy bag she'd been carrying and digging through it excitedly. The thick tomes of genetic theories and formulas were handled with reverence.

She peered curiously over his shoulder. "What are they for?"

"I was hoping they might help me figure out this," he said, offering her a slip of creased paper that had obviously seen better days. As she read through it he explained, "I took it from Paradigm's lab the first time we were there. I think it's part of the formula he used to change us."

"It's what Doctor Bolton was working on, isn't it?" she asked softly.

John frowned. "Dad didn't intend for it to be used like this. The gene-slamming technique was supposed to be used to introduce advantageous genetic traits to help protect endangered species, but this?" John gestured to himself and sneered. "Paradigm's twisted his research into something else entirely."

Although she moved cautiously, he appreciated her light touch on his arm. "I know your father John. He wouldn't have let Paradigm do this if he'd known."

"That's what worries me," he admitted grimly. "Who knows how long Paradigm's had those creatures with him. If Dad had confronted Paradigm on his own…"

He hadn't dared to speculate with his brothers, but Lena wasn't as close to the issue. She understood. "I don't think he's dead."

John sighed. "I don't know what to think. I guess we won't know unless Paradigm gives us a straight answer."

"Speaking of which, did you want the better news?" She offered him a folder, filled with her hasty compilation of any articles related to the Meshinda Institute. "I think I found what we're looking for."

John beamed. "I've mentioned we owe you, right?" Eagerly he flipped though the papers, nodding in satisfaction. "Perfect. We can use this."

"There's something else too," she said. "Paradigm's offered me a job at his new lab. Looks like you don't have to worry about finding a way to spy on him there."

He paused, lowering the folder as he gazed at her uncertainly. "Lena, are you sure--?"

"Positive," she asserted. "The man's a criminal John. We just need to find the kind of proof no one can argue with, and if that means I have to smile at his face every day then so be it." With a small, ironic smile she added, "It's not like I don't have a lot of practice at that."

He watched her for a moment longer, seeming to gauge her resolve before looking away. "If you're sure…I can't say we don't need all the help we can get. Just promise me you'll be careful."

"Of course." The mood was a little too sober, and despite every good intention she wasn't sure how well she'd be able to keep that promise, so she deflected the tension by asking, "Now where's everybody else? It's never this quiet around you boys."

"Bends is keeping them out of trouble." From the dubiousness in his voice she picked up the unspoken, I hope. "I thought I heard something about furniture but I don't know where they'd get it from, or how they'd sneak it down here without being seen."

"I'm sure Bends knows what he's doing." Her tone implied, or else, which made him grin. "Now did you want some help with the lights? It's been a while since high school, but I'm pretty sure I got an A on that light bulb experiment."

He chuckled. "That's better than me. I think I was sick the day we had to do that one, and since I'm pretty sure getting an electrician down here is out of the question, your expertise is the best we've got."

"At least until Bends gets back," she amended. "Which better be soon if you guys want me to bring something for dinner. Is pizza okay with you?"

He made a despairing face. "Please, anything but that."

Bends was a child of the technological age. He couldn't conceive a time before television, had never lived in a house without the internet, and there probably wasn't a problem that his mobile phone couldn't somehow solve, and therefore he could not send the brothers home in good faith without a computer.

"Bends," Bobby said in the slow, patient tone used on children. "We don't even have lights yet. We don't need a computer."

Bends looked scandalized. "Of course you do! What kind of self respecting groups of freedom fighters would be without one?"

"Freedom what?" Bobby grumbled. "We're more like escaped convicts at the moment."

"It's all a matter of perception," Bends told him with a grin. "But look, I've got about six computers worth of hardware sitting in my office. Just let me go grab a few things and we'll go, okay?"

"Dude, you're just looking for an excuse to create that super-computer you've always raved about." Clint swatted at him playfully. "Fine, go get your geek on, but keep it quick okay?"

"I'm already there," Bends flicked his hand in a quick salute, dashing towards the stairs and taking them two at a time. The University was still bustling with activity, and so he had to take care not to be seen coming out of the basement. It was understood that Bends had access to almost everything, seeing how no faculty was immune to broken copy machines and network failures, but he thought the librarian might have a few questions about what he was doing in the basement and why was he trampling dust into her nice, clean carpets.

The closely stacked shelves provided the perfect cover to hide behind, and he managed to escape with only one or two odd looks at the messy state of his clothing. His office was only a short jog away – administration, the library and the research labs were all housed in the same building since the senior staff usually needed access to all three, and of course his priority was to make their lives easier by keeping it all working. Considering the importance of his task, one would think he deserved a bit more than a converted broom closet to work in, but he didn't really spend much time there anyway. It was just a place to store stuff, including the half a dozen mismatched boxes of computer parts that he really needed to sort out one of these days.

Clint was right about his dreams of a super computer, but at the moment all he had to work with was stuff that was either outdated or broken. He doubted he'd be able to come up with anything impressive on his first try, but like all his more adventurous projects, he imagined it would be a work in progress.

Pulling down everything he thought he'd need, he suddenly wished for mutant strength of his own. The brothers make hauling furniture around look like a piece of cake, where as one small box of computer parts left him with the staggering need for a chiropractor. At least it was a comforting camouflage. No one questioned a man with his arms full of hardware moving with a purpose.

Although his purpose was momentarily derailed by an unexpected road block right outside the library; one he hadn't counted on meeting again any time soon.

"Doctor Paradigm?"

Surprise had usurped control of his mouth, though he desperately wished he could recall the words as the tall man turned, his hand still resting on the book return chute. His single eye seemed to home in on Bends like a sniper's scope. "Brandon," he greeted stiffly, a thin coat of politeness covering up layers of distaste.

The two of the had never really been on friendly terms despite Bends' close association with everyone else in the genetics department. Paradigm had a rather aggravating habit of simply staring though people he considered beneath his notice, and that included anyone involved in the 'menial' aspect of the University's upkeep. Not to mention the only other person who called Bends by his first name was his Grandmother, who was as mad as a hatter.

Right now it was all Bends could do not to spit in the man's face, but he did his best to tone it down to his usual level of wary cheeriness. How had Lena managed this? "I didn't expect to see you still here," he said cautiously. "Lena told me you moved out this morning."

"I had a few books to return." Paradigm gave him a sharp, probing look that mad Bends uncomfortably aware that his hands were full and in to easy position to defend himself. "Actually, I was hoping to have a word with you before I left…about your last conversation with the Bolton boys."

Bends almost did drop the box. "Er…what's to say?" He tried to manage a grin that probably looked like more of a grimace. "I haven't talked to them since before they disappeared, and like I told the police they didn't say anything about their dad."

"Really?" Something changed in Paradigm's demeanor, but Bends couldn't figure out what it was. "Never mind then. I was simply curious."

The curiosity of a genius was something he could live without. What was Paradigm getting at? Bends had been careful not to give any clues about where he'd been during the last few days, and Lena had been his alibi during the first day. The only part he couldn't account for he'd claimed to have been out visiting the brothers' houses individually, when he had in fact been answering John's confused phone call--

--after leaving a note on Lena's desk--

--which she hadn't found because it had mysteriously disappeared--

--and Paradigm was the only other person who had likely been through her office--

--fuck.

Had he been caught out on the lie? How much would Paradigm figure out from that? He was suddenly reminded that the brothers were still waiting, cluelessly, no more than thirty feet from where he was standing, give or take a floor, and it was definitely not a good idea to stick around and give Paradigm any more ammunition to guess with.

"Well I guess I'll see you 'round Doctor," Bends babbled hastily, hedging towards the door. He briefly toyed with the idea of mentioning this little encounter to Clint, but that was just asking for the hammerhead to come up here and try something crazy in the name of vengeance. No, better to keep this to himself and just get out as quickly as possible.

He ran into someone on the threshold of the library door – strawberry blonde, did she seem familiar? – but he was too nervous to stay anywhere in Paradigm's vicinity to toss more than a quick apology over his shoulder as her books tumbled chaotically to the floor. He didn't even turn back as she stared helplessly at her scattered belongings that people were already stepping over and on, nor when she let our a short shriek of impotent fury at his retreating back.

"Plebian," Paradigm muttered venomously as he leaned over to pick up the precious books. "Here, let me help. Some people just have no respect for learning."

"Uh," she stared, unused to any kind of aid, especially from someone so important looking who obviously had other places to be. His long arms and quick fingers had the stack ordered and back in her stunned arms in moments. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Miss…?"

And asking for her name too. Her clumsy mouth failed her for a moment before she could blurt, "Gabrielle. Gabrielle Mason."

"Miss Mason." He smiled, and it took years off his face. The eye-patch didn't look nearly so formidable. "That's quite an impressive reading list you have there. Are you working on a thesis?"

"Oh no!" She ducked her head a little, eyes hidden by her bangs. "I'm just a sophomore…but the course work is kind of slow this semester."

"It's always a pleasure to see hungry young minds at work." He eyed her books interestedly, and she found that she didn't mind his gaze. "Mechanical Engineering Major? These look a bit advanced for second year."

"They're not that difficult." He raised his eyebrow she hastily babbled, "I mean the theories aren't that complex, but I haven't really had a chance to try much in practice yet. There's been budget problems and equipment breakdowns and you can't really do much without a properly working lab, but I thought going over everything one more time wouldn't hurt--" She had to bite her tongue to shut up. This man obviously wasn't interested in her tedious little problems, except that he looked intrigued.

"This University has been my home for the last decade, and while I have certainly enjoyed the accumulation of knowledge it's provided me I can't claim it doesn't have its share of…problems." He looked her in the eye, rummaging in his coat pocket. "Unfortunately since they Mayor has asked for my assistance on another matter, I'm afraid it is no longer in my power to influence things here, but perhaps the next time you find yourself wanting for something more challenging you could give me a call?"

He handed her a small, glossy card. The name 'Doctor Luther Paradigm' was printed neatly along the top, along with a strange angular logo that advertised the name, 'Meshinda Institute'. "As it happens I'm attempting something of a Think Tank with young, bright individuals such as yourself. Although my primary field is genetics, I've recently been thinking about branching out into other sciences. Perhaps we could teach each other?"

"Yes…" She stared, mesmerized at the card before realizing that something a little more articulate was in order. "I mean, I'd like that."

"Excellent!" He seemed so pleased that she couldn't help but grin back a little, though the unusual expression felt strange on her face. "Then I shall hope to hear from you soon, Miss Mason."

Even after he was gone, the card felt warm in her hand.

When they had four lights that worked (though one of them had a tendency to flicker), it was high time for a well deserved break. Of the few things Lena had managed to grab from John's apartment, the tiny, battery operated TV had been high on the list, because radio didn't seem to work so far underground and John needed some method of keeping tabs on their situation. Every news station was reiterating the story with slight variations but the outline was always the same.

Everyone thought Robert Bolton was guilty.

Everyone thought the brothers were dangerous monsters.

Although at least on that score, the theories tended to be kinder. To most, they were the tragic victims, or the unwilling accomplices, but to the less credible networks they were sometimes the gleeful experiments, just as insane as their father supposedly was. Every time those stories rolled, John had to resist the urge to smash something, and even Lena, sitting primly on a nearby crate, wore a dark expression that rarely saw use.

"We're just the latest media sensation," John grumbled, arms crossed as he tried not to pace. It seemed to make Lena nervous. "They wouldn't know the truth if it bit them. Why aren't any of them even looking at Paradigm for this? He had everything to gain from it."

"All the evidence points to Doctor Bolton. I talked to the police but…" Lena shook her head apologetically. "Paradigm's covered his tracks too well."

"He's thorough, I'll give him that." The admittance was a grudging one. "Dad always said he was a genius." He flicked the channel, pausing at the dark, blurred shot of film he hadn't seen yet. The screen was small, but he could still make out enough detail to wonder, "What's this?"

Footage from the night Paradigm had tried to capture them, he guessed, but he hadn't seen this part of the battle. Bobby's distinctive striped fin was caught by the searchlight, and squared off against him were two men, both looking uncertainly at their monstrous opponent. John knew his brothers had gotten out alright, but he still tensed when one of the men raised his gun, and one could only wonder how he'd managed to miss at such close range…John let out his held breath when a clawed-hand clapped down on his shoulder.

"Is it possible I look even better on camera than I do in person?" Bobby asked the room, leaning casually on John's shoulder. "Look at that shark in action! The poise, the grace--"

"The ego," Clint overrode him, squinting at the screen. "Personally, I think it makes you look fat."

Bobby made a distractingly horrified noise that John half-heartedly tried to hush, but truthfully he was just a little bit glad his brothers were back where he could see them again. He had this horrible notion that they might disappear, just like their father had. Still, the overprotective Big Brother vibes didn't fly with Clint, and Bobby certainly didn't need the encouragement of knowing people were glad to see him. "Would you guys keep it down? I wanna hear this."

This was the annoyingly familiar drawl of KFIZ's most notorious reporter. "For those of you who just tuned in, this is Guy-in-the-Sky reporting live over the industrial sector where the manhunt for the Bolton brothers continues. As you can see, we have one of our fugitives cornered near the old paper mill, but it doesn't look like Fission City's finest are having any luck containing him!"

The gun had been sent flying, and the two officers followed suit a moment later with a casual flick of Bobby's arm, leaving the tiger shark clear to dash for freedom. Clint seemed grudgingly impressed. "Nice."

"Naturally," Bobby said smugly.

"We have recorded footage of all four of the brothers in their new shark skins. Of course, due to our lack of information on the subject, we at KFIZ can not confirm which shark is who at this point in time," Guy said, sounding cheerfully unphased by this fact. "So in the interests of avoiding confusion, this intrepid reporter has taken the initiative and provided temporary aliases until their real identities are made known."

The screen flashed, presenting four reasonably clear pictures of the brothers along with a selection of 'estimated' statistics for each along with the new titles. Evidently the public felt better about having them quantified, however inaccurate the information was.

Clint, however, was rightfully infuriated. "Just where does this guy get off thinking he can rename us? What the hell…"

"Hey, I get to be 'Streex'! That sounds kind of cool," Bobby enthused, though whether he actually thought so or if he was just saying it to provoke Clint was anyone's guess.

Either way, it was effective. Clint gave him a withering look. "Only you would think so. Its got that right ring of bad comic book superhero that only a ten year old would approve of."

"Bro, you run a comic book store! What gives you the right to--"

"Hey," Cooper said softly, but it somehow broke up the middle siblings' escalating argument and brought the rest of the room up short, directing them to follow the whale shark's gaze back to the TV. Paradigm's smiling face beamed back at them. The tiny speakers seemed very loud in the sudden quiet.

"Through the aid of the police I have managed to acquire many of Bolton's research notes on his genetic manipulation processes, it is unclear exactly how long these experiments have been going on. Two other unknown creatures have been caught on film by our city's intrepid reporters, and there is no indication of how many more might exist. He may be seeking more people to submit to his experiments even as I speak."

There was a mutter of apprehension from the crowd of people Paradigm was addressing, but that was nothing compared to the venomous rumble of not-quite-sound from the bothers. Lena and Bends exchanged a look of alarm.

"With the aid of the mayor, I have been granted a new office from which to research further into Bolton's processes, to perhaps find a way of undoing the damage he has caused, and to find new means of protecting Fission City's citizens from this threat. In the meantime, I encourage anyone with new information on Bolton or his whereabouts to come forward. No good can come from letting this mad man walk the streets unhindered."

One of the reporters in the audience pointed her microphone in his direction. "Doctor Paradigm, Bolton's sons are still considered to be at large. What will happen to them once they're found?"

Paradigm's expression of sorrow seemed quite genuine. "I'm afraid at present I have yet to find any information relating to the mutation of those poor boys. I'm afraid, at this point in time, there is no cure for them. However, perhaps with further study I can deduce a method of reversing their transformation…if the city is willing to release them into my care once they've been apprehended…?" He looked beseechingly towards the Mayor, who stood at her own podium.

"Of course, Doctor Paradigm," Mayor Marino replied with a wide, hopeful smile. "You're the best chance those boys have."

It was impossible to tell which of them moved first, but Bends wisely dove for cover and Lena sat with rigid stillness as the four brothers descended on the TV and mercilessly ripped it apart like…well, sharks on a wounded prey. The sparks from the dying circuitry didn't seem to phase them in the slightest, and industrialized plastic tore like cloth. The tension faded to a well-fed satisfaction when the defenseless object had been reduced to pieces no bigger than a matchbox, and Bends decided it was okay to start breathing again.

He cleared his throat. "So I guess we'll be needing a new TV then."

The smugness became a bit sheepish. Bobby looked at the broken pieces in his hands. "Oops."

"We probably shouldn't have done that." John gave Bends and Lena a belated, apologetic look. "Sorry."

For scaring them, not for the loss of the TV. "It's fine," Lena said quickly, mouth a little dry.

"Can you believe the nerve of that lousy lying piece of shit?" Clint snarled, fists clenched. "And how every stupid idiot just bought that trash?"

"Cool it, Clint." John had transcended rage into something quieter, more vengeful. "We're not done yet."

"Feels like it," Cooper mumbled, looking morosely at the remains of the TV. "Everyone believes him about us."

"You had a plan, right?" Bobby asked sharply. "We're not just going to sit on our butts and wait this out, are we?"

"No," John said slowly, contemplatively. "We're not."

No TVs were harmed in the making of this chapter. Also, concrit welcome!