"Does this kind of thing happen often?" demanded Marcel, gripping the patrol car's door handle tightly as Ramus whipped around another tight corner, his siren blaring loudly. With his free hand, Marcel tugged at the vest they had given him, "POLICE" emblazoned on it brightly. The vest was a little tighter than was strictly comfortable; the helmet he had grabbed from their supply room sat loose on his head, despite his best efforts to tighten it. But, then, he'd only had a minute to prepare before taking the second elevator out of the SLD's underground lab facility to the city hall parking garage; just barely enough time to find a uniform that would fit and grab a radio and the energy rifle. Wilson had disappeared even before Marcel had been ready – he had already radioed that he was in position for overwatch.

Next to Marcel, Ramus sat rigidly still, scanning their surroundings quickly as the car barreled past the stopped traffic, his prosthetic plugged into the car's center console, several lights flashing on the port. Not taking his eyes off the road, Ramus nodded, mouth set in a thin line. "More often than you would expect," he replied curtly. "Some jackass finds a medallion that gives him superpowers, and he decides to take it for a joyride. Or else the wrong person wakes up one morning with powers and uses them for revenge. Or starts robbing jewelry places – because what else would a superpowered moron do?"

"Not all that many people discover they have superpowers and decide to become superheroes, then?" asked Marcel, arching an eyebrow.

Ramus shrugged. "A few have – that's half the reason we were able to keep the city intact during the Chaos. A bunch of the vigilantes who'd stayed in Paris agreed to help us stop the criminals and looters. Plus one of the Heroes of Paris got left behind, also. But in this line of work, we seem to deal with a lot more of the super-criminals than the superheroes."

Marcel hummed. "And that's why the Heroes of Paris need us?"

"Exactly."

Leaning back in his seat, Marcel nodded to himself, watching the city rush past him at top speed. The radio chattered with confirmations as two other cars arrived at the warehouse in question, with other officers calling in their locations. From his overwatch position, Wilson continued to report on the suspects' movements – evidently, they had a large delivery truck into which they were loading boxes marked "Fragile." If Marcel closed his eyes, he could almost imagine that he was back in Lebanon on his last deployment, riding through the close-packed streets in the front seat of his Humvee, escorting the target from the hotel to the conference center. The tension in the air, the smell of sweat and body odor permeating the enclosed cab, the sound of people speaking just outside, though the voices then had been in Arabic…

"We're here." Pulling into an alleyway less than a block from the warehouse in question, Ramus killed the engine and detached his prosthetic from the console, glancing over at Marcel before opening his door.

Marcel blinked, forcing himself to leave his memories behind, returning to the moment. "Rules of engagement?"

Ramus' eyes narrowed in concentration. "No potential hostages. Minimal contact with the criminals. We have the green light to stop them by any means necessary."

Marcel's mouth set in a thin line, and he smacked the top of his helmet, pushing it more firmly into place, before double checking the settings on his rifle. Full energy, safety on, stun grenade loaded with the safety active – check. A spare battery pack was in a pouch on his vest, as were additional rounds for the launcher. He nodded firmly. "Let's do this."

"Stick close, listen for orders," Ramus instructed Marcel. "You may have all the military training and experience in the world, but you're still a rookie as far as I'm concerned."

"Yes, sir – understood." Cautiously, Marcel trailed Ramus down the alley toward the entrance, rifle pointed down at the ground and finger off the trigger. Beyond, he could hear movement – two police officers, a man and a woman, edged past their alleyway, covering behind a parked car as they went. As he reached the mouth of the alleyway first, Ramus paused and tensed, leaning around the corner and scanning the street beyond. Once Ramus moved out and started down the street, Marcel paused, carefully slicing the pie as he rotated around the corner, searching for any sign of hostiles, first along the street and then in the distance. In front of him, Ramus and the other two police officers had taken up positions in concealment along the street; on the roof of the building across the street and two down, he could just make out Wilson's profile where he crouched at the corner, rifle in hand, watching the warehouse across the next intersection. But in front of Marcel, he couldn't see any sign of the criminals.

"Where are they currently?" demanded Ramus, his voice coming over the radio far clearer than any radios Marcel had used in the military.

"Two of them are in the warehouse – one is moving on the second floor; the other's exact location is unknown," Wilson reported briskly. "Of the remaining two, one is currently loading a large bag in the back of their truck, while the other is patrolling the perimeter – southwest corner. From what I can see, he has not noticed you yet."

"I have informed the local sergeant that you are here," Élodie informed them. "He is pulling his officers back to give you a two-block perimeter."

"Acknowledged," Ramus responded, nodding.

Carefully, Marcel moved down the street, his eyes peeled for any movement from the direction of the warehouse, until he knelt behind Ramus, placing a hand on his shoulder to announce his presence. Ramus shifted his posture slightly, bracing his prosthetic on the hood of the parked car behind which he had taken cover and leaning over it slightly, his head just visible over the vehicle. Behind the next car crouched a shorter woman with darker hair, unarmed, as well as a younger dark-skinned man with a pistol held in one hand.

"Gouger, Boiteux, flank to the right," Ramus ordered. "Luron, you're with me."

Nodding curtly, Marcel cautiously followed the woman to the right, moving quickly from cover to cover as they drew closer to the center of the warehouse's frontage area, where the gate stood open. Within the yard, Marcel caught glimpses of the delivery truck, its back open, though he couldn't see any sign of the super-criminals who were supposed to be loading it. He paused behind the next vehicle for a long moment as his communicator clicked.

"The target in the yard just started to move," Wilson announced. "Team 2, stay where you are until I give the signal."

Gouger nodded curtly, as Marcel dropped down onto his stomach, peering under the car, looking for the figure of their target.

"If I can get a shot against the target, do I have permission to take it?" Marcel asked, adjusting his grip on the rifle and searching through the sight, waiting for the man to come into view.

"Hold up," Ramus warned him.

"Sir?"

Ramus let out a heavy breath. "Wilson, do you have a shot on the two inside?"

"I have a shot on the one upstairs," Wilson answered promptly. "Negative on the second target."

"Gouger?" asked Ramus next.

"Give me an opening, and I can get to the truck in… 2 minutes," she replied.

A foot appeared in Marcel's sights, and he tensed, bracing himself on his elbows and rotating slightly to follow the movement. "Sir, I have a shot."

Ramus groaned. "Paris Police!" he shouted, his voice broadcast across the street. "You are surrounded. Surrender, or we will be forced to open fire!"

Through his sight, Marcel watched the man jump and turn in their direction, even as Gouger sprinted out from behind the car with a shout of "Weapon!" Carefully, Marcel depressed the trigger on his rifle, unleashing a single pulse of energy that struck the man's leg just above the ankle, dropping him to the ground with a cry of surprise. The man's arm swung up and around, sending a spray of acid out behind him into the warehouse yard. Where it landed, the grass instantly withered to brown, and the man moaned, starting to roll over to face them. At the same moment, another energy pulse flashed, simultaneous with a sound of shattering glass. Scrambling to his feet, Marcel raced after Gouger across the street and through the open gate, rifle up to his shoulder and pointing at a slight downward angle, held in a tight grip, scanning his surroundings carefully for any signs of movement. The man he had shot lay on the ground, still moving slightly; Gouger kicked him in the face as she passed, and he went still. A man emerged around the side of the delivery truck directly in front of the warehouse entrance, just as Gouger reached the truck's closest corner. Marcel lifted his aim slightly, turned, and fired. Spotting Marcel at the same moment, the man swung his arm around in front of himself, spreading a wide sheet of skin out from his arm in the shape of a makeshift shield. The energy pulse struck the skin and shot clean through it, and the man dove for cover around the corner of the warehouse with a pained yelp.

Gritting his teeth, Marcel raced after him. "Paris Police!"

The man shouted something Marcel didn't catch, spinning around to face Marcel as he rounded the corner.

The moment the man's torso was in his sights, Marcel fired the second time, aiming for center mass. The man sprang up onto a shipping container as the shot struck the side of the container directly behind him. At that same moment, the corner of the shipping container melted away from a shot from above, and the man nearly lost his grip, throwing himself off of the container and back down to the ground.

"I have no shot!" Wilson warned Marcel.

"Stop where you are!" Marcel shifted his hand to the underbarrel launcher and fired the loaded projectile, which landed just in front of the fleeing man and detonated, emitting a bright pulse of light directly into the man's face. With a cry of shock and pain, the man dropped to the ground, covering his face and curling up in a ball. Gritting his teeth, Marcel sprinted over to him and planted his knee on the man's back, pressing the barrel of his rifle to the back of the man's head. "Don't move!" Marcel ordered him, growling.

Meekly, the man held up his hands, and Marcel roughly handcuffed him, pressing the button on the cuffs to activate their power suppressing ability. "One in custody," he reported, panting heavily.

"Need medical transport for one over here!" called Luron. "The guy by the gate took a pretty good hit."

"Ambulance already en route," Élodie assured them immediately. "The Nouvelle Bastille transport van is also on the way."

"I have the third in custody inside the warehouse," announced Gouger. "Still no sign of the other one who was supposed to be in here."

Ramus groaned. "He'd better not have gotten away."