Streetbeat
For Life

By Cyberwraith9

Jason awoke to find a dim, drab blur waiting in his eyes and a lump of pain masquerading as his head. He ignored the latter and concentrated on the former. Doing so only made the lump hurt worse. By the time his vision cleared, he was certain that the view of his surroundings wasn't worth the throbbing it had cost him.

He was behind a desk in a claustrophobically small office. Large windows to his left were boarded with sheets of plywood. Another miniscule window sat in the wall to his right, affording him a view of a brick wall outside. On the other side of the desk, he saw another chair wedged between filing cabinets. Fluorescent light buzzed overhead as it yellowed the room.

The office churned Jason's memory. His stomach did likewise with sympathy. When he tried to stand, he felt sharp pressure in his wrists. They had been zip-tied to his chair's metal armrests. Tugging experimentally, he found the ties to be more than enough to keep him there. He snarled and kicked the desk in frustration.

A moment later, the office door opened. His world flashed red with rage as Krieg leaned in. "Well, good morning, ol' buddy!" Krieg said, and grinned. "Nice nap?"

Jason growled as Krieg strolled in. "You must be dumber than I thought, Krieg. You broke the understanding. Maiko is gonna kill you when he finds out you were starting shit in Central. And that's if I don't do it first," he said.

Krieg laughed and spun Jason's chair with a kick. "You gonna roll over me in your new wheels there, Hawke? I ain't too worried. And Maiko ain't gonna say shit."

He grabbed the back of Jason's chair to push him out the door. Jason clenched his teeth to restrain himself. He could probably take a decent bite out of Krieg's arm, but that likely would get him killed sooner than it helped him. So he continued to play the part of the acerbic prisoner, and said, "So why am I still alive? Or do you still get girly when you see blood?"

"Y'know, I figured the same thing," Krieg said. "And I was all set to gut you, when my newest Eight steps in with a better idea."

A fist of hate grabbed Jason's innards and clenched them tight as Krieg wheeled him out onto the main floor of the Eights' warehouse. Three teenagers waited for them there, one of whom raised a bottle of vodka to salute Jason's arrival.

"Hey, Jase! Look, they have a bar. You never let us have a bar. Oh yeah, how's the head?" Magnum asked grinningly.

Jason watched the liquor spill from Magnum's mouth down his shirtfront with mounting rage. The ties on his wrists creaked against his desire to throttle the arrogance out of the ex-Streetbeat. "This was your idea?" he asked tightly.

Magnum looked to either side, smirking at the disapproval and worry he found in Pig's and Rush's respective looks. "Don't think this was some kind of master plan, Jason. I didn't get the idea to switch sides until your genius calls landed us in that mess back there." With a shrug, he added, "Them's the breaks."

Deep dissatisfaction wrinkled in Pig's brow. He folded his arms and grunted, "But it was your bright idea to keep Hawke alive. I don't like it."

"You don't like it because it isn't deep fried and wrapped in bacon," Magnum retorted. He tapped the mouth of his bottle to his temple, and insisted, "Think, fatty. If you kill him in some alley with nobody around, no one will believe it. This 'nilla honky has a lot of cred going for him. You wanna use that, so you gotta make a show out of it."

Krieg slapped the back of Jason's head, lighting fiery protest in the lump growing there. "He's right, Pig. Takin' out Hawke's gotta be a big deal if we wanna keep Central all for ourself."

Pig snorted. "I dunno. I think maybe Maggie here doesn't want us squishin' Hawke because he ain't as Eight as he says he is now. Nobody don't switch teams just like that, Krieg. I say he's fakin'," he said, glaring at Magnum.

"That's 'cause you don't know Magnum like I do," Krieg retorted, and nodded to the smiling, slightly drunk new Eight. "We go a long way back, Mag an' me. Only thing he cares about is himself. Long as we're his best deal, he'll work for us. And right now, we're the best deal, ain't we, Mag?"

Krieg shoved Jason hard. The chair rolled across the floor and into Magnum, who stopped it with a foot on Jason's knee. Leaning on his propped leg, Magnum lowered his sneer toward Jason. "Hell, I might have switched just to stick it to this asshole myself," he said right in Jason's face. "All his self-righteous bullshit, and his nancy-pansy rescues. All this time, I'm lookin' for a reason to leave…"

Closer still, his eighty-proof breath made Jason cringe. "And then I figure out I don't even have a reason to stay," he finished, and punctuated the revelation with a belch.

Magnum kicked hard, launching Jason's chair across the floor. With a derisive laugh, he pulled his revolver and pushed a slug at the spinning captive. The shot nicked the sleeve of Jason's jacket, drawing a smear of red into the denim. Jason clenched his jaw and swallowed his curse at the bite of the slug while Magnum laughed.

Krieg pushed Magnum's whirring revolver out of line with their captive. "Easy, Mag. Like you said, we gotta make a show outta him. Right? Nobody's doubtin' you," he said, aiming the edge in his voice at Pig.

Scowling back at him, Pig retorted, "He still gotta be initiated, same as everybody else."

The revolver chamber spun again as Magnum hefted it for show. "I still got five more here, pork pie, and I could probably hit your fat ass by closing my eyes and shooting in the other direction. Any of that Little Debbie made you bulletproof yet, or does it just chase away the sad?"

"Enough!" Krieg shouted them apart, walking between them and up to Jason. He spun Jason around to face him, grabbing right where Magnum's bullet had struck. Jason hissed and winced, but kept his glare intact through sheer force of hate. "Okay, Hawke. Make this easy. Where did Queenie go?"

Jason blinked the tears out of his eyes. "Queenie? How should I know? I haven't seen her since you sucker-punched us back in the street."

"I ain't playin', Hawke," Krieg barked. "I got all my guys down at your place, just itchin' to do some damage. They peeped in your window, and everyone's there 'cept Queenie. Now I wanna know where she'd go. So spit it out."

Jason spat a wad of pinkish spittle onto Krieg's shoe. He got a backhand for his bravado.

Rush stepped forward as Krieg's hand crossed Jason's face again and again. "M-Maybe he doesn't know," she said.

Grabbing Jason's face, Krieg shot back at Rush, "Nobody knows Queenie better 'n Hawke. Bestest friends, ain't ya?" he asked Jason, twisting Jason's head.

Gritting his teeth, Jason grunted, "I don't know where she went, but I…" He trailed off with a groan as Krieg's finger pressed upon the lump behind his head. "…I know what I would say if I did."

Taking a deep breath, he coughed up a wad of phlegmy disgust. It spat straight and true, and splashed on Krieg's cheek. Krieg dragged the back of his hand across his face with a grimace. Then he grabbed Jason's sleeve and plunged his thumb into the nick left by Magnum's shot.

Prickling fire engulfed Jason's arm. He threw his head back and screamed. Tears streamed from his eyes as he kicked and struggled, unable to break the ties at his wrist. Krieg's voice wafted across the expanse of pain, sounding distant and hollow. "Fine, Hawke. I'll find her myself. Right after I bust into your little house and knife everybody inside myself with your own sword."

Krieg drew his thumb from Jason's arm and wiped it on Jason's jacket. "Stick around a while, Hawke. I'll be back for you." He walked back to the office, where Jason's broadsword leaned against the wall, balanced on its tip. Swiping it up, Krieg said, "Mag, Pig, let's go."

"What about me? And what about Hawke?" Rush asked, speeding to block Krieg's path to the door. "We can't just leave him here alone—"

Krieg shoved her aside, staggering her. "That's why you're staying, bitch. You hear me tell you to come? Course somebody has to stay with Hawke," he snapped. "You don't let him outta your sight for a second. He don't move. Got it?"

Rush stammered, "G-Got it."

Krieg's scowl cowed her back. It became a smirk as he turned to Jason, and said, "I gotta run. Don't wanna be late to church."

Magnum guffawed. He raised his bottle of vodka in a last toast to Jason, and said, "Awesome. Catch you around, Jase. I'll give Strip your regards." He took one last swig, and then capped and stowed the bottle inside his jacket. Slapping Krieg on the back, Magnum said, "C'mon, I think I can help you with your door problem. I have an 'in' with these guys."

Scowling through his pain and fear, Jason yelled after them, "Good luck, assholes. My three toughest guys are sitting in Sanctuary right now, kicking back until your short-bus rejects manage to outsmart a door. They're gonna use your face to sponge up whatever's left of your guys when you get there."

Juice's awareness swam back to him in nauseous increments. He awoke on Stripwire's workbench with no clear notion of how he had made it all the way back to Sanctuary. More pressing to him was the hot, awful coal that had replaced his shoulder, which was burning into the rest of his body with steady agony.

He found his hand and lifted it to touch the burn. A gloved grasped his wrist before he could reach for the bandaged breach in his containment suit. The rough brown leather chafed his chalky skin. Dizzily, Juice focused his eyes, and caught sight of the lightning bolt drawn on the back of the glove.

"The zap gloves," he groaned, and relaxed his arm. "I hate those things."

Stripwire lowered Juice's hand back to his side. "An unfortunate necessity," he explained. "Your containment suit—"

With a weak wave, Juice said, "Yeah, yeah, I get it." He tried to lift his head. It didn't go well for him. Before he flopped back onto the table, he saw Sanctuary's emptiness, and heard pounding coming from their grand doors. "What's with the drum solo outside?" he asked.

"That would be the thirty-two members of the Eighty-Eights currently gathered outside. Their attempts at entry have thus far failed. I do not know how long this will be the case," said Stripwire. He bent to reach underneath the table. The sound of rustling metal filtered up through the tabletop.

"Gatecrashers. Great," groaned Juice. "What about everybody else?"

Stripwire glanced across the sprawling room to one of the lower level bunks. Blink lay in the bottom bed, his blue complexion waxen against the white of the sheets. The bedridden boy showed signs of stirring, much to the delight of Patches, who clutched his hand still. "Blink teleported you and me to Sanctuary. Patches is seeing to him. Jason, Queenie, and Magnum remain unaccounted for."

His unseen rummaging continued. Juice listened for a moment, feeling guilt creep into the parts of him that didn't feel like fire. He had let some banger get a lucky shot in, and now he was worse than useless. He was a liability to his friends when they needed him the most. "You worried?" he asked Stripwire.

"Worry is a frivolity in which I do not indulge."

Stripwire stood. A fraying leather bandoleer hung from his shoulder, festooned with grenades cobbled from aerosol cans. Some kind of patchwork cannon rested between his hands, both of which he required to lift it. It was a wonder Stripwire could lift such a cannon, and a greater wonder that such a shoddy looking device could actually fire anything. But given Stripwire's technical prowess, Juice had no doubts that whatever the cannon fired, it did so in sufficient volume and power to cause serious damage.

The cannon rattled the table as Stripwire set it near Juice's feet. Juice goggled his cyborg friend in confusion, and asked, "Strip? What the hell are you doing? What is all this?"

Circling the table, Stripwire approached a metal cabinet set against the wall. His mechanical finger sprouted a key, which he used to unlock the cabinet. The opening doors revealed inside an array of devices shaped to look like human parts. There were bags that functioned as kidneys, and repurposed parts that came together to form a crude stomach. There were legs sculpted out of pistons. And on one door hung a rack of left arms, all of them crafted out of heavy metal.

Stripwire selected the thickest, heaviest of the arms. Taking it back to the workbench, he explained, "I intend to exit Sanctuary and engage the force that is currently—"

"Are you crazy?" snapped Juice.

Stripwire's mechanical forearm clacked. He pulled the stiffened appendage from its socket and set it aside. "No," he said, and lifted the new, armored arm to his elbow. It connected with another clack. Stripwire tested it by wiggling his fingers, which were now blocky and segmented.

Sharp pain protested in Juice's shoulder as he rolled to his side to yell at Stripwire. "You can't take that many guys by yourself, Strip. They're gonna kill you."

"I know," said Stripwire. He examined his replacement arm, and said, "Without power to our defenses, it is only a matter of time until the Eighty-Eights breach Sanctuary. Blink cannot evacuate you in your and his injured states. The last logical course of action is to stall our attackers until such a time when Jason and the others return."

Bile churned in the back of Juice's throat. "Even if they do come back, you'll still be dead. Don't be stupid, Strip."

Stripwire lifted his new arm and sighted an imaginary Eight with his palm. "Yes. I will. But your chances of survival will dramatically increase." He dropped his arm and turned back to his work.

As Stripwire collected his tabled gun, Juice rolled back in a huff. His blurred gaze rolled back toward the command center. Its emptiness struck him hard. If only Jason were here, or Queenie. They would think of something besides a suicidal charge. He wanted to, but he could hardly think, and Stripwire was too stubborn to argue with even on a good day. Juice felt more useless than that stupid, noisy, puttering generator that kept their lights running and little else.

Generator…

"Strip!" Juice sat up, and immediately regretted it. He groaned and swayed, catching himself with his hand against the tabletop as Stripwire turned around. Dizzy, Juice said, "Hook me into the power grid. I can kick-start the defenses—"

"I considered such an option," Stripwire admitted. "However, without your containment suit, such an electrical discharge could be life-threatening, particularly in your current condition."

"Yeah, but it would work," insisted Juice. He swung his legs over the table's edge. The pain in his shoulder drew crackling tears to his eyes. His head swam in gelatin, making him reel back and catch himself again.

Stripwire regarded his friend, who cried tears of sparks and could barely sit up. "You are in a mild state of shock. You are weak, vulnerable to infection, and require rest. I will not allow you to risk your life."

Through his teeth, Juice retorted, "So why should I let you risk yours?"

Interminable reason made Stripwire's words cold. "Simple numbers. With a functioning containment suit, your projected life expectancy is perfectly average. Scientific progress will doubtlessly improve your quality of life further. My own life expectancy, even taken under the best circumstances, is significantly shorter."

The argument shocked Juice silent. He struggled for something to say, some way of refuting the admission. "Strip…"

Stripwire lifted his goggles. The crude ocular implants he had fashioned himself whirred softly as they focused on Juice, their lenses glimmering in the harsh light. "The condition deteriorating my body cannot be cured. It cannot even be diagnosed. Regardless of cybernetic replacements, I am going to die relatively soon. Within the next three years, if my projections are accurate." He lowered his goggles, and concluded, "Therefore, the risk should be mine. The loss will bear less statistical impact."

Time waited with uncomfortable reverence of their stare. Then it interrupted them with the presence of Blink, who limped into the workshop area with Patches under his arm to help him. "Um, guys? Just a heads up, but I don't want to suicide to save us. Just puttin' that out there."

"The door's'll hold them a little longer," Juice said, glaring at Stripwire. "Let's wait until we absolutely have to before we do anything stupid. Jason might come back before then."

Patches nodded eagerly, and looked to the beating door. "Sure he will! Jason'll come back to save us! I know he will!"

Jason sat in his chair, rocking its wheels back and forth in frustrated boredom. The zip-ties at his wrists prevented his hands from doing anything except hurting, which they did with gusto. His head throbbed steadily in the front and back. The gadgetry and weaponry from his jacket had been removed and whisked away to parts unknown. Krieg probably had them, along with his sword.

He was good and screwed.

"Hey," he said to his captor. "You got any aspirin? Painkillers? My head feels like it's trying to freaking explode."

Rush sat twenty feet away from him, straddling a folding metal chair. With anyone else, Jason might've been able to work with that distance to escape. But he had seen the way she moved. Twenty feet was nothing to her. She stared at him in wide-eyed silence, resting her chin on her folded arms on the back of the chair.

Rolling his eyes, Jason said, "Oh, come on. Krieg said to watch me, not let me suffer. Not that he'd mind, anyway. But have a heart. It's like gnomes are digging out of my skull."

She neither moved nor spoke. Her purple-ringed eyes shifted in time with the pivoting of his chair.

"Rush, right? That's what Krieg called you. You look a little tense. Is this your first kidnapping?" he asked, keeping his voice light. "Relax, you're doing fine. You didn't even fall for the aspirin trick. I was probably gonna bite your fingers off, or something like that. Lotta blood. Messy."

Still nothing. He noticed her pallor turn green, but otherwise she remained stiff. Her muscles were locked, with her legs wrapped around the chair legs. She was tensing herself so he couldn't see her tremble.

Jason looked to the side to hide his smile. He forcibly sobered his features as he turned back. His gaze leveled into hers, piercing her false courage with the real deal. Then he kicked his legs up suddenly, and shouted, "BOO!"

Rush bolted from her chair. Her feet caught in the chair's legs. Yelping, she tripped onto the floor, dragging the chair on top of her as she tried to organize her limbs. She kicked the folding chair off of her and stood. Embarrassment darkened her face as she met Jason's raucous laughter with a glare.

"That wasn't funny," she said.

"Hey, I'm a dead man. I gotta get my kicks somewhere," he said between laughs.

Grumbling, Rush reset her chair. She fell into it with folded arms. "Yeah, well, you won't have anything to laugh about when Krieg gets back."

That only made Jason laugh harder, though by this point he was no longer amused. He wanted to unbalance Rush, to possibly create an opportunity. "Krieg won't say much of anything. Once Maiko finds out he has Eights in Central, he's gonna be eating boot. Maiko and I had an understanding. Krieg broke it. That's gonna mean hell for him."

Rush frowned. "Who's Maiko?"

"Maiko. Haven't you met him yet? He's your boss," Jason said.

She shook her head. "Krieg's the boss. I've never heard of any Maiko."

Jason's laughter quelled. He kept his face carefully neutral as he asked, "Krieg is running the whole Eight show? Not just this little hit squad of his?"

The question drew her brows together. "Yes. Why is that so important to you? I don't even understand why you care. I don't understand why Krieg cares about you! Out of all you Central freaks, you're the weakest one!" she spat.

He stared at her for a disconcerting moment. The righteous venom drained from her glare as she deflated under his stare and fell back into her seat. "Freak, huh? Weird, coming from someone who can run like you do," he said.

Rush avoided his eyes. "I know what I am. Doesn't mean anything," she muttered.

She jolted upright when she heard his wheels rolling closer. Jason awkwardly walked his chair toward her. His tied hands lifted entreatingly. "Relax. I'm not going anywhere," he said. Up close, he studied the dark bruises mottling her face. The attention made Rush squirm. "You're new. Just initiated?"

"Last week," she said without thinking. She stopped and glared, wondering when his taunting would begin. But Jason merely sat with a neutral expression. He seemed attentive, even interested. "Krieg made me do it twice," she began again, hesitantly this time.

Jason nodded. "Krieg was always big on 'loyalty through pain.' Bruises for love. No offense, but you don't seem like the type."

"I'm not," she blurted. Again, she wanted to kick herself for admitting anything to her prisoner. But now that she had opened them, her floodgates refused to close. "I had nowhere else to go. The Eights took me in. Took care of me."

"…'cause your family wouldn't," Jason said. It wasn't an accusation. His voice rang heavy with experience. "Was it because you're a meta?"

She trembled with memory. "It wasn't like that. My Grampa loved me. He used to call me his 'Li'l Whizzer.' Always told me it was a gift. That I was a gift."

"What happened to him?" Jason asked softly.

Her eyes misted. "The robot attack. Those black and red robots were marching through the neighborhood. They went berserk. There was fire everywhere and…" Her voice cracked. "The building was going. He told me to run, run as fast as I can. I wanted to take him, but I couldn't lift… So I did what he said. And…"

Jason bowed his head. "What about the rescue crews? Didn't they do anything?"

She sniffed. "You know how many people were kicked to the curb after the attack. I didn't have nobody else but Grampa. I had to find food somewhere. So I squatted wherever I could. Ate what I could find. And then…"

"Then Krieg found you," he finished. "He saw what you could do, and he snatched you up." A dry, derisive chuckle cracked his throat, making Rush look up with a start. "Reminds me of the first time the Eights tried recruiting metas."

Wiping her eyes, Rush said, "Krieg's done this before?"

Another chuckle, this one bitter. "Ha. Krieg couldn't come up with anything on his own. He's just copying the real asshole who came up with the idea years ago. Another Eight that came on board a little before he did."

"That Maiko guy?"

Jason shook his head. "One of Maiko's enforcers. The guy got the idea to recruit a bunch of metas from the street. Make 'em Eights. Use their powers…use 'them' to muscle the other gangs out of the city. This was before the Titans showed up, before more metas were moving into town. Nobody much liked them back then."

Rush's lip curled as she looked down at herself. "Not like that's changed," she muttered. Frowning, she added, "So what happened? Krieg made this freak squad sound like his new light bulb. Didn't it work back then?"

"The enforcer took Krieg and a bunch of others to track down their first recruit. She was kind of like you, only not quite as…willing."

The implication grew in Rush's eyes. "What happened to her?" she asked.

Jason smiled grimly. "He tried to break her. Starved her. Beat her. Yelled in her face until he was hoarse. Called her a freak the whole way through. He made her life a living hell for over a month trying to make her Eight."

"Did she break?"

Shadowy movement teased the upper edge of Jason's sight. High above in the cracked skylight, he caught a glimpse of a shape skirting the edge of the glass. He forced his face straight and his gaze level as he said, "She wouldn't. Couldn't. No matter what he did, she didn't give in. In the end, the guy let her go. And she broke his jaw for all the trouble."

Rush leaned forward, captivated. "What happened to her? He didn't kill her, did he?"

The shape filled the skylight. Jason couldn't help but smile. "A lot of stuff happened in between," he said, "But the story basically ends where she busts in here and beats the shit out of you."

His sinister smile startled Rush back. She screamed and jumped when the skylight behind her shattered. A dark shape fell amidst a rain of glass, and landed in a crouch a few paces from the Eight and her captive. The shape stood, becoming the furious visage of a Streetbeat who towered over Rush.

"Knock-knock," Queenie uttered, and cracked her knuckles.

Rush panicked. She became a blur that surrounded Queenie, punching and kicking, a hurricane of blows. Queenie flinched at the machine-gun fists brushing her. Then she swept her arm hard through the blur. Her backhand met flesh and bone at tremendous speed, transforming the blur back into Rush, who sailed off Queenie's knuckles. The Eight crashed ten yards away, rolling until she struck the far wall.

Queenie turned her disgusted attentions to Jason. "Look at this mess of trouble you dumped all over us with your hero nonsense. I told y'all. I told y'all!" she snapped.

"Glad to see you too, Limpi. Your ears must have been burning," Jason said, beaming.

"Don't you 'Limpi' me," she snapped. "And look at you. You got shot! Don't matter what, if I'm not around, you wind up discombobulated all over. Runnin' off, pickin' fights, playin' hero…you got two hearts and no brains, and it's gonna get you killed one day!"

Her fingers broke the ties at Jason's wrists. He stood and stretched, favoring the arm with a chunk missing. His grin didn't dull, not even as he discovered a dozen new hurts he hadn't felt while sitting. "How'd you find me?" he asked.

Queenie pulled two identical communicators from her pockets. "I found one of these outside in the dumpster. It was open and runnin'. Where is everybody?"

"Back at Sanctuary, which is where Krieg is heading right now." The Eight's name twisted in Jason's lips. "C'mon. We need to get there fast."

"What about her?" Queenie asked, nodding to the insensate lump of Rush on the floor.

Jason paused for a second's thought. "Forget her. We've got bigger worries."

As Queenie followed him out of the warehouse, she noticed his empty back. "What happened to your sword?" she asked.

Scowling, Jason shoved the old door off its hinges. "That's one of the worries." One of the small ones, he thought miserably.

The thick doors splintered more, bowing inward as a makeshift battering ram struck them again. Twilight flashed in the brief gap between the doors before they bent shut again. That gap grew incrementally with each blow from the ram. Soon the gap would no longer spring shut. The doors would burst, and Sanctuary would be breached.

Three steps behind the doors, Stripwire stood watch with his cannon slung under his shoulder. His goggles glinted in the intermittent twilight. Implacable calm painted his face in smooth shades of gold made pale in the old magnesium lighting. As the doors deteriorated, his grip on his cannon tightened.

"Breach is imminent," he announced.

Far behind him, Blink poked his head over a barricade he had fashioned from two overturned bunks. "No shit!" he snapped, shouting above the sound of the battering ram. "What do we do about it?"

"When they enter, teleport yourself and Patches to safety," Stripwire ordered.

"Why can't you come too?" Blink demanded.

Stripwire answered by flicking a toggle on the base of his cannon. Its barrel started to hum. "Remain hidden in your new location until Jason contacts you. Keep Patches safe at all costs. And if at all possible, come back for Juice, assuming… Juice?"

The workbench was empty. Stripwire immediately looked to the command center and its thrumming generator. There, he found Juice hunched over the table, digging at the thick cables snaking from the generator.

"Not another step, Strip," Juice warned him. He swung his injured arm at Stripwire. His eye twitched with the scream he bit back at putting his burn through so much motion. Buildup crackled in his palm as he said, "You come near me and I'll zap you. Then we're both screwed."

"Juice, cease this at once," Stripwire said. His voice rose with surprising volume. "Your actions are irrational and statistically unsound."

Grunting, Juice ripped the primary cable out of the generator. The lights died with a snap, plunging them into the murky twilight that blanketed the city. In the ensuing dark, two electric blue motes narrowed into a scowl leveled at Stripwire.

"Screw your bullshit numbers, Strip. This is my home too, and you're my brothers. You don't get to decide what my life is worth. I do," he said.

"Juice, stop," Stripwire insisted.

"Don't waste this."

Juice grasped each frayed lead of the cable. Sparks burst from his mouth in a scream as the lights in Sanctuary surged back to life. White luminescence flooded the room, drowning out the blue lightning that arced from Juice. Toxic bulbs burst overhead, raining white powder and glass.

Stripwire accessed his wireless network before the electrical surge destroyed it. He willed the dormant circuits of the security system to open, directing Juice's power out to the grounds.

The ceaseless rhythm of the battering ram fed a growing migraine at the back of Rebound's skull. She groaned, mashing the tip of her cigarette's filter with her teeth, and massaged her temples. The cranial knot would not work loose. Sighing, she slumped onto the ground with her back against the wrought iron fence at Sanctuary's border.

"Christ, how long will it take them to knock down an effing door?" she grumbled.

Slumped next to her, Pyre tapped her on the shoulder. He held out his hand until she rolled her eyes and passed him the cigarette. The scorch mark on his jacket swelled as he took a long drag, wincing as he did. He remarked through a cloud of smoke, "I wish Krieg would let us just take the place apart. Five minutes, and I'd make that place into just a sack of briquettes and a memory."

They watched the regular Eighty-Eights rotate through shifts on the telephone pole they were using to break Sanctuary's doors. Though they had no shortage of numbers, the Eights had given up on other avenues of entry. The windows refused to break, and the other entrances to the old cathedral had been sealed with bolted metal plates. Most of the Eights milled around the cathedral's steps with smokes and bottles as they waited for their turn on the ram.

Taking back her cigarette, Rebound said, "Yeah, but you know Krieg would stomp you out if you lit that old crap heap up. He's obsessed."

She gasped and choked on smoke when the windows in Sanctuary flared. The twilight grounds grew long shadows in an explosion of light. The other Eights shouted, backing away from the door, dropping their bottles in favor of weapons.

Pyre struggled to his feet with a grimace. He braced himself against the fence and marveled at Sanctuary's glow. "What the f—"

All throughout the grounds, the wet and barren earth broke for the rise of thick, short pillars. The ascendant shapes resembled garbage cans with electric eyes and holes punched in their midsections. They swiveled on underground bases, their eyes following the Eights at the door. Then they sang.

Shrieking bursts of blue energy erupted from the pillars. Each burst struck an Eight with surgical aim, knocking ten feet of flight into each target. Screaming Eights filled the air as the pillars shrieked in their midst. No one was spared.

Several pillars near the perimeter spied Rebound and Pyre away from the crowded doors. Blue bursts screamed at them both. Rebound shoved Pyre behind her and stood her ground. The bursts poured over her, wrapping around her skin. They ruffled her clothes before destroying the fence behind her.

The glow in Sanctuary dimmed. So too did the eyes and holes of the pillars, which sank back into the broken dirt, leaving scores of unconscious Eights as evidence of their passing. The whole affair had taken less than three seconds.

Rebound stared in shock. "Holy shit…" she muttered.

"Rebound!" The shout made her jerk. She whirled around to see Krieg stalking across the street with Pig in tow. Her shock grew when she saw Magnum behind them.

Pyre spotted the Streetbeat too. Flames blossomed in his hands to rectify the situation. "Krieg, behind you!" he shouted.

Lifting his hand, Krieg snarled, "Lay off! Mag's on the winning team now."

"Like magic," Magnum teased her, and waggled his fingers. Rebound scowled and gave him a single finger in reply.

"What the hell are you two doing out here? You should have been inside by now!" Krieg barked, pounding the tip of his broadsword on the ground in emphasis. "I gave you the easiest job! Get inside a church!"

Hands still aflame, Pyre waved back at Sanctuary. His gesture made Rebound flinch and back away to avoid his hand. "We couldn't get through the door! And just now, the ground opened up and shot everybody! It was all—"

"Shut up," Krieg spat. "God, you freaks can't even handle a little B and E. Where the hell is Spooky? Spooky!"

A titter wafted from the ground. Spooky followed it out, sprouting like a ghostly lily. Her cherubic smile crumbled beneath Krieg's scowl.

"Quit that laughin'," he told her. "I let you into the Eights for one reason. Now let's go do it. We got Streetbeat inside, and they ain't gonna go easy on you like you ladies all been on them."

Stripwire's current arm lacked the sensitivity of his previous one. Its boxy fingers couldn't discern a pulse in the pale, supple skin of Juice's throat. But air continued to rasp in and out of his bleeding lips. Bioluminescence shone through his closed eyelids. While bad for Juice, the fact that his body was still producing a charge meant that he was alive.

Blink and Patches hovered over Stripwire. They lacked the gloves Stripwire wore to pick Juice up and carry him to a bunk, and so were left to watch. "How is he?" Blink asked. He cringed at the ribbons of smoke Juice trailed in Stripwire's grasp.

"He is not dead." Stripwire laid him in bed and drew the sheets to his chest. "I do not know if he will or will not yet die."

Rattling noises drew their attention to the doors. A pale hand passed through the solid wood and metal at the seam, fiddling with the complex latch. With a few strokes, the disembodied hand unlocked the door.

"That observation applies to us as well," Stripwire added.

He ran toward the command center, where he had left his cannon in order to carry Juice. The doors opened before he made it halfway there. He froze as Sanctuary opened for five unwelcome figures, as well as a sixth that lifted Stripwire's eyebrow with confusion.

"Honey, I'm home!" Magnum sang as he followed Krieg into Sanctuary. Pyre, Pig, Spooky, and Rebound followed him, all with a shared look of disgust for his antics. The band of Eights stopped inside, falling silent behind Krieg's reverent stare that traversed the cathedral interior.

The humble furnishings and their lone cyborg protector made Krieg shake his head. "What a letdown. I was expecting a lot more," he said.

Stripwire remained perfectly still. His augmented ears detected Patches' soft whimper from behind Juice's bed. He wished he could call to Blink, to tell him to take the little boy and teleport as far away as he could. But Krieg's sick smile and pendulous sword made him stand his ground in stoic silence.

"One left," Pig grunted. "What a gyp." Spooky giggled as she hung from his hand, grinning her agreement.

White heat burst into Pyre's hands. He glared at Stripwire, and then past him to the bed where Juice lay. "Let me do it. I owe these bastards plenty," he said.

He started forward, but was stopped by Krieg. "No," Krieg said. Looking to Magnum, he nodded, and said, "You do it. Think of it as your initiation."

Magnum drew a revolver and spun its chamber with a twist. "Finally," he said, and stepped forward. He drew a bead on Stripwire. The chamber of his revolver spun faster still in anticipation. Its slugs rattled with kinesis. Closing an eye, Magnum aimed for the glint in Stripwire's goggles, and said, "You have no idea how good this'll feel. I've been waiting for-freaking-ever to do this."

Stripwire did not flinch beneath the revolver's aim. More so than anyone's, his death had always been a matter of when, not if. This wasn't the death he would choose, but he was ready regardless. He stared into Magnum's aim, and nodded.

Without turning his gaze, Magnum swung his arm back at his fellow Eights. They cried in surprise at the gun turned on them, which spat a slew of slugs. The shots struck a surprised Rebound, whose body deflected them as though they were nothing. One of the ricochets grazed Pig's calf, eliciting a loud curse and a hop from the titanic Eight that shook the floor.

Magnum glanced back at the shocked, furious Rebound, and said, "Shit! Even when you're surprised, too? That ain't fair!"

The swipe of a broadsword made Magnum duck. He jumped back from Krieg's mad attack, losing a sliver of his fabulous hair in the process. "Dumb move, Mag," Krieg howled. "Dumb freakin' move! Now you're gonna—!"

Blinding light burst behind Krieg. Blink emerged from the flash to wrap his arms around Krieg's waist. Before the Eight could even curse, they both vanished in another flash, leaving emptiness behind.

The entire room stopped as everyone, Eight and Streetbeat, stared at the empty space. Yet another flash heralded Blink's return. He was alone when he appeared beside Stripwire. Smoothing the front of his shirt, he shrugged at the Eights' collective shock. "Yeah. He stepped out for a second," he said lamely.

Bent and clutching his leg, Pig cast a furious look at the other Eights. "What are you waiting for, a freaking sign? Get 'im!" he bellowed.

A blaze poured into Pyre's fists, scorching the floor as he stalked upon Stripwire and Blink. "Oh, yeah!" he crowed. Murder gleamed in his eyes, exploding into twin points of brilliant heat. Smoldering, he lifted his inferno to hurl upon the pair, and cried, "Time to flash-fr—!"

Blood and bone sprayed from the back of his knee. Pyre collapsed, screaming, his flames snuffing out as he clutched his mangled joint. He sobbed and curled into a ball.

"See?" Magnum snapped to Rebound. "That's what's supposed to happen! Why don't you get that?"

Rebound pulled a switchblade from her pocket and slapped it open. "Why don't you get this instead?" she spat.

Her knife cut the air as Magnum danced around her. Rebound knew how to handle a knife, that much was clear, but Magnum had been cut more than a few times himself, and was not eager to repeat the experience. As he ducked and weaved, he patted his jacket for anything that might slow Rebound down. He was loath to waste the few quick-load cartridges he had left for his revolvers.

Then he felt a long, fat presence in his coat. He whipped out the bottle of cheap vodka and thumbed out its cork. "Thirsty?" he asked.

Tactile telekinesis forced the contents of the bottle up into its neck. His thumb over the bottle's mouth turned the sloshing liquid into a fine spray. Magnum waved the spewing bottle at Rebound, stopping her in her tracks. The vodka mist was too fine to trigger her power, and soaked into her clothes.

Rebound coughed and rubbed her burning eyes, waving her hand through the liquored air. "Is that the best you got, scrub?" she wheezed, and glared. Her knife glinted wet as she brought it overhead to drive into his chest.

Fumbling in his pocket, Magnum produced a handheld lighter. "You're right. I can do better," he said, and flicked the lighter into flame.

He pushed another spray of vodka from the bottle and into Rebound's charge. Her battle cry became a scream as he grinningly swept the lighter's flame into the spray, igniting a wet, burping fireball. The fire consumed the vodka in the air, and spread quickly into her reeking clothes and hair.

Rebound shrieked as her whole upper body caught fire. The flame clung to her clothes and blackened her hair. Her slapping hands did nothing to discourage them. Magnum's bottle belched another fireball, chasing her back. She ran for the door, wailing, her fiery coat flickering behind her with the speed of her retreat.

Magnum lifted the bottle, gazing lovingly through its sloshing contents. "Is there nothing you can't do?" he said, and drank the last of his ammunition.

Spooky glided at Blink and Stripwire in Pyre's place. Her ethereal smile remained. Her giggle haunted the pair, making Blink cringe. He tugged on Stripwire's shoulder in panic, and said, "We have to go! That creepy Asian Dakota Fanning is gonna outside our insides!"

"Wait," Stripwire said. "We can hear her. We can see her. That means she possesses an actual, physical presence that interacts with her surroundings."

She giggled again. Blink tugged harder. "Who cares? Gonna 'port us," he cried.

"Wait," Stripwire said coolly. "That means her ability to traverse matter is likely the temporary integration of her molecules with other matters' molecules. She still must possess bonds on the subatomic structure in order to maintain a cohesive physical shape."

"So what?" Blink screamed.

Stripwire lifted his mechanical arm. Its parts slithered together, mechamorphing noisily, until he possessed an octagonal barrel for a hand. Cylindrical vents emerged from the top of the weapon with hissing steam. He swung the barrel at Spooky and braced his feet as if he were pushing a piano uphill.

The world turned yellow as Stripwire's cannon disgorged a column of pure force that engulfed Spooky. Only her scream remained. Everything else about her sailed out of Sanctuary's doors, trailing saffron.

Blink stared in awe through the yellow spots dancing in his eyes. He turned and found Stripwire ten paces back, where the recoil of his cannon had pushed him. Their placid cyborg shifted his cannon back into an arm and blew the smoke from his palm. "So, my cannon can affect her," Stripwire explained.

Knotting a scrap of shirt around his leg, Pig watched the Streetbeat embarrass his crew. He rose from his crouch, favoring his injured leg, and set forth to crush the treacherous Magnum.

The massive Eight took two steps before something grabbed the collar of his shirt from behind and choked him to a halt. He spun and caught a glimpse of knuckles before they smashed his face, pulping his nose and blackening both his eyes with a blow that rocked him back.

"You're strong, big guy," Queenie said. She filled the doorway with a tall, furious presence and ragged breath. Rubbing her knuckles, she glared at the reeling Eight, and said, "Maybe stronger'n me. But you ain't tougher. Not even close."

Pig lurched forward into a haymaker punch. Queenie ducked his fist, and then puckered his stomach with her fist. Her blows sank into his flab and cracked against his bone, knocking him back like a blimpish drunk. Winding up, she drove an uppercut into his chest that lifted him overhead. He sailed through Sanctuary's doors and bounced down the steps, landing hard next to a pedestal with the broken marble feet of a saint.

Stepping around Queenie, Jason entered Sanctuary, his fists curled and eyes darting. A quick headcount eased the tension in his chest, though he didn't like the looks of Juice.

"Where's Krieg?" he bellowed.

Blink stepped forward, raising his hand. "I, uh, sent him away. Ported him across town," he said.

Jason scowled. "Damn it!"

"Sorry. I thought getting Krieg out of here was a good thing," Blink muttered.

The rest of the Streetbeat gravitated to Jason at the door. A questioning look to each of them gave Jason a nod in reply to let him know they were all right. Magnum added a sheepish look and a shrug, to which Jason grimly nodded back. Then he staggered with a woof as Patches dove into him and wrapped around his waist.

"I knew you'd come back," Patches sobbed into Jason's stomach. "I knew it."

Jason tussled Patches' hair. He smiled, and said, "Nice work protecting Sanctuary, kid. Way to whip these guys into shape while I was gone. Now I need you to keep an eye on Juice for me. But don't touch him, okay?" At Patches teary nod, Jason nudged him out of the circle. His face and words hardened once Patches left the reach of his voice. "What's the sitch on the lawn ornaments outside?"

"The stun effect of our security system should wear off momentarily," Stripwire reported. "We will then be up to our asses in Eights." Four confused glances made his eyebrow rise. "To use the vernacular," he added.

Queenie pounded her fist into her palm. "So what? We go outside, tap some chins, and boot their asses off our yard."

Glancing nervously outside, Blink piped in, "There's a lot of them. And not all of us have powers that can tap chins."

Checking his jacket, Magnum said, "That bounce-off bitch ate most of my ammo, but if they line up, I can ace my fair share. Some of Blink's too, since he has girl parts." At Queenie's glare, he amended, "Little girl parts."

"HAWKE!"

The furious howl filled Sanctuary. Through the doors and down the front walk, at the broken and rusting gates of the grounds, Krieg squared off against the cathedral itself. The broadsword hung from his grasp. His booming voice stirred the awakening Eights that were strewn across the ground.

Krieg hammered the blade against the ground. "Get out here, you son of a bitch! We ain't done here. We just gettin' started!"

Rush stood behind him, leaning heavily on her knees, pouring sweat from her face. Jason guessed how Krieg had gotten back to Sanctuary so quickly. So much the better.

The rest of his metahuman Eights crawled back to Krieg, save Pyre, who bled and sobbed near Sanctuary's doorway. Jason watched the collective Eight army stagger to its feet beneath the glare of their leader.

His plan solidified in his head. It was a good plan, provided he didn't die in the process. "I got this one, guys. Hang back and jump in if it doesn't work," Jason said.

As he started for the door, Queenie quick-stepped after him. "By yourself?" she demanded. "Have you gone macho-crazy?"

"Trust me," he quipped with a tight smile.

She rolled her eyes while the rest of the Streetbeat fell into step behind them. "Oh, well, hearin' that just makes me all tingly with confidence," she snarked.

The Streetbeat marched out of Sanctuary behind Jason. Magnum stomped on Pyre's leg along the way, grinding his foot until Pyre's yell brought a smile to his face. The Eights outside were unprepared for a full attack, least of all their metahumans. Pig's face resembled raw, purple hamburger. Spooky hid behind him, peering around his leg. Rebound tugged at her scorched hair and glared furiously. Behind them all, Rush stood and waited, trembling.

"C'mon, Hawke!" Krieg screamed. "Why you playin'? You got nothin'! Look at you! You got nothin'! Look what I got!"

Jason stopped at the foot of the stairs. His glare pierced the row of Eights between him and Krieg. The startled, battered bangers slid aside to clear the way for the bad blood between Jason and Krieg.

"Yeah," said Jason. "You got it all, Krieg. Did Maiko stop watching his back? Bad move. Or maybe he just bought it from somebody else, and you jumped at the chance to take over. You were never smart enough to take him out yourself."

Rage twisted Krieg's face. "You shut your face, Hawke. I'm gonna own you!"

"Not if I own you first, shit bag. I'm challenging you," Jason retorted.

He slid the denim jacket from his shoulders, letting it fall behind him. The pale skin of his arms shone with the colors of the sunset. His tank top left his shoulders bare. There, on his left arm, a pair of faded eights sat in his skin, rippling as he moved. He flexed his freed arms, letting everyone see the tattoo.

Stunned silence froze the Eights. The Streetbeat were little better. They stared at the eights on Jason's arm as he walked the gauntlet of bangers. Queenie's expression petrified into stony apprehension. Both of Stripwire's brows had lifted in surprise. Blink's mouth moved, but words failed to find their way out.

"Holy shit," Magnum exclaimed. "I didn't think Jason's jacket could come off. I thought it was, like, grown into his skin, or something."

Krieg brayed a laugh at Jason's approach. "Are you outta your mind? You ain't one of us no more, Hawke. You gotta be Eight to lead. You ain't Eight, church boy."

"You refusing the challenge, Krieg? No surprise there," Jason said, turning a smirk to the encircling Eights.

"You ain't one of us," Krieg said with another, less humored laugh.

He pointed the sword at Jason with a sick grin. He expected his Eights to swarm the stupid Streetbeat and tear him apart. So when the stony silence continued, he lost his grin. The sword dipped as he looked around and found the faces of his Eights watching him expectantly. "What are you assholes waiting for? Get 'im!"

Pig folded his arms. "Dude's callin' you out. He's dissin' you. Means he's dissin' us. You gonna take that from him?"

"We ain't seen you lift a goddamn finger this whole fight," Rebound snapped. "Way I see it, it's your turn."

Krieg swung the sword around, leveling its point at the pair. They backed away from his furious swipe as he yelled, "You worthless freaks! He can't call me out! He ain't one of us no more! Now get him!"

As Pig and Rebound parted, they revealed stoic Rush behind them. She stared down the point of Krieg's stolen sword, and murmured, "Eight for life. Isn't that what you told me?"

"Are you kidding me?" Krieg screamed. He whirled around to his army of Eights. They remained in a circle around the pair, watching and waiting. Behind them, the Streetbeat stood on the steps of their home, overseeing the challenge. "This ain't a challenge, it's a joke! What are you waiting for?"

Jason's quiet words cut the wake of his scream. "They're waiting to see what kind of guy is throwing them into fights they can't win. Is he a guy who hides behind them, or a guy willing to lose with them?"

Krieg cocked the sword to his shoulder like a bat. "What does that bullshit even mean?" he spat.

"You never got that," Jason said, shaking his head. "That's why Maiko picked me. That's why I left."

"Go to hell!"

Krieg swung. The broadsword swept with the full might of his muscled frame. He chopped at Jason with enough force to cleave him in twain. But he still had not learned that hard lesson of blades from their last fight. Jason resolved to teach the lesson again.

The sword cleft a tuft of blond hair from Jason's scalp. The rest of Jason ducked, and then sprang forward. He kicked the hilt, launching the broadsword out of Krieg's grasp. The sword spun out of the fight as Jason drove his fist into Krieg's stomach, staggering the larger man back.

"You wanted my sword, and you can't even use it," Jason snapped. "How stupid are you?"

Krieg snapped a blade from his jacket and tossed it between his hands. Wild, feral hate blazed in his eyes. "Not stupid enough to bring fists to a knife fight, Hawke!" he roared.

He drove the knife at Jason hard. Two quick slashes carved red ribbons into Jason's chest. Jason hissed, and then caught Krieg's stab with both hands. Krieg had too much weight and power for Jason to stop him cold. He shoved the knife downward instead.

The blade sank into Jason's thigh, plunging a shaft of agony deep into the muscle. Jason screamed behind his teeth as Krieg twisted the knife hard, leaning in face-to-face with his hated rival.

"Maiko didn't do too well with this knife, Hawke," Krieg snarled, and twisted harder. "How you like it?"

Jason's hand wrapped around Krieg's on the hilt of the knife. He held them both fast to the gushing wound in his leg, keeping them connected. Krieg frowned and tried to pull away. He couldn't break Jason's hold. Jason's muffled scream became a growl. "I like it so much, I'm gonna keep it!"

His forehead slammed into the bridge of Krieg's nose. Krieg reeled back, and then jerked forward as Jason dragged his knifed leg back. With one hand on Krieg's, Jason drove his other elbow into Krieg's jaw, and then brought it back across the other side of Krieg's face, and then smashed it back across his jaw again.

Krieg lurched with the blows. He tried to get away, but Jason's grasp kept his hand around the knife, and the knife in its bleeding sheath. Again and again, Jason crossed Krieg's face with his elbow. Krieg's eyes lolled. His legs gave out, and he crumpled to his knees.

Finally, Jason released the knife. It hung in his thigh as Krieg knelt before him, wobbling. The Eight's eyes uncrossed for one last baleful glare at the Streetbeat above him. Then Jason's knee drove him unconscious with a spray of blood and teeth.

Jason sneered down at Krieg's unconscious body. His sneer lifted to travel the circle of Eights around him, lingering longest on Pig and the other metahumans. "There. Challenge's done. And since he was in charge, that means I'm in charge now, right?"

Pig curled his fists, ready to refute the outlandish claim. But his blackened eyes caught sight of Queenie across the yard. A slight shake of her head made him open his hands, and listen in spiteful silence.

"No objections? Good," Jason snapped. He stood tall, seemingly oblivious to the three inches of steel buried in his leg, or the red stain growing in his jeans. "So here's what you're gonna do. You're all gonna pack up and leave town. I'm leader of the Eights now, and I say the Eights are done in Jump City."

"You can't just—" Rebound started.

"You had your chance to play nice. But you listened to him," Jason snapped, waving his hand at the insensate Krieg. "Too bad. So sad. Now piss off."

The Eights remained still. Some of them glared at Jason, while others looked around in confusion. All of them looked to the steps of Sanctuary at the sound of rearranging mechanical parts. They flinched in the yellow glare of Stripwire's force cannon, which he leveled at the crowd. Magnum backed him up with both revolvers. Queenie did the same with a cracking of her knuckles.

"Perhaps you are all suffering from temporary hearing impairment," Stripwire suggested.

"Your leader told you to piss off," Queenie growled.

Magnum's revolvers whirred in anticipation. "Or don't," he said with a shrug. "It's cool either way. Kind of a pain, though, since trash pickup isn't until Thursday."

In twos and threes, the Eights trickled from their circle and left through Sanctuary's gates. A few of them bent to gather Krieg between them. The yard emptied inside of a minute. Krieg's so-called "freaks" were the loath to leave, however. They gathered behind Pig, who had yet to move.

"This ain't over, Hawke," Pig promised him.

Magnum lowered his revolvers toward the porcine Eight. "Yeah? I got two doses of piping hot lead that—"

An animalistic scream startled him in mid-quip. He and the other Streetbeat whirled around, and flinched as a wave of heat roiled out of Sanctuary's doors. Pyre leaned against the doorframe, his entire body ablaze. A glare of pure fire boiled at Magnum as Pyre gathered the blaze around him into a shot. "Die, you fu—"

Lightning arced into Pyre from behind. His red flames turned blue in the intensity of the electrical storm ravaging his body. His scream cut short as his muscles locked into paralysis. The bolt ended, letting his smoldering body teeter forward. He toppled down the steps. Magnum hopped out of his way, letting him tumble to the bottom of the stairs.

"Did I get him?" came the weak cry from inside Sanctuary.

Glancing inside, Queenie saw Juice sitting up in his bed. His body smoked with the force of his shot. Patches had ducked down next to his bed, clutching his head in fear of stray electricity. "Yeah, you got him," Queenie called back.

Juice flopped back in bed. "Thanks. Gonna pass out now," he called woozily.

Jason scowled through Pig's startled shock. "Now you're done. So piss off already."

Rebound ran up and dragged Pyre back to the other Eights. She handed him to Pig, who slung the smoldering boy over his shoulder. Without another word, he and Rebound turned and left through the gates. Spooky ran to keep up with their fast gait.

Rush stood fast, her arms lowered and hands open at her sides. She showed no fear for the tensed Streetbeat as she walked slowly through Jason's hard glare. As the rest of the Streetbeat approached him from behind, she asked him quietly, "You really quit the Eights?"

"They didn't like it much. It's not something I'd recommend," Jason said flatly. He glanced back over his shoulder at Queenie, and added, "Not without some good help."

"And him?" she asked, nodding to Magnum.

Jason grasped the hilt of the knife in him. "Magnum's an asshole down to the bone. He'd sell us out in a heartbeat if he thought he'd get something out of it. Except…"

He glanced back at Magnum, who had a hand on Stripwire's shoulder. "Look at you, you little badass," he crowed, and mimed Stripwire's force cannon with his arm. "Blah-blah hearing problems… You can't teach that, y'know. That shit's genetic."

Stripwire arched a brow at Magnum's smile. "Thankfully, pomposity is not." But he laid his hand on Magnum's hand, and nodded.

Jason smiled. "Mag's always got at least one reason to stick with us. Long as his brother's Streetbeat, he is too."

His smile became a bark of pain as he tore the knife out of his leg. He swore and tossed the knife aside. The tear in his jeans widened at his tug as Queenie and the others reached him and Rush.

Keeping a wary eye on the speedy Eight, Queenie examined Jason's cut. "That looks nasty. Patches!"

The little boy peered around the broken door of Sanctuary. He'd snuck from Juice's bedside to watch the Streetbeat. He gasped and ran out at the sight of blood pouring from Jason's leg, even as the bleeding center of attention insisted, "It's not that bad. Patches, you don't need to—"

"Shut up," Queenie told him. She ushered Patches through the others and knelt next to him. The little boy examined Jason's cut fearlessly, unaffected by the sight of blood. "Think you can do something, little man?" she asked Patches.

"Just a quick patch," Jason insisted.

He winced as Patches rested his fingers around the cut. The boy's eyes closed. In seconds, the blood pouring from Jason's leg became a trickle, and then stopped entirely. The skin at the edge of the raw cut puckered together, closing the wound entirely.

Rush stared in awe. "He can heal?" she asked of the little boy's miraculous power.

Blink grinned and flexed the hand that Patches had clutched all through his recovery. "Like a champ," he said. "You don't think we let just anybody hang around here. That'd be dangerous."

Jason sighed and pulled Patches hands away from the cut. "That's good, kid. Real good."

"But I'm not done," Patches insisted, looking at the bloody mess. "It's closed, but it's still owie."

"It's fine. Feels like new," Jason said. "Now—"

The neighborhood's windows rattled with the force of a screeching jet that passed just overhead. The teenagers on Sanctuary's doorstep ducked instinctively as the Teen Titan's gleaming jet, Icarus, soared overhead. As they followed the jet's path, they saw warm colors burning in the early night sky. The distant fires of the Titans' battle were not as distant as they had been.

"Stripwire?" Jason asked.

Their young cyborg tilted his head to one side. His internal equipment accessed radio waves, wireless signals, satellite feeds, and everything else flying through the air that no one else could hear or see. "The Tyrants have spread their fight to other portions of the city since last we checked," he reported. "Incidents of panic and riot are spreading in the wake of the battle. Authorities are responding accordingly, but the situation is rapidly becoming unmanageable."

Disbelief spread across Queenie's face. "You still wanna help take down the Tyrants? You must be nuts," she said.

Jason didn't hesitate. "I am nuts. And no, forget the Tyrants. Let the glory hounds take care of their playmates. Somebody has to be around to make sure the city doesn't fall apart.

"Strip, you're coordinating in the field. You and Blink keep everybody moving to the riot hotspots. Queenie and Mag, you're the muscle. Break 'em up fast, but gentle. These are regular folk, not metas."

"You mean like the 'nilla that stabbed your leg?" Magnum asked sarcastically.

"Yeah. Now get moving unless you want a demonstration. I'll coordinate from here after I get the command center back up and running."

He turned toward Sanctuary when Rush's voice stopped him. "Let me help," she said.

Jason looked back. "Look, kid, if you want protection from the Eights, that's fine. Get inside and grab a bunk. But this ain't a club. We got work to do."

Her hard look made him pause. She gathered her courage, forcing her trembling body still, before she spoke. "My Grampa wouldn't want me to just sit around when people are in trouble. Especially…" She looked down, her bruised face reddening. "Especially the person who saved me from being something I'm not."

"We kick your ass, and you wanna join up?" Queenie said with a note of accusation.

"You…you came back for him," Rush said, nodding to Jason. "I want…I want someone who'll come back for me. I want that," she insisted.

"We are a guy short," Magnum said.

Stripwire's goggles bore down up on her with clinical scrutiny. "She attacked us," he reminded them.

Magnum scoffed. "You're just pissed 'cause she broke your car."

Queenie silenced them both with a snap of her fingers. She glared hard at Rush, waiting for the wafer-thin girl to break. "Jason?" Queenie asked sidelong.

Turning on his good leg, Jason watched Rush squirm under the attention. Finally, he nodded, and said, "We don't have a lot of time, so let's make this quick. Initiate her."

The Streetbeat surged forward as one, needing no more encouragement. They grasped Rush by her arms and held her still. Rush closed her eyes and swallowed hard. Her whole body tensed in anticipation. A whimper ghosted up her throat.

She heard the hiss of aerosol, and cracked an eye. Stripwire stood before her, his mechanical arm moving methodically over her tank top. A fine white spray of paint from his fingertip drew perfect lines on the fabric, lines that he connected into the Streetbeat's graffiti tag. When Stripwire stood back, she craned her head down to see the "S" emblazoned on her shirt.

"There. Welcome aboard," Jason said. "What's your name?"

She frowned. "Rush," she reminded him.

His hard expression softened. "What's your name?" he asked again, this time gently.

The tightness in Rush's chest relaxed, if only a little. "Bri. Brianna Rushmore."

She staggered as Queenie clasped her shoulder. Fear spiked her heartbeat into high gear. But Queenie just grinned, and said, "Nice t' meet ya. I'm Olympia."

"Brink," said Blink.

"Dewey," Magnum said. He lifted his revolver warningly, and added, "But if you ever call me that, I'll freaking kill you."

"Stripwire," said Stripwire. Magnum rolled his eyes.

"An' I'm Patches!" the little boy in the patchwork coat exclaimed.

Now Jason rolled his eyes. "Okay, okay. Everybody shut up. We got work to do. Patches, I want you to go with the others. You stick with Rush, and you find hurt people that need help. You listen to these guys, and do everything they say, okay? This is really important."

"Really?" Patches cried. "I get t' help!"

Deathly seriousness burned in Jason's stare as he looked to Rush. "You keep an eye on the kid. Nothing happens to him, got it? And that listening thing goes for you too. Guys are gonna keep a good eye on you."

She nodded her understanding as Magnum said, "Finally, a decent piece of tail to look at."

"I think I'm offended," Queenie huffed sarcastically.

"Me too," Rush said nervously. "Also, um, I'm right here."

"I know. Could you maybe turn around? Do a little something?" Magnum flexed his own buttocks in demonstration. Queenie propelled him forward with a shove toward the gates.

"Queenie," Jason called after her, stopping her as the others jogged out into the street, "Wait up. I need your help with something."

The towering teen lingered as the rest of the Streetbeat left. She walked back, and waited until the others had disappeared down an alley before she said, "It's okay. They're gone."

Jason collapsed onto one knee and coughed a curse at his wounded leg. "Holy hell," he gasped, sucking air through his teeth. "I forgot how much it hurts to get stabbed."

"So it hurts a lot, huh?" she asked, and lifted him back to his feet with one hand under his armpit. His weight meant nothing to her. She could have slung him under her arm and hurt nothing but his pride. "I thought you were supposed to be tough."

He hissed and limped with her back toward the steps. "I thought so too. God damn," he swore when he put too much weight into one step.

"Who's 'limpy' now?" she said teasingly. Then she sobered, and asked, "You don't really think the Eights are gone, do you?"

He sighed leaned gratefully into her arm, wrapping his own arm around her back. "Nah. But I know they're done. We never should've had an understanding in the first place. We should've gone in and cleaned 'em out all along. And as soon as my leg stops trying to kill me, that's what we're gonna do, to the Eights and all the other rats in the city."

She tsk'ed and shook her head. "Still pickin' fights. Ain't you learned yet?"

"Hey, it turned out okay."

"You got stabbed," she reminded him.

"Oh, yeah. I remember that part," he grunted, wincing at another spike of pain that jumped up and down his leg. As he stopped, he looked down, and saw an old, battered broadsword laying discarded in the yard. It was chipped and pitted from years of fighting. It was heavy, and sometimes more trouble than it was worth. Ignoring the pain for a moment, he bent and, with Queenie's help, placed the blade back in its sheath where it belonged.

For the first time since it had been taken, Jason felt a little closer to being whole again. The arm around him helped even more. "But I also remember what we're about. Or did you forget?" he asked, half-playfully, half-hissing in pain.

She smiled, and held him a little closer. "Naw. I didn't forget," she said. "Glad you didn't, either."

"Never, Limpi," he said, and squeezed her back.

To Be Continued

A day late, but a dollar longer. I hope nobody minds too much.

This story didn't turn out the way I wanted, but here it is, regardless. And in the end, I'm glad I did it. If nothing else, it gets all of the OC out of my system. Next week, it's back to the real stars of the show and their eternal struggle against injustice and hormones. Tune in next week for the first installment, "Legacy." Same Teen time, same Titan URL. See you next time, when (don't I always say it?)…

The best is yet to come.