Late that night, the Deaconess roamed the streets of Paris three blocks north of the Seine, her eyes peeled for any signs of danger. Despite the heat of the day, the air had grown cool since sunset; she pulled her cloak tight and drew up the hood as a gust of wind swept down the dimly-lit street. Apart from her last mission for Agent Cocteau, she had worn nothing but the ugly orange prison uniform since her arrest; to don once more the robes of her order had been her greatest desire when the agent had "recruited" her for his project. And yet, despite the similarity in cut, material, and color, something felt… off about these robes that Cocteau had provided for her. This wasn't the robe of a Dark Acolyte: the fabric wasn't quite the same shade, didn't have the same feel. She shifted her shoulders awkwardly. Maybe this was just one symptom. As a Dark Acolyte of the Mundane, she had grown familiar with the robes, with the staff, with all the weapons – all the things that made her part of this Order. The tools that millennia of experience had produced to enable them to match the miraculous (ab)users on their own terms. Even with all the changes of the last years, the Order remained. Yes, she had been arrested and imprisoned. Yes, the sword had been lost. But she now had her quarterstaff back. This piece of wood – with a little chi coaxing – could prove a match for any miraculous (ab)user. Subtly, she ran a hand down the quarterstaff and frowned.

Something felt so different about this one.

"Deaconess, report."

The Deaconess' expression soured at the interruption to her musings. "I see a lot of nothing," she answered. "Are you sure the target will be here?"

"All the reports indicate that the target has been seen within a five-block radius of this intersection no less than a dozen times in the last month," Agent Cocteau informed her. "Make a left at the intersection and double back through the alley."

"Fine." The Deaconess rolled her eyes. "But I'm telling you, I haven't seen anything since I arrived. Nothing but a bunch of rats. And a couple stray cats."

"Rats, you say?" Cocteau hummed. "New plan: follow the animals."

The Deaconess scoffed. "Do you honestly think they're all going in the same…" Looking down at the ground and focusing her attention on the side of the street just below the sidewalk's edge, she paused, blinking several times. "Huh." A trail of at least two-dozen rats walked in a straight line past her, sticking to the shadow of the sidewalk as they scurried quietly along the edge of the road. Near the front of the line, a glint reflected off of something in one rat's mouth. The Deaconess froze stock-still, watching them carefully as the strange parade moved past her. Something niggled in the back of her mind. Following their direction with her eyes, the Deaconess scanned the alleyway opposite the three-way intersection, her gaze drawn to movement as a stray cat vanished into the darkness. "I guess I stand corrected," she murmured under her breath. "The rats are heading into that alleyway."

"There's your target," Cocteau instructed her. "Mistral, report. Any sign of our 'friends'?"

Over the Deaconess' head, the faint hum of an electric motor sounded – surprisingly loud in the near-silence of the deserted street. A shadow seemed to pass over her head as the noise grew louder only to fade away once more. Out of the corner of her eye, the Deaconess caught sight of the figure as Mistral ascended higher and landed on the rooftop of an office building on the next corner, barely more than a black outline against the stars as she crouched lower. "Not anywhere near us," Mistral announced. "I spotted someone moving along the rooftops south of the river, but I couldn't make out any identifying features." There was a pause. "If you were going to meddle with my gear, you could have gotten me a night-vision headset. Then I'd actually be able to see who that was. Or if it was just a squirrel or something."

The Deaconess could hear the irritation in Cocteau's voice as he replied acidly, "I'm sorry, I thought you 'make your own gear.'"

"Then in that case, I'll give you a shopping list." Mistral leaped off the roof and reactivated her fan pack, ascending to hover fifteen feet above the roofs and rotating quickly before dropping lower. A moment later, she skimmed across the roof of the building to the left of the alleyway ahead and dropped out of sight beyond it. "No Heroes over here," she reported a minute later. "But I do see a bunch of rats – all moving toward that alleyway ahead of Deaconess."

"She's got to be here…" murmured Cocteau, so quietly the Deaconess almost missed it.

"What?"

Cocteau cleared his throat. "Enter that alleyway," he told the Deaconess.

With a sigh, the Deaconess crossed the street at a brisk pace and stepped carefully into the dark alleyway, past a pair of cats which looked up at her with glowing eyes. The garbage strewn along the side of the alley crinkled slightly under her foot as she moved to try and avoid it. Sliding a newspaper to the side, she paused in the shadows, leaning against the wall to wait until her eyes adjusted to the darkness. The chittering of rats intensified below her; gritting her teeth, she forced herself to breathe deeply through her nose. She hadn't minded animals nearly as much a few months ago, before she was arrested. But back then she had known where the animals came from, and why they were approaching her. Now… Something brushed against her leg, and before she could stop herself, she looked down to find a cat staring back up, its eyes wide. From a point further into the alley, past what could only be a dumpster, came a louder chittering noise. The Deaconess cocked her head, freezing in place. Another noise responded to the chittering rats – this one clearly human. The Deaconess' eyes widened, and suddenly everything clicked into place.

"Wait… Tanja!?"

The noise stopped abruptly, and the Deaconess held her breath. Moments later, a shadow rose out of the darkness and took a step toward her. Deaconess peered through the darkness as best she could, squinting to try to make out the figure's features. Without warning, the person rushed toward the Deaconess, grabbing her by the shoulders before pulling her into a tight embrace.

"Marta!" Cerna gasped, holding the Deaconess out at arm's length and giving her a quick scan form head to do. "I–I had no idea – The last I knew you were in prison! But – you're here! You're out! I–I can't believe it!" In the dim light coming from the street behind her, the Deaconess caught a quick glimpse of the mixed shock and relief on Cerna's face. "But… how are you here!?" Her brows furrowed. "I thought… but, um, what happened? I mean… why aren't you in prison?"

The Deaconess coughed, trying not to flush in embarrassment under her intense scrutiny. "I–I am! I just–"

Cocteau's voice cut in. "Don't even think it, Deaconess! No one outside the mission can know about this!"

Clearing her throat, the Deaconess stuttered, "I mean… I was in prison. But… I… er… uh… escaped?"

"But – but how?" Cerna blinked. "I've been trying to get you out for months! Killer Bitch was no help at all – I thought about trying to break in that night the city was going to hell, but the Heroes of Paris were way too focused for that to work. Then I tried sneaking a mouse into the prison to find you and pass a message, but they never came back. Then I found out one of the guards might be… 'persuadable,' but I didn't have enough money to do it. I've been trying to find, or steal, enough money for that for the last month." She grinned, sighing in visible relief. "But you're here! I–I still don't believe it! How? How long?"

"Um…" The Deaconess grinned sheepishly. "Not too long…"

"We should–"

"Now!" shouted Cocteau.

The Deaconess nearly pulled the earpiece out as it screeched, just as pounding footsteps reverberated off the alleyway behind her.

Cerna's mouth fell open in shock, and a fist sailed right past the Deaconess' head and into Cerna's chin. Reacting slowly, the Deaconess turned on the newcomer to find herself face-to-face with Jean the Jack. Le Caporal rushed past her, pushed off the wall, and brought his clasped fists down into Cerna's face. With a gasp, Cerna ducked back away from the blow, grabbing le Caporal's forearm and spinning around to hurtle him at Jean the Jack. Le Caporal let out an involuntary yelp as both men fell to the ground in a jumbled heap, but he was the first one up, rolling onto his stomach, bracing himself in a crouch, and lunging at Cerna in a flying tackle. Cerna's battleaxe was out in a flash; le Caporal caught her by the legs and pulled her off-balance, nearly sending her to the ground before she could bring her battleaxe to bear with any leverage. Waving her arms wildly, Cerna caught herself on the wall and jabbed the butt of her battleaxe into the ground to brace herself, just as Jean the Jack threw himself at her, grabbing the battleaxe and trying to pull it from her slackened grip.

Staring at the scene in front of her, mouth agape, the Deaconess struggled to make sense of what was happening. Where had they come from? Why had the others attacked Cerna of all people? Wait. She blinked. Cocteau had given the order, hadn't he? So, then, Cerna was the 'target'? But why? Sure, she was stealing. Yes, she was using a miraculous. But those things hardly made her a national security threat! Why would Agent Cocteau care what she was doing?

"What's going on?" demanded Cerna, wriggling her legs out of le Caporal's grip and chucking her battleaxe down the alley with Jean the Jack still gripping it. Le Caporal swiped for her ankle, but too late as Cerna sprang off the wall beside her in a backflip, landed and rolled to her feet, and raced down the alleyway in the opposite direction.

"Stop her!" ordered Cocteau. "Now!"

The Deaconess stood stock still, rooted in place, as Cerna neared the end of the alley.

Suddenly, a figure appeared directly in front of Cerna, raised a hand, and fired something at her chest. At once, Cerna froze midstep, her momentum carrying her forward to land flat on her face, one leg sticking up in the air at an odd angle. Holstering his strange pistol, Cocteau gave the Deaconess an irritated look. "Was that so hard?"