Fiend, or how I learned to stop worrying and love the Green Sun

by logiccosmic

[Exalted/Worm] Taylor Hebert failed, in her moment to become something more. But with her failure, she was Chosen. Written with assistance from GLH.

6. 5: Operation Wyldhand

Fifty-two.

Arms burning, and unhealed flesh stretching uncomfortably, I dropped back down. With shaking arms, I slowly pushed myself back up.

Fifty-three.

My knees hit the carpet, as I left the pushup position. I shook out my arms, and wiped the sweat off my brow. A quick dabbing with a dry towel, and I headed into the shower for the last time. I had to check out of the room this morning, and I didn't know how soon I would get another chance at my own bathroom.

A quick examination in the shower revealed my first injury – Sophia's hole in my stomach – had disappeared, reverting back to flesh. The rest of my wounds were still metal though. I felt relief that I wouldn't become solid metal as I kept accumulating injuries in the future. And... a pinch of guilt at the reminder of Sophia. She was still dead, by my hands. Joined by many others now.

What could I have done different, in the heat of the moment? Sophia had pulled a knife on me with the intent to kill me. The various gang members had tried to kill me, and had been members of organizations that dealt drugs, along with other serious crimes. I hadn't gone about any of it the best way, and that I could fix. That I would fix.

A few minutes after the shower almost everything was packed and ready to go, including my newly gained intelligence. My satchel contained both that, and my laptop. I'd study today, and start scouting again tonight. Scouting. Not butting blindly into situations I knew nothing about. Dressed, I put my remaining clothes into a suitcase, and zipped it back up. I looked over the room one last time. And checked underneath the bed. I had everything. Most importantly though, the money. Time for a new place.

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Coffee, again. I could see why my dad drank it every day. Probably necessary. I was in a coffee shop, specifically, one that had wireless internet. It was a toss-up to find one, but one with both internet and quality coffee and food was a nice find. Finishing up my scone, I continued my search.

I was looking for apartments. Hotel rooms were nice- but I didn't want to stay in them constantly, and they had far more people, and potential observers or witnesses. With my ID, fake though it was, it should have been easy to get an apartment, preferably with furniture provided.

But it wasn't. Some asked for a Social Security number when I had called them, and others wanted proof of employment, and the vast majority wanted references. None of which I could provide. Larger buildings, presumably owned by a company that managed them, were the worst by far, generally asking for all three. For three hours, several coffees, and two scones, all I had was a half dead battery on my cellphone and laptop.

Once more into the breach.

A smaller building, four stories, but near Central Park. Expensive, too, but at this point I was flush for cash. And most importantly, on its ad, they were not asking for references. I dialed.

"Lawerence Hilton-Jacob Group, how may I direct your call?"

"I wanted to inquire about the Morningside Heights property," I said.

"Well, the lease is 12 months, and we still have several open at this time. If you go on our website, or stop by our offices, we can start an application-"

I cut her off, expending part of my inner pool. At this rate, I wouldn't find anything before lunch, or even dinner. "Miss, please. I just got to town, and my other apartment fell through, and school has already started. If there is anything I can do, just to get an apartment now."

The line went silent, and I almost gave up, and ended my call, before she spoke again.

"I'll transfer you to the property manager, directly. He can answer your questions."

"Thank you," I said, real gratitude in my voice.

"Transferring."

I held the phone away from my ear as muzak blasted out. With my other hand, I looked up the information I would need to sell this.

"Miss?" The muzak cut off, and a man spoke.

"Hi," I said, dropping to around two-thirds empty. My voice turned, well, girly. Imitating Madison, really. "My apartment didn't work out, and I'm already starting at Columbia, and I need some place to live. I can't keep living out of hotels!"

"Well, we do need that paperwork if you are to become a resident-"

I cut him off, burning what I had regained, "Maybe if I did a security deposit, or something?"

The line went silent again, but this time I didn't worry. Security deposit, or more accurately, bribe. The man slowly spoke, as if thinking hard, "If you doubled the first month's rent, in addition to the actual security deposit, that would work."

"Great! So I can come by, like now?"

"Yes. The additional security deposit should be on a separate check-"

I interjected, again, "Oh, could I do cash on the additional? I don't want to put that much on my checking account."

He got much friendlier. In a much more polite tone, he said, "Sure. That's fine. You can pay when you come in, and then get you your key."

I hung up after pleasantries. I had some place to live, and some place to take a shower. And someplace less likely to give me bedbugs or be broken into, like a motel.

And for now, I planned to stay here in the city.

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I sat down on my new bed, in my new apartment. It had cost more than I had liked, nearly six thousand dollars, when the bribe was included. But, I had a furnished apartment under my fake ID, and someplace more secure to store my things. I opened a suitcase, and pulled out a stack of money. Nearly half a suitcase was full of money.

How much damage did I do with one backpack load? With two? Even burning the drugs?

Not enough. A brief skim through the folders had been illuminating. They made at least half a million dollars a day in drugs sold in the city alone, with most of their bigger income sales coming in from the sale and distribution to the rest of the gangs throughout the east coast, and that's before the prostitution, underground gambling, and other crimes were added into things. I didn't know how the Number Man got his information, but he even had their property taxes. I flipped through the folder with a red label on it. It included a projection of the most likely short term actions by the gang, centered mostly on what they would do tonight. At its header, it noted that any projection beyond tonight's was likely to be guesswork, and likely to be inaccurate at that. But the important part? That vital parts of their empire would be vulnerable.

So, question is, do I act on this or not?

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The neighborhood was fairly nice for the Bronx, as far as I could tell. Three story brown townhouses lined the street, and of the selection of cars parked on the side of the street, none of them had faded paint. I found my target's house, and knocked, feeling uneasy in the light in my current form.

I slipped right in through the space between the door hinges as it was opened. I moved along the baseboard, and shot into what had to be a hallway closet. I felt the sense of wrongness evaporate as I was shrouded in darkness. Footsteps passed my hiding spot, and the bar of light shining on the golf bag I was resting on disappeared with a click of the light switch.

I exited my hiding spot, moving from the kitchen to the counter as I watched a woman move into a lighted living room, her back facing me. I saw the stairs and moved upwards to the second floor. I peeked into each bedroom, and the office. The first room held his daughter, talking away merrily on her cellphone. The second held his son, and- and I quickly made sure to slip back out of his room, feeling my cheeks turn red even while in shadow form. The third room was his and his wife's. Mikail's, that was. Mikail was the local 757s' leader, and like his name suggested he had an ego consummate with the position.

The Number Man's file, in addition to having a list of his predilections, whether spirits or women, had an extensive history bio. He had been supposedly converted to Islam in prison, but the Number Man's report made it clear it was a sham. Primarily to attract other recently converted convicts to his banner, and to give himself a veneer of legitimacy. Once out of the prison, he had triggered due to an unknown event, and quickly dismantled the gang's previous leadership, nearly a decade ago. The only remnant of his supposed faith was his name, which the file had noted as a name of an Angel.

From there he had built himself and the gang up, using both his own parahuman abilities, as a Mover/Brute, and by attracting new talent, with very serious amounts of money. He had brought the shattered gang back together, and expanded their slice of the drug market.

Just the sort of person who could use less stuff. It was for a good and charitable cause after all.

I crept underneath the door, invisible as a shadow in the barely lighted landing. Even in the dark of the office, I could see perfectly. If I was a safe -

I would apparently be sitting open, right behind the desk. I scoffed, disappointed at the arrogance of this guy. I had been thinking all sorts of ways to to find and get into a hidden safe, and for nothing. Who left a safe out in the open and unlocked, anyway?

I cleaned it out, taking both papers and money. The latter, to obviously fund my enterprise, and the former to start my own intelligence gathering. I couldn't rely on the information just dropping into my lap anymore. I went back downstairs, sneaking a fraction of my head through the stair railing to check on the living room and kitchen. Still good.

I made it to the door, before realizing an unforeseen complication. The deadbolt was locked via key, even on the inside. A complication which I immediately solved, by taking what had to be the Mikail's wife's keys out of a bowl by the door. Unless he liked that much pink. I unlocked it, as quietly as possible, and then closed it behind me as I left the house. I didn't lock them in, on the off chance of a fire. Keys in hand, I thought about how to get to my next target, before I noticed something quite useful.

And then I picked out the beeper to a car from the keychain. I pressed the unlock button on it, and an SUV beeped in front of me as it unlocked. Well, I wasn't going to complain. I opened the driver door before tossing my backpack into the passenger seat, and with my body reverting from its shadow state, pulled out of the line of cars on the street.

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My cell phone's alarm woke me up. I flipped it open, to check the time. 9:20 pm. More importantly, I checked my pools. Full. I had let my disguise go, as I needed as much as possible tonight if everything was to go off without a snag. I opened my backpack, and pushing past the evening's current spoils, pulled out my gear. I got dressed, putting my formerly worn clothes back in the backpack. I set my mask on the passenger seat, and rifled through the backpack for non-essential papers. I littered the car with invoices, after taking a peek at them. Phase one of plan 'Use it or lose it', complete.

Finished dressing for all but my mask, I drove out of the lot, heading out of New York City.

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The Port of New York and New Jersey was still the largest port on the East Coast, even after Behemoth's attack nearly two decades ago. He had attacked across the river, after-all, rampaging through Brooklyn and then Queens, before being driven off by a cavalcade of heroes. They had suffered significant losses but the majority of the city, and the Port had been untouched.

Still, business was down, and had spread out. Cities weren't the hubs of civilization they once were, as Endbringers tended to go after them first. Thus, the Port wasn't operating at full capacity, even though their Dockworkers still had jobs, unlike back home at the Bay. With less commerce occurring, there were spots that were unoccupied by their official users for substantial periods of time, leaving their unofficial users time to conduct their own business.

For instance, tonight. The Blues were removing a twenty-foot container from a ship, theOceanos. Sixteen of the twenty feet contained clothes, made in sweatshops from South America. Behind a false door, the next four feet contained crates of cocaine: at least five million dollars worth. Almost a month's whole supply, given Blue's smaller cocaine trafficking operation. Marijuana was their primary earner, but the cocaine was a significant portion of their income as well.

I pulled on to the curb, and parked the SUV right at the fence that was separating the eastern portion of the Port from the road, before putting my mask on. Shouldering my backpack, I stripped the two front seats of their floor mats. I tossed the keys across the road, and walked up to the fence. It was covered in razor wire, which I didn't particularly want touching me. And, with the mats, I wouldn't have to spend a shadow-dodge phasing through the fence. A nice bonus. Holding one in each hand, I flung them, and the mats caught on the wire. Cautiously, I scaled the fence, using the mats to cross the wire. A ripping noise alerted me that I had torn my jeans. A tear, about five inches long, right down my leg.

Rolling my eyes as I dismounted, I bent my knees to take the fall, and steadied myself with my hands. I stood, wiping my hands off on my jeans. The lack of lighting in this particular area didn't bother me. Of course, the flood-lights being turned off was intentional. Someone, or to be particular certain someones didn't want to be spotted. I walked towards my target, careful to stay away from any lights. I stopped, and peeked around the edge of a stack of containers.

A crane, which I supposed should be called a container crane, was moving a bright blue container off of a ship. I looked at my watch. Three minutes early. Unfortunate, but I could deal with it. Sitting in the area directly in front of the ship was a mini semi-truck, scaled to fit the container. Four cars, two of them blue, were parked around it; none were parked in front of it. One on the left of the truck, two on the right, and one behind. They might have been early, but it seemed they really did want to help me here, whether they knew it or not.

I moved, crouched low and staying out of the two spots of light that were shining down from the ship. I wasn't spotted, and pressed my back against the grill of the semi. Checking around the corner, I saw that no one was looking in my direction. Two knots of gang members, all in plainclothes, were talking and smoking, while a particular one, probably the leader by his significant amount of jewelry, was talking into a walkie-talkie. Presumably guiding the container down. I reached over, stepping out, and tried the driver's door.

Unlocked. I opened it gently, and, as I got in, shut it the same way. About a minute before the container was down. I looked, and saw the keys weren't in the ignition. I checked the flaps before smothering a laugh, as I found them in the center console, along with a large foam cup. I made sure to lock the passenger side door before I selected the truck key, obvious from its logo, and prepared to stick into the ignition. I didn't want the lights to come on before I was ready to leave, of course. I set my backpack on the passenger seat.

Watching over my shoulder, I saw the container come down, and with a slight rocking of the frame, it was set down on the truck. The probable leader yelled something, and several of the out of uniform Blues shut clamps and started attaching the container to the truck. I breathed in, then out. Focusing.

Actually driving a semi was a bit different than looking it up on the internet, after all. Academically, I knew how. There was no time to test like the present. I pushed in the clutch, and put the key in. Twisting, the engine roared to life, and I grabbed the clutch as everyone behind me started. I gently put it into first gear, applying the gas. It clunked, as I didn't quite get it right, but I was moving.

I could barely hear shouting and yelling behind me, as my steal-ees were realizing they had been had. I went into second gear, and took a gentle turn, heading for the spot I had memorized. The vehicle wasn't quite going as fast as it could for some reason, but I saw a light labeled "Jake-Brake" on and I made the connection. Truck not going as fast as it should; Lightswitch with the word "Jake Brake" on it lit. Yeah, I needed to turn that off here. After flipping the switch and feeling the truck gain more speed and momentum, I soon saw ahead of me a wall of containers blocking the fence line, though one spot had a notable absence of obstacles. Just as planned then.

I slammed through through the gap, soon going more than 35mph and 3rd gear. This latest shift of the clutch came with significant ease. The fence split, and fell to the sides, surprising the now pursuing cars, who all squealed to a halt to avoid the fence as it bounced back inwards.

I moved over to the highway to make it over to Staten Island, and then to Brooklyn. Noting the time, I pulled out the second item I had acquired for tonight: A new phone, with two numbers programmed into it. I hit speed-dial one. As it was picked up, I interrupted the answer.

"Mikail. Or should I say Jeremy. You know, you really should pay your bills on time. This one from Time Warner seems rather urgent."

The sudden inhalation of breath that cut off his brusque greetings told me I had hit the mark. I added, "Also, safes don't work if you don't close them, Jeremy."

"Who the fuck are you," He ground out.

I clicked my tongue. His file noted he had an inferiority complex, and playing to that would only help. I belittled, "Now now, Jeremy. You shouldn't use such language. Adult language doesn't need to be so coarse."

"Who, the fuck, are you?!" He ground out slowly, though given the volume of his words he was all but shouting.

"Well, call me a concerned citizen. Now, if you want me to return the items I have taken, along with the ones you haven't noticed me taking, you'll meet at the abandoned power station in Brooklyn. The one right off of the 278 Interstate. See you there!" I said, cheerily.

I hung up, and looked in my side mirrors. Another car had joined my pursuers. I had given the Reds roughly thirty minutes to assemble, and reach the location specified before me. Of course, they wouldn't be there to make an exchange, they would be there to kill me. Or torture me for information, and then kill me, but I had other plans. The intelligence summary on them had noted that a probable response time for tonight, to that rough location, at this time of night, would be thirty minutes. Or, roughly the time it would take me to get there as well. So we would meet on the road, rather than in the abandoned transformer station.

I checked behind me again, and saw two more cars join, both blue, and fall into the convoy behind me. They could just run me out of gas after all. hat, and they didn't want any damage to the cargo, nor to draw attention to it.

I pushed speed-dial number two.

"PRT, New York City branch."

I activated my powers for the first time since I had woken up. I said, in a saccharine tone, "Hi! You don't know me, but you might know of my work. Remember those sixteen or so gang members I shot? And killed with a car?"

"Excuse me, miss-"

"Look, transfer me to your supervisor, because it's going to be messy~," I sing-songed. Selling this part was pretty important. I listened to the muzak, nodding my head.

"This is Director Wilkins, head of the New York City PRT."

"Oh good, someone with authority. Well, like I said, I murdered those fourteen people with my pistols, and then the two with the car. Yes, yes, I know, it hasn't been released to the public. Credentials, of a sort. Now, I want you to listen close. The abandoned power station by Interstate 278. I'm going to make a much bigger mess. Buuuuut," I drew out, "If you can grab them first, I'll let you have them, in... twenty-two minutes."

I could hear a pen scratching, before he asked, "Have who?"

"Oh, why, everyone of course." I hung up, and lowered the window. I chucked the phone out. My mouth tasted foul at making light of that night, but needs must. Phase two, complete.

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As I pulled off the Interstate, I had over a dozen cars trailing me. A veritable horde, the majority of which were blue. I blew through a red light, honking the truck's air horn. The cross traffic slammed to a halt. I honked repeatedly, turning left. Of course, my maneuver turned my following cluster into a game of Snake. I smiled as I saw a pair of red cars, parked along the side of the road. I blasted the horn at them, and with the window down, yelled, "I'm a concerned citizen!"

Lights flicked on, and they pulled out, jostling for space in the conga line of cars behind me. I was fairly surprised, I hadn't thought they would be here so soon. Still, it would only help. I turned right, slowing down, and grinned at what only I could see in the dark. I powered out of first gear before saw my target, two miles down the avenue. I built up speed, seeing what my call had done, as various cars joined the line behind me, not wanting to get in front of a semi truck. Small as the truck was for a semi, going 45mph was still enough to ruin anyone's day.

I leaned forward, looking into the sky, and saw that I had been taken very seriously indeed. And it was going better than planned, now. I pulled my cell phone out my of pocket, and noted no service. With this, I could be satisfied. I returned my phone, and I rolled down my window. Just don't stop me yet. Don't stop me yet. Not yet, not yet, now!

I unbuckled my seat belt, and wrapped it through the steering wheel. I took item number 3 from my backpack, and placed the brick on the accelerator, holding it down. With a small shiver, I became a mass of shadows, looping my backpack between a barely visible arm, and jumping out the window, came out into a roll, right as the truck punched through an unlocked chain link gate.

I came to a stop against a concrete barrier and flattened out, moving even as cars roared after the truck. I slid behind it, warily peeking out, even as I flinched from the headlights briefly hitting me as they passed. The truck slammed into the collection of cars in the abandoned power yard. A group of the smaller, delivery size trucks, along with several cars faced the collision, surprising both groups.

And that made the Latin Kings, the owner's of the cars, the third party to join the festivities. There, along with some of their friends from Columbia and Mexico, to exchange money for drugs and weapons, respectively. Both were necessary to their operations, what with how NYC was heating up. And, more importantly to me, the meeting had been in their files. Most importantly, they were a key part of the final phase of plan 'Use it, or lose it.'

The semi ended up tangled in low hanging power wires, cables and wires pulled loose as it pushed a pair of cars further into the lot. It twisted, and, falling on its its side, skidded to a stop. The surprised receiving groups paid attention to it, and not the line of cars coming right for them. With a series of crashes and screeches the entire line of at least three dozen cars piled into the lot, with only a few smart enough to stop outside. Men and women, capes and unpowered all, got out of their vehicles, or turned back around, and realized who they were with. Enemies, and weapons were pulled, and threats shouted, even as the whole mess disintegrated into more chaos.

Which crashed just as the semi had, as a beam of light, shooting down from on high, forked, blasting on either side of the mess. A mass of lights came on, and from side streets, PRT vans, police cars, and what even looked like a pair of military-looking vehicles with some sort of big gun on top, poured out. With a series of pop-pop-pops, I could see small objects arcing into the air, and landing around the mess of my making. Pale gas coalesced outwards from the canisters, and a man near one of the armored vehicles, dressed in a suit with a bulletproof vest over it, shouted into a megaphone.

"This is the NYPD! Surrender, we have you surrounded!"

And to cap everything off, Legend, Volcano, a dozen other fliers lit off from around the area. Even more capes, easily distinguishable from the black of PRT officers and blue of police by their colorful costumes, flooded the area from both sea and land.

I slipped away, unnoticed as a shadow, final phase complete.

A brief burst of gunfire sounded behind me before it was cutoff by the thunder and glare of Legend's laser turning something into scrap. I peeked over my shoulder, but couldn't see what had been destroyed.

"You are surrounded!" the megaphone wielding man repeated, shouting louder. "Any resistance will be answered with force!"

No further gunfire, but I could hear metal being rent and torn. And it was coming closer. Damn. Above the incoming problem, Volcano and Flypaper flew, the former with a ball of fire illuminating the area with a red glow, the latter lugging a containment foam gun. Mini-Legend and Flying PRT guy, great. And they had to be chasing a cape, if they were able to break out of the forces boxing them in.

I couldn't let anyone get away: The entire plan had been to devastate the gangs upper and middle leadership, crippling them, and preventing any more significant strikes. I could allow one to escape, technically, but I'd rather go for a clean sweep.

The sound of a concrete barrier being smashed alerted me that my- no, our quarry was attempting to escape. I could certainly see him better than Volcano or Flypaper could, even with the latter of the two wearing some sort of goggles. Mikail, the leader of a gang. He had to go down, one way or another. The sound of cars, pulling out of the mess ahead, came closer. The police or PRT were coming to back up the fliers, but would they be enough? Two fliers, and however many uniforms on the ground wasn't usually enough to keep a Mover down, let alone when the target was also a Brute who could probably break out of all but the heaviest coating of foam if it hadn't yet had time to harden.

Mikail was following the street we had driven up, zigzagging slightly as he moved, presumably to make himself a harder target to hit. I was still ahead of him by about fifty yards, and even as the distance decreased, I was still ahead of him. I hid in a pothole, double checking to see what was pursuing him. Two cars, a van, and the two fliers. The police and PRT couldn't be sure who he was, so were keeping their manpower focused on the bigger mess. While it made sense, taking Mikail out was a still key point of the plan, and he wasn't playing along.

I waited as a shadow in the tiny depression of the pothole. He stepped over me, and I grabbed his extended foot, just as he took his weight off the other. He went from running to eating pavement, saving his face from being scratched up with his arms crossed. I slid out, pulling my stungun out of the holster and jabbing it into his stomach with one smooth movement. And then I realized I had hit a bulletproof vest. Internally cursing, I jumped over him, even as his arm swept were my legs would have been, had I not kept them as a shadow and moved.

I landed on his right, even as he threw himself up into the air with one hand. Literally, what looked like a one-handed pushup somehow ended with him up in the air. What would have been a pushup for anyone else became an odd twenty-odd foot leap into the air, and as he came down he landed thirty feet behind the pothole, facing me with a look of murder on his face. He even landed on his feet, bending his knees to take the fall. I flicked out my baton in my left hand, and moved forward, a roiling tube of shadows. He slammed his fist into the ground near me, missing by several yards. Above us, the red glow of Volcano's power got brighter as he got closer. With a roar of a fed fire, the ball grew twice over, and illuminated us as well as an afternoon sun.

I squashed a reflexive burst of panic, as the light started to tear at my flesh. I had to keep him down, otherwise the Reds would be able to function where the others could not. One way, or the other. My pistol was full, and ready to be used, if needs must. I sprinted forward, surprised as I found I was slower in the light. Damn, not a good time to learn the drawbacks of my shadow-form. Five yards away, I stuffed the still extended baton into a pocket, coming to a halt. A fist whirred through air as Mikail attacked where I would have been. I didn't know what was wrong with the shadow-form, but light certainly didn't agree with me, and I didn't want to find out anything else out the hard way, especially with a Brute trying punching my face into a concave shape.

I drew my pistol, body solidifying into a smokey mass, even as Mikail shouted, warding his face with his hands. I shot him twice in the leg. It was possibly a deadly wound, but with the police around I expected ambulances to be nearby, and for him to receive medical attention very soon, notwithstanding the inherent toughness his Brute abilities seemed to give him.

He gave a short, sharp scream, even as he tried to pinch the holes closed. It wasn't easy, especially with him rolling around on the ground. A blast of containment foam hit him in the back, coating his torso. I looked up, and flinched away from the ball of fire not twenty yards from me. I hadn't paid as much attention to them as I should've. Which was even more clear, as a blast of foam nearly got me too.

I ran away, dodging another pot shot of foam, as one of the following cars stopped off at Mikail, with the other car and van continuing after me, not even slowing. A crackle of static, and then someone in the cop car shouted via bullhorn, "Unknown cape, you will stop running and surrender!"

Nope. I cornered the nearest building, heading for the river. Plenty of warehouses, old style ones at that, were around here, and I had my pick to chose from. I turned again, running parallel to the road, and the vehicles, ignoring the biting pain from the closing light. Almost. Ahead of me, five stories of almost entirely windows loomed. All unlighted, except for the outside of the building. Perfect place to hide in, and lose my pursuers. They couldn't cover every exit, or square foot even.

I saw a ground floor window to my front and right, and angled to it, raising my pistol. I shot five times, hitting it twice. Even with it being the size of a barn-door. The light was really getting painful. I reached it, and jumped, slithering through like a snake made of shadows. I could hear the vehicles squeal, tires protesting as they raced up the side street, futilely trying to reach me. I ran through the building, stepping around desks, crates, and boxes.

A row of windows loomed ahead, facing our impromptu drag race site. I could see levers on them, meaning they could be opened. Perfect, as I wouldn't have to shoot or break them in order to escape. And I cursed, as a row of sirens shot past me, and stopped, another two cars blocking this side, and more going around, out of my vision. A pair of the spotlights mounted on pintles through the windshields radiated light, one almost clipping me before I dropped down.

Maybe I should have used the pistol. I ran back to where I had entered, noting my original two pursuing vehicles had stopped, shining lights on that side of the building. Well, there was always one direction most of them couldn't follow. I moved to the doorway, with just a sliver of the north side, facing the river, visible. I shot the window, with ease compared to being fully lit up. A hole in two panes would be sufficient. I then ran back to the two new cars, and emptied the magazine, shooting out their rear windows through the warehouse's windows. I ejected the magazine, and after switching it out for a fresh one, pulled the slide back, chambering a new round. Which I promptly emptied again, blasting away with the full magazine, putting more holes in the cars, away from their occupants, who had scrambled out of the seats, to behind the engine.

One more reload, empty magazine exchanged for a full one, and I re-holstered the pistol before running to the river. I slipped through my two fresher holes, and winced at the feeling of the bright red light on my body. I sprinted to the river, a surprised shout coming above me. Damn. I passed another building, and jumped into the river, holding my breath. Disguising, murky water surrounded me, and hid me. I swam away, angling to the concrete pier next to me, guiding myself on it with my hand.

The water started turning faintly red, and I swam faster, head pounding with the need for air. I couldn't leave the water, which was my only protection from the hateful light. I couldn't, couldn't leave. Strange feelings, that it was a home, a lover, a mother welled up in me. I was somewhat certain that it was just water, though. I kept swimming, even as the light stopped right where I had jumped in.

Vision greying out, I went to option K or so. I accepted the feeling, that it was a power, that I should thrive and live and love in the water. The sea, a mother who loved indiscriminately. I accepted it, and my breath didn't return, so much as stretched out. I made it two-thirds of the way down the pier before I floated up, sticking my mouth above water to suck down air. The water almost seemed to part before me, such was the ease of my movement.

I surfaced again in the river proper, noticing the lights staying around the pier area. Anyone else would have had to come up for breath several times by now. I swam, with the skill of a fish, up the river, currents ignoring me as I headed for Manhattan.

I swam with long, powerful strokes. The red light was down to a dull gleam, through the foot or so of water above me. Two hundred yards away, the bay I had dived into curved back around. A pier, outcropping, or fill- whatever it was called, jutted out. I headed straight for the edge of it, not to get out, but to keep my bearings. I figured it was due north, and I could see the tip of Manhattan, a forest of buildings, poking above in the same direction.

A closer glimmer of light alerted me that I wasn't alone. A high-powered flashlight was dancing across the water, and several more were flying above me. I surfaced for breath, only letting my face come above water. A quick gasp, and I was back underneath.

I flipped over, and could see through the murky, dirty, disgusting water with ease. Above me, Ballast floated on a cardboard box. Even soaked and collapsed, it supported her weight. She could make anything, literally anything, remain buoyant with just a touch. Notable examples included cars, sections of buildings, and large rocks. I didn't know if she had a time limit on the power, but it allowed her to stay out of the water, even if she had to take her shirt off to use as a flotation device.

Three fliers, hard to identify with the lights occluding my vision, were looking for me as well. A bit too many. I reached the pier, with only one more stop for breath. Hand against the slimy concrete, I looked back up. A helicopter had joined them, along with two more over the initial fight area. They really wanted a clean sweep as much as I did.

I kept swimming, hand touching the wall to keep my course. Ahead of me, I could see that little island south of Manhattan rising from the water, at least a mile away. But whatever my new power I had just acquired was, it let me swim with ease. It was almost as easy to move in the water as it was to move on land.

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I saw a beach, right up against the sea wall. It only covered less than a hundred yards, north of the small docks, but it would be enough for me to get onto the island. Climbing several feet of wet, slick seawall straight from the water was firmly in the realm of the impossible, without further expenditure of power and glowing. Three more times surfacing for breath, and I breached the beach, shivering. I hadn't realized how cold the water was, or I had just ignored it while I was moving.

I ran up the beach, and stepped over the foot or so of wall separating the beach from the paved road. Several buildings were lit by floodlights, and I could see several people in the distance, but none near me. I moved across the road, and into the backs of houses, all with their lights on, and two with people in the front yard, staring across the river at the helicopters flying in Brooklyn. I followed the alley, careful to avoid any patches of light that might expose me. I reached a clearing, and moving through a forested area, an unlit building, and another patch of dead grass, I was back at the river.

Half a mile to Manhattan proper. I hadn't planned to have to swim across, but it was certainly better than being caught. And running away from the crime scene would have probably attracted more attention than disappearing into the river. Of course, had I not gone after Mikail, I would have gotten out free and clear. Worth it, in the end though. I rubbed my freezing arms, and stepped into rocks separating the island from the water. I carefully navigated over them, not wanting to slip and break my head. I put a foot in the water, and it actually felt warmer. I waded in, and pushed off from a rock, heading to Manhattan. Much warmer. And just as easy as walking. It only came with the side-effect of getting me soaked, along with all of my spoils.

I checked behind me halfway across, and saw that the helicopters were circling around, flashing their underbelly spotlights on the ground and water. Maybe I hadn't been the only one to escape. Unfortunate, but entirely possible. I'd just have to clean up later.

I touched a wooden pole, driven into the riverbed. I gripped it, and hauled myself on top of it. A series of poles, four wide stretched to a building. An old pier, by my reckoning. I stood, wobbling slightly, and then sprinted across them, a step on each one. And I kept my balance all the way, terminating in a jump on to the building proper. I shimmied on the ledge, all the way around the shorter face, and then jumped down, the buildings facade staring me in the back. Several cars passed by in front of me, as the road curved around, splitting right and into the opposite direction. I removed my mask, wiping the river gunk off my face as I did. I exchanged it with a wad of money from my backpack.

Which was naturally soaked. I pulled a soggy hundred out, and put the remainder back in the bag, zipping it back up as I did. I waited, and the third cab I saw wasn't carrying passengers. I whistled, waving my hands as well. It pulled to a stop, and I ran to it. I opened the door, and sat down with a squelching noise.

"Hey! What do you think you are doing? You're all wet-" The cabbie protested, before I handed him the wet bill.

"Fine. Where we goin'?"

"Harlem," I said, using my hands to keep my hair in front of my face. I didn't have a disguise up, so I had to rely on natural methods.

He grunted, and the cab started moving, back onto the road. I figured he was satisfied with the payment for that distance. Probably three times what it would cost, normally. But I didn't have time or the inclination to quibble. The ride was silent, save for the faint noise of the radio. I wasn't interested in small talk. Harlem was a bit north and east of my apartment, but yet again, my lack of disguise forced my hand, so that if I was identified, they would look in that general location, rather than near Columbia. We drove up the eastern edge of Manhattan, and I got a good quick look at the remnants of my plan.

It was hard to see, several miles out, but I could see the faint pulsing gleam of police lights, and several more helicopters had joined in, with at least two easily identifiable as news choppers, if only from their bright color schemes. It made sense, with probably half of the local Protectorate out in force, that the media would be all over the event. I turned my head, leaning back in the seat, as they passed out of my vision. Another island, this one connected by a bridge, caught my attention. I really needed to double check a map. Learning more landmarks would be helpful for navigation purposes, and acclimatization.

We passed by another strip of land jutting out, and what I thought was the Bronx. It was a bit difficult to make out. We exited the highway, turning west by my reckoning, and into Harlem. The Driver turned his head slightly, and asked, "Now where to?"

And I was stumped, momentarily. I didn't really know anyplace in Harlem. I mentally shrugged, and was about to tell him to drop me off here, so that I could walk back.

The sound of gunfire in the distance cause the cab driver to slam the brakes, and me to nearly bang my head on the seat in front of me. He was frozen with indecision. I wasn't. I pulled another wet hundred dollar bill out of my backpack, and dropped it in his lap. I got out, as he sputtered nonsense, surprised at the amount.

"Get out of here," I ordered as I slammed the door shut, carrying my backpack in my other hand. He u-turned in the road, and drove off without another word. I pulled my mask out, and put it back on, followed by my backpack. I could hear more gunshots, more distinct, in that there were less of them now. I took off at a run, straight for the fight.

If it was gang members, they were probably reacting to their leadership situation. Either taking it out on each other, taking it out on the surrounding populace, or fighting another gang for some perceived issue of dominance. No matter the reason, it was time for me to clean up.

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Harlem was mixed territory between the Reds and Blues, so far as I knew from my brief perusal of the files I had. I hadn't focused on territory, as I was more interested in doing damage to their financial backing rather than their manpower. I knew enough though: that it was roughly as heavily populated as the Bronx in terms of actual gang members, but less important in their distribution networks.

Which meant there shouldn't be any fighting occurring here, what with the richer and juicier territory to the north. Even if the Mob or Latin Kings were attacking, they would hit the Bronx, or the Port like I did, in order to deal the most damage. Which left either a vigilante, or a rogue being the target of their aggression. Probably to relieve some of the tension I had generated by attacking them. Which made it my fault, and my problem.

I pushed myself, running as fast as I could. Avoiding streetlights was fairly easy, what with the lack of them. Harlem and the Bronx hadn't taken the constant low level recession caused by the Endbringers very well. Manhattan, as a center of finance, and with its overabundance of shelters, was much better off. Both areas had an unenviable abandonment rate for housing and commercial property, as the numbers provided by the Number Man had shown. Property values were down, sales taxes were down, and incomes were down to finish the trifecta of economic woes, making it a perfect breeding ground for crime. And someone else had gotten a hint, or had outright copied my idea to try and hit their money. A good plan, but for a hero with a lackluster power, or power set, trying to fight a gang with hundreds of members and an easy dozen capes was a recipe for disaster.

The sound of firearms became sporadic; a few shots a minute, as I got closer. Either the hero was taking them down, or the gang had them cornered. I passed through a row of dumpsters and trash cans into a street with activity on it. The intersection had been blocked off by several cars, not so much parked together as clustered. Doors were open, and some had engines running. Nearly a dozen men and women in blue, primarily men, were plinking away at an overturned bus. Or, more precisely, with my perfect vision, I could see that at least it's front, not front bumper, but the lower half of its front had been annihilated, with fragments scattered across the road. In between the bus and the gang, space warped, and a chunk of asphalt scattered, spraying across the intersection as dust.

Definitely a cape then. Unless a Tinker had started giving away rayguns. I moved, angling towards the gang member on my far left. Baton flicking out with ease, I was silent as a ghost descending on them. Until one turned, as he pulled a magazine out of his pocket to reload his gun, and shouted a warning on seeing me. Fuck. And to top off my bad luck, the familiar wail of Air Raid sounded, before the bus skidded back, trailing sparks, and finished with a short pained scream of metal on asphalt and the person who was hidden behind it.

I drew my pistol with my left hand, and gripped it with significant unfamiliarity. It was time to start training with my left hand to equal my dominant right hand then. I pulled the trigger, gun jerking in my hand, and the turning gang member who let out the warning took a single bullet to his shoulder. The same arm, including the shoulder, that was holding his shiny metal pistol which he dropped with his injury. I didn't have time to look at his reaction, before I sent five more rounds into the two gang members carrying the Aks. One was hit in the stomach and chest, and the other in the thigh. Both became much more concerned with their injuries than me.

Air Raid's signature wail alerted me to the danger, and I rolled left, even further out of the street, ending up with a bruise and a new position on the sidewalk. The street behind me shattered with the force of the air blast. I came out of the roll, and aimed at Air Raid. I got off a single shot as I ran, before I was hit. With only one foot touching the ground as I sprinted, I was thrown off balance, a burning pain erupting in my right shoulder. Another piercing arrow of pain slammed into me, right in my right forearm, nearly making me drop to the ground. I had been shot, twice. I could feel blood, dripping and pulsing out of my new wounds. The bullets burned in my flesh, hot spikes of pain.

Not good, not good at all. Even now I was feeling lightheaded from the pain and shock. I dropped down into a slide any baseball player would be envious of, terminating my maneuver right behind a parked blue car. Bullets sprayed shards of glass as they destroyed the car's windows above me, and with tiny sounds passed right through the car. Cars didn't block bullets, contrary to what Hollywood had told me. So many other things it showed were true, so why was it all the more useful stuff turned out wrong?

I checked the downed AK-wielding members pockets, hoping for a grenade. All I got were some car keys which I pocketed, taking them with me as I put my baton away.

Flat on my back, I stuck my pistol underneath the car, aiming at their feet. Their cavalcade of shots masked mine, and I took out three pairs of feet before my impromptu cover flipped over me, accompanied by the distinctive wail of Air Raid. I raised my arm, and shot out the street lights above and behind me, rolling away afterward. More bullets impacted my former position.

I was about to die. I was on my last legs, hands shaking, body cold but for two sharp points, less from the half-dried clothes and more from the fact that this might be it. The end. Nothing more. No time to make up with my dad. No time to fix my errors. The final curtain call. I shot three times, hitting a gang member in the chest, a brief glimpse of watching her collapse, and rolled forward to the next car down the abbreviated line the Blues had formed. I turned, falling on my butt, and shot the three remaining streetlights I could see. I ejected the now empty magazine, and reloaded.

With a half-moon, their chances of seeing me dropped dramatically. And it was my only chance. I squeezed out three more shots, hitting the other woman, and then sprinted for the bus. Another wave of bullets hit my former position. They really weren't screwing around. I reached the bus unmolested, stopping my bleeding through force of will. I couldn't stop the sharp points of agony from my new wounds however. I grabbed the edge of the bus, and swung around. The cape, a white haired girl in a black costume, was stunned, possibly concussed due to the bus having knocked her a few feet back as it was pushed by Air Raid.

I grabbed the white haired semi-conscious girl, dragging her further behind the bus, all the way to the opposite end. I laid down a blanket of shadows in the shape of the letter T, inner pool of energy nearly empty due to the action, covering both us and the gang in total darkness. Bullets flew through the swirling darkness, but they were shooting at the other end of the bus. I was on my knees, steading myself, breathing heavily from pain and panic. I leaned out from behind the bus, and aimed, carefully.

I emptied the pistol- at least twelve shots, I couldn't be sure – into Air Raid. He stumbled, as two hit his chest, and another tore through his leg. He fell, putting pressure on his chest wounds with one hand, and on the leg wound with the other. That done, I half-dragged, half-carried the girl with me, and pressed the unlock button on my piflered key.

The car to my right beeped, even as the gang shouted at each other to stop shooting. One had already been hit by stray fire, and I could see him panicking, trying to stop his arm from bleeding. I dropped the girl in the back seat, and then, with a single smooth motion, slid into the driver's seat and turned the key. My backpack was an uncomfortable shape against my back, and I had to adjust to the unfamiliar encumbrance. The engine roared to life, and purred as I shifted it into first gear, pulling out of the melee. Bullets whizzed past the car's previous location, and a few passed through the trunk. I sped off, heading for my apartment.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I stopped the car a block away from my apartment, gloves slick with my own blood. I turned the engine off, and with shaking hands, got out of the car and braced myself against it. I stumbled to the other end, and opened the door. Pulling the girl out by her head, I took her in my arms, bridal style. I paused, and carefully walked to the fuel door, which was luckily on my side. I took off my mask, using the trunk to keep the girl up. I kept the mask in my left hand, before switching her weight to my left, and pressing my right hand against the fuel door. Green fire wreathed my hand, as I punched it. I retook her weight, walking away. A glance over my shoulder revealed that the car had burst into flames, gas tank fueling a fire, with only a small portion remaining green.

I carried her in my arms, with ease, as I walked the remaining block. I hadn't realized how strong I had gotten, even with my injuries. She was heavy, but not heavy enough to strain me to the point of crippling. I pressed her against the door of my building, balancing her with one arm, as my other hand fished for my keys. I opened the building's door and caught her before she could fall off my arm. A brief elevator ride up, and walking into my apartment, I flicked the lights on and carried her to the couch, and set her down gently, careful not to disturb any wounds she may have received.

She tossed and turned, slowly regaining consciousness. I sat down in a chair facing the couch, and then set my backpack behind me, and pulled out my mask, and put it on quickly. No need for her to ID me right away, but having a friendly environment would be very conducive to negotiations. Friendly in so much as another cape could be in these circumstances. A hero on my side would be very helpful. With my left hand clasping my now unholstered pistol, and pressed against my wounds, I extended my weakened right arm. I shook her gently, and her eyes snapped open.

The girl awoke, sitting straight up in surprise. She then winced, presumably at her injuries, and laid back down, before she noticed me, along with my unholstered gun. She froze, body becoming rigid before she marginally relaxed, more than likely from the lack of restraints. She looked up at me and asked, "Who are you?"

I shrugged, as much as I could with my wounds. "Someone who decided to help out. Taking them all on wasn't smart."

She scoffed, and replied, "I almost got away with it, too. Before the rest showed up. Four bangers with guns weren't a serious problem."

"And yet, I had to pull you out of there."

She blushed, easily visible past her domino mask. Anger and embarrassment, if my theory was correct. "I didn't ask for your help!" she snapped.

"And if I hadn't, you'd be dead," I snapped right back, irritated. Having taken a few bullets to pull her out of certain death, I felt entitled to be a bit annoyed.

Her face flushed, and she turned away from me, looking at the couch cushions. I added, questioning, "What were you doing, attacking a whole gang on your own?"

She turned back to me, face returning to its normal color, and answered, "Whoever was hitting them before had a good idea, so I thought it would be my big break to hit them the same way."

A new hero then. One who wanted to be acknowledged for her abilities and reputation. I could certainly sympathize, and this might be my eventually 'in' back into the realm of heroes in the publics eye, if I could get her on my side

"So you wanted to imitate whoever had hit the Revenants and such before?" I ventured.

"Well, yeah. They did serious damage," she replied more confident apparently now that she was sure I wasn't going to harm her out of hand, before adding, "And they got major press for it, too."

I nodded, thinking.

"Who are you, anyway?" she said, frowning at my blank visage, focusing on my mask's mouth line.

Should I tell her? Having a hero in my debt might come in quite handy, especially if I wanted to flip to the good side, or at least maintain a cordial relationship. I needed to get stronger, in order to fulfill the Number Man's prediction of being a cape capable of standing against the Endbringers, but I could do that as a rogue too. If I only attacked villains, what would the PRT and such care?

Mind made up, I answered her,- "Defiler."

Her eyebrows shot to her hairline, "Defiler? As in, national news, killed Shadow Stalker, Defiler?"

Not what I wanted to be remembered for, but at least she knew who I was, "Yes."

"Bull. I may not remember much, but I saw you throwing out that darkness power. You aren't Defiler, 'cause she has that green fire power."

Rolling my eyes behind my mask, I reached behind me and pulled out a soaked wad of papers from Mikail. Useless until now, they would illustrate my point. As I crumpled them into a ball, I ignited it with the green flames, letting the flames dance in my hand. On my forehead, a black disk formed, unseen by her. If needs must, I could reveal myself that way too.

Eyes fixated on the burning ball of soggy paper in my hand, she said, "Oh."

It burned down to nothing within the space of a few seconds. I tilted my head at her, and asked, "Satisfactory?"

She nodded, and quickly said, "Yes. Yes, you are Defiler."

I mimicked her nod, and replied, "Good. Now, since I saved you-"

The girl interrupted me with an excited, "Can I join you?"

Nonplussed, I looked at her closely. Maybe girl wasn't quite the right word. Young woman, probably a few years older than me. And she, a hero, wanted to join me? Someone who was essentially persona non grata to the entire hero establishment? I answered her with a simple, "What."

She waved her hands, wincing at pains, probably from the fight, and said quickly, "Look, you are nationally known. In the major leagues. Like, you aren't the Slaughterhouse Nine, but you are on the news, like all day. Can I join you?"

I answered, somewhat slowly, as I couldn't quite believe what I was hearing, "I'm not quite the shiny example of superhero-hood, and I've been attacking gangs with a fair amount of regularity."

She nodded, "And that's why. You always win against them. And when everyone figures out it was you here, you will be all over the news. You've been stealing from the biggest gangs in the country, without a single loss."

I declined to mention my gunshot wounds, and said, "You realize, I am firmly identified as a supervillain. There isn't really any turning back from that."

"That's fine. Look, you don't have anyone else, right? Like, you need a team? I want to join."

"Let me think," I said.

She acquiesced, falling silent and looking at me expectantly. Did I want a team? Having another set of eyes would be very useful for watching my targets. Another driver, another attacker, another person. Someone I could rely on, an ally. That would be rather nice, not having to do everything myself. Especially with the Number Man no longer being a consistent source of information.

"I'm the one in charge of this team, then," I stated, more than asking of her.

"Of course," she acquiesced, "You've got the recognition and powers."

I pulled my mask off, and she nodded slightly at seeing my forehead's black disk. Confirmation for her, I supposed. I offered, "Taylor Hebert, or Defiler."

My real name didn't faze her, probably because it had been on the news so much. She extended her right hand, and said, "Damsel of Distress. Nice to meet you, boss."

I took it with my left, shaking it awkwardly, "I'd use my right, but I have bullets in me."

She turned a bit green, and then waved her hands slightly, "That's not a problem, then?"

"No, but I think I am a bit giddy," I said, "I might need some time to get them out."

"Huh. So, what do we do now?"

Operation Wyldhand 5.7

What do we do now, she had asked. I didn't quite know. I stood, motioning for her to follow me. I told her over my shoulder, as I led her to the apartment's bathroom, "First, the bullets. Then we can plan. You weren't injured much, were you?"

"Just sore," she said, before gently touching her back and wincing, "And a scrape or two. I've had worse."

In the bathroom, I took off my jacket and top. Modesty be damned, I needed to see how hurt I was. I frowned at the grimy shirt, wondering just how much of the East River I picked up during my little swim. Small favors that I had been shot after. Damsel averted her eyes, sitting on the closed toilet. I tossed the shirt in the hamper and looked over at her, "How long have you been a cape?"

"Two years or so. But every-time I come here, ready to make it big, I get sent home with nothing to show for it but aches and pains."

My shoulder had a thin film of dried blood, extending out in a v-shape from my gunshot wound. The hole on my forearm, aside from having a partner on the other side of my arm, was much cleaner. The bag with my drugstore purchases from last week was under the sink, and I pulled it out, removing the bandages.

"Pass me a few sheets of toilet paper, please," I said to her. She ripped several off, and handed them to me. As I wet them to clean off the blood, I could see her internally debating something.

"What is it?"

"Uh, it's, just... Uh, could you turn the light on? It's pretty dark in here," She said, waggling her fingers in front of her face.

Ah. Right. She didn't have night-vision. I leaned over, flicking the light-switch, adding the overhead light to the faint illumination coming from the lights outside the bathroom.

"Sorry."

"It's fine. So, like I was saying, two years."

I nodded, less from a need to respond, and more from a lack of anything to say. Forearm clean, I wrapped it, before pinning the bandage together with a safety pin. Now for the shoulder. Did I have to remove the bullet? Would my healing power work, with something in the wound? Using my fingers, I did a closer examination. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, torn and tender flesh moving, but I could see the dull metal, about an inch in. Right underneath my collarbone, and barely missing the rest of the bones in my shoulder. Lucky.

"So you were the one," she asked, making wavy motions with her hands, "doing that whole mess?"

"Hitting the gangs? Yes."

"They are pretty mad," she said sounding impressed, and with a hint of envy.

"I destroyed over a million in drugs, even before tonight, and stole over two hundred grand. I'm not surprised they're angry."

"A million- and did you say two hundred grand? Cash?"

"Cash," I confirmed.

"Wow. What did you say about tonight?"

"I wrecked a semi full of five million bucks worth of cocaine, right in the middle of a gang meeting, and called in the Protectorate to pick them all up."

"Then all those helicopters were from you?" She asked, now very impressed.

"That, and Legend, and probably three dozen other heroes."

"Uh, wow. Can I say, that I'm really glad I've signed on with you?"

"Sure," I said, bemused, before asking her, "What exactly is your power?"

I could see her face darken slightly, but whether from a blush or from anger, I couldn't tell. She said, "I can't demonstrate in here, but I can warp space."

"Warp space? Like, tear it apart?"

"Yes. So, the plan is to keep robbing gangs?"

I shrugged, but only with one shoulder. I didn't want to move the injured one. "I'm not sure at the moment. I hadn't seen the effects on them. For all I know, they are still going strong, even with their now reduced manpower."

"Five million is a huge amount, Defiler. Or, Taylor. What do you want me to call you?"

"Either is fine," I replied. I didn't particularly care.

"Taylor, when we aren't public, then. Like I said, five million is a huge amount of money."

"Nearly an entire month's supply," I confirmed, adding, "For big deals and for local usage, both."

Damsel pulled off her domino mask, and said, "And if I'm calling you Taylor, you should call me Daphne."

"Nice to meet you, Daphne," I said, mostly from habit.

"Same. If we make more money, I could really use a new costume," she said, pinching her shirt with her hand, and releasing it. She wore black – all black – clothing, a skirt, long sleeve shirt, and a vest full of doodads. I could see what had to be a cellphone, and what was probably pepper spray. We both didn't look very professional, now that I thought about it.

"A set of costumes for both of us, then. Well, not immediately. No one else knows I am here, in New York, and I want to keep it that way for some time," I said, finishing my contemplation.

"Sure, so you can make a bigger entrance, right?"

"Not quite, but that's not too far off my train of thought," I replied. I pulled my knife from its sheath at my belt, and put it over my wound, leaning forward as well to get a better look.

"Uh, what are you doing?" Daphne asked, looking askance at me.

"I need to get the bullet out. I'm not sure if my power can heal it, otherwise."

"You can heal, too?" She said, surprised.

"Yes. It just leaves my flesh bronze for awhile," I said as I gestured at my varying wounds.

"Handy."

"Yeah," I grunted out, as I dug the tip of the knife into my wound. A trickle of blood accompanied the cold metal pain. Gritting my teeth, I dug further into the wound, getting leverage underneath the bullet. My other hand was nearly cracking the cheap counter, as I gripped it tightly from the pain. I felt the bullet catch, and pulled it slowly out, wound probably twice as wide. Blood pulsed out of it, before I stopped it with a burst of will. The bullet fell, and landed with a tink on the counter.

"You okay?" she queried, now looking at me with concern.

"I will be," I let out, through gritted teeth. A quick rinse, and my knife was clean, and I set it on the counter to dry. I wiped off the new blood from my shoulder, and started wrapping it in a bandage.

"Tomorrow we go out, get some money?"

"Tomorrow, we plan. And get supplies."

"Okay. So, would it be possible for me to stay here then?" She asked.

I nodded, motioning towards the living room. "Take the couch. We can talk in the morning, when we aren't falling asleep."

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I woke up, and went straight for the shower. I hadn't taken one last night, and I felt gross. Both from the night, and from the swim. I opened the bathroom door, and immediately turned right around, blushing. A shouted, "Occupied!," accompanied me.

"Sorry!" I squeaked out, slamming the door behind me. Who was- Right, Damsel. Or Daphne. Embarrassed, I sat on my bed, and picked out clothes to pass the time. A few minutes later, I heard the bathroom door open in the hall, and Daphne walk out. I passed by her, carrying my clothes, and keeping my reddened face looking down, and went right into the shower.

I washed my hair, even though it would take time to dry, as I had no idea what had been in the river. Probably half the sewage in New York. Feeling like a new Taylor, I checked on my newest addition to my wounds. Bronze-tinged, but not covered yet. A new bandage for my forearm, and I made a mental note to get some more, as it was my last one.

Dressed, I left the bathroom and found that Daphne was waiting in the kitchen, leaning against a counter.

"You don't have any food," She greeted me.

"Another thing on the list, then. Let's go eat."

"Uh, about that. Do you have anything I could wear? Going around in the same clothes as the Damsel of Distress..," she trailed off, before I finished her thought.

"I don't know if anything of mine will fit you, but we can look," I offered. She was an easy four inches shorter than me, and more, uh, developed. A quick ruffle through one of my suitcases, and Daphne had one of my final shirts from the Salvation Army, along with a Christmas-themed sweater. She kept her dress, though. Together, we left the apartment.

Operation Wyldhand 5.8

Holding the door open, I asked, "Do you have a disguise for your hair? It's uh-"

I stopped myself. That might be an insult. In fact, she might well be very sensitive at the changes her power had caused, or worse yet, they weren't from the power, they were genetic or congenital. I opened my mouth to apologize, but she beat me to it.

"Oh, we can pick up my bag. It has my wig and real clothes. I leave it in a locker in Grand Central whenever I come to the city. That way, I can pick it up on the way out," she said quietly, her fists clenching a bit before she relaxed and added on "which is when I need it. My van is there too."

I swallowed my unnecessary apology. I added, "I'll disguise myself too, then."

"Oh right, you're a Changer," she said, nodding along.

"Right."

"So you can look like, anyone, right?" she asked, looking at me closely.

I nodded.

"So, could you look older? Like, middle age old?" Her staring was starting to get a bit uncomfortable.

"I haven't tried, but I think I can," I responded.

"So for today, you could look older then? Like, for food?"

In answer, I turned the lights off, closing the door. Shadows curled around me, obvious to me, but not to her. I opened the door again, and said, "Let's go."

"Awesome," she breathed, looking at my new face. I couldn't see it, but I knew she saw a slightly wrinkled face, framed by graying hair.

"It does have it uses," I candidly admitted, locking the door and motioning for her to follow.

"I bet," she replied, as we moved down the hall. Faint shouting came from a door as we passed it, and by unspoken agreement, we hurried past. She opened the door for me, and we walked outside.

"Where are we?" she asked, still following my lead up the street.

"Near Columbia."

"Uh, so where are we?" she repeated.

"North-west Manhattan," I clarified.

"Ah," she said, falling silent. I waved down a cab, this one a van, rather than the standard sedan. As it pulled up, the door automatically opened. Daphne followed me in, taking the closer seat as I took the farther seat.

"Grand Central," I told the driver, and the van started moving.

"So what's the plan, then, after we pick up my bag?" Daphne asked.

Eyes widening, I motioned my head towards the driver, trying to communicate that we shouldn't talk about all that in front of a witness. She shook her head, minutely, and said, "And then the grocery store, right?"

"And other supplies, of course," I replied, keeping my voice level.

"Okay, because your apartment really needs food."

I frowned. Either she was letting me know she had caught my drift, or I had totally missed. Well, we could talk later, about acquiring items of a less than legal nature. She seemed to not be overly hung up on following the letter of the law. Which made sense, as she was a vigilante. She embraced the spirit, more than the letter.

"And, can we get breakfast then?" she asked.

"I'm hungry too," I agreed.

A few moments of silence later, I paid the driver, and we stepped out in front of Grand Central Station. We had arrived on the lower level – there was a road curving around above us – and I looked up, not so much in awe, as in some interest. The station was a bit different from the surrounding buildings, being both smaller, at a mere two stories, and significantly fancier. Decorative stone work framed its arches and corners, and it had large glass windows. Impressive, since to my knowledge, it was from an era when glass was far more expensive.

"This way," Daphne said, walking into the station. I trailed her into the station, and passing through the crowds of people, right to a row of lockers. About the size of a computer tower, or maybe a bit bigger, stacked several high and several dozen long. Daphne took a key out, and opened her's. She pulled a backpack out, and made a beeline away. Right to the bathrooms, as I followed at a more sedate pace. I waited outside, not wanting to draw more attention to her, than her white hair already had.

Not two minutes later, she came out dressed in her own clothes, which fit her far better, and a black wig. I walked up to her, and we ambled to a coffee shop. Luckily, we were the next in line, after a hurried man, and I purchased pastries and coffee for us both.

"And now, let's go get my van," Daphne said through a hurriedly consumed mouthful of pastry.

I followed her out of the station, and we walked a few blocks to a parking garage, a subterranean one to be precise. She pulled a slip of paper from her backpack and paid the enclosed teller. We passed his glass box, and Daphne walked up to a green van, not ten cars down from the entrance.

"It's not much, but I got it for cheap, and for cash," she said, slightly defensively.

"Nice. No traces that way, right?" I said, agreeing with her reasoning.

"Right. And, it was cheap," she said as she unlocked the driver's side door. I walked around to the passenger side, and waited a moment for her to unlock the door to let me in. I slid into the seat, and wrinkled my nose at the smell.

"What is that?" I asked, almost coughing.

"The reason it was so cheap. Some stoner, along with his dog drove all across the country in it. Then he needed money, so I gave him a thousand dollars."

"That's pot?" I clarified. Drug identifications were not my forte.

"Yeah. I've tried everything, and it still won't come out. I even left it open for a week, trying to air it out, and it got worse," she griped.

"Ah."

"Mm-hmm. I don't like it either," she commiserated. She turned her key, and backed us out, showing her slip to the machine at the entrance. The arm that had blocked us in lifted, and we drove out.

"Do you know where we can find a grocery store?" I asked, realizing too late.

"No, I thought you would," she replied, puzzled.

"I've only been here a week, and just got that apartment. I haven't really looked around."

"Well, I think there is one over in New Jersey, fairly close. We can try that one?" making her statement more a question.

"Let's," I confirmed.

"Good, because I was already driving there."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ten minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot, and Daphne, after two attempts to park straight, got us into a spot close to the door. I pulled a cart along, taking it from the line of them in front of the door, and headed straight for the vegetables. Daphne tagged along, poking through the isles as I filled the upper portion of the cart. A quick stop through dry goods yielded rice and pasta, and then I topped it off with condiments and sauces, before grabbing a pair of pots and pans while I was at it. A good start. I wouldn't mind cooking again. I yielded the cart to her, saying, "Anything else you can think of, add. I'm going to the butcher counter, to get some meats."

"I'll bring it over in a bit, then?" she queried.

"That's fine."

After a brief bout of indecision, I had a pound of chicken and a pound of beef. And right on time, Daphne pushed the cart right to me. I looked into the cart, which had gotten much fuller in my absence. I set the meat down on its new occupants. I asked, eyebrows raised, "What's all that?"

Tapping her fingers on the cart, she said, "Well, I got chocolate chip cookies, and then pistachio cookies. And then I got some chocolate chip pistachio cookies. Oh, and lady fingers. And I got -"

"That's a lot of sweets," I cut her off, and then looked over the other items. Bottles, and boxes. The boxes were obviously TV dinners and other junk food, but I didn't know what the bottles were. Giving up, not wanting to break her sweet tooth, or insult her, I started pushing the cart to the checkout lanes.

"Well, I can't eat too many, or else I break out in zits, even now. Besides, you're buying the stuff that will keep us alive, I'm buying us some of the stuff that will keep us happy" she said, frowning, even as she paced the cart.

I nodded along, rather than speak. What some would term 'girl-talk' was one of my rusty skills. I hadn't had a friend since Emma, and even then, we never really talked about skin or boys or whatever. The lines were empty this early in the day, and, passing the cashier several hundred dollar bills, we left the store quickly, heading right back for the van.

She manually unlocked the rear doors, and we loaded the bags of groceries into her van. The pot smell was strong enough to give me a headache. Upon finishing, I took a few thankful deep breaths, away from the back of the van as I put the cart away. I got in, nearly half a minute after Daphne had closed her own door. I rolled down my window, cranking the handle as fast as I could without breaking it. Hers was already down.

"I prefer being cold over not being able to breathe, too," she remarked grimly.

I cleared my throat. "Where do we go for the other stuff."

"Other stuff," she parroted, confused.

"You know, other stuff," I clarified, with more emphasis.

"No?"

"Illegal stuff," I said, exasperated.

"Oh! Right. Other stuff. I've got some numbers."

"I know some ways," Daphne answered, looking askance at me, "What for?"

"You need weapons, and I think we both need armor. A bulletproof vest, I mean," I replied, correcting myself. I had two fresh holes in my body, proof that I wasn't immune to guns. And she needed more than lightweight clothing. I could give her one of my guns, but Daphne having her own would be better.

"Uh, what for?" She asked, as we left the parking lot, the majority of her attention on the road.

"Because I've been shot several times already, and burned, and stabbed. I'd rather spend money than be dead."

"Right," Daphne said, nodding rapidly, "I think a vest is a good idea."

"Once we drop this off, let's make the call." I told her, rather eager to get everything now instead of later. We drove north in silence, buildings become smaller and older, and streets emptying. There was still traffic, but much less than by Grand Central, or even in New Jersey. As we passed through rows of townhouses, I realized we had forgotten very important things.

"We need costumes. And a name," I said with determination. That was our image, what everyone would think of when they thought of us. It had to be really good. Had to sell us as maybe not conventional heroes, but people doing the right thing. The necessary thing.

"Right. Because we are a team," Daphne said, more to herself, then to me.

I frowned, looking at her closely. She didn't seem to be altogether, with a vacant smile on her face, and her hands tapping a merry beat on the steering wheel. Were the fumes having some sort of effect on her? Could marijuana smoke have lingering effects? Some sort of delayed release from the shag carpeting in back?

"Daphne," I said gently, not wanting to startle her and cause an accident.

"Tay-lor," she sing-songed back.

"Daphne. Are you feeling okay? Everything fine?" I asked, keeping my voice steady. I was ready to scoot right over the bench seat, and take the wheel. I started inching closer, ready to lean in and take the wheel, just in case. Instead I went rigid. My spine locked up tighter than a steel beam, and something unexpectedly curled around my back and shoulders. I squirmed, and felt blood rush up into my cheeks. Daphne had hooked one arm around my shoulders in an abbreviated hug.

"Daph-Daphne," I stuttered, caught completely off guard. As she released me, I added, "What was that for?"

"Nothing," she said, eyes slightly wet. She rubbed at them with her now Taylor-free hand, her attention now focused back on the road. The red in my face was refusing to go away, and mouth opening and closing, I did my best to hide behind my bony shoulders. What had I said? Done?

"So, costumes and a team name," Daphne said, inexplicably cheerful, before adding, "What were you thinking?"

"Uh," I contributed.

"I know you like green, right? All those big light shows you made in Brockton Bay were green. And you've got that bronze skin. From the healing thing?"

"Right. From the healing. It just takes time for my skin to become normal again," I clarified, relieved. Very happy to talk about something I understood, rather than, than whatever that had been.

"Cool," she replied, hands turning the wheel. I looked out the windows, rather than away from Daphne, and saw the surroundings had become much more familiar. Almost to the apartment. Another turn and we stopped in front of the building. I nearly asked if we were allowed to park here before I spotted a 'Loading Zone Only: 10 Minutes' sign. Daphne opened the rear doors, and we started pulling out the purchases, setting them on the curb. By unspoken agreement, I waited with the bags, holding the cold ones off the pavement. She parked, I assumed, and came back.

"Just around the block," she answered my questioning look. Grabbing the bags, holding them in large clumps, we moved inside.

"I-," Daphne paused, catching her breath after the stairs, "wouldn't mind getting a cot, or something other than the couch."

I didn't respond immediately, as I had to keep my concentration closer. Holding half of my portion of this load, balanced on my knee, while my hand dug through a pocket to pull out my keys wasn't hard, but it took focus. I caught the bags as I turned the key, and pushed the door open with my body. I set them down in the kitchen, and as Daphne followed me, placing her set of bags alongside mine.

"I thought you lived near here?" I queried, even as she followed me to the living room, taking the opposite end of the couch from me. She had said something about returning home, but I had assumed it meant she lived in the suburbs, or something.

"No, I live way upstate. Almost as close to Chicago, as to here."

So, her base wasn't around here? She had said something about getaways, but I had figured she meant another part of the whole city area. Well- I stopped that train of thought, as I realized she was looking at me carefully, as if measuring me. What had I done now -

"Let's go get a new apartment," I gambled.

I could see her eyes widen, and her voice went flat, "What."

"A new apartment. Two bedrooms," I repeated.

"Just like that?" she said, eyebrows nearly to her wig's hairline.

"Yes. Well, I don't have any legal traction right now, aside from some false ID. You've got actual paperwork, right?"

She nodded in response, still silent.

"Good, that will work as a smokescreen, until I can get better ID," I confirmed, and got up, moving into the bedroom. I unzipped my other suitcase, the one without clothes in it. I pulled out a stack, estimating its value by weight. As I walked back into the living room, I sat back down on the couch, and punctuated my return, by handing a stack of money to Daphne.

"Let's get an apartment," I said.

Daphne flipped through the stack, eyes widening comically the whole while, and when she reached the end, she looked up at me. In one move the girl dropped the stack of bills, shot across the couch, and threw her arms around my shoulders and slammed into me. I barely had time to squeak out any form of protest, before she planted a kiss on each cheek.

"You are wonderful," she said, releasing me.

"Uh," I replied, with all grace and intelligence I could muster.

"Anyway, you said costumes and names. I think I might know someone for the costumes. He's never done mine, but for us he will, I'm sure."

"Team names," I said, getting us back on track.

"Team names," Daphne agreed, adding with a smile, "Double D's?"

"No," vetoing that one immediately.

"Awww," she whined, clasping her hands together. Her was face in an exaggerated pout, lower lip wobbling, before she tearfully asked, "But-."

"-Only one of us can get anywhere close to making the pun work," I interrupted with a scowl, motioning at my chest.

"You'll grow into it," she teased, ruffling my hair slightly.

"Still no."

"Well, I'm fresh out of ideas," she said with a shrug.

I pulled my laptop across the coffee table, unplugging it as I did so. I turned it on, and opened up Parahumans Online.

"Seeing what's taken?" Daphne asked.

"Yes. Um. The A- thru C-teams are taken."

"D-Team," she said, wrinkling her nose, "I don't think that's quite as good as the Double D's."

"No to both, then. The Destroyers are taken. And that's not quite the image."

"Hmm," Daphne hummed, placing a finger on her lips. "Maybe, the Doom Patrol?"

I shut that down, with a quick, "And we'd get sued. Copyrighted comics."

She threw her hands up in mock-exasperation, "Why can't they just let the names go!"

"Money," I answered her.

"Well, that's not a bad reason," Daphne equivocated, before adding, "We don't have to stick with D names, especially if there aren't any good ones."

I nodded, and said, "I'm open to anything then."

"Okay. Ladies of the Night? Nightwalkers? Ninjababes?"

"No, no, and no," adding after a quick search, "...You do realize two of those are old slang for prostitutes, right?"

"Umm, the Bosses?"

"Taken."

"The Owners!"

"Eh. Not fond of it," I replied.

"Lawmakers?" She suggested. Another quick search.

"Taken. Government team, with the PRT," I answered, before pausing, "Wait. Maybe."

"Got something good?"

I nodded, thinking. I liked the law part- certainly we followed the unwritten laws, and the spirit of the law. We put it into force where it had previously been shunned, or out right ignored. We gave the protection and benefit of the law to those who had been trampled by those who ignored the law's real meanings. Stopped the exploitation, the strong bullying the weak, and stopping harm from coming to the innocent.

"The Lawgivers," I said with finality.

Operation Wyldhand 5.10

"Lawgivers? I like it," Daphne mused.

"No problems with it then?" I asked, both eager and worried at her reaction.

"It's cool. Lawgivers. Sounds better than Lawmakers, too. And we give the law," she paused, "Wait. Give the law. Shouldn't that be make the law?"

I thought better of explaining my choice for the moment. Costumes were the more important issue, so I ignored her question.

"About that contact you mentioned, for costumes. Can you call them now?"

"Well. He hasn't ever made one for me. I've never been 'big enough'," Daphne said while looking slightly uncomfortable, before making air quotes around the last two words.

I frowned, thinking. We still wouldn't be considered big enough, unless I released my identity to this costume maker. If I didn't, he'd either think Daphne had an equally unimportant friend, or was pulling his leg. Neither of which would be conductive to a business arrangement, unless I conducted it, dangling him off a rooftop, or something. Which I didn't want to do, despite what comics and Hollywood said was effective.

So... We had to be big. Or Daphne had to be big. Famous, even.

"Taylor?" Daphne asked, derailing my train of thought.

"Give me a moment," I answered, sketching a quick plan in my head, "Here's my idea. You said he won't work with you as you aren't famous, and no one knows I am here, or that we are working together."

"We aren't telling anyone?" Daphne interrupted, looking somewhat hurt. Why was she upset?

There wasn't a clean explanation, or even expressible, but I tried anyway, "Not now. No one else knows I am here, as Defiler, and I don't like being known as a murderer."

"Murderer? You mean the gang? I only heard a few shots, so you didn't kill them, right?"

Would she think less of me, knowing I was a murderer? She knew about the first, but not about the rest. Daphne appeared to be pretty accepting, but how would she feel, knowing that I had killed a dozen people - sixteen, I couldn't forget that - in just one evening? Pistol whipped a woman until she could barely move?

"I shot their feet, and Air Raid had a bulletproof vest on," I lied.

"Air Raid?" She said, tilting her head slightly. "Who was Air Raid?"

"The blowing cape who made that wailing noise. He blew the bus nearly on top of you?"

Her lips tightened into a severe line, before she relaxed, and nearly spat, "Oh, him. If he hadn't made that noise, the bus would have flattened me."

"Space warping, right? That's how you stopped it? The bus was missing half its undercarriage, from what I saw," I questioned. If we were to work together, having a better feel on her powers would be necessary. If only to prevent any mishaps. She looked away, keeping her eyes away from me. Was she embarrassed over nearly getting squished?

"They surprised me too, and shot me twice. You saw the bullet holes last night," I said, trying to be supportive.

"I can destroy anything," she replied, her voice clipped.

"Anything? Including people?" I repeated, impressed. That was a pretty handy power. She could be a Tinker's worst nightmare, even if her power didn't affect organic material. If she did, how was she treated so badly? That was a serious power. I didn't have anything close to being that absolutely powerful or terrifying.

"People too," she whispered, shivering. Even I could take a hint that size, so I dropped it. Still, she bypassed the Manton effect. Even I knew about that: The limitation that prevent most cape's powers from working on humans. The people who bypassed it were generally considered to not be fucked with. Narwhal, the leader of the Canadian offshoot of the Protectorate, named the Guild, was one of the handful of capes known to be Manton-free, and she could use force fields to turn a human being into chunky salsa. It hadn't been caught on tape, but there were persistent rumors that a villain had crossed a line, and she had responded with finality.

And Daphne was in that select few. I was feeling very good at this team thing, early misgivings notwithstanding.

"A big splash, to get us the costumes," I thought out loud, returning to the plan for the day.

"Mmhmm. And we can't show off the team yet?" She asked, looking a bit hopeful. And less unhappy or upset, if I made my guess correctly.

This man made costumes for capes. So wouldn't he have a privacy policy, or something? He couldn't just have an office in any old building. Could I reveal myself? I asked Daphne, "Costume guy. He doesn't out capes, or anything, right?"

"No way. He'd lose all his business if he did. Besides, I think everyone in the country knows who you are."

"But not that I am here, or-"

"Right, I forgot, sorry," Daphne hurriedly apologized. "Still, he won't tell anyone. And I bet he would guess the color scheme we'll want. Green and bronze aren't common cape colors, and they are pretty much your signature colors now."

"Make the call then, and say you have someone important for him to meet. That should get us in, right?" I asked, guessing. I couldn't imagine what a costume-maker for capes would want in his client base, but having his work adorn someone famous would be important, if only for advertising value.

"Can I mention you by name?" Daphne asked.

"As Defiler, yes. I don't want people focusing on the 'Taylor' for now."

"Cool! That should get us an in. And we will have matching costumes. Oh, and we can use the team name, right?" She excitedly chattered.

"Yes. With him only, for now," I said, laying down the law. Or giving it. Making it. Damn, now that was bugging me too. It sounded good at least, so I just wouldn't explain it to anyone.

"Calling him," Daphne responded as she pulled out a cell phone from a pocket and dialed.

"I'll meet him," I said as she put the phone to her ear. She nodded, and started a conversation I could only hear part of.

"This is Damsel of Distress, I want to talk to-"

"No, don't hang up! It's important. I've got someone he'll want to meet."

"I'm serious!"

"Defiler. Yes, Defiler. I'm looking right at her."

She pulled the phone away, holding her other hand over the microphone. "He wants to talk to you."

I took the phone from her outstretched hand, and answered, "Hello?"

"Ms. Hebert?"

"Defiler," I said, anger sharpening my voice into a cold cutting edge. I didn't need a reminder of my failures from some tailor. That I couldn't use my name anymore.

"My apologies. I'd like to meet, at the bar at Mulberry and Prince. The Emu Social Club. At-"

I cut him off, asserting control of the conversation and said, "One hour, from now."

"One hour." And the line went dead.

I passed the rapidly paling Daphne her phone, and stood and walked to my room. I needed to load my backpack for an immediate trip. And specialized shopping.

"Taylor? Uh, was that a good idea?" she asked my back.

Raising my voice to be heard from the bedroom, I replied, "Yes. If he's walked all over you, he can't do the same to me, or we won't get anywhere."

"But he might not listen to you, or just tell you to go away, or just ignore you-" Daphne said, voice growing increasingly stressed.

"Daphne," I said, stopping her worried, panicky stream of thought. "You said he wouldn't listen to you. He will listen to Defiler, even if that's not me."

"Okay. Okay, okay. You're right," she said, leaning back on the couch. "I'm just not used to having people listen to me. It's always, oh, it's Damsel of Distress. You must be distressed. Or, knock over any convenience stores lately?"

"Uh," I answered, as I had no idea how to get her out of her momentary melancholy. "I'm going to look around the area, before I meet the - I never got his name. What is it?"

"I don't know his actual, real name, but his cape name is Weaver," Daphne answered, toying with her phone

"Before I meet Weaver, I'll use this disguise to look around, or even enter the bar. Then I'll meet him, and buy us some costumes. Sounds good?"

"Just be careful. Let's put our numbers into our phones. We need to stay in contact."

We exchanged phones, and after taking twice as long as Daphne to put my number in her phone, as she did in mine, I handed it back. I still wasn't quite as familiar with cell phones as my peers - I had only had one for over a week now. And I had never used one like her's before.

"Go find us an apartment, while I get costumes."

"Good luck," Daphne said, waving to me as I left the apartment. I tossed the keys over my shoulder, hearing her startled squawk as they landed in her lap.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Cab pulling to a halt, I stepped out into Lower Manhattan, right in front of the meeting spot. I paid the driver, and walked to the Emu Social Club. There was no one outside, especially in the very brisk weather. I opened the metal door, with a white emu spray painted on it, and luxuriated in the warm air blowing over me.

Two rather muscled men, looking like they were trying to smuggle hams in their tight shirts, were doing something behind a counter. They noticed me, and the shorter one, in a disconcertingly high pitched voice, said, "Miss, we aren't open for business right now." I think I'm going to call that one Squeaky.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I was looking for someplace to have lunch with my girlfriends," I answered, affecting a ditzy voice, and shocked expression.

"You're looking for the steakhouse across the street, Fiore's," he replied, voice betraying his aggravation.

"Thank you! Such a nice young man. Stay in school!" I said, as I left. The metal door slammed behind me, and I could hear it lock. Eyes rolling, I strolled away, looking for someplace to be me. An alley, going to the back of the club, was perfect. I checked for cameras, and didn't see any. Behind me, the street was nearly empty, and by the time I had stepped back out onto the sidewalk, my purse had become a backpack, and my severe middle-aged look had softened into my own features.

I went right back to the door, and tried the handle. Locked. Figures. I banged on it, three times rapidly, and waited. The door whoosed open, pulled fast, as Squeaky angrily looked out, expecting to see the previous me. Anger turned to surprise, and he asked, "What do you want?"

"I want Weaver," I said calmly.

"And who are-"

"Defiler," I cut him off, before holding up a hand. "Would you like me to demonstrate for you, or should we get to business."

He moved out of the doorway, letting me in the club, before shutting the door and raising a hand. "That's far enough, unless you can prove you are who you say you are."

A quick look around the entryway, and I saw something of demonstrable value. I took a few steps, and backhanded the fake potted palm right in the middle of its trunk. It erupted into green flames, burning to nothing in mere seconds. I turned back to the bouncer, and asked, as politely as possible, "Do you require an additional demonstration? On flesh, maybe?"

"Sorry, miss Defiler. Please follow me," he apologized, before leading me through the club. A wide open dance floor, surrounded by booths and a long corner bar dominated the building, above which a second floor started halfway out over the dance floor, with more booths and tables visible, to me if not my escort. It was very dim in here, roughly twilight level of illumination. A relief to my eyes, too. We crossed the dance floor, and right to a door with a bright red 'EXIT' sign overhead. I nearly opened my mouth to snap that I wasn't here to be joked with, before he touched a section of wall. It depressed, and a door across the corner from the marked exit opened. A secret passageway.

Neat. He waved me up the stairs, and I could hear the door close behind me as I ascended. The staircase was barely lighted, with only a set of lines marking the steps. I didn't have trouble navigating, but I bet Weaver did it to listen to people trip as they came up to his office. Ten steps to go, I steeled myself. I had to be Defiler, not Taylor. Had to be scary, had to be someone not to be trifled with. Taylor was a little girl. Defiler was scary. I reached the landing, and tried to open the door. Locked. Was he not here? Or more likely, he wanted me to knock, and then to say "Enter."

A power play. Two could play at that game, and there could only be one winner. Time to show him who was the real power.

I gripped the doorknob, and bracing my feet, pulled, green flames igniting around its socket in the door. A C-shape, of where the knob had been, burned away in an instant, and the deadbolt clinked to the ground, half melted. I pushed the door open and tossed the ruined knob behind me. "Your door is broken."

Weaver turned out to be a slightly chubby man, sitting behind a desk the size of a basketball court. His suit was neatly tailored, probably perfectly, from what I could tell from my limited knowledge of men's clothing. He wore a green tie, and single gold wedding band on his left hand. Two couches faced each other, perpendicular to the desk, with one facing out over the hidden windows look out into the clubs. Two chairs were set before his desk, and I crossed and dropped down into one. I affected a slouch, trying to convey as much disdain as possible. I spread out all over the chair, legs dangling over one side, with one arm behind me, and the other fiddling with my hair. And I probably looked ridiculous.

"Yes. The door is broken. Defiler, wasn't it?" Weaver said, absentmindedly.

"Yup," I drawled, drawing out the 'u.' His desk had several knickknacks, and I stopped playing with my hair to play with a Newton's cradle.

"You wanted to speak-"

I cut him off, "No, I want a costume, not the run around. What can you offer me?"

"What do you want," he stated bluntly. No more games, then.

"Costumes for Damsel and I. Bronze, green, and black color scheme. Armoring, and enough holsters and such for an assortment of weapons. Cost?" I snapped back at him.

"Two fifty."

"Thousand? They better be good, for that kind of money."

Weaver drew back, actually insulted, finally. He restrained from shouting, but his voice was heavy with anger as he replied, "I don't know what you heard, but I am a Tinker without peer. I am the best with fabrics, period."

"Fine. Two fifty," I said, firmly, while internally wincing at the cost. "How armored will they be, and can you make it stretch, since I am a Changer."

"At the same weight and restricted movements as the clothes you have on right now, enough to stop anything short of a 7.62. You will feel the hit, but it won't penetrate, and the force will spread out, like a bulletproof vest. And I already counted your abilities. Which is why yours costs over twice as much as Damsel's."

"Then you need our measurements, and I'll give you a hundred now. When will they be ready?"

"I have Damsel's measurements, from her attempts to contact me before, and I got yours as you walked in. Anything else? I would like to get to work."

I nodded, removing money from my backpack, and asked again, "And they will be finished, when? And what will they look like?"

"When they are finished. Call for progress. And I create masterpieces, not someone's comic book fever dream. I design them."

I stood, swiping a pair of sunglasses from his desk as I did so. They looked nice, and I had forgotten mine, and I put them on as I walked away. I stepped around the couches, and as I opened the maimed door, I turned to Weaver. "Bronze, green, and black."

Without waiting for an answer, I went down the stairs, pressing the large red panel next to the hidden door to open it. I quickly crossed the dance floor, and headed right out, ignoring the bouncers. The sunlight would have been blinding outside, had I not acquired new glasses, and I sagged in relief and exhaustion. Being Defiler was hard. But, I hadn't been taken advantage of. Hopefully.

I dialed Daphne, holding the phone up as I walked west, away from the club, and further away so that I could disguise myself once more for a trip uptown. The phone rang, and Daphne picked up.

"Taylor! I got an apartment!"

Operation Wyldhand 5.11

"Great. And I got costumes, or at least got them started," I answered, walking to some place to change. I certainly hadn't wanted to disguise myself in the club, and I couldn't travel with my own face. I looked over my shoulder, as Daphne replied.

"Really? How much did he charge for them? I got told it was usually over fifty thousand, but I don't know if they were lying to me."

"Two fifty," I said, slightly worried that I had been ripped off. If so, I was sure a demonstration of my displeasure with his intractability would suffice. Just not today - it wasn't easy being something I wasn't, and being a thug or bully wasn't what I wanted to be. But those sort of people only responded to likeminded individuals.

Up to the point that I was leaving horse heads in their bedrooms at least, at which point it was either mindless terror or berserker rage.

"You got something cool, because that sounds way too expensive. Wait, don't tell me! 59th and 6th Avenue, corner building. Tell the doorman you're my sister, Danielle. Hurry!"

And she hung up. A doorman? What kind of apartment building had a doorman? I checked around me, and seeing no one, pressed up against a car, the mid morning sun casting enough shadow. The familiar feeling of cool, ephemeral shadowy fingers passed over me, and I looked in the car's side mirror.

Subtle alterations to my face and body left me looking like Daphne's younger sister, only with black hair instead of white. And Weaver's sunglasses. I stood, and kept walking, quickly in the brisk wind. I saw a cab pass by ahead of me, at the cross street, and I whistled while waving my hand. And he drove right by, a passenger visible in the back. How irritating.

I waited, looking up and down both streets, until my eye caught a flash of yellow. I stepped off the curb between two parked cars, waving, and he, or rather, she, stopped in front of me. I opened the rear door and plopped in the seat, before shouting over the blasting music, "59th Street and 6th Avenue!"

Her reply was indistinguishable, but we drove off. I could only hope in the right direction, and I was certain I was going to have a headache from the noise.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I was surprised, and very relieved, when the cab finally stopped. On my right there were buildings, but to my left was Central Park. Not quite what I had expected. I gave the cabbie exact fare, not wanting to tip after that impromptu personal concert. I walked up to the corner building, a stately building made of pale stone. A man, in a uniform and looking bored but trying to hide it, was standing in front of the door, right underneath the awning.

Really not what I had expected. I strode right to the doorman, and drew a blank. What was Daphne's last name? He would expect it, if I was to pass as her sister. Well, I could just go around the corner and call. Instead, the doorman removed the choice from me.

"Can I help you, miss?"

Damn. My options were limited, with no power usage if I didn't want to be identified as Defiler. I lied, looking slightly dazed and confused, "Well, my sister Daphne told me to come here, she said something about an apartment, but I don't know where she told me to go, and my cell phone is dead. I can't call her, and I've been trying to figure out what she said, and I had to pay the cabbie the rest of my money on hand, and now I-"

"Miss, you wouldn't happen to be Danielle Waldon, would you?" he interrupted, not unkindly.

"Yes," I said, not faking my relief in the least.

"5th Floor, unit D. She just got here. I'm sure she's waiting for you."

"Thank you so much!" I said, channeling Madison for maximum girliness. The nice warm air felt terrific inside, and I made a show of trying to find the elevators. The person behind the desk- there was a desk, complete with a young woman manning it, was it a hotel? - pointed to her right, and I gave a friendly wave. The far elevator opened, right as I hit the button, and I practically flew in. I pressed the 5, and waited. A few moments later, I stepped out into a carpeted hallway, and headed for the door with 5D on it. I knocked, and not five seconds later, Daphne yanked the door open and dragged me in.

"Taylor- Look!"

Pulled along by my arm into the what I assumed was the living room, I noted the lack of furnishings, the wood floors uncovered. I tried to ask Daphne, "How-"

"See! Two bedrooms, both with a view, and their own bathroom."

I dutifully looked, noting that Daphne had put her backpack in the smaller one, leaning up against a closet door, before I was again dragged further into the tour. She pulled into what was evidently my bedroom, from her luggage placement. A large window looked out to the building across the street, and in the far corner, Central Park was visible. We reached my bathroom after I took a quick glance at the multitude of closets. The bathroom had both a shower and a tub, and she stopped at the tub, which was full of water.

"Look! It makes bubbles without soap!"

Daphne pressed a button on its side, and the tub started gurgling, little bubbles floating up. She turned to me, smiling, and said "Nice, right?"

"Very nice," I replied, trying to figure out how to phrase my question in a way not to hurt her feelings. I had a teammate, who was trying to be my friend. I didn't want to scare her off. "How did you get this apartment so fast?"

"Oh, easy. I just called, and said I was moving my business to the city, and I needed a place for a young businesswoman and her sister."

"Business?" I echoed, confused.

"Business," she grinned perkily, before explaining, "A huge amount of cash just dropping in my account would be a super big red flag, and would end with cops at our door. So... right now I am the proud owner of a catering and food truck company. It's better than dancing, or bartending."

"You own a catering company," I repeated flatly.

"Well, you are looking at the entire staff," she said with a wink, "but yes, I own a catering company," she proudly declared.

"And that works?" I queried, incredulous.

"It's a seasonal thing, and I just hire temp workers to fill contracts. But I have all the licenses and my folks helped sign all the papers! Cash from unknown sources becomes cash from the cash bar, or just payment. Nice and easy," she finished, rubbing her fingers together in the universal sign for money.

"And ten thousand dollars just popping into your account, won't raise red flags?" I pointed out.

"Sure, if I put it in as one big pile. But I just make into four smaller ones, with no round numbers. A good sized wedding, with lots of nibblies and maybe a hundred people, will cost about twenty five hundred. I just slap the extra cash on top, and say I charged more. And even if I don't have a gig, I can just say I did. But I don't do that unless I really need the legal money. You just use the dirty cash to buy groceries, gas, and stuff to keep your legal nice and full."

I digested that, and added, "And you're how old?"

"Nineteen," she chirped, before startling me by pulling me into a hug, "A very motivated nineteen!"

I almost pushed her away - it had been a long time since anyone but my dad had hugged me, and I didn't know if he ever would again, after what I had done. I relaxed, and hugged back.

"No time for moping! We need beds!"

And with that, I was dragged out of the apartment.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You're sure this is the right spot?" I asked Daphne. Damsel, now. She was in her costume, and I was in mine, she with her domino mask and me with my black mask on, respectively. We were hiding behind a dumpster, watching the back of a restaurant from thirty yards away. Harsh white light, from a fixture above, cut through the darkness to illuminate a set of stairs leading to the door. Several men had come out over the past hour, to smoke or chat, and then gone back in. All of them in what Daphne had identified as kitchen uniforms.

"Oh yeah!" she whispered, "Last time they paid me for doing some work, they had duffel bags full of money, and drugs, and then guns everywhere. The Mob has all sorts of goodies. Right in the basement, on the right side of the building."

"Any capes?" I checked, not wanting to be caught off guard.

"Just one, usually. She can listen in to TVs and cameras, but that's it. And the boss, but I've never seen her power, or know if she has one. I think she just shoots people a lot," Damsel said, pondering the last bit. "She was nice when I did that job, though. But we need more furniture!"

"And to destroy the drugs, and stop the associated criminal acts," I added to the list of objectives.

"That too."

I took a deep breath, and let it out. I was topped off, having taken a nap before this, while Damsel kept lookout. I wasn't keen on jumping back into a mess, but this was our first thing as a team, and we needed that. To cement our team, or however teams worked. I wasn't sure, and Damsel had never been on one. A learning experience for both of us.

"Here I go. Got the cell phone ready?" I confirmed.

"Ready to call if anyone shows up. And then I leave, since they know who I am. If we get separated, head back to the apartment, and don't let anyone follow. Otherwise, I wait till you get out, and then we leave together," Damsel dutifully repeated. I had said it several times to her over the course of the evening.

"Sorry," I apologized, contrite. I hadn't meant to be rude. I nearly kept apologizing, before she interrupted.

"Go! It's the dinner rush, so the kitchen will be busy. Now's the time!" she whispered, shooing me with her hands.

I left the concealment of our trashcan wall, and keeping away from any lights, as much as I could anyways, made my way to the door. I was careful where I placed my feet, as the ground was littered with trash, including metal cans. I could only imagine the racket they would cause if I stepped on one, or worse, slipped. A cartoonish cascade of cans pinging off each other, culminating with me landing on my face at the door.

"Left!" Damsel hissed at me, as I was halfway to the back door, causing me to turn around in surprise. "Left side, from this entrance!"

I made an ok sign with my right hand, and not wanting to make any more noise, made a quick back and forth movement in front of my mouth. Hopefully interpreted as 'stay quiet.'

"What?"

Right, darkness. I stepped into a lighted spot, maneuvering around a can, and repeated my gestures. A pair of thumbs up from Damsel confirmed receipt. Most of the people I had known before meeting Damsel had been hopelessly obtuse. Was it just them, or did having four years on me make her that much better at understanding? Or at least, understanding me? Whatever the case, it was a painfully welcome change of pace.

With a new spring in my step, I made it to the back door, undetected by alley cat or moth. Now came the moment of truth. Or, several minutes of fumbling as quietly as possible. I had to move through the kitchen, head to the stairs to the basement, take what I could, destroying what I couldn't, and escape.

The shadow-form was different from the disguise power. With the later, I merely cloaked myself, wrapping a new face around my own. With this, shadows pulsed out of my flesh, and it turned black, before becoming equally ephemeral as the shadows around me. Ready, I moved to the door, and slid right through the keyhole, into a cold storage room. Cardboard boxes, some with vegetables or jars poking out of them lined the walls, except for the two doors.

Not a very efficient layout, if everyone had to go through cold storage to get outside, or come into work. But still, this was better for me, with less people around. Plastic flaps were in place of an actual door infront of me, and I peered around the corner. Five men, each part of the staff were cooking, or in the last one's case, washing dishes. I took a moment to watch the smooth precision with which they worked, vaguely impressed. Not a single wasted movement. Just dish, dish, dish. A waiter came in, and scooped up the three dishes, and went right back out, only stopping to grab a piece of paper, from its hanging location above the food. I'd never seen a restaurant's innards before, but I didn't have time to lollygag.

I waited until all the cooks, or chefs, I didn't know, to be focused on the food, and not on the area near their feet. The moment their attention was fully consumed, I dashed through the kitchen, shooting in between the legs of a metal table, to the far left wall, hiding behind a sink. Not a foot away from me, two feet poked in, as the dishwasher continued washing dishes and stacking them.

No one saw anything, so I moved down the row of metal appliances, counters, and tables, peeking around a new corner. I could see the banister of the target staircase, surrounded by boxes, and next to a set of refrigerators. I looked into the kitchen, and with everyone still occupied, I made a break for the stairs.

Safe. I went down, keeping my eyes peeled, piercing the gloom. No cameras, and no people. Just boxes, chest freezers, and a solitary fridge. Disappointing. I lifted a few suspicious looking boxes, to feel their weight. All too light to be full of money, or have guns in them. The evening was turning out to be a bust then. I opened the freezers, checking them, but all I got for my trouble was a look at more ingredients. I closed the last one, and looked at the fridge. The fridge, taller then me. The fridge, back facing further into where there should be more basement. A lock on the door was disposed of with a quick jab from my knife, and a flicker of green flames. The shackle was cut cleanly through.

I opened the fridge, and instead of cold air, found a secret passageway. Or, more of a secret room. It didn't lead anywhere, but it still had enough in it to keep my interest. I reached into one of the crates, wondering how they got it in there, and pulled out a briefcase, struggling with its surprising weight before I compensated. I set it on the table in the middle of the room, and popped it open.

It was full of banded hundred dollar bills, 'ten k' scribbled across the binding paper. I could safely assume the rest of the briefcases were similarly filled. And that insane amount of money didn't cover the other items in the room. The weapons lining the right wall, easily several dozen rifles, or the other crates, or the box of grenades right next to the opened briefcase.

I unshouldered my backpack, and started shoveling money in. I pulled out another, and was able to top off with a few stacks from a third briefcase. I shouldered my now much heavier backpack, which now weighed an easy thirty pounds, if not much more. I was debating carrying out two more briefcases in my hands, and making a run for it, before my cell phone buzzed in my pocket.

'Capes 4 getout' my new text message read.

Shit.

I texted back, clumsily with one thumb, 'run, meet you there'

I flipped the phone closed, and dropped the briefcases to make a faster run for it. I didn't have enough time to pull out the lighter fluid and douse the money, but I did have enough time, at least five seconds, to improvise. The grenade box held ball-shaped explosives, easily recognizable to anyone who had watched a movie. But, further back in the box, a row of can shaped grenades sat. I didn't know them from their shape.

What I did notice though, was the word 'Incendiary' written across them. I grabbed two, and pushed open the false fridge door, and held it open with my body. I brought my occupied hands up, and put the grenades near my mouth. Opening my mouth, I gripped the pins with my teeth, ready to pull. I yanked hard, pulling the pins out, though feeling like I had nearly tore out my jaw doing it. Still, it worked. I tossed one into the money crate, and the other at grenades, and I ran, letting the door slam behind me. I sprinted up the stairs, drawing my pistol from my hip. I shot down the stairs twice, startling the cooks, even as I shouted on the heels of the gunshots, "Run!"

They didn't need telling twice, especially coming from a mass of shadows wielding a gun, and they scattered, three going into the restaurant, and two fleeing out the door I was planning on retreating to. I could hear people panicking in the main dining room, or whatever was on the other side of the swinging doors. I aimed the pistol back down stairs-

WHUMP.

And I ran away, as one or more of the regular grenades I had tossed the incendiary on exploded. The fridge door flapped open, and I didn't want the next one to spray me with shards of metal. I passed right through the flaps, another explosion behind me. I could hear the people in the dining room panicking quieter, or hopefully, further away.

I pressed the bar on the door, and jumped the stairs, not caring if I sounded like a canning factory with how much I was clinking on the stairs. I landed, sending cans scattering into each other. Beer cans, now that I had a better look at them.

Damsel was waiting at the end of the alleyway and I raced over, grabbing her arm, and pulling her away with me as shadows evaporated from around me. Behind us, I could hear the sound of something large landing amongst the cans, and moving faster than I could, right at us.

We turned the corner, and were followed by a quartet of flying trashcans, tossed by whatever was charging up behind us. Damsel lagged behind me, even with my hand on her arm. The rapid [I]thud-thud-thud[/I] of whatever was chasing us was coming closer, and closer. I yanked Damsel forward, and in one smooth motion, drew my pistol, dropped to a knee, and opened fire.

I hit [I]something[/I]. Not something, in that I couldn't see it, but something as in I couldn't tell what exactly it was. The most accurate way to describe it was a mass of flailing tentacles attached to a horse's body. Bullets hit its chest, little plumes of blood misting out. It gave a faint whine, shuddering. As the gun clicked empty I quickly reloaded, and pushed Damsel along, keeping my hand on her shoulder.

"What is that!?" She shouted right in my ear.

"No idea," I said. Whatever that had been, it was dead or dying now. I squashed the momentary spike of guilt, reasoning accurately that this was not the time. Gun in hand, I held Damsel back behind me, and checked the exit of the alley. Either no one had been on the street, or they had reasonably ran away from the gunfire and explosions. All good, and no other capes in sight. The other three must still be dealing with the restaurant fire. I looked behind me, double checking the now silent freaky looking horse.

It was gone. Panicked, I yanked Damsel once more in the same direction, dashing across the street. We made it, unseen by whatever it was. I pulled her behind a building, peering out to our prior location. I could see tiny little patches of blood in the opposite alley.

"It's gone," I whispered in relief.

The brick wall right next to us exploded, showering the alley with brick and mortar. A child's impression of a rhino/bear hybrid walked through the wall as if it had been made of thin balsa wood. Both of us were wreathed in dust, and I had to stop myself from coughing. Damsel screamed, and the misshapened thing lost half of its face as space twisted in on it. Its now vaporized face had looked like taffy being stretched, before it had reached its breaking point, and with a squelching noise, sprayed a fine red mist all over. Tiny little chunks of rhino-bear face rained down, before it rolled right back into the building, a gurgling growl accompanying it. .

"Run!" Damsel yelled, her wits coming back to her. I followed, mind whirring. What was chasing us? A Changer? It was the only explanation that made sense. It had been real, solid flesh, determinable from the abundant amount of red splatter dusting us. It had changed into two different forms, both unnatural. Possibly more, to catch up with me inside the restaurant. And it had just shrugged off getting its face twisted off, along with a dozen bullets. What the [i]shit[/i].

A [i]thump[/i] sounded above us, and before I could find the reason for it, Damsel spun on one heel and tackled me to the ground. She fell on top of me right as a gigantic lobster landed where she had been standing a moment before. A claw closed with the sound of a dozen car doors right where my head had been. With one hand I aimed the gun and shot one of its eyestalk. An unearthly scream resulted, and it collapsed, claws coming up to shield its face. I had grown up in New England- I knew about how to handle lobsters, even if I didn't have proper sized rubberband for this one's claws.

Damsel pulled me up with her, grabbing my unoccupied wrist with her hand. As I got up, I reversed the grip, pulling her by her wrist in the direction the bear thing had come from. I looked behind me, already knowing what I would see.

Nothing. It was already gone again.

"We gotta stop this thing," Damsel wheezed, apparently out of breath.

"You were able to hurt it," I pointed out, keeping my eyes peeled and watching the roofs for surprise attacks as well.

"That was luck," came her reply, in between the sound of her gasping down air.

"We have to disable it somehow, or it's just going to keep chasing us," I ordered. If she could just wipe out a big portion of it, we could run away while it regenerated. And a bigger chunk gone from its head again meant it was more likely to take out its brain. Except, that hadn't stopped it - Damsel had wiped out half of its skull, and it had still retained enough capacity to try to avenge all the past lobster rolls I had ever eaten.

I added, "Just get its legs then. So we can run."

A bone-chilling howl, from what had to be a wolf the size of a bus, echoed around us. The wall in front of us shifted, and I nearly shot it. Until it warped, sounding like half a brass band, bricks twisting and tearing into fragments. It was Damsel then, rather than our pursuer.

"Sorry," Damsel apologized, breaths still shallow, but no longer struggling to breath. "And I think I need to run more."

"Treadmill. We are buying a treadmill," I answered, trying to think. Where were the other three? And if this was just one, what were [i]their[/i] powers? Instant win, just add water? I had enough power for maybe two big-

The alley might have been dark, but for me it was bright as day. And I saw a thing of nightmares skittering down the alley. It walked on the legs of a spider, but it was not only several times larger than a spider, it had additional equipment. A scorpion's stinger and claws, and the bright coloration I associated with poisonous frogs. And it was coming right for us.

"Damsel," I said, voice flat.

"What?"

"Can you blast something?"

"Uh, what?" she asked, mirroring my quiet tone. Maybe she heard the whatever-the-hell coming closer, too. I grabbed her right arm, pointing right at it. The thing closed, barely a dozen yards away.

"Everything," I said, voice harsh. I could see her face scrunch in concentration, arms tensing. Her hands cupped, she thrust them out, and before them that monsterous thingy tripped. The entire alleyway, save for patches, distorted, colors shifting and objects twisting. A thunderous series of cracks and pops nearly deafened me, and everything exploded. The buildings right before us, starting on either side, two feet or so down, disintegrated in an expanding wave, wood chips and brick fragments spraying outwards like hail. Only a solitary wall and a row of columns near us stood untouched. The remaining sections of roofs, no longer supported by their walls, collapsed. The spider's right side collapsed in on itself, and with a disgusting [I]pop[/I], sprayed fluid about on the asphalt.

Damsel collapsed, right before I caught her and held her up, keeping her upright. I asked, "You okay?"

She nodded silently, sweat running down her exposed face, dust clinging to it a bit. I was actually concerned for her. I had someone to be concerned for. I didn't mind that feeling. I pulled her back, putting my pistol away, to wrap my arms underneath her shoulders.

"Good shot," I said, meaning it. The spider thing was lying all but still, save for its remaining legs twitching.

"Thanks," Damsel whispered, sounding half asleep. Whatever she had done differently, it had certainly worked. Or- I was suddenbly hoping I deluding myself, as my heart nearly stopped at what I heard and saw. The spider twisted, becoming a formless mass momentarily, before an armor plated rhino bellowed its anger. Its heavy footfalls started, slow, but built up speed as it came straight for us.

"Kidding me," she mumbled. The rhino lowered its horn, intent on spearing us through. Guns didn't work, but I remembered something that had worked previously, at least on people. Something that had left them whimpering, on the ground and out of the fight. To see what I had glimpsed but momentarily. That [I]thing[/I] of shadows.

I drew my knife, Damsel's weight sagging against me without the support of my arm. I gripped it loosely by the handle, hoping, praying, and meaning beyond anything else, to make the shot. Arm drawing back, I picked my target. I waited, the rhino's foreleg raised, and threw the knife. It spun, right on target, but with trails of inky shadows following it. The knife cut its channel through the air, nearly deflecting off the horn, missing by less than a centimeter. It passed, heading right for the eye. The tip dug right through, before the knife flew off course, clattering to the ground. But the trailing shadows plunged right into the damaged eye. The rhino made a sound of pain, and its charge veered left, reflexively protecting its injured eye. It stumbled, making noises of distress, before stopping, shivering.

I grabbed Damsel again, dragging her away from the out of commission Changer. She stirred, trying to stand, and I let her. She grabbed my shoulder, steadying herself, and stood fully upright. She asked, "He's dead?"

"Blind," I replied, correcting her. She kept her hand on me, following my lead as we fled. That hadn't gone exactly as planned, and I needed to get Damsel home. I hadn't known that her power could backfire like this. She could be dying, or seriously injured.

[I]Thump.[/I]

"You gotta be fucking kidding me!" I shouted, pulling Daphne to the side, letting her fall on me. I scrambled to my feet, dragging her along. She struggled to regain her footing, and I got a good look at what was chasing us now. A dog with bat wings, and a head consisting of both parts.

Right, Changer. Sight didn't matter if you could just use the other senses. It loped at us, long legs eating up the distance between us with quick speed. What did I have left? I could lay down a wall of shadows, but that was worse than nothing. Blinding didn't work. There was no water to lose it in, and it could change into a shark-topus, or something worse.

I had to break out the emergency supply of powers that would ID me as Defiler. There was no other option. I almost felt relieved, watching the wolf-bat bear down on us. Relief at no longer holding back.

Five yards away, I saw its mouth drop open, jagged teeth ready. Droplets of slimy saliva dangled, flying back from the thing's velocity. It leaped, homing right in on us. A yard away, I discorporated, reforming from shadows to the thing's left, right in front of Damsel. I punched, arm wreathed in green flames, right into its throat. I could feel cartilage crunching in between my knuckles, as I sent its jump off course. Its rear claws, a set of gleaming black blades, raked my stomach as it rotated through its new flight path. Body protesting, I grabbed Damsel.

She was easy to see in the green light emanating from around me. I gripped her tightly and took off, leathery wings, newly formed from within my eldritch light, beating hard as I flew into the night.

Flying again was a heady drug. The wind blowing past my mask - maybe not quite as traditional as blowing through my hair, but at least I didn't have to worry about eating a bug. I gripped Damsel tightly, keeping a low altitude. I stayed barely above the buildings, trying to keep the two of us hidden. As much as possible, when glowing like a lighthouse. No giant glowing spider yet, but one more use, and I'd be announcing to the city I was here.

I glided to a stop, setting Damsel down by an air conditioning unit on a roof. I ordered, "Stay here, I've got a plan!"

I couldn't hear her response as I shot into the air, moving easily twice as fast without a significant burden. My backpack only weighed half as much as Damsel, only a minor hindrance. A sharp cry sounded below me. And I knew exactly what it was, because it wouldn't stop following us.

An bird, unidentifiable to my untrained eye, struggled to gain altitude. It tried to head straight for me, a direct line up. I didn't know much about flight, from my limited experience flying in the Bay, but even I could figure straight up wouldn't work well. My lazy circles, ever ascending, carried me higher and higher .I had noticed one thing about the super-Changer. As I watched, it shifted into something more bat-like, it's head locking on to me. It took time for it to change when hurt, and longer when hurt badly.

When two hundred feet separated us, I tipped over, wings folding, diving straight at him. He barely had time to think, let alone change, before I slammed into him, clawed hands rending at flesh. His own talons raked my back, catching on my backpack's straps. I plunged a set of claws into his neck, both of us falling together, piercing his spine. Enough damage to put him out of commission, until he changed. His legs and wings went limp, and I flared my wings, damaged backpack falling along, as we separated.

I pulled out of the dive. He didn't. The bird-form slammed into the ground, exploding into a pile of goo. It bubbled and flexed, coalescing into a large puddle. An odd medley of legs - spider, cat, and giraffe - formed, before collapsing. Around me, hundred dollar bills floated down, fluttering in the faint wind. I pulled back around, heading back for Damsel. It was time to get out of here. She was still on a rooftop, but waving her arms at me. Why-

I convulsed, hands flying to my mouth. The taste of rotten food - the closest I could come to discerning what it was- obliterated my concentration. I scraped across the ground, left wing snapping as it caught on a parked car. I only knew this, because I heard the snap just before I blacked out. I came to a few seconds later, just as a car stopped nearby. I pushed myself to my knees, to flee before whoever this was saw me. The fire, not a hundred feet away, backlit the passengers exiting. Too late.

I tried to flex my injured wing and nearly lost consciousness again for my foolishness. Looking up, I saw that it was jammed into the windshield, fragments of glass spread around. The wing itself was broken like a twig, right in the middle. The corona of light surrounding me dimmed, falling from lighthouse to streetlight in intensity. Small chips of broken glass, spread out from my impact destroying the car's windows, crunched underfoot as someone walked closer. I pulled myself up, grabbing the car's door as a crutch. And collapsed again, as I tasted something unspeakably foul. This time I couldn't control the retching, and fell back down onto my hands and knees, part of dinner decorating the street below me.

"Move again and I'll do it again," came an irritated male voice. I stayed still, waiting. That was one person behind me. Where there others? I could make a break for it, if I knew the opposition. I would just have to somehow reach Damsel, up on the roof, about half a block away, and then we could flee. The green light wasn't visible for more than a block, cutting down the chance of being seen to a reasonably good chance of escape.

"Right up there!" the same voice shouted, this time in front of me. Damn, he had stopped stepping on glass. I couldn't track his movements. I'd have to wait, and make a move when I could be sure of his location.

A sudden scream, followed by the sound of a body hitting pavement, interrupted my thoughts. More, I knew that voice. Daphne. She wasn't more than half a football field away, and I could hear her faint sobs. Followed by her messily throwing up, as whatever, or more accurately, whoever, had used a power on me, used it on her. And now we were both down, possibly for the count. I only had one chance, and I still didn't know the opposition. If I actually wanted to get away, I couldn't use any powers.

I raised my head, taking a chance that no one was looking at me. A woman and a man were looking at Damsel, who had fallen of the building I had set her on. She was holding her right leg, and her front was covered in vomit. She collapsed onto her back, hands raised. Where they going to hurt her, to shoot her? I couldn't risk it. I'd have to get to her, now.

I pulled my wing out, nearly biting scallop marks in my tongue to keep myself from screaming. Tiny little chunks of glass cascaded down, as I removed it from the car. I had to make it. I took off at a sprint, before a woman yelled, incoherently, behind me. Both of my targets turned, and I -

Attack (What) attack (was happening?) attack.

And my tastebuds protested again, as I snapped out of whatever that had been, over halfway to Damsel. I stumbled, surprised by the sudden lapse of consciousness. And I nearly emptied my stomach, before recovering, forcing myself to my feet. Stomach rebelling, I did it, making it up. I had to get us both out of here. I went back up to full speed, wings and claws dissolving into a burst of light, for maximum speed.

Attack - I could feel my thoughts overridden, to only attack. My mind was twisted into a pattern not of its own making, a course unwanted. I twisted back, wrestling whatever was in my mind with a herculean effort. I reasserted myself. Att-

And I kept moving forward, no longer under the control of whatever, slamming into a surprised man. He went down, air blasting out of his mouth as my elbow dug into his stomach. I fell on top of him, and tried to move forward, before his hands wrapped around my left ankle. I kicked out, hitting him in the head. His hands released me to cover his head, intercepting my second kick. As he was temporarily occupied, I pulled my pistol, accidentally pulling the trigger as I nearly tore it out of the holster. The bullet dug into the pavement right next to my legs.

The man rolled into a crouch, and tackled the woman, taking her down to a low run. My two shots missed by a mile, as I could barely aim in my condition. They escaped, running behind a parked car, and I could no longer see exactly where they were. I crab walked, excepting my occupied hand, over to Damsel. I fired two more shots, one digging into the tire of the car they were behind, and the other hitting the building behind them.

"Damsel! Can you move?" I asked, urgent, voice tight.

She mumbled something not understandable, hands coming down from their surrender position to lift herself off the ground.

"We gotta go," I hissed, gun jumping in my hand I shot at an exposed body part. A tree, two feet from the offending hand, let off a cloud of dust and splinters. Another miss.

"Can't stand."

My back hurt, even without the damaged wing. I had certainly hurt it when I had landed, after falling almost a hundred feet. A flash, and an answering gunshot passed right through the car's windows, winging right over our heads. I grabbed Damsel by her left foot - her broken one, by her sudden scream - and pushed off with my feet, scooting across the ground. My damaged clothing, back ruined from wings ripping through it, nearly tore apart. My now exposed back didn't feel too great from being scrapped against pavement. I answered another shot, aimed where we had been, with my own destroying a side mirror.

Damsel whimpered each time I pulled her along, crossing the parking lot she had landed in. Unfortunately, there were no cars in it to hide behind. I kept moving, both hands shaking, gun wobbling across my field of vision. A gleam of metal, easily visible to me, and I emptied my pistol, holes appearing in the trunk. Nothing. Where were they? I was missing every time. I let go of Damsel, reloaded, and pulled her along with a fresh cry of pain.

We reached a corner of a building, and I pulled us around. Damsel's head bounced off the raised sidewalk, bring a fresh group of pained sounds. Out of the parking lot, I stood, bracing against the wall. I put my gun away, and leaned over, body protesting. I lifted Damsel, hands underneath her arms, and maneuvered her left side to be next to my right. Her head lolled, and I used my now free left hand to gently slap her awake.

"C'mon, Daphne, I can't carry you on my own. I need your help," I pleaded.

"'m awake. Damsel," she corrected. She took a tentative step with her right foot, and kept her left one lifted into the air between us. We walked away, in a bloody and filthy three-legged race. Damsel was injured, I didn't just hurt and feel exhausted; It was like my thoughts were exhausted. I took out my pistol with my no longer slapping hand, and aimed it towards where they would come out, if they had followed us. We crossed another street, Damsel following my lead. Sirens could be heard in the distance, heading right for the fire.

We were safe, hopefully. A block away, I set Damsel down, letting her lean against a wall. I pulled my cell phone from my pocket, and nearly tried to dial before I realized the damage. The screen was shattered, and half of the keys didn't even want to depress. I crouched, searching through Damsel's pockets. She didn't respond to my quick search, worrying me. I pinched her, and she didn't respond. I slapped her, hard, right across the face. She faintly groan, still unconscious.

Very worried, I pulled out her phone. I hit three digits, and then talk.

"9-1-1-"

I cut off the operator, nearly shouting in my panic, "Near that big fire, she's gotten a broken leg, but she won't wake up!"

"The bar fire?" she confirmed.

"Yes!"

"Please keep your phone on, an ambulance will be routed to your GPS," she ordered, before hanging up.

I looked at Damsel, still in costume. Her own bag, more of a satchel than bag, was still empty, ready for spoils. I relieved her of it, and took of her domino mask, and being as gentle as I could, her vest. Both went into the satchel, along with my mask. I set the phone down, right at her feet, and ran away. I wanted to stay, to see that she was alright, and got help. But I couldn't - I was still glowing, and even when it stopped, I would have a black disk still right on my now exposed forehead. My exposed face, actually, the face of Taylor Hebert.

I could hear more sirens, and I angled away from them. To hide out, until I could leave.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

With a crash and a sprinkling of glass, the window shattered. I used my pistol to clean the shards out, leaving an empty frame. I grabbed it, and pulled myself up, gingerly. My body - especially my back- protested the movement, letting me know how injured I was. Very injured, it turned out. I passed through the new hole, and dropped down on the other side.

My landing was hard enough to knock the air out of my lungs. I took a second to catch my breath, before I stood, heading deeper into the building. I was still only a dozen yards from Damsel, and I had to hide my glow before the ambulance, and probably police, arrived.

I stumbled past a row of file cabinets, gripping them to keep my balance. The room was as bright as it would have been midday, from my head-glow. If I just got a few walls between me and any windows, that would be enough. I passed right by a copy machine, and tried to open the door. Locked. I tried to break it, ramming it with my shoulder, but I just bounced off, leaving a small dent. I backed up, and heard a set of sirens that could only be less than a block away. I ran for the door, and hit it dead on.

The door broke off its hinges, and I went down with it, landing on top of it. The handle was digging into my stomach, until I stood, and walked through the sea of cubicles. I plopped down, exhausted, right in the middle. Good enough. I wasn't visible from any windows, or at least any windows near Damsel. Lying on my back, I heard the sirens turn off, what sounded like only twenty feet away from Damsel.

She was safe. Even with my ability to see through the night, it was getting dark. I was so tired. I closed my eyes, to rest.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Glaring sunlight, passing right through a window behind me, woke me up.

How long had I slept?

I stood - or tried to. My back let me know its condition, and that it wasn't happy with me. I steadied myself on the table. I traced my steps back, right to the window. As I passed through the dim copy room, my features shifted, again with the face of Daphne's sister. I took off my gear, stuffing it into the satchel. It couldn't even close, with everything in it. Even with my missing knife, and a missing magazine, it was still too much. I exited, this time landing on my feet, and walked back to where I had left Damsel.

No chalk outline of a body, and no police tape. She was still alive. I nearly fainted in relief, before decided to do something more productive. The morning sun shone right at me, and I backtracked, heading for where I remembered a telephone pole stood. out where she was. Hopefully in a hospital, or better yet, at the apartment. The latter of which was very unlikely. And I didn't have a cell phone to contact her. Phone first, then. Her cell phone hadn't been where I had left it, so had likely been taken by the paramedics.

I could just use a payphone- and I had no change. All of it had been in my backpack. I couldn't hail a cab, with no money. I had a broken cell phone, and my keys, one to the new apartment, and the other to the old one. No options, other than to start walking. The sun rose in the east, so I headed what had to be west, reasoning that I wasn't far enough away from last night's debacle. Two blocks away, I turned north, to the new apartment. If I could just figure out where Central Park was, I would have no problems.

I spent every step dreading and hoping, running through far too many awful scenarios. I was reminded of how bad I had it when my mother died- but in reverse. This time, it had been my fault. I hadn't been able to keep Daphne from getting hurt. I hadn't stopped whoever had used that mind-attack power from making her fall off the roof. I had nothing to show for last night, save for a series of severe injuries.

I reached Central park, and headed west, right to the apartment building. I flashed my key at the doorman, and he opened the door, before opening his mouth. I stalked past him, beelining for the elevators. I had to check on Daphne.

The elevator dinged open, and I fumbled with my keys, nearly dropping them in my haste to open the door. I slammed it behind me, irritated by its obstinance. And I didn't have a phone here. There wasn't one in the apartment yet, since we both had cell phones. The boxes from our new furniture littered the apartment, empty, waiting to be taken down to the garbage. Maybe my new furniture, if Daphne didn't pull through. I banished that thought: It was unproductive.

I took out one of the few, solitary remaining stacks of bills. We had spent way too much, and without the influx of money from last night, would have to do something to refill our coffers. I pulled out my gear, and Daphne's costume parts from her satchel, and hid them inside a suitcase. I took off my filthy clothes and put on clean ones, disquieted at dirty skin touching clean clothes.

I grabbed the satchel, locking the apartment door behind me. I had to get to a phone, or buy one. Really, buy one. I waved down a cab as I stepped out of the building. Convenience store, or a mall maybe, for the cell phone.

"Where to?" the driver asked, as I gingerly sat down.

"Nearest mall," I answered curtly.

He turned around, pulling right into traffic, the cars now behind us honking as they were cut off. We heading right up the edge of Central Park, before he drove through a traffic circle, stopping in front of a pair of skyscrapers, connected at the base. I paid with a twenty, not even caring about the change. Contacting Daphne took priority over everything else. I entered the mall, and saw a directory. A quick examination, and I couldn't find anything cell-phone related. Damn. I looked ahead, down the mall, hoping it was wrong. A series of kiosks lined the center of the path, and at second glance, were unmarked on the directory. One of them had to sell cellphones.

I moved as quickly as I could without drawing attention, keeping my speed to a fast walk. First kiosk was fake tattoos. Second was some sort of nail-thing, little decals. Third was rows and rows of cellphones and cellphone cases. I tapped the lanky teenager manning the kiosk on the shoulder, drawing his attention from his cellphone. He paused what looked like a game, and turned to me before flinching back. My irritation must have shown, and I let it loose on him.

"Prepaid, now," I ordered.

His eyes flicked down, before he looked away, backing up slightly. "Uh, miss-"

"Prepaid," I snapped, pulling out several twenties, and slamming them on the counter. His eyes dropped to my hand, before he shakily took the money, passing me a phone. I tore the plastic casing apart, dropping it on the counter, and left. I flipped the cellphone open as I walked away, noting the charge. Half-full. I dialed Daphne's cell, waiting for the call to go through.

"Hello?" came a voice. Not Daphne's voice.

Icy cold fingers of panic seized my heart. I croaked out, "I'm looking for my sister, Daphne."

"She's been admitted, and there are some issues. We can send a car to pick you up. What is your location?"

I went straight for the meat: "She's okay? She's not hurt badly?"

The woman calmly answered, "No, she will make a full recovery. Where can I send a car to retrieve you?"

Almost at the door, I nearly wept in relief. I had thought, for one brief moment, she was dead. Nearly by my own hand. As I passed people, several gave me strange looks, presumably from my rapidly changing expressions. I replied, "I'm at the mall in the skyscrapers, next to Central Park."

"Columbus Circle," and with that she hung up. Daphne must have had amazing insurance, to get a private hospital willing to provide a car service. Which made sense - caping was a dangerous business, and one that could result in serious or permanent injury. I pushed open the glass door, and froze.

I saw myself in the mirror. I had forgotten to put on a jacket. That was worrying, but, the far worse part was the bronze skin, covering parts of my arm. The face I made, reflected back at me, would've been hilarious, at any other time or to any other person. Right now, to me, it was pants-shittingly horrified. It was what the cellphone salesman had seen, what every person I had passed had seen and flinched away from, and what people would see as I walked outside.

I scrambled back in, heading for the first clothing store I found, restraining myself from running. Drawing more attention would be counterproductive. Perfume and pounding music graced my arrival, and I started a search pattern. I grabbed a jacket off the rack, and headed right for the checkout. I winced at the price, waiting to be helped. I set my new three hundred dollar grey jacket down, before hiding my arms behind me. I didn't talk to the cashier, an irritatingly perky woman, ignoring her attempts at small talk. I just wanted it done. I shelled out cash, before taking my change and jacket. I threw it on as I left the store, ignoring the feeling of tags on my back.

My new cellphone buzzed in my pocket, and whistled at me. I opened the phone, noting the 'Unknown Number.' "Ms. Waldon?"

"It's me," I answered, before adding, "I am walking right out the door,"

I pushed the glass door open, and realized my mistake. Too late to do anything. Daphne wasn't in a private hospital. A PRT Van sat in the circle, lights flashing, and a uniformed man was talking into a cell phone, across the plaza from me. Too few people were in between us, and at seeing me exit, he waved.

"I think I see you," he said.

"Me too," I duly replied. I walked to him, at the same speed of an death row inmate. We had been found out. He opened the van's rear doors, and I closed my cell phone, taking his hand as it was offered to step up into the back. He followed, and sat across from me. And didn't cuff me.

"We are just going to Roosevelt Hospital, around the block," he said, mistaking my look of dread for confusion. Why would we be going to the hospital, rather than the PRT Headquarters? They didn't know? The PRT wasn't one to play games, to my knowledge, so they really didn't know. My spirits were buoyed, before they sank almost immediately. Daphne was still in a hospital.

"Is she alright? What's all this for?" I asked, generally curious.

"She's fine, and I can't explain. If you can just wait a moment," he answered, before being cut off by the van stopping. He opened the doors and waved me out. We had parked directly in front of what had to be the hospital, in the ambulance zone. As I followed the unnamed officer to the sliding glass doors, the van left. What was going on?

Another PRT officer was holding an elevator for us, and we ascended in silence. I was dead still, resisting the urge to fidget. Being nervous right now would only betray my guilt. The elevator dinged open, and I trailed after both PRT officers. They led me to a hallway, where several armored PRT officers waited, all with foam guns, along with one man in a suit. He turned, alerted to my presence by the oncoming unarmored PRT officers.

"Ms. Waldon? I'm Director Wilkins, of the Parahuman Response Team. I'd like to talk to you about your sister."

I nearly pinched myself to see if I was delusional. This was about Daphne? I shook his hand, and asked, trying to sound as innocent as possible, "Where is Daphne? She wouldn't answer my calls all day."

Director Willkins, a tall and broad shouldered man, nodded. "I'm sure she couldn't. Ms. Waldon, I regret to inform you, but it is my duty. Your sister is a cape, specifically a villain. She goes by the name of Damsel of Distress."

Daphne was a villain? I had thought she was a vigilante. And then why was she with me, who sure wasn't nice to villains. But I could figure this out later. I had gotten her into this mess. I was going to get her out. I pleaded, "A villain? Daphne! No way, there is just no way she is."

He nodded, as if he had expected that. "She destroyed part of her bed, with her signature power, not an hour ago. After that, it was fairly obvious who she was. The most important part, however, is we hope she can shed some light on some serious cases here in New York."

"But she can't be a villain, she's always been there for me," I dodged, trying my collection of sappy movie quotes. Or something close.

"I know it is hard to accept, but we even have camera footage. Of course, if she cooperates, we are looking at very small sentence, with no chance of the Birdcage. But if she doesn't…" he trailed off.

I got the hint. If she didn't pony up on Defiler, and the explosions from last night, they would throw the book at her. I had to get her out of here. Her real identity was compromised, just as mine had been. And, my fault too. I could sneak in here, disguising myself again, but could I get her out? I needed a look in her room. If there were no officers stationed inside, I could break her out.

"Can I see her?" I asked, not faking the desperation in my voice.

"Yes, but she is still unconscious-" The Director was cut off. A sick, staccato crack swallowed the rest of his sentence. The floor pitched beneath our feet and knocked half the gathered troops to their knees. Fine dust drifted down from the ceiling in a faint haze, knocked loose by whatever that had been. Urgent beeps echoed around us, as medical equipment registered their protests.

"Status," the Director ordered, voice calm. The armored troops helped each other up, while my initial escort put a finger to his ear. What was happening?

My escort replied, "Something hit the support column outside the lobby - wait. No, capes attacking! Some kind of Blaster, hitting the building, along with a Breaker, teleporting people around. Something else, Brute, too."

"Any demands?"

A quick clarification of, "No. But they have already bypassed the lobby, and are in an elevator-"

The ding of the elevator arriving on our floor interrupted him. A snake like creature- snake like in that it was long and thing, I couldn't see much else at its speed - whipped across the floor, heading straight for us. Two PRT officers were quick on the draw, and shot streams of off-white liquid at it. The foam hit it, forming a cocoon around its head. Until it vanished, replaced by surprised PRT officer, whose foam gun started spraying the ceiling. Something hard hit me in the back, knocking me over. I was pulled up, by one arm, by the Director, even as two PRT officers were caught by the thing's coils.

He pulled me along, covered by two more officers, along with the unarmored ones, right into a room. With Daphne in it. He pulled a pistol from his waistband, adding to our small groups armament of three pistols and a pair of foam guns.

A male voice called out from the hall, "You guys have someone - well, two someones - we want. Hand over Damsel of Distress and her sister."

Operation Wyldhand 5.15

What were my options? Daphne was still unconscious, and hooked up to all the medical equipment. First things first - I had to get her ready to move. I walked to her bed, pulling out a needle from her arm, and several little doo-dads as well. The PRT officers ignored me, and the Director replied to the demand from the hall.

"Not happening, son. And Legend is almost here."

The last part was a bluff. Even I could tell it was. The cape in the hall could too, laughing. "I'm sure he is. Give us Damsel and her sister, and we leave. If not, we can come in, and just take them. Or, we could trade them for the people in the beds around us. Your call, or mine in one minute."

They wouldn't go for it. Which mean the capes out there would come in, soon. So far, a giant snake thing, which was probably the same Changer from last night, a cape with the ability to teleport others, and a cape who had been knocking the building around. I couldn't identify what the last one was, but I had overheard Blaster.

My thoughts were too muddled- I needed to be on the ball, keep focus. Pain was good though or-, pain was an old friend. I could understand pain, somehow. My injuries and exhaustion weren't helping, and could mean the difference between life and death. I reached, grabbing onto something I couldn't quite name, but achingly familiar. But whatever it was, the familiarity throbbed, jamming a jagged black spike through my skull. I collapsed against the bed, but everything after that was clear. My original escort pulled me up with his unarmed hand, looking at me in concern.

"Don't worry, everything will be fine," he soothed, looking back at the doorway.

He was more right than he knew. There was such pain his mind couldn't even comprehend. No one in the hospital save Daphne could think of such pain. Or, I still hurt, but it didn't impair me. It was just pain. I had a significant amount of energy in my inner, and a full outer pool. Energy bubbled, almost eager to be spent, to burn my way out of this. I suppressed the instinct to blast through a wall and fly away, glowing like a star. Not quite what I had in mind. I could do better.

"Listen to me, and we will all get out," I hissed, quiet enough that the pair outside wouldn't hear. At least a pair, on second thought. Just because the Blaster hadn't spoken didn't mean he wasn't out there, and there could be even more. However, the snake-thing had retreated back towards the teleporting speaker. Unless it had circled around, all the way across an entire floor, without making one hell of a racket, it was still there.

"Miss Waldon, what are you-" the Director started, speaking too loud, looking up from his cellphone. Calling in reinforcements, hopefully and probably. I cut him off with a quick slashing motion in front of my throat. Irritated, he was about to start talking again, before I interrupted him.

"You, escort, give me your gun, and grab my sister," I continued, pointing at the man who had just helped me up.

"Miss, I can't-"

I snapped, beyond irritated. I had a plan to get us all out, at least of this room, and they weren't listening. I growled, "I'm the fucking shadow cape. So, if you give me your gun, and grab my sister, I'll blind them."

"Caldwell, gun," the Director ordered, finally speaking quietly. He was also trying to stare a hole through me. The now named Caldwell pulled back the slide, loading a round. He then handed me his pistol, grip first. I took it, and the following two magazines. Safety off, magazines in my pockets, I motioned for him to pick up Daphne.

"The plan is: So far, both of the capes up here have stayed near the elevators. I drop a wall of shadows, and shoot them as much as I can. Everyone else, fire in the general direction, and then we make a break for the stairs. We can deal with the Blaster at the bottom, and then meet up with whoever you contacted," I explained, finishing with a gesture towards the Director.

He nodded, waving the PRT officers forward. The two armored ones stood ready to go in front, after me. He glanced at me, narrowing his eyes, and added, "And then we are going to have a talk."

I ignored that, and making sure Caldwell had Daphne in his arms, braced against the doorframe. One, two, and three-

I spun into the hallway, empty and armed hands both extended. My gun tracked - a man wearing an all black costume, but for a red mask and hat - and instead of pulling on shadows to disguise myself, I pushed them out. A silent storm of them, accumulating right between our opposing groups. Inky clouds blocked everyone's sight. Except for mine.

My empty hand came up to support my gun hand, and I shot twice, in rapid succession. Both bullets blew past the foamed PRT officer, and hit top hat in the chest, sending him on his back. The snake-thing, an eye-searing red, nearly flew right in front of him, and I unloaded the rest of the magazine at it. Doing no damage, bullets bouncing right off, as it pulled top hat out of the hall and back into an elevator. A storm of additional bullets failed to make their mark, as the PRT opened up behind me. Two quick blasts of foam missed by a mile.

Ejecting the empty magazine, and replacing it with a new one - one full magazine left - , I turned right around. The remaining unnamed unarmored officer was leaning down, trying to wake the unconscious or concussed PRT officers left outside. I shouted, no longer worried about being heard, "Go! We have to go, before they realize we're going down!"

Both of the armored officers stomped behind me along with the Director and Caldwell, as we headed for the stairs, marked with signs overhead. I stalked past desks with nurses and doctors cowering behind them, and patients sticking their heads out of rooms. The officers behind me shouted at them to stay down. Who attacked a hospital, when there was so much potential for people to get hurt? Who were these assholes?

I slammed into the door marked 'Emergency Exit,' triggering an alarm somewhere. Apparently you were only supposed to take the stairs during a fire. Iniside the stairwell, a buzzer and flashing strobe flooded the room with amber light, while a big white '4' on a green wall proclaimed which floor we were on. I nearly kicked myself for not noticing it beforehand. It was so much easier to think without my back feeling like it was going to break at any second. Members of the PRT plus Daphne sprinted past the door, and I let it close.

Out of breath on the second floor landing, following my signal to stop, Director Wilkins wheezed, "Two minutes till reinforcements. Legend is coming, and more officers."

I wasn't feeling too great myself, but I wasn't winded. Both of the armored officers were standing on the stairs below us, ready to go through the first floor door. And it was time for the second part of my plan. I safed my pistol, jamming it into my waistband, and moved to check on Daphne. Caldwell noticed my concern, and said, "She's fine. Just won't be happy waking up."

"Thank y-" I interrupted myself with a mass of shadows occupying the landing we were on. I kicked Caldwell in the groin, foot fitting in like it was meant to be there. He dropped Daphne, hand dropping to his crotch, and I caught her. I staggered low under the sudden weight, and then jammed my shoulder into his leg, knocking him back. Caldwell fell right into the Director, whimpering, and they landed on the concrete floor. As I came up, I yanked the door handle, and ran through, on the second floor instead of the first.

I needed an unoccupied room. I ran as fast as I could, checking the rooms facing the outside of the building as I went. Occupied, occupied, occupied, the stairway door opening behind me, occupied, unoccupied! I skidded to a stop, before backtracking into the empty room. I caught a brief glance of a severely pissed off set of PRT officers, before I went into the room. I dropped Daphne on the bed, and then pulled it to the doorway. I blocked off the door, which opened inwards, and fiddled with the wheels, locking them into place. Even with a good look upstairs at Daphne's original bed, it was still a bout of quick guesswork. A body slammed into the door, and I could see a face through the window set into it.

The face vanished when I pulled my gun. Of course, I wasn't aiming at them. I shot the single pane window at the end of the room, thick glass shattering into large jagged pieces. But still in the frame. I grabbed the unused IV bag stand, and used it as a pole to knock out the glass. The door behind me jostled, as someone rammed into it. Several hundred pounds of medical bed stopped them. And my single gunshot, aimed very high, discouraged them.

I rolled Daphne over, pulling out the thin mattress from underneath her. I tossed it out the window, and went back to Daphne. Pistol, with the safety reengaged, and back in my pants, I grabbed her, and headed for the window. What could only be two people were trying to ram the door down, and probably the armored PRT officers. I looked out the window, at the mattress on the sidewalk. It worked in the movies.

I stepped out of the window, falling. I landed hard, right ankle twisting. I sprawled across the pavement, with Daphne landing on the mattress. I stood, unevenly, favoring my left ankle. I awkwardly picked her up, and headed away from the hospital. A cop car was blocking off the street to the east, and I hobbled to them.

"Help!" I shouted, even as they aimed their guns in my general direction. "She needs help!"

The both of the policewomen moved forward, holstering their weapons as they did so. They took Daphne off my hands, and I yanked the closer's ones pistol out of its holster. I aimed at the still armed one's face, and said, "Put her in your car."

"You are pointing a gun at a cop-" she heatedly replied, before I fired the purloined gun. Both of the officers flinched back from the muzzle blast, even as a brick building down the street received a new decoration. They obeyed, rather sullenly, and I took the opportunity to relieve the other policewoman's gun from its holster. Aiming both pistols at them, they followed my gentle directions with said pistols to place her in the front seat.

"Keys," I added, safing my second new pistol and adding it to my waistband collection. Older made to toss them to me, before I aimed my still out pistol at her.

"Set them on the hood. And then cuff yourselves." I ordered, gesturing again with my pistol. They walked out of the street, and turned around. I grabbed the keys off the hood, and while they were pretending to cuff themselves, turned the cop car on. Both of the cops turned around in surprise, as I put the car in reverse, and yanked the wheel to the left. From nose facing west, to nose facing east, tires squealing, I reversed my future course. The door slammed shut as I stopped. Hospital now behind me, I could hear a crash as something exited a mostly glass lobby. In the rearview mirror, I could see the bright red snake, carrying three people.

I shifted the lever on the side of the wheel to 'D', and floored it. I could cut through Central Park, and lose them. I nearly flew through an intersection, traffic helpfully kept away by an additional pair of police cars. I looked over at the fire hydrant, wishing I had ordered the police to buckle her in.

Fire hydrant? A second, panicked look confirmed that Daphne was now a fire hydrant. A look in my mirrors showed Daphne lying on the sidewalk, not a fire hydrant, being sprayed with water from where a hydrant had been.

The snake-thing had stopped, dropping its passengers off in front of it, and I saw top hat walking towards Daphne. And then I had to flinch back, as an eye searing glow formed in the middle of the street. Which then started flying towards me. I floored the cop car, but it wasn't enough. The ball of bright fire engulfed the rear of the car, leaving nothing but melted plastic and metal. I desperately tried to stop the car, but it wasn't having any of that. I opened the door, falling out into a roll. The half-a-car slammed into the curb ahead. It flipped up, landing on its roof on the sidewalk.

I rolled to a stop, right in front of a bus stop. Injuries new and old voiced their complaints. I tried to stand, but couldn't. I felt my vision dim, even as I desperately tried to grasp out to Daphne. I just couldn't reach -

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I jerked awake, and tried to reach for Daphne. Instead, white hot pain shot through me, my body spasming against the restraints. I shuddered, keeping as still as possible. I certainly didn't want to move after whatever that had been, and couldn't, significantly. If that was what had kept me unconscious, I wasn't going to trigger it again. Inch-wide black straps crossed my body, attaching to the edge of the bed I was in. I was in a windowless concrete room, and as I examined my surroundings, the door slammed opened, hitting the wall. Three armed PRT officers advanced through, weapons aimed at me.

A fifteen year old girl, tied down to a bed.

A machine blooped behind me, and the guards relaxed, slightly. Their weapons weren't aimed at my elevated forehead anymore. The middle guard, who had to be higher ranking by dint of more colors on his armor, ordered, "Do not move, or try to activate a power. If you do you will be shocked. Once more as a warning, and then to unconsciousness. Are you going to cooperate, or do we have to stun you again?"

I tried to nod, but that only made them raise their weapons back up to my face. I took the hint and replied, voice cracking from lack of water, "Y-yes."

The lead officer nodded, and motioned for his fellows to leave. I tried to croak out a question. They ignored my unintelligible noises, and closed the door behind them, much more gently than they had opened it. Leaving me alone with my thoughts. Cold air blew down on me from a vent right above my head, chilling me. All I had on was a hospital gown, and it didn't keep much warmth in.

I had been captured by the PRT. I didn't know where Daphne was. I was tied to a bed, that shocked me if I moved. My disguise was still up, otherwise I might have been dosed unconscious as a hero-killer, instead I had been left awake as vigilante who attacked gangs. Problematic, especially in my methods, but not supremely dangerous. I still wasn't known as Defiler, at least to them.

I only had one viable option, and that was to break out now. Rescue Daphne on the way, or find out where she was being held. The capes who had attacked the hospital had wanted us alive, and if they had taken her, rather than the PRT, she would still be alive. Or else. The PRT might consider her a villain, but she had put her trust in me, and I had gotten her crippled and captured. And she didn't have to be a villain.

I was going to get her out of this, one way or another.

I debated trying to get shocked again, to try to talk the officers entering the room. My plan was foiled, by an orderly coming in, and silently pressing a straw to my lips. I drank from the tiny cup, draining it in a few seconds. Throat no longer sandy, I tried to ask him something. And got shocked for my troubles. I spat water out, body twitching. He left immediately. I was starting to get irritated. Was no one going to to at least give a semblance of courtesy? They 'knew' my sister had been taken right in front of me, after I had... admittedly attacked them as well. But I had cooperated up until then, and hadn't harmed them. Well, no more than a quick nudge.

The door opened for the third time in five minutes, revealing Director Wilkins, followed by Caldwell. Neither looked very happy, and the latter was walking awkwardly. I had hit him with more than a nudge then. I almost apologized, words catching in my throat. Nothing I could say would soothe his justified anger. 'Sorry for kicking you in the balls to save my sister' wasn't very diplomatic.

"Ms. Waldon. We were having a discussion yesterday, before we were interrupted," the Director grimly said, "Before some new evidence came to light."

I didn't respond. I had plenty to say, but I couldn't say it, not without being shocked into oblivion. I glared at him, communicating my frustration with the situation. Either he was able to interpret glares, or he guessed that I wanted to talk, as he said, "You can talk. Don't move much, though."

"Where is my sister?" I immediately asked, a hint of urgency tinting my voice with panic. Caldwell left, leaving the door open, and the Director came forward, resting his hand at the foot of my bed.

"Captured, unfortunately. Legend arrived on the scene, and saw them trying to grab you. He discouraged them and they retreated."

Caldwell walked back through the open door, dragging a chair behind him. He set it at the end of my bed and left, leaving me alone with Wilkins. He sat down, arms folded, and waited for me to speak.

"And why couldn't Legend stop them from taking her? Or were you just focused on capturing me?" I snapped, irritated. Where they so focused on capturing someone who had gotten away, that they ignored Damsel? What kind of a heroes-

"No. While you were distracting us, and then fleeing the hospital, Ballistic, one of the members of the team who attacked, damaged the hospital further. After Legend nearly froze them to the pavement, he stopped the hospital from collapsing."

"They destroyed the hospital?" I gasped, horrified. All just to get to me?

The Director shook his head, and uncrossed his arms, pulling out his phone and giving me a good view of his holstered pistol, "No. One of the Travellers' usual MOs when heroes show up is to pin them to a spot, and then escape while they are distracted. Damaging a hospital's structure is a serious escalation, but not unthinkable."

I let out a sigh of relief. How many people were in that hospital? That I had endangered just by being there. I stopped that thought cold. I hadn't endangered them - these 'Travellers' had. I hadn't asked to be attacked in a hospital. They had chosen the location, probably to restrict Damsel and I from using our power's to their fullest.

And they didn't know my full abilities, a tiny corner of my mind whispered. The little bubble of hate subsided after its input. I tilted my head fully up, both to get a better look at him, and to test the limits of the electrification. I asked, "So the Travellers have my sister?"

He shook his head. "Not really. It's been over a day, and we have a fairly good idea of what is happening. You managed to irritate someone in the Mob, and they responded. They hired the Travellers to capture you, and Damsel. They bombed your sister's apartment, injuring two of my officers when they went to investigate. The numerous suspicious vehicles being reported across the city, at every place we could have taken you to. And now I want some answers. Who are you? "

I sure wasn't Defiler. I answered, "Shadow-cape is good enough. And yes, I am the one who gave you all those gangs, practically gift wrapped."

Wilkins leaned back, phone going back into his pocket. He looked at me, clearly thinking hard. I interrupted his thoughts, more interested in Daphne than the PRT, "Where is she, then?"

"We don't know. But, we are looking. I do not tolerate the actions the Travellers have taken in my city. And I certainly don't condone the ones you-"

He was building up for a long-winded speech on something. I didn't have time. Daphne might even be in the Mob's hands already, and every moment spent here was one I couldn't spend looking. One in which she might be tortured or dying. I had a guess about the stunner: the bed shocked me when it detected elevated heart rate or significant movement. I hadn't had time to test the former, but the latter was clear as midnight.

The vent above me was perfect. Shadows pierced through my skin, shedding the false layer, revealing myself beneath. A being of shadows. Even before I had fully become a thing of shadows, I was jumping. Straight up, five feet to the ceiling. I passed the grate on the ventilation shaft, and found myself in a dim tube, a few inches in diameter, only lit from below. I stopped to catch my breath, as lingering twitches of electricity rocked my frame. I hadn't quite escaped in time.

I could see fine, though, and I had to head up. Air conditioning in larger buildings was on the roof, to my knowledge, and from there I could escape. I bounded down the tube, slimmer and faster than any snake. I caught quick glimpse of other rooms like mine below me through more vents, with unoccupied beds. And the way up was blocked. A sheet of metal was blocking the pipe. A PRT building had to be ready for all sorts of capes, and plenty could turn gaseous. A logical way to prevent escapes, but not especially helpful to me.

I slid away, before moving full steam ahead, fist forming out of shadows ahead of me, green fire wreathing it. I punched the edge of the thin sheet of metal, trying to deform it enough to slip through. Instead, I broke it in half, parts of it still crackling with green light. I nearly flew through, taking advantage of my lack of weight as a shadow. I bounced between the walls of a vertical pipe, heading at least two full stories up. Another pipe blockage stopped me in my tracks. I couldn't head up, especially with several inches of metal in the way. I didn't fancy my chances punching through that. I turned left, reasoning that most people would turn right. The unexpected course would be more profitable, escape wise.

I slid next to a vent, stopping. Marble floors, embellishments, the whole nine yards. Dozens of people stood around, easily half of them children. Tour groups, maybe? Which mean this was the PRT Headquarters, from the decoration. I just had to wait, and bide my time - There! Several uniformed officers started herding the groups out, apologizing for the interruptions. I shot out, crossing a dozen yards of marble, and hid in between legs. I slid forward, almost as low as a sheet of paper, staying in the small patch of shadows directly beneath people. The lights were too bright and too many to get any other shadows.

The frosted glass doors didn't let me see the time, until I passed through them, and felt relief that it was night. Relief, and apprehension, as it had been more like 36 hours than 24 since I had been knocked out by my stupid escape attempt. I needed to find these 'Travellers.' And I had nothing but a hospital gown, and I needed to make a call. I waited, until one teacher, or chaperone, pulled out a cellphone. She made a quick call, to what could only be a bus driver from the context. And she put the phone into an outside pocket of her purse.

I grabbed it, children making noises of surprise as I rose up from the ground, and sped away. The lights of Time Square shone down on me, even as I tried to desperately find some patch of darkness. I couldn't hide under the light of a forty foot television. A quick run, sticking as low as possible, and I made it underneath a car, all the way across the Square. I looked back, and could see officers boiling out of the lobby I just left. I could almost see little question marks floating above their head as they searched for me.

With the undercarriage of a car right above my head, I dialed my newly acquired cellphone. The call was answered on the third ring. I spoke, both clearly and urgently. I needed this, more than anything. Without his help, it would take much longer.

"Number Man. I need your help."

The Number Man's voice, calmly answered my near frantic request, "Of course. What do you require?"

"The Travellers. I want every bit of information you have, starting with where they are. Now," I half-pleaded, half-demanded. I was desperate, and I knew he could tell. But I had to find her.

"I'd want something in return," he said, the tone of his voice unchanging.

"Anything," I readily agreed.

"One favor, in the future," he replied.

"Deal! Now, information," I hurriedly said, something as I heard the car above me turn on. The engine nearly blocked out the Number Man's voice.

"Two hours, and I will call your current number," he said, before hanging up. Two hours? What was I supposed to do with two hours? Our new apartment was destroyed, according to Director Wilkins, along with all my equipment. I had no money. I could only recharge, and get ready. To strike those bastards back. The car above me left, and I moved out from underneath, away from the Square. Someplace to sleep, hidden. A parking garage, not a hundred feet down, a giant illuminated 'P' sign sticking out was perfect. Everything left, consisting of Daphne's van, and my original apartment that I no longer had key for, were too far away. I passed through the entrance, headed down. Three levels down, I coiled up in a corner, falling asleep with the ease of switching a light.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The cell phone woke me up as it rung, and I pushed 'talk'.

"Where," I demanded.

"50th Street, due northwest of where you were held by the PRT. In between 9th and 10th Avenues, in a red brick building, above a deli."

Relief flooded through me, lifting my spirits. I didn't have to attack every Mob holding in NYC just to find her. Caution tempered my relief, and I asked, "Who are they, and what are their powers."

"Trickster, the leader, can switch any two objects he can see. Genesis is a powerful Changer, much more varied in her selections than you. Sundance is a Blaster capable of firing masses of heat imitating the Sun. Ballistic can accelerate any object to a uniform speed, just below the speed of sound, regardless of weight. They have two additional members, who function as a support team. I'd advise keeping a lower profile-"

I hung up, silently apologizing. I didn't have time for pleasantries. Then I snapped the phone in half, dropping it at my feet. I left the garage, and after a quick query to the garage attendant, headed west. Luckily, I was already on the west side of Times Square, and didn't have to try to cross it or route around it. I reached 8th Avenue nearly a hundred feet from the garage, and kept heading west. After I hit Ninth street, I turned north. How close were they to the PRT? That seemed insanely stupid for a group of villains. Not even a mile away, the largest collection of heroes in North America sat, ready and willing.

I'd have to be quiet. 48th street. Close. 49th, and 50th. I stopped, not turning the corner onto the stretch of buildings hiding Daphne. People stared at me, and my hospital gown as I moved with purpose. Maybe before, people staring at me, or muttering behind their hands would have had an effect on me. Not tonight.

The last time I had tangled with the Travellers, I had come off the loser. I had nearly lost everything. Every little thing I had gained since coming here. And they were trying to take Daphne from me. They wouldn't succeed. I wouldn't let them. Speed would trump stealth, tonight.

I stepped around the corner, Deli sign a nice red glare, happily proclaiming where I was to go. A couple nearly stepped on me as they walked East. I headed to the door next to the large windows of the deli. A small metal plate contained rows of buttons and names. A small speaker covering sat underneath. Intercoms, for deliveries to the upstairs apartments, reasonably. All but one had faded lettering, names of families or tenants. The third floor's little tag was blank. I didn't care who saw me. Dozens of people must have been behind me, and more we're walking down the side of the street I was on. Some were looking at the crazy girl, nearly undressed.

I shifted form, easily. Shadows replaced skin, hair, and hospital gown. I could hear murmurs of surprise and shock, but ignored them. Later. The door, instead of a peephole, had a small section of glass. I broke it and jumped through, streaking up the wooden stairs.

The third floor apartment had light's shining outside onto the landing. I slipped underneath the door, and examined the apartment. Daphne was wrapped up in a ludicrous amount of rope, on the pale brown couch. Across from her, in an armchair, sat a rather handsome blond young man. He was alternatively watching over Daphne, and an unconscious girl in a wheelchair. Various styrofoam containers of food littered the apartment, and the faint smell of rotting meat was pervasive.

"Oliver?" A woman's voice asked from behind a door, startling both of us. He got up, walking to a closed door behind the couch, stopping in front of it. Not opening it, which was curious.

"What, Noelle?" Even I could tell the now-named Oliver was exasperated. A good view of him rolling his eyes was another hint.

"I'm hungry. Is the Deli open?"

He winced, and rubbed his hands together. A nervous habit. Why couldn't any of my enemies have stupid nervous habits I could use against them? Like an urge to leave money out, or drop their weapons at the sound of a dog barking? "We can't, Noelle. They're already getting suspicious of how much meat we buy."

Noelle's voice turned petulant, and she whined, "Fine. I want to see Krouse, then."

"He will be back soon-"

I interrupted him by slamming his head into the shut door. His nose broke, the sound of cartilage audibly crunching. He struggled slightly, arms reaching back to grab me, before I adjusted my grip on the back of his head, and slammed him again, this time temple-first. He crumpled to the ground, blood leaking from his ruined nose. The door sagged in its hinges, cracked down the middle and splintered.

"Oliver? Oliver, are you hurt? I smell blood," Noelle said through the door.

I ignored her, and moved to grab Daphne. Oliver was the most combat capable member of the three here, if he was on guard duty. With him out of the picture, I could just leave. I released the shadow form with a twist of will, to leave another way. I didn't know if the rest of the Travellers were coming, but I did know only one of them could fly.

"Who are you? What did you do to Oliver!" Noelle interrupted me again. I continued to pretend she didn't exist, and left the living room. The kitchen had a block of knives and I pulled one out to cut Daphne free. I stepped back into the living room, brandishing the knife.

The broken door exploded into splinters, a mass of something huge blowing right through the already damaged door. I barely had time to see an unnatural number of limbs and eyes, before I was pushed to the ground, skidding back across the living room. Whatever it was, it stunk of meat and sweat. A tentacle made of hands apparently growing out of even more hands grabbed hold of me, pulling me in closer despite my struggles. I sliced down with the knife, barely able to get a foot of swinging distance. But the knife did glow green, and when it cut, a high pitched woman's scream matched the desperate flailing of a severed tentacle.

Noelle's voice. She was evidently the more combat capable of the three.

More tentacles, followed by arms, grabbed me, arresting the movement of my knife hand. I tried to switch it to my other hand, but it was futile. Green flames sputtered at its tip, useless. She could see me - an eye the size of a hubcap was not two feet away, staring at me. I tried to writhe out of their grasp, but I couldn't. She drew me into the mass of limbs, pressure squeezing me down. I couldn't breath. My head felt like it was being crushed. I had to get out. Had to escape.

I remembered what I had done last time, in a similar situation. When my options were limited, when my body wasn't suited for the task at hand. An opportunity to let out some very justified anger.

My fear, that I wouldn't save Daphne, became anger. My desperation to get out, became anger. It boiled over, and I let it burn away my flesh, detonating in a wave of green flames. Noelle, for it had to be her, wasn't moved by the fire. She did scream as it burnt away the limbs holding me. Not that they could've held me anymore.

Claws digging into the cheap wooden floor of the apartment, I propelled myself forward. I kept my now expansive wingspan tucked in. My bulk, lesser than her's, but still substantial, allowed my amateur tackle to take us both through her bedroom, full of already destroyed furniture, and through the brick wall.

The bronze spider formed above my head, standing amongst the buildings, even as a shallow sea of shadows lapt at our feet.

Noelle, half of a woman, and half a monstrous menagerie of limbs, got to what passed for her feet. A chunk of her lower body had been burnt away. She looked down at her damage, and then at the gaping pedestrians who had quickly made space for us.

"I'm hungry."

Operation Wyldhand 5.17

A tentacle shot out from her array of limbs, snagging one of the pedestrians He screamed, gripped firmly by his ankle as he pawed at the street, dragged closer and closer to Noelle. Not to her, into her. The people who stood gaping in shock quickly switched to looks of dawning horror as he disappeared into her body. More limbs attached to him, keeping him from trying to escape. One wrapped around his neck, and pulled, a faint crack audible. By ones and twos, people started to flee, screaming or silent, away from the sight of a man being eaten.

The green light around me dimmed, chest swelling as I sucked in air. I was angry. This Noelle was eating people, all because I had let her loose. My lungs burned, but not from a lack of air. I exhaled, lungs emptying, a burst of green flame racing across the street to engulf Noelle. Instead, I burnt a tree to ash. With a series of popping noises, Noelle had tossed a tree right in front of me, uprooting it straight from its planter. The concrete around its former home cracked apart with an accompaniment of noise and dirt.

The tree burned to ash in heartbeats, before the flames reached out and tried to touch her, but she was gone, leaving my flames to spray melted asphalt along their path. A car flew towards me, apparently sent on its way by a flurry of kicks. I reached up and caught it, my claws digging into the metal easily before realizing another vehicle had trailed behind the first one. It slammed into my shins, dropping me to my knees. I returned the gesture, hurling my caught vehicle at her.

My fastball was far quicker than her curveball. The front bumper slammed into her human-sized stomach. She fell backwards, car following and tipping up and over to land entirely on her human portion. I couldn't damage the bottom of her body significantly, so I had aimed at the top of her form instead. And she was down for the count.

I lumbered over to her, feet cracking the pavement from my weight. I started to draw breath for another breath of fire, but the air wouldn't heat. Nothing I tried, from thinking of fires, to imagining the depths of Hell, worked. No fire breath. Fuck. I'd have to get close, and do this the hard way-

I crossed my arms in front of my face, as Noelle's frontal limbs latched on to the road. She pushed off with the more rearward limbs, body coming fully upright, and sending the car I had hit her with towards my face at twice the speed I had thrown it. The car hit my arms, with a chorus of metal screeching against stone. I slid backwards, losing my balance, and falling back despite myself. My wings folded back behind me, catching me from hitting the ground, and I pushed off with them, coming back upright. The car, now a compacted wafer of metal, fell to my feet. Noelle had decided to run away from me.

A cut off scream to my right told me where she had fled to. I turned, lunging in the general direction of the cry for help, but I was too late. Noelle was already absorbing a woman, leaving behind only scraps of clothing and debris - a pair of glasses and a pile of change. The woman's body, head nearly torn off her neck, was dissolving in the the arms gripping her, like a reverse softserve.

I charged after her, but she was already moving, far faster than I could. I beat my wings, leaping into the air. Even though I was a moving mass of twenty feet of stone, I was still catching up to her. She ran straight for the center of the city, not even stopping as tentacles and hands grabbed people. Their deaths were near-instant, but nonetheless horrifying. I could see the expressions of surprise and terror from my position. I swooped down, trying to catch up, but only came within two dozen yards. I skidded, arms reaching out. I grabbed another empty car, and pivoting to a stop, flung it at her back. The sound of a gravel truck being dumped on pavement must have alerted her, because she jinked right, car passing within feet of her upper body.

I sprang back into the air, desperate to catch up. She was eating people, and I had let her loose. At least ten by now, and - there went another! I tried to squeeze another blip of speed out of my stone wings, but couldn't. I wasn't fast enough to overtake her before she reached even more people. I stopped myself from vocalizing my frustrations, but my screams of despair and rage still echoed in my mind.

A car swerved out of her path, honking. She angled her course, running ontop of it, and pulling the surprised passengers along. Trailing broken glass, they barely had time to realize their predicament before they were dead, and absorbed.

She was getting faster at that, and bigger too. Every person she ate made her stronger. I had to stop -

She turned around, limbs shifting to reveal a mouth, studded with teeth like fence posts, the size of a door. It opened and vomited, filth spreading across the street, along with a mass of pulsing flesh, twisted into a parody of a human body. Was she trying to set out decoys? Could she clone herself? The thing stood before collapsing, its legs too fragile to support its weight. It was left behind by its maker, and me, as I overflew it.

If she could copy herself, this was going to go from worse, to catastrophically bad. I was almost close enough, that a dive could reach her. If I could get her stuck in one place, I could contain her, at least temporarily. My lightshow, and the destruction trailing Noelle would bring all the heroes in the city, hopefully. I angled up, wings opening wide, almost ready. A cluster of people, men and women together in equal proportions were walking and joking, occupying a whole side of the sidewalk.

Noelle was almost on them. I dove, too far away to pin her upper half to the ground. I landed on a gigantic thumb, jerking her to a halt, but nearly dislodging me as her momentum bled off. I wrapped my arms around her thumb-leg, and pulled back, trying drag her away from the people. Screams and shouts, more from my appearance, than the realization they had almost been eaten, sounded from the group of couples, and I could hear them dropping things and running.

Heels digging into the street, she started pulling me forward, slowly. I jammed the bottom of my wings into the pavement, trying to get more leverage. She only moved faster, as more limbs reached out, pulling her up the street like it was a wall. Clawed limbs dug handholds for arms behind them, and tentacles got more grip than I could. I ground out, teeth pressed together, "Stop fucking eating people."

"I'm so hungry," she whispered back. The words echoed from below, more mouths than I could see repeating her words slightly off-synch. I tried beating my wings to pull her back, but to no avail. I was losing the tug-of-war match.

"I'll buy you a cartload of sandwiches. Just stop!" I pleaded, desperate.

"It feels too good," she mused, ignoring my failing efforts to slow her, "I can feel things, and when it wants me to feel things, I do. It feels so good. It rewards me."

She stopped, suddenly, and I lost my balance, nearly falling on my face. Nearly, because an array of misshapen flesh slugged me across my face, sending me sliding on my stomach away.

"Sorry," she apologized, looking over her shoulder at me, and sounding completely sincere. "I really don't like doing this. But-"

A police car, sirens silent and headlights off, rammed right into her. She only had to take a massive step back, limbs spreading out to steady herself, to stay upright. The officers in the car opened fire, and I heard the roar of a shotgun joining the sharper reports of a pistol. Bullets and shot spread the flesh that had compromised her head across the street. And it didn't help the officers at all, even as I got up, trying to reach them before she did. They were pulled through the broken windshield, right over deflated airbags, and into Noelle.

I needed a weapon, something to deal more damage than she could heal from. Blunt objects just weren't working. At least people were vacating the area - the sounds of screams and gunfire had sent every person running away, leaving Noelle with no more people to try to eat in sight. I drew in breath, and was rewarded with the air in my lungs nearly igniting. I was recharged. She turned at the sudden dimming of the lights, and took a face full of flames. I exhaled, until stars danced before my eyes, followed by Noelle. She ran me over, grabbing me as she did, and pulled me along underneath her. I tried to claw any flesh I could reach, but was restrained by more and more limbs latching on to me. With a jerking stop, she whipped me into a building.

I crashed through, catching a momentary glimpse of a surprised family hiding in a kitchen, before I exited the other side. I landed in a small yard, swing set tangling around me. My flightpath had passed right through over half the first floor of the small building, and even as I watched, it shuddered. Wood, cinder blocks, and steel rebar showered down in a trickle, before it became a flood. The building groaned, and the top two stories started collapsing onto the first. I lunged, to grab the people I had seen out of the first floor.

My claws plunged through a bulging second story wall, now occupying my exit hole. Too late.

She wasn't even trying to kill people, and she was still succeeding! I tore the swing set off my left wing, tossing it aside. I jabbed my mind with the familiar black spike of pain, just like in the hospital, reveling in it washing away my impairments. I couldn't be slowed down, anymore. Pain was my ally.

I took off, moving faster, with greater ease than before. And saw a set of flyers heading straight for me. I was lighting up the entire neighborhood, standing out like a spotlight on a cloudy night. They could see me, but probably didn't think I could see them. But one of them was all too easily identifiable.

Legend.

I needed help. I couldn't stop her on my own, and one of the greatest heroes in the country was here. I made a beeline for him, if bees were the size of a semi. Both of his flanking capes stopped, shouting at Legend, unintelligible at this distance. He kept going, and I stopped, wings flapping to keep me at a hover. He closed until he was a half dozen yards of distance from me, and floated.

"Defiler, I presume." Even his voice sounded like a hero. Patently unfair, especially when he had the physique of one. Under normal circumstances, my eyes might have wandered. A skintight suit looked good on him.

"I need your help. There's this thing, Noelle, and she's eating people," I stated, before realizing how dumb it sounded. I added, hurriedly, "She's been absorbing them! And she already ate a dozen, and I can't stop her!"

Legend raised a single eyebrow, increasing my envy at his skill, and looked behind me. No, under me, at the building I had destroyed. Chips of wood were still caught in my stone skin, and were easily visible in my surrounding green light. He turned back to me, face hardening, and opened his mouth. And I knew what was going to come out.

"I don't-" he started, before being interrupted by who I could clearly see was Albatross. A Tinker, famous for both flying, and being named after his many failures. And he had embraced the name, developing a propensity for explosives. His jetpack - could you call it a jetpack if it used wings? - let him move closer, and he shouted at Legend,

"Something is eating people, heading up 8th! Let's go!"

Legend shot away, invisible from his speed, leaving all three of us in mid-air. I turned to follow, Albatross and the other cape behind me. She flew by running, possibly the strangest way I had seen. He pulled ahead, mechanical wings beating faster than mine, and cupped his hands around his mouth.

"This way!" he shouted, before pointing northwest. The sudden blast of light was more indicative of her location, though. Lasers rained down in a continuous barrage. As I closed, I could see Noelle being cut, pummeled, and frozen by Legend's lasers. She was pinned down, finally, unable to move as he cut off limbs before they could regrow. Limbs numbering in singles, pairs, and dozens were raining down as he cut loose. The street around her was a crater already, and he was pushing her deeper. Movement, heading straight for her caught my eye, several people riding an imitation of a chinese dragon. It shot up, heading right for us. Reinforcements had arrived.

And then I was in the crater, surprised, and took what felt like a hundred airliners to the face. I collapsed, stunned. The second, third, and following blasts all missed me, hitting where I had been, before stopping. Dazed, I watched as he shifted fire, shooting at a falling Noelle, who had taken my former position in the sky. The dragon ascended, giving me a good look at who was on board.

The Travellers.

I surged up, out of the crater, trying to get behind the dragon before I could be teleported away again. Noelle was on the ground, and a car had taken her place, falling. Albatross dived down, pulling an object from behind him, and fiddling with it. He got within a hundred feet of Noelle, before he was replaced with a parking meter.

A sickening spalt of flesh on a hard surface told me where he had gone. Right into the ground, switched out by Trickster. And he was almost certainly dead. The meter tumbled to the ground, landing with a clang.

Quintessence, now identifiable from the fractal-patterned forcefield blocking the dragon's path, laid an additional one around Noelle, trying to keep her contained. She had somehow developed the ability to mask her forcefields, by her earlier movement. They were visible now, which probably meant that her ability to make them invisible was size dependant.

Noelle pushed against the field, and it stretched like taffy, before shattering, falling apart in a shower of glittering dust. And she was gone, another parking meter replacing her space in the air. An eye-searing line of light lanced out from Legend, spearing Noelle straight through. In the brief instant where the holes lined up, I could see forty feet into the ground. And why he was so intent on killing her. Quintessence was desperately grasping for a hold on the sidewalk, nails breaking and hands bleeding. Her legs had already been assimilated into Noelle's flesh, and she gave a sharp scream before she vanished.

"I'll get the Travelers, you get her!" I shouted to Legend as I rose up to his height. His answering barrage of light informed me of his agreement, as he redoubled his efforts to destroy that abomination. I dove towards the dragon, catching up easily. I didn't have surprise, but I could at least keep them off Legend's back while he dealt with the more serious problem. Did Trickster have a recharge time on his teleportation? If I could keep him occupied -

My feet hit concrete as I was teleported, again. That was starting to get irritating. I took off once more, trying to get to the dragon before I was -

I skidded along a rooftop, displacing an AC unit, this time. The dragon was staring right at me, and I flinched back as I was shot, repeatedly. No muzzle flash accompanied the shots, and they were not as powerful as a bullet from gun, though they still were annoying. It had to be Ballistic, shooting change, nails, or something similar. How could I get away from-

In the air I beat my wings, as Trickster switched me out for the falling AC unit. Below me, Noelle was almost encased in ice, as Legend blasted the water spraying from a broken water hydrant onto her, and freezing it with additional lasers. Smart. Without leverage, she couldn't move. And I had to stop Trickster from-

And I was in the ice. I let out my fury in a wave of flame erupting from my mouth, burning the front off the giant ice cube. I stepped out, watching Noelle fall, before she was replaced by a water tank. How did his power work? He was switching out similar sizes and weights - not identical, but close enough. He didn't have a time limit, and was switching anything he saw-

Anything he saw. I took off, keeping below the dragon. It twisted, aiming its head at me, letting its passengers see me.

Or try to, as a cloud of shadows cloaked the dragons passengers, and likely flight path. It stopped, surprised. Even better.

"Legend!" I shouted, pointing at the mass of darkness. He might not have been able to see it, as it was night, but as I closed, my glow highlighted the dragon's temporary hiding spot. He had flown above, trying to get a better shot at Noelle, and cut loose, a quartet of lasers cutting through the darkness.

The dragon was in pieces as it fell, followed by Trickster, Sundancer, and Ballistic. The latter's left arm cleanly burned off at the shoulder. Trickster switched himself out with the broken hydrant, before trying to swap out his team. Sundancer landed nearby, exchanged for a now falling trash bin. He tried to get Ballistic. He would have, had he been able to see him. I covered him once more with shadows, and watched Ballistic fall.

A barked order, audible even up here, and Sundancer lit up, a pinprick of blinding light forming in front of her. As it expanded, it burnt away the shadows as if they had never existed. The entire street was lit as if it was day, allowing the remaining Travelers to see Ballistic land on his head, with sound like a potato being smashed by a wooden mallet.

A scream of rage came from Noelle, which I ignored, diving at the remaining two Travelers. And I ran straight into a forcefield, bouncing right off. A forcefield nearly identical to the one's Quintessence made, barring a different pattern. She was dead, and why was she helping Noelle?

I got my answer as I corrected my course, from heading into a building. A Quintessence, naked, was focusing, looking straight at me. I stopped, hovering in midair, as a forcefield appeared right where I would have been. Another Quintessence, this one wearing a twisted imitation of her costume, gestured at the buildings behind Noelle. They stretched, like they were being pushed from within, and then burst. Sending everything flying. Hundreds of tons - thousands of tons- of brick, concrete and steel flew into the air, heading away from us. And plenty of people, too. They completed their short journey, landing after a hundred foot drop.

Legend managed to grab three. I couldn't reach any of them in time. The rest broke skin, bones, or bodies. Cries of pain and panic sounded up, before they were silenced by another pulling, and another row of buildings, including the debris that had landed on them, were sent flying. I stopped flying, stunned.

Hundreds of people. Dead, just like that. Trickster switched himself out with a man trying to reach his crying daughter, and I saw him glance back at me. Or possibly Sundancer, or most likely Noelle, as she scuttled forward, grabbing bodies as she passed them. I dropped a wall of shadows, this time, blocking his view of Sundancer.

He was next, but none of them were getting out of this alive. I'd make sure of that.

I dove at Sundancer, twisting to dodge any blasts of sunfire. Her power had burnt through my shadows, and could probably cook me like a kiln. But she didn't fire anything at me, only falling to her knees to dodge. I landed behind her, and nearly flipped over in my haste to grab her. My clawed hand grabbed her head, and could I squeeze her? Killing her? Feeling her life ebb?

Yes.

"Do it," she whispered, sounding empty.

I stopped, shook out of my green-tinged rage. With a voice like crashing boulders, I snapped, turning her to face me, "What?"

"We said we would stop her. And we never did. Fucking do it!" she screamed, the beginnings of tears running down her face.

I dropped her, pissed beyond any measurement. I ground out, angry that this didn't have to happen, "Then fucking live with it! It's on your head!"

I took off, air from my haste blasting her back. I twisted over in the air, looking at her as I left. She had collapsed to her knees, silently crying. I had more important things to find, and more importantly, to kill. They were at fault for every death from that monster they brought with them - that I had let out by accident - and they would pay.

In the distance, I saw a skyscraper, easily twenty stories, shift, and collapse like a cut tree. It crashed into an adjoining building, knocking off its top. A massive cloud of dust blew out, coating the buildings below me. Were they trying to kill everyone in the city?

Legend was firing near constantly, right through the dust cloud. He must have known where they were, because he didn't waver in his targeting. I flew up to his position, high above the dust, and reported, "Done. Only them."

A blast of flames briefly illuminated the dust cloud, as another cape entered the scene. Legend kept firing, and ordered, "Get down there. We have to stop them."

I didn't argue, diving straight down even before he was finished. Noelle could clone people, and they had powers. Another building was destroyed, another skyscraper, this time shooting upwards like a sprinkler, chunks of building falling around in its spray. I saw a bed with a man in it, and grabbed it as it passed right by me. He screamed, louder, volume increasing as he saw my stone face. I flitted over, dropping him on a roof, watching him softly tumble across it.

Only one out of hundreds.

I pulled back up. I couldn't see through the dust cloud. It wasn't darkness, and I didn't have a power to use for seeing through the damn coating of concrete, dust, and ash. I almost made a loop, heading back to Legend. I shouted, and at my size it was a substantial shout, "We have to get her out of the city!"

In a blur of movement, he was two feet away from me. "Go down there, and find her. I'll blast her out, and we can deal with her. No more-"

Whatever he was about to say, he was interrupted by an explosion, blowing out glass across the city. I could see tiny little shards across the entire island, from the Park to the most southeastern tip. Every moment we spent up here meant more people dying.

I stumbled on my words in my haste to get them out: "Can't hurt her - get her in the water! Slower!"

Somehow, he understood me, nodding, and I didn't wait for an answer. Every second counted now. The dust nearby had somewhat cleared, only to be replaced with the dust from whatever had blown out half the windows in New York City. Visibility was down to nothing, at ground level, but I could see the faint glimmer of a forcefield. Her clone-capes were protecting her. I passed Volcano on the way down, a brief glance at him as he shot a blast of flame at something in the dust cloud. Heavy was punching a forcefield, with hits I could feel a hundred yards away. A human-shaped flamethrower, Jerry Can, was spraying a Quint-clone down, even as he was being twisted into shapes unseen out of beginning art class. I passed them all, and more - capes and cops fighting against mutated people, mutated capes, - looking for the source of the problem.

Noelle.

She wasn't too hard to find. She had several Quintessence clones with her, and more than a dozen more that I couldn't identify surrounded Trickster. I didn't engage her, no matter how much I wanted to. I couldn't stop her.

I pulled out of my lazy dive, heading up. Legend saw me, and in less time than it took to blink, was next to me.

"Right below me," I said, grimly. It was time to end this. "I'll bring her up as far as I can."

He nodded, and added, "Thank you."

I plummeted, wings folded behind me. She wasn't moving, letting her clones doing the heavy lifting. Buildings were collapsing left and right, an indescribable cacophony. She hadn't moved. I grabbed her by the back of her neck, and pulled up. She was so much heavier than before. I tried to race up, carrying her up for Legend to shoot. But to no avail. We were rising slower than a hot-air balloon made of lead, and only Trickster's inability to see kept him from switching our positions.

I pushed harder, forcing my will on my body. It had to be faster, had to be better, had to be more. There wasn't any other option: every moment I dallied was another moment the clones had to destroy New York City.

I was faster. I pulled her up, her limbs trying to reach me. They failed.

I was better. I cleared the dust, and I could see Legend. She was done.

I was more. Whatever the hell she was, I was winning. No more deaths, save hers.

Legend saw me, and I let Noelle go. Before she had dropped a single foot, a blast of light shot her a hundred feet in the air. Another, and another, and Legend juggled her on concussive lasers, across Manhattan. Over at least a mile, he sent her flying hundreds of feet in the air, each time he stopped moving.

Over past the island I had crossed the other night, he turned to me, and said, "She's healing any damage we do to her. We need to do enough to put her down, permanently."

A nuclear weapon? A bomb? They were the only things I could think of that could completely annihilate her. Enough to burn her to ash, to stop her ridiculous regeneration. A moment later I thought of something better, in that it was actually available - an oil tanker. Long, longer than several football fields, with piping across its top, it could be nothing else. It was fleeing the harbor, trying to escape from whatever was in the city. A rational choice, but one that still gave me an option.

"Get them off the ship!" I yelled to Legend, even as I dived towards the ship. A quick succession of blasts sent Noelle even higher in the sky, before Legend sped down. He was incredibly fast. I followed, tearing off a very thick and heavy pipe that connected two of the bulges lining the ship. It would serve as a spear. Some sort of chemical sprayed out, but I ignored it, flapping my wings to bring me back up, even though I felt exhausted. But I only had to stop her, then I could rest. So close to victory.

Noelle was tumbling, trying to right herself, but unable to. I flew up, trying to get above her, before a beam blasted out of the blocky section on the back of the ship, knocking her higher again. Legend.

I flew higher, even as she bounced up and down, never letting Noelle leave my sight. When I was above her, Legend stopped firing. Smart man. I gripped the pipe like a lance, aiming at Noelle, diving. At a hundred feet from her, our speeds matched. Until Legend shot her straight up, nearly impaling her on the pole. The jagged edge, torn from the force I had ripped it off with, punched through her midriff.

She tried to grasp the pole, but didn't have enough time. Green flames licked along the pole, and I knew what I needed. I needed the flames to burn through anything, to get at the juicy center of the tanker. And shouldn't they? Shouldn't the flames that could burn flesh with unnatural ease burn metal as well? It was logical, and it felt right.

"Call me Ishmael," I snarled, plunging my impromptu spear, still with her stuck on it, into the middle tank as we reached the tanker. The metal around my impact point warped, green cracks expanding out in an ever growing circle. I shot past her, letting her take the force of the fall. Behind me, the flames stopped spreading, but glowed brighter, smoking. A circle, the size of a living room shattered, dropping a surprised Noelle into the elevated tank. She vanished, as a expanding cloud of white vapor spread out, rapidly, out and up. I had to get away, much farther away -

The world exploded.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I blinked, shaking off mental cobwebs. I was falling, head first, into the water. Which was on fire. I tried to pull out of my uncontrolled dive, but to no success. A glance at my wings showed the reason: They were ruined, great chunks of flesh missing. I needed to fix them, unless I wanted to hit the water at terminal velocity. I had half my outer pool ready. I had the power, but the question was, did I have the ability?

Yes. The feeling of bronze substituting for skin - I knew it well, from my injuries. The alien healing, flesh replaced with a material stronger than flesh. I spent the rest of my power, the bronze spider shimmering into existence above me, to fix my damaged flesh. Wings whole once more, I glided, rather than fell into the river.

I landed with a splash, fifty yards from shore. I swum, easily, even with my wings acting as an unintended anchor, and headed right for the sea wall at the tip of Manhattan.

I washed up against the wall, spitting out disgusting river water. A quick flap of my soaked wings had me on the street. I ached all over, had a variety of new injuries, and had let the entire world know that I was here. But I had destroyed something undoubtedly evil. I felt good. I had saved Daphne, and - Damn, she was still in that apartment! I had to go get -

A piercing wail broke my thoughts. I knew what it was. Everyone did. It was a warning to us all to take shelter, and for capes to assemble.

The Endbringer alarm.

CHAPTER 5: END.

A/N: A quick bit of formatting will be done, as I replace 1-4 with edited/polished versions. I'll make their interludes separate, letting you know when they've been replaced. But I'll do it with the posting of a new chapter, so there is no, 'Awww, I thought it was an update.' I hate that feeling