Chloe could see that Alena was nearing her limits, shoulders sagging, movements progressively more labored. But she wouldn't stop. Not yet. They'd attended to the four most critically wounded around the room before moving on to help three more with less serious injuries. They worked fast, averaging under a minute with each patient. Kid was a trooper.

"More ambulances will be here soon." Chloe said. "It's okay if you need to stop or rest." She knew it was technically true. They'd get here eventually. Demand was high across the city. Drunken idiots, mostly. She'd been tracking three coming toward them from different directions, running lights and sirens, along with half a dozen police cruisers. The closest was still half a mile away. But the streets were slow tonight, and the strip closure effectively cut the city in half. She continued to manipulate traffic lights to clear the roads for them as best she could.

"I'll be okay. Let's see if we can help one or two more?"

Tracey was next on her list. John had already stopped her bleeding and left a serviceable battlefield dress, but there were still fragments buried inside. She was on her back on an overstuffed modern leather sofa near the entrance, leg elevated by multiple cushions, waiting for EMS. John had carried her over, only reluctantly leaving her to help Tyrell secure the unconscious attackers and their weapons.

Chloe sat on the edge of the cushion next to Tracey, held her hand while Alena removed the necktie and undershirt covering her wound. Tracey looked to Chloe with a searching mixture of pain, fear and confusion. Confusion seemed to be winning. She had questions.

"You're gonna be okay. I promise. But this will definitely feel a little weird." As Chloe turned her attention to the wound, Tracey grabbed her arm with her free hand.

Rapid-fire, she asked, "Is everyone okay? What happened? Who were those people? What…was that light? What did you do up there? Why is there a child looking at my leg? Why are you all acting normal? Like this is all normal!? This isn't… I mean, what…"

Chloe answered her in an intentionally slow, calming voice, "What you're feeling is normal for what you've been through, Tracey. But the danger is over now. You're okay. I promise, everything is gonna be fine. Some of the guests were hurt, but they'll all be okay too. There's nothing more to worry about. You weren't the target, but you did catch a stray bullet in your leg. We don't know who they are yet, or what they wanted, but they've all been caught, and more ambulances and police are on their way here. Under control. We'll have time later for a catch-up, but there are others who need our help once we've finished with you, so I can't stay long." She ignored the other questions for now. They'd have to figure out how best to approach all of that with her, assuming Max let this timeline continue at all.

Chloe looked to the wound. Drone overhead shared data from a quick penetrating scan. Chloe saw what was going on inside through an augmented-reality style overlay of her normal vision. She had the raw data too, but for her purposes this rough visual would work fine. The bullet had entered, fragmented into three pieces. Two curved, missed bone and went clean through together. The third was lodged sideways between her tibia and fibula, partially embedded in each bone. Chloe turned back, squeezed Tracey's hand. "Like I said, this will feel a little weird." As she spoke, the fragment broke free of the bones, rotated, slid out the way it went in.

Tracey winced, squeezed Chloe's hand. Blood flowed freely again.

Once the metal was clear, Alena physically closed the wound, helped Tracey's body heal the damage. She signaled Chloe, who gave Tracey's hand a final squeeze before they moved on to the next victim. The bruising had cleared. No visible signs of scarring remained. Just shades of dried blood on pale skin.

The thunder of fireworks started up across the city. Midnight.

Max came at them different than she might have otherwise. They brought guns to a party and hurt a lot of people. But the note… There would be more going on than was immediately obvious. And they'd stopped shooting earlier, when Alena made herself a target. So…definitely attempted-murderous assholes, but…maybe not complete monsters. Some part of them was still human anyway. I can work with that.

They were on the floor against the left wall in the atrium, hands zip-tied behind them. Hoodies and plate carriers stripped away. Two were regaining consciousness, the third was still out.

Max leaned down. "Hey. Wakey." She gave the one in the middle a quick smack on the cheek with her hand. Didn't time shift, so there wasn't any real force behind the hit. Enough to startle him. Not that they could have hurt her, but they'd all taken shots at Chloe - and a part of her still wanted to send him backward through the wall for trying.

He shook his head a little, eyes focused on the man to his left. Then Max. He tried to move. As the world came back to him, he seemed to realize where he was, bound like this. His eyes darted in a panic. Saw the room beyond, people injured. Sirens getting closer. Tried to wriggle. Finally stopped. Dropped his head, let out a breath.

The man to his right started rocking forward then back. Said quietly, rapidly, "fuck. fuck. fuck…"

Max stood, crossed her arms. "How'd you think this was gonna go?"

They sat in silence. The third man, on the right, was waking up.

Chloe interrupted with an update for John over the shared link. John - Trace is back to her dainty-doily self. But ah…heads-up, dude. I could almost see an actual physical question mark over her head when we bounced…

Thanks Chloe. John shrugged at Max, uncertain. They'd talk after.

Max turned her attention back to the third man, nearly awake. "What about you? Sharing?"

"Oh…fuck. What…how long? What time…?"

"Just after midnight. Been out for a few minutes."

The one in the middle elbowed him. He elbowed back. "What? Fuck dude - we're out. Might still be time…"

Max made an educated guess. "You're not very nice people. But…this…wasn't your idea, was it?"

The third man spoke, "Where are the cops? Fuck, man. They have my wife…my daughter…they said…"

Max glanced at Sophie. She nodded once. He was telling the truth. They're in trouble too… Just pawns. Targets. Shooty targets. But still…

"What's your name?"

The man in the middle elbowed him again, threatened, "Say one more fuckin' word man. If my sister dies cause of your fuckin' snitch-ass mouth…"

"Fuck you 'Turo. I was outta this shit for a year, man. Look around - look at us. They're dead anyhow."

Max saw the familiar pattern. The 'or else' behind the scenes. She knew Sophie already had the details from their minds. Who. How. And Chloe probably traced movements back far enough to see what happened for herself. Maybe even followed forward to see where they were being held… If not, she would soon.

Max had what she needed. Could have walked away from them right then. Left them like this. Helpless, afraid, worried. Not knowing. Serve them right…

But it pained her to admit that she'd been right where they'd come from. More than a few times. Weighing the value of a loved one's life against the lives of others. Compelled by nature, or assholes with leverage, to contemplate the horrific. To have to make a choice. It was all fucked up. Didn't give them a pass, but she wasn't entirely unsympathetic.

And…maybe Sophie was partially right. She thought of Kate. And Alena. This was a different timeline. Maybe it wasn't enough to just 'do'; not this far back anyway. Maybe they needed to make more of an effort to connect with people too. To try to take away fear, whenever they could, and maybe leave a little hope instead. Even if it seemed like some people didn't deserve it. Maybe especially because they didn't seem to deserve it…

"You guys know you fucked up tonight. You'll do time…and I think you're probably okay with that part. But I just want you to know - I understand why. And despite all of this, I promise - we'll find them."

"The fuck is this 'we' shit, bitch?" middle-man scoffed, angry. "Like some rich piece-a-ass in a blue dress is gonna fuckin' do somethin'? Th'fuck?"

"Hi there… 'Turo, is it? You said her first name when you came in. But, I have to ask. Did you know who she was when you tried to kill her? No? You…still don't know who we are, do you?"

The man to his right quietly repeated again… 'fuck. fuck. fuck…"

"Had other things on my mind." 'Turo looked away.

"Well, that promise? It has weight. I know you couldn't have known this, but…if you'd come to us before, we would have helped you… You should let others know at least. For future ref. It doesn't need to end like this for anyone else."

The third man - on the left - said, "They only showed us her face. Name. Where and when. That was it. Then they'd let 'em go. But now, I don't… Can someone really? Find them? Please? I know this is so fucked up. Asking like this, after… But look, they're here…on my arm. See? All I have. …my angels…and…"

"…nothing else matters. I know. I do understand." Max turned so he could see the ink on her upper right arm. Three blue butterflies. "I have one of those too. My angel. You met her. Her name…it's Chloe. Price. I'm Max Caulfield."

'Turo and the man on the left lifted their heads, stared up at her. It was like something clicked, pushed them halfway to deer-in-headlights. They clearly knew those names. Somehow managed to look sick and a little relieved at the same time.

The one on the right had a different reaction. Stopped his litany of 'fuck' when he caught the tattoo. Heard her name. He was still rocking forward and back. "Shouldn't even fucking be here, man. I fucking knew I knew you. Saw you. before. I fucking knew I knew you…"

He looked up at Max with clear eyes. "I was there, man. Two years ago. Mom wanted me to drive my nana around. Car died. I was fucking there. Same blue. Saw you. Eye of the motherfucking storm. Shit makes sense now. It all fuckin' makes sense now. It was really you. All those stories. Videos. Fuckin' web shit. It's all true, ain't it? All you? It's always been you. Man, I fuckin' left the life. Same day. After seein' that shit? Out in the real world? Shouldn't be here. Just… my dad… assholes took my fuckin' dad. I was fuckin' straight, man. Two fuckin' years. They took his goddamn finger. I couldn't… I just… He's…my dad, you know? What am I s'posed to do?"

His voice broke, got quiet as he stopped rocking. Held her eyes, searching. "I know I fucked up. I didn't want any of this… None of us did. Don't care what happens to me now, but…I'm begging you, man. please…I'm here, askin' for your help. …find him? …for my mom if nothing else?"

"You have my word."

They finally understood. All of it.

Max asked, "Ready?"

Police officers had finally arrived at the gallery few minutes before, along with EMS. They were busy treating the dozen or so minor injuries Chloe and Alena hadn't gotten to. Cops were amazed there were so few people hurt, given the amount of blood and number of shell casings on the ground. All three of the shooters were under arrest. They'd chosen to pull the triggers. They were on their own with law enforcement - regardless of their motivations. Consequences weren't any different just because the choice was a fucked up no-win.

Tracey was busy fielding questions without answers from guests and police when Max vanished.

She folded herself and the team directly to the 24th floor ops center, A-wing. Said, "What do we know?" They landed in a planning room in the back, near the central core of the building. The open ops floor outside was massive, taking up an entire level from the core to the outer edge of the wing. One of twenty such centers in the main structure now, distributed among the other floors and wings.

The planning room in each could be closed off for focus. Or the walls rolled, opened up to integrate with the entire floor as needed. It was closed for the moment. Twenty by thirty feet as currently configured, mostly white, giving them four walls to play with. One solid, two frosted glass, and the last was made of light fabric panels, with wall-screens behind. They could draw, project, pin, anything they needed. The modular conference table in the middle doubled as shared workspace, converted to a mix of standing desks, touchscreen surfaces, light-boxes, whatever they needed. Tables, chairs and sofas ringed the room. Everything was moveable, reconfigurable with minimal effort.

Remixable spaces, surfaces, tech, adapting to whatever was required in the moment.

When they arrived, the planning room was lights-out, quiet, but Chloe brought it to life with a thought. Like a mad conductor, she splashed streams, photos, videos, maps, satellite feeds, social graphs, scrolling information across all four walls. Everything she'd had running here and in her head. Then she projected holos of the city, structural enlargements of the target buildings, traffic flows, and drone positions and more above the conference table…

Just like old times. Max thought to herself. Just with less 'cork board and push pins' and more 'floaty glow in the dark stuff'.

Sophie pointed as she spoke. "OK. The men pulling strings took four hostages to make this happen tonight. Marietta, twenty-eight, and her six-year-old daughter Nessa. Pictured there. Wife and daughter of David, one of the men arrested. Blanca, seventeen, and sister of your pal 'Turo. And Antonio, forty-eight. Father of Tomas. All were taken off the street two days ago. From what I could see in memories of the video calls used to motivate each of our shooters to action, the hostage family members weren't treated gently. At all. So it's probably only a matter of time this morning. When you find them, you should expect that they're experiencing the after-effects of physical and psychological trauma. Be mindful with them."

Chloe leaned over the back of a chair on her arms, added, "Everyone's been distracted by New Year's celebration stuff, but the live stream of the attack has started to go viral across services in the awake parts of the world. Nearly all of the chatter is shaping into a story of a little girl who stared down terrorists and stopped a midnight massacre. Doesn't matter that it's not exactly right. That's what's out there. They're already calling her 'tank-girl', cause of tank-guy, I guess. But that means the asshats know this is a fail. They took the hostages from four different locations, ended up at three. Here, here, and here. Brought the mother and daughter together yesterday. I've sent details to your phones. Satellites, here, show warm bodies, still moving. We should expect resistance."

"So the clock is ticking…" added John, not really a question. He leaned back against a wall. "The question of 'why' is something we still have to figure out. Why hostages and amateur shooters? Why not hired guns for this?"

Tyrell picked up the thread, "…and why there? Why tonight? Why target Chloe? Why bother with any of this at all? They know it wouldn't work."

"We got a note earlier." said Chloe.

"That would have been good to know before the shooting started?" John said.

Max answered. "Not really. All it said was 'Don't hurt them. They're in trouble too'. No further content or context. We figured something might happen, but we didn't know what or when, and didn't want to tip off anyone future-scanning. It's why I asked you not to fire back at them, though."

"Okay, but some future version of you still knew Tracey had been shot?"

"Maybe. Might not have gone exactly the same in the prior timeline. This time, we were delayed a few minutes by the note itself. That put our departure off by those minutes at least, changed our timing on the way over, early green becomes a red, now it's two or three minutes more… Waiting for the valet… We're in totally different place and time from then forward. Six or seven minutes off. Crowds are displaced, who we talk to inside changes - everything shifts from one tiny ripple. Sleeping and waking up to an alarm can smooth out or reset minor interference each day, but everything til then is almost always gonna be slightly different. You know how this works."

"Okay, yeah. Sorry Max. I…you see where my mind is still…"

Chloe said, "Don't sweat it, Michaels. We're all human."

He looked at her. Blinked.

"We're all mostly human."

Raised an eyebrow.

"Most of us are mostly human. Whatever. Fuck off, John. You know what I mean..."

He grinned. Joined them around the table. "Okay - so we still don't know who, or why. What the hell were they trying to accomplish?"

"Test or a probe maybe? Or maybe the party wasn't the point. Why split up the hostages, for example? Maybe it's all about the rescues." Tyrell answered.

"Huh. So maybe they assumed we'd kill the targets, but still work digital forensics backward? Come back to their leverage just the same…" John scanned the walls, building schematics, info on their mobiles. "We have three sites to hit on opposite ends of the city. Warehouse, house-house, and a penthouse. And we're pretty much it right now, given the short window of time. LVPD is tied up with peak amateur night, and we're running a skeleton staff…"

Chloe shrugged. "So… a trap."

"Traps." corrected Max, cheerfully, sitting on the arm of a sofa.

Chloe shook her head. "It's cute that they try, I guess. But gah. So much stupid… Like, oooh. You sprung a trap. Ohh noooo." She did a variation of scary jazz-hands in the air.

A few laughs around the room.

"No - look, I'm serious. They're like…They're like these dudes out on the ocean in a small boat, right? Being all sneaky and shit, just going fishing for some bass in the dark or whatever, when something pulls on the line. They go to reel it in, all excited like uncoordinated fucking puppies, only to find that the tug they thought was a tasty fish was actually the first pull into the gravity well of a collapsing neutron star… And they're always surprised, like it's the first time. 'Fuck. That's not a little fish. It's a goddamn fucking superstar we can't escape. Now what?' Next day, some other village idiots find their empty boat, row out to sea again, looking for fish… Starts all over. Dumbasses. All of them… It's like they don't have internal email or text or anything… Nobody saying 'maybe don't fuck with the cosmic space goddess and her army of awesome, overly attractive friends'. I don't know. Am I wrong? Am I the asshole here?" Looking around…

A few more laughs.

"I really don't want to underestimate them, but…" Max shrugged.

"I'm tellin' ya. Dumbasses."

"Yeah… At some point, they're gonna run out of village idiots, though. Should watch out for that."

"Not today. Five bucks."

"Not gonna take that bet." Max shook her head.

"Fine. Whatevs. Um. We should prolly get a move on anyway. How do you wanna go in, Maximus? Ninjas, or god-mode?"

"Personally? I was thinking of just walking into the trap and setting it off. I mean… I am me and stuff." Max stood up, shrugged.

"God-mode then. No. Good plan. I'm in. Spaghettification of idiots - never gets unfun…"

Max, trying to hold back a laugh, "I'll take the warehouse. Marietta and Nessa. Chloe and her minions can take the house-house for Antonio, and you two see who else is here, maybe initiate a recall if you can, then hit the penthouse for Blanca?"

Chloe added "Sophie's on comms from here. I'll monitor and route maps, scans, and send anything useful in real time, direct it to you guys through the link or to mobiles, whichever's more relevant. And run drone recon or other interference as needed, but if I get distracted cleaning out the house-house, you all might have to wing it for a bit."

John asked, "Okay, just so we're all clear? This is one giant wing-it, right? We're splitting up and going separate ways, have no plans, no real intel, no backup, walking into at least one, possibly three known traps, outnumbered and with hostage's lives at stake?"

"Uh. Correct."

"Prettymuch, yup."

"Okay then. Just…wanted to make sure we're all on the same page."

"Cool. Usual rules of engagement? Priorities?" asked Tyrell.

Max said, "Yes to the first, and I think the number one priority is to locate and extract the hostages safely. Secondary would be picking up any bad-guy intel lying around. Henchmen, toys, data - anything we can grab. They've been quiet, and we've honestly hit a bit of a wall on the 'them' front in the past few months. This could be a super-useful opportunity for us, but not at the expense of innocent lives."

Chloe, in a deep voice, "I don't believe in coincidence. When I see three objectives, three captains…"

Max reached, almost falling over, put her hand over Chloe's mouth with a laugh. "No. Bad Chloe!"

"Mmphh!" She wiggled out. "Come on, Max! This may be the one time I legit get to do the 'Providence' speech…"

Max shook her head, rolled her eyes, looked to John and Tyrell, "You guys good?"

"We're good." confirmed John, chuckling.

Tyrell, "Was kinda hoping to hear that speech though… You know, for morale purposes?"

"Oh my god, you guys are killing me. Have at it… Imma go." Max laughed, shared a hand-slap fist-bump with Chloe, waved at the rest, blew Chloe a kiss, then vanished.

"Catch ya in the link, Supermax." Chloe called out to empty air.

"Hey Chloe. Yeah, we haven't left the link… I'm…I'm still here. In your head..."

"So…I'm technically not wrong then."

Max stepped off the curb at the edge of a large, nondescript industrial area on the southwest side of town. The air was cold. Lights casting everything in sodium-yellow. The fireworks in the distance had mostly stopped. It was quarter after midnight.

Happy 2016, random warehouse area.

She crossed the empty street. Froofy blue cocktail dress. White high-top sneakers.

John and Tyrell did a quick scan of the ops roster as they geared up, asked one of the on-duty coordinators to trigger a call-down, headed toward the roof. Maybe they'd get some backup out of it. They found one standby helicopter pilot asleep in temporary quarters on the 30th. Woke him on the way.

The penthouse in question was one of three at the top of the Palms Place, off the strip. Fifty floors up. With the traffic, it would be easier to fly over and drop down. They'd keep the pilot on station in the area, but would probably need to figure another way out. Or down.

They were up in the air in five.

Chloe took the elevator all the way down to their basement sub level garage. She changed out of the neoprene dress and into a t-shirt and leathers from her go-bag on the descent. Nice to be out of that wetsuit…who thought that was a good material for a formal dress? The Aventador was still with the gallery valet, so she scanned the other vehicles. Needed to get to Henderson. Cross town and cross traffic. Something smaller. Narrow. Fast.

Other side. Corner. Orange. Black. Her modified KTM 1290R. Bell Race Star helmet. Black racing boots.

Perfect.

Max walked along the perimeter of a large steel warehouse. Her shoes scuffed against the old pebbly asphalt, making slide-crunch echoes with every other step. Door should be up ahead. Shit. If this is even the right building?

John's voice in her head, …Chloe, you should have seen their faces when Max told those guys who you really were. It was like they'd just seen a ghost.

Fuck man. Goats are terrifying. It's those fucking eyes.

Chloe chimed in. Ghost, not goats, Ty. LOL. Wait. We're in a telepathic link. How are you misunderstanding him?

John, were you *thinking* about a goat at all maybe? Max asked. Not to make it weird or anything…

Uh. Maybe? There was a video of baby goats standing on other animals that went around a few weeks ago…

It can work like that in here sometimes. Usually your words move directly to others. But sometimes, more abstract thoughts interfere. Other people don't always have the same mental constructs past the words themselves, so wires can sometimes cross.

See Chloe? Wasn't me. Thanks Sophie.

You're very welcome, Tyrell.

Hey, Chlo, am I at the right building?

Hang on… Lemmie look. Nope. Next block over.

Shit. That's like a quarter of a mile. These blocks are super huge.

Chloe launched out of the underground exit ramp, catching a little air over the sidewalk before hitting the street.

Womp womp. Least you're wearing comfy shoes, Max.

True. But it's super fucking cold. I should seriously go back and change real quick.

Chloe shook her helmet. OMG, you're such a wimp.

Hey! Be nice. I'm in a cute dress. And it's literally like thirty degrees out here or something.

Dude, you know you can just speed up time in the air around you, right? A fast atom is a warm atom? :) Just do it as a thin gradient instead of a hard edge so you still get some air flow. You and the world at 1x, but a few-inch-thick blanket of air right at your skin running at like 1.3x or 1.4x maybe? Just walk the differential up until you're toasty? Should totally work. Thank me later.

After a pause, Holy shit, Chloe. Look at you. All smart and junk. It's like summer! Yay! Now I can be warm *and* cute!

Just the way I like you, Max…

Awww.

Focus - you two can flirt later.

Grouch. Not our fault your girlfriend is probably super-pissed at you.

Um... actually Chlo, it kind of is...

Whatever. Just be glad you're not up here with us, Max. Winter prop wash is a whole new level of wind chill.

Pass. You guys almost there?

Minute or two. We had to circle the long way around McCarran.

Still waiting on that speech from Chloe though.

Max conceded, We should totally do a Matrix Trilogy movie night, you guys.

Or karaoke night might be fun? suggested Sophie.

Why…haven't we all done this yet? Max wondered out loud, but not out loud.

Well, if we're doing karaoke, I call Hector as first pick on my team.

I'm not sure it works that way, Chlo. Karaoke isn't like dodgeball.

It could be…

I'm in too. Assuming I can navigate my way through this new Tracey situation.

Sorry, John. Kind of inevitable that she'd stumble across something weird eventually. How serious are things with her? I mean really?

Pretty serious. It's only been six months, but…it's all been great til tonight.

Sophie? Chloe? Any reason you can see why we shouldn't bring her in?

Nothing from me. Nothing in her thoughts or predilections indicates she'd be a security threat. She's sincere in her affections for John. She has the right mix of temperament and flexibility to roll with things without breaking. Her ties are clear, nothing hidden. No agendas, no compromises, compulsions or character issues.

Yeah, pretty much the same from me on the digital side, with one caution, Max. She's not an obvious threat, but her family's social, financial, school and business networks have a few mystery people lurking. One or two removed. Records, but not much in the way of information, communications, any of that sorta shit. From them or about them. It's possible they're old people with old wealth who are technophobes and value their privacy, maybe. Or something else. Just something to monitor. She doesn't have direct contact, but her family does, and they have a deep psychological influence over her. At least from what I can see in the comm trails.

Your call, John. But giving her the real tour of our daily life might realign things between you two… And give some context for tonight.

Thanks guys. I know the gaps have been bugging her a little. This would help us on a couple of levels beyond the obvious, I think. Hang on. We're about to drop.

Chloe split lanes through traffic at eighty.

You can't think at us and fall down a rope at the same time? What the hell dude? Fuckin' uni-taskers anyway… Your rooftop looks clear. I'm showing one guy on the next floor down, center, watching TV, and our target one level below that, southwest corner. On a bed, maybe? Second person in a chair. Guard, I guess. Below looks empty for at least two floors.

Thanks Chloe.

No prob. Music was thumping in her head as she cut between lanes. "Baby's got an atom bomb… Motherfuckin' atom bomb… 22 megaton…"

Hey Chlo - I can hear some music bleeding over. What are you listening to?

Oh, sorry - I'll turn it down. I kinda copied the DJ's playlist from the 90's rave room before we bailed. Pretty sure you were like a year old when this song came out. Bass is pretty sick though.

She accelerated through the red light, shooting the gap between two crossing cars at just over a hundred miles an hour. Inches to spare.

Hey - what about you, Sophie? Anyone new in your life?

No.

Oh. Well. Okay then. Uh.

John updated. We're on the roof. Heading down.

Max accidentally sent everyone a mental picture of a frog with a cute snail for a hat. Oops. Sorry - dunno where that came from. Hey, guys? I just realized something. I haven't actually done anything tonight. Like, at all. I mean, other than AirMax us from the gallery to home base. This is all you guys tonight… You're awesome. Just sayin'. #TeamYouGuys! :D

Chloe narrowly missed the mirror of a parked truck as she passed a car on the right. Don't forget Alena, dude. Can we hire her, by the way? She's really got her shit together. You should have seen her after you wandered off to talk with the douchenozzle triplets. She was drained, exhausted, but kept right on going. She's a fucking boss. After she brought her dad back, she saved another three who were right on the edge. Fixed a handful more, including The Princess herself… XD

Alena has a great sadness inside of her. Her mother died in a car accident months before her talent manifested. Only last year. She carries a very strong sort of 'what if' with her every day as a result. Even at such a young age, she's pushed it outward - it drives her to help others. Partly to escape her own undeserved sense of guilt. But mostly to heal away the 'what ifs' before they can infect other people who love the ones she helps directly. It's how she keeps them under control for herself.

Damn. That's fuckin' hardcore. It's just her and her dad?

Yes. Her mother was a precog. But they moved here for her. To take advantage of the offer of protection you both made to talents. It was their hope that she could just be a normal little girl for a while longer. Sadly, the crash happened. They were all in the car.

Oh man… I had no idea, Sophie. Chlo, sorry - just thought of this - in the video from upstairs, is she just a shape, or can she be identified?

Clear as fuckin' day, Max. Her and the shooters. Tracy and I were in a white flare in the video - barrier brightness oversaturated the camera sensor, so you can't make us out at all. But the camera dude got them really clearly. I made sure no one recorded any of her super-healing-time, but shit's still gonna change for her once they figure out who she is. Far as anyone knows, she's a normal little girl who just did an extraordinary thing. Which is completely fucking true.

Chloe is right. Her talent wasn't stopping bullets. She ran out anyway. I saw it in her mind before she did. It was partly to protect her dad. But partly to protect Chloe too. She was terrified. Hoped it would work, but didn't know for sure. That hope was enough. This is what I was talking about earlier. You inspired her courage. She knows you protect other people like her. So she tried to protect you when she thought you needed it. It was this simple for her. And this kind of love, it ripples. And now others will see her courage. And they'll feel something for seeing it. Maybe be inspired themselves at some point. More ripples. Who knows where they'll go next?

That's why you stopped me. From freezing all of it. You knew this would happen?

She wasn't sure they'd stop shooting. I was. I wouldn't have stopped you otherwise.

Right filter. Chlo - if it's just the two of them now - what's their financial situation? Are they okay?

Chloe did a quick scan of bank statements, tax records, deposits, debt, bills, as street lights raced behind her. They get by, but they're coasting to break-even every month. Rent a small two-bedroom apartment, payments on a four-year-old car, in good shape. Her mother was the one with the steady job. Looks like they took a hit when she passed. He does photos at weddings and events after hours. Part time driver as his main gig most days. Sitter would eat what he makes moonlighting, so he probably brings Alena with him to most jobs. What are you thinking, Max?

I'm thinking she needs to see more of her dad. And for that, he needs a better job. Less worry. Something that pays at least 4x what he makes now in his best month. Steady pay, safe work, regular-people hours so they can spend more time together. It's already hard enough growing up with a missing parent. To struggle, on top of everything else… They're done with that as of right now.

Max… Chloe knew where this was coming from…

And it's work, not charity, so, pride intact? Sophie asked.

Something like that.

I'll make a note then. See what I can find that might suit him.

Max finally arrived at the right address. Massive roll-up warehouse doors on the front, street side. Standard door to the right of that.

Tyrell broke his mental silence. We just tranq'd and tagged the TV watching dude. Heading downstairs.

Max continued her thought. Thanks Sophie. Run background, ping his brain, see what he's good at, trained at, what he likes. Find something that will challenge him too. And something that would allow him to bring Alena to work for fun sometimes if he wanted? We owe her after tonight. And I'd like her to see that there are a lot of options open to her. Using her talent or her brain. Whatever she wants.

Max tried the door. Steel. Locked. She shifted her frame of reference relative to the world, gave the deadbolt a tap, and the knob a quick push. Metal sheared, deformed as the locking mechanisms flew inward. She normalized. Pulled the remainder of the door open and walked in.

She reconnected to Sophie. Her steps crunched underfoot. Guys, I'm in. This is super weird. The whole place feels frozen inside. Like icicles and foggy breath frozen…

Is it a refrigerated warehouse maybe? asked Chloe.

Maybe? How would I tell.

Is it cold?

Yes, smartass. :P

Okay - just asking. Jeeze. Um. City planning docs have that as a cold storage capable warehouse - you should see insulation and ducting and shit. Most of the real cooling should be embedded in the floor. Rated down to 35 degrees. Huh. Cold storage, but not frozen. Yeah, you shouldn't be seeing anything icy in there Max. If anything, it should be warmer inside than the outside air right now.

K. Definitely ice-cube town. Space is empty otherwise I think. Hang on.

I'm not showing anything weird on thermal from outside, but that might be the insulation… I do show two heat blooms toward the back. High up? And you in your 90-degree air blanket, obvs.

Max could see dimly to the back, but searched around the inside of the front door for a light switch. Found it, flipped it on. Hanging fluorescent lights came to life at the ceiling in a series of metallic clicks and snaps. A low hum, some flickering.

Yeah - super frozen. Empty. A few steel support pillars. There's a trailer sized room near the roof in back at the top of some stairs. Looks like it might be an office or something. Fits your scan. Probably where they are. Heading back and up.

John gave another update. We're downstairs at the far end of the penthouse now. Heading to the front corner bedroom.

Max got halfway across the warehouse floor when she felt something weird. A little dizzy. Heavy.

Hey - Chloe - you seeing anything? Feels like molasses in here.

Nope. No changes. What's the weird?

Max felt something. Not static exactly. But…something. Energetic.

She was having trouble lifting her feet.

Staying upright.

Balance felt off.

Guys?

She tripped, fell forward, sprawling onto the icy floor. Skinned her hands and knees against the roughness. The sensation of humming increased. Rose in pitch. She felt planted. Pinned. Like she was being sucked down. Hard.

Shit! Tyrell's inner voice. Company. Dozen or so. Up from below, behind us. We're still moving ahead to Blanca.

Max couldn't move. She was cold again. Tired. Flat on the floor. Felt like she weighed ten tons.

She was finding it progressively more difficult to breathe.

Chloe could see that John and Tyrell had new friends.

Thermals showed the floors below them were clear, but others visibly ran up the stairs from somewhere. Time to play backup, minions…

She remotely drove four of the hummingbird drones through the glass wall at one end of the penthouse, shattering it behind half a dozen men. She slammed three into the closest baddies, releasing voltage. They went down. More drones were on the way. One remained inside, flew downstairs. Heavy insulation against the glass windows. Enough to mask them. Dozen total, but could be more in the building. Don't have good eyes, my dudes. Sorry…

Thanks Chloe. Three down… We've got Blanca - and the kid's father is here too - Antonio. Abused, but alive. Surveillance might have missed the move…

Crap. So the house-house is probably a bust. Chloe took a left at the next intersection, accelerated through the apex of the turn, bike leaning hard, left knee barely above the street surface. Breaking off. I'm coming to you guys then…

Coming out of the turn, she caught the cell signal a fraction of a second too late.

The roadway exploded up into her from below.

The blast and debris threw her and the bike up, as her momentum carried her forward at nearly seventy miles an hour. Chloe shoved off. The bike caught, pinwheeled, plowed end over end into a row of cars, embedding into the back of an SUV with a crunch. Chloe sailed over the cars, hit the sidewalk in a fast roll, tumbling, sliding, bounced off the brick wall of a storefront too fast before coming to rest face down near a city tree.

John saw the three men go down, sounds of snapping electricity a welcome counterpoint to the gunfire from their side. He and Tyrell had each taken a few shots, but shook it off. Advanced full-body kinetic armor, courtesy of MCCP. One of Chloe's designs.

They closed the bedroom door, barricaded it with a huge maple armoire. Would buy them twenty seconds, maybe.

They'd planned for one rescue. Had two. Found themselves trapped in a corner room, fifty floors up…

Sophie could feel that Max was in pain when Chloe disconnected from the link. She reached out to reconnect, but couldn't find her

Everyone - I just lost Chloe.

Guys? Max?

Max was stuck. Ice melting under the downward pressure and heat of her face.

She couldn't move at all.

Losing breath.

Sophie said something, about Chloe she thought, but she wasn't sure what it meant.

Air units kicked to life with an angry metallic screech above. Blowers pushed super-cooled air around her. Fog fell heavy, pulled inward by the same force that held her. Vision distorted. Eyes changing shape under the downward pressure.

Her skin, tissue, felt like it was being sucked to the ground, flattened outward.

Cold.

Heavy.

MAX! Sophie.

She was having trouble forming thoughts. The hum. The buzzing.

She became aware of others all around her. Men.

Some maybe in suits, others in silver cold-gear.

Her senses were chaos.

Voices barely understood…

"We've got her.'

"We are go…"

Electricity.

Like tasers.

But higher. More.

Distractions. Like wasps.

Sticks spewing fog.

They pressed into her from a distance as she pressed ever down. Inward.

Ice melted away below. New ice formed above her.

Exposed skin was freezing against the floor.

Not concrete. Smoother. Clear.

Polycarbonate?

Something slid by below that. Massive.

She felt down into the space below the floor. Her senses misdirected. Some force. Some influence. Twisted ninety degrees in four dimensions. Only four.

But she saw the outlines.

The giant rotating disk under the warehouse.

Below that, cylinders. Symmetry. Coils. Going deep. Ten floors down? More?

Outlines of rings, energies, deep in the earth, stretching miles away, outward in at least six loops.

Like petals on a flower, with her at the center.

Fed, controlled from independent buildings… Far.

Surfacing at the crossover point where she lay. Dumping. Focusing. Energies building. Resonating.

Forces. More than one. Mimicking gravity?

Or catalyzing? Stepping from one to the next in multiple-stages?

She was distantly aware of the pain in her hips, ankles.

Pressure on her head.

Neck.

Vague.

Crushing.

Ringing. Past the electricity. Past the cold.

Some vast machine below.

Skin was tight above her now, as cold poured over.

Something amorphous.

Something liquid.

Nitrogen?

They weren't trying to kill her.

No perma-death rewind triggers ahead…

This wasn't that kind of trap.

This was a prison.

A holding tank.

A pin-board.

And an amplifier.

She was stuck on the target plate of some sort of focused gravity generator.

Electricity. Molecular magnetism. Denting space. Immense power…

The accelerating rings pumped in more energy. More matter.

She was a target. Above a well. Absorbing.

Bending with space.

Reflector on the ceiling above.

Like a mirror for invisible waves, pushing back.

She could sense the flows now.

Now that she knew what she was looking for.

Geometries compressing from all directions… Force increasing.

They meant to lock her here.

Hold her.

Alive.

Frozen.

Stored.

Archived.

As permanently as they could.

She'd seen enough.

The scope of their effort.

Understood the shape of what they intended now.

How much had this cost them to plan? Build? Hidden like this? Later.

It told her more than they intended.

What they thought they knew about her.

It was a good try. Clever.

More imagination than she expected from them.

She felt the horrible beauty of the machine.

Not hard to replicate its effects, now that they'd shown her how. Later.

She closed her eyes.

Inescapable gravity. Density. Curvature.

In your universe…

Not mine.