I patrolled with Kid Win after school had let out that Friday. Afterwards I met Emma and Madison at a nail salon. I normally got a simple clear coat finish on my nails or else a plain color, but my friends convinced me to lavish myself. What I decided on was curved lines of glitter gold and white that resembled rolling waves over a clear base. Madison had called the design 'sparkly swoopies'.

We got dinner from a Cuban food stall on the boardwalk, and Madison dared me to try ordering in Spanish. My attempt was abysmal, as my mom had never bothered to speak much Spanish at home, and the three of us shared a laugh with the Cuban man taking orders.

Then we walked around and did some people watching. It was a busy Friday night at the boardwalk. Sunset arrived and Madison's parents came to pick her up. Emma and I waved goodbye to Madison when she stuck her hand out the window of her parents' car.

Emma was tapping on her phone, "My dad texted. He's leaving the house now."

"He's just now leaving?" I complained, "We told him eight o'clock."

I planned to go home with Emma and spend the night at her place.

Emma said, "Mom and Dad both got off work early today. I think they wanted to take advantage of having the house to themselves."

"Gross."

"Gross," Emma agreed.

A fantastic boom ripped through the air close by and shook the ground below our feet. More explosions reported in the distance, somewhere farther away. The people all around the boardwalk immediately panicked, some shouting and looking around fearfully, others running.

There was billowing smoke overtop the nearest line of buildings. It looked like it originated a few streets away and was difficult to discern against the darkening sky. I grabbed Emma's hand and pulled her to the nearest set of stairs off the boardwalk pathway. We went down the stairs and stepped onto the short beach where I thought we would be safer. Other civilian's were coming off the boardwalk too, either thinking similarly or following our lead.

"What do we do, Sophia?"

Emma looked freaked out for some reason. It was like she had never witnessed a coordinated multipronged terrorist attack before. There was a reason that many of Brockton Bay's most lucrative businesses were property insurance and construction.

"We're safe for now," I told her, "Nobody is going to blow up the beach... probably."

I took out my Ward phone and held it ready. After yesterday's bullshit, I had better be getting a call. The screen lit up, and I answered the phone before the ring even had a chance to start. "Sophia here."

"Hello, Sophia." The feminine synthesized voice wasn't immediately familiar. "This is Dragon. Report to PHQ immediately. Your current location is just over one kilometer from the hardlight bridge checkpoint. You will arrive faster if you travel by foot rather than wait for transport. Please, do not dilly-dally."

I grabbed Emma and pulled her along as I started moving back toward the boardwalk steps. It took a moment to process Dragon's rapid spew of orders. Her immediate involvement implied some measure of crisis.

"Dragon, what's happening?" I asked.

"There have been simultaneous explosions in several locations around Brockton Bay. It is likely the work of the ABB and Bakuda because Lung is scheduled for transport to the Birdcage on Monday. Within the next few hours, I expect that the PRT will receive demands for Lung's release."

"This is the ABB's desperate ploy to get their leader back? They're crazy."

"I agree," Dragon said.

"Okay, well, I'm on my way."

"Dragon out." Then the call ended.

Emma was talking on her own phone. I listened to her conversation and deduced she was talking to her dad. He would be picking her up and driving back across town to get home. I didn't like the idea of leaving Emma here for any amount of time, or her traveling through Brockton Bay with the impending threat of more bombings.

I pulled her phone away from her ear, "Tell your dad to turn around and go home. I'm taking you to PHQ."

We left the south end of the boardwalk and its panicking pedestrians behind. A vehicle would have had to drive around the few city blocks between us and the bridge checkpoint. On foot, we were able cut through them on the narrow paths between the bay edge beach and the buildings. Emma kept up with me, but the fast pace I set left her wheezing.

At the checkpoint, PRT guards stepped into our path. The sergeant in the lead held out a hand and prepared to say something, but then stopped and lowered his hand when I got closer, perhaps recognizing me.

"Identification?" the guard asked and loosely held a tablet device between us.

I took a moment to settle my breath and speak clearly into the device's microphone, "Hotel-six-nine-zero-five-four."

Hotel was the standard designation for PRT parahuman personnel, H for hero. The number was my PRT ID.

"You're clear, ma'am," he said, "We have bridge transport on standby." Then he pointed at Emma, "Is she one of ours?"

"My friend," I explained, "She knows all about my job. She needs temporary asylum at headquarters. It's too dangerous for her to travel home right now."

The sergeant mulled that over then said, "You're going to have to fill out some paperwork, but it can be postponed for now given the current situation."

He turned and yelled for a 'visitor's kit' to be brought. In less than a minute, Emma was photographed, had her fingerprints taken, and then blindfolded. The blindfold was like a black heavy-duty sleep mask.

"The guest will not remove her blindfold. Only a PRT operative or Protectorate member can remove the guest's blindfold. Does the guest understand?"

"I understand," Emma was somewhat intimidated.

"She understands," I reinforced.

I took Emma by the arm and led her to an idling SUV. While she climbed in the backseat, Aegis touched down from the air carrying Missy in her civilian clothes.

Aegis set his passenger down. He and I made eye contact, and he started to give me a wave, but then thought better of it and took flight again. It would take a lot more than a day to mend our divide.

I got in the backseat with Emma. She reached out to feel me for reassurance. Missy ran around the side and got in the front.

The driver, a non-descript non-Folgers grunt in PRT fatigues, said, "We're waiting for traffic."

I looked out the window and saw Armsmaster on his motorcycle coming off the bridge. As he passed, I saw Kid Win was riding behind. We then took to the hardlight bridge.

Missy turned around in her seat and curiously appraised Emma. "Who is that?" she asked me.

"My friend. We were close by, so I'm stashing her at PHQ."

"I'm not an Easter egg," Emma complained. "Who is with us?"

"Don't ask questions like that," I told her.

"I'm Vista," Missy answered anyway.

"Oh, Vista! I love your costume. It's super cute."

Missy cringed, "Ugh, no, don't say that! I don't wanna be cute. I wanna be taken seriously."

"There's nothing wrong with fighting crime and being adorable while you do it," Emma countered.

"Please stop."

Emma and I laughed while Missy huffed and puffed.

Upon arrival, Emma was blindly escorted to someplace where she would be out of the way. I didn't actually know where we put civilian visitors during situations like this. Hopefully not a containment cell. Sorry Emma.

Missy and I hurried to our dormitory rooms to change. I noticed fewer guards present than was normal both outside and inside, and most of the staff was already gone for the evening.

Halfway into my costume, my phone rang. The name 'Armsmaster' lit up the screen. I answered it. Before I could say anything, I was preempted by Vista's voice.

"Armsmaster?" she said.

He must have dialed us both.

Armsmaster spoke, "Vista, Shadow Stalker, the two of you will remain at PHQ and stay in communication with all of our deployed teams. You will only deploy if a team makes contact with Bakuda or Oni Lee. You two are the reinforcements. Be ready to go."

"Understood. Vista out."

There was a ding that indicated Vista had dropped out of the call.

Armsmaster grumbled, "I wasn't done."

"I'm still here," I said.

"Alright. It shouldn't be an issue, but you need to be aware that Lung is in the basement."

I interrupted him, "What! He isn't at PRT lockup?"

"Lung was transferred last night because one of our Thinkers from another jurisdiction predicted an attempt would be made to break him out."

"Could the ABB attack here to free Lung?" I asked.

"No. Only a handful of guards, the PRT upper brass, and our Protectorate team know that he is at PHQ. We're currently stationing an extra task force at the PRT base to strengthen the ruse of Lung still being there."

After a pause he said, "I need to go. Contact Dragon at the VisCom if something comes up. She isn't in the city, but she's helping to coordinate our forces. Armsmaster out."

I finished suiting up and went to the fourth floor. Vista was already at the VisCom console with a headset.

The Tinker-tech Visuals and Communications console was what came to mind when I heard the term 'supercomputer'. It was what the tech-guy used in the movies to guide the super-spy on a mission.

A long curved desk with space for multiple people to assume the 'console' role simultaneously. A dozen stacked screens that could connect to security cameras, news networks, and operative helmet-cams in the field. A simple and intuitive switchboard to adjust lines of communications. A toggleable program could automatically filter the visual and audio feeds according to whatever it processed to be the most important. It could also be used to browse Facebook and Myspace. At the same time.

Several screens showed PRT operatives facing off against ABB gang members. There were firefighters responding to fiery explosions and crumbling buildings. I saw footage from Armsmaster's point of view; he was deescalating an elderly Asian man that was threatening him with a gun.

"Looks wild out there," I commented. Then to Vista, "You have this under control?"

She looked at me, "Yeah, I guess."

"I'll be right back."

I walked down the hall to a wall mounted office phone and dialed the extension for the first floor reception desk. The receptionist was gone, but maybe one of the front entrance guard staff would answer it just to shut it up. It rang all the way through and went to voicemail. I dialed again.

Someone picked up. "Hello?" came an irritated voice.

"Shadow Stalker here. Where was the civilian girl taken?"

The answer came back, "The guest is confined to a room in Med Bay. There is already a security detail in place there for our VIP."

It wasn't the most glorious visit to Protectorate Headquarters, but at least Emma would be safe and out of the way.

"Thanks," I said then returned the phone to the receiver.

The VIP mentioned by the guard was Panacea. She was still recovering from having her brains bashed in by Pest yesterday. It was tragic irony that Panacea's healing powers didn't work on herself. Normally, she would have been taken to the medical facility at the PRT base. However, she had recovered consciousness and asked to be taken to PHQ which offered slightly more privacy.

I descended to the Med Bay hall on the ground floor. The 'security detail' was just a single guard posted between two rooms. It made sense that nearly every PRT asset would be mobilized in response to the bombings and gang riot. The first clinic room was empty. I checked the other where I found Emma chatting up Panacea.

Panacea was reclining back in her hospital bed. She wore plain clothes and had her hands clasped over her stomach. Her head was bandaged. My starstruck friend had pulled an upholstered visitor's chair to the edge of the bed and was the driving force behind their conversation. Emma took notice of my entrance and looked me over, beaming like she always did whenever she saw Shadow Stalker fully outfitted.

"I personally know two superheroes now," she announced proudly.

"Bugging the patients, Em?"

"No, it's fine," Panacea spoke up, "It's really nice to talk about something other than work, which is pretty much all anyone ever wants to talk to me about."

Emma explained, "I was telling Amy about how I do some fashion modeling and then I noticed…" she stopped and directed at Panacea, "Show her, Amy."

I watched the hospitalized girl expectantly. Like she was embarrassed, she slowly held her hand out, palm down with fingers slightly splayed and loose, almost like she was showing off an engagement ring, though nothing was there.

I looked from the hand, to Panacea, to Emma, and back again. "What is it?" I asked.

"It's elegant!" Emma exclaimed. "Slim fingers, long nail beds, no excess fat. For crying out loud, just look at the proportions! She would make an amazing hand model."

I shrugged. Bashful Panacea retracted her hand and folded her arms over her chest, balling her hands and burying them.

Emma dismissed me easily, "Shadow Stalker doesn't have an eye for these things like me."

Panacea asked me, "What are the conditions like outside, Stalker?"

"Pre-planted bombs going off, crumbling structures, crazy gangbangers, don't know about the body count yet. I'm on standby here until the ABB capes make an appearance."

"I was going to discharge myself tomorrow morning, but it sounds like I'll be needed tonight."

Emma said to her, "It's very brave of you to go out during these attacks when you're still injured."

Panacea blushed, and I rolled my eyes. Was there ever so great a suck-up as Emma Barnes?

I left the two of them and paused outside the south stairwell, pondering returning to Vista at the VisCom. The detour was too tempting.

At the north end of the first floor opposite the Med Bay was a hidden elevator that only went down. It was a cargo lift, and could only be found if you knew where the holographic wall was that hid the access point. I led with my outstretched hands through the illusory barrier, resisting the urge to activate my power and probe the wall first. The crossover was sensationless.

Unlike the main PHQ elevator at the building's center and those of the PRT base, this lift was slow and noisy. It passed below the ground floor, and the view opened up to a short walkway with a big steel hatch, not unlike a bank vault door, at the end. Two guards were posted. One had jumped to attention with a containment foam sprayer in anticipation of the lift's descent. The other was at a control monitor desk watching video feeds from within the cell block.

The armed guard addressed me, "Sorry, Shadow Stalker, the cell block is off limits at this time. Orders from the top."

"Armsmaster told me that we have Lung in there. I want to check up."

The guards traded a look between each other, and the second one said, "She already knows. Let her in."

In the middle of the big metal hatch was a scanner pad. I touched my thumb to it, and it read Logged Entry - Shadow Stalker / Time - 20:25. The first guard hefted his sprayer's nozzle in his offhand and then scanned his own thumb, which granted access. The hatch split down the middle, each half retracting into the walls on either side. He escorted me inside, and the hatch automatically closed behind us.

"We had Lung under containment level four," my escort explained, "then increased it to level five when our security capacity decreased in response to the bombings. He'll have a hard time even wiggling his nose."

The succession of containment levels was tailored to the specific dangers presented by any given prisoner, each more inhumane than the previous. Level four generally translated to restricted movement or senses. Level five meant completely immobilized. Level six meant prolonged induced unconsciousness.

PHQ's cellblock was a gray hallway. Along one side were six cells. The cells were ten foot cubes and highly modular with different captivity technologies. By default, each cell had a bed and a toilet, both molded into the wall. Containment foam sprinklers were mounted on the cell ceilings and could fill the cell at the press of a button. More sprinklers were present in the hallway, in case of a critical breach.

"In addition to physical restraints, we give him a serum mixed with his water that keeps his heart rate and blood pressure from spiking. There's absolutely no way he can power up."

"And Lung drinks it?" I asked.

"He drinks it, or else he gets it intravenously and goes thirsty."

We stopped at the last cell and looked in at the block's sole prisoner. Behind thick steel bars that could retract into the floor was a thin translucent barrier similar to the hardlight bridge. Behind that barrier was Lung himself.

The restraints forced him into a permanent hunched kneel in the center of the cell. His arms were forced straight, and were ensconced from the elbow down by metal cylinders which were anchored to the floor. His neck was bound by a wide metal collar, not unlike a yoke worn by a beast of burden, which was similarly anchored in the floor. The only clothing he wore was a thin pair of gray cotton shorts. A human muzzle covered the lower half of his face, and his black hair fell forward to cover most of the top half. Whatever damage his body had previously sustained from the encounter with Pest last Sunday wasn't apparent.

He stirred after I had observed him for a moment. He tried and failed to tilt his head to better glimpse his guests. As is, he probably couldn't see above my waistline.

Lung's voice was gravelly, his words slow and threatening, "Is the little Ward here to stare at Lung? Look closely while you can."

Ah, the hero-villain back and forth banter that capes loved to indulge in. I liked it too, but I wasn't very good at it, so I seldom engaged. But this might be good practice.

"I hope the accommodations are to your satisfaction."

Lung snorted and spit in response. I wasn't sure if he just made the noise or if he had actually spit inside his muzzle and now had a loogie stuck to his face.

My tagalong guard whispered, "Armsmaster used that one last night."

Lung took his turn, "While you mock, I save my rage. My hands will break your body. My hate will boil your blood."

Holy shit, that goes hard! It gave me goosebumps.

"Look me in the eye and say that." Ha, it's insulting because he can't look up.

The guard gave me a satisfied nod.

Lung came back with, "What is the time?"

What angle is he working with 'time'?

The guard said, "You're not getting fed again until tomorrow, Lung."

"Fool! I am not hungry. Tell me what is the time."

"Why, you got a date?" I quipped.

"I will break you," Lung growled.

"You're repeating yourself." I took that to mean that I won.

"I repeat myself to give you a chance to run. I ask for the time because I think almost thirty minutes have passed after Bakuda used her bombs."

"How do you know what's happening outside?" I demanded.

Lung laughed. It was gravelly like his speech and sounded like a cough. I pulled out my phone and checked the time.

8:29

I thought to check in with Vista and then noticed my phone had no signal. I said as much to the guard at my side.

He responded, "The cellblock is completely insulated from all communication signals. The control monitor outside the hatch can hear us and broadcast audio over the speakers in here, but that's the extent of it."

At the mention of the cellblock speakers, which were hidden out of sight, they delivered a brief burst of feedback. No voice came over the speakers, and the feedback cut out as quickly as it had come.

"What was that?" I asked.

Lung answered me, "That was the sound of a man dying."

The hatch at the starting end of the cellblock hall slid opened then. Standing in the middle of the opening, holding a slender curved sword and a severed hand, was Oni Lee. Over his chest was a bandolier of M67 frag grenades and a harness slotted with knives.

Then Oni Lee was right in my face and lunging forward with his sword in a two-handed thrust. My power flared to life immediately, and I felt the thin blade dip into my chest.

For a heartbeat Oni Lee and I stared at each other. He at the wispy unfocused silhouette of my head, and I at the dark eyes behind his fanged, horned, demonic visage. Behind and back at the hatch, his clone disintegrated into ash.

"Be quick," I heard Lung growl.

My guard escort fumbled with his foam sprayer. Oni Lee jerked his sword through the side of my body and tore into the man's neck.

I pulled a tranquilizer bolt free from my belt, disengaged my power, and stabbed it into the exposed skin below the murderer's mask. His legs immediately wobbled, and I heard a heavy step behind me along with a soft whoosh of displaced air.

Anticipating what was coming I dived forward and past the crumbling clone while reactivating my power. I rose up and turned as fast as possible to reestablish the real Oni Lee within my field of view. He was recovering from his missed swing at my back. The pile of white ash that was his expired clone settled next to the convulsing prone form of the PRT guard.

The man was beyond help, his wound much too extreme. I would wait to feel bad for him later. I grasped my crossbow and fired from the safety of my intangibility. The blunt tip bolt reverted to solid along its flight path and impacted Oni Lee's shoulder. He clutched at the site of impact.

Suddenly I felt a thin object sweep horizontally through my body. The clone that I had just shot started to crumble. Another slash through my body in reverse direction, this time I saw the sword tip poking out my front.

I forced myself to remain calm and not overreact to the ineffectual attacks. It was difficult to remain still when a devil masked psycho was swinging a sword at me. I turned around to face him.

He was appraising my wispy body like he didn't know what to make of it. Apparently he never bothered to read up on the powers of the local heroes. He relaxed his sword fighting stance and reached out with a hand, running his fingertips through my torso. Innocent on his part, but from my perspective it was like he was copping a feel.

My power shut off, and I pushed his arm out of the way. In the same motion, I struck him across the jaw with my elbow, tilting it so that the hard arm bracer made the most connection. The demon mask cracked, and then the clone wearing it broke apart and scattered to dust.

I turned my power back on as soon as I was able. Not a second too soon, as I felt something swipe through my legs.

I was capable of flipping my Breaker state on and off almost as fast as I could blink. Therefore I was completely immune to Oni Lee's attacks as long as I knew they were coming and my reflexes held out. To a point, the speed and mobility of my power was proportionate to my physical conditioning. Was his the same? I had noticed that he waited a couple seconds before teleportations, at least as long as it took for his previous clone to expire. Would that delay increase as he got tired?

Time to see how well Oni Lee maintains his fitness.

The ensuing battle saw us moving throughout the cellblock hall. I would release my power just long enough to lash out at him. In turn, he would teleport to take advantage of those fleeting instants when I was vulnerable.

Oni Lee futilely tried cutting through me over and over, hoping that my shifting discipline would slip during a moment between my attacks and allow him to land a blow. I stabbed him with tranq bolts and delivered fast strikes over and over, hoping that his concentration would falter and allow me to hit the real him.

Suddenly he teleported a distance away, back in front of Lung's cell. Whether tired or just weary of our stalemate, I didn't know. I was breathing hard, but I was far from tired. Darting glances at me, he went to the simple control panel next to the cell.

I shot him with my crossbow. He teleported just a step away, shoved his wounded clone out of the way, and resumed work at the panel. He used a small knife to pry the top panel free and began pulling wires.

After three more shots and three more clones, my crossbow was empty. Reloading was too complex a manipulation to perform in shadow state. I cycled my power to see what Oni Lee would do. He instantly teleported behind my back, his shadow cast on the floor from the overhead lights gave him away. I went intangible again to survive the killing blow.

Seeing his shadow on the floor had also clued me in on something. When he teleported, his new self appeared in the same orientation and facing the same previous direction. How could I utilize that limitation?

Oni Lee returned to the cell and procured something from a pouch. I didn't know what to call it, a little green circuitry chip thing. He started connecting the panel's loose wires to it.

This wasn't working. Playing this pop in and out game was too risky. I had to reaffirm my priority: preventing Lung's breakout. Though the competitor in me snarled at the thought, fighting Oni Lee wasn't important.

I ran to the hatch door, which was still open. How had he made it stay open? Along the way I decided to distract the jailbreaker from his task by cycling my power again.

Oni Lee couldn't resist making an attempt. He teleported ahead of me and slashed ineffectually. I let the swing pass through me unfazed and continued out of the cellblock. I stepped over the severed hand on the floor, and then over the dead monitor guard and up to the cellblock monitor controls.

Oni Lee came through the hatch after me, apparently curious as to why I left. The nosy bitch watched me from a dozen feet away. He held his sword in the ready position for a strike, ready to instantly teleport close if I dropped my power.

Fat chance of that happening. All I had to do was press a button to drown everything down here in containment foam. Easily doable from my Breaker state. Now where the fuck was that button? There should have been a series of switches, one for each cell and another for the entire cellblock. All I recognized were dials and slides for adjusting various cell parameters like temperature.

I heard a metallic click that made me wince. I already knew what it was. It sounded just like it did in the movies. I looked over at Oni Lee as he let a frag grenade roll out of his palm and thud onto the floor… and over his shoulder on the opposite wall I saw the fucking containment foam sprinkler switches.

A second passed and his body collapsed in ash. Another second passed and I realized that I should run. The fragmentation of the explosive wasn't a worry. The concussive force was. The general rule was that my Breaker state is highly vulnerable to moving energy, not just electric current. And energy is something that explosions have a lot of.

I dashed the short distance to the lift platform. It wasn't a contained elevator, so I dropped my power for just as long as it took to coil my leg muscles and jump. My power's reactivation propelled me up the shaft, and I barely grasped the edge of the floor above and hauled myself up. The grenade detonated some fifteen feet below, the sound amplified in the enclosed building.

I looked down the shaft and saw Oni Lee looking up at me. Then he was next to me and dropping another grenade at my feet. I fled with plenty of time to escape the detonation, rounded a corner and made it to the empty lobby. I looked back and Oni Lee was already turning around the corner. Presumably emboldened by my strong reaction to the grenades, he pursued me, intent on removing me as a distraction.

He appeared in front of me and pulled another pin. I started to run, but this time he followed closely with the live grenade. I let myself be tangible to gain quick momentum and leapt, then shifted again. I sailed over some lobby furniture and hunkered down. The explosion shattered glass somewhere, and I felt the floor shake. Two booted feet materialized in front of me, and I looked up at my pursuer, who already had another frag primed and ready.

His supply of grenades was unlimited, I just now noticed. He had started with five grenades on his bandolier and he still had five now. When he teleported, his new self had those same five. But then his leftover copy would deploy one its own grenades in its final seconds of life. And thus Oni Lee always kept his original supply.

What do I do? Where do I go? Med Bay was in the south side of the building. Emma was hopefully hunkered down and hiding over there. I couldn't lead Oni Lee in that direction.

I ran for the north stairwell, repeated my escape maneuver, and glanced over my shoulder at the suicide clone. What I saw scared me. The grenade had been thrown and was currently arcing towards me.

The force of the explosion rippled through me, bludgeoning every molecule at once. My power shut itself off in response to the trauma, and I collapsed on the first few stairs.

I ached all over, but it couldn't have been that bad if I was still alive enough to feel it.

I grunted and tried to focus through the pounding at my temples, grasping for my power. It ignited with no time to spare. A blade poked through my back and dinged off the stair step underneath me.

I pulled myself up and lurched up the stairs to the half landing, turned and climbed the rest of the flight to the second floor. No clone popped into existence to drop another explosive.

Oni Lee leisurely walked up the stairs while rolling a grenade between his hands. Classic cocky villain closing in for the kill. He must have taken my harassment personally.

Another successfully placed frag like the last would end me. Something had to give. It would have to be me.

I let my power shut off, and I held to my midsection like I was injured. I stumbled backwards away from Oni Lee. That I was actually in pain made the act all the more believable. Backstep, backstep, whimper like a wounded animal, backstep.

Oni Lee studied my pathetic retreat, content to merely play with the ball of death in his hands.

C'mon, put it away. I know you wanna cut me.

He clipped the grenade back on his chest and drew his sword from its sheath. He tended to teleport behind me that it was predictable. And if he did, the forced positioning of his power meant that he would have to turn a one-eighty to hit me.

It was too risky to wait until I heard the whoosh of air announcing his teleport, so I had to predict that he was teleporting… he slowly brought the sword over his head with two hands for a powerful twelve-to-six cleave… now!

I spun around on my heel and saw Oni Lee doing the same just outside my reach, his sword held high for the overhead strike. I stepped into his space with my hands reaching up. He tried to bring the sword down, but I caught his wrists early in the motion and brought the toe of my boot up between his legs. I heard his sharp intake of breath, and the sword fell from his hands and clattered on the floor. I kicked again and jabbed a finger through his mask's left eye. Something squished under my finger behind the mask, my kick connected, and Oni Lee exploded in a puff of white ash that coated me from head to toe.

Some of the ash got behind my mask and blinded me. I frantically lifted my mask and wiped at my eyes. My opponent was gone. Movement coming down the stairs from the third floor caught my attention. It was a helmeted PRT soldier with his pistol drawn.

"Watch out, Oni Lee is here!" I called out to him. It hurt to yell.

"I know," he called back.

Oni Lee could have gone in any direction under the cover of his clone's ash cloud.

"Where's Vista?" I asked the soldier, "Did you see her upstairs?"

"She's fine."

The door to the PHQ workout room stood open. Had it been open before? There was a deafening crack, and something hit me in the back. I whipped around, intending to tell the soldier to find cover, that we were being shot at.

The smoking barrel of his pistol was pointed at me. He fired again, but I had already dipped out of his line of sight and into the unlit workout room.

I saw a shining blur in the dark. Then I felt an impact. It was like getting punched in the chest, and then I was on the floor without any recollection of falling down. From the edge of my vision where I lay on my back, a pile of ash collapsed next to me. I stared straight ahead until my eyes could faintly make out the grainy texture of the ceiling tiles.

What is happening?

My body was open. I felt the cool air of the interior office touching me. The coolness was stark against my warm insides. First I tried moving my right hand, my dominant hand, but that caused the parted flesh to rub against itself. The bizarre sensation made me gasp and shudder. Then I tried with the other hand. It slowly crossed over my chest, and I gingerly explored the wound there with my fingers. Wet, warm, and sticky, though it caused no great discomfort when I probed the inside. Oni Lee's blade had entered at my collarbone, ripped down through my right breast and into my stomach, and exited at my hip.

The wetness was spreading over my body, the blood overflowing.

9-1-1. I have to call an ambulance.

My left hand went to my pants pocket where my phone would be. But I wasn't wearing pants. I was in my costume. For a moment I groped around my utility belt and pouches while I considered where my phone might be. At some point I found it, my Ward phone. Now I just had to remember the passcode to get past the lock screen. I strongly felt that the passcode was my address number in reverse. I felt less strongly that my street address was 4791 Carrie… Street? Or was it Lane? It didn't matter. What was 4791 in reverse?

I tapped and swiped at the smartphone screen one-handed to little effect. The numbers just didn't make sense. My breathing was slow and calm. Shouldn't I be freaking out? I felt alright though. Maybe a little sleepy. I closed my eyes.