Max sat with his team in the Renegades database room, poring over papers and computer screens full of information. Information that was all completely useless, given that Philip Batcher, a.k.a. Blowtorch, seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth for the two and a half years between his departure from the Renegades and his re-appearance as Flamethrower.
"Are we sure all of his known relatives have been contacted?" Sampson asked, placing a manila folder in the "already examined" pile.
"He doesn't have any," Rayena said with a sigh. "Mother and father—deceased before he became a Renegade. Siblings—none. Paternal grandmother—died a year ago, cause of death unknown. Maternal aunt—died eight months ago, cause of death unknown."
"That's suspicious," Deric commented. "Do they suspect foul play?"
"For the grandma and the aunt? I'd be surprised if Flamethrower didn't do it," said Rayena. "Of course, that still doesn't help us figure out where he might be staying."
"He could be staying anywhere," Sampson lamented. "It's a big city."
Max envisioned his glass model of the city, numerous buildings spread out across the metropolis, countless places for Flamethrower to hide. In his mind, tiny Flamethrower faces began appearing in every window of every building, leering down at the pedestrians below.
Wait a minute…
"Flamethrower can't be staying anywhere," Max said slowly. "Because he's recognizable now. And everyone's looking for him." He pictured his map of the city again, his mind lighting up all of the old, abandoned buildings he liked to explore. Those were the kinds of places Flamethrower might inhabit. Places that blended in, overlooked by over ninety-nine percent of the city.
"Pull up a map of the city," he instructed Deric, who was sitting at a computer. Deric complied, and soon all four of them were crowded around the screen, the three older teammates watching as Max zoomed in and out, digitally circling all the buildings he knew to be abandoned. "These are our targets," he told his team. "Places that are the most likely for Flamethrower to be staying. And I think we can eliminate these three—" with a few clicks of the mouse, the digital lines drawn around a trio of buildings disappeared "—because they're too close to populated areas. Flamethrower wouldn't want to risk being recognized as he's just going about his daily business."
"Hmm," mused Deric. "I see what you're getting at. That still leaves a lot of places he could be, though."
"Not exactly," said Max, still navigating around the digital map, removing the circles around certain buildings. "This one's too close to the harbor. There's definitely a huge chance of being spotted there, with how many people are going in and out of there each day. This one has windows on every side. Way too likely that someone could peek in and see him. And this one's right next to one of the places he attacked. He would've known that it would be covered in the investigation."
"Oh!" said Rayena. "See this one here, down on Morrow Street? Flashpoint's team did a raid there just a couple of nights ago. If Flamethrower was ever staying there, I don't think he'll be back anytime soon."
One by one, Max and his teammates analyzed each circled building, discussing why it would or wouldn't be a likely place for Flamethrower to be hiding. Soon there were only four buildings left as possibilities.
"It doesn't necessarily mean he's in one of these places," Rayena said practically. "There could be one we overlooked, or that we don't know about, or he even could be in one of the ones we discarded."
"But statistically speaking, it's more likely that he's in one of these," said Deric. "It at least seems like somewhat of a lead."
Sampson was bouncing on the balls of his feet. "It's a lead! Which one are we going to investigate first?"
Max looked up in time to see Rayena and Deric exchanging glances. "We… should probably inform the Council about this lead, and see who they want to send where," Rayena admitted, though she didn't seem too excited about the idea.
"All the field units are already busy," Max pointed out, his heart starting to pump faster at the idea of actually getting to go out and do something. "They can't afford to take powerful teams off of their assigned patrols. This is just a small lead that could end up being nothing—I say we go, check these places out, and if it turns out we actually find something, that's when we can inform the Council."
Rayena and Deric looked doubtful, but behind their concern, he could see his own desire to do something mirrored in their eyes. Sampson was beaming. "I like the Bandit's thinking!" he said. "Let's go out and save the day!"
Max mentally mapped out their course, then led his team out of Renegade headquarters and toward the first of their stops, the old leasing office off of Crestwood Avenue. Crestwood Condominiums had been one of the city's most family-friendly neighborhoods back before the Age of Anarchy, but the gang fights that had ensued during Ace's reign of terror had reduced most of the living quarters to rubble. The leasing office, a squat, nondescript brick building, still stood, its humble size and worn exterior making it easy to overlook.
Deric walked up to the door and paused, his head tilted as if listening for something. "I don't feel any minds in there," he told the rest of the crew. "I think it's safe to enter."
Max stepped up and tried the door handle. It was locked. Suspicious? He thought. Or just expected, considering it's been nearly fifteen years since anyone's used this place?
"There's a cracked window over here," Rayena called from the side of the building. "I think I can—got it." There was a sound of glass shattering, no doubt indicating that Rayena had just sent a powerful gust of wind at the window she'd been referring to.
Max groaned. "How many times do I have to tell you to leave things the way we found them? This is an investigation!"
"It got the job done," Rayena pointed out. "Bandit, come over here so we can hoist you up through the window. Then you can unlock the door and let the rest of us in."
Max reluctantly walked over to join her, even as he began to feel more and more certain that this wasn't Flamethrower's place. Flamethrower liked power and grandiose gestures. Would he really be living in an abandoned leasing office that had once serviced condominiums for average families?
His teammates boosted him up, and he grasped the doorframe with his hands, careful not to grab any parts with jagged glass. Before crawling all the way in, he swept the room with his eyes. A reception desk with a broken computer and a pile of leasing agreements. A 5-gallon tank sporting what looked like algae-infested water. An old welcome mat that looked like it was practically deteriorating.
"Flamethrower doesn't live here," he decided. "This place hasn't been touched in years. Let's try the next one."
"Are you sure?" asked Sampson even as he helped Max ease down to the ground. "We might want to take a closer look."
"I'm sure," Max said confidently. "Next up, the Barlow building."
The Barlow building was a ten-story edifice on the edge of town, about a mile's walk from Crestwood Condominiums. Max wasn't entirely sure what it had been used for before the Age of Anarchy, but it stood abandoned now, dwarfed by the larger buildings on either side. It was another blink-and-you-might-miss-it kind of place, which was what made it such a perfect potential lair for Flamethrower.
As with the leasing office, Deric stepped up to the door first, listening. His forehead creased in a frown and he tiptoed back to the rest of the group. "I think there are people in the basement," he whispered. "I'm not quite sure how many. But we'll need to be careful."
Max felt his insides twist. Had his hunch been right? Was Flamethrower actually in one of the buildings he'd suspected?
"Should we call the Council now?" asked Sampson.
Max shook his head, pushing aside his worries. "Just because someone's in here doesn't mean it's Flamethrower. It's probably just someone who doesn't have anywhere else to live. Or someone like me, who enjoys exploring abandoned buildings. Let's go in quietly and see if we can hear anything, and then we can leave once we know it's not him."
The door was locked here too, but this time the team waited patiently while Sampson used one of the Renegades' special lock-picking devices, designed a few years ago by R&D. When the door opened, Deric led the way—his mind-control abilities would probably gain them the most time if they did happen to run into Flamethrower.
Rayena walked behind him, and Max behind her, with Sampson bringing up the rear. It was only once they'd made it halfway across the lobby that Max began to wonder how good of an idea this was after all. What if Flamethrower actually is in here? Then I've led my teammates straight into his domain like prey following an angler fish's light. And nobody knows where we are.
He lifted his wrist, about to whisper a message to Adrian on his communication band, when a familiar shrill laugh sounded from the direction of the stairwell, sending a chill through his veins. He and his teammates stared at each other, openmouthed. Frostbite, Sampson mouthed.
Max nodded, his mouth dry. Frostbite might not be who they were looking for, but he was convinced she was a villain all the same. She'd tried to kill him back when he was ten years old—okay, maybe the initial stabbing had been an accident, but once she realized it was him she'd hit instead of Nightmare, she'd still done absolutely nothing to help him. Then she'd framed Nightmare for the stabbing so she could avoid getting in trouble.
Frostbite was dangerous, but not as dangerous as Flamethrower. Max and his teammates were equipped with several weapons, and their communication bands could call in reinforcements with a single tap. This was enough to make Max feel comfortable edging ever so slowly closer to the open stairwell.
His teammates followed, and they crept together toward the stairs until they could make out Frostbite's words. "—going to double-cross them as soon as they have it. That's always been the plan—let them do all the hard stuff with finding it and unburying it or whatever, and then I'll go in and take it from them as soon as we have proof it still works. Which I'm sure it does, because if it didn't, why would the Renegades go through all that trouble to hide it so well?"
Max exchanged another glance with his teammates. Unburying it? Proof it still works? Hide it so well? He couldn't be sure, but it sounded like they were talking about Ace Anarchy's helmet, which the Renegades had hidden away in the catacombs beneath the old cathedral after the Second Battle for Gatlon.
"And you know for sure that this is what they're planning?"
Max sucked in a breath. This voice was Flamethrower's, no doubt about it.
"Yes. It's completely obvious. They think they're so secretive about it, but I'm no idiot. And they're not idiots either. They know they'd stand no chance of maintaining control over the city with their inconsequential powers. They need something more, and that 'something more' could only be the helmet."
"Which is going to end up in your hands."
"Yes." Frostbite's voice carried a dangerous current that Max was somehow able to pick up on even from such a distance. "And don't you be getting any ideas. I told you, you'll have free reign over everything once I'm in control. I don't care what you do to the city or anyone in it, just let me dispose of the Council and take my seat as the new leader of Gatlon City, and we won't have any problems."
Max turned wide eyes to his teammates, all of whom were wearing equally stunned expressions. Frostbite planned to find and use Ace Anarchy's helmet? She planned to take control and dispose of the Council? She was working with Flamethrower?
"And the other gang you're working with has no idea that these are your plans?" Flamethrower asked. "Including the leader who neglected to show up to this little pow-wow?"
Max could almost hear Frostbite's derisive snort. "No. Well, they might suspect it, but even if they do, they stand no chance against us. The leader is essentially a child. I'm honestly not even surprised she didn't show up today. She's going to get cold feet at the last moment, and that's when I'll kill her too and be done with it. I just hope she manages to find the helmet first."
Deric was fiddling with his communication band. Much later than he should have, Max remembered that the bands were now equipped with an audio recording feature that had pretty good range. Cursing himself for not thinking of it sooner, he bent over his band and whispered, "Start audio recording."
The band beeped loudly, flashing a message: NOT ENOUGH STORAGE SPACE. Max swore under his breath, then froze when he heard Flamethrower ask, "What was that sound?"
"Do you think someone's upstairs?" Frostbite asked.
Rayena tapped him on the shoulder, but Max was already scrambling to his feet, he and all his teammates with the same idea in mind: Run!