Work Book 2

Christmas Day was... surprisingly uneventful. The PRT was using its manpower to try and track down the gang leadership, while we were on standby. While it would be nice to get them all in a clean sweep, it wasn't practical to get all the mooks. The priority was on the leadership, which in this case meant the metas. Or parahumans, for the local parlance. I keep forgetting that. We needed information, and interrogations took time.

I was missing my ability to manifest a Lasso of Truth at this point. In combat it was nice, but for getting information? It was stupidly invaluable and I had no idea how to make my Exobyte-given copy to work. I just had to use more conventional methods.

Actually... that gave me an idea.

----------

"I'm not sure how examining their cell phones would help matters." Armsmaster spoke. He didn't even look up as he was busy shuffling components around the room. He'd been assigned a workshop, but he hadn't had the chance to even get more than the basics down, from the look of it. "We're currently requesting the phone records from the providers. That'll tell us who they called, how long, which is useful information. But the phones themselves? They're logged in evidence. Nothing unusual about them."

I frowned. "People tend to be dumb, they carry lots of info on their phones. Text messages, map information. If even one of them kept their GPS on, we could see where they've been."

He stopped, taking a look at me. "We can get some information from the cell towers, but text messaging?"

A sinking feeling grew. "Do you have a cell phone?"

He took a moment, turned and opened a drawer. When he held it out to me, I could see the source of his confusion. It was a cell phone. It flipped open, made calls and... that's it. It wasn't a smartphone. It didn't have any of the features I was used to. It couldn't even take a picture! Forget getting the internet or text logs. This thing probably couldn't even play Snake.

I should have realized this. I hadn't bothered getting a cell phone of my own because of my habit of destroying whatever I carried. But technology in 1999, even with the advent of reverse-engineered Tinker work, just wouldn't be able to keep up with things twenty years in the future. Especially with Wayne Enterprises and LuthorCorp pushing to new heights constantly.

"Well there goes that idea." I muttered.

Armsmaster put his phone back in the drawer. "Guessing phones are more advanced in your world?"

"Just a bit." I nodded. "Without those capabilities, a phone isn't much here, I'm guessing." I glanced to the computer sitting in the corner, the old... brand new boxy monitor sitting on the desk next to it. "The average cell phone back home probably has about a thousand times the processing ability than that computer there."

He glanced over at it, then back to me, sounding dubious. "That's top of the line for personal computers. It cost three thousand dollars. I wanted it for reports, design work, printing blueprints, testing software. A handheld phone can do more than that?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Much more. Phones can do an absolutely stupid number of things back home. You can keep an entire library of literature on your phone, connect to the internet, play music, games, a thousand more things besides... Why?"

He sighed, his hands twitching. "Just your description of such technology has my attention. The parts, the processors. It would simplify a lot of projects."

I winced. "Sorry." I could recognize a bit of his twitching. Ginger did the same kind of thing when she was eager to upgrade her armor. Or start turning her salvaged wreck from the latest junkyard into a Batcycle. She had fifteen of the things, eventually.

I wonder how well she'd get along with Armsmaster. They'd probably start inventing and/or violating various new and exciting laws of physics within a week.

Yes I know I violate physics myself, shaddup brain.

Armsmaster spoke, his voice thoughtful. "Even without that technology, it's not a bad idea. Cell towers log where and when calls are made. Brockton's Protectorate hasn't had a bust this large in a long time. While only six members had cell phones, we can figure out where they were when they made calls. If we can get enough information, we might be able to track down their base of operations. Or at least important targets. It's not likely to get the villains themselves, but with their rank and file cut out from under them, they'd have a much harder time doing much damage."

I nodded slowly. "They'd have to send out the villains to do anything big, and with me here as a point, that's dangerous for them."

He frowned a little. "Point?"

I sighed with a wince. "Bit of slang back home. I'm usually the first one in to a fight, since I can take the punishment and dish it out. Teams were usually assigned in groups of four with complimenting abilities. Spearpoint, fire support, disabler, and medic. Mind you everyone could do some damage, but that's how it tended to go. It let us tend to hit above our weight class, because the heaviest hitters, like Superman, weren't always available for whatever crisis was going on. Or we'd back him up during some of them."

Armsmaster nodded, a slight smile on his lips. "Efficient. The Protectorate tries to build the same kind of synergy where it can. Things don't always work out, however. A team may look excellent on paper but not perform as expected."

"Speaking from experience?"

He was silent for a moment, his lip twitching like he wanted to frown, scowl or snarl and wasn't sure what to settle on.

I winced. "Sorry. Sensitive topic? I won't pry."

Armsmaster nodded at that. "I appreciate that."

I let out a breath, brought up my hands and pointed out to the hall. "Well, I'm going to go and be somewhere else that isn't entirely awkward. Let me know if you need to get something heavy moved in."

He smiled at that. "I'll keep that in mind."

----------

Despite the tenuous position of law enforcement here, Brockton Bay was quite different from Gotham.

Well, in terms of layout and architecture, anyway. I only saw one building that had gargoyles on it. It was, of course, a church. Out of sheer habit I circled it a couple of times looking for Batman. Alas, he was not brooding away beside one of the gargoyles.

Though considering Batman, I wouldn't see him even if I did have access to x-ray vision.

"See something interesting?" Miss Milita's voice came over my earpiece.

"Nothing relevant." I floated back down next to her, before I shut off the mic. She was currently sitting astride her own motorcycle in a McDonald's parking lot, having taken a moment to stretch and rest.

"Christmas is usually quiet." She nodded, her smile hidden by her bandana. "Even in the middle of this whole gang war thing. I don't doubt they'll try something tomorrow, but-"

I held up a hand. "Don't say it. Don't jinx it. Just enjoy the moment, and try not to tempt fate, because Murphy will take it as a challenge and throw a meteor at the city or something."

"Speaking from experience?" Miss Militia sounded amused.

I chuckled. "Actually yes. Not very fun, handling that kind of thing. It's hard to coordinate up there. Not enough air to talk. Or no air period."

She nodded at that. "Understandable." She slipped her helmet back on, then sat astride on her motorcycle.

I turned my comm back on and flew up above her. As she went roaring down the road, I followed up above, keeping up easily.

To help pass the time, I spoke. "So why do you use a motorcycle? Or Challenger, for that matter. Armsmaster was pretty good on one, too."

"Standard Protectorate training. If a power can't be leveraged for movement, or if that power would be destructive, a bike is usually a good workaround. It's fairly efficient, can get around quickly, and can fit through narrow areas. Getting through alleys, on the sidewalk in a pinch. Though I'm not as nuts as Challenger."

I chuckled. "Yeah, the way she drives made me nervous, and I'd win against anything that I plowed into. At least around here."

Miss Militia laughed over the line. "Probably. Bit of an issue against high-end Brutes. What's the toughest thing you've fought?"

I winced at the reminder. "Doomsday. Part of the briefing package I made up. Supremely tough, strong enough to break mountains. Only reason my team had a chance was because he was weakened. He's... really not an easy one to take on."

"Sounds like a bit of a nightmare."

"A definite one. Doomsday running around at full strength is an Endbringer-level emergency." A bit of movement caught the corner of my eye. "Hang on a moment." Back in Metropolis, I'd gotten used to looking out for trouble. With the Brainiac invasion, there was always something going on. Brockton was quiet by comparison, even in the midst of this gang war. There was just fewer resources to deal with it. It honed my powers of observation somewhat.

"Situation report?" Miss Milita's voice was all business now.

My breath caught. "Possible jumper on the office building on the right. I'm heading up." It looked like a blond young man, his face thin and reedy. He was standing on top of a 30 story building, wearing a blue winter jacket. He was looking down at the road, every muscle trembling, shuffling closer and closer to the edge of the ledge.

I flew up next to him, keeping my movements slow. "Hey there."

He let out a yelp and turned, his eyes widening as he saw me. He then let out a scream, his eyes filling with sheer panic, his arms wheeling about as he tried to regain his balance. I flew forward, gently gripping his shoulder and keeping him from tumbling over the side of the building.

Gently I set him back down on the rooftop, making sure he was at least three feet away from the edge. "Easy. I'm Sunstorm, with the Protectorate."

He swallowed hard, looking at me with fear, though it was slowly fading. "Su... Sunstorm? R-right. Heard about you, but the whole..." He mimed horns coming out of his forehead. "That threw me off. W-why did you stop me?"

"Because I've been where you are." I smiled as gently as I could. "A hero helped me then, and so I'm paying it forward. Do you want to talk about it?"

His lip quivered. "You wouldn't understand."

"I might, I might not. What's your name?"

He clenched and unclenched his fists, looking toward the edge of the roof. "Trevor. Trevor Martin. Are you going to kill me?" He almost sounded hopeful.

Miss Militia's voice echoed in my ear. "I'm going to run the name. Keep talking, Sunstorm."

I shook my head with a gentle smile. "I don't want to hurt you. That includes killing. My name's Tracy. Do you mind if we sit down?" I gestured to the ground. It was cold, and there was a fair bit of snow piling up, but it would make it easier to talk with him. Also make it less likely for him to think about dashing past me and jumping. While I could probably catch him before he hit the ground, he might get injured in the attempt to grab him.

He looked hesitant. Looking between me and the ledge, clearly considering his options.

I shrugged and took a seat, draping my wings around my shoulders. "Well, I'm going to get comfortable. Hope you don't mind."

He licked his lips. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

I smiled gently. "I don't see any reason to be mean. How old are you?"

He hesitated, before he spoke in a soft, trembling voice. "I'm seventeen."

I nodded, keeping my tone calm and gentle. "Still have your whole life in front of you. Whatever the problem is, there are options. Even if they're not easy to see."

He opened and closed his mouth a few times. Finally he just burst into tears. "I don't... I don't know what to do! I'm just.."

Miss Milita's voice echoed in my ear. "Possible hit. Trevor Martin is registered as the son of Alex Martin and Patricia Martin, the latter deceased. Living at 3141 Park Drive. Their house burned down this morning. Alex is currently missing, but they're still digging through the structure. If he was inside..."

Burned down? Why wasn't I told of it? I'm uniquely qualified to handle that kind of thing. I took a moment to shake myself. "Trevor, I'm not going to tell you everything is going to be okay. I can tell you that it's never as bad as it seems. Things can only get better if you give them a chance to be."

He abruptly stopped crying, and his eyes narrowed in sudden hate. "My parents are dead! They're fucking dead! And I'm here because I..." A sudden shudder ran through him, and he collapsed to the concrete. "It was supposed to be a good day, Christmas Day. I was helping put everything together for the day, spend it with my aunt. But... dad went into my room, 'help me pack' I bet. He must have found my magazines, because the next thing I know he's screaming and beating me with a bat. I'm here because I'm a fucking weakling... he was saying I was a worthless faggot! Then he picked up an oil lamp and..."

"Then everything was on fire." I said softly.

His lip trembled as he looked at me.

I held out my hand, forming a small flame in it, no larger than the flame of a candle. "I'm sort of familiar with fire, Trevor. Did you get powers?" I was told of the Point Zeros, or Trigger Events. Not much about them, but that was when people got powers in the local parlance. It was rather common for powers to be gained in dangerous or traumatic ways back home, too. Mine wasn't exactly fun, either. This was something I needed to catch up on, and rather quickly.

Trevor's gaze went down to my hand, then he nodded. He grabbed my hand, and suddenly he was on fire himself, his body fully sheathed in flame. Despite the crackling flames, however, I could hear his sobs.

I couldn't help but think it was a really good thing I was immune to fire. This poor kid needed a hug. It was also a good thing I was wearing armor, because I didn't want to have to head back to HQ in the buff again.

I shuffled forward and carefully hugged him, draping my wings around his back. That seemed to open the floodgates, and he bawled.

Within the PRT building, I gently closed the door to the guest room. Normally they were used for visiting personnel, VIPs, and on occasion, capes with nowhere else to go. Trevor certainly qualified.

He'd eventually managed to cry himself out. Kid might be seventeen, but everybody has a breaking point. Guess he hit his. Sometimes I forget how fragile people can be. Physically and emotionally.

I made my way to the cafeteria, where Miss Militia was currently drinking a large cup of coffee, pulling down and replacing her bandana each time. She gave me a nod as I entered, the two of us feeling a bit out of place with the PRT troopers eating their lunch. The HQ felt a bit more open, but then again, it was for the Protectorate and staff, rather than unpowered PRT members.

Casting my eyes around the room, at the un-helmeted troopers eating and drinking, sharing stories, I noticed something I'd also noticed with Trevor. Something I'd been subconsciously noticing, but only now coming up into the conscious.

A trooper in the back with thin cheeks and scars, his face looking like it had been torn open and surgery done to reconstruct it. A blonde beside him, laughing at something he said, but she looked... strangely plain. Not out of shape, not terrible, but like her cheeks never filled out properly. Another trooper at the back, his dark skin showing plainly why he'd signed up in this town, but he too was plain. Unremarkable.

Even the capes I'd seen unmasked. They weren't muscled or as shapely the way supers usually were back home. Challenger was attractive enough, and so was Miss Militia and Velocity. But they didn't have the same effortless kind of attractiveness. Those who were in shape showed signs of stress in getting there. There was either hardness or softness, not the best of both that was common back home.

Great, now this was going to bug me even as I tried to put my mind back on track.

I picked up a tray from the cafeteria. Looked like a beef sandwich, some chicken soup. Nothing spectacular, but I knew how draining rough emotions could be.

As I strode from the canteen, Miss Militia fell in beside me. "You handled that well."

I looked down at the tray, then up to her. "Getting lunch?"

She chuckled, shaking her head. "Handling a Trigger, or at least the aftermath of one. Being on site for his Point Zero would have likely been less pleasant."

I sighed, nodding. "Probably. Like I said, I've been where he is. Though actually something about it bugs me."

"How so?" She lifted an eyebrow, sounding curious.

"I don't know exactly, and it bothers me!" I huffed, then took a moment to stabilize the tray in my hands. "I wasn't having the best day when I got my powers, but it isn't that bad for most back home. Hell, the Flash got struck by a bolt of lightning and the next thing everyone knows there's a guy too fast to see rounding up supervillians. Meanwhile this kid nearly gets burned alive by his father!"

"We don't tend to talk about it." Miss Militia spoke quietly.

I looked at her in askance.

She shook her head. "The... moment never comes gently. Don't ask. Don't pry. If someone wants to talk to you about it, they will. Have you had a chance to read Doctor Manton's book?"

"I've heard of him mentioned before, but no." Always more to do. Even if I could move like the Flash himself, there'd be too much to handle.

Miss Militia nodded slowly. "There's a public version, and an in-house version. I suggest you read a copy. You can probably get a file of it printed off."

Right. I had no personal computer. They were around, but not as much of a necessity in 1999. Governments were slow to adapt in some ways, and this was no exception. It'd only become standard when there was enough of a push for it. I'd have to get one at some point. Forget about having a computer capable of streaming movies or playing high-resolution graphics.

No LexFlix around here. Probably for the best, though.

"Just be gentle." Miss Militia said, her voice soft. "There's time to catch up on things later."

I nodded, sucked in a breath, and entered the guest room.

Trevor was lying on his side, facing away from the door. He was covered in a thick blue blanket, but I could see the tension in his shoulders.

I carefully set the tray down on a small table and pulled up a chair. "Hey. I thought you might be hungry?"

He slowly turned over and looked at me. Then at the tray on the table. He got up and, with all the enthusiasm of a man going to his execution, went to the table and started slowly eating.

That does it. This kid was thin, in an unhealthy way. Like he just caught maybe every third meal. What kind of... No. I'm not going to speculate or ask. Otherwise I'd be tempted to try and take a trip to Tartarus and stuff the shade of Alex Martin somewhere a lot more uncomfortable. Maybe up Kronos' asshole.

I let him eat. After only taking about half the sandwich, and only a little of the soup, he pushed the tray away. His voice quivered. "What happens now?"

I smiled gently, keeping my voice soft. "You don't have to make any immediate decisions. Right now you're a minor, but also a parahuman. You mentioned an aunt. Would you feel safe living with her?"

He immediately started shaking his head. "N-no. Not after... especially not if she finds out I'm.."

Gay? Parahuman? Either way, it didn't matter. I nodded, because either answer meant the same outcome. "The PRT is going to need to investigate. It's standard. If things go as they should, you can look at joining the Wards program. It would come with a guardian for a while, at least until you turn eighteen. You could also get legally emancipated, while part of the program. If you choose not to sign up, they'll probably put you on a registration list as an independent. That would mean you'd have to stay with someone. That might take some time if you're not safe with immediate family."

It felt a little odd being on the other side of this conversation, having been on the opposite such a short time ago. Then again, I was already an adult, and in better shape than Trevor was right now.

Trevor sucked in deep breaths, clenching his hand. There was the sound of tortured metal, then he blinked and unfolded his fingers. The soup spoon was utterly mangled.

He winced. "Sorry."

I chuckled. "It's all right. I'm sure they've got more spoons."

Trevor was silent for a moment, then he spoke, his voice quivering. "Wh-what about my dad? He's... he's dead because of me. Aren't they going to..?"

I shook my head. "People have the right to defend themselves, Trevor. There's also some leeway given when it comes to things like what you went through. They're going to look into things, try and figure out what happened, but if you've been telling us the truth then you've got nothing to be worried about. Or ashamed of."

"Doesn't help how I feel." He said leadenly.

I gave him as warm a smile as I could. "We can't always help how we feel. We can control how we react to those feelings. I'm not going to say it'll be easy. I'm just asking you to try and give it a chance. If you don't want to be a hero, that's fine too. You've got a life, Trevor. It's a precious gift."

He just sat there for a moment. Finally, he spoke. "I need to think."

I nodded. "Take your time. We'll be sending some people around. I think Nighthawk will be showing you the ropes tomorrow. He's a Ward, so he's closer to your age."

A faint, weak smile was on Trevor's lips. "Figures all I have to do to have the chance at making friends is..."

Slowly, gently, I got out of my chair, went to him, and gave him a hug.

Tears were in his eyes, but he didn't burst into sobs.

----------

As the sun was setting on Christmas Day, I was back at my desk at HQ. I was reading through a printout of Doctor Manton's book, Parahumans and Powers, updated last two years ago.

This wasn't a book I could finish in one sitting. It did have a lot of useful information, especially since this was the version given to Protectorate members. Apparently the public one was sanitized. I discovered why when I reached chapter two, on Point Zeros. Trigger Events.

It was both interesting and batshit insane. It broke everything I knew about metahuman theory back home, and it also neatly explained something I hadn't really noticed until a light shone on it.

While it was common for the big names back home to have multiple villains, there were often a lot of junior heroes handling things. Batman was the big name in Gotham, and he had Robin, Batwoman, Batgirl, Nightwing and Red Robin to take some of the load off. Here there were only four Protectorate before I arrived, while the Empire 88 alone had nine. If you added the Teeth and Marquis, then things were skewed nearly three to one in the villains' favor, and that was just the major names. If you added in the Brockton Bay Brigade, the numbers were closer to two-to-one against the heroes. To contrast on my Earth, worldwide the ratio of heroic, or at least law-abiding metahumans to villains was more six to one against the villains. Even discounting those who stayed out of costumes, it was closer to two to one for the heroes.

To have the ratio skewed so far the other way was very strange. People as a whole were better than this.

We saw it with the Exobyte-empowered. Scattered at random, and excepting those who were driven utterly insane by their new powers, most either took up new lines of work or joined the heroes. Not all, not even most joined the League or various heroic organizations. But there were quite a few new construction workers using superstrength, courier services using superspeed. Wayne Enterprises even hired a few fliers to put a few new space telescopes into orbit.

Most people just wanted to get by, and it was a rare few who discarded the social contract and did what they wanted to get ahead. Tellingly most of those who did had already either been thugs or, in a few rarer cases, ruthless business owners.

Here? It was skewed the other way, and the chapter on Trigger Events showed why. While a traumatic awakening of superpowers was fairly common on my Earth, things were reversed. Instead of sudden superpowers messing things up, leading to issues, here things went bad first, and then superpowers turned up to make things worse.

In the 'sanitized' public version of the book, Manton talks about an athlete gaining superspeed by training hard, pushing himself beyond the limits of human capacity, and awakening said speed by doing so. In the Protectorate version, he gives the same example... but instead of straining to break a speed record, a potential parahuman gains superspeed by running for his life away from someone about to murder him.

That by itself explained a lot. If the first thing you did with a power was defend yourself from someone trying to kill you, before you even really knew you had a power... or if you got one from being bullied mercilessly, or assaulted, or raped...

No goddamned wonder Manton mentioned parahumans tended to be women, queer, and minorities. The easy targets. Whoever is victimized is most likely to experience a Trigger Event. And the reason this isn't known to the public is because idiots will do stupid things to try and force themselves to have one, and likely kill themselves in doing so.

If metahumans back home worked the same way as parahumans did here, a ton of them would have died in their attempts to gain powers.

Back in Met U, I learned a fair bit about metahuman theory. There was a popular notion of a single metahuman gene which, when exposed to the right stimuli, activated and you got powers. While there was a grain of truth to that, there wasn't just one metagene. There were literally thousands of them, and a lot more suspected inactive metagenes in the ordinary population. That was why families tended to have the same, or at least similar, powers. Oh there was variation, plus what could be done with experience, but for those that had powers, it was a pretty good bet if a father had superstrength, so would the sons and daughters. If it took lightning to awaken mom's metagene, it would take another good jolt to awaken her sister's.

Unless the gene belonged to the other half of the shuffling during conception. Then the sister would just die.

Here though, there was something else going on. The parahuman potential seemed to appear at random in the given population. Descendants of a parahuman were more likely to gain powers, but not guaranteed to. But powers only started showing up here in 1982. Less than two decades, with Scion's appearance.

So where did generation zero come from here? Where the hell did Scion come from?

Back home one of the more unpopular, if somewhat reluctantly accepted, ideas about the metahuman generation zero was Vandal Savage. He was literally once a caveman, exposed to an odd meteorite hundreds of thousands of years ago. It gave him intelligence and a powerful regenerative immortality. The idea was that the meteor altered his genetics, giving him new abilities, which he passed down through his descendants. Not all of them, but it gave metahuman potential to a good chunk of the population. And since he hasn't died, he could spread it to wherever he went. Especially since contraceptives weren't around while he was busy empire-building.

There were flaws in this theory of course. It didn't explain the sheer variety of metahuman abilities. Perhaps he was just the first recorded one to have his potential awakened. There were just too many unknowns, and while the answers could be found with a time machine, getting those answers could be extremely dangerous.

Worlds being swallowed by Paradox Reapers was the gentlest possible outcome, there.

I was roused from my musings as a pair of envelopes dropped onto the printouts. I looked up to see Challenger, the left side of her face bandaged up, but with a smirk on her face.

"Merry Christmas!" She said, before she went and sat on a spare chair, putting her feet up on a desk.

I lifted an eyebrow, looking to her feet, then back to her face. "That's Miss Militia's desk."

"Yes. It is." The woman herself said with amusement as she walked into the office. Following behind her was Nighthawk, his black bird-helmet held in his hand, a slight smirk on his lips. In his other hand he was carrying a covered tray, something large underneath it.

"It's your first Christmas here." Challenger spoke, a smile on her lips. "So you may not be aware of our little tradition."

"Most of us don't have family here." Miss Militia spoke.

"Or are shit." Nighthawk said with a grumble, putting both helmet and tray down on the desk opposite mine. He pulled off the cover, revealing a large meal of turkey, ham, potatoes, gravy. The scent of it made my mouth water. "So we get together, eat whatever we can scrounge up, tell stories. Just make sure to leave something for whoever's on patrol."

Challenger nodded. "In this case, Armsmaster and Velocity."

Right. According to the file, parahumans usually had little support when they triggered. So it made sense that, despite whatever issues that came with the baggage, some of them would build a makeshift community, however fragile.

Already I felt like a fraud. I didn't get powers by going through the same thing. Granted getting powers did ruin my life, but I hadn't been broken to get them. Then again...

"You have to decide who you want to be."

Maybe it was close enough.

I looked down at the envelopes, then back up to Challenger. "Guessing this is my Christmas present?"

She smirked. "Sorta. Open them."

With care, (as I didn't want to accidentally shred the fragile paper) I tore open the envelopes. The first was my paycheck. A bit over four thousand dollars, with a Christmas bonus. Pretty standard, Protectorate members got a fair bit of money. Enough to not have to worry about supporting themselves with side gigs. I'd have to set some time aside to open a bank account.

The other was another check. I blinked. Blinked again, then carefully set the check back down, treating it as if it was very fragile. "Uh... Challenger? Why are there seven zeros here?"

Challenger snorted. "Slaughterhouse bounty money. The worst of those bastards were dead before you got there, but if you hadn't caught them, they'd probably be tearing through more innocent people. Armsmaster got a cut, for handling Hatchet Face, and so did the PRT team that did the dirty work. But you got seventy percent of it." She tilted her head. "You didn't know there was a bounty?"

I just shook my head. "Nope. Had no clue." I was familiar with the concept of a Kill Order... but it didn't have a bounty back home. It was a way for the heroes to know that this guy was too dangerous to be taken alive by the vast majority of heroes. Not everyone could be Superman, with the luxury of being able to wear down most opposition. Even he had some opponents too strong, too dangerous, to try and take down non-lethally. Though they could be counted on one hand.

"We thought you knew." Miss Milita spoke, sounding amused. "Divided by a common language, I suppose."

"How does it feel to be a millionaire?" Nighthawk asked, his deep voice teasing.

I chuckled. "Not my first time being one, but I wasn't expecting to be one this quickly around here. Least I won't have trouble paying Legend back. Or buying a place. Though last time I just sold some valuable materials, not... this."

"You need a mansion." Challenger said seriously, her lips twitching. "With classic cars, a very fit butler, and maids. And caviar."

I laughed softly. "I don't need all that. Besides, I can't drive."

Nighthawk lifted an eyebrow. "Really?"

I just thumbed over my shoulder, to my wings. "Before I got these, I got around on public transit. After I got these, I never had need to drive. It's actually faster for me to pick up a car and fly it wherever than to drive it."

Miss Milita chuckled. "You've got a point, there. We should probably teach you, just in case. There might be a situation where you can't fly, after all."

I grinned. "Going to teach me to ride a bike? Will it have pink tassels and training wheels?"

Challenger burst out laughing.

Director Travers was buried in paperwork. I'd sympathize, but I just knew I'd have my own stack to worry about when I got back to my desk.

"So what's going to happen?" I asked softly, taking the chair opposite his own and sitting down. I still had to lean forward so I wouldn't catch my wings on something, but that was an old, familiar annoyance at this point.

He took a moment to finish signing out a form before he looked up at me, his brown eyes piercing. "Now? Now Mister Martin will be assigned a caseworker. If he proves to be psychologically stable enough to be safe, he'll be placed with a guardian assigned by the PRT. He'll need to go through power testing, to see if there's any undue effects of his powers. Brutes are relatively safe, but Blasters and Shakers tend to be somewhat more problematic. If all goes well, and he passes his educational courses, he'll have a choice as to whether to become a member of the Protectorate or go his own way when he turns eighteen."

"And if he fails the psych tests?" My voice was still soft.

To his credit, Travers looked saddened by the answer. "There are asylums for parahumans with... problematic powers or conditions. Most are there to try and mitigate issues. Sometimes the therapy works, at least well enough for the parahuman to be productive, or join the Protectorate. The odds would be against him, however. The... issues, most parahumans have make it a difficult prospect."

I sighed. "You can be straight with me, I won't take offense."

He just peered at me over the bridge of his nose. "You can benchpress a plane, Miss Vigdis. Forgive me if I try to stay polite."

Fair enough.

I let out a breath. "I have another problem. I'm capable of handling fires, whether homes or apartment buildings. I know I haven't been here long, but aren't we supposed to be informed about emergencies like that?"

Travers very slowly put his pen down on his desk, looking at me seriously. "Our remit is not to deal with fires. That is the fire department's job. In small towns a local hero might have the time to handle such events. Not in Brockton Bay." He clenched his jaw, before he visibly forced himself to relax. "Our mission is to handle parahuman crime and keep the peace. There's also the matter of Iridescent and White Rabbit. Butcher killed them when they were on a response call for a seemingly mundane bank robbery. I think he did it just to prove he could. We respond to known parahuman threats. If the police come across a villain, they call us. Not before."

I thought that over. "I don't like it. I get it, but I don't like it. Things shouldn't be this way."

Travers nodded. "Unfortunately, we have to deal with the world as it is, rather than the way we'd like it to be. We can't afford to run around handling the little things when there are larger problems."

"Mm. It's one of the reasons I volunteered to help out with the Albert. Handle some of the larger issues, and the smaller ones become much easier to solve."

Travers' eyes narrowed. "You... what?"

I lifted an eyebrow. "You might see things as a law enforcement branch, and that's quite valid. However I, we, are capable of so much more than that. I know things are different here, and this right here is one of them. If we spend all our time simply hitting the bad guys and responding to crimes, they always have the advantage. So we have to do things to improve the situation on the ground, make things less comfortable for them to start with. The villains are preying on people's desperation. Back home there's literally a million more people that could do what I can do, not counting the heavy hitters. Here, there's just a few. If this city doesn't get out of this downward spiral since that ship blocked most of the harbor, sooner or later it's either going to rot out underneath everybody, or some emergency is going to break it."

He looked annoyed, even somewhat angry. "It's not simply that you did so. It's that you went over my head. You're a Protectorate member. That means following orders."

I tilted my head. "Do you mean to tell me I'm not allowed to spend my off hours as I see fit, provided I break no laws and act as a productive citizen?"

"You can't just go off and do anything without consultation. The PRT has an image to maintain." Travers spoke seriously.

I nodded, putting on a pleasant smile. "Yes. You do. I have my own concerns, and I will deal with them. When on duty I will follow orders, provided they are legal. When off-duty, that is my own time. As I'm not setting up a business or working with someone outside the law, I believe I am covered. Under 'Good Samaritan' acts, if nothing else."

Travers folded his fingers before his mouth, visibly thinking. Finally, he spoke slowly. "I don't know how you did things back home, Sunstorm. I would appreciate you giving me some input before you start any large projects like this again. Going over my head to the mayor can be problematic. I don't think it is this time, but it could be on another occasion. You've said yourself you don't know how everything is here. This, right here, is good reason to slow down."

I nodded slowly. "I'll take that into consideration."

----------

"So what do you think?" Velocity spoke, drinking from a coffee as he jogged his way down the street. The downtown district was pretty, with the reds and yellows of the sun glinting off the windows. I always did enjoy sunsets, and today was no different. Shame it was happening so early this time of year.

I floated beside him, easily keeping pace. "I think you're probably a bit cold."

Definitely so, with the snow falling. His suit was thickened somewhat, compared to what he could wear in the summer, but the limitations of his power definitely made things much more difficult.

On the face of it, Velocity should be one of the most powerful parahumans in this city, if not the planet. Superspeed was one of the most potentially useful powers, but the fact he was slowed by even the most modest increase in weight made it more difficult for him. On top of that, unlike the Flash he became more 'ethereal' for lack of a better word, the faster he went. The Flash could do the same thing, mind you, but for Velocity, it seemed to be something he always had to do rather than an optional thing.

Still, being able to run fast enough to run on water was pretty cool to see again. I used to be able to do the same, but it was cheating when I could just fly above it all anyway.

Velocity chuckled. "True, but not that. About this whole situation? We're just waiting for the call to go out, unless we can find their staging areas or something from an informant."

"Villains act, heroes react." I nodded with a sigh. "It was pretty similar back home, too. Usually we could handle things, it's usually just a matter of limiting the damage."

Being the day after Christmas, things were pretty calm on the ground. The streets weren't empty, but they were certainly a lot more calm than it otherwise would be. Still, that likely meant-

Fire erupted to the north of us, a slight echo of a bang reaching us an instant later.

Right on cue.

I spoke into my communicator, sure the earpiece would pick it up. "Console, this is Sunstorm with Velocity. We're in the downtown district, on the corner of Northfield and Blake. We just witnessed an explosion to the north. We're moving to investigate."

"Copy that, Sunstorm. Reports are coming in. Stand by." Nighthawk's voice spoke over the line.

A moment passed, then Nighthawk spoke again. "Confirmed two villains at the Exxon on Blake. Geist and Skadi. They're attacking the gas station."

"Copy console, enroute." I acknowledged.

In a blur, Velocity ran off, scattered bits of litter being slightly disturbed in his wake. I on the other hand flew upwards, keeping him in view while at the same time getting altitude. I really had to train up my own speed, or at least perceptions. Right now if I fought even an inexperienced Kryptonian, I'd get speedblitzed into oblivion. Or... well, actually there was a long list of speedsters, even more moderate ones, which would be hard to deal with.

Still, we headed north, leaving the downtown district and reaching more modest suburbs. I saw the rising smoke coming from an Exxon gas station, with a pump wreathed in flames.

There were several people standing and gawking. A figure in a black cloak and black skull mask was flitting in and around the station, slashing through the fuel pumps with a wickedly sharp scythe. He was ethereal, somewhat transparent, and the air was filled with his cackling glee. Gas leaked onto the ground from the ruptured pumps, which promptly ignited as the fumes were set off by the heat from the already-burning pump.

Geist. The Empire's Breaker. Dangerous as fuck, annoyingly hard to stop, and lethal. His scythe cut through objects, but not flesh, without resistance, and was seemingly immune to retaliation in return. He floated his way through the flames without a care in the world, cackling all the while. He paused as he looked at me, then spoke, his voice echoing. "Well well. What have we here? A beautiful little demon wanting to see my handiwork?"

I spoke, not to Geist but into my communicator. "Geist spotted, console. He's set the Exxon on Blake street on fire. Engaging."

"Poor little hero."

I thrust out my hand, calling the flames to me. They rushed through the connection I forged, funnelling it to flow over my body, while at the same time starving them of heat. The fires snuffed themselves out, though the smell of gasoline was still strong, ready to reignite in an instant. The heat energized me, making me feel amazing. Also helped, considering the winter's cold.

Velocity moved quickly, moving to the bystanders and momentarily moving at normal speed, pushing them to start moving away from the danger zone.

"Hmph. Not very sporting, ending my show." Geist cackled. Yes, he was certainly enjoying playing the villain. What is it with these guys? I wouldn't mind it so much if they weren't so dangerous.

I dashed forward, my fingers aiming for the scythe's handle. Geist simply laughed as I not only failed to grab the weapon, but passed through it and himself. I reoriented myself in the air, my hands flicking through him with only the slightest bit of resistance.

Geist floated away from me, floating through the glass exterior of the store part of the gas station. I could see the attendant, some young Asian kid, lying dead on the floor. It looked like he'd been strangled with a belt around his neck, his face purple. His eyes were wide with fear and horror.

Fuck. This was just one of many reasons I hated Nazis. They were so fucking casual about murder, and for the stupidest of reasons.

I went to follow, only to find the doors were held shut magnetically. So Geist entered, sealed the premises, killed the kid, and then started cutting up the pumps?

I smashed my way through the glass windows, floating my way inside.

"Little fiery, aren't you?" He laughed. "Can't hurt me, little girl."

"I bet I can piss you off, though." I muttered.

He cackled again, moving toward me with a swing of the scythe. I instinctively raised my arm to block, only to realize an instant too late he wasn't aiming at me. The scythe slashed through the florescent lights above, causing the casing to break, the light to shatter, and sparks fly all over me. Live wires tangled in my horns, and I winced as I felt the electricity flow right through my body. My muscles locked up for a moment, then I mentally adjusted for the difficulty and reached up, snapping the wires with a swipe. Control reasserted, I gave Geist a glare.

Thanks for the practice, Stormlord.

Geist passed through me, the scythe catching on my armor and cutting through it. The blade itself felt cold against my skin, but I could sense it wouldn't have cut me even if I wasn't as tough as I am. With a yank, he tried to pull me off my feet, but I dug my feet into the tiles. Before he could make any distance, I grabbed the blade of the scythe with my fingers. It cut through my glove, and I could feel it becoming less substantial in the instant between capture and escape. He simply floated backward, laughing.

He gave me a mocking bow. "Well my dear, it's been fun, but-" He was interrupted by Velocity blurring around him, throwing punches, fists blurring over and over. Geist simply floated, being slightly buffeted by the winds Velocity was producing, but otherwise unaffected.

"Are you done?" Geist's voice echoed as Velocity kept trying to do something to the Breaker. He might as well have been trying to punch the air itself, for all of an effect he had.

Taking a moment to look around, I picked up the fire extinguisher next to the door. Gas stations always had a bunch of these in easily-accessible spots. While Velocity kept Geist occupied, I sprayed Geist with the extinguisher.

The chemical spray went out in a cloud, covering Geist. Velocity pulled back, standing opposite, fists clenched. The cloud slowly dispersed, and Geist was gone.

Fuck.

I set down the extinguisher. "You all right, Velocity?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Couldn't do a damned thing to him, though."

I watched the gas spreading over the ground for a moment, before I snapped my fingers and went back inside the station. "Need to find the pump shutoffs, before this spreads further."

Velocity zipped past me, going behind the counter in a blur. A second later he resumed normal speed and pushed something with a click.

He gave me a wry grin. "Always the big red button."

I nodded. "Right." I took another look at the attendant, lying still on the floor. I sighed, grimacing at the next step, hitting my communicator. "Console, this is Sunstorm. Geist has retreated from the Exxon, no capture. One fatality known, searching for more. The station has a lot of gas in front of it, it requires cleanup before it goes up in flames again."

"Copy that Sunstorm. Sending police, fire and ambulance dispatch."

"I'll look around for more." Velocity spoke quietly.

I nodded. "Right."

He went off in a blur. I searched the station, both for more people and for something to help wall off the area for a little while.

...there were still cars pulling up to the burnt-out wreck of the station. What the hell people?

After a few arguments and shooing away of idiots, I just blocked it off the road access with the site's dumpster. I still had some people try to drive around it, but that did stop the worst of it.

Velocity met back up with me as the ambulance arrived. "Nobody else died around here. There's a few injuries, but nothing too terrible."

"Hm." I nodded.

He looked at me, his lips turning down in concern. "What's up?"

I shook my head. "This seems a little small for a villain. Spending their time to rip open a gas station, kill a kid? What's the goal here? I really doubt that Geist wanted to steal the petty cash or run off with the lotto scratch-off tray."

Velocity went still. "You think this was a distraction?"

I nodded. "Definitely. Especially since Skadi was a no-show once we arrived. We only saw Geist. So something else is their target."

Velocity thought for a moment, let out a very vile curse, then put a finger to his ear. "Console, this is Velocity with Sunstorm, we need to contact the Director now."

"Uh... Right, calling up Director Travers." Nighthawk's voice sounded confused.

A few moments passed, then our comms crackled. "Travers here. What's the situation?"

Velocity spoke quickly. "The Empire lured us into a feint. We're out of position from whatever they're after. Are there any other operations happening right now?"

There was a slight intake of breath over the line. "Magni and Modi are being moved, they're fitted with Brute restraints. Their armored car and escorts are supposed to check in every ten minutes. Armsmaster and Challenger are on escort."

"When was the last check?" I demanded.

"One minute ago."

I fought to keep from snarling. "Try to raise them, right now!"

There was the sound of shuffling, muttered annoyance under his breath. After a good ten seconds of silence, Travers spoke, sounding worried. "No response."

Velocity's voice was filled with stress. "We need their last known location!"

West. Of course the transport was heading west. Brockton Bay had mountains to its west side, most of which weren't that high, but definitely high enough to limit where they could easily put in highways. West or south were the only options, and if anything heading south would have been easier for the Empire to ambush. There was only one major road to Boston that could take the transports with any efficiency.

Thus, it was such a cliche that I knew I'd be snarking over it later, but the Empire had cut off the transport at the pass of Highway 101. It made sense. It was ideal, a narrow canyon that cut through the mountain terrain. Good cover, and the transports would be exposed on the highway itself. In the darkness of the night, it also made it more difficult for the PRT to fight back, to hit their targets.

The highway was blocked by a landslide, house-sized boulders and much smaller debris on the road. There were four transports, being armored cars. Armsmaster and Challenger were crouched behind two different ones, Challenger using her rifle to fire at the Empire members on the ground. There were also six PRT members firing rifles at the ambushers, but they were forced to fire blind or risk their heads. Bodies littered the side of the road, yet the unarmored Empire skinheads fought on.

Two dozen skinheads were on their feet, using rifles and pistols. They were wearing leathers, and they took cover behind their cars, or large boulders at the side of the highway. At least some of them had been lying in wait, and the rest pulled up from behind to cut off any possibility of escape. Seven bodies were lying on the ground, unmoving.

I could see Purity standing on the edge of a small plateau, blazing brightly, enough to light up the night. She had taken cover behind a boulder, and was almost lazily blasting rocks on the sides of the pass, the blue-white of her twin helix beams leaving trails in the air. Boulders and shards of rock fell, both hampering visibility and narrowing the corridor. Obviously the only reason she hadn't blasted the armored cars directly is because she didn't want to kill Magni and Modi.

I took a moment to drop down, near the highway, and dropped Velocity from my arms. While he could have gotten here as fast, or maybe even faster than I could fly, it wouldn't have left him fresh for the fight. He immediately blurred off, starting to wreak havoc on the Empire members. While he couldn't hit very hard, without armor and with no real way to stop him, he could certainly keep them from accomplishing much.

I could hear my comms crackling with static. They must have set up a jammer of some sort, which explained why the convoy hadn't called for backup.

I flew closer to Purity, clenching my hands. Purity turned to look at me. Her features were impossible to make out with the glowing, but I could guess with the moment of hesitation. She lifted a hand, muscles tightening in anticipation.

Last time I hadn't been prepared. Suckerpunched, basically. This time I simply took a different tack. I could have simply tanked it, while bracing myself and using my fire. However, I didn't know how much she could ramp up, and I couldn't afford to spend the time getting knocked around.

One of the key lessons of being the pointman. To know when to take the hit and fight through it, when to brace for it, and when to dodge.

I used a burst of speed to appear twenty feet closer to Purity as the beam lanced through the air where I had been. She lifted her hand again, the beam lancing out, and I made another burst of speed. It moved fast, but if I had to guess, about as fast as sound, rather than light, which I wouldn't be able to dodge... if only because the pain would arrive with the light of the beam itself. Which meant quick movements kept me just out of the line of fire, while my position above her meant the blasts went out into the night sky rather than hitting anything.

Finally I was right in front of her in a last burst of speed. She let out a scream and unleashed a beam, but I'd grabbed her hand, braced myself and kept most of myself out of the line of fire.

The blast completely shredded what was left of my gauntlet, and the impact made my arm go numb, but I was visibly unharmed by the blast. It did take quite a bit of my reserves, but I'd have been able to take a lot of those blasts without going down... provided I could see them coming, that is.

Purity let out a scream of something between rage and terror. I wrenched her around and put her into a sleeper hold. Her hands flailed, her lips making panicked choking noises. I deliberately turned us both so that if she did unleash a blast, it was away from the battle below.

Good thing I did. Flash. Boom. It was loud, but not more than the jet engine had been. Debris hit my face, startling me, but I still held her in an iron grip. Purity went limp in my arms. Somewhat blinded by her light, I couldn't see much detail. So I set her down, checked her breathing, found she still was breathing, then dived down into the battle below.

Without Purity providing fire support above, the PRT was able to finally take careful aim and fire at the skinheads. They started ducking behind their cars. One got in and promptly started the engine, taking off and leaving his friends blinking stupidly in the dust before they were shot by Challenger.

Bullets slammed against my face as I strode toward another group of six. Their eyes were wide in fear, screams echoing, only for them to be cut off when I swiped their guns from their hands and slammed them into each other.

Yes. I beat a motherfucker with another motherfucker. I was sure there were going to be quite a few broken bones, but every moment these idiots were up and shooting was a moment they could shoot someone who couldn't take it.

I turned to see Velocity working on his group, his reddish blur smacking guns from hands, pushing them off balance, and being a general nuisance. I was actually pretty impressed. Yes, the Flash could have very efficiently taken them out within an eyeblink, but considering his limitations? Being attacked by Velocity was like being stuck inside a weak, but ongoing, dust devil. Sure it probably wouldn't kill you, but you'd have a hell of a hard time fighting back.

The sound of tearing metal got my attention. I turned to see Modi, somehow freed from his confinement, starting to tear into the side of one of the transports. I dove forward to intercept, only for Challenger to beat me to it.

Instead of charging in with her axe, which would no doubt end up with a rather long fight, Challenger just raised her rifle and fired twice. The bullets slammed into Modi's kneecaps, sending him spilling to the ground with a grunt of pain. They didn't seem to hurt the Brute much, considering the brothers' main weakness seemed to be each other. It did put Modi off balance however, which Challenger took advantage of by quickly slinging her axe around, slamming his face with the flat part of it. Modi's head slammed into the side of the transport. Momentarily stunned, he was helpless as Challenger pulled the pin on a flashbang grenade, threw it into the hole in the side of the armored car, then promptly shoved Modi's head into the same hole.

There was a muffled bang, a pair of loud screams, then Modi went limp.

That was beautiful.

I saw one last skinhead vainly trying to get toward his car, but just before he managed to get in Armsmaster intercepted him. He swung the halberd around, knocking the skinhead's feet out from under him and forcing the tattooed neo-Nazi to the ground, flat on his back. Before he could even think about getting to his feet, Armsmaster put the sharp edge of the halberd's axe-head under the man's chin.

"I suggest you surrender." Armsmaster said, without inflection.

There was simple terrified whimpering.

I chuckled. Since things seemed to be mostly under control, I flew back upwards above the ridge to secure Purity.

Her light was out, and she wasn't moving. Floating above her, I ignited a fireball in my hand to make some light, only to find her lying completely still, her eyes wide open, and her white outfit completely covered in blood. I looked over and realized that in the chaotic takedown, when I'd swung Purity around and she unleashed her blast, she'd accidentally blasted one of the boulders she'd been taking cover behind. I hadn't realized earlier because of how bright she had been, and the general situation.

Well. Shit.

----------

Lit up by the headlights of the armored cars, we took stock of the situation.

"Well... that happened." Challenger said, sounding annoyed, as she scratched just below the eyepatch covering her left eye. "They knew exactly where we were going to be and blasted the pass shut. Guessing the only reason they didn't close off the other side is so they could withdraw. Comms are out too." She tapped her ear.

I nodded. "Yeah, noticed. They had this planned down to the minute. Which is pretty impressive, but how the hell does a gang get that kind of coordination?"

"Damned good comms, a good plan, maybe a Thinker?" Velocity spoke, his voice filled with consideration.

"Inside information." Armsmaster said gruffly. "Most of this could be done without parahuman knowledge, just some intel. Only thing they needed Purity for was blasting the road shut."

I shrugged. "That ain't going to happen again, I think. She's dead. Lost too much blood after she blew up those rocks at point-blank."

"Unfortunate, but better her than us." Armsmaster spoke, nodding slowly. "We can take her body with us, the holding facility will be able to take care of it. But first we have to get there." He looked to the house-sized boulder that was blocking the way. "We're going to need high explosives to get that out. Heading back to the city will just give the Empire another chance to ambush us. Or the Teeth."

I cleared my throat.

Challenger grinned. "Right. Stupidly-strong Brute on our side, too."

"Hey, I resemble that remark." I grinned at her.

Velocity lifted his hand. "Uh... I appreciate it, but you think you can move that rock? The thing has to weigh a million pounds."

Armsmaster nodded. "Approximately one point five million, actually, assuming it's made out of granite." At our looks, he opened his mouth, then closed it. "You see if it's twenty feet by twenty..."

I held up my hand. "I trust your calculation. Yes by normal standards you'd need an excavator and at least some dynamite to move it, but I can handle it. In pieces, if I can't get the whole thing at once."

One point five million, huh? That's more than a plane by quite a lot, but hey, I broke the strength testing machine. I had at least some of the Kryptonian package. I strode down the road, taking a moment to stretch my arms, as I wasn't quite sure how strong I was. Worst comes to worst I break it, then move it.

Reaching down, I grasped the base of the boulder, the mass of stone rather comically larger than I was. Still, I knelt down, lifted with my knees, and hauled. With several cracks and the groaning of rocks clattering against other rocks, I lifted the main boulder into the air. It wasn't hard. Just... really, really awkward. It took a bit to steady the thing in my grip.

"God fuckin' damn." I could hear Challenger breathe out.

I couldn't help but grin. Sometimes it was fun telling physics to go shove it. Flapping my wings, I carried the rock upward, supporting all that weight on seemingly nothing. You know, I'm not entirely sure why my template needed wings, they sure as shit weren't large enough for this, but they seemed to work anyway. I carried it out of the narrow pass until I found a clearing large enough to handle it. Once done, I set it down, making sure it was in such a position that it wouldn't easily move again.

I flew my way back, seeing the PRT grunts getting into the armored cars again. I flew downward, intercepting the lead car. Challenger was in the passenger seat.

The trooper opened the door, so we could talk.

"Anything else needed?" I spoke, taking a look toward the battlefield. At night, it wasn't easy to see details, but I was sure it'd be a hell of a mess come morning.

"I think we're good." Challenger said, nodding with a smirk. "Thanks for helping out."

"Heh. It's my job." I shrugged. Then I looked to the driver. "What's your name, trooper?"

Behind the visor, his blue eyes widened. "Stevens, ma'am."

I plastered on a smile. "Stevens, please look after Challenger. She's so very fragile, you know."

A snort and a soft chuckle escaped Challenger. "Oh yes, I'm such a delicate flower."

Stevens relaxed, his voice filled with repressed amusement. "I'll do my best, ma'am."

"You kids have fun." I said, then I let my voice get a bit more serious. "Report in as soon as you're clear of the jamming. I'm going to keep the riff-raff here under control, and look for that jammer."

Challenger nodded. "Good idea."

I stepped back, and the convoy went on. At my guess they'd reach the holding facility near Albany, New York, in a few hours.

Velocity was going over the group of surviving skinheads, giving them first aid when necessary. Three of the PRT troopers that remained behind were both covering him and watching over the twelve or so prisoners. The rest... well, they'd need caskets, instead of handcuffs.

I went over to the sedans they used to get here, relying on the crackling of static in my ear from my communicator to help pinpoint which car was carrying the jamming device. It took a bit, since it was very much a game of 'warmer, colder, warmer, hot' and there was a small amount of difference. Still, it wasn't the first time I'd done such a thing.

Though this was a lot easier than tracking down Dr Psycho. Creepy little mind-controlling bastard.

If it was something elaborate, I'd have expected it to be in the back of a van, but there wasn't one here. So it had to be fairly compact, probably Tinkertech... or maybe some spy gadgetry. Portable jammers had been around almost as long as radio itself has, and if they didn't have to run long, they could be fairly small.

I pulled open the trunk of the sedan where the static was strongest. Stopped. Stared.

"You gotta be shitting me." I muttered.

Laid down in styrofoam packaging, presumably to keep them from moving around or breaking themselves, were four LexCorp model cellular smartphones, their screens proudly displaying the fact they were jamming a range of radio frequencies. The PRT and Protectorate frequencies.

What. The. Fuck.