Port City, USA

It has been an unmitigated success.

Even with the setbacks, the glitches, the failed steps. The overall plan is still working, and better than he had imagined.

The Arctic Angel lies in a hammock belowdecks, in her guise as Chelsea, because the Angel is too tall to fit in the hammock, and that's not even considering her wings in the enclosed space. She is asleep. Taking a nap before the upcoming excitement. Needed, no doubt.

Reggie is not napping. He has other matters to deal with. Maps. Drone images. Reports. Important documents, all of them. He's not looking at them, but rather at the naked woman in the hammock, lying under a light sheet that does little to preserve her unneeded modesty. Instead of the work he has to do, he's reminiscing about the work he has done, the work that's brought the Angel to him as a trusted lieutenant and bedmate. He can only imagine how much better things would have gone if all those steps had worked. If the hacker had burned in the fire, the Angel would have been almost completely isolated, and would have turned to him more directly for help and support. If the rioters hadn't thrown everything into disarray and the first patrols (work she would have done to help her cope with the loss of her friend) had gone smooth, her confusion could have been swept away so easily and the rightness of the cause been made evident.

He should have stuck to the plan, himself, he realizes, and not moved things up just because Nomura was conveniently checking on Grey. He would have to work on his own impatience. Rash decisions aren't a part of proper leadership.

Grey's interference was a problem, as well. If not for him, Reggie wouldn't have had to make those quick decisions. The way the Angel continues to conceal that relationship has him convinced that it's meaningful to her, or to Chelsea, in some way. It was difficult to analyze whether or not Grey would have completely derailed his otherwise-well-executed scheme, so perhaps the changes to his schedule were for the best.

He sighs. It had to be Sterling Grey.

He'd heard his father's stories, of course. And had participated in some of the events of those stories.

He remembers when Sterling Grey had been an ally to the Bright Society.

It was after Warren Donovan had abandoned his Port City organization. Depending on who you ask, he was run out of town, or had just grown bored and wandered away, or was chasing after some new superpower or other. Once Donovan was gone, it had been time to focus on the criminal elements that had completely infested the docks. That was when Grey and the dockworkers' union had partnered with the Bright Society and the police to start the cleanup.

The battle had come after that, when the union had come into direct conflict with the owners of the largest shipping company in Port City. The good working relationship had soured, and Gerald had come to resent how Grey and his negotiation team seemed to come out ahead in every discussion, in every meeting, and he passed that resentment on to his son. In the end, and over his opposition, Gerald had been forced to sell his share of Port City Shipping and Storage to the workers and accede to the demands of the strikers. But the strangest part of it all was how the workers always managed to provide a united front, while the owners often wound up divided by their personal interests. That, Gerald insisted, was not how those conflicts go, but despite his efforts he couldn't convince the board to act in concert.

Instead, Gerald had turned his efforts to building up the Bright Society. It became an obsession, one which had motivated every aspect of the final twelve years of Gerald Bright's life. It had made a hard man harder, crueler. The worst of his calculating nature had come out, and his attitude towards his son had gone from merely cold and mean-spirited to downright abusive.

Seeing Sterling Grey interfering with his plans was only too familiar. At least he'd managed to implicate the dockworker along with Nomura; the narrative had to change, some, but the new details worked as well as the old. He had revealed her former employment status to the world, or would shortly on the six o'clock news, through 'anonymous sources,' and had planted the implications that she had, as revenge for losing her status within the Society, set Gerald Bright's house on fire. The volatile chemicals she used had accidentally set her apartment ablaze while she was out, goes the story, and fearing discovery, she has run to ground. If seen, do not approach, but contact the police immediately.

And to go with that, Ms. Nomura was working on a project involving dockworker and labor advocate Sterling Grey, seen here provoking a riot after the fire at the Dockworks Cafe last week. It has not yet been confirmed whether her contact with him is what radicalized her, or whether she is involved with the apparent resurgence of superpowered criminal Silver Tongue.

It's everything he could have asked for. Not just criminals, but a full-blown terrorist cell on the docks, the perfect reason to press the offensive, clear out the workers, raid the files, shatter the back of the co-operative confederation before it gets any more of a foothold. The docks might no longer be mob-run, but there is still an insidious criminal element throughout, and it needs to be excised.

And he is the scalpel to cut out the rot.

The thought of which makes him look at the Angel again. The perfect example of what he can do with the tools at his disposal: taking a young, confused nurse, an uncertain power with divided loyalties, and shaping her into the perfect partner, both on patrol and in bed. Strong and determined, sure of the rightness of their mission. He'd only had to separate her from those unfortunate influences on her life, and with a little genuine affection and the aid of subsonic inducers, he'd made the perfect Arctic Angel out of the unmolded clay of Chelsea Donovan, and severed finally her ties to her criminal father. The final, perfect stroke of having her take Sharon Marrol to containment had solidified her devotion beyond any interference.

And here the two of them are, now, together. Not tragic orphans, but liberated orphans, emancipated, freed from wrong-headed parents of a past generation. Finding mutual cause and mutual comfort in one another's presence and company.

A notification comes to his attention. He checks his phone. Psilocyber and Mechanician are going to make contact. He sends a quick acknowledgment and reaches for his helmet, where the embedded communications equipment will keep him in touch with the other four heroes in the docks, and hears Psilocyber's soft voice asking someone why they were carrying crates of soda. Not relevant. Next he takes a step across the small cabin and gently shakes the Arctic Angel awake.

"Hmm? Flamehammer?" she mutters, rolling over.

"Things are beginning."

She hesitates a moment, then gets to her feet. The wind is picking up and it makes the footing unsteady, so Flamehammer helps her, holding her hand with one hand and holding her ass with the other. She gives him a momentary smile, clearly aware that there were other ways he might have steadied her. "I should get in the air, then."

"Your gear is just by the door," Flamehammer says, freeing his hand from hers to indicate where her dress was hanging, but keeping his grip on her backside.

She steps out of his grasp and goes to grab her clothing. "I will transform on deck, where there is more room."

"Very good, I'll remain below and manage things from here."

He does watch her leave, closely. Axe is saying something, but he doesn't pay much attention to it.

4:48 PM

The streets of the docks

Sterling Grey is facing down Axe as the first droplets of a light rain fall from the sky.

"Tanya," he says, not looking away from the hero. "Go on without me. This is my work."

"But Si... Sterl—"

"Go."

"Yes." Tanya moves quickly away.

"BRAVE MAN," the tall, heavily muscled blond man says, somewhat mockingly. "TO STAND BETWEEN AXE AND THE ARSONIST."

Sterling shakes his head. "I am not a brave man, Axe. Just a man with a job to do. Tanya has a different job, she's not needed here."

"IT MEANS NOTHING. WILL YOU COME WITH ME?" Axe swings his axe-like projection in a slow circular arc beside him.

The dockworker laughs. "No one is going with you today, Axe."

Axe guffaws loudly in reply. "YOU CAN DIE HERE IF YOU LIKE."

"The Brights do not kill, I'm told," Sterling tenses, ready to move. He's no physical match for the large hero. "And you don't tend to hurt people."

"IT IS TRUE," Axe replied, standing his ground. "BUT I CAN HARDLY THREATEN IF I SAY I WILL NOT HURT YOU, RIGHT?"

Sterling smiles. "It is true," he echoes. "Do you truly need empty threats? You could speak plainly."

Axe nods. "YOU WISH THAT I SPEAK PLAIN? THEN I TELL YOU, IF I HAVE TO I WILL THROW YOU DOWN THE STREET. YOU WILL NOT BE HARMED BUT YOU WILL NOT BE HAPPY."

"No, I can't imagine that I would be. But if you want to throw me, you will have to catch me, no?"

Axe lets out a bellow. "YOU ARE NOT AS FAST AS I AM. YOU ARE TALL, BUT YOU ARE SOFT."

"It's true. Still, you might find me very difficult to lay hands on." Sterling is still on his guard, but his voice, well-used over the past week and even moreso in the past days, comes easily, and with it comes the rush of energy, the conviction of the rightness of his cause and of his use of power in pushing his cause forward. This pathetic strongman before him will not stand in the face of his mind-warping words.

"HAH, I DO NOT THINK YOU ARE SO SLIPPERY AS YOU SAY YOU ARE!" Axe finally takes a step forward, still lazily swinging his ethereal weapon.

"On the contrary, I think you will find yourself missing me every time you attack," Sterling says, turning to move towards a nearby sedan parked in the middle of the road.

"THIS I WOULD LIKE TO SEE." Axe charges and gives a sideways slash with his axe.

Sterling casually steps back and out of the way. "And now that you've seen it, will you continue to attack me futilely, or will you surrender now?"

Surrender is not an option for the barbarian. He makes a quick chopping motion with the axe, which Sterling sidesteps easily.

"I'm not fast, or strong, and yet you cannot hit me," the villain taunts, moving once more towards the car, this time in no hurry.

Axe turns and instead swings at the family sedan, one of the rideshare's vehicles, in an underhand blow which sends it flying into the air to land a block away.

"Not so difficult with a target that isn't moving. But when it comes to people..."

"I COULD CUT YOU IN HALF!"

"But you won't." Sterling hardly needs to move to avoid the next two swings. He reaches for the spray on his hip to deliver a knockout blow, metaphorically. "You can't even connect."

"I WILL SHOW YOU WHO CANNOT CONNECT!"

Axe lowers his shoulder and charges directly at Sterling, giving the villain an opportunity to sidestep like a bullfighter and deliver a blast of sedative mist into the face of the former stuntman. Apparently it is running dangerously low, and only a small amount of the drug connects with Axe, but it is enough; the superhero stumbles into the rear end of a car and, leaning on it, slides gently to the asphalt, breathing heavily, his axe-like force projection vanishing.

Sterling shakes the canister, finding it basically empty. He has no idea if Axe got enough of a dose to be out for the full twenty minutes, although he doubts it. And now is not the time to fret over the finer details.

"Don't feel bad," he says over his shoulder as he takes off towards Communications at a jog. "It's all about mind over matter."

4:50 PM

Dockworks Telecom

Tanya bursts into her second building of the afternoon.

The security guard at the front stands up as she crashes through the door.

"Two..." she puffs. "Sorry, can... can I..." She makes her way to the door deeper into the IT department. The guard follows her. "New... No password... clearance.. yet..."

He puts a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It's alright, I recognize you, and Thomas said you were coming."

"Great... cool... fuck..." she gasps as the guard inputs his long code on the keypad. "There's... Axe is... out there... and Psi... Psilo..." The name is just too much for her after the run she's just had.

"We know," the guard replies with a comforting smile, holding the door for her. "Don't have to tell me. But thank you."

"How do..."

"Drones and security cameras," he explains. "Communications is reporting Bright movements. Go on in."

"Thanks." Tanya says, genuinely grateful, pausing to catch her breath before heading down the hall and into the main workspace.

The terminals within are all empty. She knows that much of IT and Communications would be elsewhere, either working from home or busy off-site or just not coming in that day. More than almost any other confederation department—mainline shipping and warehousing being the exceptions, so more than any other back end department—the people working for the Telecom tend to be older and in more stable home situations, and so would be less happy to risk themselves in a direct and potentially dangerous confrontation with the Brights and the police. And unlike those working for mainline shipping and warehousing, her co-workers in IT tended to be less physically active, and as a result less able to fight back or run away. Avoiding that confrontation in the first place makes sense.

Which makes Tanya question why the fuck she's walking into the office after a brush with two Brights.

Because I am a good mind-controlled minion, her mind replies to her. A minion who will just do anything for her villain.

"Brain," she sighs softly as she walked towards the War Room, "could we not have this fucking discussion right now?" She puts her hand on the door. "And don't you fucking dare tell me that this is what I want."

You got it, boss.

She turns the handle and walks in. Six heads look up from their separate work stations. Anna, from the command seat, indicates a desk by the door. "Feel free, Tanya." There is a certain amount of awe and appreciation in her voice that made Tanya smile internally.

"Thank you, Anna."

I did good work. The thought comes to her out of the blue and fills her with warmth. She's a good minion, and good minions are happy to do work for their villains. That's the way it's supposed to be, the way she's always understood it, and Silver Tongue was in her head, so it only makes sense that doing good work would make her happy.

Simple.

Thomas smiles at her from the front of the room. "We've already met, and you know Anna." He indicates a middle-aged grey-haired man sitting opposite him. "That's Tom Harvey, he'll be heading up control in about ten minutes. The two over there," he waves to a skinny, ratty kid with a face full of piercings and short green mohawk, and a pudgy well-dressed thirty-something woman with long black hair, nerd glasses, and a dark tan, "are Mark and Vanessa. Mark was the lead in keeping you out of the personnel files the other day."

Mark hops to his feet. "You're that hacker?" He crosses the floor to offer Tanya a handshake, which she accepts. "It's an honor, honestly, you're pretty damn good."

"Uh, thanks, I guess? Doesn't mean a lot to be good if I couldn't get in."

"You didn't know you were up against me," he replies with a cocky grin.

"Mark, please," Vanessa says with a sigh. Tanya can't place her accent other than to say it's Latin. "I'm sorry, it's tough to get him to concentrate even where there are serious things going on."

Mark shrugs. "Guess I should get back to my desk."

"Probably," Tanya replies with a bit of a smile. I should be civil and understanding with my co-workers. It makes things flow better.

Thomas continues with the introductions. "And Paula's on your left, they're the one who spotted you and Sterling getting away from Psilocyber." He indicates an individual a couple desks over in jeans, a bulky sweatshirt, and a black headscarf.

"Nice to meet you, Tanya," Paula says, turning back to their screen. "Sorry, I'm trying to keep track of... well, everything."

Tanya nods. "I'm sure we'll be seeing more of each other when it's not so busy." These are also his minions, even if they don't know it. They deserve my kindness and respect. "So, what can I get on? You all already know that Psilocyber and Axe are out there."

"Axe is out of commission at the moment," Anna says. "Sterling just put him down. He's on his way here."

"Si—Sterling put Axe down?" Tanya bursts out in disbelief. "This is Sterling Grey we're talking about, right?"

"Sidestepped the big devil and gave him a shot of knockout spray to the face," Anna confirms. "At least it buys a bit of time."

"Mechanician just came on the scene," Paula says. "He's heading towards maintenance HQ with the nanobot girl."

"Keep your drones far back from him," Tanya cautions as she swivels to face her desk. "He'll scramble them with a sonic pulse."

"Thank you, I'll do that." Paula sighs. "If the wind and rain pick up any more, it won't matter, nothing will fly in this except Arctic Angel."

"Tanya used to work for the Brights," Thomas explains.

"Freelance," Tanya cuts in, putting in her user ID and password. "But I had some pretty high-level clearance and sh—and stuff." Anna probably wouldn't approve of bad language, and I don't know enough about the others to just start swearing in front of them.

"No shit?" Mark says, spinning in his chair, somewhat contradicting Tanya's previous thought. "Man, if you can still get in there, we gotta go digging sometime. I've been trying to—"

"Focus, please, meu menino," Vanessa chides him lightly. "There will be time for that later."

"They'll have locked me out anyway by now." That's didn't sound like Spanish, but it's close. Portuguese? Vanessa's from Brazil, then. "But they might not have scrambled their communications protocols, if I can get to them I may be able to listen in to what they're saying."

"Worth a shot," Anna says from the front. "Any objections, Tom, Thomas?"

When there isn't an answer, Tanya sets to work.

4:52 PM

Outside maintenance HQ

"_{thank you both,}" Psilocyber says to the two young women who eventually led her to the building. "_{please wait nearby.}"

"_{WE'RE AT AN UNMARKED WAREHOUSE, WITH TWO UNDER CONTROL,}" Mechanician reports over the comms. The two heroes had debated rushing in, but then heard Axe bellowing on the system and had decided to wait it out. Hearing only half that conversation and then Axe's line going dead was a bit disconcerting, so they had waited for further instruction while standing in a quiet corner with Psilocyber's two enthralled ... he hesitates to think of them as 'victims,' since they're obviously having a great time, and no real harm will come to them. It had taken the women several minutes to get oriented in a space where all the buildings looked more or less the same, and a little more to get coherent information from them, but they had found the place where the food was being delivered, which presumably had people inside it. Unfortunately, the women are not dockworkers, and so have little insight as to where they had been bringing the food, or for what purpose, and Psilocyber's methods tend to leave her targets in something of a foggy and disconnected place.

The rain, light though it is, is starting to wear on him.

"^{INGRESS PERMISSION GRANTED,}" Flamehammer replied from the command center. "^{GOOD LUCK. I'LL TRY TO RAISE AXE AND SEE WHAT'S GOING ON THERE. ANGEL IF YOU COULD...}"

Flamehammer is still talking, but The Mechanician has other things on his mind, and needs his hearing to perform them. A flick of the tongue in the right place of his mouth-guard turns off the feed to his ears. He places his hands (and the speakers in the palms and elbows of his armor) against the wall of the building. Using the trigger built in the toe of his boots, he sends a pulse of sonic energy through the structure, getting the readings back from vibrations. His power-augmented mind reads the response of the building, calculating rough estimates of the size, the spaces within, the amount of stress the walls can handle. Small motions in his hands tune the sound pulsing through the structure to the perfect levels.

While he can't focus a building like he can the finely-tuned workings of his subsonic inducers, he can still have an enormous impact on those inside.

The rattling of the slowly increasing rainfall was making it more and more a challenge to keep his attention on making sure every note was just right, but once he was sure he had it, he stood still, sending wave after wave of sound into the building, pitched too low for humans to consciously register, but not too low for it to be effective. Equations for the frequency of the vibration pulses and the frequency of vibrations themselves mix together in his mind, and vast and deep calculations, exceedingly well-practiced over decades of service and training, happen at an almost instinctive level. He can feel, from the response of the building itself, the increase of activity inside, the confusion, people stumbling about a bit like ants when the nest is disturbed, before the pressure waves settle them, calm them, soothe them.

He supposes that it would be confusing, going about your business until suddenly you start seeing stars and slipping into unconsciousness. The effect generally blocks the formation of memories, though, so it's a challenge to get a good survey of how people reacted to those first waves.

The Mechanician opens his eyes and turns to the now-rather-wet Psilocyber, her shirt sticking to her in unfortunate ways. He'd discussed her lack of propriety with her before, but that message never seems to get through. "_{THAT SHOULD DO IT,}" he says. "_{I CAN'T HEAR ANY MORE MOVEMENT INSIDE.}" He reactivates his communications equipment with a directed motion of his tongue.

"_{great, let's get out of this.}" The redhead shivers. "_{i can't operate in the rain and wind, all my nanos will get wrecked.}"

"Then I have some very bad news for you," the Arctic Angel says over the comms.

4:55 PM

Dockworks Telecom

the workspace outside the War Room

"That bad?"

"A bit like a drowned rat."

"But only a bit?"

Tanya rolls her eyes. "Do you want me to go get you a towel, or are you sending your minion home to get you a fresh suit?"

"Tempting, but we need you here."

"We sure do. So why'd you pull me away from the computers?"

"Because I need all the info you've got on Psilocyber, fast as you can, because I'm pretty sure she and the Mechanician are coming here next, and I need you to give it to me where we're not going to be distracted by the other things going on, or taking away from their work."

Tanya shrugs. "Alright, sure, she's a tech freak, obviously, uses a nanobot swarm that bunches up around her in a protective shell, anyone close gets infected—"

"Allies too?"

"Silver Tongue, they're nanobots, if they get in a draft they just go up a nose, they don't care whose."

"So how does she keep from affecting Mechanician?"

Tanya shrugs again. "Either there's some sort of DNA encoding, which would mean they're constantly checking their code against a central database, or Mechanician has some sort of protection on him. If it's bio-based, like a vaccine, his immune system is just murdering the bots when they get in there, but that probably would mean new upgrades, maybe even new programs, would need new vaccines, and also you'd need a couple weeks for it to work, so I'm guessing it's either the first one or he has something on him that deactivates them."

"Okay. What do the nanobots do?"

"In people they're basically psychotropics. LSD kinda sh—stuff. I don't get the biology or chemistry of it, that's not my field, but I read a bunch of the documentation because nanobots are awesome. Pretty much you get high as f—as, uh, heck, and then super suggestible, and just go along with things because you're high as... heck."

Sterling chuckles, amused. "You can swear around me, you know."

"Jesus fuck that's a goddamn relief." She points at him accusingly. "If you did that to me deliberately I will... Ugh. Whatever."

"Having trouble threatening me, too?"

She hangs her head. "Let me guess, you're going to fucking tell me you didn't do it, like the whole... topless... thing."

"I would bet that you're acting in the way you believe a proper minion should ask."

She nods. "You're an asshole villain, and I'm your fucking thrall, and there's nothing I can do about it."

"And we'll talk about that later."

She keeps looking at her feet. "Yes, Silver Tongue," she mutters.

"Thank you." Sterling smiles at her. "Anything more I need to know about Psilocyber? Or any of the others?"

Tanya looks back up and shakes her head. "Psilocyber can be dangerous because she can mess with electronics, too, but she's gotta get close in. Her nanos can't last outside their container or another body for more than about a minute." The wind howls outside, and Tanya waves at the main doors. "That helps, too."

"Sure, but it's going to ground the drones."

"Well, which would you prefer?" she asks, putting her hands on her hips. "Information, or protection?"

"Information is protection."

She scoffs. "That's bullshit, Silver Tongue. Protection is protection, information is fucking information. Keep your lanes straight. Information is just potential until you do something with it, and if you wanna see what potential is worth on its own I can show you fucking graveyards full of people with some great insights. That's like those jackasses that talk about the best defense being a good offense."

"What is the best defense, then?" Silver Tongue asks, raising an eyebrow.

"A good defense, you fuckwit." She slaps the back of her right hand into her left palm repeatedly, punctuating her speech. "You need both a good defense and a good offense. If you think that the only thing you can get away with is a good offense, you're going to get hurt bad by someone else with a... well, with any fucking offense."

"Is that the problem you see?"

"What?" Tanya seems taken aback by the question. "What the fuck? Why are you asking me that? And fuck, no, if anything, you've got the opposite issue, you're all reaction. From what I can see you're counting on just fucking existing being enough to hurt the Brights, like you're, I dunno, a smog cloud or some shit, impossible to actually hit but still choking them out. And you can see what that's gonna do, Psilocyber's gonna walk through that door over there and we'll all be hopped up on her weird tech and then in fucking jail and who the Christ knows what comes next. What did you say last night? Maybe when you're sixty you'll be in the mayor's chair? You really think that this little company can survive for another twenty, twenty-five goddamn years of slow, creeping growth, with people like the Brights pushing back? Jesus, Silver Tongue, if we get through this to see the sunrise on this side of a jail cell, you had better step up the fucking agenda a bit. You can't just sit here and be a righteous fucking coward your whole adult life."

"Okay. That's something to think about, for sure." He scratches his nose. "Back to those defenses Mechanician might have."

She sighs. "Christ, Thomas was right about you and long-term plans. Yeah, either DNA encoding or he's carrying something."

"Can you work on ways of breaking those?"

"Sure, the first is easy, shut down whatever server the nanos are using to grab their no-hit information from. Okay, so that's not easy, but with the resources we have... shouldn't be a fuckin' problem, if I can borrow a couple of the hacker-types in there." Tanya bites her lip. "Second is trickier, I'll have to think about it. Why, you planning some sort of drug-fueled orgy with a middle-aged superhero?"

Sterling shakes his head. "No, but taking him out of commission would be a boon." He turns towards the War Room. "We should probably get back in there, but also..." He hesitates.

"Yeah, what is it?"

"I gave you permission to swear, not to insult me."

Her eyes widen. "Seriously? Fuck, Silver Tongue, is this really the time to... Urgh!" She throws up her hands in frustration and heads back to her post.

There's never a wrong time to make sure your minions know what's what, he says to himself, following behind with a smile on his face.

The rooftops of the PCDCC

Five o'clock

If you're not in control of yourself, someone else is.

Sharon's words tear at Chelsea. The thought makes her hand ache. The glass cut on her hand has healed, a function of her power, but the memory still stings. She had lost control then, nine days—only nine days!—ago. And Sharon's right. She hadn't been in control, not in that moment. Sterling was. And that had frightened her, then, enough that she'd needed a moment, a break, a breath.

She doesn't know how, or why. Something about his words. His touch. Maybe his maturity, or his experience, or... She can't sort it out.

Or maybe it wasn't Sterling.

Arctic Angel frowns at the thought as she prepares to return to the air. Of course she'd been in control the entire time. Except when she had accidentally destroyed the glass. The Angel is always in control. But even that...

But what about the first time with Flamehammer, we were training and we just...

"It was just the right time," the Angel mutters, too quietly to be heard on the comms over the wind and rain. "I was tired, we were exercising, it was a sexy moment."

We were out of control, Chelsea thinks, but whether she means herself and the Angel or herself and Flamehammer isn't clear.

"We are in control." A camera drone zips by, and a quick blast of ice sends it spiralling down to the ground.

Are we, though? Chelsea growls internally. Last night we did two things we swore up and down we would never, never do.

"We do what's good for the Bright Society."

What is best for the Bright Society, anyway? Chelsea wonders. Flamehammer is convinced that he's the best possible leader for the Society, and the faster he can take the helm and drive the ship, the better it will be for everyone. And having seen his dominance, his way of managing, it's hard for the Angel to disagree.

"But why?" she whispers. "Why is it hard to disagree?"

When did it become hard to disagree?

A memory, the woman from the night before. She'd been listening, as instructed, from a convenient hiding space. "You've been fucking with my memory," she says, slamming the subsonic inducer on the table.

"Is he..."

Is he?

"And if he is..."

If we're not in control...

"Someone else is."

And then she had betrayed a friend.

Sure, she had given Sharon the opportunity to get away, to run, but she had put the Society above Sharon's well-being—no, above Sharon, full stop. She could have refused. She could have frozen the containment team and carried Sharon away. She could have just warned Sharon of their arrival and helped her get away on her own, instead of...

But once we'd crossed that other line...

The needs of the Society come before the needs of one turncoat informant. Especially one who was going to reveal—

Reveal?

—who was going to cast doubt on Flamehammer's leadership.

No. No no, you go back and think about what she was going to reveal.

The fire in the cafe. The blaze that killed Gerald Bright. The bomb that went off in Tanya's apartment.

All to advance the Bright Society.

But did they?

The Society lost the PR battle that followed the cafe fire. But Flamehammer took a prominent role, or at least tried to, in the face of the riots. The death of Gerald Bright threw the Society into chaos. And Flamehammer has used that chaos to step into leadership in his father's place. And Flamehammer is convinced that he's the best possible leader for the Society, and it's—

Hard to disagree.

An actor doesn't consider the feelings of the costume they're wearing. Chelsea's guilt is as irrelevant to Arctic Angel as if it was her dress complaining. Except... the Angel isn't wearing Chelsea's face, not at the moment.

She had sworn never to betray her friends, regardless of the cost. She had sworn...

Never to kill.

The Angel is not Warren Donovan's child in any way but biologically. As much as she acts for the good of the Bright Society, she has to this point always said that she would not compromise her morals to that cause. What good can a superhero society do if its membership is permitted to be evil? It's a well-known tenet that Brights do not kill unless absolutely necessary, was a threat to the reputation of the apparent heir to the leadership really a necessity?

Especially if that threat to his reputation was caused by something he'd legitimately done.

"I've been working for a year and a goddamn half for you so that I could bring my sister here, and I find out that she and I have never discussed the plans I thought I was making with her."

If the woman she'd... frozen the night before, if she was telling the truth, what Flamehammer could have done, what was possible is immense. Control like that... The stuff of legends. Of one legend, to that point, at least of one legend that she was aware of. And once this battle is over, she will discuss it with Flamehammer, at length.

Arctic Angel is certain that Flamehammer will have a simple explanation, and will put her and Chelsea's concerns at ease.

She ignores the voice in the back of her mind that points out that Flamehammer might just be able to control her into accepting any explanation he offers.

5:04 PM

Axe staggers to his feet, putting a hand to his head, the Arctic Angel lands nearby.

"You okay, Axe?" she asks, offering him a hand. It's a bit late, he's already standing.

"I AM FINE." He shakes his head to clear it, and to get the water out from his mask. "I RAN INTO GREY AND THE ARSONIST BUT THEY SLIPPED PAST ME." He punctuates the statement with a swing of his fist that knocks the car he'd fallen against on its side, and yet causes it no significant damage.

Arctic Angel seems to be keeping carefully composed. "Do you know where they went?"

Axe shakes his head. "THE MAN STOOD IN MY WAY WHILE THE WOMAN RAN." He points. "THAT WAY, I BELIEVE, BUT IT IS HARD TO TELL."

"Easier from the air."

"I DO NOT FLY, SADLY. I MAKE OTHERS FLY BUT THEY DO NOT STAY IN THE AIR." He chuckles as his axe reforms in his hand. "WE SHOULD FIND THEM."

A crack of distant thunder floats in from off the shore, barely heard over the pouring rain. The Angel frowns, spreading her wings and fluttering them to shake off some of the water. "What to do then?"

"HOLD THEM FOR PSILOCYBER. DISABLE THEIR TECHNOLOGY. MAKE THEM READY FOR THE POLICE."

Arctic Angel nods, and seems about to speak when a voice comes in over the communicator.

"^{THE STORM SEEMS TO BE GROWING WORSE, ANGEL ARE YOU SAFE TO FLY?}"

"I am not subject to the same physical forces as are birds," the Angel replies. "I could fly through a hurricane."

"^{AXE, WILL THE RAIN TROUBLE YOU?}"

"NO, FLAMEHAMMER, I CAN FIGHT WET AS WELL AS I CAN DRY."

"^{PSILOCYBER? MECHANICIAN?}"

"_{wind and rain mean i can't operate outside.}"

"_{I DON'T LIKE IT BUT I CAN DO IT.}"

"^{ANY MORE INFORMATION ON OUR TARGETS?}"

"_{yes, i'm into their networks here,}" Psilocyber said, "_{and with mech's help i'm decoding the maps.}"

"_{WE HAVE HELP, TOO, THOUGH IT TAKES A WHILE TO GET USEFUL INFORMATION FROM THE PEOPLE THAT PSILOCYBER HAS INFECTED.}"

"_{i suggest that we bring anyone i take down here, there's plenty of food for when they get the munchies, lots of room, it's safe.}"

"^{GOOD PLAN, ANY MORE CIVILIANS CAN BE BROUGHT THERE.}" There's a pause. Axe and Arctic Angel move towards a nearby building, to get some shelter from the weather. "^{AXE, YOU HAD CONTACT WITH GREY AND NOMURA?}"

"GREY IS CHALLENGING. MY CONTACT WITH THE ARSONIST WAS MINIMAL."

"^{WE MUST FIND THEM. TOP PRIORITY.}"

"_{i know where communications and security can be found, there might be more information there.}"

"^{GOOD, PSILOCYBER, MECHANICIAN, WHEN YOU CAN, PROCEED TO COMMUNICATIONS; AXE, ANGEL, YOU DEAL WITH SECURITY, GET DIRECTIONS FROM PSILOCYBER.}"

Security. Security will be fun to deal with. "POINT US IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION AND WE WILL HANDLE IT."

The Angel brushes wet hair from her face. "We will do as directed," she confirms.

"_{GOT IT, WE'LL SHUT DOWN THEIR COMMS.}"

Psilocyber is silent, at least on the line.

"^{I AM IN CONTACT WITH THE POLICE, WE WILL HAVE THEIR BACKUP SOON, ALTHOUGH THE WEATHER WILL BE A FACTOR.}"

Police backup will not be needed, Axe thinks to himself. "ARE WE READY, ANGEL?"

The tall woman nods. "Directions, Cyber? From Harbor and Pesseller?"

"_{yeah, one sec.}"

Axe can hardly wait.