Port City, USA

Under Bright Tower

A shower stall

3:05 AM Friday morning

It is important for those being put in the containment chamber to be clean, so these showers are fully operational.

At the moment, though, it's being put to a second purpose.

The water is very hot. Enough to be uncomfortable for the agent standing next to her captive, even as a cold mist comes off the woman bound for containment.

Special case, this one, and, very delicate.

Containment had never handled any of Arctic Angel's victims, but they had trained for it. It wasn't like if she was dropped, she would shatter. No, the delicacy of this one was more who they've brought in, not how she was brought in. Of course, that, too, was what the containment team was for; they exist to manage those people that are a danger to the Bright Society, for one reason or another.

The agent doesn't know why the police chief's daughter is a danger to the Society, and she doesn't much care. That isn't her business. Her business is getting the prisoner free from the ice encompassing her naked body and into stasis with as little trouble as possible.

It is a busy night for Containment. Having two people on the stasis tables was two more than they usually had, and one more than this agent had seen at any time occupying the space. The stasis chamber is not efficient means of keeping people, a huge draw on the power grid. Mechanician had somehow made it possible to stop someone's bodily functions almost completely, but to maintain that state takes a lot of energy. Seeing Arctic Angel's work firsthand suggests to the agent that maybe there's a better way to accomplish the same thing—if heat could speed the recovery process, surely cold would slow it down, and a single stasis table draws more energy than an industrial freezer would—but that, too, is not something she's going to concern herself with.

She knows that the other agents are busy with their jobs. One is watching the two of them in the shower from a secure room; since Containment is meant, among other things, to handle dangerous individuals that prisons won't hold, there are a number of countermeasures available if the prisoner decides to fight or run. As far as the agent knows, this particular prisoner has no real ability to resist, so they won't need to be employed, but protocol dictates that they be ready for any surprises. Any number of people might have unknown or undiscovered powers, after all.

The prisoner shivers, the first indication of life the agent has seen, and starts to pick herself up from the floor. "Containment?" she asks, her voice shaky with the cold, stepping up into the hot spray.

"Yes," the agent replies, feeling a pang of sympathy. "Decontamination, first."

The prisoner nods. "This is less fun than the last time I thawed in the shower," she says with a sly look.

The agent grins behind her face-covering mask, despite herself. "Sounds like some excitement."

"Yeah, I'm here because Arctic Angel and I are good friends. Wouldn't do for her secret identity to get out, right?"

The agent shrugs. "Not my business."

"No, I guess not. You just do as you're told, right? Good little soldiers for the Bright Society."

"Pretty much."

She had watched the other prisoner, the one with powers, being brought in. She'd been... resigned to her fate; not sad or depressed or upset, just generally accepting. This one seems upbeat, almost jovial. She turns into the spray, letting it run over her body. "Guess we'll be seeing a lot of each other for a while."

"I'll be seeing you," the agent replies. "Not so much the other way around."

"Is that how it works?" The prisoner grins. "Gosh, you seem almost human, behind the protective suit."

"Thanks, I try."

"Thought you weren't supposed to."

"We all approach it differently." The agent shrugs again. "I get to see you in the altogether, and it's not like you're a threat to me."

"Oh, 'get to'?" The prisoner turns around to face the agent. "This is a privilege, then?"

"Compared to the other jobs we have to do, the paperwork, remote security, maintenance, I'll take a little overheating in the shower any day."

"Not what I asked," the prisoner shoots back, her hands running sensually over her sides.

The agent laughs. "You're beautiful, but I don't swing that way."

The prisoner laughs with her. "I didn't either, until I did." But she relents and starts rubbing her legs. "Circulation's coming back, I should be ready for whatever comes next."

"Sonic decontamination," the agent explains, "and then stasis."

"Sounds like a good time."

The agent had been subject to the entire procedure, as they all were as part of their training. "It's not, really." She takes the prisoner by the elbow, gently.

"Is that necessary?" the prisoner asks.

"It's protocol. If I do it wrong, I get disciplined."

"Sounds like a good time."

The agent laughs. "It's not, really. It's a lot less whips and chains and a lot more paperwork and meetings. Though it can depend on just who you piss off."

The prisoner giggles at the thought as the agent opens the door to the decontamination room. The agent doesn't really understand how sonic decontamination works, but knows that it's an important step in the procedure. Mechanician has built some interesting things over his decades with the Society, and apparently this one dates back to the days of concerns over nuclear attack. She guides the prisoner into the small room, with barely enough space for the two of them. "It's about to get dark," she warns the prisoner. They hear the doors lock, and the lights go out.

"I'm not scared of the dark," the prisoner replies.

"Neither am I. Wouldn't be a good job for me otherwise."

A loud hum fills the room. When the agent had gone through this as part of her training, it had made her skin crawl and itch, but the effect doesn't seem to pierce the protective gear she's wearing. She knows that the remote security agent is watching on the infrared camera, and with the push of a button could change the decontamination effect to a stunning one, but that is clearly not needed in this situation.

While she can't see anything, she can feel the prisoner shuffling, likely in discomfort. Decontamination isn't an awful experience, but it's not something that she would do for fun on a Saturday afternoon, as her grandmother used to say. It's also a mercifully short one, and the sonic waves have left the two of them drier than any towel might as they walk into the sterile stasis room. She remembers the discussion about the importance of keeping the room as clean as possible, as the people in stasis have little defense against any microbes that might attack their skin. Internally, they're safe, but anything landing on them could be a problem. One of the reasons that the process is so thorough, and uses up so much energy.

"Who's she?" the prisoner asks, waving toward the other woman in the room. The green-eyed beauty, maybe a year or two older than the prisoner, lies on her back on an eight-foot-long metal table, one of six around the room. She's naked, and she's not breathing. The lights around the edges of the table flicker and blink in test patterns indicating that everything is working properly.

"Your roommate for the next while." The agent leads the prisoner to one of the unoccupied tables. "Sorry, I can't tell you more than that."

The prisoner nods as she climbs on the table. "How long can someone stay in here?"

The agent shrugs. "I've heard theories that there won't be any health effects for something like twenty years. Longest we've ever had anyone in as far as I know is nine months."

"I bet I'll be out by Monday," the prisoner says as she lies down. "Pretty sure this is a temporary sentence."

"Two minutes, two hours, two weeks, two years... it'll all pass in a blink." The agent smiles. "The worst is over, I promise."

"Hasn't exactly been bad, up 'til n—"

Mid-word, the stasis table activates, and the prisoner falls instantly silent, her mouth frozen half-open, a cute smile in her eyes. As per protocol, the agent presses lightly on the prisoner's stomach and finds her skin completely unyielding. Like the other woman in the room, she's not breathing.

Everything looks to be in order. The agent heads back to the decontamination room, and back to her work.

Nothing to report.

The corner of Water Street and Pardie Avenue

5:52 PM

"^{I KNOW YOU'RE HERE!}"

"Do you?"

Oddly, the strange, soft voice comes through to him on his earpiece, not from the world around him. He checks his surroundings, but aside from the weirdly-placed vehicles and the absence of people, nothing is out of the ordinary.

"^COWARD," he mutters, loud enough that the microphone will pick him up.

"Realist. You'll break my ribs if you hit me."

I'll break more than that, Flamehammer thinks to himself, the heat from his power warming him against the rain. He walks around a small car parked in the middle of the intersection, looking about alertly. "^{WHY CALL ME HERE EXCEPT TO FIGHT?}"

"Sometimes it's important to talk, Flamehammer. It wouldn't hurt you to remember that."

"^{YOU'RE STALLING FOR TIME.}"

"That doesn't make much sense, does it? Whose side is time on, anyway? You've got the police coming to back you up. My time is limited, yours isn't."

"^{SO WHY AREN'T YOU HERE TO FACE ME?}"

"Realism, like I said. But I'm close by. Perhaps you hear the echo of my voice through your helmet."

Flamehammer pauses, listening. "^{I DON'T YET.}"

"And when you do, Flamehammer, well... you know what my voice can do. Don't think you're immune, you're as susceptible as anyone else."

He scoffs. "^{WHAT, ARE YOU GOING TO MAKE ME KNEEL AND SURRENDER?}"

"Do you feel like kneeling and surrendering?"

"^{NOT TO YOU, VILLAIN.}"

"Then what do you imagine I could say to make you kneel?"

"^{AH, SO THERE IS A LIMIT TO YOUR POWERS,}" Flamehammer growls. "^{I WAS TOLD YOU COULD MAKE ANYONE DO ANYTHING.}"

"I can. Does that frighten you?" There's a low chuckle on the line. Flamehammer turns, half convinced he'd heard the sound behind him, but sees nothing. "In truth, if I have time, I can convince anyone of anything, though the difference might seem academic, it's not inconsequential. And some people will take more time than others. Perhaps you've heard of Courier?"

"^{OF COURSE, WHO HASN'T?}" Silver Tongue is right, of course, time is on Flamehammer's side, so he decides to keep the supervillain talking while he looks around the intersection.

"Perhaps the reason you can't find me is that he's taught me his technique," Silver Tongue says almost seductively in his earpiece. "Maybe I'm invisible, unnoticeable. Maybe that's how I've evaded the Bright Society's watchful eyes."

Flamehammer looks around another vehicle, towards another building. The rain is starting to let up, but it still impedes his vision.

"Or maybe I just learned who to talk to. People like Mistress Web."

"^{YOU SON OF A—}"

"Oh, so that strikes a nerve, does it?" Another chuckle. Flamehammer speeds up his patrol of the area. "To know that anyone at all might be subject to my voice? Anyone you've met might be a traitor? That I might have people inside the organization? Inside the police department? Or perhaps there's even another hero I've corrupted. Tell me, Flamehammer... How do you imagine that I got my hands on Arctic Angel's communicator?"

A wordless roar escapes Flamehammer's throat and he brings his fiery fist down on a car, breaking the driver's window. His anger over the idea that Silver Tongue might have his hands on Arctic Angel, on his property, that the villain might be building off of his months of work, is difficult to contain.

"Psilocyber? Mechanician? The IT team here is beyond excellent. But do you think that the Angel froze Axe by accident?"

"^{WHAT ARE YOU—}"

A sarcastic gasp on the line cuts him off. "Oh, didn't she report that? I'm sorry. If you head two blocks uptown and one south, you'll find the scene of that crime. Axe standing up after a swing, frozen in place like a statue of some kind of Viking conqueror. He was useless, of course, which is why I never bothered with him."

Flamehammer snarls. "^{COME OUT, YOU—}"

"Coward? Again? Oh, I figured that they'd teach you better than that in Bright Academy or whatever it is that passes for training among the Society." That infuriating chuckle. "Axe was useless, but you... now there's another story."

Flamehammer pulls up short. "^{ME? WE'VE NEVER SPOKEN BEFORE.}"

"Oh, haven't we? If I'm as invisible as the Courier, how would you ever know? If I can warp minds and memories, how would you ever find out? You know what can be done with mind control. I know how you play with subsonic inducers, how you manipulate with secondhand technology. Imagine how much more potent it is when it comes directly from the voice of a natural superpower."

He's making far too much sense to continue listening to. "^{YOUR VOICE WILL END WHEN I TEAR OUT YOUR THROAT!}"

A movement to his right. A man in a steel-grey suit stepping out from a doorway, into the rain. "You might do just that," he says, and Flamehammer can hear the echo of his voice on the communication device, "if I hadn't programmed you so that you'll never land a hit."

I think you actually want violence. The voice echoes in his mind, and several important things click into place. "^{I'VE HIT YOU BEFORE, GREY,}" he bellows, rushing across the intersection, flames roaring across his torso, arms, and fists. "^{THIS TIME I WON'T PULL MY PUNCH.}"

At the PCDCC small-craft docks

5:58 PM

"Well, the stupid fucker's done it," Tanya says, looking at Chelsea. The medics had found a spare set of scrubs, so the nurse wasn't naked under her lifejacket. Jim was standing nearby, using his power to hold the waves down while the search and rescue team loads up the necessary supplies. "He's revealed himself. The clock's ticking. Why the fuck can't you date normal men?"

"Too boring," Chelsea replies, a bit distracted. "Obviously I need someone who can mess with my brain."

"Okay, all ready," says the driver, hopping carefully into the boat. "You're all coming?"

"I know where to find her," Chelsea says.

Jim nods. "You'll want me to manage the water, I think." His voice is already strained with the effort of his calming the water near the boat.

"I guess I'm not really useful." Tanya shrugs. "I just wanna be there to make sure she's alright, you know?"

Chelsea puts a hand on her friend's shoulder. "She'll be fine. Go do your minioning."

"How the fuck do you know what to say to a mindless drone?" Tanya grins.

"Been one long enough, I guess. You learn the language."

"Chels?" Tanya's voice drops. "You okay?"

Chelsea shakes her head. "I want to tear them both to pieces, and take them both to bed, and all of that because they're both messing with my mind." She sighs. "But, Sterling was right. I don't have to be divided, and I don't have to just be what they want me to be. I just... I don't know how to do that yet."

Tanya takes a slow breath. "Yeah, he's good at that whole thing where he says the right shit, huh."

Chelsea smiles sadly. "He's a good man, Tanya. And Flamehammer isn't."

"But you're still divided about it."

"The Angel disagrees with me."

The little engine grumbles to life. Tanya pushes her friend's hand off her shoulder. "Sharon knew it before I did," Tanya admits. "Go, they need you."

Chelsea spares a moment to pull Tanya into a hug, then rushes to the boat and gets in quickly. Tanya watches them speed off with a little wave, then turns the volume back on to listen in on Flamehammer and her boss. She heads back towards communications as she tries to catch up with the goings on; the senior engineers should be waking up, and they might need help.

The corner of Water and Pardie

5:58 PM

Silver Tongue drops low, out of the way of the attack. "I told you, you won't hit me."

"^{I'VE HIT YOU ONCE!}"

He stays down, on one knee. If Flamehammer swings for him, his head is easily in range and he doesn't have a ready means of escape. At least the heat from Flamehammer's body does something to counter the chill of the weather. "You hit Sterling Grey. You've never met me." If his gamble doesn't pay off, never mind a police car, he'll be in an ambulance. Or a hearse.

Flamehammer's hand falls roughly on Silver Tongue's shoulder, gripping hard. "^{I DON'T SEE A LOT OF DIFFERENCE FROM WHERE I'M STANDING.}"

"But there is." Silver Tongue smiles smugly up at the hero. "Sterling Grey is just an ordinary person. Silver Tongue is a mind controller."

"^{YOU'LL BE NEITHER IF I KNOCK OUT YOUR TEETH.}" The heat from Flamehammer's grip becomes more intense, but not painful, not yet.

That practiced chuckle comes to him even as the danger is exceedingly evident. "And how will that look? A heavily armored hero, crushing the face of an unarmed man?"

"^{I'LL TELL THEM WHO YOU ARE.}"

"And what would that accomplish, Flamehammer? I'll deny it, and who do you think people will believe? I'm far more likely to be believed than you." He laughs, then. "There's only one good course of action for you, if you're going to hurt me like this, and that's to murder me. And I know that you've murdered people before. Crystal Smith comes to mind."

"^WHO?"

The grip on Silver Tongue's shoulder becomes tighter and hotter, and he fights not to wince. "Don't play stupid, Flamehammer, it's unbecoming. Own up to it. She was inconvenient. She was going to spill your secrets, so you had Arctic Angel freeze her and you tossed her in the ocean like so much trash."

"^{I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE—"}

"What, was she going to tell people that you were scouting the docks, looking for weaknesses? Or was it something else she'd discovered, something else she'd guessed?" Silver Tongue grins, showing teeth, and not kindly. "Were you involved with the death of Gerald Bright? Is that—"

Silver Tongue's speech is cut off as he's thrown forward, roughly. He manages to get his hands in front of him and to roll to the side, moving quickly to dodge the flaming metal-plated fist that impacts the pavement where his head had been a moment before. He sweeps up to his feet, feeling muscles resist. I'm going to be feeling that for a while.

"^{YOU DO NOT KNOW WHAT YOU'RE SAYING!}"

Silver Tongue maintains a safe distance, ready to jump back from any forward movement Flamehammer might make. "You said it more than once. I'm a coward. I hide. I'm the villain. What does that make you, lying, cheating, murdering? At least I've never killed anyone."

"^{YOU JUST GET PEOPLE KILLED!}"

He snorts derisively. "Like who? The people you've murdered? You're saying I'm responsible? I didn't kill Bright, or Smith. I didn't try to wipe every last trace of Chelsea Donovan from her own mind. I'm not the aggressor here."

It's Flamehammer's turn to scoff. "^{YOU'RE AGGRESSIVE BY YOUR NATURE. YOU'RE CRIMINALS.}"

"And yet I count two bodies to your name, and none to mine. Two to yours in the last two days, no less."

"^{HOW MANY DIE BECAUSE YOU PROTECT CRIMINALS?}" Flamehammer takes a step forward, causing Silver Tongue to step back.

"How many die because you don't?"

"^{WHY WOULD I CARE WHAT HAPPENS TO LAW-BREAKERS?}" Another step forward.

Mirrored by another step back. "Because they're human, Flamehammer. Because they matter. Because they can do incredible things." Silver Tongue smirks. "You speak pretty harshly of law-breakers for someone with two murders in forty-eight hours."

"You holding up, boss?" Tanya's voice on the earpiece. He brushes it aside for a moment to listen to Flamehammer's reply.

"^{IS THIS WHERE YOU TELL ME THAT WE'RE NOT SO DIFFERENT?}"

Silver Tongue legitimately laughs with glee, moving back to increase the space between the two of them. "Haven't you been listening? We couldn't be more different, Flamehammer!" He skirts the edge of the damaged smartcar. "You could only wish we were the same."

"Okay, I'm getting back to Communications," Tanya says. Silver Tongue takes note, files away the information, and puts himself in the more urgent moment.

Flamehammer charges, and Silver Tongue dances around the car. "I'm surrounded by friendship and love. You're surrounded by fear, purchased loyalty, opportunism..." He moves to the front of the car, while Flamehammer glowers at him from the rear. "The Confederation is built on common welfare and the recognition of the humanity of the membership. The Bright Society is built on reverence for Gerald and the adulation of his money."

"^{I HOLD NO REVERENCE FOR GERALD BRIGHT!}" Flamehammer howls, giving the car a shove.

Silver Tongue, already having been hit by one car that evening, is ready to move aside. "Isn't that interesting. Such a strong reaction." He clears his throat. Despite the rain, or perhaps because of it, he's starting to find speaking painful. He's also been talking a lot in the past while, and using his power more than he's used to, and that's starting to take its toll. "No reverence for the founder of your own Society? Why not?" He recognizes a point of inflection there, a point of pain, something that can be dug into. Why it's there is something of a mystery, but mysteries are made to be unraveled.

Flamehammer's response is just to shove the car again, forcing Silver Tongue to move a second time.

"How long can you keep the fires burning, Flamehammer? How long until the anger fades, and you're forced to confront what you're doing, and what you've done?" Silver Tongue steps away from the vehicle to deny the hero that weapon. "I'm going to ask a question, Flamehammer, and you're going to answer me truthfully."

The villain can tell, from two decades of wielding his power, by subtle changes in Flamehammer's movements and stance, that his power is finally, finally starting to hit home. Still, dealing with this much fury isn't easy, and like with Chelsea earlier, this is a delicate situation. The hero strides past the car, leaving Silver Tongue very little room to maneuver.

"Simple yes or no. If I pulled off that mask of yours," Silver Tongue says, and he sees his opponent tense, ready to charge, "Would I find Reginald Bright looking back at me?"

On the ocean, by the marina

6:04 PM

The diver surfaces and gives a thumbs-up sign.

Chelsea breathes a sigh of relief as the winch starts its slow and careful work.

The diver goes back under to make sure that the operation goes smoothly.

She looks at Jim, straining with the effort of keeping the waves calm around the boat. Just a moment more. We can go to shore right here. It's almost over. Just... just hold on, a couple minutes more.

She can feel the chill in her heart. She worries that it's the Angel, that she won't be able to handle her alter-ego if she chooses that moment to emerge.

But she also doesn't think that she can handle seeing a frozen woman, the evidence of her attempted murder.

No one's watching her. And she's not needed. She walks to the back of the boat, slips off the borrowed scrubs, and leaps into the air, transforming as she goes. She needs to get away, and that means risking being Arctic Angel for a while.

Water and Pardie

6:05 PM

Flamehammer grins. He laughs. His hands rise to his helmet.

With one, smooth, slow movement, he removes the headgear hiding his identity.

"^{GOOD GUESS.}"

There's that infuriating chuckle again. "That would explain why you had no love for the old man."

"^{WHY SHOULD I, WHEN HE DIDN'T SHOW ME ANY?}" He knows his sneer is showing. "^{SHOULD WE GET ON WITH THIS?}"

"Get on with what, Reggie?" Silver Tongue asks, mock-confusion in his voice. "What's necessary about what we're doing here?"

Flamehammer pauses. "^{YOU A VILLAIN, I'M A HERO, I'M GOING TO FIGHT YOU AND BRING YOU IN.}"

Silver Tongue nods sagely. "The way things have always been. Your father's way."

Flamehammer advances a step. "^{WHAT DO YOU KNOW OF—}"

"Your father's work? The ways of heroes?" Instead of retreating, Silver Tongue walks towards Flamehammer, a vague smile on his face. "I know more than you might think. In the beginning, or at least, at my beginning, Gerald and I were on the same side of an important fight."

"^DONOVAN."

Silver Tongue nods. He coughs, once, loudly. "Warren Donovan loomed large here." He opens his arms, indicating the docks. "The police had no way to deal with his organization and were half in his pocket anyway. It took my ability to give the Brights their foothold, their way in."

"^{THAT WAS THEN.}"

"That doesn't have to be restricted to the past, Reggie." Silver Tongue steps closer again. He's almost within reach. "I could never convince your father, no matter how I tried, but the Brights don't have to stand against the PCDCC. We don't have to be enemies. Security and ConRes have helped break down smuggling rings and human trafficking operations, matters that the police and even the Brights couldn't deal with. We've scattered or absorbed the underground elements that used to dominate the docks. The people here are safe, comfortable, even happy. Tell me, Reggie..." He coughs again, and takes a breath, and when he speaks again, his voice sounds... different. Thinner. Higher-pitched. "Tell me, Reggie, are you, have you been happy?"

Flamehammer takes a step back. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"This isn't about me. Or my father. Or my life." The flames have gone out. "I'm here to fight you. I'm here to fight."

"A week ago, on this very spot, I told you something."

I think you actually want violence, the echo comes back to him. Reggie nods.

"You're here to fight. It's what you came here for. Twice now. It was always inevitable, with that in mind."

Gritted teeth. "What's your point?"

"That's what the Brights do. They respond. They only respond, and only with violence, and only to what they see as crime. What good could you do, with your power, Reggie? If you didn't have to worry about 'crime,' and you just had to concern yourself with making things better?" He sounds almost... sympathetic.

"I am making things better." Reggie points a finger at Sterling's chest. "^{I PUT CRIMINALS LIKE YOU IN JAIL.}"

"How does that make things better?"

Reggie's voice drops to a growl. "^{FEWER CRIMINALS ON THE STREETS. LAW AND ORDER.}" Still, the question hangs in the air.

"The police and the Brights have been agents of disorder here. If that is your goal, you should leave." Flamehammer starts to object, but Silver Tongue's voice cuts through. "Was Crystal a criminal? Was Gerald Bright? Sharon Marrol? Mistress Web? The protesters you had thrown in jail?"

"^{ENOUGH TALK!}" Flamehammer swings at Silver Tongue, who deftly slips aside.

"It's difficult to confront, isn't it? Tough to conceptualize? But the fact is, I do more good here than the police do, or the Brights. The Confederation is more powerful than the city council, in the lives of the people here. That's why even if you kill me, this organization will continue. Will the Brights survive your father's loss?" He chuckles. "Especially after this evening?"

The fires ignite once more.

"You're not going to hurt me, Reggie," Silver Tongue says with supremely obnoxious confidence. "You have no reason left to hurt me."

He hesitates. Something about that sounds a bit wrong, but he can't quite put his finger on what.

"We don't even need to be enemies, Reggie. We could work together. But there's something else I don't think you want to share. Or..."

"Someone else," he mutters.

Silver Tongue nods. "It's a good thing, a lucky thing that I came along when I did, Reggie. Playing around with those subsonic inducers..." He sighs. "Mind control isn't as easy as a lot of people think. It's much more subtle. It's not something you should just jump into. You're making mistakes that I did twenty years ago, but I learned from them, and so will you. You don't want to hurt her, not really. I understand. I won't hold it against you. So you'll let her alone, and I'll help her to heal."

That strikes him as something he should be upset to hear, but there's nothing for him to do but agree.

"And now, I'm going to turn and walk away, and you're going to go back to your boat. I'll conveniently forget that Reggie Bright is Flamehammer, if you'll do the same for Sterling Grey."

He finds himself, unbelievably, nodding. He knows it has to be Silver Tongue's voice working on him. That doesn't change the fact that it makes absolute sense.

Silver Tongue removes the communicator from his ear, gives it to Flamehammer in what is almost a handshake, turns, and heads uptown without looking back. Flamehammer, for his part, watches him go for a moment, then turns in the rain, picks up his discarded helmet, and walks slowly down towards the harbor, thinking.

6:09 PM

Reggie's voice drops to a growl. "^{FEWER CRIMINALS ON THE STREETS. LAW AND ORDER.}"

On the communicator, he hears Tanya's triumphant voice. "They got her! She's frozen but she's safe!"

He smiles internally. The endgame is beginning, he no longer needs to stall for time. He activates his power again. "The police and the Brights have been agents of disorder here. If that is your goal, you should leave."

Dockworks Telecom

A few minutes later

"Why are you tying me up?"

"Instructions."

"Why to an office chair?"

"Instructions, I said."

"Wouldn't it be better to ah! ... Like, a table, or something?"

"Then you wouldn't be mobile."

"Why do I need to be mobile?"

"Like I fuckin' know? I just have my instructions. Can you stop wiggling a bit?"

"Sorry. I just... it's been a really crazy day, and I'm still really high on nanos."

"Yeah, I fuckin' picked up that."

"If you give me back my shirt, I—"

"The one with the nanobot generator in it? No, thanks, that's not happening."

"You could be having as much fun as me..."

"I'm not here for fun."

"Okay, so why can't I just go back to sleep like the others?"

"You can sleep all you like when you're tied up."

"Alright, cool. Oof!"

"You're not using that leg right now anyway."

"Hehe, doesn't mean it doesn't hurt."

"Yeah, not like you're upset at all."

"I'm not!"

"I can fuckin' tell. You're too goddamn high to be pissed off. Jesus, can you hold still?"

"Isn't it more fun if I'm wiggling?"

"I said I'm not here for fun! I'm here to do a job."

"You took a little longer than necessary around the chest."

"Oh for... I was trying to be fuckin' gentle, you weirdo. I don't know how much those scars bother you."

"They don't hurt a bit. You can be roughe—ow!"

"That'll teach you to try to give me advice. ... Okay boss, she's secure."

"Who are you talking to?"

"Yeah, she's in the 'just won't fucking shut up' phase of... Okay, got it."

"Why are you pushing me?

"Instructions."

"Where are we going?"

"You'll find out when we fucking get there."

A set of small row houses near the docks

The first floor of an unassuming duplex in the middle of the row

6:10 PM

After taking a quick moment to slip onto the boat and grab Chelsea's keys, Arctic Angel headed for Sharon's home for the second time that day.

She needs a place to reflect.

Sitting on Sharon's bed again, looking at herself in a mirror, a weeks' worth of conversations come back to her.

 I just have a talent for negotiation, for making people see reason.

Why don't we go have a dance or two when I'm done my dinner, and we can sort everything out after?

That first night. Club Argent.

"An interesting meeting."

It had been.

She thinks about that night, once more, in the context of knowing that Sterling Grey is Silver Tongue, and while it would be wrong to attribute everything that happened that night to his mind-controlling voice...

"Surely there was something."

Would she ever have thought a threesome with Sharon was a possibility, let alone that threesome blossoming into two beautiful relationships? Possibly not, but then, Sterling had seemed as genuinely surprised as anyone when he realized that Chelsea and Sharon were still enjoying each other's company as they had that first night.

"And if he didn't suspect that... then no doubt..."

He didn't cause it.

Which means that it's possible that much of the rest of what had happened, what was happening between Chelsea and Sterling was genuine.

But what does that mean about what's been happening between her and Flamehammer?

We do what's good for the Bright Society.

"Or what's good for Flamehammer."

Arctic Angel nods, looking at her reflection. When the two of them are together, the only considerations are what's best for the Brights, or what's best for Flamehammer, because what's best for Flamehammer is assumed to be what's best for the Society.

"But we never think about what's best for you. And as for me..."

Chelsea just disappears when Flamehammer's around. Her objections, her ideas, her impressions, even the name she used to call Flamehammer are all gone when he's near.

A powerful and stark contrast.

Another memory comes up from that first night, Sterling's soft, confident voice.

I know how to show you a fun time.

Would you like to be my guinea pig?

That was a night. That was a perfect night. Despite the broken glass, the wound, the uncertainty.

But...

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

And Chelsea had lost control, then.

It was the first time Chelsea had really, truly lost control.

The Angel rises and moves towards the mirror. "You didn't think of me as someone other than yourself, then."

Chelsea nods. "You weren't. You're still not."

"Logically, this is true, you and I have always been the same. But it does not feel the same, does it?"

You're not Chelsea and I hate it.

"I don't really like not being me."

"But am I not you?"

"You were. But there's something new now. Thanks to Flamehammer and his subsonic inducer."

You got used, but you got used without even knowing it.

Tanya's impactful insight leaps to mind. "You were part of that, you know."

"I am aware. It wasn't my intention to use you, merely to... survive, I suppose. To spread my wings. To correct where you were wrong."

"Even if you're part of me."

"You like being me. Powers exist to be used, after all."

And Chelsea can't deny, even now, that she likes being Arctic Angel. That, more than that, she craves the chance to use that power, to embrace that part of herself.

"Which is what makes it so easy for Flamehammer to use me against you."

"Because I like being you so much, and doing the work of the Bright Society, and fighting to make the world a better place..."

I think you actually want violence.

"You do love a good fight."

"I'm built for it, don't you think?" She examines herself in the mirror. "Or, I suppose, you're built for it, and I'm just along for the ride."

"But at the same time, I'm only built to fight. I cannot look at Sterling Grey and not see Silver Tongue. I cannot look at Sharon or Tanya and not see foes of the Bright Society. You see friends, lovers, companions, confidants. I see only allies and enemies."

Chelsea nods. "But don't discount that. It's important. It's not everything, we shouldn't be looking at the world only like that, but it's still an important view to have."

Arctic Angel looks a bit skeptical. She considers a different question. "Do you think Silver Tongue merely worked his power on you because he thought you were attractive? Surely there is more to it than that."

A hint of a smile crossed their faces at the thought of Sterling and their first date. "Maybe that's where things started, but..." There's a nod in the mirror. "I'm sure he's been enjoying his power as much as you've been enjoying using mine."

"I think he actually wants to control us."

"Oh, definitely." The figure in the mirror poses coquettishly, which is a challenge given the wings. "But when I started thinking about the... the feeling of using your power..."

"He gets the rush, and also the joy of your body."

"And now yours."

A pensive expression. An almost idle reach for her breast.

"It is Flamehammer that wants this body."

"But that's all that Flamehammer wants. Well, not all. The body, the power, the..."

The more you're exposed to mind control, the more you're vulnerable to it.

"... precisely."

She sinks to her knees, one hand still on her breast, the other searching her thighs dangerously.

"Mm, so he decided to possess you."

"And you."

She shakes her own head, waves of hair shimmering around her torso. "No, no. He doesn't want me. He wants who he can make you."

"He wants to make you into me. Entirely."

"Because he can possess you. And I guess he could possess me, too, but what fun am I, compared to the superpowered amazon with the ice magic?"

Arctic Angel shudders as her hand brushes close to her private parts, thinking of being owned like that. "He... he made me to be possessed. He made me want it."

Chelsea nods as her fingers ever-so-slightly brush her labia before pulling away.

"He's not the only one who can..."

Arctic Angel swallows, and pulls her hands away again, but Chelsea won't let the thought of the woman on the boat rest.

You've been fucking with my memory.

"And naturally, he's been fucking with ours as well. There's no reason to assume that it would be restricted to that woman's mind. Where Silver Tongue, Sterling Grey, instead has been... Well, he has also been using us, but it's ... Tanya insisted that it's entirely different, and it's difficult to explain but I feel it too."

You no longer need to be divided.

"His words."

"His beliefs."

"Sincere?"

"Have we ever known him to be otherwise?"

I would really appreciate your company.

"Sterling told us that and we believed him because..."

It was true.

He would. He did. He does.

Let me help you.

He had meant it then. He had been a great help.

He's been a great help every time they've seen him.

And Flamehammer?

They have to admit—

There's a sound at the door.

Chelsea and Arctic Angel sigh, together.

Your wings stay folded in here.

Sharon's rule. But there are no wings to fold.

They rise to their feet, serene, but still ready for anything. The face in the mirror is unfamiliar, but... right.

They walk to the front, unconcerned about who might be approaching. After the day they've had, there's little that can bother them.

You took away the only people who meant any goddamn thing to me in my life.

The memory plays in their mind as they see Tanya in the living room.

"Oh fuck, Jesus, I'm fuckin' sorry, I must have the wrong house, but why the fuck did my key work in the—"

"Tanya."

"Huh? How do you know my—"

"It's us, Tanya."

The small hacker blinks. "It's... who?"

"Us. Chelsea. Arctic Angel. It's us."

Tanya tilts her head. "Someone better start explaining something real fast or I'm gonna get really fucking confused. You know that you don't look or sound like either one of them, right?"

"You said something to me before you cut communication a couple hours ago. I think you'll find that you have."

She raises a suspicious eyebrow. "Yeah? What was that?"

I'm going to get my goddamn friend back.