Port City, USA

Trace Point

A run-down commercial strip mall along a main street

A take-out-and-delivery restaurant called "Lightning Pizza"

Exactly 6:00 PM

Marie arrives for her shift precisely on time to find Ash and William hard at work.

"Big order?" she asks, quickly hanging up her soaked raincoat. It's not all that unusual that they might be cooking, but it was still notable, especially this early into the evening. Lightning was well-regarded and well-reviewed, but often very quiet.

"Not exactly," William replies, putting a fresh pizza in the oven, "but yes."

"There's something happening tonight on the docks," Ash explains, working to make another pizza to cook, "and Catelli's called us up since we're listed as a place that the Dockworks calls on a lot. Apparently there's a list."

"If they're calling for business reasons, they'll have receipts, shouldn't be too hard for the accountant to make a list I guess."

Marie stops cold. "Not... wait so we've got a big order..."

"When Ash 'n' me heard what was goin' on and that Catelli's was organizing a food drive for—"

"The docks. The PCDCC."

"Yeah, that's right." Ash hands the next uncooked pizza to William, then looks at Marie. "You've gone pale, Marie. Well, paler."

She stammers. "Uh, well, it's just that... my mystery man works there, and..."

Ash takes a step towards the counter. "Oh? This is the first concrete thing I've heard of him, other than he exists."

Marie bites her lip, trying to keep her composure. "I... broke it off with him. Yesterday. Just..."

Without hesitation, Ash rushes from behind the counter and wraps Marie in a tight hug, and the floodgates burst immediately. Tears pour down her face. William, by virtue of being confined to a wheelchair, is slower and more awkward getting there, but soon he joins his child, and the three of them just hold each other a moment.

"William," Marie snuffles, her face still buried in Ash's chest, "what about the pizza?"

"Just hold on a sec, one can get a little overdone. Some things are more important," her boss replies before breaking off the hug. "I'll go get it. You have a sit down, and if you want, I'll drive for the delivery."

"No, no," Marie says, pulling away to speak. "I'll take it down with Ash, it was... it's good, it's okay, I just didn't have a chance to... uh, y'know, that. Cry." She disentangles herself from Ash and wipes her face. "We had a long talk, and..." She takes a chair while Ash goes back to work. "I mean, I was happy to keep things going as they were, but he just... wasn't, y'know? And we both kinda realized at the same time that nothing was going the way it should, so we just decided to..." She shrugs. "I mean, it just makes sense. A-and I could never leave you guys, y'know?"

William laughs as he retrieves the pizza from the oven. "Marie, if you get a chance to get outta here, you take it."

"Hey, I'm serious, William!" She laughs all the same, wiping tears away. "Nah, I know this isn't like a career job or anything like that, but you guys are like my family, and anything that's gonna mean I can't keep up with you or something is gonna be trouble. You guys need me an' I need you, an' I wasn't ready to give that up for a maybe and a possibly. In a few years? Sure, maybe, but not this week, not right now." She sighs. "I mean, just like this isn't a career job, he's not really a long-term kinda guy, right? At least not for me."

"Right, well, I'm gonna send the two of you out with sixteen larges once this one comes through, you got me? No arguing, Marie, Ash is goin' with you. You drive, obviously."

Marie stands up. "Thank you. Thank you both," she says. "I'm gonna go clean up my face, okay?"

Ash starts packing up a couple boxes in an insulated delivery bag. "Don't be too long, there's just one more to go."

Marie grabs a napkin, balls it up in a quick, practiced motion, and tosses it at Ash. It falls far short of both her co-worker and the food being made. "Am I ever long?"

"Got me there." Ash grins as she heads off.

Outside the maintenance building of the PCDCC

6:26 PM

Ash Brault carries two insulated delivery bags, each holding four large pizzas, towards the two police officers guarding the door. With the walk being more than a block to get around various poorly-parked vehicles, Ash's arms are getting tired despite how often they've carried this or even heavier loads.

"I got a big order here, if you don't mind," the football star's child says. "My driver's waiting for me, there's a bunch more."

"Hey, we're gonna have to check those," one officer says in a loud voice.

Ash shrugs. "Whatever, I just got an order to take in. Sixteen larges. This is just half. Are you payin' for 'em?"

"No, but we're babysitting a bunch of people in there who are stoned off their asses, so we need to check for contraband."

Ash's eyes roll. "Fine, whatever, take a look if you want, just I gotta deliver these, alright? You wanna be quick about it?"

"Yeah, fine, we'll make it quick. Hey! Frank!"

Another officer pokes his head around the corner from the side of the building. "What's up?"

"There's like eight pizzas here we gotta check out before they can go in, and a bunch more coming. You wanna give us a hand?"

The other cop laughs. "Sure, I can help you check those out."

Ash dutifully puts the insulated bags down, a little upset that the pizzas would be exposed to the rain. "Can I at least get in the doorway so the food doesn't get soaked?"

"Whatever, kid, sure."

As the pizzas start to get unloaded from the bags, a flash of movement catches Ash's eye. A small woman is pushing an office chair through the streets, moving quickly and trying to stay hidden, towards the very same building they're all standing in front of. A weird thing to see, but it's not like Ash is going to say anything about it, especially as the officers start checking the pizza close enough to enjoy a couple slices before they're delivered. If the recipients were paying for them, they would surely object, both to the lateness of the delivery and to the missing slices, so Ash has little incentive to point out that odd sight.

The lobby of a nondescript building

6:40 PM

Oleksandr Kolesnyk stands firmly in front of the presently defunct security door, facing down two uniformed police officers. "Your warrant does not permit you to head into the proprietary spaces of Dockworks Telecommunications," he explains with absolute calm. "The Telecom is not the same as the shipping company."

"The warrant clearly states—"

"That you are to have access to all public spaces within the docks, and to all functional workspaces of Port City Shipping and Warehousing. This is a public space. Behind that door," Oleksandr points, "is not, nor is it part of Port City Shipping and Warehousing. You have no right to interrupt the business of an unrelated telecommunications company just because you have a warrant for a neighboring establishment."

"Who are you to—"

"If I am in violation of that court order, do arrest me. I think that would be great fun to challenge before a judge." Preferably the judge that issued the warrant, a good friend of Oleksandr who was able to receive an important and confidential phone call that afternoon.

"The intent was to search the entire co-op."

"Then you should have got that on your warrant, officer." Oleksandr smiles politely. The call that he'd made earlier had paid off beautifully. "The legal team is on site and will make sure that you only take what you are supposed to. You will have full access to all public spaces on the docks, as well as warehousing, and accounting, as detailed in your warrant. Security, telecommunications, mechanical, rideshare, medical, legal—obviously, since anything there is no doubt privileged information—"

The officer growls. "We get it."

Oleksandr nods. "I'm glad that you understand the rules. See that you follow them. We wouldn't want to have to discuss these things in open court. The police are not exactly widely well-regarded in the public eye at the moment, and it would be a shame if several of you were caught up in a high-profile scandal."

He tries not to smile too smugly as the officers help the dazed and half-asleep Mechanician from the building. The senior Bright Society member doesn't seem to be entirely aware of where he is; in fact, it seems like the hero might just be on drugs. The lawyer doubts anything important will come from that revelation, but it does seem worth noting.

An unknown space

Sometime in the evening

Lindsay takes a deep breath. She can't seem to get a solid grip on what they had just been talking about.

The room is dark.

She's sitting. The chair is comfortable. It feels like an office chair.

She tries to lift a hand. Her wrists are tied to the hard plastic arms of the chair.

She's naked.

"You don't much like the Bright Society, do you."

She takes a breath. She's still giddy. Still high.

But that voice.

"Silver Tongue," she says. And, "Nah, but it's fine. They're paying my way through college."

"You're right, of course. But you don't fit in with them."

She shivers. She's not cold, exactly. Warm? A bit. Damp, from the rain. But the voice. "I didn't really like the whole 'professionalism' thing. The nano traces hide my face, who cares after that? Hey, could you turn on the lights?"

A chuckle. "You ask that every time. No, I will not be turning on the lights."

Lindsay furrows her brow in confusion. "What do you mean, every time?"

"We continue to have the same conversation. A function of your... condition, and my power."

"I... don't understand?"

"And you do not have to." She hears him sigh, as though he's made something of an error. "You don't much like the Bright Society, do you."

She takes a breath. She's still giddy. Still high.

But that voice.

"Silver Tongue," she says. And, "Nah, but it's fine. They're paying my way through college."

"You're right, of course. But you don't fit in with them."

She shivers. She's not cold, exactly. Warm? A bit. Damp, from the rain. But the voice. "I didn't really like the whole 'professionalism' thing. The nano traces hide my face, who cares after that? Hey, could you turn on the lights?"

A chuckle. "I'd rather not. Besides, I thought you might like the privacy."

"Privacy?" Oh. "I'm naked."

"You are. This does not bother you."

Lindsay blinks in the darkness. "You just... did you just make it not bother me?"

"Yes." The voice seems a little different now. "What do you think of that?"

"I think it's pretty amazing." She giggles. "Wish I could do that. Actually, I probably can, with the right combination of—"

"This isn't a technology demo," he interrupts, laughing. "Or perhaps it's me that's demonstrating, not you."

"What are you gonna show me?"

"How to control the mind of a young superheroine."

"Who are you gonna... Oh. You mean me."

Silver Tongue chuckles again. "Tell me about those scars."

"Why? I mean I'm happy to tell you but I thought you had things to do."

"Trust me."

"Not a lot of choice, right? I mean, if I don't, you're just gonna tell me to, and then I will, right?

"This part of the conversation seems to happen a lot. You seem to get stuck in the idea that I can make you trust me."

"Well, sure, because all you have to do is tell me that I trust you and I'm gonna have to, and—"

"Shhh," he shushes her, and she immediately falls silent. "Take a breath, let yourself reset."

Lindsay takes a deep breath. She can't seem to get a solid grip on what they had just been talking about.

"And you do not have to." She hears him sigh again, though she's not sure when she'd heard him sigh before. "You don't much like the Bright Society, do you."

She takes a breath. She's still giddy. Still high.

But that voice.

"Silver Tongue," she says. And, "Nah, but it's fine. They're paying my way through college."

"You're right, of course. But you don't fit in with them."

She shivers. She's not cold, exactly. Warm? A bit. Damp, from the rain. But the voice. "I didn't really like the whole 'professionalism' thing. The nano traces hide my face, who cares after that? Hey, could you turn on the lights?"

A chuckle. "I'd rather not. Besides, I thought you might like the privacy."

"Privacy?" Oh. "I'm naked." For some reason this doesn't bother her. "I mean, thanks, but it's cool."

"Oh? A nudist?" He sounds amused as he asks, and she's not sure why.

"Not... not usually? But being naked just doesn't seem like it's that bad right now. I dunno, I guess after um the whole public fucking thing?" She feels herself growing warm. Warmer. Not just in the face. "Just being naked doesn't seem all that bad." She giggles. "I bet you saw me when I got brought in here or something so it doesn't really matter."

"I had the privilege, yes."

"So why not turn on the lights, just let yourself have that privilege the whole time?"

"I'm a mind controller—"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Lindsay asks, confused.

Silver Tongue laughs. "What makes you think the lights aren't on?"

Lindsay gasps. "Are they? Wait, would I know if..." She takes a breath. "Oh wow. I think you just completely messed with my mind."

"I've been doing that for a while." His voice drops a bit. "And I'm certain that you're enjoying it."

Despite the warmth, she shivers. She nods in the room that she's pretty sure is dark.

"And you'll carry that thought forward even when you have a breath and let yourself reset."

Lindsay takes a deep breath. She can't seem to get a solid grip on what they had just been talking about.

She can hear a voice, a voice as deep and dark as the room itself.

"You don't much like the Bright Society, do you."

She takes a breath. She's still giddy. Still high.

But that voice.

"Silver Tongue," she says. And, "Nah, but it's fine. They're paying my way through college."

"You're right, of course. But you don't fit in with them."

She shivers. She's not cold, exactly. Warm? A bit. Damp, from the rain. But the voice. She really enjoys hearing it. "I didn't really like the whole 'professionalism' thing. The nano traces hide my face, who cares after that?" She hesitates a moment. "Do you... no, I mean I shouldn't, um..."

A chuckle. "What are you going to ask me?"

"I just... I like hearing your voice, you know? Even if it's doing your weird mind controlly... stuff to me."

"I hadn't figured you for the sort."

"What... what sort? Wait, there's a sort? What sort am I? What sorts are there?" She feels energized, excited.

"The sort that enjoys this voice, this presence, this situation."

Does she like this situation? She's... she realizes that she's naked, tied to a chair, high from her own nanobots, listening to a mind-controller mind control her... she giggles. "Yeah, I guess... What other sorts are there? And why didn't you figure I was?"

Though she can't see, she gets the impression that Silver Tongue shrugs. "Given your power and the way you use it, I figured you for a lot more dominant."

"Huh? Dominant? Are you saying I'm... not that?"

"Never thought about it? Never played around with power dynamics?"

"Wait, do you mean... like how I'm... tied up... naked... and being controlled? Played around with that?"

"Exactly that. Tell me, do you like this tone of my voice?"

She lets out a little moan before she can catch herself. No point in denying it. "Y-yeah."

"And what it does to your mind?"

She nods enthusiastically, then realizes that the room might actually be as dark as she thinks it is, then wonders what that thought actually means. "It's kinda hard to say no to that, you know?"

"Oh, I know." His voice feels more normal to her now, but the words this time make her flush. "It's part of how I exercise my control."

"What do you mean?" she asks, squirming in her seat.

There's an expectant silence in the room.

"You..." she began, half anticipating being interrupted. "You make it... sexy?"

"Are you telling me you don't?"

She thinks of the three people she'd just fucked on the floor of the communications department. She squirms in her bonds again. "That was... um... I dunno what happened there, you know?"

She feels the back of a hand trailing gently over her flaming cheek. "Which means that it just feels so good to answer my questions, doesn't it?"

She presses her cheek into the touch, almost involuntarily. "Y-yeah, yeah it, mmm, it does."

The hand moves down to her shoulder, lightly brushing with fingertips. "We've had this discussion several times now."

She swallows hard. "We... have? How... how long have I..."

"A little over an hour, so far."

She shudders and moans as his fingers trace her collarbone. "R-really? It feels like..."

"Like I've been resetting your memory, time and again, and reinforcing ideas through continual mind control, such that you've been losing track of time?"

She nods. That's exactly how it feels. His fingers are... she resists flinching away. The touch is wonderful. Fantastic. But there's the issue of...

Lindsay had had people touch her there before, in medical, friendly, and more-than-friendly contexts. But she's also had two high-school boyfriends break things off when they saw the old scars all over her chest and back. That afternoon with the communications techs hadn't been her first sexual experience, she'd had other lovers, but it had been so much easier when she, and they, were swarmed with nanos and not thinking about anything other than how turned on they all were. Once the green-haired kid and the woman sitting near him (she doesn't even know his name! Any of their names!) had caught each other's eye, there was so much sexual energy in the air that none of them could—no, that's not fair. None of them wanted to do anything but fuck.

And that was so easy. It didn't bring up complicated thoughts like—

"How did you get your scars?"

"I was eight..." she says as his fingers dance on her body, focused on the touch, not on the words. "Playing in the kitchen. Knocked a pot of hot spaghetti on myself. All over my chest and back. An accident." She gasps, barely realizing that she's answering his question.

"And what was our agreement?"

"H-huh?" She moans as he gently rolls her left nipple between her fingers.

"Remember."

She's rolled into the basement by the hacker. Pushed into a darkened room. She hears the hacker and the mind controller talking softly, and then hears the hacker leave the room. The mind controller asks her some questions. Casual. She's smiling, laughing, giggling. This is funny. It's fun. But there's something he asks her that stands with her.

"What do you hide about yourself, that you think I could never reach?"

And her answer is immediate.

"How I got burned."

He hums. "Alright, and what would it mean if I got that answer?"

"Uh, I guess it means that you can get anything from me?"

"More than that," he replies. "It will be a signal to us both that what I'm offering you is what you want."

She's confused. "What do you mean, a signal?"

The villain chuckles. "If you tell me where the burns come from, it will mean that you're accepting my offer. If not, it means that you're rejecting it. It's a proxy for that. And before you worry that I'll just keep you here forever until you tell me, I do have other things to do tonight."

"What are you offering?" she asks, small and quiet. She can't help but realize that what he's saying is true.

She can hear the smile in his voice. "You don't much like the Bright Society, do you."

The Dockworks Medical Center

7:32 PM

Crystal takes a deep breath...

and is immediately engulfed in a hug.

Warm blankets and hot coffee follow, but that hug, that first hug...

And then Tanya, quick as she arrived, is gone, with a dozen promises to be back as soon as she can.

On the floor of the Dockworks Telecom workroom

At some point in the evening

Mark Spirit realizes that the blankets were taken. There had been two. On his right, Vanessa is wrapped up in one, like normal. On his left...

He puts an arm around Paula al Masri.

He figures that his earlier assumption was wrong, that he isn't dead. Dead people don't have to pee.

Might be when Nessa wakes up, though.

But it's not like she wasn't involved. More than involved: she was enthusiastic. Very enthusiastic.

He slowly gets up and makes his way across the workspace to the washroom. His constant giggling is making it hard to contain the contents of his bladder.

With a bit of a clearer head, standing at the urinal, he starts to take in what exactly happened. He recognizes that he's still high, which means that Vanessa and Paula are probably still feeling the effects of Psilocyber's attack, too, and he guesses that they're a little less used to this sort of thing than he is. He grins, looking at his face in the mirror. He's certainly no stranger to being with Nessa, but Paula is a surprise. A fun surprise.

And wasn't there someone else there, too? Hadn't there been another—

No, a voice tells him, and he believes it. It was just the three of them. And now that he's all cleaned up, he should probably go get dressed and curl up with the other two.

That seems like it's for the best.

He goes back and retrieves his clothes and wraps his arms around Paula, hardly noticing that Vanessa is getting up to leave as he's lying down.

The bathroom of Dockworks Telecom

Vanessa doesn't need the bathroom, but the voice, which she knows isn't the voice in her head—it's speaking English, not Portuguese—tells her to go there anyway, and the voice is making a good point about it, so she decides to put the blanket aside, a blanket she doesn't know when she got and doesn't really care, and get up, passing Mark, wondering when he got dressed, then wondering why he got dressed, then remembering that they're at work, and how Anna had told them to "Keep it office-friendly," and how friendly she had just been with Paula, and with Mark, and with... no, there wasn't anyone else there, it was just with Paula, and with Mark, there was no one else to be friendly with, and her fantasies of a short skinny scarred redhead fucking her boyfriend were just fantasies, to help balance things out, after all she and Paula had been enjoying each other and Mark just had to lie there until they were done and Paula could attend to Mark just as Vanessa had attended to them and that left Vanessa to be eaten out by—to imagine being eaten out by the cute redhead she knew hadn't been there, those had definitely been her own fingers and not someone else's tongue, just like it's her own fingers now as she looks in the mirror and remembers watching Paula lick Mark's shaft slowly and sensuously and moans thinking of how much fun it could be to watch Mark getting off, something the two of them had never really explored but there was someone who was only too willing now to join in with them and it was shocking and wonderful and probably best if she leaves the bathroom before she loses all control of herself and starts screaming loud enough to let everyone know what she's doing after she washes up, she should also probably go get dressed, ay, I'm still at work! and perhaps it would be best to just lie down with the other two, curl up with them under the blankets and go back to sleep, she is very tired and she did just survive a Bright attack where she and Mark and Paula all got dosed with nanobots and it was like the one time she'd tried an edible and she just wouldn't stop talking because her brain just kept going and going and the voice is saying to calm down as she puts her arm around Mark but her breathing is racing and her heart is beating in her ears and she's smiling and closing her eyes and breathing deep and Mark's breath sounds like a lullaby her mother used to sing and then everything is quiet and dark and

The headscarf was never more than an affectation, for them.

Some days they wear it, some days not. A connection to their parents' culture, to their home, but not a religious devotion. Their mother wore it when she went out, but had never made a fuss about it one way or another for her child, especially as it had become clear that "child" was more accurate than "daughter." On those days that Paula felt more womanish, and more spiritual (they had never really studied Islam enough to consider themself 'religious') they would wear it.

They like the way it frames their face, anyway. It's a nice look. And there's so many styles and colors, even if they're just wearing basic black today. It's one of their few means of expression outside of their work, and some days it's just what they need to feel right.

So it feels a little wrong that they just left it there on the floor in their earlier haste. Even as they're feeling an odd urge to make their way to the washroom, they still stop and pick up the hijab, smooth it out, and fold it neatly to leave on the computer desk near where they rest of their clothes have fallen. They see that Vanessa's desk lamp has been left on, so they turn it off. Then they look around for anything else that might have fallen by the wayside while everyone was busy, until that urge to head to the bathroom reasserts itself. Not to actually do anything there, but just to go there.

Which is an odd thing to do, they acknowledge as they contemplate the hinges on the door. They'd never thought about hinges before. Two interlocking leaves—they're not sure where they heard the term, but it does fit—joined by a single pin. There has to be something interesting and symbolic about that. None of the parts are particularly useful on their own, but all three together make a door work. Without a hinge, a door is just a slab of wood. And if it's not a door, then maybe it has to be something else. A curtain, maybe, would serve the purpose. They'd seen curtains of beads in pictures, and they briefly wondered what that would feel like to stand in or walk through as naked as they are now. Maybe not beads, but separate strands of silk, each one caressing their bare body as they step from room to room.

They would have to hang some in their apartment and try it. Perhaps invite Mark and Vanessa over to share in the experience. That one, and many others.

They hope, many others.

Something assures them that there will be many others.

With that assurance, they start to gather up their clothing and dress. They look over at Mark and Vanessa, curled up together under blankets. They wonder which of them might be the pin, and which the leaves? Or if that symbol would work? Will the three of them form a hinge? And for what sort of a door?

Something to dream about, they decide, as they join the pair on the floor. It had been a long time since they'd slept on the floor. It isn't hard to remember how to do that, though.

The War Room

8:15 PM

Sterling walks back in on the three senior engineers, hard at work.

"The other three are sleeping in the corner," he says. "Dressed. Psilocyber took a lot out of them."

Tom snickers from the central station. "That's not all that took a lot—"

"Tom, please," Anna snaps, more in exhaustion than anger.

"How are you doing?" Thomas asks Sterling.

The ConRes officer sighs. "Tired. Very tired. And something tells me the night isn't over. How are things here?"

Anna purses her lips. "Seem to be cooling off. We didn't miss out on too much. So long as the lawyers keep the police out of our laps, we'll be good."

"I still think that when you have a chance the three of you should head to Medical, just to be sure. Mechanician does usually hurt people, but..."

"What about you?" Thomas asks his friend.

"I'm on my way there now," Sterling replies. "Just needed to check in here, and they're busy with a lot of Psilocyber's victims from Mechanical anyway."

"No worries from the cops?"

He shakes his head. "I just stay out of sight." He gives a quick wave. "Talk to you all soon."

Sharon's apartment

8:16 PM

"I'm going to get my goddamn friend back."

Tanya stares at the naked woman calling herself both Chelsea and Arctic Angel. "That is what I said."

"Tanya, it's Chelsea. But not just Chelsea. We're also—"

"Yeah, I fuckin' get what you're tellin' me, but I don't understand pretty much everything else."

The other woman sits in Sharon's armchair with an unearthly grace, crossing her legs almost delicately. She's taller than Chelsea, but not as tall as the Angel. She has pitch-black hair on her head that frames her face that matches the neat patch between her legs. Her eyes are so deeply blue as to be almost purple, and when Tanya meets them, she feels a chill right down to her heart. Her features are sharp and angular, but they still resemble Chelsea's, at least superficially. Her body is similarly more... well-proportioned than Chelsea's, and paler—there isn't even a hint of a tan on those long legs, slender arms, or perfect breasts.

"Something Sterling said resonated with us."

The moment the woman speaks, Tanya's eyes snap back to meet those purple pools, and she feels that creeping chill in her blood.

"'You no longer need to be divided,' he said." The woman gently scratches her nose, and Tanya feels her own nose itch. "And so... we're not." She indicates herself with a hand. "This is us now. Or it was always us, but we're now... outwardly this, too."

Tanya nods and shivers, forcing herself to look aside. "Okay, then, prove it. Not that you can freeze me, I mean, that doesn't prove shit, really, and if you wanted to do that you already could have, but prove that some part of you is Chelsea."

"Easy." The woman's voice changes, and while it's still unusual, it's much more like Chelsea's cadence and tone. "We were seventeen. Your birthday. We and Sharon got you a card. 'We're your friends no matter what,' it said."

"Big deal, I read that out at the party, you could be any one of—"

"That night, after all the other guests left, you came out to your parents, with the two of us standing behind you."

Tanya flushes and nods. "Okay. Right. What did they say?"

"Your mom got up and gave you a hug. Your dad said something about not wanting to have to babysit any grandkids anyway. We think he was trying to make a joke."

She nods again. "Okay, let's assume I believe you. What now?"

Tanya hears the other get up. "How about you tell us what's happened since they started bringing up the woman we froze?"

"Crystal?" Tanya turns back, trying not to meet the ethereal eyes. "She's awake. They're still checking her out at the clinic, I didn't need to be there for that, and I was... fuck, I was worried about you, alright?"

"She's fine, then."

"Yeah, she will be, I guess. But first I had to drag Psilocyber to the basement of maintenance, because legal said that the police couldn't go anywhere except shipping and warehousing."

"Drag?"

"I tied her to an office chair with cable extensions and pulled her through the streets."

The other woman smiles. "Sounds like a wild time."

Tanya chuckles. "Yeah, a bit."

"Why there?"

"Silver Tongue was there in a meeting room, waiting for us. He said he was going to, ah, 'debrief' her." She makes quotes in the air with her fingers.

Tanya hears a sharp intake of air and worries for a moment that she's said something wrong. She sees the stranger's expression slip for a moment, before control returns. "We have an idea of what that might mean, but we think we'll have to ask him about that later. What then?"

"I sat there in medical until Crystal unfroze, then I went to find you. You're fuckin' lucky, too, that Jim saw you take off from the Bright boat, because apparently they all had a minor fuckin' heart attack when they saw you left your clothes on the deck."

"Honestly? We considered jumping in, for a second. No more, but that is a very long time to think about something like that. But we... we're upset, too, not just with ourselves, and we have to look Flamehammer in the eye at some point and tell him just what he did to us. And I don't think the Angel would have let us go that easily."

Tanya nods. "Yep, I get it. Boy, do I fuckin' get it. Anger is a great motivator. But shit, couldn't you have told someone?"

"We'll keep it in mind, next time we're doing a search-and-rescue and feel a desperate urge to run away because we don't want to deal with committing attempted murder."

"Shit, there's the sarcasm I know. Maybe you are Chelsea."

"Part of us is. Part of us isn't. We're just... We're more. More than we ever were as Chelsea or the Angel. Or... no, not more. We're complete, now. There were two parts of my life before. Now we're together, but we're still sorting out what that means."

"Yeah, as a newly-minted minion, I get it." Tanya closes her eyes and sighs. "These stupid powers just mess everything up for everyone. Anyway, while they were doing that, I was tying up the redhead, and then I went back and took care of the other stuff in comms and then tried to hack into your phone to figure out where you went."

"We left our phone behind on the boat. We didn't want the Brights tracking us."

"Yeah, I picked up on that. At least something I said about opsec got through to you, I guess." Tanya grins. "So I guessed where you might be going."

"Why did you guess here?"

"Because it's exactly where I would've gone, we have keys, you know for sure no one's home and that the cops aren't coming here." Tanya shrugs. "Plus it's close. My apartment would be the logical second choice, but it's further away, and someone set it on fucking fire yesterday."

"And of course not ours, because..."

"Because a hundred bucks says you'd get caught there real damn quick. I'll bet there are containment guards waiting right by your door."

"We had the same thoughts."

Tanya puts her fingers to her forehead, rubbing slowly. "Anyway, this was my best shot, so I came here, and here you are, with your weird eyes and your hair and your gorgeous body that actually makes me a bit jealous of the assholes you've been fucking, and of Sharon..."

Tanya trails off and there's a moment of silence.

Chelsea speaks up first, with a sudden expression of determination. "We're going to borrow some clothes from Sharon's closet. We're going to need Sterling."

"Silver Tongue? Why?"

A wolfish smile crosses her friend's face, an expression that's very much Chelsea's. "We're gonna get our goddamn friend back."