It was hard to be away from the Doctor, and Candace was by now upset with herself that she’d come to enjoy it. In the time she’d been revelling in her control over a new heroine, in using that heroine’s… they both denied there was a relationship there, but their body language said otherwise, but whatever… her Master had been kidnapped by one of the most dangerous women on the planet.

The guilt was beginning to set in. Not because she should have stopped it. Nothing she could rationally justify. Just because she’d been having fun, carefree, at a time it had happened. The Doctor was her everything, and she had somehow allowed that basic fact, that core part of her internal programming, to slip from her sight in favour of her own pleasure. The very thought was stomach curdling.

(She wasn’t even thinking about how totally she’d lost her ability to make decisions when presented with the idea. She’d not realised until afterwards that it wasn’t even a fear she’d be unable to rescue him. She was scared that she’d somehow rescue him wrong.)

She sat now at the security console, head tilted back to study its giant screen. The systems they had in place really weren’t designed for monitoring the outside world, she was realising; there was only so much she could do from here, but leaving…

Leaving was out of the question. There were already a lot of people on the island. It was where the Doctor would want to return to. It was where their child was. No, the only thing she could do would be to show her submission and offer her good service by working hard here to have it right when he came back.

And then, abruptly, she realised there was something she could be working on.

She could try putting together how the Doctor had been identified, before Overshadow took him. If she did that right, she could help prevent this from happening.

There weren’t many options open to her for that, either. Not here. But there were people out there who owed the Doctor, and some of them even knew it.

The giant situation screen was a lot to take in at a glance even when she was using it to monitor the news. When she loaded up the internet phone protocols, with the expensive location spoofing system behind it, the screen was just too big. Luckily she only needed it to connect the call; after that, it would all be headset work.

Rather than use the keyboard, she picked up a pen and rested it against the notepad she always kept handy while she waited for her connection.

The voice, when it came, was frosty; the woman evidently automatically suspicious of any call without ID, but locked into a life and a world where such calls had to be taken from time to time. “This is Evelyn Raines,” she said simply. “To whom am I speaking?”

“Do you remember the day your world changed forever, Evelyn?” Candace asked. A throaty purr had crept into her voice; despite her best efforts not to enjoy herself, despite the guilt she felt over it, Evelyn had been so satisfying a completion to her second American mission for her Master that she couldn’t help enjoying herself the moment she started to pull on the woman’s puppet strings.

Not that she justified taking the long way round to activating the woman that way; she told herself it was an excellent way to test how security-conscious Senator Raines’ wife actually was. To see whether she’d ever accidentally betray her true Master.

Candace told herself a lot of lies, and had grown very good at failing to notice them when she did. Many of them weren’t even based on the rules the Doctor had put in place - at least not directly.

“One moment.” There was no change in Evelyn’s tone, but a few moments of silence followed. Candace pictured Evelyn leaving the library in her house, where she did most of her entertaining, and walking along the corridor toward her private rooms. Then, “If this is not who I think it is, I shall be very disappointed.”

“Not concerned?”

“Concern should go without saying.” Candace realised that the tone of Evelyn’s voice had actually been changing from the moment Candace had given her a question; just so slowly that it hadn’t been apparent until it arrived in its new tone, still as confident as the woman always had been, but warmer now and - yes, definitely - breathy with excitement. “But I will not go into why.”

Candace smiled; the woman was more cautious than she’d feared. “Who’s your Master, Evelyn?”

“What a curious question.” Evelyn was still being cautious, still deflecting, but she sounded flirty in doing so now. She was clearly pretty sure who she was speaking to. “Surely if you ask any wife, they’ll tell you their husband is their Master.” And she’d even managed to give the correct answer, to deflect any criticism she was failing to obey.

“Perhaps. But if I ask this one who her true Master is, what will she tell me?”

And that was enough confirmation for the Senator’s wife. “My true Master is Doctor Bimbeau,” she said. “I’m sorry for how slowly I responded, Doctor,” and Candace winced; but somehow none of the women she’d brainwashed on that trip had accepted her directive not to call her Doctor too, “but my husband’s business partner is in the library. I had to be sure it was safe to answer. Please tell me there’s some way I can serve the Master?” After not quite enough time for Candace to answer, she hastily added “No matter how menial.”

Well, well, well, Candace mused. Evelyn’s hauteur, once it had crumbled, had stayed broken. It must be so hard for her to maintain the facade in public. “There is,” she said. “For the first time you won’t be serving me alone.”

The sound of a euphoric sigh travelled down the phone line. Hearing it, Candace immediately felt all the better, remembering the glassy, almost drunk smile on Evelyn Raines’ lips when the woman had seen, for the first time, her tennis coach being taken for use as a fucktoy by her Mistress. She squirmed in her chair. Bit her lip. “Thank you, Doctor,” Evelyn said. “What am I to do?”

“I need some intelligence,” Candace told her. “Something has happened, and I need to understand how…”

*

Overshadow’s lip curled, distaste everywhere in her expression, as she contemplated the cheap bed Bimbeau and Sinner had set up their Tiara over. “Would I really have to lie down on that?”

“I’m afraid so, Mistress.” Sinner’s expression and tone remained completely impassive. She stood and waited, peaceful. Which was as it should be, Overshadow noted; Sinner’s whole reason for existence was to ensure Overshadow was happy. If she changed her mind, Sinner would accept it without qualm or hesitation.

“It’s… dingy.”

“I’m afraid so, Mistress.” Again, Sinner waited.

Overshadow made a conflicted noise in her throat. Aside from how unpleasant the bed itself looked, there was something about this that sat uncomfortably for her. Subjecting herself to mental manipulation was…

…well, if Bimbeau weren’t now on her side, she probably wouldn’t even be considering it. But he’d been desperate enough to push himself through it, and might have become a genuine threat to her if she hadn’t showed up at just the right time.

And Overshadow had not always been as she now was. She had gained the power to go toe to toe with the most powerful of heroes only as an adult. It had taken her several clashes with other metahumans to become ruthless enough to succeed.

She’d pushed herself. Taken every shortcut. Sure, all of them were ultimately built on that one strange fluke that had raised her above the common stock of humanity, but she’d had to build on that.

This was just another shortcut. An opportunity to cut out another weakness.

She kept her face under pretty careful control, she believed. “You know what I want?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“And what do you want?”

“I want to please you, Mistress. My job is to make you happy.” There was finally something present in Sinner’s tone; while still a drone, it had taken on a slow, steady cadence. The comment sounded very familiar; it took Overshadow a moment to place it, but it was one of the instructions Bimbeau had given her when he first conditioned her. She smiled.

“Yes,” she said. “It is, isn’t it?”

“I’ll do anything Overshadow wants.” Sinner’s eyes had glazed slightly, her lips parted and curving slowly into a dopey smile. The more of her initial conditioning she repeated, the more her expression melted from impassive slave into hypnoslut - and, not long afterward, drooling hypnoslut.

Nodding to herself, Overshadow made a snap decision. Sinner wasn’t capable of lying or deceiving her; certainly not in this state. “What will you do if I tell you to go ahead?”

“I’ll do anything Overshadow wants,” Sinner repeated again, and her monotone now positively throbbed with capped and limited lust and arousal. “My job is to make Overshadow happy.”

Sinner nodded. Very gingerly, she lay down on the bed. “Begin.”

*

Knowing her team would be waiting for her, Melissa dedicated a little time before the landing to plan out her exit from the plane. Even before she found herself with new secrets to keep, she’d never wanted too many of her team to know her secret. The fact Wayward had found out was bad enough.

Accordingly, Melissa Wilder exchanged a polite smile with the stewardess on the way out of the cabin, but she never went through passport control. Her travel bag was taken from the hold by the baggage handlers, put onto a cart on the tarmac, but it never made it to the baggage carousel.

And it was Swift Fox who emerged into the security room at O’Hare to which the other members of the Rebelles had been shown in a clear bid to keep travellers from panicking at the sight of superheroines in costume just standing around waiting for something.

Melissa hadn’t even lost any time looking for them; she’d guessed correctly how they were going to travel.

Her luggage, meanwhile, had found its way into the back of a FedEx truck with a completed label attached. Being part of Red Fox’s support structure was really good when the best solution available was an expense account.

“Good to see you, girls,” she said. She was more conscious of the tricks she used to deepen and disguise her voice than usual; like everything else about being a heroine, it had gone from a natural part of her skillset to something she did as part of her disguise.

Wayward took two quick steps forward and wrapped her in a huge, welcoming hug; she was always careful with her enhanced strength but there was no escaping the rawness and honesty of her emotions. There never was. Melissa knew exactly how glad her friend was to see her as she returned the embrace, and she was even glad to see her in return. Not nearly as much so as she would be if they both understood the importance of service to her Master, but that was OK; Wayward didn’t have Dr Kraft as a role model, so she was always going to be harder to persuade into slavery.

“Welcome back,” Monsoon told her. “I’d ask if it was a good time, but we’ve got other priorities right now. And besides I’m guessing we kinda wrecked your last day.”

Melissa gave her a half-smile and shook her head. “What would have wrecked it would’ve been not finding out she was going through this - that all of you are going through this - until afterwards. Team comes first.” It was a lie now, but it was an easy lie to tell; it had been true so recently. “Do we have transport?”

“I took a detour,” Wayward said. “Got us a van.” Which, with Wayward, was usually code for I’ve stolen a van from one of the local gangs, so it might as well be legal. Back in Bayport, enough vans connected with criminal activity had showed up near Rebelle activity that the police now turned a blind eye to it.

Melissa wasn’t sure that would happen in Chicago. “Great,” she said. “Let’s go.”

“Just before we do,” Pyre interjected, “is nobody gonna say anything?” Melissa held her breath. If the hothead is the one who spots something’s wrong I’m never going to live it down…

The other team members exchanged curious looks. Wayward shrugged.

“It’s a great new look you’ve got there,” Pyre nodded toward Melissa, who remembered for the first time she was wearing a new costume before remembering why with a blush. “New look for a new mission away, huh?”

“Something like that.” Melissa managed a smile that probably, with the mask hiding the upper half of her face, didn’t look too deranged. “But, uh, before anyone reports that van missing?”

Monsoon nodded. “Let’s move, people.”

They headed out to the van. “It’s kinda crappy to call this a positive,” Monsoon said as Wayward eased the van into gear and headed for the car park exit. “But remember, Overshadow doesn’t kill metas. That’s good for Featherweight and it’s good for three of us here. Probably Swift Fox, too, so long as she doesn’t realise.”

Melissa winced slightly. As useful as it often was to have criminals believe she must be superhuman, it grated on her sometimes that nobody ever believed she didn’t have powers. She’d like to be more of an example for humanity.

Especially now, when she had the important purpose of being a role model for more smart, powerful women who should be her Master’s secret slaves.

All the same, she couldn’t deny the truth of Monsoon’s advice. Overshadow would kill regular humans without a qualm, wouldn’t even flinch at spending her soldiers on strategies they almost couldn’t survive. But if you were a meta, she wouldn’t kill. The duo known as the Ascension had speculated, in her old mentor’s hearing, that Overshadow’s last remaining scruple lay in her belief that powers alone made you a superior being.

If necessary, Melissa was prepared to push that weakness hard while bluffing.

*

Overshadow had refused to remove any part of the gemstone decorations she habitually wore above her bindi, instead instructing Sinner to find a way to proceed around it. The brainwashed pilot had agreed without qualm or hesitation, but Overshadow was still angry about even being asked.

As she allowed the meek, brainwashed slave to settle the strange device across her templates, Overshadow wondered briefly if she might be so angry that, with her titanic will, the device wouldn’t work - but if it couldn’t work on her, it’d be useless if Ms Triumph ever fell into her hands. Between that and her conviction that Bimbeau’s treatment would take away her psychological weaknesses, it had too much potential not to try.

She heard the heavy thunk of the switch that began the device powering up, and her gaze swept the room for her backup security; yes, her guards were still there. If anything went wrong, they were loyal; they’d intervene.

Her vision froze on the last of the guards. In spite of her intent to move her eyes, it wasn’t happening; They weren’t responding. Nor was her neck; her arms… her anything. Her body was held firmly in place.

The feeling was so alien to her…

She’d been heard to claim, during a battle, “I am power,” and the realisation that for all that power she couldn’t move an inch didn’t settle well. Her mouth had happened to be shut when her body locked up so the protesting sound that escaped her was closer to a growl than anything else.

She wasn’t just angry now; she was furious, her fury driven by how absurdly embarrassing she felt her sudden immobility to be. Fury was a sharp presence in her head; suddenly she realised that that presence was smaller and smaller by the moment. It was as if the inside of her head was somehow contracting, as if there were areas where her thoughts couldn’t go.

She felt her thoughts slowly contracting into a single point, until a moment where only the first word of a thought could form, but there was no room to continue it.

And then there was no thought at all; just a dreamy, drifting awareness that time still passed. The anger, too, was gone; there was no space to hold it in the part of her mind that was still hers, so it was gone.

Overshadow still had her identity, her sense of self, but everything else was gone.

“Can you hear me?” Sinner asked.

“Yes.” The answer was automatic; Overshadow wasn’t aware of any thought between hearing the question and responding.

“Good. One moment.” There was a small, barely audible click, the sound of an old electromechanical dial moving from one state to another, and the texture of her awareness changed. “You’re looking forward to this process,” Sinner said, and Overshadow became aware that it was true.

“I’m looking forward to this process,” she agreed.

“You’ll end this process as a better you.”

“I’ll end this process as a better me.” No room in her limited capacity for thought even to marvel that Sinner was so accurate to her own ideas.

“You have been weak before. You will not be weak again.”

“I’ve been weak before. I will not be weak again.”

“You have the courage to make hard choices.”

“I have the courage to make hard choices.” The more Overshadow heard her voice echo the other woman, the more freely her thoughts seemed to form, as if simply saying these things defined a new mental space where thought was once again possible.

At the console, Sinner watched the readings thoughtfully, trying to shape the ideal path to her Mistress’ goal. The Doctor had shown her that getting suggestions out of order could make everything more difficult…

*

“We could probably do with a plan,” Wayward muttered, driving faster than she probably should to the point that her teammates were wondering if they’d be pulled over for speeding before they could get to their destination. Her tone was sarcastic, but she was at least halfway serious, Melissa thought.

“What’s our priority, then?” Melissa asked. “I hate to even say it, I mean, but it’s not just Featherweight who’s there. She’s got an entire passenger jet full of hostages.”

“Won’t they all be in the same place?” Pyre asked. Melissa shook her head, was about to answer, but Monsoon got there first.

“Not unless the jet was full of metas,” she said. “Featherweight is going to be in pride of place somewhere.”

“But there’s no way we can leave a jet full of hostages there,” Wayward said. “If we had any idea what this place was built like…”

Melissa shrugged. “I wish I could tell you,” she said honestly. “This place wasn’t built on the record. She had it built herself, I’m pretty sure. Or she moved in right after someone else built it off the books. Either way, there’s no publically available building plans.”

“Right.” Monsoon sighed. “OK. Fox, you and me will go in first, and… I guess we’d better split up. Cover more ground that way. Total stealth operation.”

Melissa nodded, keeping the smile she felt inside from showing on her face. She’d been prepared to argue for splitting the team herself. She had to get to the Master first. Pledge her devotion. Explain to him what was happening and why he could trust her.

Monsoon had allowed her exactly what she needed and even explained why it was reasonable. That made life a lot easier, or would do if it didn’t remind her she’d have a lot of work to do to maintain her cover.

“What are we doing?” Wayward demanded.

“To start with? Not raising the alarm,” Monsoon retorted, and from where she was sitting Melissa could see Wayward’s jaw clench in irritation. Monsoon had to be on edge if she was making slips like that; she was usually so good at keeping the different personalities on the team all happy and pulling together.

She decided to throw her friend some support. Even if these women weren’t slaves, even if they were automatically lesser just by definition of that, she’d worked with them now for years. They deserved what support they could be offered where her programming and her duties didn’t conflict. “It’s not like that, T,” she said gently. “No disrespect to the boss, but you and Bobbi are the team’s heaviest hitters. We need you two sat in reserve until we know - or you spot - where the trouble is.”

Wayward didn’t say anything, but she nodded, returning her full attention to the road. Bobbi was grinning, and as often happened at times like that, tiny sparks danced in her eyes.

*

Overshadow’s sergeant had been looking for her for nearly twenty minutes before he finally ran into her, emerging from what had been the mad scientist’s lab before he got relocated, flanked by that teen heroine they’d kidnapped and one of the other soldiers the scientist had brainwashed for her. Had she been talking to his assistant?

Protocol demanded a salute. He knew he could get away without one - the brainwashed troops weren’t going to learn bad habits - but they were in a corridor, and anyone might turn the corner and see at any moment. Setting a bad example could get someone killed, so he compromised with a lazy salute.

Her eyes met his as he did so, and something in them inspired him to straighten up and make the salute a little cleaner and crisper before he returned to ease. His skin prickled uneasily.

“In a hurry?” Overshadow asked.

“Looking for you, ma’am,” he answered.

“Why?”

“Possible perimeter breach.”

“Maybe you should be in more of a hurry,” she told him coldly. For the first time in years he felt uneasy in her presence. He’d considered himself safe for years, one of the very few non-metahumans who could say that. But there was something about the way she carried herself now that told him their years of closeness were no longer a shield. He had no idea why. “Or have already dealt with it.”

“Ma’am, it’s only a possible right now,” he assured her softly. “If I escalate on it, we might end up discovered earlier than we choose to be.”

“Explain.”

“There isn’t much to point at right now,” he said, and he was conscious that the slavetrooper, who had been one of his own soldiers before his conversion, was staring at him with aggressive not-quite-disdain. “Abandoned van within the perimeter. It’s either hikers or an insertion team. Hikers might be more likely, but they parked up outside the field of view of the cameras. We don’t have many on the woodland road.”

“Hm.” Overshadow frowned deeply. The sergeant found himself wincing, nervous without really knowing why. “How was this allowed to happen?”

“Ah…” He had always been honest with her, but this time he found he couldn’t bring himself to be. For almost the first time since they met, for the first time since they’d started to work together, he was in fear of his life, and so for the first time in just as long, he lied to her. “I’ll see that the man responsible is punished.”

“Do that,” she told him. “But if it takes more than one punishment for him to correct his behaviour, he dies. Am I understood?”

That seemed unusually brutal even for Overshadow. “Perhaps I could submit him for the slave process instead?”

“I don’t want to waste time on someone who isn’t worthy,” she retorted crisply, and he knew that appeal had fallen on deaf ears. He nodded, gave her another crisp salute, and fell back in a hurry.

Something strange had gotten into her, he mused. He had no idea what and if it came down to that he wasn’t at all sure he wanted to know, but he definitely wasn’t going to make himself a target for her.

He was headed back to the control room, where he’d hope to put some security in the right place in time…

*

The vents were big enough to crawl through.

She’d known they would be. People always rubbished the ideas when they showed up in movies, but they’d look at vents easily that big in large public structures and it wouldn’t occur to them any other big building would need at least that level of support.

Most of this base was underground, so they’d made the vents plenty roomy.

No, the problem wasn’t cramped quarters, it was navigation, sudden drops, and the fact they never build them weight tested for humans to crawl around in.

She actually quite enjoyed the few times she’d spent poking around in air ducts. It made whatever the team’s mission was feel less like a real incident where real people might die and more like a video game, which was easier on her nerves and sometimes even on her conscience. Not that she wouldn’t pull out all the stops to rescue everyone, of course. Just… sometimes it was nice to feel like the pressure wasn’t as high.

She’d seen a few of Overshadow’s soldiers moving up and down the corridors, but she hadn’t found anyone who didn’t look like they might be part of her operation to location-tag for rescuing yet. Rounding a corner, she peered down through the vent slats into a largish room.

It was mostly empty; the only piece of furniture was a large table which was strewn with what looked like circuit boards, electronics, and tools. A laptop rested at one corner.

The lone man in the room had probably been fit for most of his life, but was starting to run to seed; there was a little pudge to his belly and the way he carried himself suggested he might still think of himself as having better muscle than was currently the case. He was humming idly as he moved about the room, humming a melody that she didn’t recognise but was pretty sure she’d heard in pop song form on an oldies station.

He was every inch the model of an absent-minded scientist. As a team, they’d dealt with those plenty. She didn’t feel like he belonged at all.

She was debating talking to him, finding out what he knew, when the door to the room loudly unlocked - although he didn’t seem to notice it; she paused, hand still on one of the restraining screws holding the vent in place. If she hadn’t hesitated, she’d have been face to face with whoever was going to come through this door…

The person coming through the door turned out to be Overshadow, and her breath caught as she saw Featherweight following her - and not in her Rebelle costume anymore; she was clearly being subject to some kind of indignity. She wore combat boots, crisp white underwear, and a purple armband - the same purple armband as the soldier who’d also followed Overshadow through the door.

Featherweight smiled as she entered the room, too. There was no nervousness anywhere in her body language. She wasn’t scared of Overshadow; she was comfortable in her presence, wearing her armband. What have they done to you?

The man continued to hum, his back to the new arrivals, apparently oblivious.

“Doctor,” Overshadow said, and her tone was a warning.

Immediately he straightened up, smiling, and turned around to face her. “Overshadow!” he exclaimed cheerfully. “How good to see you.”

“I hope I can say the same, Doctor,” she retorted. “Are you making progress?”

“Mm… I believe so.” He nodded, and Featherweight seemed to nod in response, obviously reassured to hear it. Her smile redoubled. We almost never see you smile like that…

“Good. I will only give you so long.”

“Oh, I do understand. But I’m sure I will be very helpful to you.”

The supervillain turned and swept out; Featherweight followed with the soldier, pausing at the doorway for a last reassuring smile. Had the two of them been hostages together, perhaps?

She heard the door lock and decided there was no better time to find out what was going on, returning to loosening the vent screws. The man, the Doctor, he was paying her no attention; he stood facing the door, watching it. She wondered what was going through his head, then dropped silently down to the floor behind him.

“We need to talk,” Monsoon said. The man in front of her emitted a noise like a cat whose tail had just been stepped on and whirled around, eyes wide with shock.

Monsoon just smiled. She didn’t get to deliver that kind of shock nearly as often as Swift Fox, and as a result it hadn’t lost its savour for her yet. “Hello, Doctor,” she began. “Would you mind telling me who you are?”

He blinked several times, mouth open, slowly straightening up. His shoulders lost their hunch. “Ah… my name is Alphonse,” he said. “Can I help you?”

“You can tell me what Overshadow has you doing.”

There was a moment of silence. “I don’t think that would make her happy,” he said slowly.

“You’re building some kind of gadget for her. What is it? A bomb?”

His lip curled in amusement. “Hardly.”

“Well, that’s narrowing it down.” Monsoon took a step toward him, flaring her power around herself, and the wind gathered around her, coming howling out of the vent and buffeting Alphonse hard enough that he stumbled back against the wall. “I don’t think you wanted to be part of this,” she said. “I think she kidnapped you. You and a planeful of passengers. How am I doing?”

He didn’t need to tell her she was right. The look on his face did that for him. She almost laughed. “Doctor, we can do this gently, and I’d rather do that. I don’t see why you’d have any love for Overshadow-”

She broke off. He shouldn’t. Obviously. But nor should Featherweight, and she was marching around in her underwear like a good little soldier and didn’t even seem embarrassed. Which meant that somewhere in this mix…

“Doctor Alphonse,” she said a little more politely, letting her power wane, “did Overshadow do something to you? A drug injection, perhaps. A device to wear. Or just sitting you and your fellow passengers down in front of a movie.”

His jaw finally closed. She watched him putting together the clues in her question. “You think I’m-”

“Mind controlled. Yes.”

He swallowed. “I… don’t think anyone’s in control of my mind but me.”

“OK. Let’s try something else, then. This table, this gadget. It’s to control minds, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Well, that accounts for my friend,” she muttered.

“Miss Paloma? Yes. Lovely girl.”

Monsoon’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have something to do with why she’s acting like that?”

At that moment there was a tremendous THOOM, a sound they both felt as much as heard, an impact that practically shook the compound. Either Swift Fox had found the others and in her focus on this strange man she’d missed the whisper over their comms or Overshadow and her people had found either Fox or the two Rebelles in reserve.

Either way, Monsoon knew to keep herself from giving too much away. Her expression was as cool as any poker pro as she said “You know what? I need to find out what’s happening there more than I need that answer right now.”

A gale force wind blew the room door from its hinges at her gesture. “Stay here,” she told Alphonse. “I’ll be back. We’ll get you free. And then you can answer my questions.”

*

Melissa had located the aircraft pretty quickly, which meant it was time to make a decision. Seeing that the Doctor, her Master, wasn’t there immediately made the decision much easier. She had to get to him, had to talk to him, and had to do so alone. These people also needed rescuing.

She keyed her comms and set the transponder in her belt to pulse. “Here,” she whispered, not wanting the guards nearby to overhear her. “I’m going to keep looking for Overshadow. But we need to be here.”

If she’d realised that Monsoon had been too occupied to hear her, she’d have been horrified, but it wasn’t even on her list of things to consider. Instead she vanished back into the vents, moving through them with a speed and a silence that Monsoon would envy.

You couldn’t work with Red Fox for any length of time without becoming capable of total silence in any environment. Marc was a master of stealth techniques, and he made sure everyone wearing a cowl like his was too.

On her way through the ducts, looking for other places people might be captives, she glanced down at a vent and saw Featherweight running along with an armed soldier beside her. Except that Featherweight was stripped down to her underwear.

It would have been a perfect time to make herself known. To try to rescue her friend and teammate. But doing that would leave her as far from rescuing her Master as she now was; perhaps even further away as she had someone else travelling with her. So Melissa put the whole question out of her mind and moved on.

*

At the sound of the impact, Overshadow straightened up. She turned to the two brainwashed slaves who followed her. “Go,” she said. “Find whoever did that. Neutralise them. Kill if you have to.”

They nodded and took off at a run. Neither of them asked, or even had the authority to ask, where Overshadow would be, but she turned away from her course, turned away from the impact, and moved in the opposite direction.

As she often did, she framed this in her mind as purely a tactical problem. An assault in force on someone’s base often hid a more subtle approach elsewhere. She had the power, alone, to check other places where her organisation might be vulnerable, and she could make those safe before joining her army in defence if it was needed.

*

Sinner heard the noise. She broke off the latest soldier’s indoctrination mid-sentence, wondering, but then stopped herself and returned to her work.

If it was relevant, she would surely be told, and besides, the Doctor had had a plan before Overshadow interrupted the two of them. It might be part of that.

*

Bimbeau had been shocked when the woman had dropped into his room earlier. His heart had barely stopped pounding, and the huge sound of whatever had happened elsewhere in the compound hadn’t helped.

He’d turned back to his work, knowing there was nothing he could do which the soldiers and supers in the building couldn’t do better. His thoughts were scattered, worry filling his head. This wasn’t what he’d expected. This wasn’t good. After this was done Overshadow would be furious. Anything might happen.

Trying to build a slightly more refined version of the Tiara, to reconstruct from memory at least part of the physical transformation capacity Candace had built in. It wasn’t easy. It might not be something he could do alone - he could admit that, even if Candace’s programming would prevent her from doing the same - but trying would distract him. Might help him pull his thoughts together.

“Master?”

He’d had no indication anyone had entered the room. The voice was from behind him. In his shocked reaction he nearly stabbed his own arm with the screwdriver he’d been holding in the other hand. “Christ!”

He turned hastily. The woman facing him was caped, cowled, curvaceous and powerful. He had no idea who she was.

She dropped to one knee. Bowed her head. “Hello, Master.”

The Doctor was at a loss. “I… think there must be a misunderstanding.”

She looked up and met his eyes, and he was startled by the clear sincerity in her eyes. “No mistake, Master. Doctor Kraft sent me.”

“O…kay…” he said slowly, trying to collect his thoughts. “Who are you?”

“I’m Melissa Wilder, Master. Doctor Kraft calls me her little fox.” A blush spread across her cheeks below the cowl. It was, he had to admit, startlingly cute.

“Are you responsible for that noise?”

“My team is, Master.”

“Did Candace send all of you?” he blurted.

“No, Master. They already wanted to come here. Overshadow has one of us.”

Bimbeau kicked himself mentally. The woman who’d visited him earlier, her costume was nearly identical to Paloma’s, just in a different colour. It told him just how scared he’d been that he hadn’t put it together. “Paloma?”

“You know her na-” A delighted look filled her eyes. “You took her mind? She’s one of ours?”

“I - she’s on our side, yes.” He blinked, mentally reviewing the approach he’d taken. “Oh. Crap.”

“Master?”

“She’s not going to accept you rescuing her easily,” he said. “I said some things…”

“She’ll know when you tell her!” Swift Fox exclaimed excitedly. “We just need to get you there.”

“I can’t let you do that,” someone said, and the two looked across to the door. The Doctor’s heart sank.

Overshadow was almost blocking the doorway.