A decade could change a great deal about the world and that was difficult enough to accept for people that lived through the gradual slide into the new status quo. But Melissa had literally slipped into unconsciousness one moment and awakened ten years later. She hadn’t even aged.

Before she had been placed in stasis, the country had been at war in Brazil, headbands and goggles had been the newest fashion trend and the papers had been abuzz about construction beginning on a permanent human habitation in space. She had awakened into a world where Brazil was called a ‘trusted ally’ in the papers and bleached white jeans were hip. The lunar habitat was still a hopeless pipedream though. She didn’t know why that made her feel a tiny bit better, but it did.

The world just felt wrong to her. It didn’t help that she hadn’t changed while the world did. She was a sixteen year old with the tastes and memories of a twenty-five year old. Laurel had suggested she spend more time with ‘people her age’, meaning Warrick and Cyn. But Melissa knew in her heart that she was, in reality almost twice their age.

Laurel was only trying to help, but she was completely wrong. Laurel was always trying to help, it was her creed; when in doubt, try to help someone out. A wonderful strategy in fantasy based gaming, but Melissa found it annoying in real life – especially since it seemed to work. It seemed ironic to Melissa that Laurel could do more for people’s moods with her personality than could do with powers that did specifically that.

Not that Melissa liked her power. In fact, she hated it. It was wholly useless and worked seemingly on its own volition. On top of that, she had developed the ability to heal everyone but herself. Time heals all wounds, so did Melissa’s powers. But neither could heal her wounds.

A knock on her door interrupted Melissa’s thoughts as she lay on her bed, a pillow covering her eyes. She imagined that if she ignored the knocking, the one responsible for it would lose interest and leave. The only person she cared to talk to at Freeland House was Kareem and for the past week, he had spent most of his time with Laurel working on some project or other.

The knocking didn’t cease. It only became louder. Melissa pressed the pillow over her ears and pretended it wasn’t happening. There was a clicking sound and suddenly the door flew open, accompanied by the cool breeze of Freeland House’s recently installed air conditioning.

“Up and at ‘em Princess of Pout!” Cyn’s voice said as the clunk of heavy boots approached. “I come bearing gifts.”

Every Friday, Melissa thought, this was becoming a ritual. Cynthia – Cyn, actually, now that she’d finally convinced everyone to refer to her as such – barged into Melissa’s room every Friday afternoon, demanding she take part in whatever thing she and Warrick had planned. Last week had been a ‘battle of the bands’ at a local café in the Hills.

“I don’t want to go anywhere with you two.” Melissa groaned.

“Yeah, I get that.” Cyn said, brushing it off. “You hate us because you’re technically older than us or something. Fine. Be that way. I’m not going to just give up because of a little thing like you despising me.”

There was a sinking feeling in the pit of Melissa’s stomach. She didn’t hate Cyn or Warrick anymore than she’d hated Alexis, Ian and Laurel back when those three tried to get her involved in their lives. She just wasn’t a people person. But voicing that notion would simply encourage Cyn’s attempts to force her into being personable, so she held her tongue.

The bed shifted as Cyn perched herself on it. “Of course, this time, you won’t have us to put up with. For your information, we’re going to the Darkcore concert.”

Against her better judgment, Melissa emerged from beneath the pillow. “You two are going to a concert together? Like a date?”

Cyn snorted. “Yeah right. No offense to him; but Warrick’s not my idea of a guy.”

“You mean, ‘ideal guy’?”

“No.” Cyn shook her head. “I mean, when I think of, you know a guy – a real guy, I’m thinking somewhere around 6’2’’, some muscles, maybe without so many geek-outs as our boy has, you know what I’m saying?”

“Please, you two are joined at the hip half the time. I don’t think either of you has gone to town alone since Ian and Alexis came back talking about this whole tomb thing.”

“Tome.” Cyn said shortly. Mentally, she forced her muscles not to allow her to shiver at the idea of what the Academy and whatever Project Tome was were up to with their trepanning and whatever a ‘bio-map’ was. The fact that Laurel still didn’t know what the damn thing was made her uncomfortable having it in the house. That was part of why she spent so much time out of the house lately; Prelate work as Facsimile not withstanding.

“Yeah, Tome.” Melissa said not bothering to hide her fearful reaction. “Anyway, if you two are going on a date, what does that have to do with me?” Until that moment, she hadn’t noticed the flier in Cyn’s hand. It was now presented forcefully to her.

Below the word GATHER in large, bold letters, intertwined with generic clip art of confetti and dancing couples, was the following:

Find your true happiness with likeminded individuals. Come to Brother Wright’s Gather and meet people who wish to be happy like you. Free refreshments and a night of socializing and dancing. Happiness is yours; simply reach out for it.

9pm Friday, June 8, ConquesTech Convention Center Annex

“I just figured that you’d benefit from actually getting off the grounds once in a while. You know, talking to people.” Cyn said, letting the flier drop onto Melissa’s chest.

“I talk to Kareem.” Melissa pouted, retreating back under the pillow.

“Technically, you think to Kareem.” Cyn said. “Though with that thing Laurel’s working on will let you.”

“Still, I do… communicate with him.” Melissa said. “That counts for something.”

“I won’t argue that.” Cyn shrugged. “Kareem’s a nice guy. However, he’s not a replacement for the entire rest of the world, no matter how great a guy he is. You need to get out and make friends.”

“Oh, like you have.” came the reply.

“Actually, yeah.” Cyn nodded. “there’s a really cool group of people that hang out at the Dungeon – you know that arcade on Sixth Street that’s connected to the café? The one we tried to get you to come to the battle of the bands with? Actually, our friend Kay is in one of the bands, she does keyboards—“

“Okay, okay.” Melissa sighed. “You’ve made your point. I’ll go to this Gather thing. It sounds lame though… ‘true happiness’, yeah, right.”

“Don’t knock it. I’ve seen this guy on TV. I heard Miranda Elliot – that talk show chick? She swears by his books.”

“Oh, that removes all my doubts.” Melissa rolled her eyes.

Warrick mugged for the mirror as he combed his hair. “So, how’s the deal with Ms. Brant’s astral plane TV thing coming?” he asked the ether. He’d never gotten the hang of speaking mentally to Kareem, so he just talked conversationally in whatever direction he happened to be facing.

There are, as Ms. Brant says, ‘many, little spiders’ to shake out. Kareem explained, from somewhere in the vicinity of the window. Most of it is simply learning to control the device from the astral side. On this side, the world is all emotion and memory. It is hard to translate it to the device.

Warrick nodded, not really understanding, as one of the tentacles handed him a can of hairspray. “I bet you can’t wait to talk to us… you know, face to face?” He gave his hair a few spritzes and handed the can back to the tentacle, who dutifully returned it to its shelf. “Not that I mind talking like this, but I know the whole mind reading thing is a problem for you.”

Yes, I will be very happy not to have to read minds to hold conversations. I do not like the idea of invading the privacy of others for any reason, even something so vital.

“I hear that.” Warrick said. “I’ve had to keep these two from pointing their… whatever tentacles have instead of noses – into other people’s business. Or at least not telling me when they do.”

I didn’t know they spoke to you.

“Not in the normal way. Or telepathically either. I just… know what they mean when they want me to, you understand?”

Very much so. I can understand memories on this plane in much the same way.

“At least I don’t feel so weird anymore.” Warrick grinned. “So how do I look?” He was wearing a Darkcore T-shirt under a leather vest and black jeans. He had just spent the last twenty minutes shaping his hair into an impossible forest of spikes which protruded in all directions.

It depends. Kareem began diplomatically. Are you attempting to look as if you are seeking a fight?

“That’s what surge metal’s all about, my friend.” Warrick grinned. The tentacles deformed their tapered ends into reasonable facsimiles of hands; the index and little finger extended while the middle and ring fingers were held down by the thumb – the universal sign of metal being expressed in its purest form.

Mentally, Kareem laughed. You certainly would be one to know, Warrick.

“I’m just sorry they won’t get to listen to the concert. I’ve got to un-summon them out on the town and all.” Warrick frowned.

The door opened without so much as a knock and Cyn clomped in, wearing a dress that was essentially the same heavy black fabric wrapped around her chest all the way down to her knees. A chain belt somehow caused the whole assemblage to stay in place. Elbow length black gloves with studs sewn into the knuckles completed the ensemble.

Warrick found himself suddenly interested in the ceiling as he caught himself goggling.

“Great news!” Cyn announced, her amusement at Warrick’s predicament obvious. “I got Princess Pouty to go to that Gather thing – reluctantly of course.”

“Er, that’s great.” Warrick said, looking at anything but Cyn, which at the moment his own hands.

Gather? What is that? Kareem asked, making his presence known. On the astral plane, the air practically cracked with Warrick’s embarrassment.

“Some little get together thrown but some pop psychologist or something.” Melissa said, speaking out loud for Warrick’s benefit. She’d become adept at switching back and forth between thoughts and spoken words when Kareem was involved. “The important thing is that our little girl is finally leaving the nest.” She shifted a few tears into existence so as to properly sniff dramatically.

That is good to hear. I enjoy her company, but she is better off socializing with people… Kareem’s thoughts trialed off.

“Its nothing about you, Kareem.” Cyn quickly explained. “Its just she’s anti-social to everyone BUT you.”

I know this. I just wish I could do the same.

“Hey, man,” Warrick said, still looking elsewhere, “you’ve got a certified super genius on the case. Ms. Brant will figure something out. And then, Mr. Smythe and Ms. Keyes will kick the crap out of whoever did this to you – just like they did for those kids in Florida.”

Cyn laughed lightly. “And we can’t do fight crime because ‘it will draw too much attention’.” She gestured to the door. “Anyway, our cab will be here any minute, so we’d better get moving. See ya later, Kareem.”

The pair headed off, leaving Kareem floating alone in the Astral plane.

With very little effort, he moved through the walls and down the hall to Laurel’s lab. The genius level psionic was at her computer, no doubt cracking her way into another medical database on the trail of the enigmatic ‘bio-map’. The device she had made for Kareem was on one of the worktables, parts of its interface glowing electric blue on the astral side.

Kareem approached it and reach out tentatively toward the interface. It was a small thing, being able to communicate face to face. But it was a first step. A vital first step.

-- • --

One of the meeting rooms at the ConquesTech Convention Center had been transformed into a control room for the night’s festivities. A series of thin, flat LED screens had been unrolled and attached to the far wall and a folding table placed before them with two chairs facing that wall. A jumble of computer equipment and wireless transmitter/receivers sat on the table.

Rick Charlotte sat at that table, tapping out commands and checking the LED screens to see the results. By all accounts, he was homely at best. He stood only five feet, two inches tall, with an uneven, olive complexion, a crooked nose, and eyes that weren’t the same size by any stretch of the imagination.

The door swung open and a middle-aged man with a bald head, a once brown moustache and an obvious hearing aide jogged in, displaying more energy than even a man half his age rightfully should. “Good evening, Mr. Charlotte!” he smiled, stretching the word evening out. “How are we doing on tonight’s enterprise?”

“Hello, Mr. Wright.” Rick nodded. “Everything’s good to go on my end. I’ve hijacked the security feeds in the entire east wing and I’m standing by to blind them. Two birds with one stone was never so easy.”

“Please, Mr. Charlotte; you’ve worked for me for two years now. You’ve earned the right to call me by my first name.” Brother smiled at his associate. “Also, that’s three birds with one stone.”

“Three, Mist—Brother?” He ticked the two ‘friends in need’ he was aware of off on his fingers. “Jackson Harris of CitiWide Security wants Mayfield Security Systems to lose their contract with ConquesTech for the Convention Center. And Tatiana Farnsworth, AKA Lady Nightshade wants to make a name for herself as a thief. Solution: stage a robbery of the hidden vault here in the Convention Center.” He shook his head, “I don’t see where a third comes in.”

Brother pointed to the row of screens. “If you will, please bring up our file on Mary Northbrooke.”

Rick’s fingers flew over the keyboard and in a few seconds, the central screen displayed a dossier of a mousey brunette with glasses. “She’s a freelance journalist for the Scribe, also works at the Emery Hollow Nursery.” He leaned forward, reading the screen. “Under notes, we see that you actually got her placed in her current position and she’s just been used for public relations ever since.” He looked back up at Brother. “It’s the usual arrangement; you made her journalism aspirations happen and in return she makes nice to you. I’m not seeing the relation here.”

“That is why I am the kingpin of this operation, Mr. Charlotte.” Brother said. “You see, one of our ‘very good friends’ has a problem with the new prelate team that’s been running around lately. He wants them to start earning some bad press. But to do that, we need a ‘friend’ who is a regular columnist at the Scribe.”

“I see where you’re going, Mr. Wright, but I have no idea how you’re getting there.” Rick admitted.

“It came to me in a… simple rush of genius.” Brother smiled. “Lady Nightshade is going to need a very eye catching article if she’s to make it beyond being ‘just another cat burglar’. She’s also going to need a distraction.” He pointed to another screen. “Pull up the file for Los Lobos de la Noche.”

Rick entered the data and displayed the dossier for the minor street gang Brother kept supplied with free weapons in exchange for staging petty crimes. “You haven’t tapped these guys for months.” Rick commented.

“Mostly because they haven’t been successful in living up to their part of our arrangement lately.” Brother scowled; a frightening sight for Rick who was used to his light demeanor. “So now I’ll be calling in my last favor from them. Ms. Northbrooke will have her story, Lady Nightshade will have her reputation, and Mayfield Security Systems will lose their contract as Mr. Harris requested.”

“And the Lobos?”

“I have a feeling they won’t see the light of day for… I don’t know – how much time does one get for holding a large gathering of people hostage?” Brother laughed and turned to leave. “In any event, I have to get ready for my party. I have a feeling that it will be most eventful.”

Melissa took the proffered punch glass and resumed her chosen station against the wall of the annex. She was dressed in a simple white dress with a black satin sash around her midsection. The number of expensive suits and designer dresses on the dance floor made her feel that she was severely underdressed.

Now that she looked, however, that may not have been an accurate assumption. The participants at the Gather came from all walks of life and from all age groups. It was, however, strange to see so many obviously wealthy people in one place – especially when they were acting so… normal.

She shrugged and leaned back against the wall, sampling the punch. The flier had promised ‘likeminded people’. These people were not of like minds with her at all. If they were, they wouldn’t be out on the dance floor; dancing, laughing –“

“Enjoying yourself?”

Melissa nodded. Exactly, they wouldn’t be enjoying themselves, she thought. Then she realized that that question wasn’t in response to her thoughts. She looked to her left and saw a bald, middle-aged man with a moustache. He was in an expensive tuxedo with a white carnation tucked in his lapel. “Oh… uh…” she stammered, caught off guard. She never knew what to say in social situations and this man was twice her age even considering her time in stasis.

“I certainly hope so.” Brother Wright said with a warm smile. “I don’t throw these for my own health you know, young lady?”

“You throw…” Melissa said dumbly. “Oh, you must be Brother Wright!”

“Alive and well.” Brother said. “So, what do you think of my Gather so far?”

“Oh, you don’t want to talk to me.” Melissa shrugged. “There are lots of important people here. Way more important than me.”

A look of concern crossed Brother’s eyes. It was the same look of concern that appeared on the dust jackets of his books. “On the contrary, young lady, this is exactly why I throw this party – to make people happy. That means that you are just as important as anyone here.” Mentally, he patted himself on the back. His usual talk show psychologist spiel was usually enough get his hooks in a perspective mark. After that, it would be child’s play to discern if the girl would be useful or not. “Tell me, would being ‘important’ make you happy?”

“I don’t know.” Melissa shrugged. “I’ve never thought about it, really.”

“You’ve never thought about what would make you happy? Dear child, that’s the majority of what most people think about.” Brother pressed.

Melissa took a sip of her punch. The irony of having one of the most famous psychologists in the country at her disposal, yet being unable to tell him her problems on pain of whatever horrid fate the Academy held over her and the others was not lost on her. “I just… don’t think too much about it is all.” She said, shifting he weight from foot to foot.

The girl was clearly lying. Brother hadn’t spent the last two decades studying people and their behavior without learning how to spot a lie. His interest was piqued. What could a teenager have to hide form a pop icon such as himself? Perhaps it was something he could use as blackmail material.

“Are you sure about that, young lady? I mean, if you tell me, it is very possible that I can make it happen. You’ve seen me on The Miranda Elliot Show – you’ve seen the ‘true to life stories’ of people I’ve helped make their lives better.”

Somewhere in Melissa’s mind, she wondered if this was her chance. Maybe Brother was so influential that she could tell him everything about the Academy and he could let the world know. If the secret was out, the Academy couldn’t touch anyone at Freeland House without exposing itself even worse. All she had to do was trust…

A television psychologist who despite all of his altruism was still just a mortal man. A mortal man that Prometheus or Impact or any other Academy Enforcer would have little difficulty utterly destroying. The Academy was trepanning kids; it was certainly not above assassinating celebrities. Telling him, Melissa realized, would be the death of him.

“Erm… excuse me, Mr. Wright. It was wonderful meeting you, but I really need to… powder my nose.” She said quickly. She sat her drink down and rushed off through the crowd toward the restrooms.

Brother frowned after her. Too bad, he thought. He checked his watch. It was 10:56 – four minutes until the fireworks started.

Melissa’s forehead came to rest against the bathroom mirror with a quiet thump. She had almost killed a man because she wasn’t strong enough to shoulder her own burden. Not only him but possibly everyone at Freeland House.

She couldn’t live with herself if she ended up being the cause of pain or death to the people who had tried so hard to be her friends, both past and present. The fact was, she wouldn’t even be at the Gather is Cyn hadn’t been trying to help her. As annoying as she could be; Cyn, like everyone else, was just trying to help her.

And the truth was she didn’t resent the people, or the help, but herself for making all of their efforts for naught. The fact was that she just wasn’t a social person, no matter how much the others wanted to pull her out into the world.

Maybe she wasn’t a happy person either. That would explain why she never was, surely. Some people are born destined for certain things. Some were born for greatness, some were born for certain jobs – maybe she was born for unhappiness.

She rolled her eyes at herself in the mirror for that thought. It really wasn’t true to say that she was always unhappy. She had been, in her own way perfectly happy before the Academy betrayed her. Obviously, she still hadn’t been the kind of person who went to parties or hung out with friends, but she did find joy in simply listening to good music and reading a book. Even now, when she felt like she had lost everything, she wasn’t unhappy all the time. Talking to Kareem always helped her climb out of her moods and to be honest, she always found it comforting that despite her pushing them away, the other Freeland House residents still thought about her and did what they could to make her comfortable.

A lifetime ago, she had tried to explain to Laurel that she wasn’t going to be miserable just because other people were doing things and she wasn’t. This hadn’t really stopped the young genius from trying with her, but it had dulled her sense of urgency. It was entirely possible that given more time, they could have come to be friends.

Melissa stood up straight and adjusted her dress. Maybe she could explain things to Cyn and reach some kind of happy medium between reclusion and being pushed to be a part of everything. She forced herself to smile at herself in the mirror. Brother Wright would never know it, but he had helped her tonight.

Finishing up her self maintenance, Melissa walked to the bathroom door. The moment her hand touched the handle, the sound of gunfire tore the air above the din of the party.

They had infiltrated the party completely unnoticed. The Gather was an open party, so no one was particularly concerned to see the gang colors and small badges worn in the young men’s’ ears. There had never been violence at a Gather in all of its five year history—cutting edge weapon detection scanners made sure of this. No one suspected that those scanners would be disabled specifically for these men.

The clock struck ten and Jacob “Jay” Willis pulled the bandana around his neck up to cover his mouth and nose. It was an old fashioned disguise, but Jay was a fan of the ‘classics’. Pulling his automatic pistol from jean jacket, he ripped off a few shots into the air. “Everybody, get on the goddamn floor!” He bellowed as he saw his fellow Lobos drawing their own weapons. The doors all around the annex slammed shut, guarded by three heavily armed gang members.

Jay leveled his weapon at the sound system and blasted it to pieces in a hail of sparks. The music died abruptly. He quickly turned his weapon on a nearby partygoer who was too slow to comply. “I said get on the goddamn floor, right now. I will tear yo’ ass up if you don’t do what I say, you hear me?!”

With all of the partygoers on the ground, he nodded to the Lobos not charged with guard duty. Thirty years ago, the Lobos had been exclusively a Hispanic gang. Now, they came from all races, though it was still seen as an accomplishment in their ranks for a half-African, half-Irish man like Jay to have taken control of the gang. Crime, after all, was an equal opportunity employer. “Stick with the plan, ‘kay? Jewelry, watches, and cash money. Smalls, Train – check the coatroom, the bathrooms, and anywhere else somebody may be hiding.”

The gang members fanned out, snatching what valuables they could find from the terrified guests. Jay personally sought out Brother and made a show of stealing his watch.

“I better get that back.” Brother hissed at his co-conspirator. Jay only nodded slightly as he slipped the watch into his pocket.

His business completed, Jay turned to the hostages. It would be so simple just to make a break for it with their loot. But Brother had his own plan in mind. He’d promised a big payday – something Jay just couldn’t resist. Brother, after all, had always been right before.

“Okay, listen up!” He shouted. He got a rush of power from having all of those people at his mercy. “You all better get real comfortable, ‘cause nobody’s going nowhere until Lester Mendel pays us ten mil’ for your sorry asses.”

Rick watched the chaos unfold on the various security feeds. On another screen he saw the soon to be infamous Lady Nightshade entering the administrative wing via a window that was lacking its usual security sensors.

Everything was going as planned. Holding the Gather in the annex itself had helped. The annex was often used for live theatre and had cell phone jamming devices installed by default. No cell phones even registered signal inside the annex. Someone would have to fight past the guards on the doors and into the hall to even have hope of—

Something caught his eye on one of the upper monitors. Two gangsters Rick knew as Smalls and Train were dragging a young red head out of the bathroom and down the hall toward the annex. But it wasn’t the thugs or the girl that caught his eye. It was the little silver cell phone she’d just dropped.

“Oh, we’re so humped.” Rick pulled up a console connecting to the nearby cell towers. Maybe he could call back using her number and report a false alarm… A few keystrokes pulled up her last dialed number and Rick breathed a sigh of relief. “Huh. Guess she was talking to someone when the boys started their little hostage situation.” He mused.

-- • --

The last, roaring strains of Tear Into It were met with roaring applause as Darkcore prepared to launch into their next song.

“I told you this would be worth the hundred bucks, Kaine!” Kay Greycloud, a short, plump girl of Cheyenne ancestry shouted to Warrick over the din. The two were part of a knot of five teens standing out on the lawn of the Woodlowe National Parks for the Performing Arts main pavilion. Kay had dyed her hair brilliant silver for the occasion.

“They’re great,” Warrick shouted back, “But I still say Our Ladies of Armageddon are the best band on Earth! “

“Apples and oranges, Kaine.” Kay said. “OLA is old school thrash metal – I mean turn of the century!”

“Doesn’t make what the man said less true!” Jonathan Slate, better known to his friends as JC said, joining the debate. “Burning Down the Garden is like the top – the pena—“He fumbled on his words.

“Pinnacle.” Warrick supplied.

“Yeah, pinnacle of quality.” He gestured at the stage. “Darkcore’s got the best guitar and drums this side of Persistent Knives, but Randal Borsinski is no Finch Lewis when it comes to lyrics, so OLA’s the hands down winner.”

“You just like OLA because it’s an all girl band.” Lisa Ortega rolled her eyes at her on again, off again boyfriend. She gestured to her brother Zack, who looked very uncomfortable with the crowd. “He doesn’t even like music and he’s got an OLA poster.”

“Hey, his crush on Robin Saunders has nothing to do with my appreciating good lyrics.” JC said defensively.

“Robin?” Warrick said, making a face. “Dude, if you’re going to have the hots for any of them, at least pick Garuda.”

You know, I like OLA and all,” Kay said, “But I never got the ‘we all have bird names’ thing.”

“Glad to see I didn’t miss any meaningful conversation.” Cyn said, emerging from the crowd just as the opening drums for Explode began to play. She immediately directed her attention toward Warrick. “Can I talk to your for a second?”

“But... but... Explode…” Warrick whined only half heartedly.

“Come on.” Cyn said, grabbing his arm. To the others, she gave an apologetic look “Sorry guys. See you at the Dungeon Monday night? They’re showing Twentieth Century action movies ‘til 3am.” Taking only enough time to see Kay nod, Cyn hustled Warrick off through the crowd.

“Wow.” Kay said to Lisa. “She couldn’t even wait ‘til the end of the concert to get him alone.”

Lisa smirked. “I can’t blame her. With all the nervous eating she does around him, she’d probably be broke from buying peanuts before the concert was over.”

“So… why are we leaving a half hour early?” Warrick asked as the two walked out of the main gates toward the taxi Cyn had hailed.

“Melissa called me while I was at the concession stand.” Cyn explained. “She sounded freaked out. She said she’d heard shooting, then…” she shivered as she hugged herself. “the line went dead. I think I heard someone shout right before.”

Warrick frowned. “Any chance she’s just faking to get out of going to that Gather thing?”

“I doubt it. It isn’t like she couldn’t just take a cab home by herself, you know?”

“So you think that someone’s attacked the convention center?” Warrick asked, holding the cab door open for Cyn.

“No idea. Let’s just get there and check it out.”

“Steel, copper and lead all in a neat little package.” Warrick stood against the concrete wall of the ConquesTech Convention Center adjacent to the annex. “I’d say we’re positive for guns—at least fifteen of them and that’s just what’s in range of my metal sense. That ballroom’s a big place.”

“Oh, man,” Cyn fretted. She was already in the shape of the gold skinned Facsimile. “Melissa wouldn’t even be in there if it wasn’t for me. I hope she’s okay.”

“She’ll be okay, Cyn.” Warrick said, coming to place a hand on her shoulder. “And this is definitely not your fault. The guys whose fault it is are about to get a righteous ass kicking from Life Savers, Inc.”

Cyn smiled at him. “Hey, remember the rules. In this form, I’m Facsimile.”

“Sure thing, Fax.” Warrick said, summoning the tentacles. Sorry you missed the concert, boys, he thought to them. “Okay, let’s get to the roof and come in through the air ducts.”

“You know that in real life, air ducts are seldom big enough to crawl through, right?” Cyn asks.

“And you know that I can just widen them with my powers.” Warrick pointed out.

Not to be outdone, Cyn jerked her thumb towards the wall. “And with those powers, you could just rip the rebar out of this wall and go in this way.”

Warrick frowned. “That’s not nearly as cool.”

“It is if you use that rebar to armor up at the same time you tear the hole in the wall.”

Grinning, Warrick turned to the wall. “Let’s tear into it then.” He pointed, a wholly extraneous action, and the wall came apart in a cloud of rapidly disintegrated concrete and plaster as a steel beam, many pieces of rebar and a good length of electrical wiring suddenly rushed outward to encase Warrick. The metal flowed over him like water, solidifying into full plate that reminded Cyn of the crusades. Even covered in plaster dust, it gleamed.

There was a moment of stunned silence as the Lobos attempted to sort out what had just happened. One minute, they were completely in control of the situation. The next, the wall had spontaneously erupted into a cloud of choking, white dust.

The thug closest to the breach was the first to react to the armored figure that had suddenly appeared before him. He raised his automatic and pulled the trigger, only to have a burst of fire and smoke burst from the chamber and ignite his sleeve.

Screaming, he dropped the weapon, his mind barely registering the warped condition of the barrel. “Shoot that thing!” He shouted, trying to beat out the flames licking up his arm.

“Thing?” Warrick remarked as a trio of gang members opened fire on him. “Now that just hurts.” The tentacles whipped out at his assailants, their tips suddenly forming into sharp swords that easily sliced their weapons in half. On their return stroke, they pummeled the attackers with the flats of their blades, knocking them back. “It doesn’t hurt as much as that, granted…” Warrick grinned beneath his visor.

Cyn flew in behind him, winging up toward the ceiling.

“It’s the prelates!” Jay shouted “kill ‘em!”

“Easier said than done.” Cyn allowed one of the gangsters to send a burst of automatic fire into her chest. She gave him a sadistic grin as she grabbed him by the shirt and hurled him into one of his friends.

From his place on the floor, Brother watched as the Prelates of Mayfield – Life Savers, Inc—made short work of his lackeys. True, he had expected a SWAT team to make short work of the Lobos, but he couldn’t believe the speed with which thirty gang members became twelve gang members and eighteen unconscious or disarmed men.

Their power was overwhelming. Brother knew about psionics, but those he had met and integrated into his networking scam were next to useless; able to read books with a touch, or float a few inches off the ground. The Academy snapped up all of the useful ones long before Brother could notice them.

This would have to change.

Warrick sent a wave of his power in the direction of two more gang members, reducing their guns, as well as any stray bits of metal they wore, to liquid slag in moments. Without weapons, the thugs suddenly lost their will to fight and like the rest of their brethren before them, tried to run.

“Not so fast, boys.” Cyn leapt upon them and bore them to the ground. “You have an appointment with the Mayfield PD.” She thumped their heads together and let them drop. “Huh. You’re kind of cute.” She said absentmindedly to one. “That’s NOT going to be good for you in jail.”

Jay looked around in disbelief. His boys had been utterly decimated in only a short few minutes. The plan was falling apart. He wouldn’t even get the jewelry; much less the ten million Brother had promised Lester Mendel would pay for the hostages. He was out of options. All that was left now was to try and make his own escape.

Picking up a piece of broken table, he dashed over to Brother. “Sorry, Boss, but I need to get outta here.” He whispered as he lifted his employer up by his collar.

“Listen up, prelates!” He shouted. “Back off my boys, or Mr. Humanitarian ain’t throwing no more parties.” He menaced Brother with the stake.

Warrick stopped where he was, tentacles still hovering ominously over a fallen gangster. Cyn back-winged, hovering near the ceiling.

Across the room, Melissa chewed her lip. She had just saved Brother’s life by keeping her problems to herself. Now it looked like that was for nothing. She wanted to do something about all this – to stop the thug before he hurt the man who had tried to help her. But he was too far away and she didn’t have any way to hurt him. Tears started to form in her eyes.

“Now that I got your attention,” Jay addressed Warrick and Cyn. “Me and this dude are going to walk out of here and you aren’t going to do shit, you understand?”

“Perfectly.” Cyn growled, still hovering.

Warrick glared at Jay through his visor. He knew that the tentacles were fast enough to take Jay down, but he didn’t know if they could do so without the hostage being hurt. The tentacles themselves mentally chattered their confidence, but he wasn’t so sure.

“What about you, tin can?” Jay demanded angrily.

Warrick gritted his teeth and nodded.

“Good.” Jay sneered. “Come on.” He said, ushering Brother toward the hole in the wall. As he did so, he stepped over the warped gun the first Lobo had wielded. Warrick saw his opportunity. The gun melted and flowed over Jay’s shoes, causing him to stumble.

At the same moment, the tentacles lashed out, their tips expanded into heavy weights. But Jay’s stumble made them miscalculate and both missed, pummeling the wall instead.

Jay fell with Brother and rolled on top of him. Rage boiled up in him. They dared to call his bluff? No one made him look like a bitch. He raised the stake to plunge into Brother’s throat. “That’s it, you just killed this…” He suddenly sighed. His rage melted away. All of his tensions, all of his anxiety and anger were gone; replaced by a sublime happiness—for exactly the two seconds it took for the tentacles to right themselves and knock him unconscious.

An eerie silence filled the annex as Brother rolled the limp form of Jay off him. “How’d you do that? He asked the duo that called themselves Life Saver’s Inc.

“We… didn’t” Cyn said, speechless for the first time.

Warrick was the first to break out of the confusion. “Is everyone okay? We can call the hospital before we call the cops.” Across the room, he saw Melissa staring at the scene, seemingly in another world. No one claimed injury, so he nodded to Cyn. “On that note, Facsimile, I think it’s time we left.”

As the heroes left, Melissa sank back against an overturned table and heaved a sigh of relief.

“They were amazing.” A woman nearby her said. She had a notebook out and was writing furiously.

“Yeah, they were.” Melissa said with a nod. “What are you writing?” She asked after a few moments.

“Notes for my story.” The brown haired woman said. “That wasn’t just amazing, that was front page of the Scribe amazing.” Mary Northbrooke smiled wistfully. “And I’ve got the exclusive story!”

-- • --

It was well past midnight when Melissa ascended the monumental set of stairs that led to Freeland House. It was a cool, crisp, June night and the crickets and tree frogs were singing their hymnals to the wonderful weather.

Melissa stopped at the top of the stairs to take in the natural chorus and take a long look at the beauty that was the newly restored Freeland House in the moonlight. Most of the patio had been completely restored, including the stone benches and planters that lined it. The only new addition was the giant flower bed that stood in the center of the round patio; it was standing in for the fountain that had taken up that space once upon a time.

“You’re late, young lady.” Alexis’s voice came from the shadow of a dogwood that grew near the edge of the patio. “You missed curfew.”

“I-I didn’t know we had one.” Melissa stammered.

There was a giggle and Cyn emerged from the shade. “That’s probably because we don’t have one.” She said. “But you know you’re still late. Enjoy the party?”

“I was tied up with the police—had to give them my eyewitness report.” She sat down on one of the benches.

“The police!” Cyn gave her best fake gasp. “Oh my god, ‘lissa, what happened?”

Melissa raised an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure you know the story already… Facsimile was it?”

Cyn frowned in mock confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Cynthia, I have no life. I read the papers. Seriously, you’re a shapeshifter and all, but did you really think I wouldn’t recognize the same tentacle things that weird me out every single morning?”

Shrugging, Cyn came to sit next to Melissa. “There’s got to be like a dozen metal controlling Italians with aluminum tentacles in Mayfield.” She gave an innocent smile. “You’re not going to tell Alexis are you? She’d make us stop and we’ve been doing so—“

“Don’t worry, Cynthia.” Melissa said, gesturing for the white haired girl to stop panicking. “Your secret’s safe with me. I mean it’s the least I could do after you saved my life.”

Cyn smiled at her red headed housemate. “Thanks. And what’s Brother Wright going to do to pay you back for saving his life?”

“How did you know I did that?”

“Seriously, you’re a quiet, shy girl, but its pretty obvious to me when a crazy gang-banger goes all goofy and wide eyed in the presence of the girl that lives in the room next to mine whose power is mood elevation.” Cyn said in exactly the same tone Melissa previously used.

“I guess I deserved that.” Melissa said, nodding.

For a moment, they both sat there, saying nothing. Then Melissa leaned back and looked up at the stars. “So… how’d the date go?”

“It wasn’t a date.” Cyn snorted. “We went to the Darkcore concert with Kay and JC and the rest of the gang from the Dungeon.”

“It can be a date with friends there.” Melissa said.

“Well it wasn’t.” Cyn said. “Besides, Warrick’s all about Kay anyway.”

“And how does that make you feel?” Melissa asked.

“What business is it of yours?” Cyn asked, a bit more sharply than she had intended.

“Not one bit.” Melissa said. “I’m just wondering if you like how it feels to have someone always sticking her nose in your business is all.” There was not venom in her voice, just a simple question.

“Okay, I get it, I shouldn’t try so hard to make you do stuff with us.” Cyn finally said. “But you’ve got to give a little too, ‘lissa. We live under the same roof and I really don’t see why you hate us so much. Okay, I kind of understand why you hate me, but not Warrick; the guy’s a puffball—a really skinny one, but still a puffball.”

“I don’t hate you, Cynthia.” Melissa sighed. “I just… I don’t like having to talk to people when I don’t have to and having to put on a show for people.”

“No one’s making you put on a show.” Cyn said. “We want you to be you. But we want you to be you while hanging out with us.”

“I don’t like meeting new people…”

“Then don’t. Hey, Warrick’s been bugging me to watch that Malady Place show he loves so much. There’s no talking involved in watching TV, right? How about you suffer with me?” Cyn’s mischievous grin shone in the moonlight.

“Okay, deal.” Melissa said and went back to looking up at the sky. Some time later, she asked another question. “So, how does it feel?”

“How does what feel?”

“The whole Prelate thing. Saving lives, protecting the innocent—that sort of thing.”

“Amazing.” Cyn said, “When I’m Facsimile and I’m pulling some guy out of a smashed up car, or stopping some kid from falling off a bridge, I feel like I’m on fire. It’s like there’s this light in me that’s finally getting a chance to shine.” She shrugged. “Of course, you got a taste of it tonight. How did it feel to you?”

“Good, I guess. At the time I was just scared, I felt a little sick too. But after, I really felt good about myself. I understand why you don’t want Ms. Keyes to know about it.”

“Thanks for keeping Life Savers, Inc in business, ‘lissa.” Cyn chuckled.

“I’ve got a condition though.”

“Name it.”

“Stop calling me ‘’lissa’”

“Only if you start calling me Cyn like everyone else.”

“Deal.”

It is a well known fact; the kind of fact told as an anecdote at boring dinner parties, or at the beginning of a long, inevitably irrelevant rant on a web log; that on July 4, 1776, King George III of England’s journal entry read ‘nothing happened today’. Most people take from this as a parable about hubris being the reason the king was blissfully unaware that his empire was crumbling around him.

But the fact was that the king had no way of knowing what was happening a world away. He couldn’t simply switch on a news provider, state the name of a prominent politician (such as Jefferson, Thomas) and instantly know the man’s public itinerary for the day as anyone could in 2074.

Fortunately for Brother Wright, he did live in the latter half of the twenty-first century and in addition to the ability to receive information at the speed of light, he employed a network of informants that were able to alert him to his own empire’s swan song. In that respect, Brother had the advantage over King George.

Where King George excelled, however was the fact that his empire didn’t directly depend on keeping the top crime lord and arms dealer in Mayfield, Vincent Liedecker happy. Nor did George the Third face serious consequences for failing to do so.

Brother had been awakened at four in the morning to learn from one of his informants at the Scribe that Mary Northbrooke had convinced her editor to stop the presses. It was too late to stop the bleeding. Northbrooke had the story of the week and nothing Brother could say would convince her to kill it. She didn’t need him anymore.

The Scribe would be delivered to Liedecker’s office by seven o’clock and the secret lord of the underworld would find the headline ‘Live Savers, Inc Triumph Over Terrorists’ instead of the public relations nightmare he had requested Brother arrange. The fact that the entire debacle had happened at his own event was just another nail in Brother’s coffin. He had to be out of Mayfield before Liedecker got his paper.

Carrying only a briefcase stuffed with as much cash as he could fit into it from his safe and his laptop computer, containing his soon to be crippled database of contacts and so called ‘very good friends’, Brother hailed a cab.

He hadn’t bothered calling Rick Charlotte. The young man would panic, try to rabbit and be gunned down in the street. Brother considered it a kindness to simply let him die in his sleep.

Settling into the cab, he looked once more up to the window of his penthouse apartment. Over a decade’s worth of work in Mayfield was lost. Liedecker would find all of Brother’s local contacts in Charlotte’s files and make them his own by the end of the day.

Opening his laptop, Brother brought up his back-up plan – what he called his parachute. It was a list of contacts he had established but hadn’t tapped in the greater metropolitan area. The laptop was the only place this list existed and it would be his means of rebuilding his empire.

Typing swiftly, he scanned over the list and found one that was promising. After the previous night’s occurrences, his interests in this man’s field of expertise was piqued. He opened an email window and began to compose his email to Simon Talbot, Director of the Psionics Training and Application Academy in Langley, VA.

Rick Charlotte stumbled into the intimidating study of Vincent Liedecker, propelled by the beefy hands of the large man who had come to pick him up that morning. His head still swam with sleep and his eyes hadn’t even had time to adjust.

“Mornin’, Rick.” Liedecker said from his leather office chair. His tone was that of a lion welcoming a gazelle to dinner.

Rick was forcibly placed in the chair across from the crime lord by the aforementioned large man. Another man, in his mid-forties, stood off to the side, trying to avoid being noticed. Rick could practically smell the fear on the man and the power exuded by Liedecker. “Er… good morning, Mr. Liedecker, sir.” Rick stammered.

“Not so good a mornin’, boy.” Liedecker said, pinning Rick with his gaze. “See, I thought I had an arrangement with your boss—Brother Wright. I supplied the muscle for all of his little fish scams, all of this ‘influence trading’ he goes on about… and in return he only had to carry out some very simple chores, Rick.”

Rick shivered, trying to tear his eyes away from the arms dealer’s.

“Yesterday, I gave him another one of these little chores, Rick. You know what that was?”

Rick swallowed. He didn’t want to answer. He had the feeling that talking at the wrong volume would earn him a bullet in the brainpan. But not talking would probably lead to worse. “H-he said you wanted some reporter to give the prelates bad press.”

Liedecker smiled, not a friendly smile, but a sadistic one. “That is EXACTLY what I told him to do, Rick. My, but you are a sharp one, you know that?”

“N-no sir, I di—“ Rick began but was interrupted by an avalanche of anger from Liedecker.

“Then how come, I open the paper this morning and see that very same reporter’s name above a FRONT PAGE story about how these prelates are the best thing since sliced bread and twice as useful!?”

The lump in Rick’s throat dropped to his stomach. Why was he getting yelled at for this? He was just the techie. “Sir.” He squeaked. “Mr. Wright is the one that usually meets with you and all…”

With that, Liedecker settled down. There was an uneasy silence in the room before he spoke. “You just asked the million dollar question, Rick. Seems that ‘Brother’ Wright got wind of that article and got out of Mayfield faster than a whipped dog. Left you to take the blame though. Wasn’t that right nice of him?”

Rick froze. He’d trusted Brother. He’d believed in all of his talk about trading influence and now all he had to show for being his disciple was a messy death.

“I see you’re not too happy about that, Rick.” Liedecker said. “Either that, or you think I’m going to kill ya.”

“You’re not?” Rick squeaked before he could stop himself. “Uh, I mean, please don’t!” He put his hands in front of his face to ward off a blow that never landed.

“Boy, if I had wanted you dead, you would’ve woke up dead.” Liedecker said, no trace of humor in his voice.

“Then… why am I here, sir?” Rick asked, lowering his arms.

“Because I still think there’s something to this whole ‘trading influence’ thing Wright was so wrapped up in, Rick” the crime lord said. “And you got both the experience and Wright’s database.” He picked up a knife from its stand on his desk and drew his thumb across the blade. “So, Rick—you want the job?”

“Of course, sir. You say the word and everything Brother had is yours.”

Liedecker laughed, actual mirth in the sound this time. “It was always mine, Rick. Everything in this city’s mine – it just doesn’t know it yet.” He replaced the knife on its stand. “First thing’s first though, Rick. Do you believe in coincidences?”

“No sir.”

“Good. Then I want you to look into one; I want to know how it is that these Prelates managed to save Lester Mendel AND hostages in his Convention Center within a month of each other without any calls to the local police being made.”

Across the city, someone else was just opening their morning edition of the Scribe. Not far from the reader, a cork board held various newspaper clippings, all mentioning burglaries whose only link was a sprig of belladonna marked with lipstick left in place of the stolen valuables. A nearby pot contained a plant of the same species.

“Page A-12!” A woman’s voice snarled as the tearing of newsprint could be heard. “I was promised front page! I’ve earned it! It’s mine!” The ruined paper landed in the trashcan. Then the corkboard split in half, as if cut by an unseen blade.