Alexis tensed fists as she caught sight of the cork board in the downstairs commons. She was no longer surprised at its presence; twice she had taken it down and twice Cyn had simply purchased a new one to hang in its place. Many things could be said about Cyn, but anything espousing her forgiving nature, or her lack of determination was an outright fabrication. The same could be said of anything suggesting that she wouldn’t stoop to emotional low blows.

Every morning it seemed, before the younger residents of Freeland House made their mad rush to the bus stop to get to school, Cyn would visit the newsstand a block away and purchase a copy of every local paper. Then she would take great pains to locate and cut out every story that mentioned injury of loss of life. And the following morning Alexis, being the early riser, would be greeted in the downstairs commons by those articles tacked to the cork board under a computer printed banner reading ‘WE COULD HAVE BEEN THERE’.

Alexis made an effort not to look at the actual headlines as she began what was becoming a morning ritual; un-tacking the clippings and disposing of them. Cyn could be upset with her as much as she wanted, Alexis though. That didn’t make her wrong and no amount of guilt was going to convince her to voluntarily expose her young charges to whatever horrors the Academy and Project Tome had in store for them.

“She doesn’t give up, does she?” Alexis looked up from her work to see Melissa on the stairs. “She’s still trying to force me to join a club at school.”

“Why can’t she just grow up and learn to let things go?” Alexis asked, sourly. “If she thinks she’s going to get her way by being manipulative and playing with people’s emotions, she’s got another thing coming.”

“Yes, why can’t people just talk things out instead of avoiding each other and giving the cold shoulder?” Melissa asked, sitting down on the stairs. The question had an edge to it.

“Isn’t it enough that I feel bad about not being there to help you?” Alexis asked. “Do I have to feel guilty about being the only responsible adult here too?” She froze the moment the words were out of her mouth. It hadn’t been her intention to highlight the fact that Melissa would be an adult by now if not for Tome’s intervention.

“I never blamed you for that.” Melissa said. “Unless you have a time machine, there isn’t anything you could do for me… anything anyone could have done for me,” she added sadly. “But what’s going on now is like poison. You’re always defensive about everything, Laurel stays in her workshop all the time, Cyn’s pissy to just about everyone – and have you even noticed that Ian hasn’t been at the house for two days?”

“He checked into the Westmoreland for a few days.” Alexis said. “I heard him telling Laurel.”

“Great, so he’s running away from everything that bothers him – just like back in school. Except now he’s not hiding in our room anymore because one of us is what’s bothering him.”

Alexis crumpled a piece of newsprint in her hand. “I didn’t do anything to him. He did it to himself by lying to me. So don’t try and blame this on me. He’s been acting plenty grown up since we came here… grown up enough to go—“She made a frustrated sound and threw a crumpled article to the ground. “If he really feels that way, he’d at least feel guilty about it!”

“I’d think holing up in a hotel out of shame and fear of pissing you off again would count as feeling guilty.” Melissa shrugged. “But really, I’m just sixteen. Clearly, I can’t think straight.”

“You were always too cynical.” Alexis scowled.

“You know, she does have a point though.” Melissa smoothly shifted gears, “As much as she annoys me, things were apparently going really well for Mayfield with LSI on the case.”

“Maybe someone else will take their place.” Alexis said coldly, “Someone who isn’t being hunted for what they are.”

Melissa shrugged and stood up. “I guess you’re right. It’s not like they were preventing some massive crime wave by pulling people out of burning buildings.”

Some believe that population, income and density per capita are the only indicators for the size and relative ‘busyness’ of a city. Others contend that a more colloquial approach is in order. The most famous of these is the simple question: ‘when does the community sleep?’ The mightiest city man has known; New York, NY is called ‘The City the Never Sleeps’. The most glamorous city on Earth, Paris, France, is the City of Lights for a very good reason.

Despite not having an evocative nickname, (Mayfield’s most popular nickname was ‘Machine Town’ after the booming electronics and robotics industry that had contributed to its existence), the streets of the commercial district were already well populated at a quarter to six on a Tuesday morning.

Storeowners or managerial proxies thereof were preparing to open shop, delivery trucks pulled in and out of alleys, office workers made use of those venues that opened early specifically to cater to their early morning errands. The weekday ritual swiftly clicked into its clockwork rhythm. Perhaps the mundanity of it all was the contributing factor in the chaos that was to ensue being so complete.

At precisely five-fifty, the twelve hundredth block of Narrows St was engulfed in billowing, white plumes of smoke.

Instantly, Joe Stalling, the morning security guard for the Farrell Bank drew his weapon and took up a defensive position. “Better get down.” The aging man said to the two tellers, who hadn’t even finished opening their stations for business.

Outside, there were a few frightened screams, the blaring of car horns and other sounds of general confusion. But beneath them all, coming from dozens of directions at once, was a keening buzz, like the sound a bumble bee would make if it were the size of a cantaloupe. Some of those overlapping buzzes seemed to be drawing nearer.

Joe Summoned his courage and took a shooter’s stance and aimed for the bank door. Shortly thereafter, the entire glass facade of the bank shattered.

Shouting in surprise, Joe shielded his face from the flying glass and leapt back.

The first of the intruders arrived, trailing smoke from the plumes outside into the enclosed space. They were metallic and their forms invoked the image of the bees they sounded like. A round central body, the size of a softball with an orange, glass optic element embedded in the center, was held aloft within a simple metal harness connected to two curved blades that greatly resembled forward swept wings as well as four blue glowing ports that seemed to be the their means of propulsion. Ten such devices fanned out into the bank, floating as easily on air as doves.

Behind them, a rotund machine on tracks crunched its way over the broken glass in the doorway. Its oblong body was segmented like an armadillo’s but it had no discernable front or back. A constant blast of air gushed from red glowing vents in its tracks, removing debris that might get caught in them.

Two of the flying machines broke off from their search pattern to hover near the newcomer. Two more took up positions near the tellers while the bulk of the swarm homed in on the vault.

From where he’d fallen in his effort to escape the flying glass, Joe heard more shattering glass and buzzing outside. There were dozens of the tiny fliers about. He glanced over to the six observing the vault and allowed himself a satisfied smile. Whatever those things were, they wouldn’t get into the vault.

Farrell Bank was bad on rates, but top notch in security. The vault door and the wall it was set into were constructed from layered steel, reinforced with carbon lattices and magnetically sealed. Only biometric codes could open the seal and no plasma lance or other cutting device could hope to penetrate it in less than a day.

One of the flying robots floated down to the biometric keypad. Its optic element changed from orange to green and the little mechanism made warbling sounds. Within moments, there was a thump from within the vault as the magnetic seal broke. The fliers drifted backward to allow the door to swing fully open. The tracked machine rolled forward under the protection of it’s escort.

“I’ll be damned…” Joe murmured and lifted his gun. One of the fliers covering the tellers made a warbling sound and a stubby cylinder lowered from its round body. Joe swung his weapon up toward it, and fired. The shot knocked the machine off balance, causing the crimson bolt of light it fired at Joe to instead burn a thumb sized hole in the floor.

Regaining its equilibrium, the flier reconfigured its wings. One continued to face forward, one flipped over to face backward and then the entire mechanism oriented with its wings on the vertical, and pin wheeled toward Joe.

He wasn’t fast enough to dodge and the flier slammed into his gun arm with bruising force, causing him to lose his grip on the gun, which clattered to the ground. He barely regained his wits before the thing was coming around for another attack. This time, it dropped low, level with his shins and sent him sprawling.

Inside the vault, the six invading robots used their own plasma lances to burn open cashier drawers and safety deposit boxes. Though tiny, each machine magnetically adhered the freed boxes to their hulls and airlifted several times their own weight into the air to the waiting treaded vehicle. The armadillo like plates retraced to reveal a hollow cavity in the transport, which greedily accepted the smaller machines’ offerings.

Aching all over and bleeding slightly from landing on glass, Joe watched dumbstruck as the carrier rolled out the destroyed door, escorted by its swarm of smaller cohorts. It had only taken ten minutes…

“So…” Warrick said matter-of-factly as the quartet of young descendants waited for their bus. “Ladies of Armageddon are starting their Lilith’s Children World Tour right in town this Saturday.” He grinned a little as he spoke.

“You don’t think I know?” Cyn said sourly. “Kay and I have tried every scalper in town trying to get a hold of some of those tickets, but they were sold out back in June. I’m seriously considering finding someone with tickets, shifting into them, and taking their place.”

“Well if it makes you feel better, I can bring you back a souvenir.” Warrick offered.

The three girls stopped moving entirely. Melissa and Juniper more from anticipation of the eminent tantrum than from anything else.

“You have a ticket?” Cyn asked, her voice taking a dangerous tone. “You managed to get a ticket… and didn’t get one for me? The biggest show by the biggest band at the start of their biggest tour – and you’re going, but I’m not? Are we suddenly not a team anymore now that LSI is dead?!”

Warrick shrank back as she was advancing on him. “C-calm down, Cyn. You know if it were just me, I’d just give up the ticket rather than leave a friend behind like that. It’s the whole ‘too nice’ thing you tease me about, right?”

“Go on.” Cyn said through clenched teeth. She was fighting the urge to shift into something just to scare him.

“But it’s not my ticket to give, see?” He said. “In fact, it’s like a reward for the ‘too nice’ thing.” He was actually very proud of that, but not proud enough to risk Cyn’s wrath with that pride.

“You’re getting to go see Ladies of Armageddon because you’re a good guy?” Now Cyn was more confused than angry.

“Remember when he defended Elizabeth von Stoker?” Juniper piped up. Cyn directed her glare at her, causing the brown haired girl to shrink back. “Well, Elizabeth’s uncle had the tickets, but he had to go out of town this weekend. So he offered them to her dad and Elizabeth knew Warrick liked the band—“

“Because Juniper told her.” Melissa interjected.

Juniper nodded, “Because I told her. So she offered to take him to the concert as thanks for being so nice to her.”

Cyn froze up once more. Somewhere in her mind, there was a loud snapping sound.

“See? It paid to be the nice guy.” Warrick said, risking a bit of pride. “And you always tease me about it.”

Pursing her lips, Cyn avoided the torrent of obscenities she wanted to unleash. “Warrick…” She said slowly. “She’s not giving you a reward because you’re a good guy. She’s saying that to get you to go out with her because she likes you.”

Warrick blinked for a few seconds before a grin split his face. “Really?! Score! But you do know that she also likes me and wants to date me because I’m such a good guy, right?”

“Also, modest.” Melissa snarked.

Cyn rolled her eyes. “It’s just a damsel in distress thing. If Melissa had scared Lilly off from her, she’d be all over her too.”

“Let’s leave me out of this.” Melissa said, moving away.

“Hmm…” Warrick said, thoughtfully. “If that’s the case, I’m going to have to make a really good impression so she’ll like me for me. Cyn, you’ve got to help me out on this one – I’m not so good with impressions. Well, not impressions of the date kind anyway.”

“Warrick…” Cyn started pensively.

“Come on, Cyn. Like you said; just because LSI is gone doesn’t mean we’re not still a team.”

“That means I’ll help too.” Juniper offered with an overly stalwart air.

Cyn’s mouth opened, and then closed. “Fine. But you owe me for this. Anything I want, understand? This is like taking a bite of the shiny apple, you get me?” Warrick nodded, confident that Cyn wouldn’t demand anything overtly bad in return. Cyn frowned and nodded back as the bus arrived.

As Warrick and Juniper climbed the bus stairs, Melissa looked over at her. “So… you’re totally going to sabotage this, aren’t you?”

“I’ll give him good advice.” Cyn said, “I’m his friend after all. But there’s no way in hell this is going to be more than a friendly trip to a concert.”

-- • --

Ian had decided that being at Freeland House simply wasn’t conducive to muddling through his dilemma concerning Alexis. Cyn’s corkboard torture was evidence enough of the importance of LSI’s activities in Mayfield. But it also served to keep the injury fresh in Alexis’s mind and made her even harder to approach.

So he had checked into the Westmoreland for a few days. As it turned out, sitting in a posh hotel room thinking about how much he wished things hadn’t ended up the way they had equally non-conducive to the process. So he took a walk.

He knew he had to apologize for lying to Alexis. For some reason, him lying to her seemed to bother her an order of magnitude more than Laurel lying to her. The trick was not to back down on the issue of Life Savers, Inc. That was just another fight waiting to happen, especially with Cyn prowling around, waiting for a chance to dive into the fray and make things worse.

Frowning, he stared down his straw into the plastic coffee cup he’d just emptied. Things were a complete mess. They should be following up on Pratt’s leads and finding out more about Project Tome’s aims. Instead, they were bickering and falling apart. At least Laurel was still on task; though she was most certainly being stressed by the undue angst in the house and her repeated failures to extend Kareem’s astral projection range.

An ambulance screamed past him and cut around a corner a few blocks away. Its presence made him realize that he’d been hearing sirens for quite a while. Looking after it, he saw a police car turn down the same street, red and blues lit. Something was definitely wrong. He broke into a sprint in the direction of the sirens.

Five blocks later, he turned the corner to see a war zone. A single city block was crawling with first responders, all trying to aid the injured and make some sense of what had just happened. A faint haze of white smoke still hung in the air, almost every pane of glass on the street level had been shattered inward, and many people were being treated for lacerations and burns.

Ian stood by the freshly strung police tape and took it all in. Occasionally, he could hear bits and pieces as panicked civilians tried to tell their story to the police. “flying machines”, “everything gone!”, “some kind of lasers… burned right through!” The plaintive and confused cries all ran together. People on the outside of the shops had seen even less thanks to the smoke grenades.

“It’s a damn shame.” Someone said.

Ian turned to find that an elderly man had come up beside him as he was trying to make sense of what he saw. The old man was taller than he was, easily past the halfway mark on six feet and stood with such strikingly perfect posture that he seemed even taller. He was black; not Laurel’s caramel color, but a ruddy, almost rust complexion that came from a combination of genetics and many years in the sun. He wore an aged, but perfectly maintained grey suit coat over an equally aged cream colored shirt with grey slacks and held a plain, wooden cane. A wide brimmed hat covered his white hair and a pair of black sunglasses covered his eyes just as well.

“Some people just don’t know what to do with themselves.” The old man continued, seeing he had Ian’s attention. “Imagine, tearing up the city like that, robbing and hurting people just to make money. Someone ought to do something – don’t you agree, son?”

Ian nodded, watching a security guard being helped out of the Farrell Bank branch.

“’Course, this city used to have heroes.” The old man said. “Can’t imagine where they’ve gone to now that a genuine villain’s come calling.”

“I can’t either.” Ian frowned, feeling a bit guilty.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t be bothering a young man like you with talk of the good old days – even if they were only weeks ago. I can tell by your face and your posture that you’ve got problems of your own.” He smiled at Ian’s discomfort and put a hand on his shoulder. “Tell me… it’s a woman, isn’t it?”

Ian almost jumped as much from the contact as the accusation. “Have we met?” he asked, moving out of range of another shoulder pat with a deft sidestep.

“Not in this lifetime.” The man said. “The name’s George and I was just being neighborly.”

“Well, George, I’m not exactly feeling neighborly today, sorry.” He meant it; he wasn’t in the mood to exchange pleasantries with a stranger.

George scratched his chin. “I was right, wasn’t I? She’s the reason you’re not feeling very friendly.”

Ian grimaced. All pretense of politeness dropped out of his voice. “That’s not really any of your business, George.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say it’s not my business. I like to help people.” He reached into his pocket and produced two long strips of plastic. “For example, I think these will help you. Take them… as an apology for putting my nose in your business.”

Months later, Ian still wouldn’t recall why, but he accepted the proffered tickets and read the writing on them. “Ladies of Armageddon? I don’t think she’s into them…” he muttered, dumbly.

“I didn’t think so.” George said, “But you don’t need to use them personally for them to help.”

“That doesn’t really make much…” Ian blinked. Hadn’t George just been standing there? He was now alone, standing at the police tape. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt sure the something very important had just happened. Elsewhere in his mind, he was fairly certain that for once, that important thing was in his favor.

Nikolia Petrov glanced over as a mechanical iris opened in the floor of the converted apartment she was temporarily calling home. A flight of five tech-wings; her precious creations, floated up from the sewer access, the bright light flashing on their blade like wings and round central cores.

“That’s the last flight.” She said, speaking into the microphone attached to her headset. She was a woman of middling height with reddish brown hair pulled up into a tight bun. The headset included a digital HUD that protruded over her right eye. She wore utilitarian clothes with a snug fit. These clashed with the brushed chrome of her headset, and her white, vinyl gloves that sported circuitry traced over their surface. She sat in a large, leather chair and moved her gloved hands occasionally as if typing or using an imaginary touch screen.

“And all of the goods are snug and safe in my warehouse.” Vincent Liedecker’s face said on Nikolia’s heads up display. “Excellent work, Ms. Petrov.”

“Please, let’s keep this professional. Call me Maven.” She said.

“I’ve got to wonder how you came upon you nom de guerre, Maven.” Liedecker said, “Doesn’t have much to do with robots and all…”

“How many robots, Mr. Liedecker, do you know that could have pulled off the job my creations carried out this morning without direct human assistance?” Maven asked.

“None as of yet.” Liedecker said

“That’s because I am a technological expert. A master. Or, in the Hebrew language: a maven. That is where my name comes from, sir. I am the best expert in the fields of electronics and robotics bar none. There are psionic geniuses in this world that are not but whimpering babes in my shadow. You wanted the best to procure the items you wanted, Mr. Liedecker and you got her. I trust the parts I requested are in route?”

Liedecker smiled. “As promised, Maven. I always keep my word. I even threw in a bonus for your little machines’ excellent performance in covering their tracks with the other robberies on the street.”

Maven smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

“Now… I’m well aware that you’ve got your own ball in the air right now – else you wouldn’t need me and mine to pull together so much material.” Liedecker began. “But as you know, I’m always on the look out for new talent…”

“I’d prefer this to be a strictly business relationship.” Maven said stoically.

Chuckling, Liedecker continued. “No, Maven, I’m not trying to play doctor with you. I’ve just recently moved most of my science boys over to work on something special. That means, I’m very interested in putting a few more on the payroll—interested?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Liedecker, but once this is done, I really don’t feel that I want to continue in a life of crime. Not that I don’t feel flattered by a job offer from the most powerful man in Mayfield.”

“Now who’s the one, flirting, Maven?” Liedecker smirked. “Now I’m curious though… if you don’t want to be on my side of law and order… why do this at all?”

Maven got up and walked across the room, past where the tech-wings were resting in sixty separate recharging cradles and a clear space where two half built, humanoid machines were lain on lab tables. “I’ll tell you this much, Mr. Liedecker…” she went over to her drafting table and moved schematics aside to find a poster advertising the Ladies of Armageddon. “Sometimes to achieve justice, one has to work outside of the law.”

Cyn leaned her head back until it rested on the stone bench she was leaning against and gazed up into the cloudy sky above. She was out in front of Freeland House at around five o’clock. Warrick had stayed after school to put in some extra work on his latest art project. Juniper was somewhere on the roof, taking in the sun – presumably because she converted it to pure cheeriness. Melissa was in her room.

“And then there was one.” She said to the empty air. She hated being left alone. It agitated her, it called back unpleasant memories of childhood, and worst of all, it forced her to reflect. The situation she found herself in assembled itself in her head like a word problem: The best friend she’s had since long before she developed her powers had a date in four days time. If that date turned into something more, then he’d invariably have less time to be, for lack of a better word, her playmate. As an extra fun complication, she had been asked to help ensure that the date did turn into something more.

“Thanks, tin head.” She muttered. He would be back soon and then she’d have no excuse not to go help plan the end of their friendship. She made an unhappy sound. This was all on top of having Facsimile taken away from her. Facsimile the hero, the celebrated saint that people praised and were happy to have around. Now she was back to being Cyn the appropriately named cynic and all around ‘bad girl’. She cursed bitterly to herself.

“I’m glad to see you too, sunshine.” Cyn looked up in time to see Ian’s head come into view at the top of the stairs.

The shapeshifter sat up. “Ian! Oh, please tell me you’re here to show some backbone and tell Alexis that she’s off her nut.”

Ian frowned and looked from Cyn to the house “Cyn… things aren’t that simple and I think you know that. Yes, it was wrong for her to force this on you – even with her good intentions – but it was wrong for me to lie to her about it too, understand?”

“Not like she gave you a choice.” Cyn shrugged. “No matter when you told her, she’d have freaked out on us. At least by not telling her, you bought us some time. What I don’t get is where she gets off telling us not to do it. She’s said she’s not trying to play ‘mommy’ but she’s not living up to that promise.” She shot him a measured glare. “And you and Laurel didn’t exactly fight her on this.”

Ian groaned and sat on the bench she was propping herself against. “How come you haven’t just ignored her? Why did you put so much time and effort into convincing her – making her feel bad for it?” Cyn was silent. “I figure that even if you don’t admit it, you still kind of respect her. At the very least, you feel you owe her for saving you from the Academy.”

She didn’t respond, she just frowned. What he said was true. In some small way, she did still respect Alexis, even if she despised her decision. From the stories Laurel told, Alexis hadn’t been that much different from her when she was Cyn’s age.

“See, it’s sort of the same thing for us.” Ian said, oblivious to the goings on in Cyn’s mind. “Alexis is doing something we don’t agree with, but she’s still our friend, and this is so important to her that it’s hard to confront her on it. It doesn’t help that my lying to her really hurt her.”

“Losing LSI really hurt us – and Mayfield.” Cyn let out an inhumanly long sigh. “It’s all just fallen apart. LSI’s gone, now Warrick’s got this date coming up Saturday and I’ve got to help because I’m too soft—“

“Wait, Warrick’s got a date? I thought you two were—“

“Hell no.” Cyn said quickly. “And that’s not what I want, no matter what the little red haired girl tells you, got it?”

“Okay, then why is this date such a problem for you?” Ian asked.

“Because… You wouldn’t understand, okay? It just bothers me.”

“I’d say something about teenaged angst right now,” Ian looked back toward the house, “but I’m sorry to report that being in your twenties doesn’t make that crap go away.”

“And you had the nerve to call me sunshine.” Cyn rolled her eyes.

Ian thought a minute and then pulled out his wallet. “Actually, maybe I’ve got something to make you feel better. You’re a big metal fan, right?” Cyn nodded. “Don’t ask where I got ‘em, but here…” He produced the tickets George had given him. “Why don’t you find a nice guy at school and take him to the Armageddon Girls concert this weekend?”

“Holy hell!” Cyn exclaimed, sitting up. “You got Ladies of Armageddon tickets?! And you’re just giving them to me? You just shot right past Laurel in my popularity contest.”

Smirking, Ian allowed Cyn’s hyper extended hand to snatch the tickets from him. “Hey, I may not be too good at video games, but when it comes to falling ass first into things, I’m the expert.”

Cyn didn’t hear, she was too busy reading every scrap of information on the tickets. “Seriously, you’ve completely proven that you’re – wait… this is the concert Liz is taking Warrick to…”

“Is that going to be a problem? I mean the Capashen Arena holds like thirty thousand people – you two shouldn’t even run into each other.” Ian offered.

“No, that’s not going to be a problem at all.” Cyn’s familiar, predatory grin played on her face.

Ian knew that look all too well, but decided that asking what it was for would just ruin plausible deniability. “You need to do me a favor for those tickets, though.”

Cyn’s mind was already forming a plan, so she didn’t even consider any possible consequences. “Name it.”

“Lay off Alexis with the news clipping thing.”

“But—“

“I promise I’ll talk to her. Soon. It’s not going to do any of us any good if you keep making her more hurt and angry, okay?”

Heaving a sigh, Cyn nodded.

“That a girl.” Ian smiled. “If it’s any consolation, I’m really proud of what you three accomplished.”

“It’s not.” Cyn said, “But it’s nice to hear someone say it.”

-- • --

“I don’t understand why I’m doing this…” Juniper sat cross legged on the floor of her room, across from Cyn who was doing likewise. There were only four hours left until the concert and Cyn was trying to recruit her in her ‘mission’.

“Because I need a second and Melissa’s helping Laurel and Kareem with that astral… whatever thing.” Cyn finished weakly. Laurel’s flare for names left many of her inventions unpronounceable.

“That’s not what I mean.” Juniper said. ‘I mean ‘why are we doing this?’. Warrick’s our friend. He’s your best friend. Explain to me again why we’re spying on his date?”

Cyn grimaced. “Yes, he’s my friend… and that’s why this is so important. We’re not breaking up some meaningful relationship here. We’re keeping him from thinking he’s in one and getting hurt.”

“Why are you so sure he’ll get hurt? Elizabeth seems like a sweet girl.”

“Come on, it’s so obvious that she just likes him because he defended her from Lilly and her little clan.” Cyn rolled her eyes. “The second the white knight mystique wears off, she’ll get sick of him and drop him. It’s all about the rescue romance syndrome. Why do you think girls get all swoony over firefighters?”

“I always thought it had a lot to do with those calendars where they’ve got their shirts off and they’re all sweaty and—“she got a far off look in her eye as she talked.

“Okay, stop that right now.” Cyn said. “That’s just unsettling.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re like little miss sugar and spice. It’s like watching the sugarplum fairy get all hot and bothered – it’s disturbing.”

Juniper blinked at this. “Just because I look on the bright side of things doesn’t mean I’m not human.” Self consciously, she touched one of her scars under her sleeve. “Anyway, are you sure this isn’t because you like Warrick?”

Cyn shot the brunette a dark look. “I like Warrick in about the same sense that I like you – and that is not any kind of innuendo.”

“You don’t like me.” Juniper said. It was stated as a fact, with little in the way of hurt or admonishment in it at all.

“What gave you that idea?” It was Cyn’s turn to blink. She suddenly felt guilty, though she wasn’t sure why.

“Just because I’m nice and an optimist doesn’t mean I’m dumb.” Juniper said. “I’ve known since I first came to Mayfield.” She noticed the flicker of guilt in Cyn’s eyes. “…but I’m not upset about it.” She said quickly. “I mean if it wasn’t for the Academy and everything that’s happened… and LSI… I can’t imagine that you and I would ever give one another the time of day, let alone be friends.”

Cyn heaved a sigh, “Look, I didn’t like you when you first came here. That’s true. But that was only because, you know, you were the new girl. And I’ll be honest and say that I’m still not a fan of your love-love-happy thing. But it’s not like I hate you or anything. You and I and Warrick have been through enough together that that doesn’t matter, understand?”

Juniper gave her a neutral look. “So you do like me?”

“Sure.” Cyn said. “And look, if you’re not up to helping with this date thing, you don’t have to.”

“No,” Juniper gave her a smile. “You’re right; he’ll be crushed if he expects more than a crush. Keeping his expectations low is probably a good idea.” Inwardly, she wondered how exactly Cyn planned to do what she proposed.

Inwardly, Cyn wondered the same thing.

Ian knocked once more on Alexis’s door and again got no answer. He knew she was there; he’d just heard her go in. She had been avoiding him since he’d come back and today was no exception. Through the door, he heard her television; she was watching something with lots of squealing tires in the soundtrack.

“Look, Alexis, we really need to talk.” He said to the door. “We’re going into week three of this and… Look, it’s really not right to say things like this through a door. Please let me in.”

There was no answer. He stepped back and leaned against the facing wall.

“I really need to say this, Alex.” He said stubbornly. “I’m not going to throw away everything over this. I can’t let that happen. So I’m going to go get a book out of my room and I’m going to sit out here. You can’t stay in there forever.”

He stomped down the hall to his own room and grabbed a hardcover espionage thriller he’d been meaning to finish from his nightstand. Before turning to go, he took a good look at the room. Freeland House had originally been a bed and breakfast, meaning each room had its own bathroom. One of the amenities Laurel had installed in everyone’s room was a personal mini-fridge. Ian’s only contained beer and soda, but from their Academy days, he recalled both Laurel and Alexis keeping theirs well stocked.

“Well damn.” He frowned. “Maybe she can stay in there forever…”

“You seem nervous.” Kareem said as Warrick paced the floor of the upstairs commons. “Sit down, relax. It will not do if you start sweating even before your date starts.”

“Yeah, I know.” Warrick said, shrugging as he looked to where Kareem’s face was onscreen. “It’s just that… God, I hope I don’t screw this up.” He sat down heavily on the couch. Isp and Osp fussed at his clothes, keeping everything straight regardless of how much he thrashed about.

“I don’t see what there is to be nervous about.” Kareem said, with a similar shrug. “This Liz person got tickets to your favorite group specifically to convince you to go out with her. It seems to me that you can safely assume that she likes what you have been doing so far.”

“But what have I been doing?” Warrick asked, eyes widening. “Cyn says that she likes me because I make Lilly back off her. Unless Lilly conveniently shows up so I can yell at her, that’s not gonna help.”

“I wouldn’t put too much stock into what Cyn’s been telling you…” Kareem said, slowly and carefully.

“Why? She’s female, she knows this stuff.”

“Do you know everything every other man on Earth thinks?” Kareem asked, neatly skirting the real issue. “And aside from that, Cynthia isn’t your average girl. You have to admit that.”

“Well yeah.” Warrick agreed. “Cyn’s definitely not the average girl. She’s… different, you know?” after a second of thought, he quickly added, “Good different. Not, like bad different. I wouldn’t hang out with her if it was bad different…”

On the Astral Plane, Kareem allowed himself to smile at Warrick’s nervous rambling, though he didn’t allow that to be captured by the device that projected his image onscreen. “I know, Warrick. And again, there is nothing to worry about. The worst that happens is that the two of you decide not to go out again and that isn’t so bad.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you were in my shoes.” Warrick pouted.

“Is he breaking down again?” Cyn asked, coming in from the hall that led to the rooms of all of Freeland House’s younger generation. She wore a white shirt that exposed her midriff under a blood red vest with black Celtic markings scrawled across it at random with dark, tight jeans. “Nerves, Warrick! Jeez, you look like you’re going to your own funeral.”

“I told him there was nothing to be worried about.” Kareem said. “He does not believe me.”

“No one ever believes that when someone tells them.” Cyn observed.

“I’m not breaking down.” Warrick defended himself. “I just have to not screw this up. There’s like a thousand different ways that I could do it – I’ve actually performed half of them – and I just have to avoid them.”

“It’s just a date.” Cyn said. “And Liz is the one that should be scared.” That part was true. “She’s the one that did all the footwork. She’s the one trying to impress you, not the other way around. You’re on easy street tonight. All you have to do is not set her on fire or anything.”

“Are you sure about that?” Warrick raised an eyebrow. “While I’ve never done the fire thing, I do manage to say really dumb things, or get off on kicks about things normal people think are boring…”

“Like the comic books or Malady Place?” Cyn asked, “Yeah, I can see that.”

“Or video games, or animation.” Kareem offered.

“Hey!” Cyn sniffed. “I like those too.”

“I’m just offering topics that this girl is not likely to find interesting so he can avoid them.” Kareem pointed out.

Cyn turned up her nose and gave Warrick a pointed look. “If this chick can’t appreciate Armored Century or the simply joys of tricking out a mystic gunman in Death Gate, you don’t need her.”

“But the mystic gunman character path sucks.” Warrick said, Isp took a break from keeping Warrick’s clothes in order to affect a tentacle-like nod.

“Only because you’re not patient enough not to go head long into combat. Gunmen are a thinking girl’s class.”

“This is exactly the conversation you should avoid tonight.” Kareem broke in.

Cyn smiled triumphantly. “Fine. Have it your way, Kareem. Still Warrick, don’t worry; Jun and I’ll be right there for you if you think you’re about to tank.”

“In any event, I believe I’m supposed to be meeting Ms. Brant and Melissa down by the lake to test Ms. Brant’s latest device to aid my present state.” Kareem said. “Good luck, Warrick.” His image faded from the screen.

“This set-up is beautiful!” Gwen Robertson said, looking over the touch screen control panel that commanded the automated acoustics system at Capashen Arena. She was the head sound tech for Ladies of Armageddon, dressed in cargoes and a staff shirt.

“If you like the tech, you’ll love the view.” Regina Lewis, known to the world as LoA’s award winning lyricist and keyboardist, Finch, said. She was standing by the huge window that looked out over the arena to where the circular stage had been set up. She had dark brown hair, which was already done up in a complex fountain of topknots for the show.

Gwen came over to look and gaped. “No back stage monkeying in this place.” She said, “This is like a sound tech’s dream – we didn’t even need the rest of the crew to run this venue.” The rest of the sound crew had all gotten paid vacation plus front row tickets if they so desired, though Gwen would have the best seat in the house.

“It was a sound tech’s dream. Our first sound tech designed this place only a couple months after she split from us.” Finch said with a shrug. “It’s the third most advanced in the country.”

“Hey, Finch, we got warm-ups.” A large, blonde woman said, leaning into the room. Emily “Garuda” Parker, LoA’s bassist, was – to borrow a line from the song – a brick house. She wore her Nordic ancestry on a sleeve that strained against her muscular frame. Her height combined with her weight to provide near perfect proportions, only at a fifth greater size and probably half again the density. “You know how Robin gets if we don’t at least throw down Damascus in perfect harmony before show time.”

“Yeah,” said the high, nasal voice of Donielle Peterson, know as Ducky. She appeared beside Garuda, her five foot nothing frame and short blonde hair making her look like an adolescent version of the bigger woman. “I’m not talking her out of her sulking this time.”

“You heard them.” Finch shrugged with a smile. “Have fun and try to enjoy the show – not like you haven’t seen it like a billion times, but still…” she waved at Gwen as she trotted after her band mates, who were already leaving.

Gwen smirked after them and sat down at the control console. After working with so many ungrateful and impersonal bands, she was incredibly happy to be working with the Ladies of Armageddon. The band and their crew had a tighter, more familial relationship than any she’d worked with or had heard of. She supposed that it was due in part to the strategy of almost non-stop touring that was at the center of their fame. Tough on real family, strong on adopted family.

Tapping the screen until she came to diagnostics, she gave the system one last once over. No matter how advanced the system was, she was wary of it because her crew hadn’t set it up. After a few moments, she suddenly frowned at the screen. Furrowing her brow, she got up and walked to the window.

Down below, on the field, she confirmed her memory of the set up. Most of the on stage speakers were housed in the trio of scaffolds that surrounded the main stage, reaching about thirty feet into the air. However, there were two speakers on the stage that were unaccounted for in the diagnostic screen. “Weird…” She muttered to herself.

Behind here the door clicked closed softly.

“Forget something, Finch?” Gwen asked, still frowning down at the errant speakers.

“Regina forgot a great deal of things.” An unfamiliar voice said. “But not this time.”

Gwen whirled to see who was talking. “What are you doing here? Who are you?”

Nikolia Petrov, the Maven stood at the other end of the room. Her gloves and headset had been joined by similar boots and a belt, bulging at the sides with boxy, chrome pods. She also wore a bulky backpack made of some sort of grey plastic.

With an air of detached certainty, she advanced on Gwen, who pressed herself flat against the window, looking desperately for something to defend herself with.

“Don’t worry, I won’t kill you. It isn’t your fault you took my old position.” Nikolia said as she thrust her left hand forward and touched Gwen on the side of her neck. Electricity sparked between two silver contacts in her palm, causing Gwen to spasm, then fall to the floor. “However, I do require you to stay out of my way while I commandeer the sound booth I built.”

Giving the fallen woman a once over, she strode over to the console. Now all she needed was to wait for the perfect moment to strike – and she knew exactly what song would be the soundtrack for her revenge.

-- • --

The crowd roared its approval as the last chords of Ladies of Armageddon’s latest song, Lot’s Symphony, ended. Catching her breath, Robin Saunders, guitarist and lead singer gave the crowd a wry grin. Normally quiet and bookish, she came to life on stage. The crowd seemed to energize her and drove her confidence into the stratosphere. Few would believe that the shy, nervous woman she was outside of concerts was the same amazing show woman that strutted around the circular stage tonight.

Finally getting her fill of the crowd’s applause, she held up her hands as a sign for them to settle down. Obediently, the crowd went silent.

Down on the arena floor, where most of the fans had congregated instead of keeping their seats, Elizabeth leaned into Warrick as silence descended on the arena. When that got his attention, she gave him a quiet smile which he returned awkwardly.

Cyn glared at their backs. The concert was half way over and she hadn’t come up with any way to sufficiently deal with the situation. She had hoped Elizabeth’s quiet demeanor in school would do most of her work for her, aided only by the occasional nudge from Cyn. But away from the pressures of high school, Elizabeth had bloomed.

She had met them out in front of the Capashen Arena dressed in an outfit that even Cyn had to gawk at. It was little more than a series of wide, blue, plastic belts wound around her and buckled in strategic places. She’d also wrapped her arms with smaller belts, making her bone spurs look like they were part of her costume.

Setting her teeth, Cyn directed her attention back up to Robin who was about to speak.

“Now,” Robin began with a slightly affected British accent. “the band and I all have our favorites. The songs we love playing regardless of what new, wicked stuff we’ve just dropped. But right now, We’re going to play the one we know you all love because you keep telling us on the site and whenever we have a Q and A.” There was scattered applause. Robin nodded in that direction. “See? They know which song I’m talking about. You know what song I’m talking about—“She span and pointed to Ducky up on her raised platform with her drums. “Hit it, Ducky!”

The tiny drummer began to tap out the opening beat and was soon joined by the low, purposefully uneven bass line from Garuda and a strong organ from Finch’s keyboard. There was more applause as more fans recognized the opening strains of Burning Down the Garden. Drinking in the energy of the audience, Robin picked out a few quiet notes from her guitar and began singing into her head mounted mike.

The most verdant green, before my eyes.
Made me feel so serene for a time….

A palpable tension came over the audience as they waited for the guitar to cut in fully. Cyn folded her arms and managed another glare at Elizabeth. She loved this song, but with a threat to her friendship standing right in front of her, she simply couldn’t get into it. She had to think of something… why hadn’t she thought of something during the week? She thrived on spur of the moment plans, but now that nothing was coming to mind. She kicked herself for procrastinating.

Robin picked up her riff as Ducky hit the downbeat and Garuda drove up the bass line. The sound boomed off the arena walls.

Original sin is why mankind dies. Punishment, for listening to lies.
But tonight, the garden will burn. The home to which we will never return!

Juniper nudged Cyn in the ribs with her elbow and gave her a questioning look. Cyn shrugged and returned the look with a frown.

Go forth! And multiply. Believe in me! And you will never die.
Made in his image, his own perfect visage.
And that makes our failings his own.

Red beams of iridescent color sprang into the air, making patterns where they intersected. Robin wondered when that had been added to the act and made a mental note to ask the crew after the show. Pushing It to the back of her mind, the powered through the next verse and into the chorus.

Original sin is why mankind dies. Punishment, for listening to lies.
But tonight, the garden will burn. The home to which we will never return.

Cyn made fists in the air. Part of her wanted to simply walk up and separate Elizabeth from Warrick physically, but that was far too direct for her tastes and would only upset her friend. Really, anything she could do at this point would upset him, but she grasped at alternatives. Maybe she could make Juniper do it…

The one mistake
he did not foresee.
Allowed that snake
to betray me.

The deep bass caused the entire arena to vibrate and the rest of the ensemble drowned out any noise quieter than a shout. The lasers traced more and more erratic patterns in the air. The crowd’s excitement had reached a fever pitch.

So here we stand, alone and lost.
Hand and hand, but at what cost?

Elizabeth managed to get Warrick’s attention and mouthed something inaudible to him. The young man’s eyes bucked in surprise at whatever it was.

That was the last straw. Cyn took a step toward them, planning to ‘clumsily’ stumble between them. She’d make the rest up as she went along.

For eternity, I’ll bear the blame.
It’s not my fault. So I feel no shame.

Moments before Cyn could execute her pratfall, the sound system cut out, leaving behind a disturbing sensation as unhealthy volume transformed into unnerving quiet. Startled into silence themselves, the audience looked around in puzzlement.

“Yes.” A cool, female voice echoed from the sound system. “You feel no shame. No shame at all for denying me my due. Well tonight, Regina, Robin, Emily and Donielle, it is your garden that will burn – the garden you watered with my sweat and fertilized with your lies.” There was a loud thump as every door in the arena was slammed and locked simultaneously. “But first…”

The lasers shut off and their sources revealed themselves: dozens of tech-wings. The tiny robots rose into the air among the concert goers, their orange optics glowing malevolently.

“I’m going to make you watch your audience suffer.” The voice said, satisfactorily.

Simultaneously, the tech wings fired their weapons into the crowd, which surged toward the blocked exits.

“Hot damn, saved by the villain.” Cyn said. She seized both Warrick and Juniper and pulled them toward the stage. “Come on!”

“Warrick!” Elizabeth pled, panicked.

“Try and find a way out.” Warrick said quickly. “I’ll be right behind you.” It was all he could get out as Cyn dragged him into the crowd.

On stage, the two large speakers cracked down the center before the band could get wits enough about them to bolt. From within, two robots unfolded from confinement. At their full height, they were ten feet tall and humanoid with singular, orange optic units in the center of their heads. Instead of hands, they had a plasma lance and what appeared to be a pneumatic hammer. Both weapons were leveled at the Ladies of Armageddon, daring them to try and run.

“I’ll be more useful at the doors.” Juniper said, shaking loose of Cyn’s grip. She put her fingers to her forehead and ice grew into a crude copy of her half mask upon her brow. “And remember; don’t let people see who we are.” With that, she was gone.

Warrick nodded and turned to Cyn. “You go left, I’ll go right?”

“Sure.” Cyn said, and started to shift into Facsimile as she ducked and dodged fleeing fans.

Finch stepped between one of the giant machines and her band mates. “Listen, whatever you want, just say the word and you’ll have it. Just leave my friends and our fans out of it, okay?”

“My, aren’t you sounding altruistic.” Maven’s voice said over the arena’s speakers. “Where were those words when you ignored me and made bank from my work?”

“Wait a minute…” Ducky was cowering behind Garuda. “I know that voice. Nikki?”

“Nikolia is as dead as your career.” Maven snarled. “I am called Maven now.”

“If you’re trying to get in on the bird theme, you’re one letter off.” Ducky smirked. The others gave her an odd look.

“Maven, not raven.” Robin corrected. “it’s like a Prima Donna – someone that’s full of themselves.” She raised an eyebrow at the robot.

“That is not what it means!” Maven roared. Taking manual control of one of her bipedal machines, she used its pneumatic hammer to smash down one of the speaker rigs. The structure toppled toward the few audience members that had moved closer to the stage, hoping to use it as cover.

It didn’t hit them. Instead it warped and pulled itself apart in midair. Most of it flowed like viscous liquid into harmless puddles around the would be victims. The rest whirled and solidified into a humanoid shape resembling a medieval knight in plate armor. Two metallic tentacles uncoiled from the figure’s arms.

The hulking robot turned, its waist pivoting all the way around, and lowered its plasma cannon.

“You don’t read the papers much, do you?” Alloy asked, throwing his power into the robot’s legs. With a sharp creak, its lower legs folded sharply at right angles and the machine toppled forward onto the stage, smashing down with a sound like thunder. An additional burst of power fused its joints.

Then the tech-wings came. Their prime directives were to stop all efforts to inhibit the operation of their gigantic brothers, designated X-71’s. Nearly a score of them diverted their courses, bringing their beams to bear on Alloy. He directed his powers at them, but their sheer numbers made it difficult to bring his full power to bear. They swarmed away, most only sporting superficial damage.

Isp and Osp darted into the swarm, their leading edges forming into blades with which they ripped and tore the tiny attackers apart. But even they proved not to be enough as several of the tiny terrors won through, careening into Alloy with enough force to knock him off his feet.

The other X-71 took the opportunity to draw a bead and prepared to fire on Alloy. A weight landed on the arm. Facsimile crouched there, her wings gone to provide material for the outsized claws she used to dig in. Snarling savagely, she ripped hoses and wires from the plasma lance until the reddish glow in the barrel dimmed. “Finally, something to take my frustrations out on!” She crowed.

Her victory was short lived as the X-71 raised its arm and brought up its hammer to aim directly at her. She barely had enough time to curse before the pneumatic hammer struck her in the center with explosive force. She arced skyward, shouting obscenities before slamming through the glass of a skybox, finally coming to rest after crashing through an abandoned buffet table.

Zero shoved her way through the crowd at the nearest door, making use of her painfully cold touch to encourage people to make a path for her. All the while, she apologized profusely as she neared the door.

“Whoa, they’re back!” Someone said. “Hey, Zero, where’ve you guys been?” someone else shouted.

“Uh… we’ve been…” She pursed her lips as she reached the doors and placed her palms against them. The temperature around her grew steadily colder as a rime of frost spread over the surface of the door and across the surrounding wall.

When she was satisfied, she reared back, coating her fist with ice. “I can’t say.” A single punch to the now brittle wall, shattered it. “But… we’re going to try—“She shook her head. “just…please, everyone, get to safety.”

She was surprised and relieved when no one pressed the question, only hurried past her through the hole in the wall. Choking down her worry about what would happen after that night, she focused on getting to the next door.

A second speaker rig deformed as it lashed down to engulf a handful of tech-wings in liquid metal. The tentacles pulled Alloy, his armor badly dented and scored by beam weaponry, up onto the stage and out of the worst of the assault. The still deforming scaffolding flattened out into a sphere around the swarm that had gathered, encircling them and sealing them in a spherical prison.

“There’s so many…” Alloy groaned, getting to his feet. His metal sense was useless with so much titanium and assorted circuirty flying around overhead and the tech-wings were too small and fast for him to target him with the naked eye.

Not even a full half of the swarm of tiny robots was down and most of them had now broken off their assault on the civilians to deal with him.

“I’ve heard of you, Alloy.” Maven said over the speakers. “and you won’t stop me from having my justice!”

“What justice?” Finch cried, ducking under an errant tech-wing. “We never did anything to you!”

“Exactly.” Maven said. “You pretended to be so open and sweet to me. Pretended to be my friends – my family! But once I left and you went on to become famous, I was cast to the side.”

“Huh?” Ducky asked. “You left us to take that design job!”

“I made you what you are. I deserve everything that’s coming to me. Even if I have to take it out of your hide.” Maven sneered verbally. “I don’t care about contracts and legality. Without my technological genius, you would be nothing.”

“Nikki…” Finch said, “You were a great sound tech, but… you didn’t make us.”

“I did make you.” Maven spat. “And I will destroy you!”

Half the tech-wings broke off their assault on Alloy to angle toward the Ladies of Armageddon.

Garuda used the only thing she could find to defend herself; her bass. With a mighty swing, she connected the body of her custom made, brushed steel instrument into the lead device in the swarm. The sparking machine flew like a baseball, scattering its comrades on its way to the cheap seats. “Whoa.” The giantess said, marveling at her handiwork.

“Don’t get too comfortable!” A metal tentacle lashed past her and downed a tech-wing that had managed to reorient itself before its wing mates. Alloy ran forward and threw his power into a few more returning attackers. “I’ve always wanted to meet you guys, but this is not how I imagined it.”

He was so engrossed in stopping the tech-wings; he didn’t notice the other X-71 priming its hammer in his direction.

-- • --

Facsimile groaned painfully as her body began repairing the damage she’d taken in the last few moments. Bones knitted together, torn muscles and skin were made whole. The process only took seconds, but it took almost everything she had. Pain was replaced by a deep, cavernous hunger.

Around her was a virtual smorgasbord of food, but there was no time to chew and swallow. Blanching, she realized that she would need to use her powers in a way that was unsettling even for her. Sickness rolled in her stomach as she weakly pressed her hand into a large bowl of seven layer dip and let the hunger take over.

Instantly, her body temperature spiked well beyond that which a normal human could survive. Survival provoked unconscious responses, causing the cells in her hand to perform the duties normally reserved for her digestive system. The dip seemed to boil away around her hand, faint traces of smoke the only waste product of Facsimile’s furnace-like metabolism.

The hunger was not satisfied. She sensed organic matter pressing against her back – several plates of cheese and cold cuts – and in moments, those too were consumed. Now fully functional, Facsimile sat up, grabbing and absorbing handfuls of chips until she was more than simply full up. Now, she added layers of extraneous muscle and forced her bones to become denser. In less than two minutes, she had polished off a spread intended for ten people.

“I never want to do that again.” She looked at her hands like they belonged to an alien beast. Still feeling disgusted with herself, she walked over to the shattered window and looked back down at the stage.

Below, Isp lashed past Garuda in time to smash aside a tech-wing that had wheeled to attack her. Warrick rushed over and said something. Unbeknownst to him, the giant robot with the pneumatic hammer was getting ready to do to him what it had done to Facsimile.

Too far to shout, Facsimile did the only thing she could do; she jumped. The extra layers of corded muscle strained as they were contorted painfully to accommodate a leap that was easily two hundred feet on the horizontal. Soldering through the pain, the young shapeshifter concentrated all her excess mass into her fist. Two pale lances of horn, easily over a yard long and incredibly dense, sprang from her right arm.

With a battle cry, Facsimile rammed headlong into the X-71, the horns punching through its chest and wreaking havoc on its systems. She rode the sparking titan to the ground with a triumphant whoop.

“I feel so much better now.” She sighed. As she spoke, she wrenched her arm backward, pulling the horns out of her own arm by the roots. The holes left by the action healed instantly. “You need to watch your back, Alloy.” She said playfully.

The armored hero grunted as the tentacles lashed around him, warding off the attacks of tech-wings. “Thanks for that, I don’t figure my armor could take a hit like that.”

Facsimile smiled and extended a hand to bat down a tech-wing.

“No one asked you to interfere!” Maven’s voice screamed from the speakers. The tech-wings backed off, moving into holding positions as if waiting for something.

“I for one am glad they did.” Finch said.

“It doesn’t matter.” Maven snapped. “If my machines are not yet ready to defeat prelates, then I will have to do it myself.” With that, there was a crash as an office chair was hurled through the sound booth window.

From it emerged Maven. She floated in the air like a renegade helium balloon, the air around her distorting due to the magnetic forces involved in making her fly. Her circuit laced gloves crackled with angry sparks. “Now stand aside, heroes. This matter doesn’t concern you.”

“I think it does.” Alloy shouted back. “And not just because they’re my favorite band. You can’t go around hurting people in my city. I won’t let you.” He raised his hands and directed his power at the bulky pack on Maven’s back only to find that it contained no metal.

“Have it your way.” Maven said coolly. The tech-wings assembled around her, swarming. “I’ve seen that you can’t focus with my tech-wings circling. All I need to do is stay out of range of your tendrils and your golden bruiser – then I can pick you off at range with my static generators.” She raised her hands over her head and electricity arced between the contacts in each palm. A cloud of negative charge was building up above her in the cold air.

As she prepared to strike, Maven wondered why it was suddenly so cold in the arena. It was only then that she noticed the frost forming on her hands and the thin mist rising from the ground below her.

Electricity, by its nature, seeks ground via the path if least resistance. Normally, the field generators at Maven’s hips made it possible to direct electricity where Maven intended it to go. But now, a new, more natural path had formed; a path formed of ice, leading to human flesh, leading to a trail of water vapor into the earth. Obeying nature, the charge sought ground.

Maven didn’t even make a sound as she flipped weirdly end over end in the air and convulsed as her flight system refused to relinquish her to gravity’s grasp. Finally, the field generators gave out and Maven was left hanging in air; unconscious, gasping, and occasionally giving off a wisp of smoke.

Zero lowered her hands and waved across the arena floor at Alloy and Facsimile, who looked at each other with relief. The tech-wings continued their lazy orbit, obeying their mistress’s last order.

Ian had become genuinely engrossed in his book when the door to Alexis’s room opened. Startled, He jumped a bit and then wondered if he should have jumped a bit more when he saw the anger in her features.

“I can’t believe you.” She growled her green eyes steely upon him.

“Huh?” Ian blinked.

“After everything that happened, you let them go out and do this again?”

“Do what?” Ian asked, honestly confused.

Her mood grew less intense, if only slightly and she gestured inside. “Come on, look at this.”

She ushered him through the door and pointed to the TV. Onscreen, people in various states of panic wandered around in confusion while first responders tried to learn what was going on. Via voice over, a reporter was describing the minor sustained and relating that the perpetrator was linked to an earlier mass robbery. After a moment, a scroll along the bottom of the screen appeared, reading: LIFE SAVERS, INC DEFEATS ROBOT ATTACK AT CAPASHEN ARENA

Ian immediately turned to Alexis with his hands raised defensively. “Wait, I had nothing to do with this! They went there to see a concert with the Gilgamesh Group… or something like that.” On TV, the reporter said ‘Ladies of Armageddon’. “Them. What the TV said. They went to see them.”

Alexis kept him pinned with her eyes. There were tears in them. Ian felt his stomach turn.

He took a deep, cleansing breath, forcing all his panic into a ball that would most likely become an ulcer down the road. “Alexis, listen… I know I hurt you when I lied to you. I shouldn’t have done it. I should have been man enough to argue my point without going behind your back. I never once imagined that it’d hurt you this much or I wouldn’t have done it.”

“Then why did they do what they did tonight?” Alexis asked, her voice heavy.

“I didn’t tell them to.” Ian said quickly. “In fact, Cyn only got her tickets out of me on the condition she stop torturing you with those newspaper clippings.” If this fact had any effect on Alexis, she didn’t show it. “As far as I know, they were there to see a concert that happened to get attacked.”

“And then they got involved.” Alexis said quietly.

Ian gestured to the TV, which was now showing the scorched floor of the arena, with the slagged bits of robots and general chaotic aftermath evident. “Can you blame them?”

“They’re supposed to be hiding. To be safe from the Academy.”

Ian hesitantly reached out and took her hand. “Sometimes, people make the decision to put the lives of others ahead of themselves, Alex. I know you understand that. You did the same thing they did tonight on that bridge against Morganna.” He gave the hand a small squeeze when she didn’t pull away. “Could you have lived with yourself if you had let Morganna kill those people?”

Alexis shook her head and took the hand back, moving away from him into the room. “No, I couldn’t. And I understand how they feel. I do. But the Academy is looking for them. What else can we do but hide them?”

“They’ll find them eventually unless we plan to flee the country, keep moving every few months. They’re a runaway government organization with way too much in the research and development area – it’s only a matter of time.”

Sitting heavily on her bed, Alexis ground her teeth. “But that doesn’t say what else we can do…”

“The only thing we can do. What we should have done from the start.” Ian said. “You’re a teacher, Laurel’s a genius, and I’m no push-over – we should use what we have – we should teach them how to survive this—how to fight back when it comes down to it and how to disappear if it comes down to that. We can do it, Alexis – if we work together on this.”

The black haired woman gave him a neutral look. “We can.” She said neither a statement, nor a question. “I need to think, Ian. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

“Does this mean we’re back on speaking terms?” Ian asked.

“I’m still upset with you. With what you did.” She said flatly. “but it’s not a forever type thing anymore.” She gave him a small smile as he nodded and left the room.

“No, I didn’t abandon you.” Warrick pled into his cell phone. It was around one in the morning, three hours since Maven’s defeat and he was on the roof, on the phone with Elizabeth von Stoker trying desperately to convince her that he hadn’t turned tail without giving away his secret identity.

He listened to the other end of the conversation, and tried to defend himself. “We just got separated.” He said, “The crowd was going nuts! I couldn’t see two feet ahead of me. I tried to find you, I really did—you have to believe me!” That was the truth, he had spent about half an hour after the battle searching for her to no avail.

“No, I—come on, Liz, please listen—“he sighed as she continued to interrupt him. “I’m trying to explain. You won’t let me! Just – okay. Fine, can we at least talk tomorrow— hello?” He clicked the phone closed and contemplated it with a frown.

Osp retracted from his room window and offered him his handheld videogame, conveying thoughts of consolation and catharsis. Warrick waved the tentacle off. It made what could be called a shrug and slithered back down into the room. Moments later, the sounds of a puzzle game being played could be heard.

“That didn’t sound good.” Cyn said, climbing up from the other side of the roof.

“You were listening?” Warrick asked.

“Overheard. I came to tell you Laurel was looking for you – she needs you to make her some tungsten. You weren’t in the room and I figured you always head for the highest point around to get all reflective…”

Warrick nodded. “You know me pretty well.” He lay down on the slope of the roof and looked up at the night sky. “Yeah, things didn’t go so great. You were right; she thought I was like her knight in shining armor. Now she thinks I’m a chicken in yellow feathers.”

Cyn frowned. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy being right, or that her goal had ended up being accomplished – but things felt wrong. “I’m sorry. You know, for what that’s worth.”

“It’s worth a lot.” He confirmed. “I mean, you're one of the only people that know that I really am a knight in shining armor.”

“You know there’ll be other girls. Girls that have less demanding fetishes for one.” Cyn said, “Seriously, the last thing you need is a girlfriend that’s constantly in mid-peril. It really puts a crimp in the whole prelate thing.”

“Yeah, but with people like Maven or Sky Tyrant still running around loose, pretty much everyone’s in constant peril.” He sighed. “That’d just narrow the field down to other prelates. And seriously, what are the chances of two super powered do-gooders hooking up anyway?”

Cyn only gave a chuckle at that as they both settled down to watch the stars.

The trial for Nikolia Petrov was over in a few weeks. The evidence was overwhelming. The prosecution presented dozens of witnesses that had seen her in her Maven costume, including Gwen Robertson, the woman who she had assaulted to get control of the sound booth. Despite the loss of many of her robotic creations in transit, the court had ample fodder to put her away for at least a decade.

Except Maven had suddenly pled insanity, a wholly believable and professionally supported plea in her case. The judge had remanded her to the care of the Solomon Psychiatric Center until she was deemed fit to return to society.

Her new room was a ten by ten foot, white tiled cell with a tiny bed, a toilet and a desk. She had been deemed not to be a threat to herself or others, and thus, was allowed pen and paper. For her first day, she had sat at her desk non-stop, writing formulae, and drawing circuit diagrams.

When night fell, and the guards made one last round to ensure that their charges were secure, she took her papers in hand and sat on the cot. There was a beeping noise and the wall beside the tiny bed opened, revealing a computer console with a scanner.

Vincent Liedecker’s face appeared immediately. “Good evening, Maven. Enjoying your new home?”

“I thought your lawyer said you would fix things for me.” She said haughtily. “I don’t see how my ending up in an asylum was fixing things.”

“You were seen by a couple tens of thousands of people, Maven.” Liedecker said, “I’m powerful, but even I can’t turn lemons that rotten into lemonade overnight.” His face became very businesslike “Now, what I can do it this: I own the Solomon Center and pretty much everyone that works there. You were looking at ten to twenty years the other way around, but thanks to me, now you get out when my doctors say that you’re cured – understand?”

“Perfectly.” Nikolia said, defeated. “I do as I’m told and I get out early.”

“Exactly, sugah. “The crime boss said, “And the first thing, I’d like you to do is to reconsider the job offer I made to you. Do that, and not only will I move you up to one of our ‘celebrity rehab’ wings, but I’ll see to it you get access to the lab.”

“There’s a lab here?” the incarcerated villainess blinked.

“You’re not the first person that needed this kind of arrangement with me, my dear.” Liedecker said smoothly. “Not the last, either. The way I see it, there’s a lot of people – geniuses, really – that end up getting called crazy for one reason or another. Why should I let the next Galileo slip through my fingers for lack of a mental institution in my holdings?”

Nikolia couldn’t help but smile. Liedecker was brilliant in his own way. He had managed to establish a system that provided him his own, private think tank as well as the thanks of the community at large. Her respect for him grew tenfold. “This lab. If you outfit it as I ask, I’ll build you anything you want.” She said with a wicked grin.

End Issue #9