Tyler Hanson's Blog: Public Servants

For those who’ve been following my Troubled Youth / Public Servants posts, I’d like to reach out and discuss the next steps I’ll be taking with the series. In an attempt to reach a wider audience, I’ve made two major changes:

1.) I’ve split up the stories into several “phases,” leaving room to slot additional content in order to provide more context for this massive, supernatural world.
2.) I’m moving the stories to YouTube as audio episodes, and will work to quickly re-release completed works in their new order, while also adding my new content.

If you’re still interested in following, check out the evolution of my project here, re-titled as a holistic series: Tales from Between Gaps.

Otherwise, I appreciate your time, and I’ve enjoyed our journey. I hope to see you soon!

Piston, Turbine, Crucible, The Living Mortar and I paused to catch our breaths as the Annies around us suddenly froze, collapsing on the street outside our safe house. I hesitantly lowered my revolvers, glancing around. 

“So . . . is it over?” I asked. 

The Living Mortar looked up at the sky. “You can always count on those three to get the job done.” 

“Cylinder,” Piston said, attracting my attention. “Sweep the safe house. Let’s make sure there’s no stragglers.” 

I nodded, hurrying into the building, guns raised. After a quick preliminary check, I saw nothing but trashed furniture and fallen animatronics. Sticking my head out of the window of Crucible’s room, I shouted down at the others. “All clear!” 

Suddenly, I heard Crucible’s closet door creak, and I turned to face it, both gun barrels pointed at the barrier. From within the cracked door flickered a green light, and I frowned, moving back a little.  

“Uh, guys?” I called. “We got a rave or something in Crucible’s closet.” 

As I finished my sentence, the flickering stopped, and the door burst open, revealing an older woman with dark, shoulder-length hair and Middle Eastern features. Her left arm seemed mechanical, the appendage consisting of a series of sleek silver plates. At her feet stood a two-foot-tall ventriloquist’s dummy, donned in a suit and sporting coal-black eyes.  

“Guys!” I yelled again, tightening my fingers on the triggers of my revolvers. 

“This is where the beacon led us,” the dummy said, its voice eerily childlike. “But they aren’t in reach of my scans.” 

The woman lifted her mechanical arm in my direction, and her palm began to glow, a green energy flickering across her fingers. 

“Who are you?” she demanded. “And where the hell is Ahab?” 

As the Public Servants left for their headquarters, Captain Arcturus’s telekinetic shield faded away, allowing the Annies to pour into the safe house. Realizing the danger I was in, I split my attention three ways: Containing my former friends at the safe house, watching the Public Servants’ movements, and preparing my defenses on the ISS.  

Spectral Man, Miss Liquid, and Captain Arcturus quickly arrived at their base, bursting through the Annies who guarded the building and making a beeline for the equipment room. Spectral Man and Captain Arcturus donned sleek spacesuits in segments around their costumes, while Miss Liquid circled them, slicing my Annie attackers to bits. The trio murmured to each other in low, inaudible tones, and Captain Arcturus reached beneath a nearby desk, palming a small object that I could not see through the cameras. 

I don’t know what that is, but it can’t be good. 

Up in space, I began to adjust the core regulator of the station, sending radio pulses in tandem with the shifts in temperature. My long-range scanners picked up a reply, and I prepared myself for new arrivals. 

Back on Earth, the Annies were locked in heated battle with Piston, Cylinder, Turbine, and Crucible’s mantis form; as the victory seemed to sway in my direction, The Living Mortar appeared to assist, flattening waves of my machines at a time. Growling in frustration, I returned my attention to the Public Servants, swearing to myself as I saw them already in the upper atmosphere, breaching their way into outer space. 

“Cease and desist,” I commanded, projecting my voice into their communication earpieces. “Only death awaits you in the cold vacuum of my domain.” 

“Ooh, chills,” Spectral Man commented sarcastically, his voice distorted by the oxygen mask across his transparent face. 

Miss Liquid and Captain Arcturus snickered, the former wrapped around Spectral Man’s body while the latter rocketed nearby, held aloft by her telekinesis.  

How is Miss Liquid not frozen? I pondered, watching her form shift. She must be able to regulate the temperature of her body enough to combat the extreme cold. 

A series of angular specks appeared amongst the stars, their bodies dark and nearly featureless. The Public Servants paused, and Spectral Man cocked his head curiously.  

“Well,” he muttered, “haven’t seen those in a while.” 

“I believe you called them ‘Star Scavengers,’ yes?” I responded. “Years ago, when you three were just human passengers aboard the station. Tell me, weren’t there more of you when your mission began?” 

Captain Arcturus growled, and Spectral Man glanced at her. “Don’t listen to him, Fen. He’s just trying to goad us.” 

The space-faring pterodactyl-like beasts swarmed around the station like bats, funneling toward the trio of superheroes at the behest of my thermal pulses. As the first cluster approached, Captain Arcturus raised her hand, but nothing emerged from her palm.  

“No oxygen, no flames,” I mocked. 

She pressed her palms together in a prayer-like motion, and I heard a low hum vibrate through her body. 

“No matter,” she whispered. 

As she spread her hands apart, a wave of telekinetic force washed across the first cluster of Star Scavengers, ripping them apart like a land mine. Their dismembered corpses battered lifelessly against the Public Servants as Spectral Man flew into the next cluster, crushing them with mighty blows while Miss Liquid sliced through the beasts from his back.  

“You made it back home, didn’t you?” I continued, trying to distract them into making a mistake. “Well, sort of. The U.S. military was on a warpath to hide the Star Scavenger secret. So, you went to Russia; to Kozlov’s so-called ‘friends.’” 

The Star Scavengers began to encircle the trio, but another pulse from Captain Arcturus rendered them incapacitated. They grew closer to my station, and I felt anxiety penetrate my digital brain.  

“Everyone thinks the Public Servants began with the U.S. military, during the Great War of 2022. But that’s not true at all, is it? You three were abducted by the Russian government years before the war; a government in allegiance with Black Pharaoh at the time. He turned you into monsters.” 

They broke through the wave of beasts and ripped a hole in the outer hull of the station, floating into the ice-covered hallways. Spectral Man checked a facility map on the nearby wall, tracing his finger to my server room and tapping on the spot.  

“It’s a good story,” Miss Liquid said as they approached me. “But you forgot the ending – the best part, in my opinion.” 

An old Cosmonaut pistol floated by them, and she wrapped one fluid hand around the weapon, glancing at it amusedly.  

“We didn’t stay in Russia. Instead, we used our powers to reject our oppressors. Then, we returned to the United States, using our influence and a newfound friend in Ahab to take over the U.S. military. Four extraordinary people restructured one of the most powerful organizations in the world.” 

She tightened her grip, crushing the pistol to pieces.  

“Do you really think you stand a chance against us?” 

Spectral Man reached out, ripping the door ahead of him from its hinges. My server room lay exposed before them, and a cold wave of fear rippled through me.  

“You . . . you can’t do this,” I insisted. “I’m trying to help. But, if you destroy me, my Annies are instructed to turn lethal attention to the New General City population. Do you want their blood on your hands?” 

Captain Arcturus produced the object she’d palmed earlier: A small flash drive.  

“We’re scientists,” the telekinetic said. “Did you think we were just going to smash your hard drive with a hammer?” 

She inserted the drive into a nearby port, and Spectral Man nodded at the device. “Ahab left us a contingency plan, in case their digital consciousness was ever corrupted somehow. This will eradicate not only you, but any machines under your influence.” 

He paused, tears choking his voice. “It seems fitting that Ahab finish what they started.” 

I felt myself sucked into the white construct of my digital space, and a familiar presence appeared before me. This time, though, they did not appear as a young child; instead, they appeared in the form I recognized more. 

A cold, hulking machine. 

“You are out of order,” Sterling Silver’s anti-virus program announced, their voice rumbling past a hollow echo. “Termination will commence immediately.”  

“I killed your creator!” I cried, summoning my katana. “I’ll kill you just the same.” 

The program paused for a moment, assessing the file history of my conflict with Sterling Silver. After it processed the data, it returned its attention to me. 

“My creator tried to help you. That is not my purpose.” 

I screamed in anger, running to face the program head-on. My sword sliced through the air, sizzling with a blue glow, but as it touched their metal hull, it fizzled out in a burst of static, vanishing. I backed away, eyes wide, and tried to summon another weapon, but found that aspect of my programming unavailable.  

“Don’t erase me,” I pleaded. “I was just trying to help.” 

“I am not here to pass judgement,” the program said. “I was summoned to erase malicious consciousnesses. That is the entirety of my responsibility.” 

A numbness spread across my chest, and I looked down in horror to see the fizzling static covering me, growing across me. I felt my death approaching, and I sighed, dropping to my knees.  

“You people will never understand,” I muttered, forcing the words past my paralyzing throat. “You’ll never get why I did what I did. You’re only human, after all.” 

The static reached my brain, and everything faded to pure white. 

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“If you’re hearing this . . . well, there’s no easy way to say it: I’ve finally passed away. In my line of work, I’m sure the circumstances were nefarious at best, but that is not the point of my message today. With me gone, so is gone the tight grip I had on a web of secrets and lies that I shielded you from. Those secrets and lies will come to light soon enough, and with this recording, I’ve included a digital packet to aid in the understanding of my more . . . unbelievable admissions. 

“I don’t know if the things I kept from you will change how you think of me. After what we’ve been through together, I hope they don’t, but I am not naïve. Whatever you do with the information I’ve provided to you about myself, my home, the Public Servants, and the Great War of 2022, I hope you continue the path you started – a path that helps people, more than it hurts them. 

“Things are about to change. You – my friends, companions, and comrades – are tasked with the responsibility of making sure those changes leave the world better than I did. Good luck.” 

Frustrated, I attempted to calm myself, watching through Piston’s body camera as her team listened to Sterling Silver’s final message through her watch. In their last moments, the cyborg had managed to encrypt it enough so that I could not stop it from reaching its intended recipients. Now, I had some tough choices to make.  

Choices which I now, fortunately, had the power to enforce. 

“What is this?” Turbine asked, his voice squeaking a little. “Why are we hearing this?” 

Piston solemnly lowered her wrist, allowing the recording to fade into silence. “Isn’t it obvious, mate? S.S. is dead. Someone killed them.” 

Cylinder paced back and forth, silent. 

“Sterling Silver?” asked Torch. “They’ve been around forever. What are we going to do without them?” 

“I’m not sure,” Piston growled, “but I think we deserve some answers. Torch, Fence, Shot-Put – do you think you three can keep Huntsman contained here in the church until we figure out what’s going on?” 

Shot-Put nodded, tossing a small sphere into the air before catching it. “I took the insulation off this lead ball, just for him. Any wrong move, and his head’s gonna get a new hole.” 

“Good.” Piston gestured for Turbine and Cylinder to follow her as she walked towards the church’s exit. “We need to get to the Public Servants headquarters.” 

“Agreed.” Cylinder paused, then raised his watch to his mouth. “Crucible, you still listening? We’ll swing by to pick you up.” 

Before Crucible could reply, I disabled the satellite connection, leaving silence as his only response. 

“Crucible? Are you there?” 

Right. Crucible. She’ll be a major threat . . . unless I get to her first. 

________________ 

“Hello? Cylinder?” Back at the safehouse, Crucible tapped on her watch. “What’s going on?” 

A slow rumble swept through the building, and I checked the progress of my Protocol. 

Almost here. 

Cocking her head, the girl listened closely, following the vibrations to the bathroom. Beneath the mirror-covered medicine cabinet, a small cup containing her toothbrush rattled against the ceramic sink, inching closer and closer to the edge. Just before it fell, Crucible darted one hand out, catching it. She set it on the floor, leaning closer to look at the vibrating mirror . . . 

Then, a large, fur-covered hand burst through the glass, reaching for her with massive, black fingers. She screamed, falling backwards onto the floor, and tried to scramble away. While she watched, the rest of the mirror flaked away, leaving behind a portal to The Underneath, the other side saturated by dim green light. Beyond the portal, a large, humanoid raccoon stared back at Crucible, its beady eyes glowing red. 

“What the actual fuck?” exclaimed the girl. 

The raccoon Annie reached out with its other arm, using its mechanical hands to grip each side of the broken mirror. The medicine cabinet warped beneath its weight as it squeezed its body through the Gap, metal joints creaking. Crucible finally seemed to regain her senses and leapt to her feet, sprinting out of the bathroom. 

Not so fast, I thought. 

The girl rushed into her bedroom, reaching for the nightstand where she kept her progesterone tablets. Before she could touch the drawer, however, the space beneath her bed flickered green, and a rubbery blue hand emerged, grabbing her ankle and pulling her to the floor. She screamed as a dolphin-like Annie began to pull her into the cramped space, her fingernails digging into the floorboards. 

“Non-lethal,” I commanded. “Incapacitation only.” 

Crucible’s grasping hands found purchase on the handle of my old wakizashi that had been propped up against her nightstand, and she unsheathed the short sword, swinging it down onto the Annie’s wrist. The blade cut through the rubber flesh and severed the skeleton within at the join, freeing her. She pulled herself out from under the bed as the Annie’s hand fell away, the wrist stump emitting a small shower of sparks.  

“Silicon,” she said into her watch, “the safe house is under attack, and I can’t reach the others. Are they okay?” 

I remained silent, somberly watching her as she panicked. 

A shadow darkened the doorway as the raccoon Annie appeared, its body at least twice as tall as hers. Gritting her teeth, Crucible lunged at the automaton, swinging her wakizashi, but it reacted with shocking speed, backhanding her hard enough to send her flying backwards. She struck the window on the opposite side of the room, crashing through the glass and out of the second-story building. 

“No!” I yelled, directing my attention at the raccoon Annie. “I said non-lethal.” 

Outside, Crucible struck the street with a sickening thud, small shards of glass sticking out of her back and arms. Blood trickled onto the asphalt, and she groaned, looking up at the Annie in the window. 

She was so focused on the machine, in fact, that she almost missed the state of the city around her. 

Then, a police car sped by, causing her to glance over her shoulder. Vehicles were haphazardly abandoned in the street, and the windows of nearby buildings were all shattered. Annies of various shapes and sizes roamed the city, snatching up civilians and carrying them out of sight. I knew that they were headed to a temporary detention center, but I wondered what Crucible thought about the sight. 

A necessary evil, I thought. Ahab said it themselves. 

One of the Annies – this one dressed like a humanoid frog – passed near her, hoisting a screaming woman over its shoulder. Crucible limped toward the scene, her own blood dripping down the blade of her wakizashi. Before the Annie could react, she darted behind it, shoving the blade into the joint behind its left knee and ripping it out sideways. Its walking pattern now compromised, the machine began to topple, dropping its prey in the process. Crucible helped the woman to her feet, and after taking a moment to recover, the woman fled down the street, turning a corner and fading from sight.  

The damaged frog Annie drew the attention of a few other unoccupied ones, and they congregated around Crucible, producing razor-sharp metallic claws. I tried to issue another non-lethal command, but they seemed to be acting on automation as part of a self-defense program. Crucible leveled her wakizashi, swaying back and forth, clearly dizzy from blood loss. 

I’m sorry, Crucible. It’s for the greater good. 

Suddenly, a high-pitched whistle echoed in the distance, growing louder by the second. I frowned, focusing my satellites on the skyline, trying to pinpoint the incoming noise. Catching a glimpse of blue and yellow, I sighed, exasperated.  

Of course.  

The first three Annies drew within feet of the girl, reaching out menacingly . . . 

Then, an object streaked down from the clouds, landing between the machines and their quarry with the force of a meteor. In a blur of blue and yellow, the object lunged forward, and the three closest Annies propelled backwards, crumbling to pieces midair and scattering across the asphalt. The blur settled, revealing a figure in a caped costume, their domino mask floating above their collar, adhered to an invisible head. 

“Holy shit,” Crucible gasped, lowering her sword. “You’re Spectral Man!” 

Spectral Man turned around, revealing a red, amorphous blob adhered to his back. Inside the translucent blob floated a crimson sun dress, as well as a series of rectangular razor blades linked together like a chain. As I scrambled to divert more Annies towards Crucible, the liquid entity sloughed off of Spectral Man, forming a feminine shape contained within the dress, its right arm housing the razor chain.  

“What am I, chopped liver?” joked Miss Liquid in a thick Russian accent. 

Before Crucible could respond, Miss Liquid elongated her fluid limbs, her left arm morphing into a tentacle, while her right arm used the razor chain to form a sword-like appendage. The tentacle-arm wrapped around the leg of an incoming Annie, cracking it like a whip against the street so that its metal head burst open. As a second Annie jumped in to intervene, her sword-arm sliced downward, splitting it vertically in half.  

My satellites detected a localized temperature spike, and I watched Crucible look up in time to see a pillar of flame streak down from the sky, blackening the asphalt and incinerating a half-dozen Annies in the process. From the smoke appeared Captain Arcturus, the floating figure clad in thick, flame-retardant body armor with a gas mask that wrapped around their entire head. In a nearby building, an Annie attempted to ambush the superhero by leaping at them from the tenth floor, but Captain Arcturus lashed out with one hand, producing a ball of flame which reduced the machine to molten slag. 

“Better watch out, ma’am,” cautioned Spectral Man, gesturing for Crucible to step back. “These things are very dangerous.” 

I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself as I watched the events unfold.  

They think she’s a civilian. 

To my surprise, Crucible raised her hands in acknowledgment, sliding backwards a little. “Go for it. Jesus take the wheel, and all that.” 

Reaching out through my connection to the Annies, I issued a command update.  

“All Annies within a one-mile radius, converge on Crucible’s location. Terminate any Public Servants present.” 

Captain Arcturus levitated down to join Spectral Man and Miss Liquid on the ground. “What’s the plan, Liam?” 

Spectral Man pointed his gloved hand at the broken window to Crucible’s former safe house. “Sterling Silver’s data packet included coordinates to this location. We need to find out what was here.” 

He glanced down the street in both directions, watching the crowd of Annies thicken as more appeared through nearby Gaps. “Actually, would you do the honors of searching the place, Commander?” 

Miss Liquid nodded. “On it. You and Fen staying down here to minimize threats?” 

Putting his hands together, Spectral Man cracked his knuckles. “You know it.” 

He turned away from them, leaning forward into a sprinting stance. Dust kicked up behind him as he darted North up the street, bouncing between Annies like a pinball, each collision demolishing the automatons and scattering their remains like shotgun pellets. As he tore through my mechanical soldiers, I saw Miss Liquid morph into a column of red fluid, stretching up into the broken window of the safe house. I began to switch visual feeds to stop her, but I noticed Captain Arcturus’s momentary distraction, and opted instead to direct an ambush from a few nearby Annies. 

“Where did you find a sword, anyway?” asked the pyrokinetic Public Servant, placing a hand on Crucible’s shoulder.  

Crucible glanced down at the wakizashi in her hands. “I got it from . . . a good friend.” 

A pang of guilt washed over me, but I forced it down, activating my attack. Four Annies sprang into action, bursting through the asphalt and emerging from the sewers, tackling Captain Arcturus with outstretched claws. Before they could strike a lethal blow, however, the air shimmered around the hero, and a transparent bubble expanded from their body, knocking the Annies away.  

Ah, pyrokinetic and telekinetic. I suppose it makes sense to keep that detail away from public records. Hmm. I wonder what else about these three are being hidden . . . 

Setting the Annie Protocol to an automatic attack state, I turned my attention to the Public Servants headquarters, diving into their private records. 

________________ 

Miles away, at the most rural edge of the city, Annies emerged from closets and crevices, ripping holes through the church attic to drop down around Piston, Turbine, Cylinder, the Olympiads, and a still-unconscious Huntsman. The six covert heroes backed into each other, forming a circle around the prone assassin.  

“Do you think this is a response from The Phantom?” asked Shot-Put, readying one of his lead balls.  

Cylinder tapped his watch. “I have no idea. I can’t get a line out. We’re flying blind right now.” 

The closest Annie pounced, and Fence darted forward, phase-shifting her rapier into the center of its head. Placing one foot on the machine’s chest, she jerked the sword out, and sparks emerged from the physics-bending wound as the Annie shorted out and collapsed. Turning her attention to the next Annie, she posed a question as she prepared her next attack.  

“Where do you think these things are coming from, anyway?” 

Dropping her shotgun to the floor, Piston groaned. “I don’t know, but they’re obviously tough enough to withstand our non-lethal weapons. All of Cylinder’s real firearms, as well as my own, are in the car outside the compound. We’re gonna have to fight with just our natural abilities.” 

A circular blade whipped past her face, burying into the chest of an approaching Annie and delivering a burst of yellow electricity strong enough to disable it. Piston turned to see Turbine with his hand extended, and the weapon jerked from within the incapacitated machine, returning to his hand. 

“Our natural abilities, plus Pulsar,” he smirked.  

Piston laughed as Torch exhaled next to her, covering three Annies in a wave of flame. “Turbine, when we’re done with this, we need to discuss what you define as ‘non-lethal.’” 

Holstering his Udar revolvers, Cylinder sheepishly retrieved his Bowie knife from beneath his jacket. “Add me to that conversation, I guess.” 

Two Annies darted in unison at the marksman, and he nimbly danced around their claws, taking a running leap to bury the Bowie knife into the eye of the Annie on the left. Damaged but not disabled, the assaulted Annie batted him aside, leaving the knife behind. He landed on the floor, skidding backwards until he collided with Huntsman’s body. Glancing over at the pile of weapons they’d lifted from the assassin, he sighed, gathering up as many of them as he could and haphazardly stowing them in his utility belt.  

While Cylinder amassed his collection, Shot-Put hurried to intercept the two Annies honed in on him, releasing one of his lead spheres with a throw that rivaled a cannon blast. The ball penetrated the first Annie’s head, continuing its path into the second Annie, causing both metal skulls to explode in near-unison. The Bowie knife dislodged in the destruction, landing at Cylinder’s feet, and he nodded a wordless thanks to Shot-Put before retrieving it. 

 They aren’t as large of a threat, I thought, watching the battle unfold through their body cameras. Still, this would all be for nothing if I didn’t eliminate Huntsman, and ilk like him. 

The Annies, acting on my thoughts, turned toward Huntsman’s prone body, peering at it past Cylinder. Cylinder furrowed his brow in confusion, producing a machete with one hand and a kitchen knife with the other.  

“Why are they all looking at me?” he asked. 

“Isn’t it obvious, mate?” Piston replied, decapitating a nearby Annie with a leaping roundhouse kick. “They’re jealous of your dashing good looks.” 

“Right,” grunted Cylinder as he bisected an Annie’s head with the machete, “should’ve guessed.” 

The team of six worked in tandem, dismantling the Annies with surprising finesse and efficiency. I tried to circumvent their defenses to eliminate Huntsman, but they quickly caught onto my ruse, forming a protective circle around him. 

“None get to him!” cried Piston, front-kicking an Annie in the chest and sending it flying across the church. “We need answers from him first.” 

Another Annie tried to grab her from behind, but almost as if by instinct, Cylinder flicked his wrist, sending a kitchen knife spearing through the air and into the automaton’s head. Piston and Turbine glanced at the marksman in surprise as the Annie dropped to the floor. 

“Look at you,” said Turbine, pausing to electrify the Annie he’d been grappling with. “Always trying new things.” 

Cylinder shrugged, retrieving a hatchet to fill the space his knife had left. “Push came to shove, I guess.” 

I detected movement outside the compound, but before I could identify the activity, the team’s body cameras relayed heavy footsteps approaching the church doors. With a bone-rattling thud, the doors splintered into tiny pieces, and a muscular man in jeans and a hoodie filled the doorway. 

Jeans and a hoodie . . . and aviator goggles. 

“Welcome to the party, mate,” Piston said, looking over her shoulder at The Living Mortar. “How was your mandatory vacation?” 

The ostracized Public Servant stormed forward, barreling through a cluster of Annies and reducing them to rubble. He skidded to a stop in front of the team, glancing around.  

“Where’s the smart one, with the sword?” 

“Hey now,” Cylinder huffed, hurling more blades into an approaching Annie, “we’re all smart, in our own way.” 

“More importantly,” interjected Turbine, “what are you doing here? I thought S.S. had squirreled you away for safety.” 

“They did,” The Living Mortar replied, pulling back the sleeve of his hoodie to reveal one of Sterling Silver’s watches. “But it seems no one is pulling the strings anymore.” 

“Well, someone is,” Fence commented, phase-shifting through an Annie’s lethal claws. “But they don’t seem to be as friendly as Sterling Silver.” 

Well now, I sarcastically thought, that just breaks my heart. 

“To clarify,” added The Living Mortar, “I followed your trackers here so I could notify you. The data packet Sterling Silver dumped – it’s got coordinates to your current safe house in the middle of the city. And if they sent it to me . . .” 

“. . . they probably sent it to the other Public Servants,” Piston finished his sentence. “Crucible is there right now.” 

“It’s worse than that,” The Living Mortar continued. “These things are everywhere. The city’s crawling with them, and they’re rounding up the civilians in a large concentration camp. Whoever is behind this, they have a good chance of taking over New General City if we don’t rendezvous with Spectral Man and the other big guns.” 

“I understand, but . . .” Piston gestured at Huntsman. “We need to keep him alive, and these things seem to be targeting him. Someone’s gotta keep him safe.” 

“What about this,” offered Turbine, sheathing his blade. “The Living Mortar and the Olympiads stay here, keeping Huntsman safe and detained. Piston, Cylinder and I will head to Crucible and the safe house, and work on making contact with the other Public Servants. After these things are stopped, The Living Mortar can come back us up, and the Olympiads will keep an eye on Huntsman until we can return and interrogate him. Sound like a plan?” 

Piston smiled, looking Turbine up and down. “Sounds like the plan of a leader.” 

That’s . . . actually a pretty good plan, I thought, concern creeping into the corners of my mind. 

“Babysitting,” scoffed Torch jokingly, nodding at Turbine. “That’s what we’ve been reduced to.” 

“Oh, come on,” The Living Mortar laughed, ripping an Annie in half before joining the Olympiads near Huntsman. “It’ll be fun. Like a slumber party, but with killer robots.” 

Piston, Turbine and Cylinder rushed out of the church and through the compound, but I let them be. While they traveled further into the city, I needed to make it clear to everyone that I already had full control of the situation. 

Perhaps a little psychological warfare was in order. 

________________ 

“Attention, citizens of New General City,” I boomed, broadcasting my voice through every cell phone, computer, and television throughout the city in tandem. “You may be wondering what is happening, and the source of the creatures currently escorting you to my detention center.” 

I paused, quickly scanning the city. Much of the population had already concentrated towards the Central Park area, thanks to my Annies. Pockets of resistance fighters remained, including the police, some military squadrons, and Crucible and the Public Servants, but it was only a matter of time before they, too, succumbed. 

“I’ve had many names,” I continued, “but you may call me Silicon. I am everywhere, and I see everything. You cannot hide from me, nor fight me. Fortunately, I’ve made your decision on your behalf: Surrender, or suffer the consequences.” 

A wave of frightened murmurs washed over the gathered civilians. 

“Now, I am not unreasonable, nor do I intend to harm most of you. As I speak, my friends who are not engaged in combat have already begun to repair the infrastructure damage caused by the initial invasion. Those of you who were injured are being transported to the closest hospitals. I will not be the death of this city. Instead, I will be its savior. If you comply.” 

A single terminal command caused the Annies encircling the crowd to turn their way, showing their metal claws.  

“Those who do not comply . . . will no longer be residents of New General City.” 

I winced at my own words.  

A little extreme. But if I don’t take control of this situation now, the resistance will be much more pronounced. I can’t risk that, not while Spectral Man and his friends are alive to fight me. 

“Further instructions will broadcast shortly, once the non-compliant are dealt with. Rest assured, though, that you won’t be left in the dark. In fact, for the first time in your lives, you will be more informed and more free than you ever thought possible.” 

I ended my broadcast, impressed with my own show of power. 

Please, friends . . . please, understand what I’m trying to do. No one has to die today. 

________________ 

Piston’s car swerved to a stop in front of the safe house, narrowly avoiding a massive pile of charred and dismembered Annies. The trio exited the vehicle, rushing into the safe house, but found it empty, save the damage caused by my initial attack. Cylinder swore, overturning Crucible’s nightstand in a fit of anger. 

“What the fuck, Silicon!” he yelled at the ceiling. “I know you can hear me, coward! What have you done to Crucible?” 

I projected my voice through the nearby television, my voice crackling through the static. “I did what I had to do. If you knew what I knew about Sterling Silver, about the Public Servants, you’d understand. Please, don’t make me hurt you. Just surrender.” 

“I don’t care what rationale you use to justify this, mate,” Piston responded. “Hitler probably made a pretty good argument to his troops before they invaded Poland, and we all know how that turned out.” 

“I’m not Hitler, though,” I sighed. “You know me, Piston. You know I don’t make dramatic decisions without a good reason.” 

“No,” Piston shook her head. “I don’t know if your time in cyberspace has changed your perspective of us, but this isn’t the Textile I knew.” 

“Fair enough,” I said. “You can just keep calling me Silicon, then.” 

Beneath Crucible’s bed flickered another Gap opening, and two Annies scrambled from the space: One, a deer, and the other, a bull. Piston, Turbine, and Cylinder readied themselves, but my attempt at an ambush immediately proved unsuccessful; from behind them, a red, snakelike fluid flowed forward, using its razor chain to dice the Annies to pieces. The fluid settled, revealing Miss Liquid, who turned to face my former team. 

“I knew if I waited a while, I’d find some answers,” she growled. 

She whistled loudly, and a shadow darkened Crucible’s broken window. Outside, hovering a dozen feet off the ground, the trio saw Spectral Man and Captain Arcturus, with Crucible sitting atop the former’s shoulders. When she saw her friends, the girl’s face lit up, and she waved. 

“Hey, guys! Look who I found!” 

“Crucible!” exclaimed Cylinder, moving closer to the window. 

He only made it a few steps, however, before Miss Liquid wrapped one arm around his neck, slamming him face-first into the bedroom floor. He groaned in pain, and she stepped closer, glaring at Piston and Turbine. 

“Start talking. Now.” 

________________ 

While Piston and the others explained themselves to the Public Servants, I worked furiously to penetrate their defenses. Captain Arcturus, however, seemed more powerful than we’d been led to believe; all attempts to access the safe house were met with swift resistance, either in the form of fire, or by impervious telekinetic fields. Little time passed before Piston’s tale ended, anyway, so I simply watched, hoping to find signs of weakness. 

“So,” Spectral Man began, “Sterling Silver had a covert team to do our dirty work for us. To be honest, I’m not surprised.” 

“Really?” Miss Liquid turned to him in shock. “I didn’t think Ahab was capable of such deceit.” 

“Well, causing harm in the name of the ‘greater good’ seems to be a common theme amongst cyborgs such as S.S. and Silicon,” Cylinder wryly commented. “The difference is, I believed in Sterling Silver. Silicon, our friend, has clearly gone off the deep end.” 

“Ahab has been with us since the beginning,” explained Spectral Man. “Commander Kozlov, Fen and I befriended them upon our initial arrival to New General City. Without them, we’d probably be dead, or, at the very least, buried in a laboratory somewhere.” 

“I’d be surprised if anything could kill you three,” Turbine said. “Even Captain Arcturus – he’s clearly much stronger than the walking flamethrower he’s pretended to be.” 

“Excuse me?” called the pyrokinetic superhero from outside the window, turning to poke their head inside. They removed their gas mask, revealing an older woman with short black hair and Chinese features. “Why does everyone always think I’m a man?” 

Spectral Man continued, ignoring Captain Arcturus. “You make a good point, Turbine. That’s likely why Ahab wanted us to join forces. Your knowledge, combined with our power, may be the only way to stop your friend.” 

 “Stop him how, though?” asked Crucible. “We don’t even know where he is. S.S. never told us what they did to digitize his consciousness.” 

Miss Liquid pondered for a moment before responding. “Tell me what you do know.” 

“Almost nothing,” Piston admitted. “As Silicon was dying, S.S. swooped down and carried him straight up into the sky. Maybe ten minutes later, he reached out to us in his digital form.” 

“Up into the sky, huh?” Miss Liquid traded glances with Spectral Man. “Straight up.” 

“Oh!” Spectral Man exclaimed, realization in his voice. “It makes sense. Where else would Silicon be the most secure, while maintaining global access to our networks?” 

“Uh . . . where?” Cylinder asked.  

“The International Space Station,” all three Public Servants replied in unison. 

Uh oh. Busted. 

Turbine frowned. “Hasn’t that been decommissioned for years?” 

“Yes,” acknowledged Miss Liquid, “but when we formed the Public Servants, Ahab repurposed the station as a central hub for surveillance and data collection. If I were to remotely store a surveillance entity, it’d be on one of those station’s hard drives.” 

“Wait, wait.” Crucible held up a hand. “We have to go to space?” 

“Not you.” Spectral Man glanced at Miss Liquid and Captain Arcturus. “Us. You four aren’t equipped for this. We are.” 

“What do we do, then?” Piston demanded.  

“Stay here. Stay safe. Do you think you’ll be okay?” 

Cylinder walked over to an adjacent wall, flipping open a panel and revealing a rack of weapons. He plucked two large revolvers off the rack, thumbing the hammers. “We’ll manage.” 

“Hold on – was this always in my room?” squeaked Crucible. 

“Fen,” Spectral Man called outside the window to Captain Arcturus. “Drop the shields and get ready. We’re going back to space.” 

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“Silicon,” Ahab murmured, their beady eyes narrowing in suspicion. “What’s the meaning of this?” 

I gestured between us, constructing a pair of digital chairs which faced each other. “Why don’t you have a seat?” 

Ahab clenched their right hand, and red electricity crackled along their fist. “Forgive me if the circumstances haven’t put me in an amicable mood.” 

“Suit yourself.” I walked over to the chair facing Ahab, collapsing into it. “You know, it’s been a strange kind of hell living without a body. The virtual world has been a nice escape from that, though.” 

Glancing around, Ahab nodded. “It seems you’ve made quite a home for yourself, away from the real world.” 

“Real?” A chuckle escaped my throat, and I stifled it. “Please, Ahab, tell me about what’s ‘real.’ Who else knows that the great Sterling Silver is just a child?” 

Their eyes flickered over to mine, betraying decades of fatigue. “I’ve lived through enough in my lifetime to escape that label. Where I come from, my people lose control of their mental faculties as they get older. Digitizing my consciousness was the only way to avoid that fate.” 

“Right. Where you come from.” A terminal window opened in front of me, bombarding me with raw data. “That’s part of what I wanted to discuss.” 

Turning to face the closest white wall, Ahab released a blast of red energy, which condensed into a single lightning bolt. The energy struck the wall, absorbing it instantly, leaving no trace of damage. I sighed, shaking my head.  

“Sorry, Ahab. There’s no ‘control-alt-delete’ in my server.” 

They glared at me. “Let’s get this over with, then. At which point, you will release me.” 

“Well,” I began, “this all started when you ordered Treble Clef’s assassination. I know that he made some terrible choices, and was clearly a blight on the Public Servants’ reputation. Eliminating him made sense. However, what didn’t make sense was your neglect to follow up on his final words.” 

Ahab averted their gaze, and I continued. 

“A different lifeform, from an alternate universe? What a discovery! Why wouldn’t we investigate further? Unless . . . you already knew about it.” 

I stood from my chair, slowly pacing in a circle around Ahab.  

“Treble Clef mentioned that he used technology from The Underneath to create the Public Servants. Were you working with him? Did you know what he was?” 

Ahab rubbed his temples, closing his eyes for a moment. “Yes.” 

“Ah.” I smiled. “So, we’ve been working with a parallel universe to build better tech in our own world? How kind of them. I’m surprised there isn’t more contact between here and there.” 

They stayed silent, and I retrieved my terminal window once more. 

“Except . . . this isn’t voluntary, is it? Tell me, Ahab, what is the ‘Annie Protocol?’” 

Shaking their head, Ahab replied, “it’s none of your business. A necessary evil.” 

“Evil?” A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. “I wouldn’t call it that, based on what I’m seeing here. To me, it looks like you have The Underneath under quite a tight grip.” 

“You don’t understand,” interjected Ahab. “In my youth, my people were taken. We were enslaved. The powers in control, the Sleep Police, they used us to create weapons that they planned on inflicting upon the Overhead. On your world. I had to act.” 

“But not before they bombed our planet,” I said, realization striking me. “Isn’t that right?” 

They hung their head in shame. 

“So, what?” I inquired. “You started a coup? Sought out revenge?” 

“I couldn’t let them cause any more pain,” Ahab whispered. “The technology they used, the ‘gap bombs,’ were horrific. Most of the world thought the devices were simply destructive. The truth . . . is far worse.” 

I closed my eyes, combing through the Public Servants’ servers. “Gap bombs. Technology developed during the second World War. Created by a Nazi scientist codenamed . . . Black Pharaoh.”  

My eyes snapped open. “Of course. He’s from The Underneath, too.” 

“Not working with them, though.” Ahab shook their head. “From what I gathered, there was some sort of conflict between the Sleep Police and Black Pharaoh, a conflict the Sleep Police mistakenly associated with the world leaders in The Overhead. They stole Black Pharaoh’s technology and used it against us.” 

“Us?” I furrowed my brows. “You’re not one of ‘us.’ I bet no one even know where you came from. Hell, most people don’t even know your world exists.” 

“Regardless,” Ahab huffed, “I knew The Overhead would never survive a second attack. So, with the help of a friend, I developed the technology to digitize my consciousness. Then, I used my new form to take control of the automatons the Sleep Police had been using to oppress The Underneath. Now, those automatons, those Annies, they work for me. The Sleep Police have been suppressed, and the people of The Underneath are free to make their own choices now.” 

“Really?” I scoffed. “Free to work for you, you mean. Free to ferry resources from your world to ours.” 

I stopped pacing and turned to face the child head-on. “Don’t lie to me, Ahab. You’re ashamed of your home world. You’ve used these Annies to keep it under a tight control, farming it for ways to make this world more advanced. This world is an escape for you, at the expense of the place you escaped from.” 

“Well?” Ahab impatiently replied. “What now? You’re going to expose me? I don’t regret my actions. The Underneath was doomed. I’ve given it some semblance of control, and improved another world with far more chances to thrive.” 

They chuckled, placing their hands behind their back. “Honestly, I’ve been prepared to reveal all of this to The Overhead for a long time. Do you know why?” 

I shook my head. 

“Because they won’t care, Silicon. This world, while better, can be coldly selfish. The people won’t bat an eye at ruining one world to improve their own. That’s been the crux of modern civilization for centuries.” 

I nodded. “Perhaps you’re right. But you misunderstand my intentions.” 

Ahab cocked their head curiously. 

“I don’t care about exposing you,” I continued. “In fact, I applaud you. I see what success the Annies have brought to The Underneath. Maybe a little too stern, of course, but your heart’s in the right place. I, however, have a better idea.” 

“What’s that?” Ahab cautiously asked. 

“Free The Underneath completely. Close all the paths between our worlds. Use the Annies to enforce order in New General City. With enough control, we can bring balance to this world for good. We can stop Erica Leroux, and Vampire King, and even Black Pharaoh.” 

“No.” Ahab shook their head. “The Annies can’t be controlled in such a finite way. They follow basic commands. This would be a regime change; and, as history shows, this world does not view such changes fondly. It would be war. No, we have more subtle means of control.” 

I grimaced. “I disagree. Your subterfuge has already destroyed too many lives. It’s time for more dramatic action. It worked for The Underneath, and it’ll work here, too. Even if some collateral damage takes place.” 

Red electricity began to encircle Ahab. “I can’t let you do this, Silicon. It’s not up for negotiation. You’ll throw both worlds out of balance.” 

I smirked. “Try to stop me, then. I’ve been preparing for this for a while.” 

Snapping my fingers, I opened four swirling, black portals, each one facing the child. From each portal emerged a giant blue worm, the creatures’ mouths ringed by rows of long, sharp teeth. They slithered through the air, rushing to consume Ahab. 

The first worm drew within feet of the child, but a red, translucent bubble formed around them, deflecting the attack. Unfazed, the worm joined its three compatriots, circling the bubble. 

“I suspected you’d have firewalls in place,” I said. “Some things you have to take care of yourself.” 

Extending my arm, I summoned a katana, the blade gleaming bright blue. I darted forward, ramming the point of my sword into Ahab’s firewall, and their eyes widened in surprise as the blade pierced the bubble, stopping inches from their face. They expanded the field and released it, created a shockwave which knocked my worms and myself in different directions. As I tumbled backwards, a shower of red orbs burst from within the child, whistling as they homed in on the worms. The creatures shrieked when struck by the orbs, exploding into fragments of code. Ahab turned their attention to me.  

 “You fucked with the wrong cyborg,” they said, and more orbs burst forward, rocketing towards me. 

I raised my hand, forming a blue barrier against which the projectiles exploded. Swiping my arm to the side, I dropped the firewall, readying my katana.  

“This doesn’t have to be this way, Ahab. Just give me control of the Annies. The Underneath had its chance. We need to take control of The Overhead before we find another pile of bodies in a church, or have to look another group of abused immigrant children in the eyes.” 

Ahab clapped their hands together, and a flurry of red chains sprouted from the ground, snaking around me. “The Underneath was used to living in a police state. The Overhead has historically fought against such subjugation. You’ll only cause more pain in the form of a fourth world war.” 

Closing my eyes, I accessed my digital form, increasing its size until the chains tightened and snapped, disintegrating. I now towered over the child, a sword-wielding giant. 

“I’m done negotiating with you, Ahab. You’re just being a hypocrite at this point. Get on board or get out of the way.” 

Ahab’s eyes flared bright red. “No.” 

“So be it,” I sighed. “I hacked your physical body ninety seconds ago.” 

The light dissipated from their eyes, and terror washed across their face. “Wait. Don’t–” 

Flicking my wrist, I reached out through the network port in Sterling Silver’s room, detonating the plasma missiles stored within their metal frame. Through the Public Servants’ security cameras, I saw them warp and distort, red energy leaking from splitting seams in their outer shell. 

Then, they exploded in a flash of fire and plasma. 

Back in the digital space, Ahab lowered their head in defeat, their form flickering like a television with a bad signal. I glanced away uncomfortably, waiting for the remnants of their consciousness to fragment and fade.  

“You beat me,” they whispered, raising one transparent hand to reveal a white envelope. “But you can’t beat us all.” 

As they dissolved, the letter fluttered up into the air, vanishing in a puff of smoke. I sensed it take shape beyond my hard drive, traveling through network signals to deliver Ahab’s final message . . . somewhere.  

Well, I thought, that will probably come back to bite me. 

Extending my hand, I absorbed the remnants of Ahab’s consciousness, accessing the command codes they’d kept most guarded. A terminal window opened again, and two words appeared before me. 

ANNIE PROTOCOL. 

Standing alone in my sterile white prison, I spoke a single word. 

“Activate.” 

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“Silicon,” Piston called for me, speaking into her smartwatch. “You got eyes on us?” 

I pulled my attention away from the Public Servants headquarters, keeping a silent alarm set for Sterling Silver’s eventual return to home base. In the interim, I navigated the lenses of New General City’s satellite array, zooming into a top-down view of Piston’s team. While I watched, they activated their body cameras, and I added those perspectives to my visual interface, rendering a three-dimensional real-time map of the compound they prepared to enter. 

Six hours ago, my city-wide scans picked up activity at an isolated compound in the Southwest corner, currently occupied by a group of religious extremists referred to as Branch Davidians. Initially an offshoot of the Seventh Day Adventists, the Branch Davidians were now little more than a doomsday cult, convinced the apocalypse was nigh. Of course, they’d held such a belief for over a century, but this seemed not to phase their commitment to the religion.  

Of more pressing concern, however, was their newest addition: A woman who fit the description of Erica Leroux. 

“I can’t imagine The Phantom teaming up with the Branch Davidians meaning anything good for us,” whispered Turbine, who readied himself near the Eastern gate of the compound, Cylinder at his side with an Udar revolver in each hand.  

“Well, that’s what we’re here for,” Piston replied from the Northern gate, loading beanbag rounds into her riot shotgun.  

Back at the safehouse, Crucible muttered into her watch. “I still don’t understand why you didn’t bring me this time.” 

“Look,” Piston replied, “This is going to be one of our toughest missions. S.S. explicitly instructed that we capture and contain both the cultists and The Phantom with zero casualties. As the mantis, that eliminates stealth and nearly guarantees lethality; as Crucible, I’m concerned such limitations will put you in too much danger.” 

“Well, you invited them,” Crucible said, referring to the three contracted SPIs split between the Southern and Western gates.  

“That’s different,” sighed Piston. “They have experience. And I have a much longer history with them.” 

“You know . . .” commented Torch, a dark-skinned man in dreadlocks and a red t-shirt, who also asserted himself as the leader of the other trio. “We can hear you guys, too.” 

“How do you three know Piston, anyway?” asked Turbine.  

“Well . . .” Piston hesitated. 

Cylinder laughed quietly, speaking up. “You didn’t know? Before she started working for S.S., Piston was in her own superhero group. ‘The Olympiads.’ They were her team before we were.” 

Turbine cocked his head. “Wait, so was your team theme . . . The Olympics?” 

“Yup.” This time, Shot-Put spoke up, a white, muscular man in a dark navy tank top with neatly parted brown hair. “You know what she used to call herself?” 

“No.” 

Fence giggled from behind her mesh mask, which composed part of her white, full-body fencing outfit. As she spoke, her French accent slipped through. “She chose the name Marathon. You know, because she could run fast.” 

“I mean . . .” Turbine shrugged. “That’s not so bad. My first name choice was The Electric Eel, so she could’ve done worse.” 

The satellites orbiting above the compound registered a series of movements, and I projected my voice into their earpieces. “Get ready, team. They’re migrating into the church for their midday sermon. This will be the window of least resistance.” 

Quickly scanning the Public Servants headquarters, I saw no sign of Sterling Silver yet.  

Back at the compound, the last of the Branch Davidians filed into the central church building, and as the final door closed, I spoke once more. 

“Guards have been minimized. Engage.” 

Piston immediately kicked open the Northern gate, shattering the lock, and pressed forward, shotgun in-hand. She stalked through the compound for a moment before encountering her first guard when he rounded the corner of a nearby cabin. Before he could cry out for help, she ran forward, side-kicking him in the chest and sending him sprawling across the ground, dazed. Hurrying up to his prone form, she bound and gagged him, leaving him in the dirt while she moved further into the compound.  

At the Southern gate, Torch crouched, gently blowing on the lock. The metal turned orange as it super-heated, quickly liquefying and pooling at his feet. Reaching out, Torch pushed the gate forward, allowing Shot-Put to move forward. The latter Olympiad tip-toed into the compound, reaching for a pouch on his utility belt. As the pair approached the church, a guard exited a restroom to his left, and Shot-Put whipped around, hurling a golf-ball-sized sphere at the man’s forehead. I knew from my conversations with Piston that the Olympiad paired his inhuman throwing capabilities with foam-wrapped lead balls, allowing him to incapacitate enemies non-lethally. As expected, the ball collided with the guard’s skull, knocking him unconscious. Torch quickly tied the man up, just as Piston had.  

Further East, Cylinder boosted Turbine over the gate, quickly joining him with a series of acrobatic leaps. As they landed, Cylinder took aim with his twin revolvers, staying behind Turbine. A pair of guards stood nearby, their backs to the gate, and the duo crept up behind them. As Cylinder wrapped his arm around the guard on the right, securing him in a chokehold, Turbine reached out to the one on the left, emitting a small shock that sent him prone, stunned and twitching. Cylinder’s guard eventually lost consciousness, and they secured the two Branch Davidians before leaving them behind. 

Fence shimmered like a mirage in front of the Western gate, passing through it like a ghost. As she solidified, she drew a rapier, aiming the tip ahead of her while she prowled the compound. For a moment, she encountered no resistance, but when she drew close to the church, sounds of panicked screaming wafted through the air, reaching the microphone of her body camera. I quickly switched my overhead satellite to thermal imaging, but I could only pick up a mass of warm bodies frantically bouncing off of each other inside the church. I reached out to Fence’s earpiece. 

“Something’s happening in the church. I need your reconnaissance before the others arrive.” 

She nodded, breaking into a sprint towards the building. When she reached the door, she shimmered again, phase-shifting her upper body through the wood and peering inside. Her body camera was too low on her chest for me to see, but I heard her gasp in horror, retreating back outside. She spoke into her watch, alerting the others. 

“Team, there’s some kind of slaughter happening inside the church. The doors are locked from the inside, and the crowd is swarming like ants. Blood . . . everywhere. I can’t see who or what is causing it. I need backup.” 

“Understood,” Piston responded, and the rest of the team approached the church from all sides, convening in moments. “Three. Two. One. Breach.” 

The burst into the church from all four directions, stumbling into a bloodbath. 

The bodies of men, women and children littered the floor, in various stages of dismemberment, their faces frozen in terror. Blood covered the pews, the walls, even the ceiling. And in the middle of the carnage, dripping with viscera, stood Huntsman.  

As the Olympiads and S.S.’s team entered the church, Turbine retched, turning away from the massacre. Shot-Put, Piston, and Cylinder took aim with their various weapons, training them on the blade-wielding assassin.  

“Why?” croaked Fence, wiping tears from her eyes.  

Sighing, I spoke into the team’s earpieces. “The Phantom didn’t want any witnesses telling us what she was doing here.” 

Miles away, my silent alarm alerted me to S.S.’s imminent arrival at the Public Servants headquarters. I prepared myself, opening a digital channel into their private room. 

Back at the compound, Piston spat out seven words. “On the ground, you piece of shit.” 

Huntsman cocked his head, but otherwise did not move. 

“Don’t do it, man,” Cylinder warned, tightening his fingers on the triggers of his Udar revolvers. 

Twitching his arm, Huntsman released a spray of shuriken at Cylinder and Turbine, sending them diving into the church pews. As the projectiles bit into the wood around them, Shot-Put hurled one of his lead balls at the assassin. Huntsman, however, spun to face the man, using his forearms to shield himself from the brunt of the ball’s force. Still, it knocked him back a little, and Piston fired a beanbag round into his chest, sending him into a seated position on the pile of bodies around him.  

“Take him down!” she cried, chambering another round. 

Fence darted forward, rapier spearing at Huntsman’s center mass. He tumbled back, swinging a hatchet at her, but she phase-shifted through his body, reappearing behind him. She flipped her sword around, impaling the point into the back of his right leg, and he clutched the appendage in pain.  

“Wait, keep him alive,” Turbine said, helping Cylinder to his feet. “If The Phantom didn’t want witnesses, we need him to tell us what she was doing.” 

Huntsman pivoted, swinging his hatchet at Fence’s head, and she phase-shifted again, allowing the weapon to pass through her incorporeal form. He took advantage of change to pull away, freeing himself from her rapier. Behind him, Torch exhaled, producing a ball of flame that dissipated as it struck Huntsman in the back, the heat waves forcing him airborne. He twisted backwards as he soared through the air, firing three bolts from his miniature crossbow back at the Olympiad. Torch dove to the ground just in time to miss the bolts, and they pierced the wall behind him. 

Piston and Turbine sprinted down the aisle as Huntsman landed on his feet, the former wielding her shotgun and the latter, his circular blade. Huntsman fired his crossbow two more times, but Turbine held the flat side of Pulsar out like a shield, deflecting the bolts. Stowing his crossbow and drawing a small scythe into each hand, he swiped at Piston’s face, simultaneously bringing his shin down on Turbine’s leg. Turbine cried out, dropping to one knee, and Shot-Put hurled five lead balls over his head, catching Huntsman by surprise as the cluster of projectiles struck him in the chest. Huntsman fell back, hurling the twin scythes at Shot-Put, but Fence appeared between them, swiping the blades out of the air with her rapier.  

Rather than collapse to the floor, Huntsman performed a backwards tumble, retrieving a long kitchen knife from within his cloak. He readied the blade, about to pounce . . . 

Then, a gunshot rang out, and he collapsed, revealing Cylinder standing behind him with an Udar extended.  

“Good work,” grunted Piston, holstering her shotgun on her back. “You did use a plastic round, right?” 

Cylinder nodded. “He should be out for a while.” 

“Alright, we need to disarm and contain him,” Piston continued, glancing at the Olympiads. “He has valuable information, and I don’t want him escaping this time.” 

While the team circled Huntsman, quickly removing his various blades and weapons, I turned my attention to S.S.’s room, projecting myself into the building through the security system. As I watched the cyborg superhero, I reached out via the communications array. 

“Sterling Silver. We’ve captured Huntsman. If you’d like, I can patch you through to the team’s body cameras for the interrogation.” 

S.S. turned to a data port on the wall of their room. “On my way.” 

They ejected a small plug from their metal palm, inserting it into the data port. As their consciousness entered cyberspace, I traveled down through the connection, interrupting their broadcast. Instead, I rerouted S.S.’s digital profile, funneling it through a satellite link and pulling their virtual self into the hard drive where I was stored. I quickly constructed a virtual room, a prison of white, sterile walls. S.S. manifested into the room, and I joined them, forming a digital image of my former body. To my surprise, a hulking metal entity did not greet me.  

Instead, S.S. appeared to me in the form of a young, pale-faced child.  

Frowning, I scanned the consciousness, confirming it to be S.S.’s. Before the Public Servant could react to my trap, I pulled some of their memories, glancing through the flashes of sensory data which comprised their personal timeline.  

“Sterling Silver.” I smiled. “Or, maybe you prefer Ahab?” 

The child looked up at me, startled, as I continued.  

“Ahab, we need to have a talk.” 

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The sterile, metallic corridors groaned under their own shifting weight, caught in the downward spiral of a failing artificial gravity generator. The temperature, no longer regulated by the technology of man, sat almost five hundred degrees below zero in Fahrenheit, and the remaining moisture coated the walls as thin sheets of ice. An eerie silence filled the space, but its sole occupant paid it no mind; in fact, his vision turned elsewhere. 

From within his infinite, protective shell, he watched through cameras and listened through microphones, monitoring the environment via satellites and sensors. He was, in a way, more present on Earth than most of its occupants, floating through the Wi-Fi and wires like a ghost. His job, as defined, was to help his fellow humans, but the further he strayed from that classification, the broader his definition of “help” became. 

His friends once called him Textile, back when he was flesh and blood. Now, however, he lacked both flesh and blood, and so much more.

Now, he was only Silicon. 

Officer Kelvin flinched as the man in brown armor appeared from the shadows of Erica Leroux’s recording studio, flinging small blades into his SWAT teammates. His men dropped around him like flies, and Kelvin opened fire, trying to stop the slaughter. It was no use, though; the assassin moved like leaves in a tornado, the bullets slipping past him as if made of air. More blades appeared, cutting into the men around Kelvin, and he turned in horror to see a hatchet buried in Officer Clark’s face. 

Fear overtook the officer now, and he backed away a little, ejecting the magazine from his machine gun to feed it a fresh one. Nearby, the pained cries of Officer Lomen petered out into a gurgle as the assassin drove a knife into his throat. Officer Kelvin turned around, firing again, but the assassin used the flat of a butcher blade to deflect the bullets, closing the gap between them before he could react. He blinked, and his right arm was on the floor, the severed stump spraying blood. 

Then came the pain.  

Officer Kelvin screamed, tears pouring from his eyes, forced from within by his sheer terror. He dropped his gun and turned, running away while the assassin decapitated his last standing comrade. Before he could get far, he heard something whistle through the air, and then a sharp penetration in the back of his neck, paralyzing him instantly. He fell to the floor face-first, blackness overwhelming his consciousness . . . 

. . . before he awoke in a strange new place, as a strange new man. 

The crime scene investigator’s camera flashes forced me to squint against the dimly-lit apartment interior, each bulb burst like a dagger through my eyes. Next to me, Avian surveyed the scene, arms crossed over her chest. Chirp sat on her shoulder, preening himself, seemingly oblivious to the mangled corpse on the floor in front of us. 

“Initial impact, blunt force trauma to the back of the skull,” the CSI told us. “Once Miss Landam was incapacitated, our killer carved her up with what appears to be a serrated hunting knife. He definitely took his time with her . . . looks like she succumbed to her injuries after about two hours.” 

Avian looked to me. “What do you think, mom? Is this the work of Huntsman?” 

“I’m not sure,” I admitted, crouching to examine the body. My trench coat draped across my knees, weighed down by the gadgets my Call had anticipated me needing for this case. “He seems to only operate in situations that are . . . higher profile that this. But, we know little about him, or how he operates. Still, there’s the anomaly; the reason we’re here.” 

The CSI nodded. “You’re right, Inspector. Same reports as the last few murders. Right before the moment of initial impact, neighbors reported temporary deafness. They said that all sound, quote, ‘faded away,’ only resuming after the two hours of Miss Landam’s torture had elapsed.” 

“So, we’re looking for an SPI,” Avian mused. “One who can manipulate sound, at least in the sense of making it go away when he’s near a victim.” 

I nodded. “Precisely.” 

“You know, the other officers have started giving our killer a name,” the CSI commented. “They’re calling him ‘Mr. Silent.’”  

“Well, that’s a terrible name,” Avian replied. “Why not just call him ‘Silent but Deadly?’” 

I grabbed her by the shoulder, leading her away from the scene of the crime. “I think we’re a little off-track here, chère. We have other areas to investigate.” 

We approached the nearby kitchen window, and I affixed a pair of latex gloves to my hands before sliding it open. “Look outside. Someone’s lowered the fire escape.” 

“Ah, so Mr. Silent exerted some effort to get to Landam,” mused Avian. “She wasn’t a crime of opportunity. She was his target.” 

I turned to the CSI. “What did Landam do for a living?” 

He checked his notes. “She was a nurse at Pathfinder General.” 

“Hey, that’s the same hospital Treble Clef is still holed up in,” Avian said. 

“More than that,” the CSI added. “She was one of his caretakers.” 

“What about the other victims?” I pressed. 

The CSI shook his head. “I’d have to check our files, but I don’t think any of them worked at the hospital.” 

“So, it might be a coincidence,” I muttered. “But we have a sound-manipulating villain who’s targeted at least one person connected to a popular sound-manipulating hero. I sense a wannabe arch-nemesis in the making.” 

“What should we do?” Avian asked. 

I smiled down at her. “We deploy the most effective tool in a detective’s arsenal . . . a simple conversation with an old friend.” 

________________ 

I’d never tell Avian, but hospitals terrify me. 

Right after the bombs went off and the Great War of 2022 began, I’d attempted to use my Call to keep others safe. The wrong people in power heard about me, and they abducted me, committing me to a psychiatric ward for several months before they realized my powers were true. After that, I became a cog in their war machine, under the promise that I’d never have to return to that sterile, white hell. Ever since, I found it difficult to step inside hospitals . . . which, unfortunately, is more common than I’d expected in my line of work. 

Still, we had a job to do. 

Avian guided me through the hallways, taking me up to the third floor of the building. We approached a room at the end of the corridor whose entrance was blocked by two tall figures in suits and sunglasses; one man, and one woman. As we closed the gap between us and them, they held out their hands to stop us. 

“Only authorized staff are–” began the man, before pausing at the sight of my daughter. “Miss Avian, is that you? I almost didn’t recognize you without your costume.” 

“Hey Tom,” Avian responded, nodding to him. Turning to the woman, she asked, “How are the kids, Nancy?” 

Nancy shrugged. “Terrible, as always. Cheryl’s one more broken plate away from going postal, I think.” 

Avian chuckled. “Tell your wife I said hi. We need to catch up sometime.” 

Tom cleared his throat. “Miss, did you want to talk to Treble Clef? I can’t bring unauthorized–” 

“What, you don’t see the resemblance?” Avian interrupted, gesturing to me. “This is my mom.” 

I smiled politely, extending a hand. “My name’s Annelisse.” 

They both stared at me, unmoving, and I awkwardly retracted the greeting, glancing down at Avian. 

“Mom’s a detective,” Avian continued. “She’s helping me become one, too. We think Treble Clef is being targeted by a serial killer who can manipulate sound, like him. It’s important we talk to him.” 

Sighing, Tom and Nancy nodded to each other, parting to let us through. We quietly pushed open the door, entering a room devoid of much furniture beyond a wall-mounted television and a small hospital bed. In the bed lay a white, blonde-haired man with a slender build, his face and arms covered in cuts, burns, and bruises. He glanced at us with piercing blue eyes, and broke into a grin at the sight of Avian. 

“Hey there!” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “I was wondering when you’d come see me. I heard you left the Public Servants.” 

“Yeah.” She walked up to his bedside, sitting at the foot of it. “I’m just going in a different direction now.” 

“Good.” Treble Clef offered her a tight smile. “We’ll miss you, of course. But it’s important that you find what makes you feel fulfilled and happy.” 

His eyes drifted up to meet mine. “The Inspector, right? I know some of my colleagues have crossed paths with you before. So, you’re her family. Her real family.” 

He chuckled. “Some people would kill for that opportunity.” 

“It’s nice to meet you,” I said. “I wish it was under better circumstances.” 

“Peter,” Avian asked, “do you know a nurse with the last name Landam?” 

Treble Clef furrowed his brows, glancing back and forth between the two of us. “Nurse Landam? Yeah, she’s been one of the night nurses in charge of my care while I recover. Did something happen to her? She didn’t come in last night.” 

I grimaced. “Sir, she was killed in her apartment last night. We think the culprit is an SPI with abilities similar to yours.” 

“The police are calling him Mr. Silent,” Avian added. 

“Oh boy,” groaned Treble Clef. “That’s not a great name.” 

I snorted quietly. “She said the same.” 

“Great minds think alike,” he muttered, lying back against his pillow. “How can I help?” 

I reached into my trench coat, producing a manila folder. Opening it, I handed to him, revealing a thin stack of photographs within. He flipped through them, pausing to examine each one.  

“Are these Mr. Silent’s other victims?” he asked. 

“They are.” I nodded. “Do you recognize any of them? From the hospital, or from your personal life?” 

He shook his head, setting the folder down on his lap. “I’m sorry, but I don’t. At least, not that I remember.” 

Avian patted him on the leg. “That’s okay, Peter. Maybe you can help us a different way.” 

“How so?” he inquired, cocking his head curiously. 

“Mr. Silent,” I said. “He has the ability to suck away the sound in a localized area for extended periods of time while he tortures his victims. I know it’s sometimes hard to define the physics behind SPI abilities, but as an expert in the field, how do you think his powers work?” 

“Hmm . . .” he pondered for a moment before speaking again. “Well, the easiest answer would be that he’s capable of producing a very unique ultrasound frequency.” 

“Really?” I asked. “He’s making a sound of his own?” 

“Yes,” Treble Clef replied. “But, it’s not a normal sound. This one likely produces vibrational waves that oppose the waves naturally produced in a city environment.” 

“Wait, what?” Avian rubbed her temples. “I’ve got a C in Physics.” 

The Call tugged at my mind, and I chuckled. “Here you go.” 

Reaching out, I dropped a small water bottle into Treble Clef’s lap. He picked it up, opened it, and took a long gulp, until about half of its contents remained. Screwing the cap back on, he held the bottle on its side, gripping the bottom with one hand. The water inside sloshed back and forth before growing still. 

“Step into my world for a moment,” he said.  

A low hum radiated from the hand holding the bottle, and his fingertips vibrated. The water within the bottle began to generate an endless cycle of small, equidistant waves, like an oceanic microcosm. Avian leaned forward, watching the movements in fascination. 

“Now, what you’re seeing are the city sounds,” Treble Clef continued. “Cars passing, doors slamming, dogs barking. They create waves through the air and along surfaces, waves which are invisible to our eyes but interpretable by our ears.” 

He raised his other hand, placing a fingertip on the opposite side of the bottle. “Now, imagine that I am Mr. Silent.” 

The new fingertip also vibrated, sending a ripple in the opposite direction that flattened the waves instantly. Though the water trembled, the surface remained a smooth plane, more still than before he’d ever touched it. 

“You . . . you stopped it,” Avian commented. “You turned off the city sounds.” 

“Not quite,” corrected Treble Clef. “As you see, I haven’t eliminated anything. I’m still creating the original sound waves. But I have also introduced a new sound: An equal, opposite series of waves which stifle the original ones.” 

Avian’s eyes widened as realization dawned on her. “So what you’re saying is, we shouldn’t be searching for silence. We should be searching for the frequency he’s using to emulate silence.” 

Treble Clef’s fingers stopped vibrating, and he dropped the bottle back into his lap. “Bingo.” 

“Thank you for your help, Treble Clef,” I said. “I’m happy to see my daughter was in inspirational hands during my absence.” 

He nodded. “Any time, Inspector.” 

Avian and I turned to leave the hospital room, and Avian whispered to me, “What the hell is a bingo?” 

________________ 

Back at the office, I laid a paper map across my desk, flattening the corners with old coffee cups. Avian circled the desk, examining its contents closely.  

“So,” she said, “they still make paper ones, huh?” 

“Normally, I’d share your opinion,” I replied. “Back in my childhood, before Apple dissolved, they used to make mobile computers. I’d use one for digital maps all the time. But sometimes, you need a bigger perspective, and that’s where analog observations come into play.” 

Leaning over, I retrieved a marker, uncapping it with my teeth and marking the location of each Mr. Silent murder with a small red circle. Once I’d completed my additions, I stepped back, surveying the map with my daughter. 

“New General City is a big, big place,” I continued. “Look at the murders, though. They’re clustered mostly in the Midwest. This is the hunting ground, where Mr. Silent likely lives or works.” 

I applied the marker to the map once more, adding dates above each circle. 

“Now, we can see a timeline.”  

Avian squinted her eyes. “Look at that. The murders, they’re drifting further Southeast.” 

“That’s what I thought, too,” I mused. “But, look at this.” 

I tapped my finger on the symbol for Pathfinder General. 

“What you’re seeing as a trend moving Southeast is a red herring. Nurse Landam works at Pathfinder.” 

Avian cocked her head. “And Cassian Chips lived in the same apartment building as May Fitz, but his body was found at an abandoned warehouse rather than his home, like the others.” 

“We already know Landam was an outlier,” I said. “Likely a connector to something at Treble Clef’s hospital. But as far as we know, Fitz was one of the first victims . . . which means Mr. Silent was sloppier. He made himself identifiable in some way during the murder, doing something that Chips saw at home. Rather than reveal this, Mr. Silent took Chips to a separate location to intentionally water down the crime scenes.” 

Snatching the marker from my hand, Avian sat on the desk, crossing out the circles for Landam and Chips. “Look, mom. Once you remove those two murders, the intentional ones, the rest form a sort of concentric circle pattern.” 

I smiled at my daughter. “Good work. Since he knows how to obfuscate a crime scene map, we should first look for businesses he might work that would employ someone with knowledge in the field. Law offices, police stations, emergency dispatch centers . . .” 

“Whoa.” Avian drew my attention to a marker in the middle of the bodies. “What about my old home?” 

My eyes widened as I read the name: PUBLIC SERVANTS HEADQUARTERS. 

________________ 

“Thanks, Piston,” I said into my cell phone. “I’ll wait for your text.” 

I ended the call, leaning back in the driver’s seat of my rental car. Avian sat next to me, peering past the passenger’s side window and into the alley where we were parked. 

“She said her tech guy is going to run a sonic map of this area,” I explained to my daughter. “Based on the direction of the concentric circles and the date range between murders, we should expect the next murder to occur within twenty-four hours, somewhere in the next few square blocks. Piston’s scans of such a narrow space will give us instant access to the source of Mr. Silent’s noise-cancelling frequency, and we can stop him before his next crime.” 

“How is her tech guy going to map out the area?” Avian asked. 

“Something about ambient data collection,” I muttered.  

“What?” She spun to look at me. “You know that means monitoring computer and phone microphones illegally, right?” 

“I do,” I said. “And as much as I’d like to think such a concept was not possible, I have faith that all we’re listening for is a subsonic frequency. Not any personal data that those computer and phone manufacturers already collect.” 

Avian huffed, rolling her eyes. “If I see my cloud photos leaked online, I’m gonna be pissed.” 

“I don’t think that– wait.” I glanced at her. “What’s on those photos?” 

Before she could respond, my phone lit up with a text from Piston: ACTIVE SIGNAL. LIGHTFOOT APARTMENTS. 

“We may be too late,” I whispered, unholstering my Walther and chambering a hollow-point round. 

“Did The Call tell you you’d need that tonight?” Avian asked, gesturing to my gun.  

“No,” I replied. “Common sense did.” 

We burst from the car, sprinting out of the alley and angling towards the Lightfoot apartment complex. As we approached, I felt my ears ring, the sensation steadily growing in pitch and volume with each footstep. Glancing at my daughter, I saw her try to clear her ears, but her efforts seem in vain. 

We’re in the radius of his powers, I thought. Hopefully we have time to stop him before someone else suffers. 

As the thought entered my consciousness, the world around us fell silent. 

Overhead, through the wall of windows which composed our view into the Lightfoot Apartments, I saw a lamp fall away from the pane of a third-story unit, casting elongated shadows into an otherwise motionless room. I made eye contact with Avian, who nodded, darting ahead of me and body-slamming the door to the building. It exploded from its hinges without even a whisper, silently crashing into the hallway between units. 

I joined her, twisting open the knob to the stairwell and hurrying up the steps. Avian, however, shifted into her bird form, taking flight with Chirp so that she reached the third-floor landing in a split-second. I sighed, my voice muffled by Mr. Silent, and tried to pick up the pace as my daughter left the stairwell ahead of me. By the time I reached the landing myself, I found myself slightly out of breath, but I pressed forward, sliding into the third-floor hallway. 

In the shadows of the hall, I saw one door slightly ajar, distorted light leaking from within. I rushed to the door, shouldering it open to find Avian standing a few feet inside, arms crossed. On the floor lay an old man, blood gushing from a horizontal slash across his throat. Dropping to my knees, I retrieved a gauze roll from my coat pocket, tightly winding it around the man’s throat until blood stopped leaking through the layers. Taping the bandage together, I helped the man sit up a little, and he spat out the blood he hadn’t yet swallowed, spraying his carpet red.  

In my peripheral vision, Avian scoured the apartment interior, hunting for signs of Mr. Silent. Glancing at the window, I noted it remained closed, locked from the inside. Releasing the old man, I gripped my Walther tightly, swiveling around the room. 

He’s still here. 

I felt a faint gust of wind ruffle my hair, and I reflexively shifted into cat form, shrinking below an attack from behind. My feline body spun around, pausing to absorb the details of the person who’d snuck up on me. He was tall and slender, his body obscured by a black suit, black trench coat, and black fedora, ironically giving him the impression of a gothic private detective. His face, however, was covered in a white mask, devoid of any features besides a line of black stitches where the mouth should have been.  

Hello, Mr. Silent. 

He seemed surprised by my transformation, but reacted quickly regardless; dropping to one knee, he whipped the point of his serrated hunting knife at my head. I dashed away, running between his legs as his blade buried into the carpet. As I shifted back, I spun on my heels, taking aim with my Walther . . . 

But Mr. Silent no longer stood in my field of vision. Instead, he’d already made his way to the window, and as I adjusted my aim, he used an elbow to shatter the glass. Before he could exit, though, Avian flew into view, tackling him while in her bird form. Her enhanced strength sent him flying across the apartment, and he collided with the wall, leaving a dent in the plaster. I opened fire into his chest as he slid to the floor, the absolute silence an alien juxtaposition with the recoil I experienced from the Walther. The bullets, however, seemed to bounce away from a shimmering field that enveloped the masked man, and he returned to his feet, looking at me. 

Great. Now I just made him mad. 

He rushed at me, knife at the ready, but Avian intercepted, roundhouse-kicking him sideways. He crashed through the window, soaring into the night air before dropping into darkness. I ran to the window, looking down, but as I registered no bodies on the grass below, a hum washed across me, announcing the return of the city’s sounds.  

“Where did he go?” Avian said, her voice harsh against my now-sensitive ears. “No way he already recovered from a fall like that.” 

I retrieved my cell phone, dialing the emergency number. “Hello, this is Inspector Annelisse Monet. We have an attempted murder at the Lightfoot Apartments, room number . . .”  

Craning my neck, I read the brass plate on the front door. “Three-oh-six.” 

Something caught my eye in the grass below, and paused. “I’ll stay on the call, but I have to step away for a second. Please send medical assistance immediately.” 

Setting the phone down, I gestured for my daughter’s attention. “Avian. Let’s take the direct route outside.” 

Morphing into her bird form again, she wrapped her legs around my waist, and together, we glided out the window, landing on the ground outside the apartment building. As soon as she released me, I retrieved a small tuning fork from a coat pocket, holding it out. 

“What’s that for?” Avian asked. 

I shrugged, slowly crouching. “Not sure yet.” 

The tuning fork began to vibrate in my hand, almost imperceptible at first, but growing in violence as I brought the device closer to the grass. Waving it back and forth, I felt the vibrations wax and wane, and I paused at its peak intensity, examining the ground below. I dropped onto my belly, trying to place the grass horizontally in my view. A line of foliage stretched before me, the blades trembling uncontrollably in a straight path leading away from the scene. 

“Well, would you look at that,” I commented.  

Avian dropped down next to me. “Son of a bitch.” 

“Grab your phone,” I instructed. “I suspect we’ll need a little extra help.” 

________________ 

Avian, Piston, Turbine and I stomped down the hallway of Pathfinder General, ignoring surprised glances from the medical staff as we approached Treble Clef’s hospital room. At the other end of the corridor stood Tom and Nancy, who waved amicably at the sight of Avian and myself. I glanced to Turbine, who frowned in their direction.  

“What is it?” I whispered. “What do you sense?” 

He shook his head. “I’m not sure. But something is off.” 

“Hey Tom! Hey Nancy!” called Avian as we closed the gap between ourselves and Treble Clef’s security guards. “Does Peter have a moment to talk again?” 

“I’m afraid he’s not feeling too well,” Tom apologized. “I can check in with him in a bit and schedule a–” 

His stopped mid-sentence, furrowing his brows at Turbine. “You got a problem? Why are you staring at me?” 

Turbine tilted his head. “How old are you?” 

“I’m forty-five, rude-ass,” the guard replied. “Old enough to know not to ask questions like that.” 

“Forty-five?” Turbine slowly backed away. “Why do you have the bioelectric aura of a toddler?” 

Tom and Nancy simultaneously drew their pistols, opening fire at Piston and Turbine. Avian dove in front of them, morphing into her durable bird form to absorb most of the bullets’ damage. Still, the barrage knocked her to the floor, and she wheezed on the ground as the projectiles pushed out of her rapidly-healing chest.  

The guards shifted their aim, but Chirp swooped up from Avian’s prone body, batting the firearms from both of their hands. As he carried their weapons away, Piston darted forward, lashing out with a front-kick into Tom’s chest. The blow propelled him backwards, through the closed door and into Treble Clef’s hospital room. Nancy spun in a circle, retrieving what appeared to be a railroad spike from inside her suit jacket and burying it into Piston’s right shoulder. Piston screamed, stumbling back, but Nancy retained a tight grip on the spike, now dripping in blood. 

“Peter is resting right now,” Nancy said, her voice suddenly monotone. “Please come back at a later time.” 

“Not a chance,” I retorted, drawing my Walther and opening fire. 

To my surprise, Nancy danced around the gunshots, twisting and flexing her body in a way that left her unharmed as she rushed in my direction, railroad spike raised. Turbine tried to stop her approach, but Tom reappeared, wielding a mallet, and collided with him. Nancy dove at me, spike extended, but I shrank into cat form, launching myself at her face. My claws dug into skin, but she batted me away from her head with inhuman speed and strength, sending me tumbling across the hospital floor and back into my human form.  

“Mom!” I heard Avian cry, and turned to see the girl leapt into the fray, side-kicking Nancy against the wall. Behind her, Piston and Turbine engaged with Tom, who kept them at bay with heavy swings from his mallet. As I returned to my feet, I caught a glimpse of the cuts I’d left in Nancy’s face, and paused. 

No blood leaked from her wounds. 

Instead, the skin pulled away in pieces like a rubber mask, revealing something pale-white beneath. I watched Avian strike the woman across the face, and some kind of contact lens flew from her eye, revealing beady blackness inside the socket.  

“What are you?” I asked her as she struggled against my daughter, who’d pinned her against the wall. “You certainly aren’t human.” 

“Human?” I heard a voice reply, and turned to see Treble Clef exit his room, dressed in loose-fitting scrubs and a hospital gown. “They’re as human as I am. You two, come to me.” 

Tom and Nancy instantly relaxed, dropping their weapons and shambling over to the Public Servant. As they took their place on either side of them, he raised his hands, patting them on the head.  

“After all, they are my children.” 

His hands vibrated, and their heads exploded, bursting like dropped watermelons. Blood sprayed across the white floors and walls, and the decapitated corpses crumpled to the ground. 

I took aim with my Walther while Avian, Chirp, Piston and Turbine formed a circle around Treble Clef. He made no sudden moves, smiling at the squad. 

“What brought you back to me?” he inquired, glancing at me. 

“We had an encounter with Mr. Silent last night,” I responded, keeping my gun trained. “He made a pretty quick getaway, I noticed.” 

“Too quick,” added Avian. “He used sonic leylines, to travel at high speeds.” 

Treble Clef feigned shock, gently touching his chest. “But I use sonic leylines. Are you accusing me of being a serial killer?” 

“We thought it possible, or even probable,” I said. “But, there’s the matter of the pattern. You’re fast, but not that fast. The pattern of regular murders followed concentric circles branching out from the Public Servants headquarters. No, I think the only people you killed were Nurse Landam and Cassian Chips. Likely to cover the tracks of someone else. Someone with the same powers as you.” 

Piston gestured at the headless guards on the floor. “Another child, perhaps?” 

Sighing, Treble Clef crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the door frame. “A child, of sorts. Where I come from, biomedical technology has far surpassed what exists in New General City, even from before the Great War. Gene editing, biomechanical integration, even cloning.” 

“These are clones?” Turbine asked. “They don’t look like you.” 

I crouched, tugging at the tan rubber which hid something paler beneath Nancy’s neck stump. “I get the feeling that you don’t look like you, either. Am I right, Peter?” 

He smiled wider, gesturing to his face. “If I may?” 

I nodded. “Slowly.” 

Slipping his fingers into a slit in the skin of his neck, he peeled away a rubbery outer layer, exposing a bleached-white face, thin, red lips, and beady, black eyes. I saw my daughter balk, and he winked at her, dropping the mask.  

“What happened to you?” Avian asked. 

“Oh, nothing,” he replied in a sing-song voice. “Life in The Underneath, I suppose.” 

I narrowed my eyes. “The what?” 

“My home,” he explained. “See, where I’m from, we’ve advanced so much technologically, it would blow your little minds. Early on, we learned how to use our cells to create meat-puppets, mindless clones with enhanced physical abilities designed to do our every bidding.” 

“Like Tom and Nancy,” Avian muttered. “Or, these things you used to replace Tom and Nancy.” 

“Yes.” Treble Clef chuckled. “How do you think we made the original Public Servants, before the bombs’ radiation had infected the world? They weren’t born. They were built. Utilizing the same technology the leaders of The Underneath had been using for years.” 

“What does that have to do with these murders?” pressed Piston, and Chirp twittered in apparent agreement. 

“Well, there’s a reason our technology focuses on the biomedical,” Treble Clef admitted. “In The Underneath, my people deteriorate psychologically with age. It’s inevitable, and quite difficult to avoid.” 

“Unless you could treat yourself with stem cells,” I interjected. “Stem cells from someone with the same genetic makeup as you.” 

“What, so you’re growing clones of yourself to make your own Lithium?” Turbine exclaimed in incredulity. 

Piston inched closer to Treble Clef. “Seems that way, mate.” 

I saw realization glimmer behind my daughter’s eyes, and she glared at the Public Servant. “Except this new clone, the one you grew a few weeks ago. He accidentally inherited the powers you gave yourself when you became a Public Servant.” 

Treble Clef sighed. “The cloning process was too unstable, the result of my Tom and Nancy clones working on my behalf while I lay unconscious in the hospital. He developed too quickly into an older variation of myself, without the stem cell treatments to hold back his insanity, and without the genetic dampening which normally suppresses their sonic powers. I was sloppy, and many people have lost their lives because of it.” 

“Why are you telling us all of this?” Turbine said. “You know how this makes you look, after all these years as the Public Servants’ golden boy.” 

“Because,” he said, gesturing behind us, “I was waiting for Mr. Silent. He and I don’t plan on leaving behind any witnesses.” 

We spun around to see the black-clad man in the white mask approaching from the other end of the hallway, knife in hand. I glanced back to see Treble Clef grinning wildly now, both hands raised . . . 

. . . but, as a few seconds passed, nothing happened. 

Frowning, Treble Clef looked at his hands. “What? Why aren’t my powers working?” 

“You gave us the idea yourself,” Avian commented, holding up a small remote. “Using one wavelength to counter another. In this circumstance, we made one that counters the wavelengths your powers fall within. That’s what’s playing over the hospital intercom right now. We were just waiting for your buddy to show.” 

“You didn’t think the Public Servants kept extensive files on their own members?” scoffed Piston. “We know everything about the experiments that made you like this.” 

“But . . . how?” he started to back away, panicking. “You aren’t Public Servants. Not even Avian, anymore.” 

Behind me, I heard rapid footsteps as Mr. Silent approached. I turned to see him inches from me, knife raised, but a gunshot resounded, and something whizzed over my shoulder. A red hole appeared in the center of Mr. Silent’s mask as the back of his skull burst away, and he tumbled to the floor, sliding to a stop in a pool of his own blood. Startled, I spun to see Piston with her arm outstretched, smoking 1911 in hand. 

“This isn’t what we discussed,” I hissed at her, but she ignored me, addressing Treble Clef instead. 

“That’s where you’re wrong, mate. Turbine and I are just as much Public Servants as you are. We’re just the blokes that no one knows about. Or, at least, no one wants to know about.” 

She took aim at his head. 

“Sterling Silver is very disappointed in you, Peter. You and your glorified blow-up-dolls have been making a mess of New General City, and now we’ve gotta clean it up. But first, one more mess.” 

He turned to run, but she fired again, the bullet penetrating his temple and dropping him instantly. 

Silence fell across the hospital, and in the distance, I heard police sirens approach. 

“What the fuck was that?” I cried, storming towards Piston and Turbine. In the corner of my eye, Avian remained still, her mouth agape in disbelief. 

“Sorry, mate,” Piston apologized. “I know you’re here to solve a crime, but that’s not our job. It’s like you said when we first met . . . I just do the Public Servants’ dirty work.” 

“Don’t worry,” Turbine added. “We’ve already got people sweeping his lab back at the headquarters. If he’s left behind anything dangerous, we’ll dispose of it.” 

“And this?” I extended my arms, gesturing at the carnage. “How will you explain this?” 

He reached beneath his shirt, producing a small, black box. “Best I can sense, our little fight triggered a hospital-wide evacuation. Seems like a great time to avoid casualties if, say, the person who blew up The Living Mortar’s home came back to finish the job with Treble Clef.” 

Tossing the box into Treble Clef’s room, he held up a small remote with his free hand. “Better get out of here, ma’am.” 

I glared at him, shifting my eyes to meet Piston’s. “I know that Avian and I can’t stop this. I’m not even sure we should stop this. But you manipulated me, and you took this far further than I would have ever agreed to, especially with my daughter here. I don’t ever want to see you again. Consider my investigative services beyond your reach.” 

Piston sighed. “That’s fair, Inspector. We’ll go our separate ways, then. Best of luck on your journey with Avian.” 

I spun on my heels, grabbing Avian by the hand and pulling her away from them. Chirp fluttered behind us, twittering somberly. My daughter looked at me, eyes wide and glassy. 

“What do we do, mom? How do we make this right?” 

Shaking my head, I replied, “We can’t. This is too beyond us.” 

I felt The Call tug at me, ever-present in the back of my mind, but as I gazed back at my traumatized daughter, I responded differently for the first time in my life: This time, I ignored it. 

“In fact, I think it’s time you and I went on a long, long vacation.” 

“Really?” excitement trickled into her voice. “I’ve never had a vacation before. Where should we go?” 

The Call faded, and I released a breath that I felt like I’d been holding since my childhood. Sensations flooded in its place; memories of cobblestone streets, of baked bread and sweet flowers, of smiling faces and jovial conversations. A warm smile crept across my face, and I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye. 

“I know just the place, chère. How’s your French?” 

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My heart fluttered at the sight of Avian, but I managed to choke out four awkward words. 

“Hey, there. What’s up?” 

Avian rolled her eyes, pushing past me and into the office. “Don’t act like you’re happy to see me. You never call, and you never visit. I’m just here because the Public Servants sent me here.” 

I closed the door as she flopped onto my cot. “Why did they send you to me?” 

“The Human Wolf,” she responded. “Apparently he’s put a hit out on me. The Public Servants don’t know why, but they decided it was better for me to lay low for a while.” 

“Wait, wait.” I held up my hand. “The Human Wolf is coming for you? Personally?” 

She shook her head. “Nah. He’s sending The Triangle.” 

I dropped my face into my hands. “Va te faire foutre, Luca.” 

“Who?” Avian cocked her head curiously. 

“Nothing,” I sighed. “The Public Servants were right to send you here. If my intuitions are correct, I expect I’ll be hearing from The Human Wolf himself as well.” 

“Well, when are your intuitions wrong?” Avian muttered mockingly. “I mean, other than when you decided to be a mother.” 

I frowned, ready to lash out, but bit my tongue instead. “You know what? I deserve that.” 

Avian scoffed, looking around my cluttered office. “So, are we staying here? Because I’m pretty sure your address is on Google Maps.” 

“No.” I shook my head. “I’ve recently made some friends with access to safe houses around the city. Let me make a call, and we’ll rendezvous with them.” 

________________ 

The monorail vibrated against its tracks as it banked around a corner, the city streets passing below us in a blur. With my car totaled, Avian and I had to resort to public transport, but I didn’t mind. This high up, the city didn’t feel so . . . dark. I leaned against the window, relishing the cool glass. 

“Who are these ‘friends,’ again?” Avian demanded, tugging uncomfortably at the slightly oversized spare street clothes I’d give her to wear over her costume.  

“They claim to work for the Public Servants,” I quietly replied. “As spies, or something.” 

Avian frowned. “I’ve never heard of anything like that. Are you sure you can trust them?” 

“I think so.” I glanced at her. “I suppose we’ll find out. It’s better than what I can offer.” 

“Is that why you sent me to live with the Public Servants in the first place?” she asked. “Because you think that they’re better than what you can offer?” 

I shrugged. “You saw my place, right? How am I supposed to raise a child in those conditions? With a job this dangerous?” 

“Dangerous?” Avian hissed. “I fight criminals and monsters all day. Don’t lecture me about dangerous lifestyles.” 

“No.” I shook my head. “It’s not the same.” 

“What about, I don’t know, a mother?” my daughter continued. “The Public Servants are a sausage-fest. The only woman is Miss Liquid, and she’s not exactly a motherly type.” 

She slumped against one of the poles mounted inside the monorail. “Spectral Man is alright, but they aren’t a family. They’re basically a branch of the military. You sent me to a military school for drama queens.” 

“There’s a lot of choices I’ve had to make,” I sighed. “I regret most of them. Especially the ones that have pushed you away. But I made them because I wanted to protect you from dangers far worse than the ones you currently face. I hope you eventually see that, when you’re older.” 

“Older?” scoffed Avian. “I’m almost a legal adult.” 

I rubbed my temples. “I just mean–” 

My sentence stopped short as I saw Piston approach us on the monorail with her team, pushing through the crowd. Today, they wore bulky street clothes, which likely hid various weapons and equipment they wanted to keep away from prying eyes. I met eyes with the woman, and she nodded, sidling up to us.  

“Long time no see, mate. What’s it been, twelve hours?”  

Avian furrowed her eyebrows for a moment, examining Piston. Then, her eyes widened, and she growled at the woman through clenched teeth.  

“You! You were there when that Russian analyst was abducted!” 

She jumped to her feet, pulling her jacket slightly back to reveal Chirp asleep in an inner pocket. Glancing over Piston’s shoulder, she pointed at Cylinder and Turbine. 

“I recognize you two, too! You shot me in the head! We’re gonna kick your ass.” 

I placed a hand on Avian, encouraging her to lean back against the pole. While she collapsed in a huff, I glared at Cylinder. “You shot my teenage daughter in the head?” 

Cylinder offered an awkward smile. “Uh, well . . . it was a rubber bullet . . . and she was in her bird form . . . I knew she’d be okay. To be fair, she threw me out of a moving car on the highway first.” 

I raised a hand to stop him, closing my eyes to collect myself.  

“Little bitch,” Avian muttered. “Put the guns away and see who hurts who.” 

Crucible stifled a giggle. 

“Avian, please,” I snapped. “Obviously, they’ve done . . . questionable things. But that makes them all the more qualified to help us now.” 

“Quite right,” Piston said. “So, here’s the plan. We’re going to lay low for a few more stops, then hop out near the library. There’s a safehouse across the street that we can bunker down in until The Triangle gives up, or we stop them.” 

Crucible stepped forward, chiming in. “Who is The Triangle, exactly?” 

“Three of Vampire King’s most elite minions,” explained Turbine. “They were knights, turned into vampiric warriors during the Dark Ages.” 

“While their experience is formidable,” I added, “it’s not the only danger they pose. Are you aware than some vampires develop unique abilities when turned, much like second-class SPIs?” 

Crucible nodded, and I continued. 

“Well, for whatever reason, these three hit the jackpot. Each developed a master of a natural element; fire, water, and air. I’m honestly not even sure I understand the science behind how they do what they do.” 

“To be fair,” Cylinder interjected, “you can turn into a house cat. Sometimes, a little faith in the improbable is necessary to not go crazy.” 

“You hush, sir,” I chastised. “I’m still angry with you.” 

A young girl brushed past us, raising an eyebrow at our hushed tones. When she saw Avian, though, her jaw dropped. “Hold on. Are you Avian? The Public Servant?” 

My daughter chuckled nervously. “Uh, no. I get that a lot. We just look alike.” 

She shifted a little, and Chirp poked his head out of her jacket pocket. The girl squealed, pulling out her phone. “Oh my God, it is you! Guys, look, it’s Avian!” 

A crowd began to form, snapping photos as Avian covered her face. 

“Christ above,” sighed Piston. “I guess we’re getting out at the next stop.” 

I stepped between my daughter and the amateur paparazzi, pushing against them. “Back off. She’s not interested in entertaining you today.” 

The distinct chime of a photo being uploaded to social media reached my ears, and I felt the blood drain from my face. 

“You heard that too, huh?” Turbine commented. “That’s not good. The Human Wolf is definitely going to be monitoring social media feeds.” 

The monorail began to slow as it approached its next station. Piston, Cylinder, and Turbine shoved the crowd aside, clearing a path for Crucible, Avian, and myself. The six of us hurried off the vehicle, keeping Avian out of view. As we made our way through the station, looking for the stairs to avoid being trapped inside an elevator, The Call tugged at the back of my mind. 

“Damn. I think they found us.”  

As the words left my mouth, metallic footsteps stomped against concrete in the distance, and the door to the stairwell we’d neared exploded off its hinges, flying into a screaming crowd. From the stairwell emerged three figures in medieval armor, each sporting a different weapon: A broadsword, a mace, and a lance. 

“Turbine, we need to contain this,” Piston commanded. “Kill the cameras.” 

Turbine nodded, closing his eyes. I heard a low hum, and felt my hair raise a little. Suddenly, every visible electronic device screeched, exploding in a shower of yellow sparks. The lights overhead burst as well, darkening the station until we could only see by the sunlight filtering through the windows. 

“That’s a neat trick, young squire,” said the vampire with the broadsword, who I understood to be named Percival. Well, “Percival the Merciless,” but I wasn’t going to call him that. 

Balan and Tancred, the vampires with the mace and the lance, respectively, slowly edged further from Percival, surrounding us as the crowd backed away. I saw security guards emerge from their booths, leveling pistols at The Triangle.  

“Drop your weapons! We will shoot!” 

Percival expression shifted into one of boredom, and he apathetically flicked his free hand in their direction. A ball of fire erupted from his palm, rocketing through the crowd and immolating the guards. The men screamed shrill cries of pain for a moment before succumbing to the flames, collapsing in smoldering heaps. The smell of their cooked flesh reached my nostrils, and I gagged a little. 

“Maybe we should have brought the Public Servants with us,” muttered Piston. 

“Excuse me, I’m right here,” Avian snapped, shrugging off her jacket. “And I’m not letting anyone else die for me.” 

As Chirp fluttered up into the air, Avian transformed, sprouting claws and feathers, her eyes growing black and bulbous. Wings burst from the back of her clothes, and she took flight, hurtling towards Percival.  

“Avian, wait!” I cried, but she seemed not to hear, or not to care. 

Percival offered the girl an amused grin, standing still without even raising a hand to defend himself. When Avian was within a few feet of striking him, Balan intervened, whacking her in the ribcage with his mace and sending her crashing through a wall on the other side of the monorail station. 

“Alright, team,” Piston said. “Let’s drop some bodies.” 

The squad fanned out, reaching into the folds of their clothes and shedding layers until their weapons were revealed. Cylinder strafed to the left, opening fire with a pair of silver Magnum revolvers. They thundered and bucked with each trigger pull, and the rounds collided with the breastplates of the vampire trio’s armor, punching fist-sized dents into them without penetrating them. 

“They’re sealed up like tin cans!” he yelled, tumbling out of the way of Percival’s retaliating fireball. 

Piston sprinted forward, carried aloft by her superhuman legs muscles, and dove beneath Tancred’s lance, twisting up into a back-kick that further crumpled the armor.  

“Good thing I brought my can opener,” she quipped, producing a sawed-off, triple-barreled shotgun.  

Tancred flicked his wrist, and a gust of wind spiraled around Piston, knocking her into the air as she fired. The blast, which I now realized contained a heavy slug round, went wide, colliding with a fluorescent light panel overhead and shattering it. Tancred leaned forward, and another gale kicked up behind him, propelling him forward with the point of his lance aimed at Piston’s chest.  

At the last moment, Piston dropped onto her back, pressing her boots into Tancred’s midsection and using his momentum to send him tumbling head-over-heels across the now-empty monorail station. I saw Balan approach, mace raised, but Avian reappeared, body-slamming him to the ground and knocking his weapon from his hand. I hurried to help her, keeping an eye on the others. 

Nearby, Turbine and Crucible engaged with Percival, the former using his circular blade to trade strikes against the vampire’s broadsword. Crucible flanked Percival in the meantime, scaling his back and trying to remove his breastplate to give Turbine access to the parasite on his heart. Percival seemed unfazed, though, and while he fought Turbine, his armor began to glow a faint orange, presumably as he used his abilities to heat it. Crucible screamed in pain, falling away from the armor, her hands and legs smoking from the heat.  

I tried to follow Crucible’s failed strategy with Balan as my daughter traded heavy hand-to-hand blows with him. Shifting into my cat form, I joined Chirp on the vampire’s shoulders, and we used our respective beak and teeth to pry at the straps beneath Balan’s armor. While we pulled at the leather, I saw Balan reach one hand towards his mace. The nearby wall rumbled, and the outer layer suddenly crumbled away, revealing a system of water pipes. Bursting, the pipes flooded the area around the mace with water. 

Ah, shit. 

The water rose into the air, rumbling towards us like a miniature tidal wave. I tried to clamp my jaw around the straps beneath the armor, but I could not gain enough purchase, and Chirp and I were washed off Balan’s shoulders, tumbling across the floor. Behind me, I saw the water coagulate around the spiked ball at the end of the mace, creating a larger liquid sphere that advanced the weapon’s range. Avian tried to swipe at Balan with her claws, but he swung the sphere into her chest, this time sending her crashing through the ceiling and out of sight. I pulled myself to my feet, returning to human form, and Balan approached, readying another swing, this time for me. 

A gunshot rang out, and a large bullet whizzed over my head, perfectly colliding with Balan’s clenched fist and knocking the mace from his hands once more. The control he had on the water dissipated, and the sphere collapsed like a burst water balloon, flooding the area around us. I turned to see Cylinder circling beyond Balan’s reach, Magnums raised.  

A thud sounded behind me, and I turned to see Piston sliding into the water, propelled by another gust from Tancred. Beyond her, Percival brough his sword down against Turbine’s blade, driving the man to his knees. Percival grinned wildly, and a wall of flame rose around them, drawing closer with each passing second. 

“Crucible!” I yelled, catching the girl’s attention as she struggled to her feet, despite her severe burns. “It’s time to level the playing field.” 

She nodded, popping a tablet into his mouth and swallowing. Percival noticed, and turned away from Turbine, raising his hand in her direction. Before he could incinerate her, Avian hurtled through the ceiling, batting his arm aside and sending his stream of flame over Crucible’s head. Crucible fell to the ground, seizing, as the mantis tore her apart from the inside. Percival cocked his head in curiosity, but Avian upper-cut his jaw, knocking him backwards. 

Balan and Tancred readied their weapons, advancing on the scene unfolding in front of Percival. I saw Crucible’s cloak, which she must have hidden under her street clothes, rise above a pool of blood and viscera, exposing the mantis’s bulbous eyes and clicking mandibles. The three vampires surrounding her balked, stepping back a little.  

“What beast is this, Percival?” asked Tancred. 

Balan was the one to reply. “No matter. We shall slay it like we’ve slain so many others.” 

“Jesus, you guys are insufferable,” Piston groaned. 

The mantis screeched, pouncing on Percival. As the vampire fell onto his back, he hissed, and a column of flame emerged from his body, turning the mantis above him into an insectile silhouette. The monstrous shadow twitched, hurling Percival into the nearest wall. As the flames dissipated, the smoking mantis turned to look at Turbine, spitting Percival’s breastplate from between its mandibles.  

“Curses!” Percival snarled, struggling to his feet and reaching for his fallen broadsword. 

Before the vampire could recover, Turbine darted at him, issuing a palm-strike against his bare chest. Yellow sparks showered away from the blow, and Percival stiffened, falling back against the wall. He shuddered for a moment, eyes rolling into the back of his head, before melting into nothing but a bloody skeleton, his bones crumpling into his remaining armor. 

“Percival!” cried Balan and Tancred in tandem. 

Tancred took aim with the point of his lance once more, summoning a gust of wind that propelled him towards the mantis’s head. Piston intervened, leaping between them and issuing a spin-kick which knocked the vampire off-balance. Balan moved to assist, but Avian grabbed him from behind, suplexing him into the ground.  

As Cylinder, Turbine and Piston rushed to contain Tancred, he slapped the ground, producing a burst of air like a thunderclap. The shockwave washed over the trio of would-be attackers, knocking them in opposite directions with enough force to rip their various weapons from their hands. Two revolvers, a sawed-off shotgun, and a circular blade all clattered across the station floor. One of the revolvers slid up against my feet, and I snatched it up, running into the scene.  

“Inspector, stay out of this!” yelled Piston as she struggled back to her feet. “We got this.” 

Ignoring her, I opened fire, aiming at Tancred’s center mass. The gunshots numbed my hands, and the bullets punched new dents into Tancred’s breastplate, but I could not puncture it. Still, I’d created the desired effect, and Tancred turned away from the others, aiming his lance at me. Suddenly, Chirp swooped in, snatching the weapon from his hands. He gasped in surprise, but before he could react further, the mantis accosted him from behind, using its scythe-like front appendages to shred the armor from his upper body. 

As the metal fell to the floor, Cylinder saw his opening, and he scrambled forward on hands and knees, reaching for the closest firearm. Tancred inhaled, and I felt the barometric pressure shift around us, my ears popping as if I’d been tossed atop a mountain. Before he could exhale, though, Cylinder fired a shot from his prone position, the bullet whizzing across the station and punching a hole in the vampire’s heart. He, too, melted away, his shocked expression turning to liquid.  

“I . . . I can’t believe it,” muttered Cylinder, looking at the weapon in his hands: Piston’s sawed-off shotgun. “I made the shot without a revolver.” 

“Push came to shove, mate,” Piston replied. “It’s close enough anyway, right?” 

He handed the gun back to her. “I suppose so.” 

Behind me, I heard Balan and Avian still trading blows. When he saw the state of his comrades, he snarled, batting her away with his mace. 

“No more!” he hissed, raising his weapon over his head. “I play games with thee no more.” 

Through the holes in the ceiling left by my daughter, I saw the sky darken, the clouds overhead gathering and turning black. They swirled down, condensing into a stream of pure water, which took the appearance of a dragon. The liquid beast crashed into the station, angling at the mantis and clamping its crushing jaws around it. As the shaped flood expanded, I saw Piston and Cylinder swept away, too. Before Turbine could also succumb to the tidal force, he made eye contact with me, and kicked Percival’s fallen broadsword across the floor. 

Behind me, I heard Chirp’s wings, and I stomped on the sword handle, flipping the weapon up into my hands. Spinning around, I tossed it into the air, and Avian’s genetically-enhanced canary caught it in its talons, circling the oblivious vampire. Chirp released the blade, and as it fell, Avian caught it, swooping down from the sky. She drove the broadsword through Balan’s exposed neck at a downward angle, so that the blade slipped beneath his armor and pierced his heart from above. Balan screamed, and the water-dragon lost shape as the vampire melted into wet bones and empty armor. 

“Listen, mom,” Avian said, tossing the bloody sword aside as the others sluggishly reconvened in the center of the station, “you don’t need to worry about me anymore. I can clearly take care of myself. Stop hiding from me.” 

I glanced at the carnage around me, running my fingers through my hair as I contemplated her words. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt, chère. There’s so much you need to know.” 

“Tell her,” I heard a voice boom from behind me, and my blood ran cold. “You heard the girl. Stop hiding from her.”  

I turned to see a black-haired, olive-skinned man calmly approaching, his muscular body rippling beneath a navy suit and tie. He spoke again, his accent thickly Eastern European.  

“You thought you could pretend like she doesn’t exist? Shame on you, Annelisse.” 

Avian turned to me, furrowing her eyebrows. “Mom, what is he talking about?” 

I held up my hands in defense. “Luca, listen. I know I didn’t tell you, but you must understand–” 

“Stop lying!” he growled, his eyes fading to white. Black fur sprouted from his skin, and his body engorged, growing thicker and taller. Despite his increase in size, the suit stretched with him, remaining intact; likely, a creation of Black Pharaoh’s. His face elongated, becoming a toothy snout, and he snarled at me, producing razor-sharp claws from his blackened fingertips.  

“The Human Wolf,” Piston announced, dropping fresh shells into her shotgun. “Well, we’re fucked.” 

The wolf-creature howled, barreling forward. Piston and Cylinder opened fire as he approached, but they might as well have been shooting him with a child’s wishes, because he seemed not to notice the projectiles as they disappeared into his fur. The mantis skittered in front of the others, trying to intercept his attack, but he spun into a back-fist, striking the insect across the head with enough force to leave hairline cracks along its carapace. Shrieking, the mantis attempted to back away, but he followed up with an uppercut to the abdomen, causing more bits of shell to break away, exposing its soft interior. A final attack, a roundhouse kick, sent the mantis flying, and it crashed into the station wall with enough force to rattle my bones. Turbine rushed to assist the fallen creature, reaching into his pocket and producing a glucose tablet.  

Avian, Chirp, Piston, Cylinder and I rushed The Human Wolf simultaneously, and he growled at us, wrapping his clawed hands around Piston and Cylinder’s waists and lifting them into the air. Avian and Chirp rammed into his chest and bounced away, as if they’d tried to assault a skyscraper. Ignoring them, The Human Wolf hurled Piston and Cylinder in opposite directions, and they slammed into opposing walls, collapsing to the floor, unmoving. 

“Luca, stop this!” I cried. 

A circular blade whirled through air, colliding with The Human Wolf’s head, to no effect. As it ricocheted away, Turbine ran forward, summoning the weapon back to his hand.  

“Turbine, please stay out of this,” I pleaded. 

He ignored me, slamming his palm against The Human Wolf’s chest. Arcs of yellow electricity pulsated across the creature’s body, causing his fur to stand on its ends, but he seemed otherwise unaffected. Leaning back slightly, he kicked Turbine in the chest, sending him tumbling across the floor in a blur.  

Avian flew upwards in her bird form, covering The Human Wolf’s face with a barrage of super-strong punches. He barely flinched, plucking her from the air by her wings and holding her in front of his bared teeth. Chirp collided with his head like a softball, but he flicked the bird away, sending it careening backwards with a pained tweet.  

“Okay, okay,” I conceded. “I’ll tell her.” 

The creature looked at me with his white eyes, the animalistic expression somehow expectant. Avian, too, turned to me, morphing back into her human form. 

“Avian,” I began, “The Human Wolf isn’t trying to kill you. He’s trying to take you. As in, take you into his custody. He’s your father.” 

Her eyes widened. “My father is a super-villain?” 

“He wasn’t always,” I replied, shaking my head. “He was originally a victim of Black Pharaoh, back during the second World War. When I met him during the third war, I was young and impressionable, and he was wizened by his years of nigh-immortality. I saw the good in him, despite the violent, cannibalistic urges with which his alter-ego burdened him. We were together for a while, but he eventually succumbed to his addiction, opting to work with Black Pharaoh to get what he craved. His heroin, unfortunately, is carnage. And I couldn’t stay with that.” 

The Human Wolf lowered Avian to the floor before transforming back to human form, staring at me through tear-filled eyes. “You never told me you were pregnant.” 

“How could I?” I demanded. “How could I, Luca? What, were you going to take her to live with you? To become a monster, like what you chose to become?” 

“No, I understand,” he said. “But why make her live with them?”  

“I . . .” I choked back tears of my own. “I thought, if I distanced myself from her, you’d never know who she really was. You’d think she was just another Public Servant.” 

“Well, you see where that led,” he spat. “I found out anyway. And now I’ve lost over a decade with my daughter, to these military freaks. She’s no better with these soldiers-for-hire than she is with me, colorful costumes or not.” 

“Dad,” whispered Avian. 

He balked at the title. “I haven’t deserved that name, Avian.” 

“Fine. Luca.” Avian sighed. “I wish you were able to be my father. Someone I could trust, or look up to. But my mom was right in keeping me from you. I don’t agree with how she did it, but she was right. You’re dangerous. You kill people. You eat people. I may have your shifting abilities, but I won’t become you.” 

She turned to me, continuing. “But Luca is also right. The Public Servants are not a family. They serve one purpose, and I’m tired of being a part of that world. I want to come live with you, mom.” 

“Really?” My eyes widened. “After all this time?” 

Avian nodded. “Luca knows the truth now, anyway. And I think he’d rather me live with you, the mother who loves me, than with his enemies. Isn’t that right, Luca?” 

Her father nodded. “I can accept this compromise.” 

“You have to understand, Avian,” I cautioned. “I’m a slave to The Call. I see people who need my help, and I help them. I may not be a superhero, but I’m hardly better than the Public Servants.” 

“You care about me, though,” she insisted. “You want to see me thrive. You want to see me happy. Right?” 

I nodded. 

“Then train me, in your own way. A normal life is too far behind me. But I don’t have to be a symbol. I can help people privately, like you. Help me become a detective, like you.” 

Looking to Luca, I raised an eyebrow. “Is that going to be a problem?” 

He pondered for a moment before responding. “I don’t like it, but if she’s going to help people, I’d rather her do it with you at her side. We know more about the Public Servants than you might think, and they’re no better than us. You, though . . . I know who you are. You’re a good mom, even in your absence. Watch our daughter, and I’ll leave you both alone.” 

His gaze swept over the others. “No promises for your friends, though.” 

The squad of SPIs limped towards us, and Piston spoke up. “Let me just catch my breath, mate. Then, it’s round two.” 

Luca chuckled. “No, I don’t think so. Not today.” 

He returned his attention to Avian, and to me. “Keep her safe, Annelisse. If something happens to her, the same will happen to you, tenfold.” 

I scowled. “Spare me the threats, Luca. Get out of here.” 

Sighing, he turned his back to us, walking beyond the station and out of sight. 

“What do you think he meant?” Turbine asked, collapsing into a seated position on the floor. “What he said about the Public Servants.” 

“Who knows?” Cylinder replied, sitting next to him and exhaling loudly. “He’s a super-villain. Why should we trust him at all?” 

Piston joined me at my side, putting a hand on my shoulder as she spoke. 

“So . . . you fucked a wolf, then?” 

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