Filicide

He was driven to the scene of the crime by his assistant, Vivian. She was a pretty quiet woman, unassumingly on the small side, unless she was doing her job at the desk, in which case she’d talk the ear off of any client here to waste the detective’s time. She was from the League, of Chinese descent, though nobody really claimed a Terran nationality nowadays, with black hair (with faint red highlights) and brown eyes that could quickly form a stern glare.

To contrast, Michael was more of a larger guy. A bit scarred up across some areas, caused as much by cheap surgeries as his line of work. His white skin was tanned meticulously, with a pair of hazel eyes, and a mop of dark brown hair to round it off. Supposedly, he traced his ancestry back to Europe back on Terra, but he hadn’t listened to old family stories that much. 

 He had made quite the name for himself after all, all across Silvos, Alliance, League, Commonwealth…he’d done business with them all. Which meant plenty of people saw his time as something to be wasted. Especially given that he was Terran, or at least, his family had been. They had a reputation for being suckers. 

Michael Cross had a reputation for that reason, and another: He was damn good in his field. With protean violence on the rise, most people in his line of work had long since quit. For good reason too. He’d heard of the ‘games’ some of the mental types would play with their pursuers, and the results when someone with a super intellect went up against someone with a tragically normal intellect.

But Michael wasn’t a quitter. He’d broken bones, lost an arm once, and had put himself repeatedly in the line of fire. Mistakes in his earlier years had been punished pretty harshly. It was bad enough dealing with criminals when any low life with some cash could practically buy a portable railgun, and now any lowlife who was in the right place at the right time could get superpowers. 

His biodoc loved the repeat business. His new arm felt just like the old one. 

Still, he was good in his field, most of the mistakes which cost him things like limbs were long behind him. Now, he’d settled into a pretty good rhythm. His last case had been finding the lair of a supervillain, something he’d gotten quite good at. This one had shot acid from his hands. None of the idiots had thought to check for residue. 

He sighed, as he saw the glimpse of a colorful costume in his peripheral. These people were going to be the death of him. 

He’d been called here by a team leader of a local team, Blast Off. Something about a scene in their territory being above their pay grade. Thankfully, it wasn’t all that far along expressway 60, the ground level traffic was pretty good these days, most people flew on Silvos now. A bunch of environmentalists had protested ‘ruining’ the forest planet with more roads, and the Alliance, as always, caved to the minority. It didn’t bother Michael all that much, but he did wonder what the point of terraforming an alien world was if not to make use of the space. 

Either way, the two pulled in next to the building. Michael got out, Vivian rolled down the window. 

“Want me to stay here?” She posed. Leaning back slightly, knowing the answer.

“Supposed to be dealing with something pretty brutal. Depends on what you want to see today.”

She clearly didn’t expect the option. Leaning forward slightly. 

“…I think I can handle it, boss.” She said, opening the car door, and moving to follow behind Michael, as he moved towards the entrance of the large warehouse. 

It looked like a development from the earlier days of the colonies. Buildings put up with cheap materials meant to last, not look pretty. It was a gray eyesore compared to a lot of the other buildings on Silvos. Standing out front were two colorful eyesores, two costumed heroes. One of them, a woman, wore a bodysuit with pieces of armor attached over vital areas, along with an almost spartan helmet with horns sticking out of it. The other, a man, in a much bulkier suit, akin to plate mail from some kind of fantasy story more than effective armor. It seemed more technological upon closer inspection, jam packed with different devices and such beneath the surface. 

The woman stepped forward first. 

“I’m sorry sir, but this is an active crime sce-”

“I know. Woolgather sent me.” God, what stupid names. “I take it you’re…” He checked his lens. It was a bit dangerous, and edged close to cybernetics, but if someone set off an EMP in the middle of bumfuck nowhere Silvos, he’d cope. The contact lens was useful, and gave him a live feed of information he’d normally need to check his holo for. “The Mighty Mega, and Skyrocket? I’m Michael Cross, here to help investigate” His previous sentiment about names stood. 

She nodded, taken aback slightly, but stepping aside. 

“It’s pretty bad in there-”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Just be ready.”

Skyrocket pushed a button on the side, and the large front doors began to walk in. Michael and Vivian walked inside.

The smell hit them first. That of flesh which had started to rot. Something Michael had unfortunately smelled plenty of times, and Vivian hadn’t. Adjusting to the lower light, the pair were soon met with a grisly scene. 

The entire warehouse was dotted with bodies, Michael’s brief headcount was nine, but further inspection revealed some that he had thought were just pieces of other bodies were there own mangled masses of flesh.

Most of the bodies looked as if they’d been run over by a truck, flattened, or plastered against a wall as if they’d been struck aside by something glancing, but the momentum had still been too much. The clothing they’d been wearing and items they’d been carrying had mostly been destroyed in whatever impact had struck them. Cloths sunk in and mixed into bloody pools and pulped flesh, the broken remains of what he correctly identified as firearms. These people had been armed.

Vivian stayed near the entrance, wearily looking over the scene. One other member of Blast Off was here too, an individual with a basic set of combat armor, and a dome like helmet with golden lines running down it. They didn’t acknowledge Michael, instead looking around the room slowly. He wondered if they were a Cognitive of some kind, or if they were just trying to do his job for him. 

Either way, they seemed content to ignore him, which was fine by him. This entire thing screamed a Bodily type, someone with super strength or speed. Or, by the looks of things, both. He was now checking the bodies a bit more closely, trying to look for identifying marks, but not having much luck in that regard. Most everything was turned to paste. He’d stick his hands in and start rummaging, but he didn’t have disease inhibiting implants, so he’d call someone else for that. He was about ready to start asking questions to the other person in the room, when one particular corpse caught his eye.

Or at least he thought it was a corpse. It was more akin to a puddle, one which, he noticed, as he got closer, was actively hissing and popping, as if it was boiling, or close to it. He kneeled down, taking a few photographs with his lens, for later investigation. He was shocked that local authorities hadn’t swarmed this place, but maybe Blast Off had some kind of contract to the contrary. He hadn’t done much of his homework on the team specifically, outside of knowing that they were legit. 

The puddle itself, though, was a motley of melted body parts. Blood, flesh, organs, and what seemed to be the remains of clothing. The faint scent of char lingered in the air above it, along with the sickening smell of melted flesh. It took on a reddish brown color, with occasional stained white of bone sticking out, the only parts of the body not rendered to a liquid, and even then, they were halfway there. He frowned, and stood away from the morbid display, walking over to the other person in the room besides his assistant. 

They seemed to turn over as he approached, trying to keep himself composed…but even he was discomforted slightly by this sheer level of gore. It was nauseating. Most crime scenes he visited were cleaner. 

“Need a few details, if you wouldn’t mind.” He asked, a bit gruff in his voice. 

They turned over. Their voice sounded synthesized, androgynous. Based on his research, this particular protean was known as Meager. 

“Ask.” Was all they said. 

“How long ago was this?” I asked. 

“We got called to the scene by a passerby who caught the smell, and bloody footprints outside one of the side doors. Our contracts mean we get called first, instead. Woolgather reached out to you, he’s seen your profile, and knew you could get here fast. Based on his Cognition, he said it happened just before dawn, so maybe three hours ago. We got the call two hours ago.”

That explained the decent state of it all.

“Anything you recognize on these?” 

No verbal response, but Meager gestured me over to one of the more intact bodies. Seemingly a man, late twenties, early three days. He looked like he had only been struck with a glancing blow to the torso, then shoved. A chunk of his stomach was just gone, revealing the faint protrusion of ribs, and his entrails spilled out onto the ground around him. His weapon, a heavy grade pistol, was shattered against the wall. 

“I recognize this one. Gang member, local group who thinks hunting proteans for sport is good fun. He’s one of the ones who got away last time we tangled with them. Seems one of their victims got the best of them this time.” Their voice sounded cold, though that might have been the synthesizer. 

“So Bodily type protean gets cornered in a warehouse, and goes completely tits up when they realize it’s a trap?” He raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t explain the puddle, though.” He nodded his head towards the abnormal corpse. 

“It doesn’t. Maybe another person they tried to corner. Woolgather says we’re disengaging from this, though. If you need backup in dealing with any perps, call us.” Meager said, trudging towards the exit. He refrained from saying anything callous, simply giving them a nod. He saw them talk with their teammates for a moment, before all three of them took to the sky, rocketing off into the air. Proteans…

He sighed, walking over to check one more thing before concluding his investigation here. He finally saw them, though not where he was expecting. Starting from just past the puddle of bubbling flesh, a set of bloody footprints, accompanied by a bit of dribbling blood and flesh, as if whoever it was had been doused in whatever had turned this individual into a puddle. The trail was too clear to be from one of the flung bodies either, the footprint shape too distinct. It led to one of the side doors. He pushed it open, and saw a similar trail across the concrete, leading out…to the middle of the street, whereupon it vanished due to the traffic, before picking up again. He hurried after, risking life and limb slightly to cross the active street, where vehicles going hundreds of miles per hour could easily flatten him. He had to jump a guardrail and everything. But eventually he reached the other side, jumped another rail, and kept on the trail. He wondered for a moment why Meager hadn’t made this more evident, and soon realized why. He followed the prints into an alleyway, and watched as they grew more and more dry, until eventually, whoever this was had stopped leaving prints at all. He managed to get only about two blocks. And given this was hours old…yeah, no chance the perp was still in the area. 

So that was a dead end. He made two calls. The first, to a buddy of his, who oversaw a lot of the law enforcement activities in these collections of sectors. 

“Rick, this is Michael. Got a crime scene out in sector 09. Local team gave up the investigation, passed it to me. Get some of the locals here, see if we can’t get some tests done…and wire me the results.” 

Rick’s voice came through the other line with a bit of hesitation. No visual with this holocall, most professionals preferred that way.

“Alrighty, but I’ll have to file it in.” 

“I’m registered. It’s fine. Send them over when you’re ready.” 

“You got it.” 

He hung up, and placed the next call on his holo to Vivian. His assistant’s face appeared. She looked like she was standing just outside the warehouse still. 

“I’m two blocks west, we’re done here. Come pick me up.”

She nodded. He hung up. Within minutes, the two were bound for the office again. 

————————————————————————————

The entire way back, Michael was on his holo. Sorting through the local proteans. The Alliance, otherwise known as the Silvos government, god bless their overbearing souls had a pretty good registry of the different proteans, able to be accessed by anyone certified, which included him.

About a dozen were reportedly in the area. Four of them were a part of Blast Off, and he could rule them out pretty easily. Amateur move to call a detective to your own crime scene, when you could easily investigate it yourself and call it a day. Or, if you were really trying to cover up, he’d be the last person you’d call. Besides, out of their team, only Skyrocket had anywhere close to the strength, Meager shot some kind of blasts at a distance, Woolgather was cognitive, and while Mega was bodily, she was tough, not strong. 

He could eliminate five more on not having the right powers. A pair of cognitives who specialized in technology, a bodily who was fast, but in the teleporting way instead of the physical way. A beguiler, with some kind of mental effect around emotions, and an unclassified with a varying set of powers. None of which matched the description.

He eliminated another, after some consideration. A bodily with high strength, but it wasn’t always active. It was a conscious effort to use. If these were protean hunters, he wouldn’t have gotten the chance.

While narrowing down his suspects to just two, he did some digging into this group of hunters. They were called the Lodge, paramilitary sprung off of the No Trust movement, which was running on a few decades old at this point. They argued that if superhumans were going to crop up with the only warning being a bit of cosmic radiation, they should have the right to know who was who.

The message sounded nice enough, until you looked at how many of their members were advocating for putting proteans in camps all over the net. By his bit of research, the Lodge was suspected to get funding from some of the benefactors of No Trust, but there wasn’t any proof. They had multiple cells, but one of them had been in sector 09, fighting Blast Off…and losing.

Apprehended, with a few casualties. A small scowl came over him when I read that. They trusted superhero’s to make the right call, but killing just about anyone put a bad taste in his mouth. He knew what some of their powers could do.

Either way. His remaining two suspects seemed like plausible targets. A female independent hero, bodily, named “Lady Lancepoint”. Superhuman strength, flight, and enhanced the durability of objects she touched. She’d teamed up with Blast Off to tangle with the Lodge before. She was also on the younger side, only two years into the scene.

The second was a figure simply known as Cruor. A telekinetic with skin like leather. One of the types who was exposed to the cosmic rads and had been mutated physically. He was a loner, took jobs as a mercenary, security for all sorts of types. Not a supervillain though. Thanks to Blast Off, there weren’t all that many of those in sector 09. The reason he might be a target is he imagined that these hunters might try to take a big guy like him as a challenge, and telekinesis might be enough to do that kind of damage.

He’d sent communication requests to both of them, and heard nothing back as of yet. He’d request alibis and such, he was practically with the government with his certification.

There was always the possibility that it was an unregistered, or someone from a different area. But best to narrow down on information he knew first.

The pair arrived back at the office, Michael still deep in research via his lens, walking back inside. Vivian took up her position at the desk, flicking the lights back on. Michael moved into his office, plugging his holo into the larger apparatus that was at his desk, projecting a variety of images from his research, the write ups on the Lodge, Lancepoint, and Cruor. He was deep in thought, trying to parse a connection.

Both of them would be good targets. Lancepoint for revenge, and Cruor for prejudice. But then the question arises, how did they lure their target in? Why the murderous rampage? And why walk away from the scene? Lancepoint could have called in backup, and Cruor altered the authorities…though that thought alone did lean him more towards Cruor. He’d have reason to be on foot, for one, he couldn’t move himself with his powers as far as his file said. And he’d not want to alert the authorities, to avoid complications.

That seemed most likely. That’s when he got a call. Rick’s signature. He picked up.

“Boys got things cleaned up. Was a god damn bloodbath in there. But we got test results back. Grizzly stuff. You have our usual database access. Ring me if you need anything, or you have a perp. We have bigger fish to fry, besides, I trust the sector 9 force about as far as I can throw them. Rookies up and down.”

He saw a notification of a new message. But it wasn’t from Rick. A second one popped up a few seconds later, that one was from him. He furrowed his brow.

“Appreciate it, Rick. Happy to give your boys the first crack.”

“You’re the best in business, Cross. I trust you’ll sort this out.”

And he hung up. 

He checked his message first. Files, perfect. Then the other.

It was from Cruor. A simple video attachment, from a home security feed. Labeled “Alibi”. A small message accompanied. 

“I hope you find this satisfactory, Detective” 

He gave it a brief skim, at a high playback speed, keeping it playing in my peripheral. It seemed to be footage of Cruor himself, the leathery giant, fast asleep in his king sized bed. He frowned, keeping an eye on it…pushing a button on his desk, calling Vivian out front. 

“Vivian, I’m going to send you a file, scan it for legitimacy. I want to be sure it was actually footage from last night. While you’re at it, see if you can requisition any footage from around the warehouse around the time of the crime.”

“On it, boss.” Was her response. He then released the call button. Starting to go through Rick’s files. 

There was one for each victim. Thirteen of them labeled “Struck”, and vaguely matched with the proportions of the victims he’d surveyed as being victims of the bodily. He reopened his pictures from the crime scene, and started to match them in his head. Some of them were harder, but he could make educated guesses, especially with the files including the state of the body. 

The last one was interesting. 

“Diana Crowley. Age 27. Body in state of liquidation.”

A picture of the woman herself was displayed next to it (the others had pictures too, but they interested him far less). Blonde hair, blue eyes, fair skinned, winning smile. The picture looked as if it was lifted from some kind of net page, with how posed it looked. So that was the melted one…he did a quick search, through the databases he had. Most of the others who had been killed had been suspected of or previously convicted of criminal activity. Diana? None. Not even a speeding ticket. She didn’t seem the type for No Trust rhetoric either. Searching the name on her pages had her spitting vitriol about them. 

The only thing odd was a missing persons report, filed recently by Diana Crowley. For a woman named Katherine Crowley, Diana’s mother. Interesting, but it didn’t seem relevant…yet. He filed it away for later. 

He took a seat, thinking for a long moment, when the call button popped up again. He pressed down. 

“Just ran the video through our normal processors. It’s legit.” Said Vivian. Well that settled out Cruor as a suspect. Which just left Lancepoint…or someone else entirely. 

“Any footage?”

“…The feeds went blank at about 5:56 this morning. Two block radius.”

“Was it-” He started, coming to a conclusion quickly. 

“Rad damage? Looks like it. Still getting the local boys to run some tests.”

“Well shit. Keep me posted.” 

He released the call button. Things just got a lot more messy. 

Rad damage. Only one type of radiation hurt camera footage in this day and age, and that was the cosmic. The sort that caused people to develop powers. It would appear suddenly, either in large bursts, or localized zones of it. It would ripple out, and interfere with most electronics in the area for a few hours at best, or break them at worst. He should have asked about it, but he assumed that if there was a rad burst, the government would have been all over it.

Then again, this was the Alliance. Entirely possible they were too lazy to give a damn. 

He sighed. That probably meant they were dealing with someone completely different. Someone who was both bodily, and could turn people into bubbling paste. And someone who was, by any guess, completely unregistered.

Could they have been one of the Lodge members? Exposed, gained powers, then their comrades turned on them? Possible, but it didn’t explain what they were doing there in the first place. Surely someone with their funding had better hangout spots then a warehouse, right? 

He was pondering for a long hour. Mostly spent cross referencing some information, but not finding much. He almost didn’t hear the buzz of the call button on his desk. When it buzzed a second time, he caught it, and pushed down. 

“Yes?” He asked.

“Some people are here to see you. They say they’ve got information about the case.”

“Who?” Was his first question, as he moved to shut off his holo and take a seat behind his desk. 

“Don’t know, there’s two of them though. They want to speak to you urgently.”

Normally he wouldn’t accept things like this out of the blue. But this case was getting tricky, fast. And he, even if he didn’t like to admit it, could use a helping hand. 

“Send them in.” He said, releasing the button. A few moments later, the door opened. Walking in were two people. 

The first was a taller man, maybe early twenties. He had black hair, and wore a navy blue jacket, beneath it being some kind of long sleeved shirt. Not fit for this weather in the slightest. He had pale skin, like he hadn’t seen the sun in years, and should be covered in sunburn just stepping outside. He carried a briefcase at his side, and wore a polite smile on his face.

At his side was a young woman, maybe eighteen or nineteen…or honestly, younger. He couldn’t quite place it. She had curly brown hair, similarly pale skin, and a pair of gray, almost impaired eyes. She wore a sweater that didn’t seem to be made out of traditional cloth threads, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Hello. My name’s Michael Cross, the detective. I hear you have some information about a case I’m working on?” He kept it vague.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Cross. My name is Orion, Director of Frost. My associate is named Lace.” The young woman gave him a muted nod. 

Frost. A vaguely familiar name. A protean collective, mostly cognitives, who functioned off of Gelos, the ice planet with cities beneath its surface. They mostly made technology, and sold it off to governments. Borderline arms dealers. Which put him on edge slightly, especially since they were so far from home on such short notice.

“Pleasure. Tell me what you know.” He gestured to seats across from him. The pair took them. 

“Happily! On one condition.” Orion said, with his smile staying.

“…And what’s that?”

“Let me help apprehend your culprit.” 

He pretended to think about it for a second or two, then shook my head. “I’m afraid not, Mr. Orion. I work with information that’s classified to the uncertified. It would be unprofessional of me to-”

“-Mr. Cross, I don’t think you understand the sort of thing you’re dealing with. The individual you’re after is dangerous, and no normal prison will hold them. I have the means to, and am more than happy to as-”

“The Alliance protean enclosures will do just fine, I assure you. Please tell me what you know, or I’ll have to ask you to leave.” Michael cut him off, his eyes narrowing. 

He sighed. 

“Very well. Has the name Diana Crowley come up in your investigations yet, Detective?” Orion sounded a lot less friendly now, and the smile had dropped.

“It has.” Was his simple reply. 

“Diana Crowley is her civilian identity. In costume, she goes-or went, I suppose, by the name Lady Lancepoint. In addition, I highly doubt her death was intentional. But the deaths of the members of the Lodge were very purposeful, if I had to approximate.” 

All important revelations. But that did beg the question of how this individual knew all this. He didn’t even have access to the civilian identities of proteans. Not to mention a seemingly knowing motive. 

“And how do you know all of this, if I might ask?” He said, raising an eyebrow. 

“I’m authorized by the governments I deal with to gather information on proteans. For public safety, and to help in my line of work. I’ve put together a few more pieces than you, it seems. If you’d just let me hel-”

“No.” Was his much more curt reply this time.

“If you insist. But, Detective, if I might offer a word of advice?” Orion said, both him and Lace rising from his seat.

“Go ahead.” Michael said, waving a hand. 

“If you won’t accept my help, I would cease your investigation. It’s just not safe.”

“Duly noted. Anything else, sir?” 

“No, that will be all. Good day, Mr. Cross.” 

The two left the office shortly after. Michael let out a sigh of relief as they did. He then waved a hand, bringing up his holofeeds once again. Narrowing things down to Diana Crowley, Lady Lancepoint, and pulling up a new section, on Katherine Crowley, and the report therein. 

He settled in, for a solid few hours of research.

————————————————————————————

It was past nightfall when anything changed. Vivian went home, once the actual hours of the office were up for the day. He thanked her, and gave her an extra transfer of cash, for putting up with the scene that day. He couldn’t help but feel bad for making her look at all that. 

He had figured out a few things. Mostly that the missing person report on Katherine Crowley had been picked up by none other than Lady Lancepoint, in conjunction with Blast Off. None of the Sector 9 forces were involved with anything but the filing. 

He sent a message to Woolgather about it. He’d reported that though he’d tried to use his cognitive powers on it, it hadn’t gotten them far, outside of that she’d been a hostage, presumably to get at Lancepoint, someone had gamed her identity. This had only been a few days ago, and Lancepoint had said she had been getting other cognitives to help. 

Lancepoint herself had a pretty reliable history. No kills on her watch, very little collateral. Her file marked her as known for being somewhat impulsive, but he chalked that up to being a relative rookie. Which meant that the one way he could see her doing this sort of killing was if she was particularly emotionally attacked…

Like if someone had hurt her mother. 

There were a few other snags however. Lancepoint normally fought with, well, a lance. And these bodies didn’t look like they’d been attacked with one. That, and Lancepoint’s highest feat of strength was lifting a car, which was good, but not for the type of damage he was looking at. Her speed was fine, in the air, but not quite this level either. 

But maybe it was something like adrenaline. Maybe she had been holding back before. Either way, he was painting a clearer and clearer picture. 

The Lodge had kidnapped Katherine. Let Lancepoint and her allies flounder for a few days, then lure her to their warehouse. Lancepoint got riled up, killed the members of the group. Then, one of two things happened.

Either Katherine hadn’t been brought there, and they had only brought proof of her harm, or worse, her death. Lancepoint got riled, then the rads had hit. One of the members of the Lodge had gotten hit, manifested powers, used them to kill Lancepoint, then fled the scene. The main issue with this, was that they’d probably have given some kind of threat if this was the case. To try and prevent Lancepoint from attacking like that. No insurance? It seemed sloppy. 

The second option was that they had brought Katherine, and gotten the powers instead. However, that had its own problems. Such as why she would kill her own daughter. 

He was mulling over these options. Writing up a report to send to Vivian, and Rick, mostly to try and get some feedback on his thoughts. That was when a notification appeared. From Woolgather.

“Finally got a ping off my power. Head to Sector Nine, Viridian street. Hopefully your lead will still be there when you arrive. Might be dangerous. If you really need backup, call, and I’ll send Skyrocket.” 

Woolgather’s power was starting to annoy him. Supposedly, it just gave him random pieces of, sometimes useful information. But it sure had a bad sense of timing. He reached into a desk drawer. Pulling out a heavy pistol he’d gotten a couple years back. Clipping it and its holster to his belt, he hurried from the office, to the vehicle below, and drove off towards Sector Nine. 

————————————————————————————

The area was cordoned off by local forces. Sector 9 law enforcement. Blast Off nowhere in sight. He parked, flashed his ID, and they let him past.

It was a solid bit of carnage. 

Only one body, though.And it wasn’t quite dead

A few buildings were heavily damaged, broken windows and walls. Multiple vehicles had been totaled. But the only body laid in the center of the street.

Cruor laid there, in all of his mutated glory, and it seemed like his body was actively spasming, and worse yet, melting. He hurried over. Several paramedics seemed to be trying to tend to him, however seemed unsure as to how to handle someone of his proportions. He flashed his ID.

“What happened here?” Michael asked.

“We don’t know. We were alerted by Woolgather, and found him in this state-we haven’t been able to stabilize him. But it looks like there was a fight…”

“Of course you haven’t, look at him.” He pushed past, with some protest, and kneeled down next to the leathery giant. Who looked at the Detective with one eye, barely focused, as he continued to spasm. 

“Cruor. Who did this to you.”

My voice held urgency. He must have responded to it.

“Hir-hired. Apprehend. Woman. Threw her…across the street. She touched me…started…being…stronger…couldn’t…control” His voice fell off, but he got his meaning. Standing, I looked to the paramedics. 

“Call Woolgather again, get him treated immediately with his help. I’m going after the suspect.” 

He quickly began scanning the scene, heart pounding. She couldn’t have gone far. That’s when he saw it. A human shaped imprint in one of the walls, as if thrown by telekinesis. And blood around it…but no full body. Another blood trail, leading down a nearby alley, a familiar sight…leading a familiar direction. No human would have survived that. 

He began sprinting down the alley, trying to place three calls to Blast Off on his way to that very same warehouse. 

————————————————————————————

He burst in through the side door, weapon up. He heard a faint whimpering from around the bend. Looking around, he saw that the place hadn’t been locked down. The sector nine forces had just taken samples, then cleaned the whole place. Fucking amateurs. 

He immediately moved towards the noise, calling out. 

“Whoever’s in here, come out, with your hands in the air!” His voice was sharp. The light on the top of his weapon flicked on as he took a few more steps forward.

And soon enough, someone did. Katherine Crowley now fully within my view.

She looked awful. Bags under her eyes, bruises across her body. Blood falling from her temple. She had graying brown hair, her file had listed her as around 56 years old. She shut her eyes against the light, tears streaming down her face, as she choked in a sob, as he pointed his weapon at her. 

“Katherine Crowley?” He called over. 

She gave a nod.

“Why are you here, Katherine. Why did you come back here?” He kept the weapon raised. 

“…Someone-said they could help. Told me to meet them here. But the big one, he attacked me, I-”

“So you attacked him right back. With your powers, right?” He kept his voice nice and sharp. 

“No, I-” 

“Step away from the woman, Mr. Cross.” A familiar voice called out to Michael, from behind him. He turned quickly, taking a step back, and towards Katherine, when he saw Orion and Lace step through the side door. Orion’s expression was cautious, and he didn’t have the same briefcase he’d had before. “And in the name of Terra, lower that gun.” 

“You need to leave. Now.” He said, in a commanding voice. 

“And miss a meeting I scheduled? I’m not so unprofessional, Mr. Cross.”

So that was why he was here. Damn it all. He tightened the grip on his firearm, now aimed squarely at Orion. 

“I don’t know what kind of meeting you have with this murderer, but it’s canceled now. Leave. Last warning. Reinforcements are on the way.” Which was true. They would trace his calls, even if they didn’t pick up. He was also navigating to the call menu again on his lens. Where were they?

“Mr. Cross, I’m afraid your holo and your lens have been disabled since you arrived in Sector Nine. The manufacturers still have deals with the government to allow for that sort of thing. God bless Argetlam Industries.”  

He noticed that the normal recording video of the lens also didn’t seem to be on. He hadn’t noticed before. Damnation. 

“Then don’t make me shoot you. Back off.” 

“I don’t listen to you. I’m going to have to ask you to leave as a matter of fact. I have this under control. No one else is going to die at Miss Crowley’s hands, you have my word.” He spoke calmly, but he held quite a threatening undertone. 

Michael simply shook his head. 

“I can’t do tha-”

Orion nodded. And Lace moved faster than he expected. He hadn’t expected any attack from the girl at all, in fact, as her sweater’s threads seemed to partially unravel, two large white stands consolidating, easily thirty feet long, and swinging at him. They struck him square in the chest like a bullwhip, a large crack echoing across the room. Michael was floored in an instant, gun clattering to the cold ground of the warehouse. He was dazed, trying to sit up, when Orion began moving towards Katherine, who had her head in her hands, stumbling backwards. He spoke. 

“It’s alright! He won’t hurt you, I won’t let him.” 

Lace gave Michael a look. That amounted to, if he had to guess ‘Stay down’. 

Orion didn’t get a response from Katherine, besides sobs. 

“I know you didn’t mean to kill your daughter, or hurt Cruor. You can’t control your powers. You make other people stronger, right? Make them able to do more?”

Michael had his head angled towards Katherine. Watching her nod.

“I…I think so. Diana could do so much more after I-”

“It’s physical contact. You held on too long, after getting hit. Hit her with too much power. She couldn’t take it. She couldn’t control it.”

She nodded. He said what she wanted him to. Sobbing slowly trailing off, as she ran out of tears to shed. 

“I promise you, I won’t let it happen again. I’m not turning you over to any authorities. If you come with me, I can help you control it. You won’t hurt anyone else.”

“…Please.” Was all she said. He gave her a big smile.

Was what she said. Damn it. He’d been played for a fool. Michael lunged for his gun, just as Orion held out a gloved hand towards Katherine, and said aloud

“Kairos, we’re done here.”

Michael aimed for Orion’s head, and pulled the trigger.

There was a blue flash of light. The three of them vanished. And the bullet hit the wall.

Detective Cross sat there, bewildered, feeling as if he’d been played for the first time in a very long time.