A Second Generation Whateley Story

The Perils of Penelope

by

Wasamon

 

Part Two: Eight Crazy Nights

 

Saturday, December 24th, 2016
Muncie New Mall
Penelope Stein

'Twas the late afternoon before Christmas and down at the mall, Penelope Stein was not worrying about the holiday at all. Not that holiday, at least. The feast of trees and presents had lost all magic and meaning after the accident that had taken her parents a decade before, and years spent in foster homes run by people with only passing lip service given to 'Christian charity' had failed to ever rekindle that spark. She was doing much better with the family, friends, and faith she'd found for herself, which was why her butt was parked in the food court of Muncie's newly re-opened New Mall, now 100% less infested with feline attack drones. She wasn't sure the renovated decor was an improvement, but it was a place to hang out, and the safety-glass partitions between the seating areas allowed for decent privacy.

It was an hour after shabbat school and she was having a snack, shooting the shit with friends, and getting the low-down on new-to-her holiday traditions from her boyfriend, Morton before heading home to start things off an hour after sunset with her grandparents. Though it was her other friend who was asking most of the questions. Girasol 'GiGi' Dupree wasn't looking forward to the big tree day, either, if for reasons more to do with family than faith. That the girl was hiding out in the mall with her two Jewish best friends rather than greeting her aunt and uncle at home right then told Penny everything she needed to know. At the moment, Morton was trying to explain the rules to the dreidel game.

Penny was content to sit there next to him, comfortably close and warm. At her grandmother's suggestion, she'd taken to wearing her tactical suit out in the evenings, making use of the social camouflage settings of its chameleon circuit to fake various outfits under her jacket of choice, and the suit's peculiar material was better than any long underwear on a cold Indiana winter's day.

"Okay, right," GiGi was saying. "I think I got the rules for the letters down now. Not sure I needed the etymology lesson, but it was interesting, I guess?"

Morton had a cute blush. "Sorry, I just get into the details."

"No, no worry. I get it. But apologies in chocolate coin are preferred," said GiGi with a wink.

"Not till you're over to visit on Monday," Penny told her. "Seriously. Margit won't let me anywhere near the gelt till the holiday's good and started. Probably so I can't do a before and after count to see how much she's eaten, herself."

It was a good chuckle, at least. "Right," said GiGi. "Um, so, I don't wanna be, yanno, offensive or nothing, but I got you both, um, presents? For being the best besties a girl like me could have in senior year? And it happens to be Christmas Eve?"

"Look," Penny told her. "I may not be celebrating that particular holiday this year, but I don't turn down gifts from friends. Besides," she added as her hand slipped into her bag. "I got you something, too."

"You did?"

Her fingers tingled in that weird way as the dimensions within her IBOTI bag sorted themselves and produced a neatly wrapped package. Neither her best friend nor her boyfriend commented as she leaned in to hide the bag from public view, or when the box proved longer than the bag was deep. They knew how she operated.

"What is it, what is it?" squealed GiGi. "Oh, let me see... A muffler?"

"In your colors," Penny confirmed. Her friend decorated practically everything in pale pink, sky blue, and off-white, and so was the pattern of the knit muffler: pink rosettes on a pale sky weave with fluffy clouds—or sheep. Something white and nebulous.

"I love it!" The other girl dug two boxes out of her own shoulder bag and placed them on the table. The two packages were small enough to fit in a single compartment of the bag, and were hinged like ring boxes, rather than wrapped. "Um, mine aren't as, yanno, nice, but... Well, I've been taking a jewelry-making class on Wednesdays, yanno? So, um..."

When the boxes were flipped open, they revealed two little pins made of silvery wire, looped and woven back on itself. Two words twisted into place on them, in Hebrew letters the girl likely couldn't read. "I... um, I hope I got 'em right," GiGi said. "Pulled them out of one of those online translation sites? Would've, yanno, asked you for help if you weren't the ones getting them. Ugh, I probably typo'ed them even if I got the words right."

"If it's supposed to say 'love and peace,' then you got it right enough to tell," said Penny. "Ahava veshlum, right? Morton?"

Her boyfriend had one box up to his eye level for inspection. "Yup, that's right. Facing in the right direction, all lined up right. Nice job."

"Thanks..." Gig's tension let out so suddenly she all but defalted into her chair. "Damn, I was more anxious about this than I was about turning them in for a grade."

"How'd you do?"

"A-plus, natch. Why—"

"You stupid little cow!" The words were sharp, loud, angry, and not directed at anyone in their general area of the food court. That didn't mean they were meant to be private. Penny knew that tone all too well. It was the voice and words of someone who wanted to maximize the shame and trauma in someone else. As such, it was immediately recognizable as Marion Serris, local high school queen bee and perpetual pain in the ass, so every previous conclusion could be considered trivial.

"Dang, who's on her shit-list today?" said GiGi.

Morton craned his head around to get a better view. "Looks like Missy, again. Poor kid. It's whipping girl time."

"I wonder what set her off?" Penny'd known her share of abusers, and Marion's type did it as stress relief. If the queen bee's life sucked in any way, then someone else's had to suck harder. "Too soon to be disappointment at whatever Daddy bought her for Christmas."

"Maybe the milkshake machine's broken?" suggested GiGi. The girl winced as the tirade continued at high decibel levels. "Sheesh, wish there was some way to pull her out of that."

"Not short of body-slamming Marion to the ground, grabbing Missy, and running."

"Um, Penny...?"

"Just a thought," she promised. Then she winced at the next string of profanity and abuse. "Okay, so it's a really tempting thought. Like, seriously. But—"

The feeling arose in the back of her head, an intuitive sense of timing that told her to take cover now. Her hands had both friends by the collar and were pulling them under the table before her mouth could finish saying, "Oh shit." No one would've heard it, anyway. The next shout from across the food court was a single, wailing note that cracked the air and then the safety glass partitions separating the row of booth seating from the fast food fronts. After the cry, the sound of cubically broken glass pouring to the floor was almost soothing. More wailing followed.

First things first, Penny had the ear gear out of her bag and in place, dulling the noise to less damaging levels. Then she pulled her jacket up from her wrist, exposing the long sleeve of her undershirt. At a touch, the fabric shed its casual appearance for business mode, and a small interface projection appeared along her upper arm. "Security camera feeds are shot," she mumbled to herself.

"What?" yelled Morton.

"What?" GiGi yelled back.

The interior of her bag shuffled back through the emergency supplies to provide two more sets of ear protectors. The standard kit from Whateley included enough sonic nullifier plugs to fit a team of heroes, with the documentation referencing 'Halloween 06' and nothing else. Knowing how things operated at her baby cousin's school, anything was possible and little was acknowledged publicly. But at least the ear gear worked like a charm.

"Can you hear me now?" she said. They nodded. "Good. We're out the front door on the next—"

WAAAAAAH!!!

"—on the next one after this. Valuables only. We can come back for the rest."

GiGi wrapped the scarf around her arm while Morton pocketed the pins. There was a thrill of danger sense around her as she took her friends by the hand and then—WAAAAAAAH!!!—as the cry passed over their table, the three of them made a dash for the nearest exit.

The food court was in shambles. Their table had been off to the side and shielded by a partition, but further in, tables were flipped and chairs thrown far. The bodies of teens were strewn about, and she prayed they were only injured and unconscious, and nothing worse. But at the epicenter of the chaos—WAAAAAAAH!!!—was Melissa Mathers, huddled amid the rubble and bawling her eyes out. Each WAAAAAAAH!!! manifested a blue shockwave of PK that slammed outward in a random direction.

"Shit." She stopped at the exit. "Get the car ready and keep an eye on your phone. Gonna need a quick getaway. Um..." A query to her wrist screen confirmed that all security feeds on the mall network were borked, busted, and blasted to bits. No one else around them appeared to be conscious. "Hold my jacket for me," she told GiGi.

Her grandparents had advised her to get used to wearing the tactical suit wherever and whenever. The social camouflage menu of its chameleon circuit only made this easier to accomplish. So she ducked to the side for privacy, pulled up her hoodie, and let the clothes make the heroine. Her sweater and slacks turned form-fitting, and her hoodie became a true cowl. The IBOTI bag clung to her hip with its logo attaching to the inner side, and the Shield of David insignia was allowed to shine. A second later, local up-and-coming heroine SilverStar was running straight into trouble.

The PK blasts weren't really soundwaves, and they weren't omni-directional. That didn't make them any easier to dodge. Her danger sense gave her the briefest of windows to get out of the way. She saw Marion Serris in passing, paused long enough to make sure the queen bitch was still breathing, and then closed in on the source of the destruction.

Strike that: she was closing in on a scared and highly-strung high school freshman girl. Mustn't forget that detail. Melissa was rocking back and forth as she sobbed, and there was a twinkling blue glow to her eyes. WAAAAAAAH!!! It matched the color of the PK shockwave.

"Missy!" she called to the girl. "Melissa! Can you hear me?"

"Y-yeah! -hic- I, I can hear... hear... WAAAAAAAH!!!"

Luck was with her that time; the shockwave went in the opposite direction, sending a chair flying into the front of the bagel stand ten yards away. "Gonna need you to calm down..." she continued.

"I... I... -hic- can't!" wailed the girl. "Just, just... -hic- everything's so awful and I'm a pathetic loser and a stupid little cow and I don't deserve a life for real and... and... WAAAAAAAH!!!"

If it kept going like this, someone was going to come along and shoot somebody else. Someone as in the cops. Somebody as in Missy, but also maybe herself, and quite likely half the bystanders by accident. No time to be nice. Out of her bag, she palmed a canister of the Cuckoo Channel's Knock-Out #9 and placed a puff in the girl's face. Missy gasped once, then keeled over. The sudden absence of noise nearly broke the ears.

SilverStar rubbed the echoes away, then pushed a button on her screen to send an automated alert to her grandparents. A second press sent a thumbs-up emoji to her friends' phones to let them know she was coming. Hefting the unconscious girl in a princess carry, the heroine made the best of an impromptu exfiltration.

December 25th, 2016
Melissa Mathers

The first thing Melissa remembered was gasping, falling, and blacking out. This didn't explain why she was under a quilt in borrowed pajamas, staring up at slightly cracked ceiling plaster. Starting from that memory, she tried to work her way backward. Gasping. Falling. Blacking out. The crack up there looked like a bunny rabbit. Gasping. Falling. Blacking out. These were nice pajamas. Silk granny pajamas. Gasping. Falling. Blacking out...

Better she gave up for now. Maybe something else would help. Looking to her left, over a well-starched pillowcase, she saw a stand of fake flowers and a digital clock that said 9:30 AM; SUN; 12/25. "Merry Christmas," she said to herself, out of reflex, but she wasn't really feeling the spirit.

She flopped her head the other way to discover a note on the lamp table. It was short, but it took her a moment to figure her way through the cursive handwriting:「Good morning, Melissa. You were out a little longer than expected, and then you wouldn't wake up after that. We thought it best to let you sleep it off. Breakfast is ready for you when you come downstairs.」The signature took her a moment longer. It definitely began with an M, then an A, and R... Did she know anyone with a name like that besides Marion? Couldn't be her, though; the senior famously refused to write in cursive. Seeing how elegant and neat the note was, Melissa doubted this person was even a teen.

Well, she was awake; she was moving. Her feet found fuzzy bunny slippers, and then they carried her to a small bathroom next door. Was she in a guest room? It felt like a guest room. Why was she here? Did her parents know? And where'd Marion and the others go? They'd just been—

A memory flipped on, of Marion losing it over something and Missy being there to be a target. Everything else was still a jumble after that, but she knew how it ended.

Gasping. Falling. Blacking out.

Sitting on the toilet, Melissa was doing the first, almost did the second, and really felt like the third. She stumbled to the sink and splashed water on her face, which helped. She looked at her reflection, which didn't. Her eyes were red and puffy, like she'd been crying too hard,. And it almost looked like they were... twinkling? She shook her head and turned away. Still too tired. Getting to her. Just had to... had to...

Wonderful smells floated up from a kitchen she had yet to see, but which she knew had to be down there somewhere, because how else did she know it was pancakes and hash browns for breakfast? Her stomach, which for most of the week had been treated to froot-flavored circles of artificial starchiness in two-percent milk, grumbled at her to get a move on. The rest of her wasn't as confident, but the smell had her by the nose and so she followed it, wherever it led.

Out the door, down the hall, downstairs, around a corner—

"Ah, she lives!" It was a grandmother's welcome in a grandmother's voice from a grandmother's face, and Melissa had no idea who this lady was, but the grandmotherliness put her at ease in an instant. "Come, come! Sit down. You must be starving. Penny dearest, are the pancakes ready?"

"Coming up!"

She did know this voice, but that didn't help her any. Why was she here... or, why was Melissa where she... The thought was terminated abruptly as the grandmother guided her to a chair and a certain high school senior put a full plate in front of her. "Um, what's...?" she mumbled out.

"Cream cheese pancakes," said the senior girl, "with lingonberry syrup, a side of turkey bacon, and latkes." A finger pointed to the thing that looked like a big, floppy hash brown. "Let me know what you think. It's my first time to make those."

"I'm sure you did perfectly, Penny dearest. Adolf!" called the grandmother. "Breakfast is ready!"

The man who came in through the other door was grandfatherly only in age. Otherwise, he looked like the kind of guy who might've played international spies in action moves from a few decades ago, and not necessarily for the good guys. He had a phone to his ear, and his short silver hair barely shifted as he nodded to whoever he was talking to. "Yes, Elspeth. Understood. We'll keep you updated. Thank you for taking the time." He cut the connection, then turned an appraising eye to Melissa. "You're looking better. Good. We should have—"

"Breakfast before business!" the grandmother declared. "Penny's made a nice meal for our first Hanukkah together, and you will enjoy it before we go any further."

"Yes, schatzi."

Melissa's eyes darted around, taking in the details of a normal-looking kitchen with a dining table and setting. In the middle was a fancy candlestick arrangement with eight holders, two of them with burnt-down candles—a menorah. "Oh yeah, you're Jewish."

"What, you forgot?" said Penelope. "Or is it a case of 'She doesn't look Jewish,' hm?"

The grandmother chuckled. "Let us give her the benefit of the doubt. She has been through a lot, after all. Eat up!" That last was the kinder sort of command, and Melissa complied.

The pancakes were delicious. So was the bacon and the potato-thing, and she made sure to say so.

"Thanks," said Penelope. "So, Safta Margit, when do we light the candles again?"

"Just after sunset, Penny dearest."

It was all too normal. All too... too nice. What was she even doing here? She still didn't know, couldn't say, and wouldn't say because her mouth was stuffed with the best food she'd had all week, and it was from Penelope Stein of all people...

She didn't realize she was crying until a swallow turned to a sob.

"There, there." And then the senior girl was by her side, giving her a hug with arms that were a lot stronger than she'd have thought. The older girl held her and patted her head and made soothing sounds. "I'll explain in a bit, promise. Just finish eating first."

There was no mistaking when the time for business arrived. Once the last bit of pancake was chewed, the last of the lingonberry syrup soaking through, her teenage host was suddenly... hard, if that was the right word. Serious, solid. Still friendly, in that way that confused, but definitely not soft. Melissa was led by the hand down a different set of stairs—not connected to the way upstairs at all but hidden behind a fake panel—and any sense that this was a normal home was banished away. The basement level had several rooms, all but one behind locked doors. The exception looked more like a gymnasium than their own school's gym. Its floor was covered in padded mats, and there was exercise equipment set along the side.

"Projector on," said Penelope, and suddenly there was a shimmering television screen floating an inch away from the wall. "Right, so, Melissa. You've been awfully calm..."

She had? Even with the sobbing through her pancakes?

"...which means you've probably blocked out a lot about what happened yesterday at the mall," Penelope continued. "Some of that's probably the #9, sorry, but..."

Gasping. Falling. Blacking out... The first memory hit her again, but this time there was a hint of something coming before it. When she sat down on the mat, it was more of a slow-motion crumble. Her eyes stuck to the screen like ball bearings to a magnet as security footage began to play.

"Okay, so this is how it all started. You're over there with Marion, Millicent, and Salutation—"

"Sally," she corrected automatically. All the girls in Marion's circle went by the queen bee's preferred nicknames, but Sally was the staunchest defender of that particular status quo.

"Seriously, that girl's got to get her priorities straight. Anyhow," the older teen continued, twirling a finger around one quadrant of the screen. "We can see you all over there. I'm to the right, just barely on camera, for what it's worth. Not going to matter in a moment."

What was she... oh. It was coming back to her now, only slightly ahead of the video feed footage. Marion, upset over something her parents had said or done. Missy, dropping something by accident. Marion again, chewing her out and calling her awful things. Sally, egging Marion on. Every awful thing she'd ever thought about herself, verified and vilified and victimized and—

"Melissa? Earth to Melissa..."

—the sinking feeling of the world caving in beneath her and over her and around her and—

"Hey! Snap out of it!"

—she was was worthless and useless and hopeless and graceless and feckless and she didn't even know what that last one meant only her dad liked to use it a lot and she'd never asked because she was gutless and spineless—

"Deep breaths. Breathe with me, okay? Um, 'raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens'...?"

—she was crying and sobbing and weeping and wailing and—

WAAAAAAAH!!!

If she'd been in any shape to pay attention to her own voice, she would not have recognized it. She definitely didn't hear the thud or smash of things breaking around her.

WAAAAAAAH!!!

"Melissa! Melissa! You need to stop!"

"I... WAAAAAAAH!!! ... can't!" It was just like the night before. Memory and reality were smushed together like two slightly different shades of playdough, and the colors of anxiety and sadness were running through and through, and if she took the sadness away there'd be nothing left at all.

"Damnit, I didn't want to do this again..."

There was a flush of sweetness across her face. She gasped, breathing in more of the gas. She didn't have far to fall. The world went black.

SilverStar

"That could've gone better."

"A masterful understatement, Penny dearest. But it taught us a few things."

Looking around the exercise room, where a section of floor mat was shredded, barbells had been tossed around, and there was a dent in the far wall where the projection screen had been, Penny had to wonder what those things were. So she asked.

"Well, first, we have confirmed that her PK blasts are carried on a sonic component, even if they do not travel at the speed of sound, that they are not directed but are unidirectional..." Her grandmother ticked the items off on her fingers. "As well, we see that there is an emotional trigger and, ah..."

"And what?" she asked after a few seconds.

Safta Margit nodded to herself. "Earlier at the table, the poor girl was feeling sad and I know I saw her eyes glow blue with PK for a second, but then you hugged her and calmed her down. There was either too much emotion this time, or you weren't fast enough to counter it, but either way there must be a threshold point after which she loses all control."

"Shit." She looked at the unconscious form of Melissa, laid out on the floor. "Is Sava Adolf still on the phone with your Whateley contact? Hopefully we can set things up soon."

"I hope so, too, Penny dearest."

Melissa

She woke up in the guest room bed, again. She was in the borrowed granny pajamas, still. Looking right, she saw the digital clock read 17:12, which confused her for a moment before her ability to do math turned back on. The room was darker, but so was the sky outside. Otherwise, everything was exactly the same except the inside of her brain, which sloshed around. Some memories were still squishy, but they were there.

She didn't want to think about them, so she pushed it all into the back corner of her mind and visited the guest toilet again. The fuzzy bunny slippers were in the same place. They took her downstairs.

"Hello, Melissa dear. Feeling better?" asked the grandmother when she got to the living room. "We ordered some Chinese takeout, if you'd like."

"Almost sunset," said the old man. He was arranging the fancy candlestick holder, with different colors of candle in its two rightmost settings. The spot in the middle already held a white candle.

"Oh! Perfect timing. We're going to start soon. Come along. Penny dearest, do you have the lighter?"

"Yes, Safta Margit."

"Good," said the grandmother. "Now, since Melissa didn't get to participate last night, we'll be adding the shehecheyanu back in with the other two blessings for Hanukkah."

The third blessing sounded more like a happy song, but Melissa could make out the shehecheyanu part. Penny lit the middle candle and waited for her grandfather to signal her to light the left candle with it.

"Now, while Penny lights the remaining candle on the hanukkiah, we recite from the siddur. Ahem. 'These lights we kindle upon the miracles, the wonders, the salvations, and the battles which you performed for our forefathers in those days at this season through Your holy priests. During all eight days of Hanukkah these lights are sacred, and we are not permitted to make ordinary use of them, but to look at them in order to express thanks and praise to Your great Name for Your miracles, Your wonders and Your salvations.'

"Each day, as we add another candle, the lighting fills out the time," The grandmother added, "Next comes the Maoz Tzur poem, which is based on scripture. 'Oh mighty Rock of my salvation, to praise you is a delight. Restore my House of Prayer and there we will bring a thanksgiving offering…'"

Melissa recognized the format of a Bible reading, but it wasn't like any psalms she'd heard at her family's church. The preacher there liked the big, angry parts, so she'd heard a lot from the Gospel of John, a couple of the Epistles, Exodus, and Leviticus. Revelations also popped up from time to time. But this seemed like an Old Testament list of troubles brought on by the Hebrews' enemies.

"…For the triumph is too long delayed for us, and there is no end to days of evil. Repel the Red One in the nethermost shadow and establish for us the seven shepherds.… whew." The grandmother closed the book (she'd called it a siddur?) and said, "I would say that it is more interesting in the original Hebrew," said . "Only, by itself, it's not. Now, Penny dearest, I'm sure Rabbi Proust went into some detail on this in your last class. Would you care to explain to our guest?"

The senior nodded. "This chapter's all about the creation of the first tabernacle," she said. "Basically, the First Temple in Israel, dedicated by Moses and all the tribes, which is why the Torah goes into so much detail about who brought what in the weekly reading. They were sort of cutting the ribbon on their new Holy of Holies. And the word for 'dedication' in the sense of establishing a new place of worship is hanukkah."

"As the tabernacle was dedicated," said the grandmother. "And later re-dedicated after its desecration by the Greeks, so do we mark our dedication to our lives, to our faith, and to our world. That is one part of Hanukkah. We'll save the rest for another night." There was an old lady chuckle. "We've got eight of them, after all. So, on to the presents!"

"Presents?" she asked. In her head, she sort of understood that it was still Christmas, even if she wasn't thinking about anything connected to that just now, but Penelope's family was Jewish, right?

"Yes, presents!" said the grandmother. "A little something every day. Useful things, more often than not. So, here."

Melissa blinked at the shopping bag now being waved at her. She peeked inside to find a couple of shirts, a few pairs of pants and underpants, plus two bras. "Um...?"

"You can't wear pajamas all day," said the grandmother.

"But, how...?"

"I am very good at guessing sizes."

It wasn't a present she would've expected, and she hadn't expected anything, anyway, but... but... People used to tell her it was the thought that counted, and Penny's grandmother thought more than anyone she knew. Which was nice and awesome and if she continued down that line of thought too hard, then—

A hiccupy sob escaped her throat. In an instant, Penny was there to hug her and hold her till the mood passed. It took a while.

Then they had their Chinese takeout. Then she went back upstairs and washed up. Then she went to bed properly. She didn't need help passing out this time.

Monday, December 26th, 2016
SilverStar

Penelope Stein had come to loathe Christmas specials over the course of her teen years, though it'd taken almost as long for her to realize that fact. The shows were ubiquitous during the season leading up to, and then immediately after, the most important holiday of the Christian faith, and if many of her foster homes had been sketchy on the acts of charity, they all loved a good piece of pageantry. She'd been shepherds, angels, and the Virgin Mary at least once in various church events.

Seriously, one of the benefits of switching to her adoptive grandparents' faith was that she no longer had to fake caring about this crap. So of course she was sitting on the couch with Melissa, watching Charlie Brown suffer a crisis of faith, and faking how she enjoyed the experience.

The ring of the doorbell was a blessed miracle. "Gonna go see who that is," she told the freshman, then made good her escape.

The front hall was decorated with a neatness and precision befitting a psyop. As the first area of the house any visitor would see, Safta Margit had done her best to ensure that no one not already in the know would ever guess this was anything more than a grandparents' house. The mocked-up family photos were a nice touch. She only wished the happy scenes they depicted had actually happened.

But she had new happy memories to make. "Shalom!" she half-shouted as she opened the door to let GiGi and Morton in. "Thanks for coming! And..." Her voice lowered as she shut the door behind them. "Thanks again for helping me get Melissa out, the other day."

GiGi giggled. "All the excitement of a spy movie without getting shot at. This time. We're not making a habit of it, I hope."

"I figured it was what boyfriends were for." Morton almost nailed the deadpan delivery.

"Remind me to call you next time I need to hide a body," she quipped. "Got intel?"

"Tablet in my bag," said Morton. "Our combined efforts."

She nodded. "Good. No trouble getting here?"

"No, and what a relief," said GiGi. "My parents are all chill about, yanno, but the extended family? Not so much. I'm glad to be out of there before my dad's step-uncle got to the fourth beer."

Morton had that goofy-cute smile on again. "Well, I was going to say to my mom, 'Hey, Penny invited me over for dinner,' only she had me out the door with my jacket on somewhere between the V and the T on 'invited.' I think she likes you," he added.

"She's a darling, herself," said Penny. "Right, anyway, Melissa's in the living room watching every Christmas special cartoon we could find on the streaming services. GiGi? Keep an eye on her. For now, the blasts are keyed to emotional freak-outs, so if she's looking too sad or starts crying or anything at all, commence love-bombing with hugs."

The other girl saluted. "Aye-aye, cap'n!" she declared before taking a turn to the living room. "Hey, Missy!" they heard her say. "Whoo! Snoopy!"

There was a thrill when she grabbed Morton's hand, and she was sure he felt it, too. "Come on. Let's see what intel you got." Her boyfriend was like a little lamb behind her as they climbed the stairs and came to the door to her room. "Right. Before we get to business..."

"Yes?—!" No time or space for any other reply as Penny grabbed her boyfriend by the front of his jacket and dragged him through that door. They shut it by simply leaning hard, because hands were preoccupied. She had one around his waist and the other through his hair, while his flailed for a moment before finding proper places to be. After an extended moment of thirstful kissing and heated grinding, they had to come up for air. Unfortunately.

She put a whisper in his ear, "I really really wish my grandparents weren't in earshot."

"Mh? Why—oh." He shivered as she slipped a hand beneath his shirt to stroke his back. "Maybe... another date? Soon? Movies?"

"Dark, private, and with a movie so awful we don't need to worry about watching?" She leaned in for one last quick kiss. "Perfect."

"G-good..." Morton didn't seem to want to let her go, and she didn't really want him to. They leaned into each other and the door for a while longer before giving up on being busy and actually getting down to business.

At her desk. Business at her desk. The bed would be too comfortable, and for now they really needed separate chairs. Her boyfriend set his tablet next to her computer and, with a few taps and clicks, the appropriate files were shared. "So what are we looking at?" she asked.

"Well, I assumed you've seen the security footage leading to Missy's breakdown and breakthrough?" He nodded. "Right. So it turns out someone closer to ground zero had a working phone and enough wits left to record you breaking her out."

"Shit. Just me in the costume, I hope? Nothing identifying?"

"You remain the sexy spy lady of mystery," he confirmed. "The school's social media ecosystem is full of speculation, but your name's not shown up. More people are worried about Millie, Sally, and Marion. Those three are still in the hospital. No fatalities, thankfully."

"What about Melissa's family?"

"What's she said about them?"

"Nothing, and that worries me. She hasn't even complained about missing Christmas presents. I'd say she was repressing, but it's more like she's compressing, which is kind of, um, depressing? Margit got her some new clothes yesterday and she nearly had a meltdown from happiness. So if I had to guess, her home life won't be held up as a sterling example of how to get along?"

Morton blew out his cheeks with a low whistle. "That's not the half of it, but the other half's all guessing from what people aren't saying. Um..." He pulled up the notes on his tablet. "We knew her big sister's the golden child, and that she treated Missy like crap before handing her off to Marion's crew for further abuse. Her dad's good with Marion's dad, too, and Mr. Serris is—"

"The unofficial head of the local Humanity First branch that doesn't exist, according to all the cops who are members. Right." She muttered a quiet "Shit."

"Pretty much. There's been no statement from Mr. or Mrs. Mathers, so they may be dealing with H1 issues on their end as well. Having a mutant daughter cannot be a good look for them. Um, she is a mutant, right?"

"Anything is possible, but mutation's most likely," she admitted. "We've got an idea of what to do with her, but we still have to contact her parents at least once to determine whether it's safe for her to return home. Even if we know that the answer is no, still gotta prove it. Sava Adolf's working on that now." She glanced at the clock. "Dinnertime soon."

"Yeah." Neither of them was looking at the bed, but a moment later they were in it, holding and kissing and touching. Nothing more than that, this time. Her grandmother knocked on the door to announce dinner before they got that far.

"…During all eight days of Hanukkah these lights are sacred, and we are not permitted to make ordinary use of them, but to look at them in order to express thanks and praise to Your great Name for Your miracles, Your wonders and Your salvations." As Safta Margit read from the siddur, they let Melissa light the first candle this time—the second one from the right. GiGi lit the candle next to it. Morton lit the rightmost. Guests should always be made to feel welcome, as her grandmother said—which was why they had more presents.

"Again?" Melissa didn't sound as if she believed it.

"It is eight crazy nights, after all," said everyone's grandmother for the evening. "Do allow me this chance to splurge. I haven't had so many chances in the past. So, for Melissa. For Girasol. For Morton," she said as she passed out packages.

"And one for you, Penelope," said her grandfather. The box he handed her filled her palm with a solid weight. Inside it was another box, a grey plastic cube with silvery circuit patterns along its panels. At the base, there were USB-C ports. "What is it?" she asked.

"One of LAN's designs," he told her. "He called it a mockingbox. We'll go over how to use it later, for a certain phone call." Together, they glanced towards Melissa, who was comparing Hanukkah-themed ugly Christmas sweaters with GiGi. The freshman's said 'Let's Get Lit' over a hanukkia candelabra, while the senior's said 'This Is How I Roll' with a dreidel. "There's no need to ruin the mood now," her grandfather concluded.

She agreed—and, speaking of moods, her boyfriend was sitting on the sofa with his present in his hands and a notable space on the seat next to him, just waiting for her to slide in to fill it. "What did you get?" she asked as she sat down and snuggled in. When that got no reaction beyond a deeper blush on his cheeks, she took a peek in the gift bag for herself. "Underwear?"

"Yes," he mumbled.

"Hanukkah-themed, novelty underwear?"

His affirmative mumble barely counted as a word.

Her fingers flipped through the waistbands. Big Dreidel Energy, Light My Candle, 100% Kosher Beef, Keep the Tip, Matzah Ballin'... "Right. Seriously. I want to see you in these sometime soon."

His face couldn't get any redder, but he was smiling now. "Er, um, nice to know your grandma approves of, um..."

Safta Margit at the sweet age of sixteen had been a trained honey pot targeting the teenage son of a Nazi theme villain, and had done it so thoroughly and enthusiastically that the two of them were still married. The old lady certainly had a cavalier approach to sex ed., which was why Penelope had herself a full selection of birth control and STD preventatives available in her bag.

She leaned in to whisper a quick promise in his ear that proved her boyfriend could indeed turn a deeper shade of red. Margit was polite enough to merely smirk as they joined everyone at the dinner table. Her grandmother had done most of the cooking this time, though that didn't guarantee things were any more traditional. There was a skillet-sized latke cut into pizza slices and dusted with ground red pepper, a braised salmon steak, a large bowl of tossed salad, homemade challah bread, and a cheese board. GiGi'd brought a chocolate cake, saying that her family had so much over at her place that they'd never notice one missing.

Everything was appreciated; all was delicious. The drinks helped, too. Melissa never realized she was the only one getting juice. The three seniors enjoyed carefully measured sips of wine at their meal.

Her grandmother remained the congenial hostess, with over half the conversation at the table passing her seat. After the main course was devoured, the salad munched and the soup slurped, as they nibbled on cheese and considered the options for dessert, Safta Margi tapped a wine glass with her fork. "Now," she began. "It has been a long time since I had the chance to tell the story of this holiday. I know Morton could explain it, and I don't doubt Penny dearest knows it well enough by now, but we have guests from among the nations here tonight, and I think it bears retelling. If you would indulge me?"

"As if mere permission ever kept you from telling a tale, schatzi." Sava Adolf saluted her with his own wine glass.

"Thank you, dear. Right, so Melissa? Remember how I said yesterday that Hanukkah means 'dedication,' such as a ceremony to mark a beginning? That is the point of the Tanakh readings for this set of days, but it's not just a dedication we celebrate, but a re-dedication, a re-affirmation of who we are as a people. We are called to be God's Chosen, but that is not an honor. It's a full-time effort to keep things right and set a good example for the nations, and our history is one of consistently failing and falling on our metaphorical arses about it. So, around the year 3590—or 164 B.C.E., if you must—we found ourselves in the midst of an awful moral and civil quandary.

"For a century or so, the land of Judea had sat wedged between two Hellenic kingdoms: the Ptolemaic dynasty of Egypt and the Seleucids in what is now Syria. For various political reasons, Judea ended up as a Seleucid territory, even. Faced with the social and commercial pressure from those two powerful neighbors, many folk simply stopped trying to be Jewish. Greek culture was the thing, especially in the cities, and there was all sorts of conflict between the traditionalists who kept the covenant and those who would rather not. It got so bad that King Antiochus IV of the Seleucids thought there was going to be an open revolt, and so he sent in his army to quell it.

"That went about as well as expected, which is to say it was an utter disaster. The priesthood was scattered, people were beheaded, and they turned the Temple in Jerusalem to the worship of Zeus. Zeus! That fucking philanderer! Oh, this would not stand, and did not!

"There was a priest of Modi'in, one Mattathias by name, who must have been quite the firebrand, because when he heard that Antiochus IV had declared the traditional practices of Judaism forbidden, his first reaction was to stick that metaphorical red-hot poker up someone's metaphorical sphincter. Less metaphorically, he killed a man for committing idolatry to the Hellenic pantheon and then lit out with his five sons to the wilderness. He sadly did not survive for long, but his son Judah became the leader of the Maccabees, the Hammers what smite and strike and deliver blunt-force circumcisions to the unfaithful and the enemy alike! They were holy terrors in every sense! And, after years of guerilla warfare against the Seleucids and their own misguided countrymen, they succeeded in retaking the Temple.

"But as I said, the Temple was given over to Zeus, and in order to make it properly their own once more, the Maccabees needed to rededicate it according to Jewish law, or halakha. Among the requirements was that the Temple menorah must burn continuously and it must burn only consecrated oil. So what they had must last until more could be obtained and brought to the Temple, an eight-day job. But oh! they had only the one jar of it, kept properly sealed and safe from the enemy. Still, Judah and the Maccabees had their faith, and so they lit it up.

"Here comes the important part, the reason we have the hanukkiah on the table here. Some way, somehow, that one portion of oil lasted the full eight days. Was it a miracle of the divine? Was it a miscalculation on the Maccabees' part? Did someone do God's work in the night to top it off in secret? We do not know, shall never know, and it is not important. What was important was the dedication, in the sense of the ceremony but also in the other English sense of the word. Dedication as in never giving up, never surrendering in the face of adversity. Like the light of the hanukkiah, we must never give in. We must persist. It is an important lesson, both for the Jewish people in trying times and for others among the nations who must face similar trials." Taking a moment to pause, Safta Margit nodded to GiGi and Melissa. The senior definitely got what the older woman meant, and nodded back with a tight grin. The freshman... Penny wasn't sure how far into the girl's head the facts of being a mutant had penetrated, but hopefully this story would linger on in her memory long enough for her to think it over properly.

"And so," her grandmother concluded. "We all, at one time or another, make a stand against those who would tear us down, for whatever reason. When knocked down, we must find within ourselves the dedication to see it through, the trust in the divine will that things shall pass, and the willingness to take that will into our own hands and make things right, when necessary. Thank you."

After an appropriately long pause of surprise and respect, Morton said, "That's way different from how Uncle Shane tells it."

"Oh, I am sure it is. But was any of it mistaken?" her grandmother challenged, a grin still on her face.

"No, but I don't think he's prone to giving anti-establishment speeches, either."

"A pity. We could do with more of those. It would keep the folk in power guessing. Now, for the desserts!" Safta Margit declared. "We've got cake and ice cream, various. Penny, could you get us some bowls? Yes, the glassware. Melissa, if you could help me clear the table?"

The rest of the evening was spent curled up on the sofa with her boyfriend's arm around her waist and a bowl of chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream to share. Her grandmother taught Melissa and GiGi how to play dreidel games while her grandfather went to take another phone call, probably from his Whateley contact. It was, Penny figured, a pretty decent holiday after all.

Tuesday, December 27th, 2016
Melissa

She sat at the breakfast table, eating a jammy donut. Across from her, there was a box. It was a solid cube, maybe six inches on a side. Penny had drawn a face on a paper plate and taped it to the front. "So, um... I just talk to it?" she asked.

"Pretty much," Penny told her. "It's got a... oh, what'd LAN call it? A limited language model inside. It asks you questions, you chat with it, and it learns how you sound."

"Does it record what I'm saying?"

"Not on this setting," the older girl assured her. "This is learning mode." She tapped the top of the box. "Say hello, 'Cathy'."

"Hello." The voice was calm, friendly, maybe even motherly. "Who am I talking to?"

The senior nudged Melissa, and she squeaked out, "Um, me? It's, um, I'm... my name is Melissa? You can call me Missy if you want?"

"Which would you prefer?" asked 'Cathy'.

She looked to Penny, but the older girl just shrugged back. "Um, Melissa is fine," she told the face.

"Well, then. It is nice to meet you, Melissa. What are you eating?"

Her first reaction was to show the box the donut, only to realize it didn't have eyes for real, just circles on the paper plate. She stammered out the answer to the question, and then to the one after that as well. Penny left her alone to chat with the funny question box and—without that live audience—her answers began to grow more detailed. More personal. She was talking to the dumb scribble-face like it was her best friend and telling it all about how she didn't have a best friend, how Sally and Marion used her as an emotional punching bag, how her big sister could do no wrong and so all the mistakes were Missy's, and—

She hardly heard her own sobs anymore. They were just part of the background noise of her life, something she didn't even notice till Penny was their with the big-sisterly hug she hadn't gotten in years, and the trembling was quelled before she could make the senior's life any worse. One arm reached over to tap 'Cathy' on the top, and then a beep signaled that the accidental therapy session was over.

"That's enough for now," Penny declared. "We need to let it organize itself for an hour or so, and then we can move on to the main event."

"W-which is?"

"Something you're not ready for, emotionally. That's why we need the box."

Penelope

Despite her words, the mockingbox only took forty minutes to analyze, dissect, and piece back together a simulacrum of Melissa's personality. In his documentation, LAN had laid out all the limitations and shortcomings of the technology, some inherent and others mandated by law. The limited language model inside the box's digital architecture could only work off its library of vocabulary, plus anything gleaned from conversation, but it didn't actually know what anything meant, or what it was saying. The thing was as conscious as a mountain echo, if more articulate, and it had apparently begun its existence as a text auto-completion algorithm before inspiration had struck and LAN had upgraded it to this thing-in-a-box on the table before her. She'd set it up in the training room, connecting it to the internet through an anonymizing router, a scrambler, and a VPN, which was likely overkill. They weren't dialing up a super-villain, after all.

She could only wish they were. The last real villain she'd met had been a doting and devoted father. On the other hand, GiGi and Morton's gossip file had made it clear that Gary Mathers was in no way a contender for Father of the Year. The man hadn't made one public statement about his daughter's disappearance. But all they had to go on was third-hand intel. If they were to get Melissa into Whateley, then they'd have to show that it wasn't safe for her to return to her family, and then invoke Raelynn's Law if they had to. Personally, Penny figured that the whole food court incident proved that the freshman wouldn't be safe in any degree of stressful home environment, but they still needed a rationale for why she and her grandparents were doing the paperwork, and not the Matherses.

Oh well, time to get the show started. She pushed a few buttons on the mockingbox's panel, and the call began.

It took three beeps for someone to pick up. "Yes?" A man's voice, rough from cigarettes. "Who is this?"

"Dad?" The box had Melissa's tones down perfectly. "Um, dad? Hi. I, um..."

"Where the hell've you been?"

The algorithm definitely did not possess that information, but its subroutines could managed evasiveness quite well. "I, um, I'm staying with, um, a friend? I'm, I'm sorry I didn't call sooner—"

"You should be sorry! You seen the news?"

"Th-the news?"

"Yeah. Your friends are all in the hospital and the police have video of you doing it to them? Were you gonna mention that part, Missy?"

"I... I..."

"Hmph. Didn't think you were. Didn't even know you were on video, did you? Thought that you could come skulking back home after you ruined everyone's holiday weekend? Your sister's already flown back to college because what's the point when we all know what happened? When we already know what the fuck you are?" Mr. Mathers' voice sneered. "You know what they're saying? The police, the MCO, Marion's dad? Dangerous. A menace. They find you, you're dead. I find you, and you're deader. And your friend? Hah! Depends on who finds you first, but they're likely dead, too."

"D-d-daddy! I... I..."

"You ain't a daughter of mine, you freak. Missy died in that food court, and you're just a feckless mutant bitch who needs to be put down. I—"

Enough was enough. Seriously. Just sitting there, listening but not heard, Penny'd had all she could stomach. With a tap, she killed the connection before Mr. Mathers could make himself sound any worse. It was bad enough she had to check the recording before saving it to her tablet and sending it on to their Whateley contact.

"How did it go?" asked her grandmother when she came up to the kitchen a few minutes later. The senior agent was teaching the freshman how to cook latkes. They'd all agreed that letting Melissa make the phone call directly would've been a Bad Idea, but... "About as well as we imagined," she reported. "We won't be picking up anything from your house, Melissa."

"It, it's okay..." the girl mumbled.

"Eyes on the skillet!" Safta Margit told her.

"Y-yes, ma'am!"

Penny helped them get the rest of the lunch together, though she didn't eat much, herself. She had to save her appetite for later. At 15:00 sharp, there was a knock on the door and then she was out the door in her jacket and nice shabbat dress, with her bag on her shoulder and a grin on her face—right into the arms of her boyfriend.

"Ready for a big-family Hanukkah experience?" he asked once she let him up for air.

"Definitely. So..." She could feel her grin turn evil at the edges as she whispered in his ear, "Which pair are you wearing?"

That one ear burned red as he whispered back, "100% Kosher Beef."

"Perfect." She giggled all the way to the car.

Margit

The whole grandmother business might have been new to her, since she and Adolf had only adopted Penny by legal fiat the previous June, but Margit Stein felt that she was getting the hang of it. Years of managing support operations helped. Teen drama was nothing when compared to the circus of neuroses performing in any given black-ops endeavor. The feelings were rawer, though, as she could see in poor Melissa. The girl had been pushed down for so long that she didn't know how to grow up anymore. And, unless they could get around the girl's shell, she might not ever have the chance to.

So Margit could be the doting grandmother for one more lost child, teaching Melissa recipes in the kitchen or going through her collection of creative hobbies picked up over the decades. Not long after Penny left to meet her boyfriend's family, she took a jigsaw puzzle down from the closet. 2000 pieces, a 19th century impressionist work—not one of the more famous ones, but still nice on the eyes. If they focused on completing it, they might have it done in an hour, but they wouldn't. The puzzle was merely one element in a domestic backdrop to keep Melissa at ease and happier than she'd likely been in ages.

"Shall we make a movie night of it?" she suggested. "Just the two of us?"

The girl's smile was a-glow but still faint, like the Ghost of Christmas Past. "I, I guess so?"

"Good. You choose the first show while I start up the popcorn. Then we can watch and do puzzles."

She returned a few minutes later to find A Muppet Christmas Carol queued up. It couldn't be helped, she supposed. And any film that opened with a huge song-and-dance number telling the capitalist tyrant to go fuck himself in happily insulting PG ways had her seal of approval. They could settle in with the card table right in front of the sofa and work on the puzzle, stopping often to laugh. It was a different sort of grandmotherly experience than what she had with Penny, and she could cherish it while it lasted.

SilverStar

They weren't going to Morton's house. Penny knew his mother from Saturday services at the local temple, and she'd met others of his extended family here and there, but this time was the big event. His Uncle Shane hosted a dinner every year on the third day of Hanukkah, giving everyone else some time to enjoy the holidays with immediate family before bringing them all together at his house. One thing Penny didn't know for sure was exactly how many of the people she was now meeting and being greeted by were actually related to her boyfriend. His family tree had been extended, transplanted, and occasionally grafted so many times that she doubted anyone really cared, if they even knew.

"Hey, Mortie!" And their host had spotted them, from across a living room thronging with supposed relatives, enjoying various things on crackers, served on paper plates.

"Hi, Uncle Shane," her boyfriend replied.

This was her first time to meet the man, and the reality lined up with the image. Large in the sense that he filled a room with his presence, with a bushy beard, bushier eyebrows, and a belly he liked to slap when he laughed—and he might as well have been playing the bongos that evening.

"And this is the fabled girlfriend, I take it?"

"Nice to meet you, sir."

"The pleasure's all mine," said their host. "Adi and Margit's granddaughter, right? Ha, I think you take after your grandma more, now that I look at you."

"Probably for the best," she agreed.

"True! I mean, Adi Stein's a good man and all, but between you and me?" said Uncle Shane in a mildly drunken whisper. "He seems a little intense."

In vino veritas. She needed to find an equivalent expression in Hebrew, sometime. "I couldn't ask for a better grandfather," she said with pride.

"Fair enough. Hey, Lucille! Have you met Penny? Isn't she just the sweetheart? I can get why Mortie here went to so much trouble to ask her out right."

"Worth it, though?" she asked her boyfriend.

"Er, yes!" he gulped out. Maybe her hand around his waist was distracting him from making full sentences; she didn't care. "Er, I couldn't've done it without your help, Uncle Shane."

"It was perfect," she confirmed. "Ride, suit, flowers, all of it. He put the football team to shame. And we had a nice time dancing, too."

This conversation got repeated several times as their host dragged the two of them around the house. Every room was a dining room that evening, and every table or counter was part of the buffet.

"It's a pity your grandparents couldn't come," one of Morton's great-aunts said, somewhere in the hallway between the dining and living rooms.

"My grandfather is not much of a party person..." Truer words having never been spoken. "...and I think my grandmother is happy to have some time to relax and watch her favorite Christmas movie."

"She has a favorite?" That was a different great-aunt, or maybe someone's elderly cousin. She would have to sort out her notes later to figure out who was what.

"Sure, Die Hard." Penny waited for the laughter to subside. "But really, I think she wanted me to get the full experience here without her getting in the way."

"Fair enough!" said their host, before draining his cup again.

"Okay, so my turn to ask," she said to him. "How'd you end up with a name like Shane?" From the way everyone around them either groaned or laughed, with nothing in between, she figured there was a good story behind it.

"Ha! You haven't heard this one, of course," boomed their host. "I was named after my late grandfather, of course! But how'd he get it? Well, funny you should ask!" Uncle Shane waited a moment for the groans to die down again before continuing. "So, the family came over from Estonia about a hundred years ago, and they all spoke Yiddish, had Yiddish names and all, but someone told him, 'Oy, Moishe, we're about to get a brand new start in America, so when they ask you your name, give 'em a good one, an American one, so you can act like you belong.' Lots of folks did that sort of thing," Shane added. "Took names that were less Jewish-sounding. Sad times, but what was a guy to do? So my grandfather thought up a new name, a perfect name to tell the man at Ellis Island. A new name for a new American life! But when it came time to tell the man, my grandfather was so nervous that he completely blanked out! So he was there at the entry center, got asked his name, and he shouts in Yiddish—"

"Shoyn fargesin!" Everybody around them yelled the punchline in a chorus of laughter and groans.

"Which means, 'I already forgot!' in the old language," Uncle Shane concluded. "And so the guy at Ellis Island wrote down his name as Shane Fergusson."

"...seriously?" she asked.

"Nah, but it's too good of a joke not to tell," their host admitted. "In all seriousness? I'm named for an old friend of my father's from high school who died in a car crash. Good guy, by all accounts. I try to live up to the namesake."

All jokes aside, it was a wonderful get-together and a wonderful evening. And if she never had a chance to get her boyfriend alone so she could verify his undershorts, she still trusted he was wearing the ridiculous things. So instead, she focused on refining her mental notes for who was who. She'd been good enough with names even before Uncle Hans had done his thing, and that faculty had only grown sharper since then, but even so there was a lot to take in. It wasn't till well in the evening, close to midnight, that she checked her phone and noticed a discreet notification from her other account.

"What is it?" Morton asked as she cussed under her breath.

"I've got to bail soon," she told him. "There's someone I need to speak with, at a specific place and time. Business."

That last word did a lot of lifting, as did Morton's eyebrows. "Need a lift?" he asked.

"Away from here, at least. Be the gentleman and take your girlfriend back to her house. No time for anything else, unfortunately."

"Later?"

"Definitely." She let him lead her away so they could make their goodbyes and get going. Her night had only just begun, and not in any of the ways she might actually like.

Margit

"Yes, Penny dearest. I understand. Your grandfather will be en route for a pick-up at the appropriate time. Best of luck." She hung up the phone and sighed. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Business was business, even over the holidays. Next to her on the sofa, Melissa was curled up and smiling in her sleep. The girl had passed out in the middle of their third movie of the evening. Margit tucked her in with an old blanket and settled in to watch a fourth movie and finish their jigsaw puzzle. It was time for Die Hard.

SilverStar

Her boyfriend dropped her off about two miles from the meeting point. The distance was trivial, even in the middle of winter. She'd had a moment to change into her tactical suit in the back of Morton's car—making sure to give him a good show at the same time—and the garment's strange weave of printed circuitry on proprietary material kept her warm through anything. A mildly boosted physique did the rest.

The Henny-Penny Diner sat on the edge of town, a last stop for folks driving through the night. When she walked in, social camouflage fully enabled and not looking much at all like ordinary high school student Penelope Stein, she saw that only a few booths were taken. She knew exactly which to approach, though, and who to talk to, in spite of the woman's own social camouflage methods. Some things were easier to hide than others, and being a two-meter-tall Amazon with the leonine grace of a professional wrestler was harder than most. The flannel jacket and trucker hat helped, but most of it came down to the little green amulet around the woman's collar.

"Hello, ma'am," she said as she slipped into the booth and accepted a plate that had been set for her. "What brings you to town?"

The superheroine known as Tawny glanced up from her plate of fried chicken and waffles to grant her a look that spoke much with few words—or none, as the case happened to be. They both knew the answer; Penny was only waiting for her to say it.

The heroine pulled out her phone and tapped an innocuous icon. The noise all around them cut short, like a curtain had been drawn. "You were caught on camera kidnapping a girl," she began.

"Extracting," corrected SilverStar. "Bringing her into protective custody."

"Protection from whom?" came the challenge.

"Would you like a list?" She ticked them off on her fingers. "The police, first of all. They would've shot her down to shut her up, and they would've been in the right, if for all the wrong reasons. Next, from other would-be heroes. The girl's got a wild talent, unpredictable and uncontrollable, and not everyone would try as hard to help. Third... I don't suppose you've talked with her father?"

Tawny shook her head. "He's loudly declaring it a kidnapping, occasionally with other dastardly crimes implied, but he's only talking to the police. I'm not actually on the case, either. Only here now because regional oversight committees are eyeballing the mess and want details, but I'm the only one with a confirmed contact."

"Well, if you'd like details, I happen to have a recording of a phone conversation from just this morning, of an attempt to call Mr. Mathers about his daughter's welfare..."

The heroine listened through the entire thing, though her face turned downward nearly from the start and only reached further for her chest as it continued. "No one bothered to mention this, oddly enough. Though I assume the police would know?"

It was her turn to nod. "Rumored but unconfirmed that the local H1 chapter has significant presence in the city police department."

"Goddamnit..." Tawny looked her in the eyes. "I assume you've got a plan?"

"Getting her to Whateley, mainly."

A snort. "Of course you know about that place. Not even going to ask how. And this plan is coming along?"

"Now that we've got that phone call registered as evidence of an unsafe home life? Yes. Next on the agenda is to get her a provisional powers check and temp MID. Can't do that in Muncie, though."

"I know some people," said Tawny. "A clinic that caters to this sort of issue. The actual location is left floating, but I can arrange a contact point somewhere closer to Indianapolis. Far enough out that you can sneak her around more openly. Actually, let me do that now," the heroine continued, bringing up a new phone app and tapping away. "They're used to last-minute arrangements, so you should be good to go in a few hours."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it." The heroine finished off her last slice of waffle and grunted. "One last thing. Remember that kid you took down last month, tried to Carrie her old school's homecoming?"

"All too well." And oh, what a sinking feeling...

"Yeah, you probably can guess. One of the mutant liberation groups sprung her from the detention facility last week, vanished into the night. I don't know how much she knows or recalls, but consider it likely you've got a nemesis out there now."

"Oh, joy." She rolled her eyes as she bit into her own slice of waffle. "Quelle surprise. What drama. Anyway. How's your boyfriend doing?"

"Mus? He's not my..." Tawny's scowl only brought out the giggles in both of them. "Be serious, please."

"Sorry, but it's just one crazy night after another, these days. Thanks for the head's-up. I'll be in touch with updates if anything goes crazier."

"Oh, goodie."

Wednesday, December 28th, 2016
Melissa

She didn't remember falling asleep on the couch the night before, but she wouldn't forget the wake-up call the next morning. "Hey, Melissa." It wasn't too loud, but it was persistent, as well as accompanied by a gentle shaking. "Hey, Melissa. We need to go somewhere today."

"Five more minutes..." she mumbled.

"You can sleep in the car," Penny told her. "Better if you do, to be honest. Keeps your profile low. Come on."

"Where we goin'?"

"Over to Indianopolis and a bit. We need to get you looked at."

"Huh?" It wasn't making much sense to her yet. "My clothes?"

"Got a bag packed. C'mon, up you go." Penny had nice, strong arms for picking people up. She could dream about her own Prince Charming while snuggled in. There was a faint memory of being placed in a car seat, buckled in and covered up before going back to sleep, but in the next blink, the sun was up and shining through the glass. Then she was wide awake.

"Um, where are we?" she asked.

"Oh, good morning," said Penny from the driver's seat. "Bagel?"

"Thanks..." She gnawed on the doughy ring for a moment before asking again.

"On the I-64 just past Fishers," came the reply. "We're about to circle the 465 around the city before heading on to Cloverdale."

"Um, what's in Cloverdale?" she asked, not any more enlightened than before.

"Not much," Penny admitted. "But that's our contact point for the underground clinic network."

"The what?" Still in the dark.

"A group of physicians and medical researchers who specialize in the mutant condition," the senior explained further. "National system, but regional providers, and the Midwest clinic in particular has a floating point entrance for security. Ever see Howl's Moving Castle? Sounds like the front door to that place."

She looked around. The old sedan was roomy, comfortable, and devoid of other passengers. "Just the two of us?"

"For the appointment, yeah. The heroine SilverStar and her young protectee... We're gonna need to think of a code name for you. A temp one, at least. It's required for the paperwork."

"I, I don't know..."

"Something to think about." The senior turned the radio back up, and Top 40 hits flooded the air. It gave a nice cushion between the world and her thoughts.

SilverStar

It was the longest road trip she'd ever driven for herself, and a swing around the I-465 made her wish for side-mounted missile launchers. Sadly, the sedan was mostly built to factory standard, with only a few special features added on later. Most of those were contained in a single boxy apparatus between the front seats, though the license plate had been gimmicked up as well. Her phone provided more useful applications for the current mission, including navigation and regular contact with her grandparents, who were taking a different route in the van. They would all meet up at the hotel, later.

The entire trip took an hour forty-five, about half of it with Melissa asleep in the back under a blanket. It was almost as quiet when the girl was awake. No telling what was running through the freshman's head, but Penny kept the music up loud and peppy on the off chance that it kept the girl's mood from nosediving. Only once did she need to pull over and administer hugs.

The GPS coordinates led her to a shopping street in Cloverdale, IN. Like much of the town, it had seen good years come and go, and things looked to be on the upswing. There were still a few empty storefronts, however. Penny parked the sedan a few spaces down, keeping an eye for potential security camera placement. The sedan's plates were dusted with some gadgeteer gimmick that made them unreadable to surveillance aggregators—and in any case, they weren't showing the correct numbers at the moment. The sedan's mundane normalcy meant there were thousands like it still on the road, which was another layer of security in itself.

The windows were adjustably tinted as well, so the first look any prospective watcher got of her would be her all suited up with the social camouflage enabled. Melissa made do with doubled-up coats and tripled up mufflers topped by a pom-pom ski hat. A pair of large spectacles completed the image of a winterized Minion waddling after her. As they passed out of sight of the road, she put her suit into business mode but kept the fake face showing.

Around the side of the building there was a door with a code box, and she had the key for that day. Nine quick button presses later, and the door swung open to reveal a waiting room larger than the storefront. Her danger sense tickled just a little as she stepped across the threshold into whatever strange place the Moutarde Clinic existed within.

"Name, please," said the guy at the counter. He looked like a college student, an impression proven by the textbook he was reading over instead of looking at them.

"SilverStar, here with a friend for powers assessment and temporary MID," she announced.

Now, the guy looked up, and he nearly fell out of his chair at the same time. "Oh! Yes, I see that you are expected. Dr. Ketjap has a room ready for you. Down the hall, third on the left."

"Thanks." She escorted the freshman to the examination room and shut the door behind them. "Um, Melissa? I wasn't too scary now, was I? I didn't mean to make him jump like that."

The girl giggled. "Um, you do have that dark and mysterious thing going on. Maybe it wasn't what he was expecting?"

"Well, if he was hoping to see spandex and Wonder Bra engineering, he went looking at the wrong heroine."

Another giggle. "I can't really picture you like that."

"Seriously. Not my scene."

"...I bet Morton could, though?" A third giggle, happier than the first two. Penelope chose to take it as a good sign that the freshman had remembered what a joke was. There was hope for the girl after all. They could work on her delivery later.

Melissa

Maybe she'd been expecting a normal doctor's office. Maybe she'd hoped for something more. The little examination room in the clinic-that-wasn't-there managed to meet both expectations. The walls were that pale yellow-orange that somehow felt warm and comforting, and there were padded stools set next to the little bed with the paper sheet over it. There was a counter for tools, and health-related posters hung on the walls—only, on a closer look, they included topics like the proper care of scales or feathers, the practical differences between nails and claws, and why impossible eye colors were perfectly natural.

That only reminded her of the twinkly effect in her own eyes, and she spent a few minutes looking at herself in the room's standing mirror while Penny texted her grandparents. The sparkles weren't too obvious. She hoped they weren't too obvious. Oh, what would she do if she grew something more obvious, like horns or sausage fingers or an extra nose or—

The door on the other side of the examination room opened, and a man in a white doctor's coat entered. The cloth only made his skin tone stand out more. It wasn't a color Melissa had ever seen on a person, but it didn't seem wildly out of the ordinary, either: kind of a brown with a yellowish undertone that was somehow different from any of the black or darker hispanic students at Muncie South-West High, but oh, she was staring and the doctor looked normal otherwise, not even a third arm, but she'd gone too long just looking and—oh, God!—she was losing it from embarrassment and—

Penny had her in a hug, strong arms curled around, with one hand patting her head and the other rubbing her back. "Sh, sh. I know you're nervous, but work with me here, okay? That's just Doctor, ah..."

"Ketjap," the man supplied.

"Thanks, Dr. Ketj... wait, Ketjap at the Moutarde Clinic? Seriously?"

The doctor's grin was a firm white line in his dark face. When he spoke, it was with a faint accent. "I shall admit, I chose it for the wordplay. In my home country, not all people have family names. It is a headache to work with the people in this country if you do not have one, however, as it makes them so confused." He had a nice chuckle. "And my regular name confuses them more."

"Um, what is it?" Melissa asked.

"Suparman."

"Wait, seriously?" Now Penny laughed.

"It is a popular name in Java," said the doctor. "It means something like strong and gallant. A good name for a hero, I am sure, but I am only a reasonably talented physician with a specialty in developmental metaphysiology. Now, if the patient is sufficiently calmed down?"

Oh, that was her. "Um... yes? I'm sorry."

"It is nothing to trouble yourself. Many young folk arrive here out of sorts. It comes with the territory. Now, let me see..." The doctor pulled a small tablet from his labcoat pocket and flicked the screen. "First, while I have your name, for the purposes of initial assessment we shall need a code name. Have you thought of one?"

Had she? Maybe. It wasn't a good one, but it fit. "Um, well, I guess, er... Crybaby?"

"Seriously?" asked Penny. "You're going with that?"

"I, um, well, it's true!"

"Fair enough. And it serves as a warning, I suppose."

Dr. Ketjap made a note. "Good. We do not judge here. And surprise-surprise, but no one has taken that code name in the American registry. Now, miss, if you would come this way?"

In the corner of the room was a square space with a curtain railing around the top, like a game center photo booth. "What do I do?" she asked.

"It is a biometric scanner," the doctor told her. "In a flash, it tells us your physical dimensions and whether you have any outstanding physiological or anatomical alterations. Ah, a mask for you." He handed her a black domino mask that fit across her upper face. "And a snood for your hair."

The thing was like a lunchlady hair net made out of black yarn, and she took it with a questioning look. "So I put this on... how?"

"I'll help," said Penny. "Let's just get that mop of yours tied in... mask on... right. Now stand there."

So she stood. The curtain pulled around her, and the light grew brighter. At first she couldn't tell where the illumination was coming from, but then she realized the curtain itself had weird, flat light bulbs on the inner side. Then came the flash. It took only a second. Her vision took a minute or more to unblur. She was still rubbing her eyes as the doctor confirmed the readings and and announced there were no signs of a tail, claws, feathers, fur, or anything else.

"Aside from the eyes," he amended a moment later. "But visible ocular adaptations are so normal—if that is the word—in cases of mutation that they are never cited as GSD unless there is significant changes in structure or utility as well. Now, going deeper into the data, bloodflow patterns indicate possible growth in the laryngeal apparatus. Has your voice changed recently?"

"Um, no..."

"Do you like to sing?" came the next question.

A little part of her cringed at the memory of singing lessons with her sister, of never measuring up to the older girl's standard and being mocked for it. "N-not really..."

"Well." Dr. Ketjap opened an app on his tablet and tapped a button. A single note rang clear and happy. "Could you try just that?"

"C-could you do that again?" She listened carefully as the note was produced three more times, then surprised herself by matching it on the first try. More notes followed, up and down the scales and occasionally squished in weird ways, and each time she managed without hardly thinking. "Um, how?"

The doctor nodded some more as he tapped in a note. "Perfect pitch acquisition. It is a common secondary mutation for the siren trait package. Proper lessons should develop it further," he advised. "Though if that is not possible, some time in a karaoke box or even just singing in the shower would help as a start."

"I know a siren," said Penny. "Musical empathy. What Me—what Crybaby's got is completely different."

Hearing the code name from the heroine's lips was weirdly comforting, like it made all this crazy stuff more real. And Penny—no, SilverStar—was right. 'Crybaby' was a good warning. She never wanted to hurt anyone, but it wasn't ever up to herself.

"The siren designation covers a suite of abilities," the doctor was explaining. "And not every siren has all, or even most, of them. Looking at the footage you forwarded to me, I see psychokinetic shockwaves. That is one manifestation of the power suite."

The heroine rubbed the back of her neck and winced. "I mean, they hit hard, but they weren't going sonic speeds. That was the only reason I could dodge them at all."

"While the soundwaves may carry PK or other psi effects, for blasts such as that, the sound more often serves as an advance warning, or perhaps a guide for the direction the energy will follow," said Dr. Ketjap. "Tell me, Ms. Crybaby. Have you noticed any other abilities manifesting? Vocal mimicry?"

"Um, no? But I haven't tried."

"Vocal projection?"

"Er, the same?"

"Hypnotic song or voice of command?"

"No?" She wasn't sure what she would do with any of those. "Um, I really haven't been able to, yanno, do anything, really. Not on purpose."

More notes went on the tablet. "We have some items for preliminary testing, then."

"What, here?" said SilverStar.

"Only the basics, of course, but the siren suite is well defined and reasonably safe to work with. If you would follow me?" Out through the other door they went, and even to her confuddled brain, Melissa could tell that the hallway they were walking along could not have coexisted with the hallway they arrived on without crossing somehow, and yet they didn't. For that matter, there was no way all of this fit in the little shopfront back in Cloverford. The Moutarde Clinic was seriously weird business, she was realizing.

But SilverStar was taking all like business as usual, so she followed the heroine's example, squared her shoulders, and continued onward. The next room looked more like a sound booth at a recording studio, and for the next hour they had her singing karaoke. As it turned out, vocal mimicry was within her range of ability. She couldn't copy a voice perfectly, but she could match the music after a few tries, no matter what the song, from modern pop to heavy metal. It was even kind of fun.

Next, they had her try to throw her voice. This was easier said than done, because she had no idea how to do it. Results were listed as inconclusive after a frustrating hour of trying.

It was almost lunchtime and she was starving. They'd paused the testing a moment so SilverStar and Dr. Ketjap could quietly discuss something in the control booth, so Melissa was left to her own devices. She stood up, stretched, closed her eyes to twirl around. And when she opened them again—

A great white face with burning red eyes, its leer showing huge, ugly teeth, was right in front of her.

"AAAAAGH!"

And then the papier-maché mask was in shreds upon the floor of the booth. Part of the wall behind it was dented. "Defensive shriek, confirmed," the doctor announced. "And oh, my ears..."

"Sorry!" she squeaked.

"Don't be," SilverStar told her. "That was another part of the preliminary testing. But it's like the previous blasts," the heroine said to the doctor. "Keyed to an emotional response, semi-voluntary at best."

"That means there's more to test at a later date, is all," said Dr. Ketjap. "For now, let her rest in the waiting area for a while, and we can discuss the specifics of her school application."

Oh, yeah. This was all about getting her into Mutant High's real-world version. She'd almost forgotten that in all the fuss of the past few days. Or she hadn't wanted to think about it. Or she hadn't wanted to think. She didn't want to think much now, either, so she happily settled onto the couch seating in the waiting room, with no one else around to worry her or bother her or just be there, potentially judging her. Except for the guy at reception, but he was busy with other stuff. Since she had the TV all to herself, Melissa flipped through the menu and picked something bright and colorful and cartoony, like they hadn't had on TV at home since Madelyn decided she'd outgrown the baby stuff, and never mind Missy the baby. The dip in her mood at the memory was soon evened out by a silly cartoon called Nook and Cranny about two silly animals, a blonde raccoon and a white tanuki, doing silly crimes as they outwitted a gruff old bloodhound detective. The episodes were short, but there were a lot of them.

From time to time, she heard a chuckle from the reception counter, and eventually the guy came over with a tray in his hands. "Doc wanted to make sure you weren't crashing or anything," he told her. "So, juice box and a cookie?"

"Thank you," she told him as she accepted the snacks. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation.

The guy nodded and turned to leave, but then paused himself. "Is everything going okay? Really?"

"Um, y-yeah?" Why was he asking?"

"Gotta check, you know. We get all kinds of weird situations in here. so if there's anything you want to say while your minder's not around, feel free."

"Um, sure. B-but, I don't think I..."

"Right, right. No worries. Forget I even asked," said the guy. This time, he really did turn around and go back to the counter, and she tried to go back to enjoying her cartoon. Worry kept getting in the way, though.

She ran out of cookie and juice before SilverStar returned from her conferencing, but not out of short animated tales of trash pandas doing crimes. Even with the ever-intrusive worries, the humor helped keep her balanced and calm. Between episodes, she would glance over to the guy at reception, and he would wave at her. After a few times, she waved back.

Finally, a door opened down the hall and SilverStar stepped back into her world. "Staying cool?" the heroine asked.

"Y-yeah?" She flapped a hand limply at the TV screen. "It's funny."

"Good to hear. Anyway, time for us to go."

"Lunch?" she said hopefully.

"That's the plan. Oh, this is for you." SilverStar handed her a small plastic rectangle, about the size of the driver's license she didn't have yet. This card had her face and name on it, and when she was shown how to hold it and press it a certain way, everything changed to details about Crybaby. An MID. It was official. Almost two hours of cute puppy cartoons couldn't provide enough happiness to bolster the shock, and her body rattled with the start of a sob.

"Oops, should've figured this might cause a fuss." The words proceeded a big-sisterly hug. "Come on, time for a late lunch."

The big door at the front of the clinic opened out to a much smaller door in the side of an otherwise empty storefront. She was back in all her coats and scarves for the walk back to the car, and then they were making a slow drive through Cloverdale. The senior's suit had reconfigured to something appropriate for a day on the town, but the skin tone and hair remained dark. "Just in case," Penny told her. "If someone makes you while we're out and about, they won't be able to ID me as readily. In fact..." she continued as they reached a stop sign. "I think I see a G-Burger down the way. It's junk, yeah, but it's tasty, and we could both do with some hanging-out time. Sound good?"

"Yeah, I guess. I—" Her words trailed off as some music caught her ears and reached through them to grab her attention. It was a soothing, tuneless stream of notes, and it wasn't coming from the radio. As she hummed along, Melissa looked outside to find the source now skipping along the crosswalk in front of them. A tall, willowy woman in a stylish red and blue overcoat held her head high as she sang. Black hair streamed behind her, the tips dancing at the notes, and it didn't occur to Melissa that anything at all hinky was going on until Penny slumped into the driver's seat and began to snore lightly.

That probably wasn't a good thing.

Then a gang of blobby green Disney dwarves popped up around the car and yanked the passenger door open. That really couldn't be good. Then a knock-off Grumpy pulled her out of the car.

That was not good at all. Her shriek of surprise and fear made the lumpy green mannekin pop like a goopy bubble.

"Crap, Tina. Why isn't she asleep?" The voice was older, male.

"I don't know? Maybe her power's interfering?" That was the singer. The soothing music somehow continued around the words.

"What else have we got?" That was a third voice, another girl's, and oddly familiar. Where—?

The weirdly sweet scent of the Cuckoo Channel's Knock-Out #9 was unfortunately familiar as well. Gasp. Fall. Black out.

SilverStar

She didn't even know she was asleep until she woke up. And then she was pissed. The faintest echo of a memory of song hung in her ears, a car horn was beeping behind her, and there was a Melissa-shaped hole in space-time where the freshman should be sitting. Several cusswords traveled through the space a moment later.

The driver behind her honked again. She saluted them with a middle finger, then pulled aside to take stock of the situation.

Seriously? What the hell happened? After a moment, she had her tablet synched up with the box between the front seats and the car's security footage filled in the details of almost twenty minutes at a quiet intersection. Most of them, at least. There were blind spots in the coverage due to how the hidden cameras were placed, but the culprits hadn't been trying for covert ops here.

First, the singer. Definitely a siren, definitely a lullabiar. Mental note to self, but abilities with non-contact, non-violent effects apparently did not trigger a danger sense alert. That would have been nicer to know sooner, but such was life. After that, there was a weedy gentleman with hair like powdered orange drink leading a set of green homunculi. The cameras caught how they'd opened the door, grabbed Melissa, and then gassed the girl. And shut the door, like conscientious little bastards.

Then an argument, some gesturing her way between Mr. Orangeade and a third. Black outfit, flame highlights, cheerleader base model plus strategically ripped sections filled with fishnet for a poser-punk image. The girl wasn't happy to just leave, but a sharp word from her cohort got her into a generic van with tampered plates, and they drove off with Melissa.

Seriously? She'd been half-joking about the nemesis thing, and here was Ravenge getting into her business? Penny saved the footage and shut the tablet. Time to bring her business to others.

It wasn't long at all to the shopping center when she didn't care about traffic violations. Her tactical suit was already in business mode as she stepped back through the impossible door to the Moutarde Clinic. Dr. Ketjap was discussing something with the receptionist when she entered, and their faces told her everything she needed to know. The doctor looked at her with confused cheer and a welcoming wave. The receptionist blinked in panic and then bolted.

It only took three bounding steps to catch up to him, then to grab him by the shoulder and unsubtly redirect his face into the carpet. Her knee found a spot in the small of his back that was more comfortable for her than for him, and her hand kept his head down.

"Ms. SilverStar! I must insist that you unhand my staff!"

"Only if he promises not to run away." The struggling beneath her knee suggested that there'd be no such promise. "I'll be frank, Doctor. My friend was just kidnapped, less than half an hour ago. It was planned, coordinated, and well-timed. They knew what road we'd be on, but outside this clinic only three people had that sort of information. One was the hero who recommended your services. The other two are en route right this instant, and they won't be as nice or polite as I am about questioning our most likely suspect here."

"Bring it, villain!" grumbled the young man through the carpet.

"Villain? You don't grasp the sitch, my dude." She leaned in harder to speak close to one ear. "My friends are not villains; they are semi-retired Nazi hunters. As such, they know a great deal about information extraction and have few foibles about using that knowledge. And as they see Ms. Crybaby as a sort of foster granddaughter for the season, they're likely to have no foibles or fucks left to give."

The doctor looked on with disapproval heavy on his face, but he did not tell her to stop a second time. "Wooster, I think you need to explain yourself."

"The girl was being trafficked!" shouted the receptionist. "It was obvious she was too scared to say anything, but I had her ID'ed as the one who was kidnapped from a mall out east over Christmas weekend. So I called in some people who help mutant kids in trouble. That's why I work here, right? To save kids from villains?"

"Dude? Seriously. Read the room."

"Or consult with me first, at least," said Dr. Ketjap. "If you had suspicions, I should be the first to hear of them, as I have more knowledge of the matter, including enough to say that not only was Ms. Crybaby not being trafficked, but that she was going to the one place that could guarantee she'd learn not to be a hazard to others. Oh, and a third thing I do know. You are dismissed from employment here, effective immediately. As such, I have no duty to request Ms. SilverStar be gentle in handling you. Though I hope she knows the proper limits to such things." He shared a nod with her. "Fine. I shall leave you to it."

"Wait!" What about my internship!"

The hand on the back of his head pushed his face deeper into the carpet. "Not what I'd be worrying about right now," SilverStar told him.

Melissa

It was a familiar journey out of the black depths of unconsciousness, though if she weren't so doped on knockout gas, Melissa might have worried about that familiarity. They'd assured her that the Cuckoo Channel's products had no known side effects, but that wasn't the most reassuring way to phrase it. She knew they'd gone out of their way to avoid gassing her whenever possible.

Wait... which 'they' had gassed her this time? This they or that they or these they or those they... The swirl of confusion followed her up from the depths until she surfaced in the pools of her eyes, and it was still there when the opened them to look around. She hadn't expected to recognize anything and wasn't surprised now.

There was a bed, more like a cot, and she was on it, but that didn't make this place a bedroom. Linoleum flooring, cinder-block walls painted a pale blue that made the eyes ached under the buzzing fluorescent lamps, and no windows—it looked like the back room of a rec center. It even had that faint reak of sweat and old socks.

She didn't notice the little green dwarf until it moved around the foot of the cot—before that, it'd been standing still as a statue. It was hard to think of it as alive even as it flopped its feet around and rolled googly eyes her way. Her squeak of surprise knocked it over with a wave of blue.

Oh, yeah. That was a thing she could do, except when she wanted to. Nobody ever mentioned how much superpowers could suck.

The door to the room opened slowly. "Is everything okay in there?" came a vaguely familiar voice.

"Um, yes? Just, um, startled?" Where did she, why did she, how did she know this voice? Something to do with high school or her sister? "Um... do I know you from somewhere?" she finally asked.

"I suppose it has been a while," said the older girl as she walked into the room. "And even then, I mostly hung out with Maddy and Marsi."

It was the nicknames that clued her in. As much as Marion loved to give nicknames, she only accepted them from a few people, which meant— "G-gwynnifer Easley?"

The older girl was wearing a sweatshirt and hoodie, which no one in her big sister's inner circle would ever be caught dead in. The hair must've been hacked off with a pair of scissors, and the irises were a vivid ruby red. None of it matched the girl she remember, until she focused on the smile. That calculated, condescending smirk was the essential Gwynnifer element, and it did not prompt good memories. The laughter as the girl bowed was steeped in sarcasm. "It's been quite a while, Missy."

"Melissa."

"Missy," the girl repeated. "Small fucking crazy-ass world. How did you of all people end up on the MCO and H1 wanted list for eastern Indiana?" Another sharp laugh. "Nah, I know already. You sent Marsi, Millie, and Sally to the hospital. Good going. Those bitches deserved it. Too bad you missed out on Maddy."

"She..." The barest memory made her shake in ways she knew were not good. "They were all at dinner. Celebrating her first semester grades. But, but I had to go out with Marion, s-so..."

"Dumped you, didn't they. That's family for you. Fuck." The word sounded strange coming from Gwinny's lips. "My own parents ditched me, soon as it was legally acceptable. I'm lucky to have found friends. Good friends. They could be your friends, too."

"I, I already have friends..."

"What, that mutant-hating hoodlum who K.O.'ed me and kidnapped you? That sort of friend?"

All the jitters in her brain focused around a single image, of Penny—no, SilverStar—being herself. Being a friend. Being a big sister like none Melissa's ever had. "Y-yes," she declared. "Exactly that sort of friend."

Gwinny stared at her with ruby-red eyes that turned brighter with anger. "The bitch knocked me out and trussed me up for the police! You know what the Muncie police are like for mutants? I'm lucky they didn't just shoot me!"

"Y-you terrorized the homecoming court!"

"You turned the food court at the New Mall into rubble!"

"And I'm sorry!" Gawd, the tears were flowing and her throat was aching and she could already feel the sobs welling up and—

"Damnit, where'd I put—" A puff of pleasant unconsciousness passed her face.

Gasp. Fall. Black out. She welcomed it this time.

Ravenge

The former cheerleader once known as Gwynnifer Easley looked at the girl she'd just put back on the cot. The word 'shit' echoed over her thoughts a few more times. Whatever the stuff was that Boggart had got them, it worked fast. Smelled vaguely familiar, too, but she wasn't about to gas herself to figure out more. Missy would be out for a while. Good.

Ravenge left the wimp in the back room to sleep it off, pulling the door shut behind her. "Well?" asked Boggart when she came back to their unofficial main office.

"You were right about bringing the knock-out gas," she grumbled. "Jesus Christ, but she's a wimp and a wuss. Even when we were all little and she was littler. No wonder Maddy walked all over her. Any news?"

"My guys can manage a pickup in the morning," he told her. "Get her to safety, a place where they can help her figure out her powers. Like they helped you. Just maybe with more explosions."

"Good." She wasn't sure if that was how she felt or how she was supposed to feel. "Anyone see us on the way in?"

Boggart grimaced. "Only Sookie and Sarabine at the front desk. But they understand getting rescued from would-be mutant hunters. I told them just enough to get them to agree to silence, for now."

"Good." She definitely meant it this time. Not everyone shared a common vision of the future, and now was not the time to discover where they all disagreed. From the audience hall next door, the sounds of the regularly scheduled social event had already begun. Liberating Missy from the vigilante bitch's clutches had been spur of the moment, but the bigger plan continued forward. "I better get out there and mingle, maybe sound out some new recruits."

"Go on, then," Boggart told her. "We work to bring the advent of a new age of mankind, after all."

"Still wish you'd let me kill the bitch."

There was a grimace under the bright orange hair. "I getcha on that one, really, but that's buying us more trouble than we need right now, killing a hero, even a rotten one. Not to worry, because the girl will be gone by tomorrow, and then we scatter. They won't find us in time."

SilverStar

"This is the location," her grandfather stated. "On his table screen was a GPS view of an old, repurposed YMCA building. "Registered to a holding company known to be an Evolution Rocks front. Its presence in the area is tolerated because it provides another link in the underground support networks and helps the Moutarde Clinic and other services find people in need. I ordered a snapshot of the site from today, and as you can see, the van from your dash cam footage is parked outside. Melissa is in there, or was quite recently."

SilverStar considered. The official organization that owned the building had a rudimentary page on the mid-net, the semi-private series of websites that required MIDs to access. The main item on the site was a social calendar. "It looks like they're busy tonight with other stuff, which means odds are against moving her till tomorrow. So we strike tonight."

"Just the three of us?" asked her grandmother.

"Two of us, schatzi. We need you on overwatch."

"I would feel much better if you had support on the ground," Safta Margit insisted. "Can we get any from Whateley?"

"Elspeth sends her apologies." Sava Adolf sighed. "As Melissa is not yet a student, there are few options to call upon, and in any case they would not be able to fast-track an extraction any sooner than we could do for ourselves. And where would we find help on such short notice?"

For once, she was a step ahead of her grandparents, and she relished the moment as she tapped in a message request, then sent. "Leave that to me," she told them.

Half an hour later, she stood under a streetlight near the public library in an ugly Hanukkah sweater over her tactical suit, and prayed that she wouldn't have to politely disable some rando for bothering her too hard. There'd already been two guys who'd pressed their luck in passing, but her shoulder was as cold as the winter wind down the Wabash Valley.

When this was over, she was going to pepper Morton with so many kisses. Texting back and forth with him that evening was the only thing keeping her nerves from killing her. Also, she noted as she checked the latest text with photo, he looked good in those boxers. 'Big Dreidel Energy', indeed. She would have to send him back a pic of her in the questionable novelty lingerie Safta Margit had surprised her with that evening. The senior partner was enjoying herself this holiday, and Penny was determined to as well.

A sedan pulled over and she steeled herself for a potentially less enjoyable encounter, but then she recognized the lady behind the wheel. The all-business, all-the-time attitude was softened by a Christmas sweater, and the bottle-blonde hair was showing at the roots, but otherwise, Mrs. Altus looked the same as she had at Parents Day last November.

"Thanks for coming," she said to the rolled-down window. "Um, where's—"

"DEATH FROM BEHIND!!"

The danger sense didn't quite save her from the full-contact bear hug. The lack of ill intent probably confused it. The hug was still fit to crack a rib, though. "Easy there, Rachel," she warned. "Save it for the main event."

"Oh, she has been," the girl's mother said with a sigh. "She's been on her best behavior while family was over for Christmas. I think the strain was getting to her. So, thank you for giving her something to do. Just don't tell me any details," the woman added. "And Rachel? Do try to stay out of the evening news this time."

"Okey-dokey!" The huglock released from around Penny's ribcage, and a mousy girl with frizzed out hair and taped-up glasses trotted over to the car window to deliver a kiss to her mother's cheek. Rachel Altus did not look like much, and Penny knew too well how the girl leveraged that to her advantage. The frizzy hair was uncovered and the front of her jacket was open to show the words CARPE SCROTUM on her tee. The girl ran too hot to feel the cold.

"So what's the score?" Rachel asked as they trotted down a block to where the senior partners had parked the van.

"Kidnapping."

"Cool." The girl paused. "Doing or rescuing?"

"The latter," Penny said quickly. The van door was open to receive them. "Get in."

"Good evening, Miss Altus," said her grandfather.

"Good evening to you too, sir, and to madame." Rachel nodded to the two former operatives. "It is nice to see you again. Penny says it's to be a rescue?"

If Adolf noticed the sudden shift in the wild girl's attitude, he said nothing of it. Instead, he asked, "Is this place familiar to you?"

Rachel looked at the picture on his tablet. "The old YMCA building, now the Specialized Learning Center. More of a clubhouse for young folks in the area with powers. I visited once. Didn't like it. Gave me a bad vibe. They were trying too hard to be happy, yanno?" The girl paused for thought. "Guess there's something hinky going on in there?"

"Someone, at least." Sava Adolf flipped through their preliminary intel. "First, our target: Melissa Mathers."

"Doesn't look like much."

"Neither do you," said Penny.

"Damn straight. So, more dangerous than she looks?"

"Uncontrollable blasts keyed to emotional state. If she starts crying, we gas her and carry her out. You got supplies?"

Rachel patted her own little bag. "A few canisters of sleepy-gas, restraints, and the standard Whateley survival kit."

"Good. You'll need the ear protection." Her grandfather had swiped over to their suspects. "Hostile number one, a siren code-named Sonatina. Tina for short. Full skill profile is unknown, but she's got lullaby powers and likely more."

"Met her once," Rachel confirmed. "One of the main hosts at the SLC. One punch, no prob."

"Next," continued Penny. "The guy with the orange-mix hairdo. Terrence Humphreys, a.k.a. Boggart. Ectoplasmic manifestor and puppeteer."

"Also a known specialist in counter-demonstrations and crowd control," said Safta Margit. "He's been busting up Rights of Man demonstrations across the Mid-West for years now."

"Righteous."

"...as well as acting as a front man for a mutant-supremacy group known as the Advent," her grandmother concluded.

"Bogus."

"A most concerning group to read up on," the senior partner admitted. "Classic cult recruitment tactics, which would explain that 'hinky' feeling of yours, as well as a strong belief in a reading of the Braeburn Report that supports the Great Mutant Replacement Theory. Basically, they want more mutants, fewer baselines, and tend to think both proactively and procreatively. Going by the FBI dossier we have on them, that does not bode well for any young women they recruit."

Which made Penny wonder whether Gwynnifer Easley understood exactly who her new friends were. If the girl were anything like Marion, then it was quite possible that she did and that she approved—as long as she got to be on top, figuratively. "Last person of note," she said to Rachel. "Ravenge. With an A. Yes, I know. Psionic projector, sticks to flame illusions but may be holding out on us. The flames cannot burn anything, but they'll still make you think you're on fire. She might be gunning for me."

"Why? What'd you do?"

"Got the drop on her at homecoming, stopped a rampage. Right. So. Sava Adolf's hitting the utilities for a partial blackout. I'm going in through the rear."

"And me?" The Avatar of the Honey Badger had the glint of excitement in her eyes as a shadow of purest attitude covered her face and absorbed her glasses into a mask of darkness. The effect just appeared whenever the girl was in the mood for mayhem, and Penny was happy to not be a target this time.

"Getting to that..."

At the party

The Specialized Learning Center had its regulars, its some-timers, and its holiday-only guests, and it was a rare day of the year when almost everyone could attend. The big ball court slash dance hall of the former YMCA was decked in secondhand Christmas decorations, some of them placed there years ago. The buffet table had once carried sandwiches, salad, donuts, and cake, but those had all vanished in the first hour. Now, aside from the topped-off punch bowl, the main point of interest had become the attendees. The dude-in-residence was Boggart with the bright orange hair, whose little green guys hustled all over to ensure that drinks were filled. The local DJ was thumbing his way through a smartphone game while his playlist continued, and everyone else just mingled.

Claude Rousse was determined to have a good time, even if he wasn't sure how. But, as the six-foot-eight gravel man Groundpounder, he could at least feel confident as he chatted with two girls his age. "Wow, sounds like you had it rough," he said to them, in a voice that wasn't rough enough to satisfy him.

The first girl, Sarabine Newcastle, went by the handle Pixelette, though he hadn't heard why. "It was awful!" she said. "Daddy made this big deal over cake and got Sookie upset and, well, boom-bang-whiz, it was a birthday we'll never forget, but..."

"I almost got murdered." Sookie Webster was quiet where her best friend was bubbly manic. Groundpounder had seen both sorts of reactions in his fellow students at Whateley, and neither suggested happy stories. A techno-bracelet on the girl's right arm got her the nickname Bracelette, and he didn't have the heart to tell her how cringe that sounded.

So instead he told them about his time at Whateley, doing stuff and learning stuff and occasionally punching stuff. He was actually getting a wider audience than just the two girls, though he was really only paying attention to them, when the lights all across the room dimmed and then went out. The music also stopped as the DJ squawked about losing his wifi signal. Emergency lighting blossomed from the far corners of the ball court, turning everything shades of red.

He heard a double-eep from Sookie and Sarabine, and then he had two girls sheltering in close to his gravel-clad torso. There'd been worse days for him this year.

A light -click- from the double-door emergency exit was the only warning given before the metal panels blasted inward. Small breacher charge, he thought. He knew a guy at school who specialized in those, but that wasn't who was coming in now through the smoke and dust.

"Shalom and happy Hanukkah, motherfuckers!"

Oh. Crap. Not her.

At least he could use the excuse of getting Sookie and Sarabine out of the way so he could hide with the wallflowers as Rachel Altus sauntered into the ball court. For a moment, everyone stared at her in quiet confusion. The girl was shorter than most of them by a few inches, if not a foot or more, and with that jacket on, she looked like she'd got lost on her way home from school. Groundpounder knew better; he'd learned better, the hard way. The tee-shirt was visible, and the shadows conspired to form a shady mask across Rachel's face, which meant someone was about to get mauled.

The hosts for the evening swept in: Boggart with his patchwork suit and orange hair; Tina in her stylish red and blue overcoat that gleamed all plasticky under the emergency lights. "What's the meaning of this!?" yelled the man.

"Here to pick up a new Whateley girl. Melissa Mathers. Seen her?" challenged Rachel. "Seems that someone here kidnapped her from protective custody this afternoon."

Near his chest, Groundpounder heard Sookie gasp. "Is she talking about that one girl..." came the whisper.

"But they said they rescued her..." Sarabine whispered back.

Oh double-stuffed crap on a cracker, this was school business, which meant Rachel was on a mission and had permission to get her fix in, and... "You two stay back," he whispered to them. "Way back. Out of the building if you can. And..." He had his parole officer's card out of his bag. Blue Blaze of the regional cape squad was going to want to know about this. "Call the number here. This is bad..."

"No, no, it'll be fine," said Sarabine. "Tina's gonna take care of it. See?"

The lady in the overcoat was singing in that weirdly focused way some sirens had. Groundpounder could hear the tones, but the power was aimed squarely at Rachel Altus.

Rachel, who just grinned manically and tapped an ear.

Whateley brand ear protectors, the best available. He wore them to keep the dust out of his ears while he was graveled up.

While the honey badger girl was blowing raspberries at Tina, Boggart slid in with a gas canister in the palm of his hand. The gas glittered oddly in the emergency lights as it flowed over the girl's face and was breathed in. Everyone watched as Rachel Altus swayed on her feet, fell backward—

Turned the fall into a somersault and a kick that sent the canister flying. "Whoot! I know that fragrance. Number 9, right?" The girl never stopped swaying, and her words were surrounded by giggles, but Rachel was definitely not down and/or out. "That's the good stuff. Whee!"

The plasticky overcoat flared out as Tina stood tall and strong. The tips of her long black hair bounced and curled as she sang a note for the entire ball court. It echoed and reverbed, until Groundpounder could feel it in the individual bits of gravel—but not his ears. The protectors did their proper job. No one else at the party had them, though. "Attack!" yelled the siren with an accusing finger at Rachel.

Two dozen partygoers were suddenly part of a ball court blitz on the girl, and it was only a question of who got to her first. That dubious honor went to a guy with the arms and legs of a professional basketball player, but the body of a basketball. Groundpounder didn't know his name or code name. Everyone just called him Lanky.

Lanky went in swinging, his arms ready to make hay, only Rachel had both hands around one forearm and was swinging herself like a gymnast, round and around till they all heard a -pop- and Lanky was on the ground clutching an elbow that bent the wrong way.

The Bertram Boys dashed in from opposite sides. He knew they were barely EX-2 and nothing else, ordinary enough to pass but banned from their old football team all the same. Rachel was proving that a honey badger was harder to catch than a pigskin.

A blast of wild colors erupted across the ball court, in a weirdly amorphous stream of unnatural hues that left scorch marks on the floor by the intruder's feet. Next to Groundpounder, Sookie had her arm raised and her palm out. Little curls of color still twisted about, to be caught up by the bracelet on her wrist. "G-g-gotta attack..." she was muttering.

"Gotta attack," echoed Sarabine. In her hand, a flurry of brightly colored squares assembled themselves into a caricature of a sword. What that actually did, they never got a chance to see. The other half-dozen or so physically inclined mutants in the ball court blitzed Rachel from all sides. The kid with the oversized right arm had his super-appendage around the badger girl's waist, while Ol' Stickyfingers had his tentacle-tips trapping her wrists. It took four of them holding her spread-eagled upon the flooring before she stopped trying to punch her way out.

Groundpounder wasn't the type to feel sorry, usually. And more specifically, Rachel had whooped his gravelly ass enough times to make everything personal. But this wasn't right. He followed the crowd in close, keeping a pretense of following the Attack command that Tina was still broadcasting as a loud hum. Rachel definitely saw him, and her glare turned to a smirking wink when he mouthed "Get ready" to her.

The siren was focused on her song, and all the listeners were so enthralled that she didn't have to pay attention to them. She did pay attention to him, though—or to the fist that hit her stomach like a full five pounds of gravel. The hum of command got cut like a ribbon, and everyone around them had a look of whiplash on their face as they came out of the fugue. He heard several "What?"s going around, mostly sounding confused.

"WHAT!?" And one that was pissed off. Boggart's hair was even brighter orange from where he stood, right under an emergency light. "Why did you do that?"

"You don't want Whateley trouble!" Groundpounder told him. "And I don't wanna screw up my probation program by being an accessory after the fact. Rach, it's not the round three I was wanting, but..."

"Buddy brawl?" The black shadow mask was firmly in place, consuming her glasses while her eyes shone bright. Her hands flexed, and shimmery PK claws formed around them. "Let's do this."

SilverStar

Rachel seemed to have things in hand. SilverStar could hear as much, could hear the shouts and screams and occasional low-seismic thud of something hitting the wall. While the honey badger girl undoubtedly had other excellent qualities, her skill at causing a disturbance and making a distraction were second to none. The girl was guaranteed to draw 99% of the attention, which left herself with the remaining 1% to deal with. She was in through the back door and down the hall checking doors—three so far, no winners—before anyone noticed she was there.

A danger sense alert prompted her to hop back as a wall of imaginary flame sprang up to block the hall. Billows of red shading to orange shading to the weirdest hot blue flapped against the walls and carpet without leaving a mark. It shouldn't leave one on her, either, only the psionic projection contained more pain than a French boulangerie, and her own intuitive danger sense didn't know how to ignore that.

"If it isn't the infamous SilverStar."

"Gwynnifer Easley," she acknowledged back. "Last chance to not do something stupid."

"The name is Ravenge!" A blast of fake flames followed the shriek. The hallway wasn't so narrow, but there still wasn't much room to dodge. "And no, I don't think so. We're not about to let a mutant-hater like you get away with kidnapping poor kids!"

"Man, have you got it backwards..." is what she wanted to say, but an emergency belly-flop to the thin carpet knocked the words out of her mouth as more flames passed over her head.

"No. No, you cannot have Missy. No, you cannot stop me. No, you will stop harassing poor, innocent mutants—"

"You assaulted a homecoming dance!" she yelled back. "With powers, so the 'deadly weapons' statutes are in effect!" Where was the girl, where was the girl... had to keep her talking. "So I'm sorry if I ruined your party by dropping in unannounced, you pretty prom princess, but good girls don't do that shit."

"I. Was. Supposed. To. Be. Queen." Now it was easy to locate her. She was in the middle of the growing fireball rolling down the hall. The dumb post-cheer uniform, holes filled with fishnets and with a big R on the front, was barely visible. "Me. Queen. I was supposed to get homecoming and Marion would get prom, but that bitch betrayed me! She stole my dress colors! She deserved what she got!"

"Not gonna argue that," said SilverStar, "but it still doesn't make what you did legal." The false flames were all around, and her danger sense was scrambling fit to take her own skin off as it yelled warnings of avoidance. "But if you want to bitch about Marion Serris, then fine. Turn down the heat and we can talk shit about her all evening."

"Oh no, I'm not letting you in that easily." Sheets of red-orange-blue wrapped around.

"Worth a shot." With those words and a shrug, SilverStar leapt straight through, ignoring the searing impression of pain to deliver a fist where she thought the ex-cheerleader's face should be.

Her knuckles met wood, and the mannequin in the dumb costume fell over. The wheels on its stand spun idly in the air.

"Got you."

Seriously? When had the girl got smart? No time to wonder, unfortunately, because a red-orange-blue wall of pain was about to crash on her. SilverStar made sure her scream of agony was as loud as could be—or would have, if it weren't so fucking painful she couldn't think. The scream was 100% all natural.

Melissa

Black out. Falling up. Gasp. And she was awake. After a quick blink, she even recalled what was going on. She was still on the cot in the rec center place, still in the hands of Gwinnie and whoever else was running things, still—

A scream rattled through the door.

Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap.

Her legs wobbled her over to the door, and she took a peek through. Fire. She shut the door fast. No heat. No smoke. She opened it again, just a little, and saw a hallway full of flames, but no smoke. The air was stale, but not burning. Gwinnie was dancing around in the middle of it all, cackling like the Wicked Witch of the Homecoming Court. but on the floor—

The source of the screaming. SilverStar. Penny. The senior had come to rescue her. The big-sisterly heroine. The first person to not treat her like crap in years. Most awesome big sister ever no notes perfection, and Gwynnifer Easley was torturing her.

Not. Good. Who did that bitch think she was? What gave her the right? Or gave Marion? Or Maddie? Or her parents? Or the entire fucking world except for the one person now screaming her lungs out and Melissa's ears out and damnit but there was too much light and sound and she just wanted it all to stop stop stop stop STOP...

One big shout was all it took, but Melissa didn't stop there.

Ratel

Okay, so the evening hadn't gone exactly as she'd expected. It wouldn't be the first time she got mobbed and whalloped, though she didn't want to make a habit of it. And then Claude stepping up and buddying up? It was a crazy world they lived in.

Right then, the guy with the bright orange hair was grimacing over the sight of all the big dudes in the room groaning on the floor, the ones who'd felt like fighting even without the siren egging them on. A couple had survived a few punches from Claude. None had survived a swift kick to the nethers from her. With a frustrated shout and a wave of his hand, Mr. Orangeade summoned a horde of squishy green goblins, dwarves, and garden gnomes from the woodwork out, which was also crazy but also kind of crazy awesome. No such thing as 'reasonable force' when dealing with obvious constructs.

"Woo-hah!" she yelled as she bowled through the nearest mob. She didn't hit a perfect strike, but she did pick up the spare and then rip the little green man a new seven-ten split. The ectoplasmic gunk plopped to the floor and oozed away. Back the other direction, Claude had a long bench in both hands and was swinging it around, knocking a fairy tale's worth of dwarves into a messy heap. then the heap melted together and raised gorilla arms.

"Whack more into it!" she shouted to her buddy.

"What, are you cra—never mind. Sure." The kid in the gravel suit bodyslammed another set of little green men, wadded up the lot of them, and tossed the wad into the gorilla-thing. All the little arms and legs looked so funny as they got glorped into the main mass. A head like a busted sack of potatoes was stacked atop a refrigerator of a body with gorilla arms and tree trunk legs, all coming together to make an ogre, ten feet tall and almost as thick.

"Awesome!" The word launched her into a flying kick that landed squarely in the ogre's belly. Then into the belly, stretching the surface like it was a trampoline. Then out, exactly as if she'd hit a trampoline. The boi-oi-oing sent her flying back.

It was sweet of the football twins to break her fall with their backs. She hadn't even been aiming for them.

Groundpounder swung that bench of his through the ogre sideways, and while some of the ectoplasmic goo splattered away, it wasn't much. "Got a plan for this problem you got us into, Rach?" he yelled.

"Nope!"

"You don't gotta sound so happy about it!"

She could cut in and then carve out handfuls of the green goop with her claws. At least some of it seemed to dissolve away under the force of her PK slicers. But really, it was more about the thrill of the fight, of dodging the giant fists and bopping the big bad monster right on the potato nose. Sure, it would take a while, but they could whittle it down eventually.

Then came the shout, the call to STOP... and everyone in the room stopped, just for a second, from surprise if nothing else. Rachel was about to start back up again when the doors to the main hall burst in, and a body flew through the air to land in the middle of the ball court. A teenage girl in a sweater and hoodie, otherwise identifiable as Person of Interest #3, only with less fishnets or fire effects. Or consciousness. It was lights-out for her, either way.

"Ravenge!" shouted Mr. Orangeade. "What—oh..."

Oh, indeed! Standing in the doorway was the Mission Target, Melissa Mathers, code name Crybaby. They weren't tears of sadness in the girl's red, red eyes. PK crackled around her in the same color, poofing her hair out like crazy and whipping the air around like crazy and doing pretty much everything else like crazy because dear Melissa had just left Sanity Station behind and was riding on the rails of a crazy train. With a primal scream, the girl propelled herself forward at speedster velocity to kick Ravenge while she was down, then hurling the unconscious teen into the ogre.

Blobby arms caught the teen and set her down to the side. "Enough of that, Melissa," said Mr. Orangeade. "I'm sure it's been a trying time for you, but we need you to calm down and—"

"YAAAAARGH!" The girl scream-rushed the ogre. It kept its arms up to block the wild punches and kicks, but that only seemed to make her angrier. With a breath so deep it pulled a breeze across the ball court, the girl held it in and then let it all out in a scream fit to make the fillings in a girl's teeth rattle out. High above, small windows shattered, along with some of the cinder blocks that made up the wall. The ectoplasmic ogre stood at Ground Zero, but only for a second. That's about how long it took to sublimate into a wispy green cloud from sheer vibration.

Even with ear protection, that was hella fucking loud, and the silence that came after it was even worse.

An energy blast came on a wobbly wave of unpredictable colors, only to splash off the carnelian PK field surrounding Mad-as-Fuck Melissa. In the far corner, two young ladies went from looking very confused to very terrified.

"Shit, Sookie! I told you two to get out!" yelled Groundpounder.

"YAAAGH!" It was a smaller scream, relatively speaking. That wouldn't make it hurt any less. The unfortunate Sookie and her friend wouldn't know, because Claude leapt in the way and took it in the back like a certified tankie. The blast removed several pounds of gravel and dirt, forcing her buddy to stumble to the floor, but the girls in the corner were safe.

And Melissa was distracted.

And Rachel had a gas canister and mini-towel out of her bag.

The Cuckoo Channel's Knock-Out #2 wasn't the most popular seller in the sales catalogue. It smelled foul, was heavier than air, and tended to leave stains. It had also been proven strong enough to stop a bull elephant in musth. Pour some on a cloth and smack Melissa in the face; the girl was down for the count. Rachel made sure she had a soft landing.

A moment later, Penny stumbled in through the broken hallway door. The heroine looked around and started saying something like "Oy vey..." only to end it on an "Oh, fuck," which pretty well summed the situation up, Rachel felt.

SilverStar

Right, so her first covert op had ended up being far more overt than intended. Natch. Calling in Rachel Altus as backup had likely jinxed that intention before the op even had a chance to get started, but what was a girl to do? Of the long list of things this girl was to do that evening, the first was to organize the casualties into guilty parties, likely bystanders, and innocent bystanders, then wait in front of the old YMCA for the regional superhero to arrive.

Blue Blaze, hero of the Wabash Valley, zoomed in on his motorcycle. She led him to the ball court and he hadn't taken three steps in before he shouted, "Rachel Marie Altus! What the hell?"

"Hello, sir!" The walking one-woman fight club waved from where she sat next to an unconscious Melissa, in the center of significant structural damage to the floor and walls. "So I know this is exactly what it looks like, but I've got a good reason!"

SilverStar stepped in before the girl could talk them all into multiple felony counts. "Blue Blaze, sir?" She flashed her state activities license, the so-called 'hero card.' "This is pursuant to an investigation in hot pursuit. Activities were filed and expedited under the appropriate channels. Kidnapping, this afternoon, traced back to this location. The kidnappee is currently snoring next to Ms. Altus."

"And she's here, because...?" The hero looked dubious, with probable cause.

"It's a Whateley matter, she's a student there, and we needed backup at extremely last-minute notice. The kidnappers hadn't realized they'd nabbed a potential Rager."

"And this mess?"

"They realized they'd nabbed a potential Rager. A little too late."

"I see..." The hero eyed the huddle of mostly-innocent bystanders in one corner, and the three figures now lying on the ball court floor, restrained and unconscious. "Your perpetrators, I assume. Damnit, and I recognize one of them, at least. Everyone else?"

"Probable Mephisto defense. The siren over there's got voice of command."

"Right..." The man sighed and strode over to the partygoers. "Okay, everyone. I'm sure you won't want to hear this, but we need you to stick around long enough to give a statement to the police. So settle in and... Claude?"

"Hello, sir." The tall, football-player-shaped man made of gravel was slowly losing bits of himself to the floor as he walked over to where SilverStar stood. "I happened to be here for the party when it all went down, and I chose to assist Rach. They can corroborate."

"Yeah, it was a hella fun team-up, Claude!" yelled Rachel. "We gotta do it again, sometime."

"Anyway..." The gravel boy looked at the three on the floor, all of them under the effect of Cuckoo Channel special blends. Then he waved over the two girls he'd been hanging with. One was blonde in a skirt and blouse. The other was dark-haired with overalls and a fancy bracelet. They both looked scared half to death "My friends here could use some help. They've been on the run for months now, and they can probably give you some good details on what's been going on in here. Right?"

"Um, yeah?" said the first girl.

"Th-thank you," said the second, to Groundpounder.

It was the heroine thing to step in just then. "I'm already filing matriculation papers to Whateley on behalf of Ms. Mathers here. I can see about doing a couple more."

Blue Blaze nodded, but then said, "Let me handle that. It's my job to do regional liaison work, after all, and it'll look better coming from my office. Now, Claude? I'm going to have to take you home personally after we're done here, you realize. We need to discuss some things in depth."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," said the gravel boy. "Probation stuff."

"And you won't fit into the side cab of my motorcycle like that."

It was funny how well a suit of small rocks and loose soil could manage body language. The kid's wince was perfectly mimicked by the exterior. "Right. Um, Sookie? Sarabine? Gimme some space to unload." The remnants of the gravel suit shivered and fell away, piling to the floor around his feet. The real Claude Rousse was a nebbishy teen smudged in dirt, with a messy mop-top and a babyface.

"Lookin' good, Claude! Been working out?" called Rachel.

"Um, yeah." The boy flexed a bicep. "I mean, might as well, right? Um..." His head whipped left and then right, to where his two new biggest fans had him by the arms and hugging tight.

"I like this look," said the one with the bracelet.

"Yeah, it's nice," her friend agreed. By the bewildered look on the boy's face, he wasn't sure how to process this situation, and after a moment his brain blue-screened him into a happy resignation to the attention.

"Now, what to do with them for the short term..." Blue Blaze started to say.

"On it!" Rachel had her phone out and dialing. "Hi, Mother? Yeah, we're done. No, it went pretty well. Oh, you meant for the bad guys? Eh, whatever. So, I was wondering. Since the guest room's open again, mind if I have a sleepover tonight? Yeah, her." Rachel waved to SilverStar. "And three new friends. Just a night or two. Really? Great! I'll have Blue Blaze send you the particulars after we finish taking statements at the crime scene here." The girl hung up on her mother's squawk of surprise. "Sleepover!"

On the floor, Melissa was stirring. "Huh? What? Ugh, my head, ugh, erk..."

"There, there," said Rachel as she held the girl's hair back and away from the sudden vomitory projection. "Sorry 'bout that. #2 has a kick to it."

"Sir?" she said to Blue Blaze. "I have a van waiting around the corner. Permission to move the young ladies to a safer location?"

The hero seemed to weigh his options for a moment, but the prospect of getting Rachel Altus out of his hair won out. "Fine. Let's take their statements first and you can go. We'll be in touch."

"First thing in the morning," she promised.

Friday, December 30th, 2016
SilverStar

The sixth day of Hanukkah saw her on a train platform in downtown Indianapolis. The previous night had been no less crazy than the one before it, but in a much better way. Rachel Altus's idea of a sleepover had been cribbed together from too many teen movies, and as it turned out, neither Penny or Melissa had much experience on the matter. Sookie and Sarabine had more, but they were also ready to go along with whatever the badger girl suggested—whether out of fear or fun, it was hard to say at first. At least by the end of the second evening, the two runaways were used enough to Rachel and Melissa that they didn't hide behind Penny whenever one of the two sneezed. In fact, they were quick to understand how love-bombing worked on the girl, and happy to help keep her calm.

Yeah, it was a right mess she was dumping on her baby cousin for the Winter Term. Penny couldn't wait to hear from Erica just how it turned out. Everything was more interesting when viewed from a safe distance.

"Thanks again, ma'am," she said to Mrs. Altus. The two of them were watching the goodbyes now. There was a smile on the woman's face as her daughter hugged their guests repeatedly—without breaking anything—and made promises to see them all in about a week.

"I'm happy to see her interacting with girls her own age without violence," her mother admitted. "How they met, notwithstanding. I wish they could stay longer."

"I wish they could, too, but Melissa's still got an APB and the other two are lucky they don't. Best to get them on the Whateley Express now." The Rousse kid had just shown up, too, she saw. The boy wisely gave Rachel a distant wave, but his two fans glommed onto him and dragged him to the main circle of conversation a moment later. Sookie was the happiest Penny'd ever seen her, almost matching Sarabine's sunny face as they kissed the boy on both cheeks.

"Oh, there's going to be a fight there, soon enough," said Mrs. Altus.

Penny thought back to half-giggled admissions from the previous night's game of Truth or Dare—Extra-Truth Edition because no one wanted Rachel daring them to do anything. "Not if he plays his cards right," she declared.

"Oh?" One perfectly arched eyebrow said much with little at all. "I suppose I shouldn't judge. It's not as though my own daughter's doing anything remotely normal with her love life. We're heading down to New Orleans this evening," the lady added. "To meet her teammates for New Year's."

"I heard. Enjoy the fireworks."

Mrs. Altus also had a good, strong laugh. "Oh, I hope so and yet no and yet possibly a maybe."

Together they waved goodbye as the train departed with the three new Whateley girls, and then they chatted with Claude's mother a bit longer as Rachel and the boy talked school business. Half an hour later, she was in the old sedan and stuck in traffic on the 465. Something about road work, apparently, though she suspected some holiday enthusiasm from the local villainry.

It left her with time to think and shake her head at the craziness of the past few evenings. Whatever she'd thought, going into her first Hanukkah, reality had its way of interfering.

Her phone beeped with a text from Morton. A text with photo. Another pic of him in his boxer shorts. This time, they said "Light My Candles" in the front, and "Blow Me Out" in the back. So, while traffic sorted itself out, she and her boyfriend planned out the last three crazy nights, all for themselves.

 

To Be Continued