Major Mark Winchester stepped off the stair and onto the cracked tarmac; the heat haze wafting up to greet him made him drench his suit in an instant.

The gate was out of the way, tucked in a corner of the airport, yet still boasted four agents; two from the government, and two from the Mutant Commision Office. The latter two were unasked for and very much unwelcome.

“Major Winchester. I'm agent Oakes, and this is my partner agent MacKowiak, defense intelligence agency.”

The other two, trying their best to emulate the two actual agents and failing miserably, stepped up in an attempt to try and make themselves relevant.

“And I'm agent Talbert, and this is my partner Agent Ramirez. MCO.”

Agent Oakes continued smoothly as if he hadn't been interrupted at all. “Word from your government is that you have an issue, but the messages sent were light on the details. Can you clarify the details?”

“I can tell you it's Tintagel scenario one.”

The MCO agents both soured, but agent Oakes's eyes crossed briefly, then widened. That was all the confirmation that he had read the scenario Mark needed.

“Really? Here? And what of...?”

Mark nodded as solemn as he could, partly to annoy the other agents. “Already here, we think. It's somewhere along the projected path we sent you.”

“Wait, it's FLYING?” MacKowaik asked.

“Technically it's flown. We think it touched down here, roughly twenty hours ago.”

“But, of all the ways to show up here, flight?”

Mark shrugged. “It does what it wants. It always has.”

“Excuse me,” Talbert interrupted. “What's flying here, and why?”

Mark stopped. “They haven't been briefed?”

The smile Oakes shot him was predatory. “Need to know. They are as a favor to someone up the chain, but that didn't include briefing on all potential scenarios involving your... team.”

“I see.” He really did. He also didn't blame the other man for all the problems having these two along would cause. String pulling was as much a tradition as any other, after all.

“Is this area safe?”

“With the noise from your plane masking us, and this much open tarmac? It's as safe as anywhere else.”

Mark turned to the other agents, appearing to cough in case of lip readers. “We're looking for a sword.”

Agent Talbert didn't cover his mouth, choosing to deadpan his reply instead. “A sword. All this, for a sword?”

Mark sighed. “A magic sword. A very powerful magic sword, and whoever is wielding it now.”

“Well, whoever stole it, if they are a mutant, we'll catch them.” Talbert was a fool; whose ear did he have?

Either way, there was only one way to deal with the situation. Mark swiftly got in the man's personal space. “Not catch them, find them. Do anything more, and there will be a problem, do you understand?”

The man backed up, almost bumping into his partner. “I understand.” Was the sullen reply.

Still, he couldn't take the chance. Silently he signaled Bors to watch the two and waited for the promised transport to arrive.

…....

I woke and rolled over; the lounge couch squeaked under me. I had managed to clean everything last night by midnight, but Devon didn't give permission to stay. He had locked up, however, and my stuff was still in his apartment so I couldn't leave like I wanted to. That was probably for the best since I was out on my feet last night, and permission or not I couldn't do much. I just hope he wasn't mad I crashed on his couch. And overslept. And had Liza staring at me.

“Finally awake! Come on, let's get you ready. Can't go see the police looking like that, and it's nine already! They expect us in an hour!”

She hustled me into the women's shower room and all but took my clothes off for me. She handed me some body wash, shaking her head all the while. It smelled of flowers.

“Use it. A girl should use the proper stuff, and this is right for you.”

I didn't have the heart to tell her that the smell could give me away; some people on the streets had keen noses. I could just bathe in a stream afterward, or something. Provided the police didn't throw me in jail, of course.

The body wash was followed up by a matching shampoo with the same smell, made by the same company.

Worn jeans and a shirt were the costume given me today; the shirt was a bit tighter than I was used to, and the jeans a bit more baggy, but they weren't too bad. A little faded, and one knee was worn almost through, but they could last months yet with proper care.

“Hm, no makeup, at least not today. Sends the wrong message. Wish I'd gotten a bigger shirt for you too, but there's only so much I can do at second-hand stores.”

“Thank you, Liza, I appreciate this.”

She ruffled my hair, undoing all the work I was putting into untangling it. I should probably cut it....

“Think nothing of it, kid.”

Mr. Edison was waiting when Liza finally let me go, waiting patiently. Devon was with him, which was a surprise; I didn't expect him to leave his business and come. It seemed like too much trouble for him.

“Alright Rose, you're coming with me,” Liza stated. “Let the two guys find their own ride.”

“Sure.” I wanted to bring my stuff, just in case, but it looked like that wasn't going to be possible.

I got into Liza's tiny two-seat car and she started it up, blasting us both with music of some kind at loud volume. X didn't like it, whatever it was.

“Sorry.” Liza turned it off and pulled out. I sunk as low as I could into the seat and looked for people I knew; Liza was quiet, watching me a bit too much for my comfort.

We drove in and parked at the local precinct (lucky number 13) with Mr. Edison leading the way. The desk Sargent, one Albert H. Henderson, took one look our way and his face soured.

“Mr. Edison, you have an appointment. Interrogation room four, third floor.”

He recognized me as I passed, judging from his double-take. I waved, and he waved back with a smile. I wanted X here, but he was free from confiscation in the car, and he assured me he would come if I called. I didn't want to use his ability like a cheap show and tell parlor trick, but Mr. Edison said it might be necessary to prove the truth.

Interrogation room four was empty when we found it, and there were only four chairs; two set on one side, and two on the other. Liza wasted no time snagging the two opposite us, taking one for herself and one for Devon.

We didn't have to wait long. Two police dressed in suits came in, one a man with a rough and large look, kind of like Devon but bigger and with as many scars, and the other a rather plain looking woman who looked as if it were her third day straight staying up.

She was also rude. “You two,” she all but yelled, pointing to Devon and Liza, “get out. You need to be in interrogation six.”

Devon got straight to the point. “Why?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Because you're a witness in a major incident, a mass killing, and you claim to know the person responsible for ending the threat. I want to know if you're lying to me, and the best way to do that is to question you all separately. So get to it.” She pointed imperiously, and Devon left, grumbling, with Liza in tow.

“You know you can't question Devon at least, without me being present,” Edison stated.

“Isn't that a conflict of interest?” The female cop countered, slapping down an old style tape recorder. Did cops still use those things? How would they even find tapes for them?

“It is if I represent him or Miss Campbell here in court. Assuming you have something to charge him with.”

He didn't say they couldn't charge me. That was not reassuring.

“Alright, so this Miss Campbell is...” The policewoman looked me over again, taking longer this time, and leaning over the table to get close.

“The one who dispatched the mutant known as Fomor yesterday.”

Both cops faces soured immediately. The policewoman took the lead again. “I'd hoped you were kidding there; this little slip of a thing? What did she do?”

Mr. Edison opened his mouth, but I responded first. “I cut him in half, from crown to groin.”

“Oh yeah?' she said as if she didn't believe me. 'and how did you do that?”

I answered promptly. “With a sword. A.. um, I'm not sure what it's called. A two handed sword, double edged.”

Well, that was embarrassing; I really should know what kind of sword X was. I could feel his laughter, like the tinkling of gentle bells in my mind.

“Ah, Christ, I hate dealing with the powered. Alright, so we have footage from security cameras placing you at the scene, we have eyewitness testimony, and we have a dead guy that tank shells couldn't penetrate, but somehow your sword could.”

“Well, he's a magic sword.” Mr. Edison glared at me. I wasn't sure why he was mad, I had told him I was going to the cops to tell them what happened. (I had originally been saying confess, but Mr. Edison had insisted I wasn't guilty of anything.)

The female cop face-palmed and then slumped into her seat. “A magic sword, of course. Just... of course. And just where is this sword now?”

Mr. Edison overrode me this time. “Don't answer that! Enough, you're badgering a minor here,” He turned to me, a plea clear on his face. “Rose, let me handle it, okay?”

Well, it was his job. I didn't like that he thought I shouldn't talk, though. “Okay.”

“So, here's what I know.” He began, then related the story of me waking up, knowing friends were in danger, (I would have said citizens or people since I would have acted regardless) rushing out half dressed (true – and embarrassing) and confronted the giant, who was apparently a mutant. After asking him to stop (I had) I murdered him with a single overhand strike and lots of help from X.

The way he told it made it seem both more and less exciting than it had been.

I mostly remembered resolute terror and the feeling of my stomach trying to eat the rest of me. The male cop spoke for the first time once Mr. Edison finished.

“Jibes with the evidence, Rach. It's too neat.”

Rach gave him a glance filled with more venom than the giant had given me. “Shut up, John.” Then she muttered a string of curse words under her breath. Turning to me, she tried to straighten her face up; it wouldn't obey her, and the end result looked awful. Not that I'd ever tell her that!

“Alright, let's go over a few more things. You are a powered individual, correct?”

“A what?”

“A powered individual, a mutant, dynamorph, spirit host, something like that.”

I thought it over. “If X counts then yes. I'm not sure I have powers on my own.” In fact, I was pretty sure I didn't. X seemed to think that was funny; the bells tinkled again in my mind. He seemed to think virtue was a super power...? I wasn't even sure what he meant by that, his idea of the concept was confusing.

Rach looked me over again, just long enough to give me the creeps, and only then replied: “Trust me, honey, you're powered. And I'm guessing you're under the twenty-four limit, or your shyster wouldn't have even let you walk in here.”
he first time
“Flattery will get you everywhere, officer.” Mr. Edison responded with a grin that told me he felt he was being clever.

I didn't know what they were talking about. “The twenty-four limit?”

“The twenty-four or one day limit required by law in our fair city to register a deadly weapon; in your case, one sword.” The other cop answered; Rach shot him a look.

I wondered how long they were intending to be rude; they still hadn't given names. “Well, I suppose I can register him. I doubt he will mind.”

Rach snorted again, twice as loud as the first time. “Good. I'll be right back with that paperwork.”

Both the cops left without another word.

“They were both pretty rude. They didn't even give us their names or say good morning or anything.”

Mr. Edison laughed. “Well, that's true, but I think they have other things on their minds. Besides, I know them. The one who acts as if she hates everyone is Rachel Leek. Her quiet partner is John Patoka; they work in the powered crimes division, and they transferred out from homicide last year, which might explain why they were so cranky.”

Yes, I could see that. They didn't want to work on solving murders anymore, and yet here they were.

“So what happens now?”

Mr. Edison winked and pointed at the corner of the room; there was a hidden camera there, X had already told me. “Well, right now, officer Leek is discussing the viability of charging you with murder with her boss and being told she can't.

What? “Why not? I did kill him.”

Mr. Edison nodded. “Yes, but you did so in defense of others, and eyewitness reports say you tried to talk him down first. You saved many lives yesterday; I don't know how many, but if you hadn't stopped Formor, he wouldn't have stopped. He could have cut a swath of destruction through the city; charging you with murder for saving lives like that, well it just won't fly. Not in the court of public opinion or in the courts themselves.”

That was right, I guess... but it still didn't seem right. The end of a life shouldn't be treated so... I don't know, lightly?

X sent soothing images my way, tangled up with something else I couldn't figure out.

“Anyway, so Mrs. Leek will throw a bit of a fit, throw a few things, let us stew here for awhile, and then come back and let us out. She will undoubtedly regale us with cop cliché number two, and then we will fill out your paperwork and leave.”

“What's cop cliché number two?” I asked him. He probably did the numbering himself.

Mr. Edison leaned back and laughed; the chair creaked alarmingly. “Oh, I wouldn't want to deprive you of it. Just remember, when you hear it, it's number two.”

The door opened, and Mr. Edison's grin got wider. Officer Leek stormed in, officer Patoka on her heels. She slammed the single piece of paper in her hands down on the table, making as big an effort at it as she could.

“I'm officer Leek, and this is officer Patoka. We have decided not to charge you in this matter, at this time. However, we'd like a contact number.”

Well, that was going to be difficult. Unless... I turned to where Mr. Edison was already looking over the paper that officer Leek brought. “Mr. Edison, do you mind if I use you as my contact number?”

“Not at all my dear, I'm your lawyer after all. I would have insisted on being called first in any case.” He pulled out one of his business cards and held it out; officer Leek stared at it as if it were a live snake. Officer Patoka took it instead.

“Alright. You're free to go. However, don't leave town.”

“Yes!” Mr. Edison stage whispered. “Cliche number two.”

Officer Leek looked like she had swallowed lemons, but didn't say anything else; just opened the door and motioned us out.

Liza and Devon were already there, waiting. Liza took one look at us and grinned. “I didn't know anything, so they didn't get much.”

I turned to Devon, and he answered. “I already gave two statements. This was the third and they got nothing, so they couldn't really hold me up either.”

Mr. Edison waved the sheet in his hands. “Just need to fill this lethal weapon registration out, then we can go. I did think of a place we need to visit, though, and the sooner the better.”

“Oh, where's that?”

“The Mutant Commission Office.”

Liza jumped. “What?!?”

Mr. Edison held his hands up in surrender for a moment. “Hear me out. Rose here thinks she isn't a mutant or powered individual. She even said as much to the police.”

Liza turned and gave me a once over; first the cop and now her. Was something in the water? Come to think of it, that would explain much. “Yeah, no. Girl, you got to be something, because no normal girl looks like that, let alone the abilities you show.”

“What abilities?” I don't think I looked any different than Liza; at least, not in the general sense. If I wasn't human, shouldn't I look different than human? More like the giant, Formor, had?

“Well, you swing a sword that has to weigh five pounds at least around as if it was a butter knife. That sort of thing is harder than it looks.”

Was it? I was pretty sure most of it was X letting me swing him; he felt like a mop handle or something similar in my hand; light but long. X wasn't amused by the comparison, but he let it slide.

Devon thought for a moment but shook his head. “Nah, I'm not touchin' that one. You got powers, Rose. I'm not sure what they are, but you got 'em. But the MCO, Arnie? They don't have the best reputation.”

“I'm aware, but with a pillar of the community such as yourself, and a well-known lawyer such as myself, they won't dare try anything. Besides, they are the only game in town for powers testing, at least right now, and it's better to show up and deal with them than not.” Arnie's eyes shifted a few times as he replied like he was hiding something.

I didn't get it; of course, I'd cooperate. The Mutant Commission Office was the duly appointed authority on powered individuals. Not that I had powers; I'd show up, they would test me and find nothing and everyone would drop it. Then maybe I could get work on a detail working the clean up; there would be good money in that. Well, minimum wage at least, and the city workers would be swamped, so their union wouldn't protest that much. Maybe.

“I'm coming too,” Liza stated, rather needlessly in my opinion, since she was already bundling me into her car again.

…...

Mark stared idly out the window of the unmarked sedan, into a warzone. Exploded ordinance, craters and shrapnel, the pock marks of gunfire... a swath of destruction that wouldn't have looked out of place in the third world. He did not believe in coincidence.

“What happened here?”

“An incident yesterday. A dangerous mutant broke out of a special containment cell and went on a rampage.”

“Oh? It was bad enough to green light the use of military resources in a civilian center? Must have been one bad man.”

“I can't possibly comment on that, sir. However the situation was resolved, otherwise, we would be having this conversation elsewhere.”

Yes, they likely would have diverted his flight – which was typical, really. Then again, those were the remains of battle armor from the Knights of Purity they just drove by, so perhaps his team wouldn't have fared well at all. The feeling got stronger.

“How did the situation resolve? Surely this much ordnance was....”

“Ineffective, actually. From what I understand the mutant was particularly tough; early estimates theorize an exemplar 7, or some combination of abilities that mimics the effects.”

Mark raised his eyebrows slowly. There had never been an exemplar rated that highly, on record, either in North America or Great Britain. He regularly checked over the who's who list of notable powered individuals known in-house as the “rogue's gallery.” It was required reading.

“So what did finally resolve the situation?” Mark was under no illusions as to how the situation was resolved; there was only one outcome for such a rampage.

“The investigation is pending.” Neil hesitated, then continued. “If you want, I can look into it; We are headed to the check in with the police after all.”

“I would appreciate it. Let the crown know if your government needs any assistance in disaster relief.”

Neil's face went stony, which meant he was a fool. “I'll pass the word along sir.”

Mark settled back and waited, fuming as the car slowed down even more to avoid holes in the road. A quick check with this city's police force was going to be anything but, and the radar images he'd requested had been delayed; almost as if someone, somewhere, was trying to thwart him.

In truth, it was likely to be several people or groups; his mission was not a popular one in certain circles. He could only hope the head start he'd been given was enough.

The police station itself was just as hectic as the city promised; there was no panic, but people in uniforms of all kinds and colors were wasting no time in running toward destinations no one else knew of with great hurry they didn't need. Even the army blokes seemed to be affected. The entered, weaving through people, and were immediately hit with the noise; it was almost like a football or rugby game. Mark snorted; well without one-half suddenly attacking the other over team pride, that was.

He stopped tuning in (so to speak) at the third mention of the giant attack; it wasn't his city or his problem. The mission came first.

Neil broke off from the merry band as soon as they passed the lobby into the precinct proper. His partner Paul led the way into a quaint break room and poured them each a cup of bad coffee. Some of the others sat down to wait; he eyed the chairs and decided he preferred to stand. The break room emptied of it's usual clientele; Mark did not object.

He actually preferred to be handling this himself, especially now, but his government had been adamant.

Neil burst back in, looking winded. Mark idly wondered if something about this place were catching.

“The CPD just released details on the Formor attack; they were treating it as a potential homicide. The one who stopped the attack was a young girl... armed with a sword.”

Turns out the place was contagious after all; Mark was already moving, before Neil finished: “For some reason, they didn't confiscate the sword as evidence, or even try to. They cleared the case as self-defense based almost solely on her testimony. I have an address and a number however. The number is to her lawyer, but the address is to a gym not far from the attack.”

Mark wanted to throttle the man. Again. “Quit wasting time. Let's go.”

.....

Agatha Lynch stared at it.

The book knew all.

She was unsure at first, while the book was as much a part of history as the country as the old library she worked in, it hinted at dark things... impossible things that couldn't possibly be taken seriously in a modern age. Laughable fears that grade B movies were made from. And yet....

She had read it, of course, the tale of a scared frontier people encountering forces beyond their ken, of wise and learned men dabbling in forces best left alone that they could not control, and of the death of death itself. It had taken less than a day to decipher the pained scribble of a book not printed by machine, even with it written in a tongue old enough to be considered another language. It took just longer than that to read.

It was time. She got dressed in her most severe and outdated clothes, an old knit sweater with long sleeves and a full neck, and a skirt that covered her ankles. Some old heels and a ratty coat completed the image. Agatha looked at herself in her mirror; she looked old, non-threatening, almost grandmotherly but perhaps a bit too severe for that. Perfect; she grabbed her purse and locked up on the way out of her apartment.

Yes, the book had been a joke. She had wanted a history of pioneer life or travel, and gotten a cheap horror novel. And then it had whispered at her.

She had called in the next day, the sweet, cloying whispers swirling around her head like a heavy but pleasant fog. The voices had told her what to do. Where to go, what to buy, how to set up so as not to be found.

She found her target, a homeless man taking shelter in an alley below a fire escape; the fire escape would cut the rain, but not stop it from hitting what was below. He was thin and wan, but still strong and mostly healthy looking, even if his hair and clothes badly needed a wash. The rain also wouldn't do enough to cut the smell.

“Excuse me, sir?”

His gaze snapped up, and she saw the look of defeat she expected behind the wariness.

“Would you like a better place to stay for the night? I know a place.”

He stared at her, calculating. She knew how she looked; either poor or freshly homeless herself, well under his six-foot frame and weighing in at least fifty pounds less. With no weapon, she was no threat. But he was experienced, a gritty survivor, so she waited while he weighed her risk.

“Sure.” Was all he said, finally.

Yes, the book whispered many things; even where to bury the knife for best results.

She was not ready, for all that preparations were nearly complete. Tonight would be the last night, midnight the last hour, their will be done.