Part 1 can be found HERE.

 

Doyle, Whateley
Early Evening
November 10th, 2007

The girl known to the world as Jane Fisher, and called Just Me by the MCO, listened to the footsteps fade as Headmistress Carson, Security Chief Delarose, and Mr. Geintz, left Doyle. Wiping sweat from her brow, she had to admit they knew how to interrogate people. Fortunately, she knew how to lie after a lifetime of deceiving to the world.

They had wanted to know why Shaun had been targeted and brutally beaten while in Berlin. Jane knew the reason, and she was reasonably confident that she knew who had attacked them, but she couldn't tell them. She had buried Mille as deeply as humanly possible, hoping he would never come back. Unfortunately karma had struck with a vengeance, going after Mille's family.

Two years ago, the man known as Mille, a shifter, assassin, murderer, psychopath for hire, had given up everything, his age, sex, identity, even his power. He had died from barely controlled burnout, replaced by a twelve year old girl, with no name, no family, and seemingly no memory. Then by some malicious miracle, she had manifested again at fourteen, regaining a fraction of Mille's shifting abilities.

She had been sent to Whateley, where she had hoped to be ignored, allowing her to continue with her plan of living a quiet peaceful life. But then she discovered she shared a class with the son Mille had abandoned over a decade ago. And now Mille's old enemies wanted to enact their revenge, if they couldn't get Mille, they'd settle for his son.

She couldn't allow that.

When she was sure no one was around, Jane took her phone, struggling to see the buttons clearly through her concussion induced migraine. Shifting her throat, making her voice deeper and more mature, she dialed a number, dreading what was about to happen, yet yearning to hear the voice of the woman Mille had dearly loved.

“Hello,” the woman said.

For a moment Jane couldn't speak. Katherine was still as lovely sounding as ever. A part of her, the weak part, wanted to tell her former lover and the mother of her child the truth. But that couldn't happen, she wasn't Mille. She couldn't and wouldn't be Mille again.

“Hello, is anyone there?”

“Paris, 9am, June 9th, 1987,” she said, hoping Katherine would remember the old code.

There was a long pause. Finally Katherine replied, her voice cracking, “La tartine, café au lait, marmelade. J- Mille is that really you?”

“No,” Jane said, tears rolling down her face. “Mille died on March 9th, 2005.”

Mille's former lover began to sob. “Then who are you? How do you know his code?”

“I'm a friend. He wanted to make sure you and Shaun were protected. We don't have much time to talk. Whateley is going to call you soon, Shaun was attacked and badly beaten this afternoon. The attackers know he is Mille's son.”

“Oh god, I've got to get him.”

“No! You will go into hiding temporarily. The attackers believe Mille is alive, they were sending a message to bring him out. When Whateley calls, you will not admit to knowing anything about Mille. He paid me a large sum of money to deal with potential problems like this. I will ensure they cannot come after you or your son again, and create some false leads away from you both. If you don't hear back from me in a month, then you may contact Whateley and tell them everything. Anything else will put you both at even more risk.”

There was another long pause. “All right, if Mille trusted you, I'll do the same. You have thirty days.”

Ending the call, Jane took the sim card out and snapped it in half, then she did the same to her phone, shoving the remains under the mattress, she'd properly throw it out in the morning when she left. Using her own phone had been a risk, but there hadn't been any other better options. She'd have to get a new one the next day.

Laying back down, she closed her eyes. Magic had gotten rid of the worst effects of the concussion, sleep would help remove the rest. The gaping wound in her chest would take far longer to fade back into memory.

Headmistress Office, Whateley
Late Evening,

“Do we know who did this?” Headmistress Carson asked.

“We have a lead,” Delarose said, “but we need to confirm it. Looking over Mille's confirmed hits, the only one where children were killed was in 2002, when he tried to assassinate Mathew Fusco. He set a car bomb as a backup minutes before the shoot out, Mr. Fusco's two children and their tutor set it off trying to get away. Mr. Fusco survived, thanks to a secret escape route that led to a concealed car at the back of the house. Telling Mille to meet at the graves of the children, as well as the brutality of the attack on Shaun Solace, points to him as a suspect, but it could also be a red herring.”

“What did Imp have to say about Mille?” she asked, turning to Fubar.

“Nothing useful,” he admitted. “She worked with him twice, both times over a decade ago. She's willing to go over it with us, but she knew him before he gained his violent reputation. He never revealed any personal information, other than his habit of reading biographies of actors, spies, and con artists. As far as she knows, everyone agrees he died in the February, 2005 Boston explosion.”

Carson frowned, tapping her desk in irritation. “What about Shaun, is he Mille's son?”

Delarose matched her frown. “I personally phoned Ms. Solace after speaking with Shaun, someone had contacted her first. She's a decent actress, but she wasn't surprised enough when I told her what happened, just concerned and upset. She claims his father is a John Alarie. Duel citizenship, French and American, thanks to his American mother. He was a former day trader who abandoned her in 1992 while she was nine months pregnant, and died in a drunken car accident a week later. Official records confirmed her story.”

“You think she's lying?”

“Yes. We traced her phone, it was scrambled, but we managed to pin her down in Stillwater, Oklahoma, at a Syndicate safe house. A few discrete calls and cashing in some large favours, I found out she had made an emergency call two hours before I talked to her. She was teleported directly to the safehouse with a team of bodyguards who were armed to the teeth.”

Her frown grew larger. “I don't recall Shaun's files saying they had access to that kind of money.”

“There seems to be a lot we don't know about Shaun Solace, or Jane Fisher.”

She gave her security chief a curious look.

“Ms. Solace received a call from Jane Fisher, two minutes after we finished talking to the girl. I dropped by after learning that bit of information, asking her some follow up questions, she claims she lost her phone.”

“Do you believe her?”

Delarose sighed, rubbing his temples. “Not for a minute. The video from the cafe shows she has experience fighting with weapons and won't hesitate to cause serious injury, despite being in Survival and having shown no signs of training. However she has never had any run ins with security, has no complaints from her teachers, and seems to avoid trouble of any kind. I'd put her up as a model student at least when it comes to decorum, which just makes me more suspicious.”

“What does her file say?”

“She didn't exist before March 2005, no records and no apparent memory. A psychiatric evaluation in 2005 says she was suffering from severe emotional trauma, which they believe has caused her amnesia. She did well in therapy and stopped in February, 2007. Her foster families all report that she was extremely polite, quiet and obedient, to the point of being, and I quote, creepy and unsettling.”

“How many families did she live with?”

“Three. The first foster parents died due to carbon monoxide poisoning from a poorly maintained water heater. Jane survived thanks to having her bedroom window open. The second family asked for her to be moved after five months because she was scaring their young daughter, who said Jane had scary eyes that were giving her nightmares. She did well with her last foster family and saw a lot of improvement, until she manifested and developed her seizures, at which point she got sent her to us,” Delarose said.

Turning back to Fubar, Carson asked, “What did you get from meeting Jane?”

He gave her a disapproving look. “Going purely on what I've seen of her today, she is a very intense young woman. She hasn't come to Hawthorne and I haven't had any reason to talk to her, so I can't say much more.”

Leaning back in her chair, Carson thought about the problem. Shaun's attackers would need to be shown the errors of their ways, breaching Whateley's neutrality so violently and blatantly required a strong response. She also needed to get more information on Shaun's possible parentage if it would lead to similar incidents in the future. Finding out what was going on with Jane would also be useful.

“Chief, do whatever it takes to confirm if Mr. Fusco ordered the attack. I want an example made as soon as possible. When Shaun is able to answer more questions, we'll talk to him again. With Jane, keep an eye on her and let me know if she contacts Ms. Solace again. I'll talk to Dr. Bellows and see what he thinks about getting her back into therapy,” she said.

Past
Survival Class, Whateley
Early Afternoon
September 4th, 2007

Jane leaned against the hallway wall, near the door of the classroom, tapping away at her phone while watching the other students enter. She wasn't actually doing anything with the phone, she just wanted to get an idea of who her classmates were before making her entrance. Seeing who they were friends with, how they interacted with others, what they talked about, it all helped her build a picture of who to avoid, who to get close to, and most importantly how to not stick out.

Most of the class seemed to be in the room, so it was time to get inside before she was the last one in. Putting her phone away, she headed for the door and almost stopped in shock.

A boy was coming down the hall, brown hair, blue eyes, freckles, ears that stuck out just a little too far and were a little on the pointy side.

“No, fucking way,” she whispered.

One of Mille's memories of a long haired brunette with blue eyes, freckled cheeks and slightly pointy ears that stuck out just a bit too far, walking down a London street, rose up in her mind.

Staring at her feet, Jane reached the door at the same time the boy did, accidentally bumping into him. “Oh! I'm sorry, I wasn't paying any attention,” she said, using her power to make her cheeks turn a bright red from embarrassment.

“That's Ok,” he said. “I wasn't paying much attention either.”

“Well I guess this is one way to meet my new classmate. I'm Jane Fisher, from Halifax, Canada” she said, returning her cheeks to their normal colour.

“Shaun Solace, Tulsa Oklahoma,” he replied.

That practically settled matters. Solace was such a rare name, finding someone who looked so much like Katherine, and had the same last name, and was from the same city, made her fear a virtual certainty. Shaun was Mille's son.

Somehow she kept her composure. Finding two free seats, she sat down and as expected he sat down beside her. She forced herself to keep talking as if everything was normal. “I guess you're like me and didn't want to get beaten up in martial arts,” she said.

“Yeah. My Mom always said that being able to run away was better than getting broken bones,” he replied. “And I'm not a brick, so Survival is more my speed.”

Before she could reply, Mr. Anderson, the Survival teacher stepped into the classroom. Without thinking, she leaned over to Shaun and quietly asked, “You want to have supper with my roommate and I?”

“Uh, yeah,” he said, looking surprised at her offer.

Silently cursing herself, she gave him a smile and pulled out her notebook.

Ducking into the bathroom after Survival, Jane pulled out Shaun's phone from her bag. She had to be absolutely positive about Shaun, and there was only one way to do that. She frowned in disgust at seeing it wasn't locked, what idiot didn't have a password? At least it made her job easier.

Going to contacts, she found 'Mom'. Forcing herself to stay calm, she phoned the number.

It took five rings before Katherine answered. “Shaun? Shouldn't you be in class?”

Jane hung up immediately. Even after fifteen years, she knew that voice, it was still as beautiful as ever.

Fighting back tears she got up to leave, she had classes to go to, sticking out wasn't an option for her. She didn't know why Shaun was a freshman instead of a sophomore, and she didn't know why fate had put them in the same class, but ultimately it didn't matter. She wasn't Mille, he had died so she could live. She was Just Me, Jane Fisher, fourteen years old, a student of Whateley, she was in the system, and a mutant. She wasn't special, she was going to get her high school diploma and go to a small college to learn something boring, and live a peaceful life.

Stepping out into the hallway, she disappeared in the crowd.

Whateley
Lunchtime
November 11th, 2007

Jane looked up at Security Chief Delarose, he looked just as grim as he had the night before. “You're sure you've never heard of Mille?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied.

“When you were attacked witnesses say you reacted quickly, like you knew something was about to happen.”

“I'm in Survival, I pay attention to things and saw one of the men point at us. Then they all stood up, it was pretty obvious something bad was about to happen.” That much was mostly true at least. She had recognized the man she'd stabbed. Mitch Davis, Mille had worked with him for a few days when he had been pretending to be a nanny for the Fusco job.

She was getting tired of having to go over the same questions she'd answered the night before, just in a different order and with some questions about Mille thrown in. She knew they wanted to find out what had happened and why, and it was pretty clear they thought she was hiding something, but this was her problem, not theirs. She would deal with it.

“Excuse me, Chief Delarose, my head is still sore and I'm hungry. I've been given the all clear by the doctor, may I please see my friends who are just outside the door and go to lunch?” she asked.

“I think that's everything. If you remember anything that might help Shaun, let me know,” he said.

“I will, sir.”

With the room free, she got dressed in the clean clothes that her roommate had brought over earlier, collected her broken phone, putting it deep into her bag to be thrown away later, and walked out to see Amber, Cooper and Aella waiting for her. Amber rushed over, throwing her arms around Jane.

“I was so worried about you. They still won't let us see Shaun, is he all right?” Amber asked.

Self-consciously, Jane patted her roommate on the back. “He was beaten really badly, but he'll survive and they used magic to heal him, we'll be able to see him in a few days.”

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

“What about you, how are you feeling?” Aella asked.

“Hungry,” she replied, slipping out of Amber's hug and heading for the exit. “And I'm OK. I just had to sleep off a concussion.”

“So what happened?” Cooper asked, as they followed her.

Taking a moment to get her thoughts in order, Jane said, “I don't know much, just a bit of what I remember before getting knocked out yesterday, what I happened to overhear listening at the door last night when Shaun was briefly awake, and a few questions I was asked this morning. But someone, who could hire a bunch of thugs, thinks Shaun is related to some guy named Mille.”

“What? He's never talked much about his family, it just seems to be his mom and grandpa. He doesn't even have a father.”

“So,” Amber said, “maybe his unknown dad was in trouble with someone. It had to be pretty big to make them come after Shaun.”

“What did you say the name was, meal, mill, mile? What type of name is that anyways?”

“It's pronounced Meel,” Jane corrected him. “It means a thousand.”

“Does Shaun know him?” Amber asked.

Jane shook her head. “He said he didn't. Never heard the name. So I'm guessing we're the talk of the campus.”

“Nope,” Cooper said. “You were upstaged.”

“How?!”

“You know the green haired elf, who got beat up on Friday night?” Amber asked.

She nodded, it was kind of hard to miss the girl and her pixies.

“People are saying she works for the MCO. No one knows if it's true or not yet, but a lot of people are trying to find out.”

“Damn.” Jane didn't want to think about what would happen to the girl if those rumours proved to be true. She didn't have a problem with the MCO, being a ward of the Canadian government had ensured she didn't have to deal with the MCO very much, and she always had a government official with her when she did. But she understood how bad they could be and how most mutants felt about them.

At least she wouldn't have to worry about too many people asking her questions she didn't want to answer.

Getting to Crystal Hall, they grabbed some food and sat at their usual table. Aella who had been tapping away at her I-Phone finally put it down on the table. “I think I know who Mille is,” she said, looking pale.

She felt her blood run cold, but this time it wasn't a seizure, Mille couldn't seem to stay dead. Feigning interest, she looked curiously at Aella.

“I did a search for Mille and crimes, the first five results are for a shifter assassin.”

“An assassin?” Cooper said. “How good is he?”

“Over one-hundred-fifty confirmed kills, and anywhere from four hundred to eight hundred kills that they're pretty sure could be his. But it could even be higher than that, well over a thousand.” she whispered in horror.

Cooper and Amber both swore. Jane looked down at her food, forcing herself to eat.

Mille had lost count of his kills. After the first hundred, the faces and numbers just stopped mattering. The only thing that mattered was the payment and the thrill. Eventually that had stopped as well, and it was all about letting out the rage and anger that filled him, hoping that one day he'd lose.

“Is he still alive?” Amber asked.

Aella scrolled down. “It says they believe he died in Boston. A big explosion in 2005 killed over twenty-five people, one of the survivors said they were going after Mille. They couldn't identify most of the bodies, but Mille had been shot and the area he was in was levelled. Since he hasn't appeared since then, everyone is pretty sure he's dead.”

“If he died, why would they go after Shaun?”

“Sins of the father,” Jane whispered.

“What?”

“He was a monster,” she said. “The people he murdered had family, friends. If they think the monster is still alive, they'll want to get their revenge. If they can't punish him, punishing his family will have to do.”

She felt their eyes on her. She pretended to ignore them, focusing on her food, trying to get her hand to stop shaking. Every bite tasted like blood.

“Do they have a picture of him?” Amber asked.

“Not really,” Aella said. “They have pictures of people confirmed to be him, but they're all different, men, women, teenagers, seniors, different races, no one has seen his real face. They don't even know his name, just a lot of aliases, Miles, Emile, Milhouse, Millicent, Miley. There are dozens of them, most have Mil somewhere in the name, but they say he used all kinds, these are just the ones they could confirm. It was like a calling card when he could get away with it.”

It had been a game, a way for Mille to show he was smarter than them, more clever than them. Then it became a target, daring them to spot his ruse and kill him before he killed them. They never won until they'd found a way to track him down.

“So what if Mille really is Shaun's dad?” Cooper asked.

“If he really is Mille's son, does he seem like a psychopath waiting to kill someone?” Jane asked, still not looking at them.

“Not really,” he said. The others agreed.

“So treat him normally. He's going to need the support.” Tossing her fork down, she gave up trying to eat. If she had anything else she was probably going to just throw it up. “I'm done. I need some alone time.”

Amber ran after her as she went to throw out her tray. “Hey, Jane. If you need anything, even just a hug, let me know. You don't have to face this alone, we're friends.”

She forced herself to smile. “Thanks Amber. I'll remember that.”

Turning away from her friend, she kept walking, she had to make some plans and order equipment. Dumping her tray, she left Crystal Hall. In the cold air she felt heat building up in her chest, making itself at home. She eyed the students she passed, looking at their throats, groins and faces.

Making her way to Dickinson alone, she didn't notice she was still holding the knife from her abandoned lunch.

Whateley
Late Afternoon
November 12th, 2007

The sign on the door read, 'Abandon all hope ye who enter'.

Jane had been avoiding this classroom and especially The Imp as much as humanly possible. When the teacher wast subbing in Survival Class, she made it a point to stay quiet and not do anything that might stick out.

Mille had worked with the Imp twice in the past, she knew how intelligent the supposedly insane supervillain was, and a slip up could spell disaster. So she was taking a huge risk doing this, but now that she'd decided on her course of action, there was no real choice if she wanted to succeed. On the plus side if this blew up in her face, she was probably going to be dead before she realized it.

“This is already a disaster,” she muttered to herself.

The Imp looked much like she had twelve years ago, a touch older and wearing civilian clothes, rather than the distinctive catsuit. The slow aging was likely one of the advantages of her regeneration, or possibly magic, even Mille hadn't known all the tricks the Imp had up her sleeve.

“Hello, Imp,” she said, closing and locking the door.

The Imp looked at her curiously, obviously wondering why she'd locked the door. “What can I do for you?” the art teacher asked.

“I need a private conversation. It's important.” Jane saw that she had Imp's complete attention. The art teacher was hard to read, except when she was having fun mocking someone, but from Mille's memories Jane knew enough to tell when Imp was interested.

“I just swept for bugs ten minutes ago. Is that good enough?”

“Yes it is,” she said, taking a seat across from her. “I'd like to call in a mark you owe my father.”

“I didn't know the Bad Seed's had a new member,” Imp said.

“I didn't know my father until I manifested and got a letter from one of his former associates. He had a long list of enemies who would gladly come after me if they knew I existed. Since he's dead, he can't exactly protect me. Staying quiet and unknown is safer,” she said.

A strange look crossed Imp's face, disappearing almost instantly. “I'm sorry to hear that. I am going to need to know who he was, or at least what the mark is for.”

“He helped you get rid of some very persistent hitmen.”

Imp's eyes widened. Jane could see her connecting the attack on Incognito and Mille, hopefully the art teacher would just think she really was Mille's daughter.

“This seems like something Whateley's neutrality would be better suited for. I owe your father favour, but not that big of one.”

Shaking her head, Jane said, “I don't want you to go after them, I need information. Three years ago, you stole a painting from Mathew Fusco. I want all the information you have on him, his security, his house, his daily schedule, everything.” She had confirmed the man who had attacked her and Shaun was still working with Fusco, now she needed to learn how to kill them all.

Imp nodded. “I can do that, but it's out of date. He's probably changed a lot of it.”

“It's a start, and you have connections I don't. You can get up to date information far more quickly, cheaply, and easily than I can. From what little the letter said, that is a reasonable request.”

“It is. I'll get right on it. Where do you want me to send it?”

She handed over her new phone number. “Send me a place and time to meet up. I want it on a USB, no papers, nothing that can be traced back to me. If anyone asks, I'm thinking about commissioning a small portrait.”

“All right.” Imp cocked her head, eyeing Jane closely. “You remind me of your father. You have the same intensity, and you keep things close to your chest just like he did.”

“Thank you. That's nice to know,” Jane said. She left without saying another word.

Past
Workshop, Whateley
September 14th

“So what do you need me to do?” Jane asked, leaning on Shaun's work table while he pulled out various things from the locked cabinets underneath.

“Well, in a little bit I'd like to scan your face so I can make a mask for you. It will help make testing it easier. But for now, if you could make your face really oily, I can see if this new polymer sticks to it,” Shaun said. He placed a small box on the table and opened it up revealing what looked like a thin patch of skin.

“An oily face,” Jane said. “You'd better not have a camera ready to take a picture of me looking all gross.”

Confusion was clear on his face as he looked at her. “Why would I do that?”

She couldn't resist grinning, his mother had raised him properly. Picturing her new look, she shifted. It wasn't that different from her usual appearance, but her pores were enormous, practically oozing oil. “How's this?”

Shuddering, he handed over the fake skin. “Perfect. Just put the sticky side on your cheek or forehead and we'll see how it holds.”

The skin felt like kind of sticky on one side, and a little rough on the other. It didn't match her skin tone, being a bit redder, but it looked like the real stuff and felt like it on the rough side. Placing the stuff on her cheek, it gripped her skin like glue.

“So do I just keep it on for a few minutes or do you want me to make some faces for you?” she asked. A corner of the skin came up as she spoke.

“Just talk for a bit. I want to see how long it will stick.”

“Uh, right. Talking,” she said. What could she talk about? She was good at listening. Getting a person talking about themselves was easy, and let her hide her past. What was she supposed to say to Mille's son?

“You're fifteen, right?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“So why are you older than most freshmen?”

“I had leukemia when I was five. It wasn't that bad, but it kept me out of school for a year. My mom decided it was easier to just start a year late.”

Her stomach dropped. “That sounds pretty bad to me.”

He shrugged. “I'm not going to say it didn't suck or that it wasn't scary. But it was gone with a round of chemo, and other than a scare when I was nine, it never came back. Now all I really remember of it is feeling really sick and seemingly endless days in a hospital bed.”

There was another reason to curse Mille, he should have been there for his son. Going through Mille's memories she realized that he had been in North Africa blackmailing and killing several politicians in Algeria and Morocco, for an unknown third party while Shaun was in the hospital.

“Hey, you OK?” Shaun asked. “You look lost. More than usual.”

“What do you mean?”

He turned red. “It's nothing.”

“I don't look lost. Do I?”

Turning away he began doing something with his tools as he said, “Well, yeah. You always seem kind of distracted and not all there, like you're thinking about something really hard, or not sure what to do.”

“Oh. I didn't know that.”

“It's not bad or anything. It's better than being too intense, a lot of kids here need to learn how to relax a little.”

Before she could think of what to say, a small, almost frail looking boy came over. “Hey Shaun, can I borrow your rheometer? Mines not working.”

“Sure, I'm not using it right now. Just have it back to me by tomorrow night,” Shaun replied, bending down to get the machine.

The boy smiled at Jane. “Hi, I'm Alchemical. I haven't seen you down here before.”

“I'm Jane, and I'm currently being a guinea pig for Shaun,” she said.

“That's great. Maybe you could help me out sometime. I have some skin creams that could fix up your pores, after they're tested to make sure they're safe, you can be in the trial run.”

The smile dropped from Jane's face. “I don't normally look like this. I'm a shifter, we're doing testing on oily skin,” she said.

Alchemical went beet red. “I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking,” he squeaked.

“Smooth man. Very smooth,” Shaun said, putting something that looked like a futuristic coffee machine and foamer on the work table.

Deciding to be nice, Jane smiled again. “Don't worry about it. You were trying to be nice, and I'm not hung up on my looks, since I can change them in a few seconds. If you need a guinea pig, I'll try out anything that won't melt off my skin or turn it purple.”

Tunnels, Whateley
November 13th

Jane entered the tunnels and went straight to the workshop. She'd helped Shaun often enough that she knew exactly how to get there and was no longer considered an interloper by most of the students.

Before going to the main workshop, she stopped at a door that looked fairly thick and had an electronic lock. She was sure that wasn't the only security measure, this was the private workshop for Mobius, and from what she understood he had a good size fortune thanks to his products. She pressed the buzzer and waited.

It took a few minutes, but the pear shaped devisor finally opened the door. When he saw Jane he got a lecherous grin, and waved her into the crowded room. “How can I help you?” he asked, leaning against a desk covered in fabric, trying to look cool and collected.

She smiled at him, showing off a set of perfect teeth, and flipped a stray bang out of the way. “I need a tool belt with multiple pockets, that can carry a variety of tools. And I'm hoping I can get it in a week,”

Seeing him slowly looking her up and down, Jane arched her back a little, letting him get an eyeful of her breasts. Mobius asked, “What's your waist size?”

“I need it stretchy, so it can snuggly fit sizes from twenty inches to forty inches. That should be easy for someone as smart as you, right?”

He blushed a little. “Well, I can do that, of course. But I've got a few orders already, and I need to prepare for the weapons fair, and making it stretchy will take a while.”

Pouting, she walked over to him, swinging her hips. Placing a finger on his cheek, she got in close, letting him smell her perfume. “Isn't there something you can do? Money isn't an object, and I really, really, need this.” Her finger moved down his cheek, brushing his lips, moving past his chin to caress his neck

“Uh, these orders are pretty important. I-”

He stopped as she pressed her body up against him, her lips almost touching his. “You sell your belts for five thousand dollars right? I'll give you fifteen, as long as you have it ready by Friday.”

“OK,” he said, his voice cracking.

“Thank you,” she whispered in his ear, then gave him a peck on the cheek.

Leaving his workshop, she went to the next person on her list. The devisor and gadgeteer had her own private workshop, and the door had pretty pastel eggs painted on it. Knocking on the door, it was answered much more quickly by a well built blonde.

“Oh hey, Jane right? I heard about Shaun, I'm really sorry,” Bugs said.

“Thank you. Can I step inside, I need to talk to you?” Jane asked, smiling at the girl she highly suspected was gay, while playing with her hair.

“Yeah, sure. What do you need?”

“I'm feeling pretty scared after the attack. I'm hoping you could help me. I need two radio and cell phone scramblers, that can cover several hundred meters each. And what are some useful self defense devises or gadgets you have?”

Bugs blinked in surprise at her request. “Uh, let's see what I've got.”

Alchemical put a drop of his newest chemical creation on a strip of artificial flesh. The tissue, which was identical to what you'd find in the human sinuses, immediately began swelling. Looking at the sensors readout, they had increased in size by thirty percent. He grinned, that was just about where he wanted it. Getting this sprayed into the face would swell up the throat and sinuses enough to stop an attacker in their tracks without completely constricting the airflow.

Now if only he could get his safety testing moved up from December. Phase was interested in helping him market his stuff for self-defense and even crowd control, and he had been hoping to have more things to sell at the Weapons Fair, but it seemed like he'd just have a few chemical sprays ready. Still, he couldn't really blame the testing department for taking so long, he had over a dozen new chemicals sprays on the waiting list. Unlike a lot of the Workshop crew, he actually followed the proper testing procedures.

Maybe he should work on improving his spray dispensers for a bit, that would help clear up some of the backlog. Picking up his art pad, he let the mechanical part of his mind draw what it wanted.

“Al, I need your help,” Jane said, coming up behind him.

Jumping in surprise, ripping the paper which now had plans for an intricate spray system, he turned around “Yeah sure, Jane. I heard about the att-” he stumbled to a halt at seeing her eyes. They weren't the usual dark brown eyes that always seemed to be lost, they were sharper, and a brilliant blue. Looking into them, he would swear she was picturing him as an object she might have to destroy.

“Those personal protection chemicals you've been working on, I'm hoping I could buy them. I haven't felt safe since I was attacked” she said.

Her voice sounded sincere. It was the same soft voice she always had, and she sounded scared, but her eyes were wrong. He couldn't shake the feeling that she was staring at his throat. “Uh, I have the enhanced pepper spray ready, it's been tested and everything. But everything else still needs to go through the final bit of testing.”

She pouted. Actually her mouth and face pouted, her eyes flicked to the hotplate, then his hand. It was so fast he almost missed it, and then her focus was back on his throat. “I know they're safe. You're a genius when it comes to chemicals.”

Her voice was like silk. Were her breasts bigger than usual? He dragged his eyes away from her chest. Perfume, rose with a hint of cinnamon, filled his nose as she got closer, when had she started wearing perfume. Trying to back away he hit the worktable.

“Come on,” she said, running her hand through her hair, which was longer than usual, “You're my friend, aren't you?”

“Y-yeah. But if they find out I gave them to you, I could get in trouble. They haven't been tested.” He looked around for help, but the workshop was quiet, the few other people deep in their own projects, ignoring them.

“What if I promise no one will find out? You know me, I'm not exactly a trouble magnet. And if I use them against an attacker while I'm outside of school, who will complain?” she asked. Her voice was soft and pleading, causing blood to rush to his face and other parts of his body. “I just want to feel safe. Don't you want to help me?”

Al wanted to say yes just to get out of the situation. He didn't know what was going on or why it was happening, but he had to follow the rules. “I can't help you.”

“How much money will it take to change your mind? I know you could always use some more.” She moved in closer, her hand brushed his arm. Her piercing blue eyes filled his vision.

Closing his eyes, he wrenched his head to the side. “I'm sorry. No.”

He heard her sigh, then her hands were on his shoulders, running down his arms. “Maybe something else?” she whispered, taking his hand in hers.

Keeping his eyes shut, she lifted his hand up, and then he was touching something large and soft. He gasped, trying to jerk away, her grip was like iron.

“I can be anyone you want. Do anything you want,” she whispered, her lips brushing his ear. She moved his hand so it caressed her body, finally placing it on her hip, her chest pressed into his. “I just want a little thing, they'll never know you gave them to me.”

“Two thousand dollars!”

“What?”

“Two thousand dollars and they're yours. Just go away and calm down,” he said.

His hand dropped as she pulled away. “OK, I'll pick them up on Friday. And make sure they're in your special spray bottles. I'll transfer you the money tonight,” she said, in something like her normal voice.

Keeping his eyes closed, he listened to her walk away. When he was sure she was gone, he opened his eyes and started cleaning up. He wanted to get back to his cottage and be around lots of people as soon as possible.

Past
Whateley
September, 6th

Walking along the meandering stone path, well away from the main part of the campus, Jane allowed herself to stop thinking or caring about the world. Finding peace in the silence that surrounded her. She didn't have to pretend to be anyone here. People weren't watching her. She could just drift without a care in the world.

A twig snapped.

Her eyes went to the source of the sound, a very large, well built teenager stepped out from behind some trees. From the way he was looking at her and moving to fill the middle of the path, it was obvious that he wanted to annoy her. Her hand instinctively reached for a knife, only to remember she didn't do that anymore, she hadn't for over two years and she wasn't going to start again.

Instead she came to a stop in front of him. “Can I help you?” she asked, falling back on politeness until she knew how to act.

“I'm Thud, what's your name?”

She held back a sigh at the choice of codenames. “Hello Thud, I'm Jane.”

“How about you walk with me for a while? We can get to know each other, it'll be fun,” he said, his grin far too close to a leer for her liking.

“No thank you,” she replied.

“What, you think you're too good for me?”

“No. I just prefer to be alone.”

He stepped towards her, she stepped back trying to keep him out of her personal space. “How about your number? I can take you out for dinner.”

“No thank you.”

His leer turned to a grimace. “What's wrong with you? You a lesbian or something?”

“If I say yes, will that make you go away?” she asked.

He pushed her hard in the chest. She probably could have dodged it, but that would likely lead to a fight, the very last thing she wanted. Instead she moved with it, taking most of the force out of the blow. Falling to the ground, she twisted around, making sure she hit the soft grass rather than the tightly packed stones. She used her hands to safely roll until coming to a stop in a kneeling position, a little dirty, but unhurt.

“Feel better?” she asked, her voice flat and free of emotion.

Thud's face twisted up, probably confused at her lack of reaction. “Fucking dyke. Are you trying to make fun of me?”

“No.”

Once more he moved in, looming over her. She got to her feet looking up at him, bored and little annoyed at the situation. He had the size to be intimidating, but he didn't know how to use it. He was barely even an amateur, just incompetent.

He slapped her.

Again Jane could have dodged it, but that would just draw things out. As his hand hit her cheek she moved her head just fast enough to avoid the full force of it. It still stung, the idiot was clearly a brick. She tasted a bit of blood from her cheek hitting her teeth.

“Feel better now?” she asked again.

“Crazy, fucking bitch,” he said, staring down at her like she was some strange bug. Pushing past, he walked away completely ignoring her.

Taking a moment, Jane shifted, spreading out the bruise, lessening the pain and ensuring there wouldn't be a bruise. That hadn't gone well, but it could have been a lot worse. Hopefully he'd ignore her in the future.

Whateley
Evening, November 14th

Thud wandered down the snowy path, enjoying the cool air that reminded him of home. It was too bad his friends didn't like the cold like he did, they didn't know what they were missing. He perked up as he saw movement through the trees. He couldn't tell who it was, but it would probably be interesting.

“Oh it's her,” he muttered, seeing Jane, the weird lesbian who seemed to like getting beat up, jogging down the path. He didn't see her very often, she wasn't much fun, so he didn't go out of his way to find her. But whenever he caught her alone, he tried to make her react. Slaps, kicks, punches, nothing worked, she just looked at him like he was a bug, never even sounding upset and never going to security.

Maybe he could rip her coat off and throw her in the snow. Let her freeze a little until she reacted. She was a frigid bitch, she might even like it.

“Hey Jane,” he growled as she came up to him. That was another weird thing, she never tried to avoid him. If she saw him, she just kept doing whatever she was doing without a care in the world.

The girl came to a stop and looked up at him. Something was off, she seemed to be more focused, and her eyes were blue not brown. It didn't matter, he'd heard she was a shifter, her eye colour didn't change anything. He reached out to grab her coat.

What happened next was too quick for him to follow.

Thud felt her grab his arm and she seemed to flow over him. He yelled in surprise as she somehow got on his back, wrapping an arm around his throat and her legs around his waist. Then all his attention was focused on the tip of a knife that was less than an inch from his eyeball.

“I know you're a brick Thud, but are your eyes knife proof?” Jane asked, her breath tickling his ear. “I really want to find out, how about you?”

Fear made it hard to breathe and he didn't dare move, he had no idea if the knife would hurt him or not, and he did not want to find out. This didn't sound like the Jane he knew. He'd heard ragers talking trash, he'd listened to Bloodwolf as the freak made himself sound tough and violent. They weren't as frightening as Jane was at that moment. She sounded like a cheerful little kid about to rip the wings off of a fly or holding a big rock over a puppy.

“Please, put the knife down,” he whispered.

“What's wrong? I thought you liked playing like this, Thud. You like hurting people, but you don't want to risk getting hurt yourself. You're a coward aren't you?”

The knife moved, he could feel the cold steel on his eye. “Yeah. I'm a coward,” he said, desperately trying not blink.

“If you want to be a big, tough guy, you have to learn to accept the pain. Welcome it like it's an old friend. It's how you know you're alive and breathing. You can't go running and crying to mommy when things get rough,” she said. “What would you do if I popped your eyeball like a grape right now?”

He tried to speak, nothing came out. Tears started falling.

“Come on now, don't cry,” the girl said mockingly. “You're supposed to be a tough guy. I could pluck out both your eyes and Doyle would heal you right up, good as new. It would be a good experience for you, learning how to accept the pain.”

Thud realized that for the first time ever he was hearing true emotion in Jane's voice. She wanted to hurt him. She thought this was funny. What type of psycho had he been dealing with?

“You could kill me,” she said, giggling. “You're a brick, I'm just a shifter. You could grab my arm, break it before I take out your eye. Then I'd be helpless and you could do anything you want to me. Play with me as much as you like. Make me hurt. Do it slow and really make me scream. But I'm fast. I bet I could pop your eye before you stop me. And who knows, maybe I could get my knife into your brain. Give it a bit of a stir. Instant lobotomy. Do you think they could heal that?”

A wet patch formed in his pants. He needed to blink so badly, but the knife was still there. “Please. I don't wanna die,” he whispered.

“You're pathetic. Weak. Cowardly. Useless,” Jane said, her voice dripping with contempt. “If you aren't willing to risk everything, don't play the fucking game.”

Trying to remain perfectly still, he sobbed, “I won't play anymore.”

“I'm going to get off now. You can try to take me, but there won't be another friendly warning like this. We play for keeps or we don't play at all. Got it?”

“Yeah.”

She slid off his back, skipping backwards a few feet. Slowly he turned around, through his tears he saw Jane was grinning at him, expertly holding the knife. Her blue eyes were lit up like it was Christmas. “Are you sure you don't want to play? It'll be fun, and you have the advantage now.”

Spinning on his heels, Thud ran away as fast as he could. He didn't care if people saw him crying and covered in piss, he had badly misjudged the girl and he realized he was lucky to get away without losing an eye. He wasn't going to risk his life again.

The Dickinson bathroom was deserted. The girls who went to bed early had already come through, the ones who waited until lights out weren't quite ready to do their nightly routine. Jane stared at herself in the mirror, still damp from her shower, trying not to claw off her skin. It was too tight, too itchy.

“Pull it together, Jane,” she whispered to herself. “You have a job to do, but it's one job. Don't start slipping.”

Unthinkingly her hand curled into a fist. It was getting hard to think, she needed a release. Raising her arm, she stared at the face in the mirror. It wasn't hers. Punching it, making it bleed, it would help. Maybe she'd finally stop itching.

A pair of girls stepped into the bathroom.

Dropping her arm, she grabbed her toothbrush, trying to act normally. By the time the girls left, Jane was rubbing some moisturizer onto her skin, silently begging them to leave.

Alone again, she looked in the mirror once more.

“Get this through your fucking head,” she said, practically growling, “I'm Just Me, Jane Fisher. I'm fourteen years old. I'm a mutant at Whateley. I'm in the system. I'm going to graduate and go to a small college. I will do what I have to, but I'm going to live a peaceful, normal life afterwards.”

Concentrating on her eyes, she made them brown again.

Satisfied, she headed for bed.

Past
Dickinson Cottage,Whateley
October 28th, 2007

Amber blew her nose for the fifth time in twenty minutes. Looking up from her homework, Jane turned to her friend. “Something wrong?” she asked.

“It's nothing,” Amber said, sitting up on her bed, swiping at her red eyes.

“You haven't smiled all day,” Jane said. “Something is clearly wrong. You want to tell me about it?”

Amber bit her lip, clearly trying to decide if she should admit what was bothering her. “It's close to Halloween. Back home before everything went bad, it was a big event for my family. We'd set up the coolest decorations around the arcade, and dress up in costumes. The laser tag area would become a haunted maze where you shot monsters. It was really fun. And now I'm all alone, going to a school dance.”

Not sure what to say, she went with the tried and true, “I'm really sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You remember how you offered a hug if I ever needed it?” Amber asked. “I think I need it.”

Hesitantly, not used to hugging a teen girl, Jane sat down on the bed and put her arms lightly around her friend. Amber didn't hesitate, wrapping her arms around Jane hard enough to hurt.

Cautiously, not sure if it was the right thing to do, Jane hugged the tiny girl a little harder, patting her on the back. Tears started to soak her shirt.

This is what a friend does, she thought to herself. She could do this for her friend, no matter how weird it felt or how wet she got.

Doyle, Whateley
Late Afternoon
November 15th

“Hey Shaun,” Jane said, smiling down at her friend.

He looked terrible, the bruises were mostly gone, but his limbs were still in splints, an IV was stuck in his arm, he was pale and thinner than before. Considering how badly he'd been beaten, the fact he was conscious and talking was a miracle.

“Hi,” he said, his voice weak.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Like I was beaten to a pulp. Do they know who did it?”

She shook her head. “If they do, they haven't told me.”

“Where is everyone else?”

“You're only allowed one visitor at a time, and only for a few minutes. So I got the first three minutes, Cooper will come in after me for the other three. We had to a beg them to get this much time. We'll be able to come for a bit longer and as a group tomorrow. You want anything?”

“A new body,” he said, wincing in pain.

Grinning, she pretended to write it down. “I'll see what I can do. Maybe we can get you a better looking face along with it.”

“Muscles would be nice too. And taller.” He smiled for a moment then got serious. “How are you?”

“Had a concussion. I had to stay overnight to make sure it wasn't serious. Don't worry about me, I've had worse.”

Grimacing, he closed his eyes. “You stabbed one of them.”

Jane nodded. “Yeah. He was a lot bigger than me, I didn't think a punch would work very well.”

“Did they tell you why they attacked us?”

She shook her head. “I listened in a little, but didn't hear much.”

“They think my dad is some criminal. Don't know why. He died. I've been to his grave.”

Placing her hand on his, she shushed him. “Don't worry about it. They must have gotten bad information. I'm sure Whateley is going to deal with it. I've gotta go now so Cooper can talk to you. I think he wants to take over your half of the dorm so say no to everything.”

Shaun started to chuckle, then groaned and curled up a little in pain.

“Get some sleep, we'll come by tomorrow when you feel better,” she told him as she headed for the door.

Cooper slid past her into the room, eager to see his friend and roommate. Amber and Aella were standing by the door looking worried.

“How is he?” Amber asked.

“In pain,” Jane snarl.

Her friend was about to ask something else, then stopped, her mouth open. “Jane...” Amber whispered, “are you OK?”

“I'm fine. Just angry.”

Amber's face had gone pasty white. “You l-look like my parents did, the last time I saw them.”

Aella put her hand on Amber's shoulder, pulling the unresisting tiny girl back a little while moving in front of her. “You look like you're about to kill someone.”

“I-” She stopped talking, turning away from her friends. “Sorry, this is getting to me. I need to get some air.”

“D-do you need anything?” her roommate asked.

“I need to be alone.”

Walking out of Doyle, she unthinkingly flexed her hand. She needed a knife.

Dunwich
Early evening

Jane sat in the small Dunwich cafe that was popular with students who wanted to study off campus. Since it was Thursday not many people were in it, just some seniors and a young couple sharing a piece of a cake. Sitting on a couch off in the corner, she was being completely ignored.

Imp had given her the necessary information that afternoon. It had everything she needed, most importantly Mr. Fusco's location. She didn't know how long it would be good for, so now she was on the clock. She hated rushing things, but there was no choice. She had to make an example of Fusco and throw the attention off of Shaun as soon as possible.

Using a phone she'd stolen during class earlier that day, she was busy remembering old contacts, bank accounts and other information. She couldn't risk anyone finding out what she'd done, so her own laptop and new phone were right out.

Currently she was on the dark net, talking with a contractor Mille had known and frequently worked with.

'What do you need?' the contact asked.

She started typing. 'Cover for a girl to disappear for a few days. Canadian government, foster care, fourteen year old girl named Jane Fisher, originally from Nova Scotia, now at Whateley. Set something up to see a potential family member in Canada. Will need a government minder to pick her up from Whateley, travel with her to the airport, and the return to Whateley, also deal with any phone calls from Whateley.'

'We do not piss off Whateley. Is she willing to go and is she going to be unharmed?'

'She's willing. She has business that Whateley can't know about.'

'We will want a video of her saying she agrees to it while on Whateley campus.'

'Agreed.'

'When do you need it?'

'This Monday. Not sure how long it will take, no more than five days, maybe only two.'

'A rush job is going to cost you.'

She smirked. Mille's investments had mostly done very well since his death, and he hadn't spent his large fortune on much except new ID's, healing himself and some devises. She had access to enough money to make the Golden Kids interested. She typed, 'I can afford it.'

It took a bit more time working out the details and sending the information on her government file. Tomorrow afternoon Whateley would get a phone call telling them that they needed Jane Foster to fly back to Canada to see if they had located a potential grandparent, who couldn't fly to Whateley due to health reasons.

She sent them a down payment which would pay for a very nice new car, and mentally checked off the most important task for the night. Now it was time to go shopping.

The first site she tried was shut down, as was the second. Mille had been out of the game for too long, his info was out of date, and she was starting to get annoyed. Luckily her third try worked.

The site sold weapons, drugs, poisons, body armour, everything she could need. The Whateley Weapons Fair was starting on the weekend she could get weapons and armour there, but poisons and drugs were something special. For some reason carrying around an anti-tank gun was fine on campus, but poison tended to get the side eye.

This job wouldn't be subtle, it couldn't be. She had to get in, hit hard, be brutal and get out. It was the surest way to succeed, survive and send her message. She ordered the basic smoke bombs, flash bombs, a claymore mine, and several pistols. Whateley probably wouldn't have anything as basic as those, and she trusted the old tried and true. Next up were several poisons with injectors, all things Mille had worked with in the past. She also got a special case that could slide into a suitcase and make anything inside of it look like normal clothes and items to airport x-ray machines and scanners. She was tempted to buy some of the armoured clothes, but it would limit her shapeshifting. Better to pick up a PFG at the Weapons Fair.

Satisfied with her selection, she spent extra to have them teleported the next day after class.

Finally she used an old ID of Mille's, one of several dozen that hadn't been burned, to rent a hotel room in Philadelphia. Then she contacted a person who Mille had hired to hold useful documents and ID's, and left a message with the proper codes, telling him to send the drivers license, passport, and birth certificate, to her at Whateley by special courier.

The person didn't know who Mille was, and the ID had never been used by Mille. So it was clean and ready to use. The drivers license was set to expire in 2008, she could even use it to rent a car which would make her life easier.

Removing the sim card, she sliced it into tiny pieces and left the cafe. The remains of the sim card were casually dropped into a storm drain, and the phone went into a garbage can. Now all she had to do was wait for her items, do some last minute shopping at the Weapons Fair, and study the files on Mr. Fusco.

Then she'd have to murder and maim at least a dozen people.

Easy enough.

Tunnels, Whateley
Weapons Fair
November 17th

The large room holding the Weapons Fair wasn't very full yet. It was still early, some of the students were still setting up their displays. It still had people wandering around, looking to beat the crowd, or wanted a bit of privacy when they bought their weapons.

Jane was one of them. She didn't look like herself, having long peroxide blonde hair, being an inch taller, wearing black tights under a black mini-skirt, a white t-shirt that was almost too tight for her breasts, and a leather jacket. She got some odd looks, but they didn't go beyond that. Anyone here was granted a certain amount of anonymity, since only those in the know would be at the fair.

Stopping at one table, she looked at the collection of bladed weapons. Most were junk, badly balanced, overly ornate, relying on gimmicks, like lasers, vibrating blades that could cut through metal, a freezing devise, and other things. Mille would have sneered at them all and purposefully started a fight with the freshman.

There was one knife on the table that caught her eye. It was simple, the hilt was a little large for the narrow blade, but it was well made. Picking it up, she found the balance was decent, the grain of the metal looked good. There were two tiny holes on the hilt, on both side of the blade. “What's this do?” she asked.

“It's a plasma knife. One of my early designs. Flick the switch on the guard, and it will light up. Just don't have your hand on the blade, it will cook,” the kid said.

She found the switch and hit it. A faint purple aura surrounded the blade, the hilt stayed cool. When she put her hand close to the blade she felt the intense heat radiating off of it from several inches away. “How long does it last?”

“Five minutes, then you need to switch the cell. You can recharge them in a regular wall socket in a few hours.”

“How many cells do you have for it?”

He sneered. “You really want it? My other blades are much cooler, freezing blades to turn your opponent to ice. Plasma swords that are better than light sabres. Laser blades that will light your enemies up. You don't want that one, trust me.”

“I want this one and every cell it has. How much?” she said, keeping her voice even.

“For you, four hundred,” he said, putting four small cylinders onto the table. “But I'm telling you that is junk compared to what I'm making now.”

She put four bills on the table, scooped up her purchase, and allowed her contempt to show. “This was the only good thing you have. Everything else on this table is junk a mall ninja would buy trying to look cool. Professionals want simple, effective and deadly, not shit to hang on the walls and play with on the net.”

Walking away, she heard him call her several nasty names.

A table with some drones caught her eye. That could be useful.

Airport, Philadelphia
Late evening,
November 19th, 2007

Emily Bogart made her way through the crowded airport dragging her suitcase and carry-on behind her. No one paid the willowy woman in a fairly basic blue pantsuit much attention. She was just one of many business travellers trying to get in some last minute work before the Thanksgiving holiday. Passing by an airport cop, she kept the same tired expression, making sure she didn't stick out.

The last thing she wanted was someone looking through her bags and finding the PFG, four pistols, claymore mine, several bombs, knives and the amazing amount of highly illegal poisons and exotic self-defence sprays that were concealed under her neatly packed underwear.

As Jane Fisher, she and her 'government minder' had made it out of Whateley to the Berlin airport that morning, flown to Toronto, and gotten a connecting flight to Winnipeg, where they'd parted ways. Then Emily Bogart had gotten an economy class flight to Philadelphia, once more passing through Toronto. It would be embarrassing and annoying to have everything fail as she went to get her rental car.

Reaching her basic rental car, she took a moment to remember how to drive. She hadn't driven anything other than a bike in over two years, and relearning in a major city was not ideal. However she couldn't exactly do her job using a taxi. Mentally going through the motions, she felt confident enough to turn the car on and head for her hotel.

An hour later, silently cursing the idiot drivers and congested streets, she reached her hotel. Ten minutes after that she was in her room, the door was locked and she was going over the information she had on Mr. Fusco for the twentieth time.

She had a basic plan of action. It was brutal, it was cruel, and it would let the world know what happened when they tried to resurrect a monster.

It was close to midnight when Jane called it a night. She'd gone over every realistic possibility, memorized her plan and back up plans, and fine tuned her Gone to Hell Plan, which was basically a kamikaze run at Mr. Fusco.

Hitting the shower, she didn't notice her hands were shaking.

Philadelphia
Morning,
November 20th, 2007

Jane stood by the bus stop, listening to two teen girls talk. They didn't pay any attention to her of course, she was just an old woman in a long blue coat waiting for the bus. They walked past people like her everyday, never really noticing them.

Jane however was paying very close attention to them. Enviously seeing how they were so happy, genuinely smiling as they discussed their classmates, what they were planning for Thanksgiving, a cute girl they'd seen the other day. She paid particular attention to the one with the short haircut, watching her movements, learning how she clicked her teeth when she spoke.

When the girls got on the bus, she put in a set of ear buds and hit play on her recorder, listening to the girls speaking again and again. Slowly, as if walking hurt, she made her way down the street, repeating the words of the short haired girl, miming her actions, confident that if anyone saw her they'd ignore the odd actions of a senior citizen.

Her voice slowly began to sound more like the girl, right down to the clicking of the teeth. From the corner of her eye, she watched a woman pull out of a driveway, heading for work right on time. A man stood in the window on the second floor, it was his home office, where he did all his accounting work.

The man was Henry Moyer, his employer was Mr. Fusco. He and his employer only talked to each other by phone and email. No one was supposed to know he was the head accountant of Mr. Fusco's empire. Less important people had their names on the paperwork, but Henry Moyer knew where everything was and how to move it around.

How The Imp had gotten the information on Mr. Moyer, Jane had no idea. But it was good enough that she was very tempted to buy The Imp a very nice Christmas present, anonymously of course.

Passing the house, she walked half a block, looking for a house that looked empty. Finding one, she went up the side of the house, just out of sight of the street and shifted. Taking off the coat, she turned it inside out revealing a bright red coat with a fur trim, and put it back on. While she did that, she shifted to look like Mr. Moyer's daughter.

Heading back to the sidewalk, she made her way to Mr. Moyer's house. He was no longer in the window, so she took off her coat, throwing it out of sight behind some bushes. Making herself look scared, she began to hammer on the door and rang the doorbell.

“Carrie what are you doing home? You should be at school,” Mr. Moyer said through a speaker.

“A guy tried to grab me! Let me in please!” she shouted, making sure to click her teeth as she sounded exactly like his daughter.

The door lock clicked and she rushed inside. Mr. Moyer came charging down the stairs holding a pistol in his right hand and a cell phone in his left.

“Are you OK?” he demanded, peering out the window.

“Yeah. He got my coat and bag, but I got away from him,” she said.

Turning to look at her, the relief on his face was replaced by confusion and pain as she sprayed him with Alchemicals improved pepper spray. He yelled in pain, twisting to protect his face. Jane slipped a knife out of her sleeve and sliced his hand, making him drop the gun. A kick to the knee sent him to the ground. As she brought her foot down, she hit the gun making it slide behind her.

Backing up, she picked up the gun pointing it at Mr. Moyer. Pulling a small spray bottle from her belt, she threw it at him, bouncing it off his hand. Still sounding like his daughter, she said, “Hey dad, drop the phone, and spray that bottle in your eyes. You'll feel better. Then we need to talk.”

He did what she said, and a minute later he was able to look at her with swollen, blood shot eyes. “You're not Carrie,” he said.

“Nope, she's on the bus going to school. But you've got a beautiful daughter, so I think I'll keep the face,” Jane said, still talking like Carrie.

“You're Mille, you're here to kill me,” he said.

Jane was impressed, the guy looked scared, but he wasn't blubbering, trying to be brave, making threats or trying to make a deal. It looked like he had accepted his fate.

“I'm not Mille, he's dead. But he did leave me a large amount of money to deal with anyone stupid enough to go after his supposed family,” Jane said.

“Can you do it up in my office? I don't want Carrie to see me when she comes home. She never comes into my office, only my wife does,”

She liked this guy, even Mille had respected people who accepted their fate with dignity. “I have some leeway. If you do what I say, I can be merciful. Let's go to your office.”

There was a glimmer of hope in his eyes. Keeping his hands spread and away from his body, he led her upstairs and into a very nice office. Taking a seat, he looked up at her.

“How much of Fusco's money can you transfer to a private account right now?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said. “After what Mille did to him, transferring funds is not quick or easy. When he put his plan into action, he put some of the strongest security possible in place to protect his funds. I need him on the phone giving voice authorization and a code that I don't even know to make any transfers, sell or buy stocks, or do anything other than ensure regular planned expenses go through, and get an update on his finances.”

“Well there goes my bonus,” she muttered. “You'd better hope you can answer this next question or I'll put your corpse on Carrie's bed. Where is Mr. Fusco now and what does he have prepared for me.”

Mr. Moyer started to sweat at her threat. “He's at his main estate. It's a fortress. I've never been there, I was supposed to be the silent expert. My protection came from not being associated with him. I can tell you there are thirty armed guards. They're being paid double this month, so I think it means they're all staying at the estate day and night. They're all heavily armed, military grade weapons and body armour. There were purchases over the summer for top of the line electronic locks, cameras, reinforced doors and windows, and devises. There is something else, I don't know exactly who or what it is, but its costing fifty-thousand a week and it started last Saturday.”

He motioned to his computer. “I know I can't tell you much, but I have the invoices for everything. Let me pull it up and you can look it over.”

“Do it.”

She watched as he opened up the files.

“Is there anything else you need?” he asked. The redness and puffiness had left his eyes, only the cut on his hand and the sweat dripping down his face ruined the image of him being a normal businessman.

“No, you've done enough,” she said, patting his shoulder.

He winced as the needle hidden between her fingers pierced his skin. A moment later he gasped, reaching for his chest.

Still wearing his daughters face, she stroked his cheek and looked him in the eye. “I'm sorry about this. I'll make sure it looks like a heart attack.”

Mr. Moyer tried to reach for her. Jane didn't know if he wanted to hold her or hit her. She put her hand on his, pushing it down to his lap, he didn't have the strength to fight back. “Just let go,” she whispered. “This is the only mercy I can give you.”

The light left his eyes, his body slumped down in the chair.

Easing past him, she went over the invoices, matching it to the information she already had. There were a few interesting bits in it. But the most important thing was a mystery. What was Damocles and why was it worth fifty-thousand a week.

After a quick search for any other useful info on the computer, she shut everything down. Then she tidied things up, washing his cut hand and putting a large band-aid on it so it looked like he'd cut himself earlier. The gun went back in its hiding spot under his desk. A few minutes of work saw the blood and pepper spray cleaned up downstairs.

Leaving the house, a cursory look wouldn't reveal anything out of the ordinary. Examining the body would show he'd had a heart attack that morning, there would be no reason to do an in depth examination that could reveal the murder. It was a tragedy that no one could have seen coming. She hoped his life insurance was paid up.

Rick sat in the guard shack wondering when things would go back to normal. His employer Mr. Fusco paid top dollar for his experience, and had doubled it for the month, but being on high alert for over a week with no chance to even go home was wearing him down.

His partners seemed to feel the same way. Jake, who was watching the monitors beside him, kept grumbling under his breath. And Jerome who was stuck outside in the cold for the next half hour was angrily stomping his feet to stay warm. Soon enough it would be Rick's turn to go outside and freeze his ass off.

He still wasn't sure how they were supposed to deal with a shapeshifter who could look like anyone. For all he knew Jake was a fake, and as soon as they went inside the house, Mr. Fusco would get a bullet in the brain.

He shook his head. The boss had a hard on for a dead guy. He'd read up on the late, great Mille, a scary dude when he was alive, but he was dead. And the guy was an assassin who hit places that weren't prepared for him. Coming at this place would be nuts. A week or two more of this and things would go back to normal.

A car turned into the driveway.

“Got a car, one occupant, young woman. Stopping her at the gate,” Jake said into his mic.

Jerome drew his pistol, keeping it pointed at the ground, but clearly ready to shoot at the first sign of trouble. Rick drew his own gun and stepped outside, alert for potential snipers and threats.

The woman, girl would be more accurate, since she looked like she might be eighteen, looked nervous, but drove up to the gate. She had a bright pink winter coat on that was unzipped revealing a lot of cleavage with a white button up blouse, too much makeup, blonde hair done up in a ponytail, and looking into the car she was wearing a plaid skirt and long black stockings. She looked like a stereotypical hot catholic schoolgirl ready for a good time.

“Name and business?” Jerome ordered as soon as the window was rolled down.

“Tiffany Sparkles, I got a call to spend some quality time with a Mr. Fusco. Am I in trouble?” the girl asked, her airy voice squeaked as she looked at the heavily armed men on either side of the car.

Jake who was listening to their every word, passed the information to the security office. Richard began scanning the street, this was clearly some type of set up.

Orders came through his ear bud. “Get her in the shack and question her. Be ready to execute if she's a threat.”

“Tiffany, step out of the vehicle, we want to ask you a few questions,” Jerome said.

“I think I might have come to the wrong place. I'll just go. Really, really sorry,” the girl said.

Jerome raised his pistol. “I'm going to have to insist,” he said.

Richard watched from the corner of his eye, he really didn't like this. His asshole was puckering, and the little voice in the back of his mind was telling him something was about to explode or he was going to get a bullet to the brain.

Still insisting this was a mistake, Tiffany got out of the car, keeping her hands raised while holding a tiny purse, and awkwardly made her way across the slippery snow-covered pavement in stripper heels. He followed her inside, his pistol aimed at her back, leaving Jerome out in the cold.

“Guys, I'm just a college student, trying to make a few bucks,” Tiffany said, looking like she was about to cry. “My agency got a call and told me to get my ass over here for a big customer, five star porn star experience. If I got the wrong address or it was a prank call, I'm sorry. I can get back in my car and tell my agency it was a misunderstanding. I haven't seen anything and I don't know anything.”

“What agency do you work with?” Jake demanded.

“Venus Dolls. I have my business card in my purse, you can call them.”

Jake yanked her purse none too gently from her hand. Richard tensed, if something was about to go wrong it would likely be now, he got ready to shoot an eighteen year old right between the shoulders.

“Careful, I've got some jewellery in there,” Tiffany said, while Jake opened the purse.

“Damn! How sharp is that fucking ring?” Jake said. Wincing he pulled out a ring with a nice stone on it.

“It was cheap and looks good. Some guys like to pretend they're seducing a married woman.”

Dumping the purse onto the desk, Jake grabbed the ID which would be the easiest way to find out if she was legit. Richard eased up slightly, he still had a bad feeling about things, but the girl wasn't putting up any resistance.

He was so focused on the girl, that he didn't notice blood dripping from Jake's nose until he heard something dripping on the floor. His partners face was a dark red and so swollen, Richard thought it was a tomato for one bewildered moment. Vomit filled his mouth as blood erupted from his partners eyes, ears and nose.

The girl seeing him distracted moved with blinding speed. A silvery blue object appeared in her hand as she spun. His training kicked in allowing him to get off a single shot that caught her in the shoulder. Something shimmered over top her clothes, and she kept moving seemingly unharmed.

She grabbed his pistol, somehow ripping it out of his hand like he was a child. At the same time something tugged at his throat.

Jerome was shouting something into his mic.

Richard took a step towards the girl, planning on tackling her. His foot gave out under him, sending him to his knees. His chest was soaking wet.

He heard gunshots and Jerome stopped talking.

Feeling his chest, his hand came away covered in blood. Reaching up his fingers felt a crispy hole in his throat. He couldn't feel anything from his neck.

Black dots appeared in his eyes. He could barely make out the girl trying to open the gate. Dimly he realized that the gate had been locked from the security room, it couldn't be opened anymore from the shack.

Time seemed to slow as he watched her leave the shack. He tried to close the wound in his throat with his hands. He fell forwards, the floor rose up to meet him. An explosion came from outside as he hit the floor. Everything started to grow dark. He heard the screech of tires and the roar of an engine, then he didn't hear anything ever again.

A drone, carefully concealed in some bushes well away from the Fusco estate, received its activation code, waking it up.

The AI that controlled it flew up into the sky, thrilled at being able to fly. Tiny jets blasted it towards the play area. It was going to see people and play with them.

It passed by several people and cars, it wanted to have them join the coming game, but they weren't in the right area. Sadly it had to leave them behind, it could only play with people in the proper field.

An electrical surge let it know it was in the right area. It's taggers powered up and it could begin the first game, tag.

It saw several playmates running through the snow, two humans and four dogs. The humans had their own taggers, so they had to be tagged first.

Targeting the humans who were side by side, the drones tagger roared, knocking the humans into the snow. It felt a surge of euphoria at the successful tags. The dogs were even easier to catch, each one only taking two seconds to target and tag.

It did a barrel roll in celebration at winning the first game.

Now it was time to play hide and seek.

Scanning the windows at the back of the house, it looked for any hiders. It saw one peering through a window and tried to tag it, but the glass was too tough. The hider disappeared, and the drone felt its euphoria fade a little. It had to get the next one, or it would start to feel sad, and it didn't want to feel sad.

Another hider appeared in a window. The hider thought it was being sneaky, peeking through a curtain. The drone switched from its tagger to its boomer and let it go. The boomer rocketed through the air leaving a pretty trail of fire and smoke behind it. It hit the window and made pretty fireworks. When the smoke cleared, the drone silently cheered at the big hole it had left. The euphoria came back.

It tagged another two hiders, but missed the last one.

With no more boomers, and no one else to play with, the drone knew it was time to stop playing. It dropped two little packages at either end of the house, like it was supposed to. Then it spotted the back door of the house and raced towards it. Electrical currents ran through its brain making it so happy it went much faster than it should, wanting to end the game and take a nap.

It hit the heavy metal door at several hundred miles an hour and exploded in an orgy of high explosives and jet fuel. It had never been happier.

The car screeched to a stop just in front of the entrance to the house. Seemingly empty handed, she dove out the car and into a hail of bullets that came from the house. Her PFG shimmered as she was hit at least a dozen times running towards the building. She pressed herself against the wall, getting some protection from the bad angle.

Explosions from the back of the house made her smile. Her drone was keeping at least some of Fusco's men busy, and explained why she didn't have every single surviving guard shooting at her. She had a very narrow window to get inside.

She'd ditched the heels in favour of durable hiking shoes, but was still wearing her slutty Catholic school outfit. It wouldn't be the first time she'd committed murder in something inappropriate, she just wished it was a little warmer.

Digging into her Mobius belt, she pulled out a block of plastic explosives that was already hooked up and ready to go, along with a small remote. Getting to her feet, she ran to the nearest window, which she could just reach the bottom of by jumping. She slapped the explosives to it and kept running, coming to a stop about ten feet away.

Hitting the remote, the explosives blew up, shattering the window and a large part of the frame. Running back to the now open window, she tossed a smoke grenade inside. Jumping up she grabbed the window frame, splinters and pieces of the armoured glass slashed her hands and arms despite her gloves. She accepted the pain and climbed inside.

At least one guard had reached the room and was firing blind into the smoke, forcing Jane to throw herself to the floor.

Staying low she scrambled towards the shooter, pulling her plasma knife from the sheath on her forearm as she did. The smoke covered her approach, and she threw herself the last five feet, activating the plasma blade at the last second. Aiming the blade at his waist, avoiding the metal plates, the kevra armour melted under the heat. He shrieked in agony as the blade plunged into him, cooking him from the inside.

Yanking the blade up and out, she didn't bother to ensure he was dead, he was so badly maimed he wouldn't be a threat or live more than a few minutes. There wasn't time to mess around, she had to move, relying on sheer speed and brutality.

The house shook from a large explosion at the back. Her drone had done its job.

Throwing a flash bang into the hallway, she ran out the door a second after it went off. Her pistol roared, hitting two guards, one in the chest where it bounced off harmlessly, the other one went down clutching his unprotected neck.

Cursing herself, knowing that Mille could have dropped both men with a single bullet each, she fired a second shot into the survivors head. Another bullet was wasted double tapping the man with the neck wound.

The delay gave the other guards enough time to arrive. Bullets hit her PFG, each one draining it of a little more power. Firing blindly at the newcomers, Jane raced away from them. Picturing the layout of the house, she headed for the kitchen.

Deep under the house, Cora watched the chaos that was going on upstairs through her cybernetic eye that was connected to the security system. The radios had gone out early in the attack, leading to confusion among the guards, and making it harder to follow the fight thanks to the excessive use of smoke bombs. The house shook as the kitchen exploded from a gas explosion, taking out several cameras and at least four guards. The assassin and her drone had killed or incapacitated fifteen guards in a matter of minutes.

Extending the blade from her arm, she began sharpening it. It was already sharper than any ordinary blade, but the action soothed her. Since the operation that had made her so much more than human, she found her mind needed little rituals like this to keep from getting annoyed with those who were beneath her. In this case it was her current employer.

When she'd accepted the deal to go under the knife, they hadn't told her about the nagging thoughts and feelings. She'd just been told she'd get a prototype surgery that would fix her back and make her better than ever. Having spent two years on her back after the accident in the sandbox, she'd signed the papers before they'd finished talking.

Despite the rituals and the feelings, it had been well worth it. She was better than any human now, without turning into a genetic freak of nature.

Her employers right hand man, she never bothered learning his name, was speaking. He'd been speaking since the attack began and it didn't sound like he was going to shut up anytime soon. “Mr. Fusco, we really should contact the police. Mille is cutting through our men like they're butter. We need support.”

“How will you do that? The phones are jammed! And if the police come Mille will just use the confusion to get away. He dies today or I die!” her employer shouted.

Shaking her head, Cora was tempted to turn off her audio receivers. Mathew Fusco was irrational, she could hear his rapid pulse from across the room. Judging by his dilated pupils, the flecks of spit coming from his mouth as he snarled like a dog, and the way he shook, he was a perfect example of rage induced insanity.

“Should I go kill him now?” Cora asked, hoping she could leave the room and clear her mind. Killing the mutant would make the week of boredom and listening to irrational rants worth every single minute.

“No!” her employer shouted. “He might get past you. He's coming for me, you need to be between me and him when he gets here. I'm going to see that bastard die.”

Sighing, she turned to face the door.

Honestly she wasn't sure if the assassin was Mille. The freak fought in a similar way, but she was sloppy, relying on her PFG and toys to survive, rather than skill. And the target hadn't done a full body shift. Mille would have likely shifted to look like one of the guards to gain a few seconds advantage. This assassin had altered her body, changing fat to muscle, lengthening her legs, and healing the cuts in her hands and arms, like Mille could, but that was all.

Could this be his daughter? A former apprentice with similar powers.

She'd have to ask the freak before killing her.

Gunfire echoed just outside the closet door. Moans and screams of pain joined the racket.

“Screw this, we're not paid to deal with a fucking war,” Micheal said. He wasn't one of Mr. Fusco's guards, he was just the IT guy making sure everything ran smoothly for his boss. He wished his phone worked, but something was scrambling it. Calling 911 only made his phone play a song about friendship.

His girlfriend who was huddled up against him as they hid in a closet was crying softly, muttering that she didn't want to die. He felt horrible having her involved in all of this. He'd just pulled some strings getting her a job as a maid, and now it looked like they were both going to die.

There were a few moments of silence, then someone shouted upstairs and people started shooting. It looked like they might have a chance to escape.

“Come on Rae,” he said, dragging his girlfriend to her feet. “We've gotta get out of here.”

Clutching each other, trying not to look at the bodies sprawled out on the floor, or the dying men, the couple made their way to the front door, flinching and whimpering at the sounds of fighting from upstairs. Trying the door, he found it was locked and wouldn't open with his key. Cursing, he and Rae followed a bitterly cold draft and came to a sitting room. Stepping over a body, they went to what had been a window.

“Careful of the glass,” he said, helping Rae jump through the hole. He followed, wincing as he cut his hands.

They started running across the large lawn, the gate was just ahead of them. Once they got past that, they could go to a nearby house and call the police. They were going to be OK.

Neither of them saw the drone rise up from the snow. Its gun tracked their movements as it did a quick scan, they weren't its owner, nor did they have a friendly ID chip.

It opened fire with its anti-personnel weapon.

The drone watched the fallen bodies for a minute to ensure they were terminated. When its thermal optics showed the targets were rapidly cooling it lowered its weapon. Its job done, it moved on spindly legs to a new location and hunkered down in the snow waiting for more targets.

A shotgun muzzle slammed into Jane's temple, a split second later her head rocked to the side from the slug. The PFG kept it from hitting her skin, but it couldn't stop the hot gas or the full force of the impact.

Screaming in pain, her face raw and burning, her neck sending waves of agony straight to her brain, she rammed her pistol into the guards armpit and fired, again and again until the gun clicked. Concentrating through the blazing headache, she shifted the injured flesh around her body, easing the intensity of the pain. It was getting harder to find places to move the injuries. The PFG was keeping her alive, but it only stopped high speed impacts to save energy. Without her power she'd be covered in bruises from falls, punches, kicks and a few knife wounds.

Looking around the hallway she counted six bodies. She had no idea how many she'd already killed. Trembling from exhaustion, pain and adrenaline, Jane tried to think of where she'd been already. Since entering the house it had been one long running battle. Reaching into her belt, she looked for another magazine, there weren't any left.

When had she run through them? And what had happened to her other three pistols? She couldn't remember.

Dropping the useless weapon, her hand dipped into her belt again, coming out with what looked like an epi-pen. Driving it into her leg, her body shook even harder. Highly illegal stimulants rushed through her bloodstream, making the pain and exhaustion fade away. Everything seemed brighter, louder, more real.

Grabbing the tactical shotgun, she went through the guards pocket looking for shells, feeding them into the gun. Properly armed it was time to get back to work.

Realizing she was on the third floor of the house, and not entirely sure how she'd gotten there, Jane headed for Mr. Fusco's office. She opened each door she came to, needing to make sure no one was left alive.

There was no sign of life until she reached the office. The door was locked.

A little bit of plastic explosives dealt with the lock. Kicking it open, she didn't see anyone, but she did hear a person crying. Going straight for the desk, she saw a pretty blonde woman hiding under it.

“Get up,” she ordered.

The woman got to her feet, sobbing and pleading.

“Who are you?” Jane asked.

“Ruby, I'm just the secretary. Please don't hurt me,” the woman begged.

Jane grinned, shifting her face to look more monstrous, making the woman cry even harder. “Calm down, Ruby. Today is your lucky day. You get to live.”

The crying became a little lighter. “Really?”

“Yes. But you need to give people a message for me. Can you do that? It's not a long message, you'll be able to remember it right?” Jane asked, putting the shotgun down.

“Yeah. I'll make sure they get the message.”

Jane placed a blood covered hand on the womans shoulder, gently pushing her up against the wall. “Tell everyone you see that Mille is dead. He's a monster, even in death. He left trails of bread crumbs all over, hoping that some idiot would find them and try to come after him. They all lead to me. You see he paid me a lot of money to deal with idiots like Fusco who fall into his trap. Think of it as a last fuck you to the world.”

She got right into Ruby's face, still grinning. “I'm a monster too, but I'm not as mean as Mille was. I'll do what I'm paid for, but I don't enjoy slaughtering people nearly as much as he did. I'd much rather spend my time on a beach drinking a beer, looking like whoever I want, surrounded by sexy men wearing very little, rather than killing people. So jobs like this, they annoy me. And when I get annoyed, I tend to overreact and that's a bad thing. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

Ruby nodded. “Mille is dead. You'll kill anyone who tries to go after him.”

“Good girl, but tell them everything I just told you. Every. Single. Word. Mille is dead, leave the monster in the ground.” Stepping back, she reached into her belt pulling out two long knives.

“You said you'd let me live,” the woman cried.

Jane drove the knives through the secretary's shoulders and into the wall, pinning her in place. Patting Ruby's cheek, ignoring the cries of pain, she shifted her face into a horrifying stretched out visage that was just on the edge of human. She said, “I did say that and you'll survive. I just want to make sure you can't get away before telling people what I told you.”

Picking up her shotgun, she went looking for Mr. Fusco.

Cora watched through the cameras as the assassin came to the basement. There weren't many guards left, they were either dead, hiding or had tried to run only to be cut down by what looked like automated guns around the perimeter. Whoever had set this massacre up had spent a fortune on it.

The woman came to a corner, paused and listened. The final three guards were utterly silent, but something must have tipped her off. She reached into her belt that had to be a devise, pulled out a flash bang and threw it around the corner.

Cora heard the muffled bang. Through the cameras she saw the assassin dash in using her shotgun to take the head off the nearest guard, swing around shooting the second guard in the crotch, and having run out of shells, bash the last guard in the face with the shotgun butt. Dropping the gun, she pulled out a knife and slit the two surviving guards throats.

“That's the last of the guards, except for the two in the control room,” Cora said. “Can I finally go and earn my pay?”

“How did he do it?” Fusco demanded. “How did he kill all of them?!”

“With a lot of bullets, explosives and knives,” she replied. “I'm going to go kill the freak now.”

Ignoring her employers shouts, she left the room. There was work to do. Endorphins flowed through her body at the thought of torturing and killing the genetic freak of nature.

Taking a mouthful of water from her canteen, Jane swished it around her mouth and spit trying to wash the taste of blood from her mouth. A second mouthful went down her parched throat.

Mille had done some hard jobs in the past, but few of them had been quite so intense in such a short time as this one. At least she was nearly done. The drones outside had killed a handful of people trying to escape and none of them had been Fusco. This was the last place he could be according to the blue prints.

She saw something come out from around the corner and jumped backwards landing painfully on her ass. A red beam, bright enough to leave an afterimage in her eyes, hit the ground where she'd been kneeling. The cement exploded leaving a small smoking crater.

Rolling to her feet, Jane pulled a knife out of her belt and ran at the attacker, knowing that getting close was the only way to win a gunfight with a knife.

A very tall and bulky woman stepped out into the hallway. Her eyes glowed red, and her left hand was smoking, the skin burnt black and peeling away from a metal skeleton.

This was not good.

Jane slashed at the cyborg, who just stood there letting the blade cut through her clothes and skin. Looking at the sliced wires and lightly scratched metal plating, she realized she was in serious trouble. The sense of dread grew as the cyborg smirked.

“I know you're not Mille, you're not in his league. But you fight like him. So who are you? His freak daughter? It would make the most sense with how you're power works,” the cyborg said.

Jane was more than happy to let the cyborg talk. It gave her time to catch her breath and try to come up with a plan. Staying well back with her knife raised, she said, “Good friend of his. Before he died he asked me to handle anyone who stepped into one of his traps.”

“Just how good a friend?”

She smiled, trying to hide her exhaustion. “I could tell you his real dick size.”

The cyborg looked at her wide eyed and then burst out laughing. Seizing the opening, Jane thrust her knife into the things stomach, hoping it would hurt the thing. Before the blade could hit its target, the cyborg caught her just behind the wrist and squeezed its metallic hand.

Jane shrieked as bone splintered. The knife fell from her now useless hand. She was picked up into the air and thrown the length of the hall, landing in a heap. Clutching her arm, she concentrated, using all of her power to shift flesh and bone, forcing it to knit back together.

The cyborg grinned. “Oh this is going to be fun. You use your shifting to heal yourself, not many can do that. How many times can I break you before you can't do it anymore?”

Getting to her feet, Jane ran for it. She wasn't going to flee the house, she still had to kill Fusco, but she needed to put some distance between her and the cyborg. The metal monstrosity fired its red beam again, hitting her in the hip. The PFG absorbed most of the energy, and Jane was able to keep running despite the new welt forming on her skin.

The PFG beeped twice, signalling it was out of power.

“Hey freak,” the cyborg shouted as she ran around the corner. “What should I call you? Mille's Ex just doesn't have the right ring to it.”

She didn't answer, she didn't have enough breath to say anything. Instead she reached into her belt and pulled out some poison.

The computer in Cora's brain provided a layout of the basement directly to her optical nerves. It pinpointed the mutants general location by listening to her steps and breathing, marking it on the map in red. The woman was by the wall, ducking down behind something.

“This should be interesting,” she said to herself.

Stepping into what had been a guard room minutes before, the door was blown off its hinges, and the bloody furniture was wrecked. Purposefully looking away from the assassins hiding place, she didn't react until a needle was shoved into her neck.

The needle managed to slide between the metal wires that twined around her neck. A cold liquid was injected directly into her muscles. She twisted her head, snapping the needle in half.

“Oh,” she giggled, “you've got some nasty tricks.”

A fist broke her nose, another one hit her throat. If she'd still been a weak human, her trachea would have fractured, likely killing her. Now she was far above mere humans, and even farther above mutants. The punch merely tickled.

The poison worked its way through her system, her blood pressure sky rocketed. A warning flashed in her brain, then her system began filtering it out. Her broken nose bled a little more than it should, reddish black blood that tasted of iron and oil covered her lips. Then it simply stopped, and her nose cracked back into place.

“Is that the best you can do? I thought mutants were supposed to be scary,” she said, ignoring a kick to her solar plexus.

A second later, a knife pierced the side of her stomach. It hurt a little, just enough to let her know she'd been damaged. In response Cora lightly punched the woman in ribs, snapping several of them.

The mutant jumped back, clutching her ribs. Strangely there didn't seem to be any fear in the freaks eyes. If she had to guess it looked like her opponent was getting angry.

That defiance from a filthy mutant decided Cora's course of action. The freak would know terror and beg for release before she died.

A mental command made a foot long blade pop out of her arm. This was going to be fun.

What would it take to slow this monster down? Jane wondered.

She'd knitted her ribs back together, but it was a rough job at best. They didn't flex like they should, slowing her down and giving her a weak spot she couldn't afford. The only good thing about the situation was that the cyborg was playing with her, lazily swinging a silver blade that came out of her left wrist over top of her hand.

Dodging and moving back, Jane struggled to avoid the debris that covered the floor, while not allowing herself to be backed up into a corner. She kept her small knife in front of her, hoping to get an opening. Reaching into her belt with her free hand, and getting a shallow cut along her chest in the process, she pulled out a small plastic tube.

Spraying the enhanced pepper spray straight into the cyborgs face, Jane felt a tiny bit of satisfaction as the woman hissed in pain and closed her eyes. Slipping past the silver blade, she jabbed her knife into the cyborgs eye. The blade slid in with a crunch, then came to a stop at the back of the eye socket. It felt like she'd hit solid steel.

The woman screamed in pain, punching her in the chest. She jumped back with the hit, keeping it from crushing her heart, and merely getting a nasty bruise along with some cracked ribs. Hopping back to her feet, she took off running, followed by a shriek of rage and the sound of explosions as the cyborg shot blindly in her general direction.

Smiling savagely, Jane realized she now had a chance at winning the fight. Running up to the main floor of the house, she put some distance between herself and the cyborg.

Cora pulled the knife out of her eye, cursing and swearing. The chemicals in her eyes didn't burn anymore but for a few seconds they'd hurt like hell. Getting the knife in the eye had been no picnic either.

Wiping black blood from her face she looked around, blinking hard trying to see clearly. Her one eye saw everything perfectly, but her other one looked like a cracked lense with bursts of static every few seconds. It would heal, but until it did it was more of a hindrance. She thought a command, stopping the signals to her brain.

She split the image in her good eye into two. One showed her immediate area, with the map of the house faintly over top of it. The other was from the video cameras, flicking through them until she found the assassin. The woman was hunched over something just inside a doorway to the laundry area. So she was setting a booby trap. That would be easy to deal with.

Walking up the stairs, more carefully than usual to deal with her lack of perspective, she charged her cannon. It was time to show the gene freak who was superior.

The drone turned away from the house, someone was coming onto the property from outside. Its scanners detected a car pulling up to the gate house. Its anti-armour laser targeted the vehicle, ready to fire.

A figure stepped out of the car holding a weapon. Zooming in the drone recognized the human as a police officer.

Immediately the laser was placed on standby. The anti-personnel gun was activated instead. It began scanning the police broadband. The officer was reporting the bodies and the destroyed gate. Backup was called for, and the officer was securing the scene.

This was acceptable to the drones orders. It continued to scan the area.

Then there was an explosion from the house, clearly audible on the street.

The officer started to run towards the building. The moment his foot went past the gate, the drone opened fire.

The man fell on his back, crawling backwards as bullets tore into the pavement less then five feet away from him. As soon as he was back behind the gate, the shooting stopped.

A minute later far more backup was on the way.

Hiding in the doorway of what had been the guards barracks, holding a bloody pistol she'd ripped out of a dead mans hand, Jane waited for the cyborg to come up the stairs. Her claymore mine was set up one door down, ready to be detonated when the metal monster came after her.

She didn't need to wait long.

The cyborg came around the corner, not even trying to make herself a smaller target. Shooting her in the head only made her flinch.

Come on you bitch, she thought to herself. Her free hand held the clacker for the claymore, ready to blow it as soon as the cyborg was in position.

And then the monster stopped. Jane could only watch as its hand began to glow a brilliant red, and it pointed it seemingly at a random spot on the wall. The searing red beam cut through the wood and plaster, then the world exploded.

Cora picked herself up off the floor, wondering what the hell had just hit her.

Pain signals sent reports of damage all over her body. Stunned, she dumbly picked what looked like a ball bearing out of her chest. Her computer informed her that it was likely from a claymore mine.

“How the fuck did she get a claymore?! What fucking maniac decides they need a goddamn claymore?!” she demanded.

She'd been angry before, the mutant freak had done a number on her eyes, now she was furious. The computer in her head had been telling her to slaughter the mutant without mercy for a while, they were now in total agreement. Getting to her feet, her left knee squealed. Examining it, she saw that shrapnel had badly damaged the joint. It was fixing itself but it would take time. Shutting off the pain sensors to the entire leg, she began to hobble towards the last place the assassin had been.

Glancing at where the claymore had been, she saw it had shredded far more than it should have. Her computer kindly informed her that her beam weapon had damaged the mine, causing it to explode in an unpredictable manner. But if she hadn't destroyed it, and let it go off as planned there was a better than fifty percent chance it would have killed her or completely immobilized her for several hours.

Wincing in pain, stumbling along like an invalid, Cora didn't feel very lucky.

She got to the doorway where the assassin had been. The woman was gone, but she hadn't gotten away cleanly. The wall between the laundry room and the barracks had been torn apart, and some of the ball bearings had rocketed through the room. A trail of blood led to a second open door.

Following the blood, it was time to end things.

Jane clutched her thigh, trying to stop the bleeding. She couldn't concentrate enough to shift, she could barely move in a straight line.

Limping through a blood soaked hallway, she began to chuckle. She definitely hadn't planned on going out like this when Mille had died. She'd just wanted to live a nice peaceful, boring life, playing it safe and being ignored.

Looking at the bodies of people she'd killed no more than fifteen minutes ago, she started to laugh. She was certainly playing it safe now.

Her eyes lit up. Sticking out of the back of a crispy and still smoking corpse was her plasma knife. Grabbing it caused her to fall to her knees as her leg gave out, but it was nice having it back. Changing the energy clip, her numbed and trembling hands nearly drop it.

She heard something pop. Looking behind her, she saw the cyborg, arm raised with smoke coming out of her hand. The monster looked almost as beat up as she felt. Trying to get to her feet, she fell in the blood. The shock to her wounded leg made her scream.

The scream turned to a shriek. Burning metal gripped her neck, making her skin sizzle. She was lifted into the air and slammed into a wall, making her drop her knife.

Her blood turned icy cold. She tried to control herself, she couldn't have a seizure now. Her body trembled and she felt herself shift.

The cyborg threw her away. “What the fuck?!”

Jane felt smaller. She also felt broken. Lying on the floor, she slowly reached into her belt, keeping her hand out of sight.

“What the hell! You're just a fucking kid?” the cyborg said.

Moaning, Jane pretended to be more injured than she was. Curling up into the fetal position she palmed several small tubes.

“Need to get a look at your face, find out who the fuck you really are,” the cyborg said, flipping her over.

Jane sprayed her in the face with three different self-defence chemicals. The cyborg reared back, wheezing as her throat and sinuses began swelling. A blinding agent forced her eyes shut, and her skin blistered.

Jane rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding being stomped. The cyborgs foot slammed through the floor trapping her leg.

Scrambling for her plasma knife, Jane flicked it on and rammed it as hard as she could into the cyborgs spine.

A metallic shriek filled the hallway. Acrid smoke poured out of the wound. The cyborg spasmed, it seemed like she was trying to move, all she did was helplessly jerk her arms. Finally the cyborg fell limply to the ground.

Not taking any chances, Jane stabbed it through the skull.

Getting to her feet, she injected herself with another stimulant, causing her heart to race dangerously fast. Feeling a little more alive, she limped back to the basement. She still had a mission to accomplish.

Using the last of her flash bombs and smoke grenades, Jane took no chances in the basement. She wasn't capable of another fight. She just wanted this to end.

Her stolen gun roared, taking out the last of the guards. The final door was locked. She still had some plastic explosives. It took her longer than usual to set it up, her fingers didn't want to work.

The door was well built, it bent and crumpled creating a large gap at the bottom, but didn't fall off its hinges. Her ears were ringing so hard, she couldn't hear what was going on in the room. Grabbing some debris, she tossed it in like it was a grenade. Someone screamed and shots rang out.

Ducking down, she fired at the first thing she saw and didn't stop until she ran out of bullets. A man screamed.

Crawling through the door, she saw Mr. Fusco lying in a pool of blood clutching his stomach. She walked over to him. Falling to her hands and knees, she looked him in the eyes. “You should have let Mille stay dead,” she said.

“You killed my boys,” the man gasped.

“Mille killed them, not me. You thought you could draw him out going after his so-called son. Got news for you, that was a setup. You fell into a dead mans trap and got me instead. Congratu-fucking-lations, you fucking idiot,” she said, slitting his throat.

She had to get away. Crawling out of the basement, she heard sirens.

Jane would have sworn, but she didn't have the energy. Instead she shifted, turning into an old woman, who had to be at least eighty years old.

Utterly exhausted, she laid down on the floor and fell asleep.

Amplify slowly flew through the house avoiding the blood and potential evidence, wondering what the hell had happened. It looked like a war zone.

His costume was torn from taking out the drones outside. They hadn't attacked until he went past the fence, then they'd tried to kill him with extreme prejudice, making it too dangerous for anyone without superpowers to enter. With no idea of what to expect inside the house, and since only his devised radio could cut through the jammer, he was acting as point man before the police or medics entered the site.

“Help me,” a voice called out weakly.

Following the noise the heroes eyes went wide at the sight of the old woman. She was drenched in blood and clearly injured. “Got an injured woman, get the medics ready, she needs immediate attention,” he said into his radio.

Gripping her in a TK field, keeping her body immobilized to prevent further injuries, he flew her out of the house at high speed. The paramedics were waiting with a stretcher. He didn't wait to see how she was, there might be other injured people in the house.

Flying back he went floor by floor finding only dead bodies and signs of heavy fighting. He had paused in surprise at the sight of a dead cyborg. He dearly wanted to know exactly what had happened here.

On the third floor he found another survivor. She was pinned to the wall, only half conscious from blood loss.

“Hey, I'm Amplify, a superhero, I'm here to help you,” he told the woman. “Medics are on their way.”

“I need to tell you,” the woman gasped, “Mille is dead. Leave the monster in the ground!”

“Who's Mille?” Amplify asked, studying the knives and how she was pinned.

“A monster! He set this up. He's dead but he set this up. A final fuck you to his enemies.”

She was clearly hysterical. He honestly couldn't blame her.

“He set up a trail of bread crumbs for people to follow. They thought they led to Mille, but they all lead to her. She did this. She didn't want to, but she'd been paid.”

“Who did this?” he asked.

“She didn't tell me her name. She changed her face, became a monster,” the woman cried. “She's a monster. She killed everyone. She's not human.”

The words 'changed her face' set off an alarm in his mind.

“STOP THE AMBULANCE!” he shouted into his radio. “The injured woman is a shifter!”

Five minutes after learning the old woman was a shifter, Amplify landed beside the ambulance which had stopped in the middle of the street, halfway to the hospital.

The back door was open, stepping inside he saw the paramedics were all unconscious, one of them with a nasty bruise on his jaw and the female medic was stripped to her underwear. Checking their pulses, he was was relieved to find they were alive.

“I need an ambulance,” he said into the radio. “The old woman was a shifter and our suspect. She somehow knocked the medics unconscious, stole a uniform and disappeared.”

Giving the location of the ambulance, he flew into the sky. There was almost no chance he'd find the shifter, but he had to try.

Coming to a rough stop in the parking lot of The Golden Peaches Massage Parlour, Jane practically fell out of her stolen car. Stumbling across the parking lot she entered the plain two story building, and was immediately met by a receptionist who looked her up and down, frowning at the hastily washed off stains that covered her exposed skin.

“How can I help you?” the young woman asked.

“I need to see Iaso. Urgent appointment,” she said.

“Ah. Normally for that type of appointment you would come in the back door. Is that your car outside?”

“No,” Jane admitted.

The receptionist sighed, looking extremely irritated. “Follow me,” she said.

Walking down the hallway, Jane tried to ignore the sounds coming from some of the rooms, and the scantily dressed woman that walked down the hall. They came to an elevator, and the receptionist used a key card to open it. Ushering Jane inside, the woman hit a series of buttons and stepped out, saying, “Iaso will be waiting for you.”

Jane slumped against the side of the elevator, her mind and body numb. She hadn't expected things to be easy, but the whole thing had gone completely out of control.

The door opened, a woman, who looked to be Greek, was waiting for her. “Who are you?”

“Someone with money to burn, an identity to hide, and the connections to know you're the best healer in the city. I've been blown up, stabbed, beaten, broken ribs, broken arm, and had shrapnel take a piece of my thigh. If you don't get me to a bed in the next minute, I'm going to collapse before I can pay you,” Jane replied.

“Come on,” Iaso said.

She was led to a bed. Sitting down with a sigh of relief, she pulled her phone out of the Mobius belt. Getting online, she transferred a small fortune to Iaso's offshore account. Once the payment was confirmed the healer got to work.

While Jane stripped, Iaso lit sticks of incense, placing them around the room in the shape of a pentacle. Then the healer washed off the blood that covered her with a cloudy, sweet smelling water. When Jane was clean, Iaso used a brush to paint purple runes on her body, chanting the entire time.

A feeling of peace filled Jane, a sensation she hadn't truly felt in years. Closing her eyes she fell asleep.

Late Evening

“You really should not be getting out of bed,” Iaso said. “Even with my healing you need at least a week of bed rest.”

“Can't do it. I've got to be somewhere in an hour or my cover is blown,” Jane replied, putting on her stolen paramedics uniform. “Do you mind if the Syndicate sends their teleporter here? I've got one on stand by, just need to tell him where to pick me up.”

Sighing, the healer nodded. “I have a room for them.”

Dialing a number, she let the Syndicate contact know she was ready to be teleported. Limping, she went to meet her transportation.

Five minutes later she was in a hotel room in Winnipeg. Her 'government minder' was waiting for her and clearly unhappy.

“I've been getting messages from Whateley,” the woman said. “They want to talk to you immediately. I've managed to fend them off by saying you were talking with your presumed family, and then crying after learning there was no connection.”

“Sorry. Things got hairy. Give me my lines and we can call them in fifteen minutes,” Jane said, grabbing clothes from her suitcase.

All she wanted to do was go to sleep, but it didn't look like that would be an option for a while.

Whately, Headmistress Office
Early Morning,
November 21st, 2007

Headmistress Carson looked up as Chief Delarose entered her office. She'd only just gotten in, and hadn't even had a chance to drink her coffee. “What can I do for you chief?” she asked.

“I have the final confirmation that Mr. Fusco attacked Shaun Solace,” he said.

She scowled. It was good that they knew who to punish, but having to do it was still distasteful. “I'll contact the-”

“No need,” Delarose said, interrupting her.

“Oh?”

“Mr. Fusco, along with most of his bodyguards and his closest advisors are very dead. His head accountant who almost no one knew about, was found dead at his home early yesterday morning, possibly from a drug induced heart attack. The rest were all killed the same day in the early afternoon.”

“Who did it?” she demanded, leaning forward.

“We don't know,” he admitted. “Reports are pretty sure it was done by a shifter. The only survivor said the attacker shifted her face. And the suspect looked like an old woman when law enforcement arrived. She escaped an ambulance after knocking out the paramedics, and stealing a young woman's clothes.”

“Was it Mille?”

He shook his head. “It was a woman who fought like Mille did at his most brutal. We have reason to believe she took the appearance of Carrie Moyer, teenage daughter of Mr. Fusco's accountant, to murder him. At the Fusco estate security cameras show a young woman who first appeared to be a prostitute attacking the residence. During the fight she unexpectedly took on the appearance of a young teen. Finally she shifted into an elderly woman, but she never took a male appearance.”

Carson frowned. The situation was getting messy, and she didn't like the implications it had regarding one of her students.

“The sole survivor, Mr. Fusco's secretary, was found pinned to a wall by her shoulders. She had a message to pass on to the first person she saw, 'Mille is dead. Leave the monster in the ground.' She went on saying that a monster woman had been hired by Mille to deal with anyone stupid enough to follow his breadcrumbs trying to get revenge.

“And something that is very interesting. Two devises in the shape of colourful eggs were found. When they were broken, people were able to use their cell phones and radios again without listening to a song from My Little Pony.”

“And Jane is in Canada, meeting someone who may be a family member,” Carson said, frowning at the implications.

“I contacted her as soon as I heard what happened. It took a bit of time, at first she was meeting the family members privately. Then after it turned out they weren't related, she didn't want to talk to anyone. Finally, late that evening, she and her government minder called us, confirming they'd been in Winnipeg since Monday. They even did a video call beside the window, the skyline matched up with their location. She'll be back this evening.”

“How convenient,” she said dryly. “What are your plans for her?”

“Nothing officially. She hasn't done anything to put her on my radar. Unofficially I'll have my people keep an eye on her, mostly to see if anyone tries to attack her. If she did take out Mr. Fusco's security, which included a cyborg, her attackers will need rescuing,” he said, smiling thinly.

She didn't smile back. “ As soon as possible give me a list of anyone close to the late Mr. Fusco that still needs to learn Whateley is off limits. I'll pass on the word that the neutrality matter has largely been dealt with, ”

By the end of the day, news of Mr. Fusco's death would be known throughout North America and Europe. A few days more and most of the heroes, villains and well connected criminals would know what happened when they broke Whateley's neutrality. Carson knew it wasn't a good ending, but it was satisfactory.

Dickinson, Whateley
Suppertime

Jane finished unpacking and put her bag in her wardrobe, then sat on the bed. Her body ached despite the healing, and she didn't want to move. Staring at her lap, she could smell the blood on her. Her hands were slick with it. It hadn't come off in the shower, no matter how many times she had scrubbed herself.

Amber came in soon after. “Jane! You're back! How did it go?”

She shrugged, not sure what to say, not wanting to lie anymore, knowing she couldn't tell the truth.

Sitting down next to her, her roommate patted her back. “No luck on finding your family?”

Jane didn't say anything, didn't even look at her.

Getting closer, Amber said, “I'm sorry. But Shaun has said he and his mom would love to have both of us visit for Christmas. It's like we're making our own family now.”

Turning to look at her friend, Jane whispered, “Can you give me a hug?”

For a second Amber looked confused, then she leaned in and enveloped Jane in a hug. Slowly, hesitantly, Jane wrapped her arms around her friend. Tears welled up in her eyes but refused to come out.

They stayed like that for a long time.

Portland, Oregon,
That Evening

Trevor Sung leaned forward in his seat, studying the video.

The video had come directly from Project Damocles, showing the last minutes of one of their super cyborgs. He'd had to pay a pretty penny to get access to it, but it had been worth every cent. Unlike the security cameras which could only give a general overview of the fight, this one was up close and personal.

Seeing how the assassin moved, the brutality, the fighting style, healing her wounds by shifting, she was either Mille himself, or someone who had personally trained under him.

Playing the video again, he slowed it at one particular point. The assassin was trembling, her eyes vacant for a few seconds, and then she shifted, not smoothly, but like worms were moving under her skin.

Opening up a file, he read over what Fusco's hired thugs had said about their attack on Shaun Solace. The boys friend, maybe his girlfriend, had attacked the men using a butter knife. She'd been knocked down and had a seizure, shifting her appearance.

That was interesting.

He couldn't do anything with this information yet. Whateley had focused all of their attention on Fusco as he'd planned, but if he moved too quickly he'd come under their scrutiny. That was to be avoided at all cost.

Better to sit back and wait for an opportunity to find out exactly how Jane Fisher was related to Mille. His vengeance could wait a little longer.

Dickinson Cottage, Whateley
Late Night

It was well after midnight, and Jane was still awake, listening to the tiny snores coming from across the room. She couldn't sleep. Her skin felt tighter and itchier than ever. Forcing herself to her feet, she silently walked to her desk. Using the moonlight coming in through the window, she looked at herself in the mirror that was leaning against the wall.

Pulling a knife from her drawer, she rested the razor sharp blade on her arm. Thoughts tumbled through her mind.

Who was she?

What was she?

Was she Mille, a liar, a murderer, a monster.

Was she Jane, a young girl who just wanted to live a peaceful, simple life?

Was she a dangerous psychopath? Lying to everyone, hurting everyone, even herself?

She just wanted to have a second chance. Make friends, have an identity, a life. Was that too much to ask?

Did she deserve it?

Freak. Peace. Monster. Friends. Murderer. Hope.

Her mind was spinning out of control. Her skin was too tight. It was crushing her. She couldn't breathe.

“Just cut it. Release the pressure. Let the confusion out,” she growled, staring into the deep blue eyes of her reflection.

Her hand shook. The knife pressed into her skin. The tiniest bit of pressure would slice it open. She'd feel better then.

Gritting her teeth, she took the blade away from her arm, placing it back in the drawer.

“I'm Just Me, Jane Fisher,” she whispered, her brown eyes staring defiantly at her dim reflection. “I'm fourteen years old. I'm a student of Whateley. I'm in the system and I'm a mutant. I'm not special. I'm going to get my diploma and go to a small college. When I'm forced to be, I'm a murderer.”

 

*Unless otherwise noted, all speaking is in French.
This is also a Christmas prequel story for Mille, who can be found here.

Paris, France
Early morning
December 24th, 1988

The air shimmered in the cold, empty apartment. Then three people appeared, two of them holding each other, clutching their stomachs, while the third stood off to the side chuckling.

“The nausea will go away in a few seconds. Now pay me and get the hell out,” the chuckling man said.

“Give us a moment, Déménageur” John, also known of Mille, said. “Where's your Christmas spirit?”

“Used up getting your asses out of Berlin before you ended up very, very dead. If Gruber didn't catch you, the Stasi would have, I'm really not sure which would be worse.”

Reaching into his emergency bag, John pulled out a large roll of British pounds, and put it in the mans hand. Marionette handed him a slightly larger roll of American dollars.

“I believe I said all of your money.”

“That's over five-thousand pounds! And you were going to Paris anyways,” John said.

“I took a risk for you. And I'm not going to be welcomed back into Berlin or East Germany for a while if they find out I got you out.”

Pulling out his wallet, he took out five hundred West German Marks, and a hundred East German marks. Taking the thousand or so mixed bills held out by Marionette, he handed it over. “Are we done?”

Déménageur looked them over. His eyes landed on Marionette's chest, then he looked at John's belt. “Hand it all over or I'll send you back to Germany.”

Scowling, he took off his belt opened a very well hidden seam and pulled out twenty American hundred dollars bill. Marionette had turned around and was fiddling with her shirt and bra, when she turned back she was holding a mix of Spanish peseta and French franc's. John guessed it was around a thousand of each, the very last of their emergency funds.

Putting the money on the table, Déménageur nodded. “Now we're done, remember you still owe me a favour. There's the door,” he said, pointing to the door.

“Merry Christmas, may you get exactly what you deserve,” John said. Marionette didn't say anything, just put her hand on his shoulder and guided him to the door.

Before they reached the street, John had altered his looks a little, making his blond hair brown, a slightly larger nose, gave himself a slight tan, and fuller lips. Taking Marionette's hand, he asked in English that sounded like a native Londoner, “Well should we get some breakfast? The jackass was kind enough to let me keep a few francs.”

“Yeah, I'm starving,” Marionette said, in her faint American Midwestern accent. “And I need a bathroom. I've had this wig on since yesterday morning, my head is itchy as hell.”

Walking arm in arm, they walked a little ways down the street. Thankfully they were dressed for winter in Berlin, the cool temperatures of Paris was practically springlike with their winter wear. They were in one of the poorer neighbourhoods, so there weren't many Christmas decorations, but John found his spirits lifting a little as he walked along the street. He'd spent a few years living in the city as a teenager, learning the tricks of the trade, it was good to be back.

Entering a decent looking cafe, he went and ordered breakfast for both of them, using up all of his money, while Marionette headed straight for the bathroom. Taking a seat by the window, he thought about their current predicament.

The Gruber job had made them a small fortune, his accountant was already moving something just north of five-hundred-thousand German marks around. But their cover had been blown before they'd been able to get out of East Germany. Worst of all the Stasi had pinpointed them for a bit of a con that had left a few high level bureaucrats and their department a fair bit poorer. They'd managed to escape with their emergency bags, and nothing else.

Now he was officially Jean Durand, without a cent to his name, until he could get one of his regular ID's. Since it was Christmas eve, that would take a few days. This wasn't exactly how he'd expected to spend Christmas. Still it was all part of the game. They'd made their money, got out alive, they could handle a few days in the poorhouse. They'd done it before.

Marionette came to the table shortly after the bread, jam and coffee arrived. She had lost the blonde wig, revealing her short brown hair, unstuck the glue from her pointy ears, letting them stick out slightly which made her look a little like an elf, and had washed off the old makeup leaving just her clean, beautiful complexion.

“I'm now Jean Durand,” he said, speaking softly and in English. “Who are you?”

“Brunhilda Fischer,” she said, scowling. “Why did I let you pick that name?”

“You were drunk and lost the bet. And you're German is better than your French. Don't worry Katherine, we'll only need it to get a hotel. And speaking of that, how much money do you have?”

“A hundred marks. If we'd had a bit more time I could have gotten some more, but we were in a bit of a rush.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “How did you keep that hidden?”

She raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Don't ask. Hiding it without Vaseline, while you were driving is not something I want to do again.”

Taking a sip of his coffee to keep from laughing, he waited a moment before replying. “I need to remember that trick. But a hundred marks won't get us very far. We'll be able to get a cheap hotel room for a night or two if we're lucky enough to find one on Christmas, but food and anything else is out. We're going to be stuck for at least three or four days.”

Sighing, he looked out at the street which was slowly filling up with people. “I guess we'll need to pick some pockets. Or I can get a Santa Suit, and an elf costume for you, then we'll just need a big bowl and a bell.”

Katherine shook her head, her brilliant blue eyes locked onto his. “We are not stealing or scamming anyone on Christmas, John. What are our other options?”

He wanted to argue. Two or three wallets from some well off people and they'd be comfortable, a few more and they could have an enjoyable little Christmas. But Katherine, despite being one of the best pickpockets he'd ever met, and a wonderful con artist, had some boundaries she refused to break. Her expression made it very clear that this was one of them. His hand started going to a small box sewn into the lining of his coat. He stopped himself, that wasn't an option.

Grinning, he decided to lighten the mood. “OK, no scams or crimes. You know, I still remember the number of that guy who wanted us to do the twin sister video. He's close to Paris, I'm sure we could talk him up to five thousand francs for it.”

“No. We are not fulfilling anyone's kink, and especially not that one. I like my body, but not that much,” she replied, not so casually playing with her butter knife.

“Shame, I always wanted to try that. I guess we'll have to fall back on your old career.”

“We'll need to buy some things first. But yeah, I like that idea. It's been too long since I used my skills for good.”

Seeing Katherine smile made all of John's worries and concerns fade away. This could be an enjoyable little Christmas after all.

 “Pick a card, sir, any card,” Katherine said, holding out a pack of cards. “Don't show me what it is, but show everyone else.”

John didn't have time to pay much attention to her act, he had his own little performance going. A cheap folding table, three plastic cups and some fruit was all he needed to get people putting money in his hat.

“Where's the orange?” he asked. “Is it here?”

He flipped up the middle cup revealing an apple. Flipping the cup up into the air, he caught it with his left hand slamming it down. A split second before the cup landed, he replaced the apple with an orange from his sleeve.

“Nope not there. Where oh where could it be?” He made a big show of lifting the cup on the left side, and while everyone watched that, he slipped the apple into the cup on the right.

“So the orange isn't in the left or the middle. It has to be in the right, doesn't it?” He flipped the right cup up, revealing the apple.

“How did that get there?! If the apple is there, it must have traded places with the orange.” He lifted the middle cup again, and was greeted by cheers from the audience, especially the little kids.

Coins and bills were thrown into his hat. People were always generous at Christmas, and performing just inside one of the busiest metro stations in Paris was not only warm, but very lucrative. They'd been doing all kinds of sleight of hand and card tricks for most of the morning, and had emptied their respective hats twice already.

Finishing up his routine, John gave a bow and began packing up. Katherine seeing him closing up, did the same.

“I think we're good for Christmas now. I'm glad we did this, I missed being on stage,” she said, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek.

“Merry Christmas, beautiful,” he said, kissing her back. Holding up his hands, he seemingly pulled fruit from thin air. “Want a snack? I've got an apple, orange or a few grapes.”

She took the apple and took a bite. “We need to do some Christmas shopping.”

“We have money for a decent hotel, food and some sightseeing. Gifts will have to wait for the New Year.”

“It doesn't have to be expensive, there are pawn shops in Paris aren't there? We can look for something nice in one them.”

Speaking quietly in Russian, he said, “Honey, once we get our ID, we can hire Karl Lagerfeld to personally design the most fashionable dress ever for you, and pay for the diamond jewellery to go with it. We don't need to go shopping now.”

“But it won't be Christmas then,” she replied, also in Russian.

“OK. Let's go Christmas shopping, we can always do some more busking if we run short,” he said. He didn't mention that the day after Christmas he would happily go out and pick some pockets so they could stay in relative comfort.

Hopping onto a subway train, they headed towards one of the larger pawn shops in Paris. John had pawned off plenty of items there over the years, nothing too hot, but watches, nice wallets, basic jewellery and other things. It also just so happened to be a good pawn shop as well, if they were going to get something decent for a fair price it would be there.

They held each other in the crowded car, for once not trying to hide who they really were, just two young people in love. Resting his cheek on Katherine's hair, John couldn't recall when he'd been happier. He'd spent years alone, only spending time with marks and a few people he did business with. He'd had fun, learned many things from his acquaintances and partners, and had enjoyable evenings with more women than he could remember, but it had been the life of a child.

With Katherine, he had a partner, a friend, and a lover. She was as skilled as he was in her own areas, helping him cover his weaknesses, watching his back, and giving meaning to his life. It sounded sappy, but he hadn't known what to do with most of the money he'd made before Katherine had shown up.

He didn't drink much, and he wasn't about to fall into the trap of drugs or other vices. They would make him sloppy, and at the level he played at, sloppiness would get him kill. He didn't even need the money to get women. Being able to change his looks, with a bit of money for nice clothes, a good restaurant and some wine, he could get almost any woman he wanted.

Now, he was saving up so he and Katherine could live a good life. They were having fun, seeing the world, stealing money from people who didn't deserve it, and creating a nest egg that would last them a lifetime.

Even with their nearly empty pockets, life was good.

“Oh, John! We need to get this,” Katherine said, from across the store

He'd been looking at a nice little bracelet that was just on the edge of his budget. It was silly worrying about spending less than fifty francs on a pawned bracelet with a pretty little design, when in a few days he could buy Katherine a diamond encrusted bracelet on a whim. But it was Christmas, and if it made his girl happy, he'd get her the best gift he could afford.

Walking over, he saw she was holding an instant Polaroid camera. It wasn't one of the newer ones, but it looked like it was in good shape. He saw there was film for it as well, the price was well out of both of their budgets, but it wouldn't completely break the bank.

“A camera?” he asked.

“We're in Paris for Christmas. It would be criminal if we didn't get some pictures,” Katherine told him.

“Are you sure? If we get it, that's it for presents, and no fancy meals.”

Her big blue eyes and beautiful smile answered his question.

“All right, my little tigress. Merry Christmas,” he said, leaning down to kiss her lips.

She clung to him as he went to pay, beaming all the way. Even with his now empty wallet, he had to admit it was worth it.

“Let's go to the Eiffel Tower, they have an amazing Christmas market at Trocadéro Gardens. We can get something for lunch there. You've never been to Paris at Christmas have you?” he asked.

“Never.”

“Then my lady, I will be your guide. I spent some of my best Christmas's in Paris. And if it's photos you want, it is the greatest city in the world.”

Christmas Market, Trocadéro Gardens

Walking through the Christmas Market, John had to smile as Katherine acted like a child, rushing from one thing to another, taking pictures, and spending their little bit of pocket money. Munching on his sausage, he held her crepe as she took another picture of the Eiffel Tower. They'd have to come back when it got dark, the Christmas lights would be almost as beautiful as she was.

“We have to try that,” Katherine said, dragging him to one of the games that filled the market.

It was a hoop game, three hoops for one franc, if you could get a hoop over a prize you won. He smiled as she handed over the money. She handed one hoop to him and kept the other two for herself.

With a seemingly casual toss he got the hoop over a cheap pair of Christmas earrings in a small box, much to the crowds delight.

Katherine clapped and cheered, as if it was the greatest thing in the world. Then she threw her hoops one after the other, easily winning a blue scarf and a good looking woollen hat. Grabbing their winnings, he handed her the earrings, while she draped the scarf around his neck and put her new hat on.

“This is a wonderful day,” she said, clutching his arm.

“It is. But any day with you is wonderful,” he replied.

“Aw, how do you always know what to say?”

“Practice. Years of practice. You know what we should do before we leave Paris?”

“What?”

“Go to Versailles. The last time we were there we never got to finish our tour.”

She blushed a deep red. “We're banned from Versailles. And I don't want to get arrested like last time.”

“That was only because you squealed too loudly,” he said innocently. “Anyways that was Jacques and Rachael, not Jean and Brunhilda. We'll be fine.”

“I'll think about it,” she said.

He managed to catch a glimpse of a small smile on her lips and the gleam in her eyes before she looked away. Casually putting his hand in his pocket he made sure the small box was still stitched into the lining. It wasn't quite right yet.

Christmas Market, Notre Dame Cathedral
Evening

Katherine looked up from her supper of cheese, waffles, bread and a roasted chicken leg, courtesy of several vendors at the Notre Dame Christmas Market. “You want to go to Midnight Mass?”

“Yes. Why is this so surprising?” John asked.

“You're not Catholic. You're not even religious. The only time I've heard you talk about God or Jesus that wasn't cursing, was when we had to convince Don Manzella you were a priest and I was a nun.”

He grinned. “You looked really good as a nun. We should do that again.”

“I had a pistol against my head!”

“Well we wouldn't do it with Don Manzella of course. That would be stupid. But the outfits, a nice hotel room, you can tell me what a bad boy I've been. But that's for later. You're in Paris at Christmas, not going to midnight mass at Notre Dame would be criminal.”

“You really think it's worth staying up that late?” she asked, her expression full of doubt.

“Yes. Go once and you'll never forget it.”

“All right. I'm glad I have a nice outfit in my bag.”

They were almost done their meal when a young teenager hurried past them. They watched the teen, curious but unwilling to risk getting involved. John shook his head, watching the mistakes the young man made, causing him to stick out and draw more attention to himself. He was sloppy and obviously had no idea how to make a good getaway. He'd most likely get caught and end up getting a slap on the wrist along with a few hours in a cell until his parents could pick him up. Not a good way to spend Christmas eve, but a good lesson.

“John,” Katherine whispered, motioning with her eyes.

Casually looking around, he saw two men running towards them. They were wearing baby blue body armour under their warm coats, with their hands on their pistols, ready to draw. They were grim faced and clearly chasing the teen with very ill intentions.

He watched them with a stunned expression. Just another gawker, surprised at the sight. They didn't even glance his way, too intent on their target.

“We need to help him,” Katherine said, when it was safe.

“Why? We already have enough people out to get us, and we're not exactly in a position to do much.”

She glared at him. “He's just a kid. Who knows what those bastards will do to him if they catch him.”

“What will they do to us, if we get in their way?”

“Are you telling me, Mille, that you're a coward?”

He bowed his head in defeat. She knew exactly what buttons to press to make him do exactly what she wanted. “All right. We can't really plan this out, we try to get close. I'll distract them, you get the kid out of sight, meet up at the metro station and get the hell out of here.”

She nodded, grabbing her bag and heading off at a jog following the MCO agents. He waited a moment, trying to judge where they were going, and took a slightly different route, weaving through the crowd. He grabbed a bottle of beer that wasn't being watched for a second, hiding it in front of him while the former owner shouted in confusion. Slipping between two stalls, he heard some shouting, and saw the teen picking himself up from a tangle of people he'd run into.

John got a closer look, and realized he had been wrong. The teenager was a girl, and now that her hat was knocked off, he could see the large sky blue eye in the middle of her forehead for a moment. Then it closed, before anyone else could get a good look at it, although there was a stir among the onlookers who knew that something wasn't quite right. That made things more interesting.

Taking a big gulp of the beer, he made his nose and cheeks a bright red, and his eyes bloodshot. Then he wandered drunkenly swaying, out into the crowd. taking yet another drink. The MCO agents were sprinting towards the girl, weapons drawn.

In his native rural french accent, he began singing off-key. “Il est des nôtres. Il a bu son verre comme les autres. C'est un ivrogne. Ca se voit rien qu'à sa trogne!”

Somehow he didn't see the MCO agents running. His drunken singing kept him from hearing their shouts to get out of the way. And his drunken dancing just so happened to trip the first agent, sending them both sprawling. His out flung arm caught the leg of the second agent, sending him to the ground as well.

“My beer!” he wailed. His struggle to get up had him grabbing at the MCO agents, keeping them from getting to their feet.

“Moule à merde!” he cursed. “You spilled my beer! Roi des cons! Sent-le-pisse”

“Get off of us, imbecile,” the first agent shouted.

“You owe me a beer. Running around like that, you could kill someone! Why don't you watch where you're going?”

The teenager was gone, and he saw Katherine running off to the side, using the crowd to hide herself. Keeping his angry look, he shouted a few more curses at the MCO agents. They ignored him and ran after their target.

Discretely slipping their wallets into his pocket, he angrily stomped after them, muttering loudly that they owed him a beer.

When the crowd wasn't looking, he began a series of minor changes, keeping his head down. His skin became paler, his nose larger, his hair went from black to dark brown over an entire minute and grew shorter. He became an inch taller and filled out his coat so it almost looked too small on him. The stubble on his chin became a bit thicker. All done slowly enough that someone would have to be watching him as he walked along to really notice. But when he was done, he looked like a different person.

Katherine walked past him, her arm around the waist of the girl. The girl was now wearing Katherine's hat and gloves, holding a bottle of soda, laughing nervously at something her unexpected rescuer was saying. They looked like two sisters enjoying the market.

A little ways away, the MCO agents were cursing, looking all around for the teenager. Going to a stall, John looked over the Christmas ornaments for sale, while watching the agents from the corner of his eye. When they finally headed off in the wrong direction, he bought a pretty silver bell, using the agents cash to pay for it. Whistling happily to himself, he headed to the metro station.

Touching his coat, he breathed a sigh of relief that the box was still in place. It looked like they wouldn't be going to Notre Dame after all, which was going to spoil his plans. But things had taken an interesting turn, and he could wait.

The three people sat near the back of a nice restaurant. John and Katherine were enjoying some expensive Parisian food, courtesy of the MCO, while their new companion was eating so quickly they were afraid she might eat the plates and silverware. The girl still had her hat on, keeping her third eye out of sight, shoulder length messy black hair hid her ears and neck.

They'd bought the girl a new jacket and some clothes, she had been a bit too obvious in her baggy jeans and ragged winter coat. She hadn't seemed happy getting the tight woollen pants, white turtleneck sweater, and form fitting tan winter coat, but they hadn't given her much choice. They were cheap, warm and she fit in with the crowds.

“Have you had enough, Magali?” Katherine asked.

“Yes, thanks, Mary,” the girl said.

They'd decided to use their stage names, Mille and Marionette, Mary for short. They didn't know who the girl was, and if she was caught by the MCO or police, it was best to keep their names, real and the fakes on their ID, out of it.

Katherine beamed, making herself seem like a beautiful angel. She was playing the nice older sister type role, to get Magali talking freely, while he was the calm, quiet protective figure.

“Where are your parents?” Katherine asked.

“Th-they threw me out, when I started to change.” Tears welled up in the girls eyes, she angrily scrubbed them away.

Magali gave a squeak of surprise as the older woman hugged her. “You poor dear,” Katherine said, slipping into English. “No parent should ever do that.”

“You are English?” the girl asked, in heavily accented English.

“American. Mille is French,” Katherine said, once again using French.

The girl slowly accepted the hug, and wrapped her own arms around Katherine. Her tense shoulders slumped down, the nervous energy seemed to leave her. Instead of the scared young girl, she just looked exhausted and defeated.

“Why were those men after you?” John asked.

“I stole some food and I was caught. They saw my eye, the owner panicked and I got away. But a little later those men found me and have been chasing me all evening. Whenever I think I've gotten away, they somehow find me again,” she replied.

“What can you do?”

“When I open my eye I can see in strange colours, I think it's heat. Have you seen Predator with Arnold Schwarzenegger? It's like the alien in the movie. And sometimes everything looks normal, but I can see through things. There are other things, but I don't know what they are, and I can't control it.”

If she was telling the truth her power could be very useful. Having to open the big blue eye to use it however, would make her stick out, which was a problem. At worst, she was a threat to privacy, but the girl was clearly not about to become a dangerous supervillain. Having the MCO hunting her down like this was excessive.

“Well don't worry, you're with us now. We'll take you to our hotel so you can get a good nights sleep. We'll lay low tomorrow and get you some more clothes the next day. Give us a few days and we'll get you somewhere safe,” Katherine said.

“What are you guys? Heroes or something?”

He and Katherine shared a look, trying not to laugh. “No,” he said. “You could say we take nice things from bad people and give them better homes.”

Magali wrinkled her brow in confusion, then her eyes widen and her mouth took the shape of an O. “You're thieves,” she whispered.

“Certainly not,” he said in disgust. “Thieves have no class. It's perfectly easy to break into someones house and take everything they have, any idiot can do that. We're con artists. It takes real skill to tell a person how you're going to take their money and they not only give it to you but thank you for it as well.”

“Enough about us,” Katherine said. “Do you have anyone you can go to? Family? A good friend?”

She shook her head, wiping at her eyes. “No. My friends wouldn't recognize me anymore. And even if I had family that wanted me, my parents would phone the MCO.”

His partner pulled the girl in close. “Well I'm not sure what we can do for you long term, our life isn't exactly what you'd call safe. But at least for now, you can stay with us.”

“Really?”

“Hell yes. No one should be alone at Christmas, and there is no way I'm going to let you stay on the street.”

“Whateley,” John said.

“What was that, Mille?” Katherine asked.

“Whateley. It's a school for people like Magali and I, somewhere in America. I've met a few people who went there. They say the school doesn't ask many questions, and will look after runaways and abandoned teens until they graduate.”

“America,” Magali said, looking very nervous.

“It's not like the movies or the news,” Katherine said. “I'm American, and it can be good and bad, but as long as you keep an open mind about things, it will definitely be interesting. And if Whataley will accept you, it will give you a safe place to live and learn until you're old enough to look after yourself.”

“But how will I get there?”

John raised his hand and waved it towards his chest. “In honour of the season, Mary and I will make sure you get there safely. We will also cover any fees for you to enter Whateley if it lives up to its reputation.”

“You would do that for me? But you just met me.”

Katherine was beaming at him, her smile more beautiful than ever. Feeling like a hero, he said, “Don't worry. We have the money, and we need to do our good deed for the year. It will just take a few days while we wait for some things to go through.”

The girl began to cry. Sobbing, she said, “I'm sorry, I never used to cry. It's just... I... I didn't expect this.”

“Don't apologize sweety,” Katherine said, hugging her once again. “We both know what it's like to end up on the street with no idea what the hell we were going to do next. It can be a bit overwhelming when you finally get help. Now lets do one last thing, then we'll get you to our hotel, so you can get a good nights sleep. You'll feel better in the morning.”

Reaching into her backpack, Katherine handed John the camera. Taking a tissue, she wiped away Magali's tears. “I want a picture to remember our first meal together,” she explained.

They both smiled for the camera while John took a picture. Sitting down, he waited for the photo to develop, and looked around for the waiter to pay for the meal. He saw two familiar figures walking past the window.

“Mary, get Magali tidied up. We might be meeting some friends to discuss Shakespeare soon,” he said. Shoving the camera into her bag, he used his eyes to point out the MCO agents.

She nodded, understanding at once. Grabbing the girls arm, she got to her feet and headed for the lady's room, with the confused teen in tow. “Come on, lets fix up your hair.”

“How did you find us?” he whispered to himself, watching the MCO agents walk into the restaurant clearly looking for someone.

There was no way they could have tracked them down. They'd taken several different subway trains, making sure Magali's unusual eye was covered the entire time. The girl didn't look like the street kid they'd seen earlier, and they had no reason to suspect she was in a group. From the corner of his eye he saw them talking to a waiter, who pointed them in his direction.

“Sir, have you seen a girl with shoulder length brown hair? She is fourteen years old, wearing a hat that covers her forehead, about one-hundred-sixty-four centimetres in height,” the taller MCO agent asked, holding his hand up to show the girls height.

“Sorry no. Why do you ask?”

“We're looking for a dangerous mutant. She robbed a store earlier today and we believe she came to this restaurant.”

He furrowed his brow, as if he was thinking. Finally he shook his head. “I haven't seen anyone like that.”

“The waiter said you were dining with two women, one of them a teenager who didn't take her hat off.”

“My fiance, Julia, and her sister, Anna,” he said, keeping his voice calm and natural. “Anna was feeling a bit chilled, too much excitement and time outside. They left a few minutes ago to meet their parents and get the poor girl to bed.”

The shorter one with a moustache that would make a porn star jealous grabbed him by the shoulder. “Why didn't you go with them?”

“I wasn't done my dessert.”

“I think you're lying to us. Show us your ID.”

“You're not the police, you can go straight to hell,” he said.

The tall one leaned on the table, getting into his face. “We are in pursuit of a dangerous mutant, you need to do what we say unless you want to be an accomplice to the mutants crimes.”

Getting to his feet, he made his skin bright red, as if he was furious. “You think I'd help one of those genetic defects!” he shouted. “How dare you! I have nothing, and want nothing to do with any mutant. They're- They're...”

His skin went deathly pale, he started to waver back and forth, speaking gibberish. He crashed to the floor, forcing himself to not wince or brace himself as he landed with a painful bounce. Limply he laid there not moving, and carefully thickened the skin on his neck to the limits of his ability.

“What happened?” the short MCO agent demanded.

The other one knelt down, his fingers went to John's neck, checking for a pulse. “He has a pulse, it's very weak. We need an ambulance.”

“He's faking it. Giving the mutant time to get away.”

“How did he fake this?” the agent asked.

John felt cold fingers loosening the buttons on his collar. This was not good. He was giving Katherine and Magali plenty of time to get away, but now he had to worry about how he would make his own escape.

Someone said an ambulance was on its way. That wouldn't do at all, they'd check his ID and he didn't have any backups handy. It would also limit his options, his little charade wouldn't work on a paramedic.

“I'm going to look for the mutant and his partner. You stay here and make sure he doesn't miraculously recover,” the short agent said.

Listening to the agent walk away, John counted to twenty then gave a soft moan. “Medicine.”

“What?” the watching agent said. From his voice he was kneeling right beside him.

“Medicine. Inside... pocket.” He opened his eyes a little, watching the agent.

The agent leaned over him, reaching into his coat. John thickened his skull, giving himself an almost neanderthal like brow. Grabbing the unsuspecting mans head, he rammed his forehead into the agents.

Painful lights flashed in his eyes, and his head ached. The agent had it worse. Unprepared for the blow the agent fell stunned and possibly unconscious to the ground.

Leaping to his feet, ignoring the cries around him, John grabbed his coat and ran into the kitchen. The short agent saw him running, and yelled at him to stop, racing to follow.

“Get out of my kitchen!” a chef roared.

John ignored him, pushing an unfortunate waiter to the ground and headed for the back exit. The MCO agent cursed, yelling at the waiter to get out of his way, giving John time to put more distance between them. Coming out on a small back street, he made himself lighter and his legs longer, running as fast as he could. He made it to a side street, turned and headed for the crowded main street, drastically changing his appearance as he ran.

Half a minute later when the MCO agent came to the main street, he didn't give a second glance to the short Black man tying his shoe in a doorway.

John smirked as the agent cursed and began searching the crowd for a man who didn't exist. It was time to go, he had to make sure Katherine and the girl were OK.

Shakespeare and Company English Book Store
Near Notre Dame Cathedral

Walking past the large bookstore, John kept an eye out for his partner. One problem with his shape changing and her disguises, was that trying to find each other after getting separated could be difficult. So they'd come up with signs and motions that would help them.

He was casually flipping a coin, not doing anything fancy with it, just making sure it was easy to see as he walked along the well lit street. A blonde saw him coming and pushed the bangs out of her eyes with her left hand, flashing a ring on her little finger.

Catching the coin he walked over to Katherine who was talking to Magali. They had gone all out with the supplies they had, to change their appearance. Katherine was all dolled up, with dark glittering makeup around her eyes and on her cheekbones, and dark red lipstick, making them stand out. The blonde wig was thick, curly and framed her face, hiding her cute, but distinctive ears.

Magali's hollow cheeks were a healthy pink, and her cheekbones had been darkened to soften their appearance. Her hair was hidden under a light brown wig that wasn't very long, but had enormous bangs that almost concealed her eyes. A beauty mark had been added her cheek, just large enough to attract the eye.

“Mille, you're a bit late,” Katherine said, rushing over to hug him.

“Just had some trouble with a last minute client, nothing too serious. But I had to run to get here,” he replied, bending down a little to embrace her.

“She's Maddy, my cousin. No one followed us. No bugs on her clothes,” she whispered in his ear.

“Good work,” he whispered back, kissing her cheek.

Letting her go, he turned to Magali, giving her a quick air kiss to both cheeks. “I hope your cousin has been showing you a good time, Maddy.”

“She's been great. But it's a little scary, I'm really not used to this,” she replied.

“Don't worry, you'll get used to it. Life in the big city is always a little surprising at first. Now that we're all together, lets enjoy the rest of the night,” he said.

They walked along the streets for a while, admiring the decorations, making casual conversation, doubling back, taken sudden detours, and slowly making their way to the Notre Dame Christmas Market. He bought them all some warm mulled wine and a bag of chestnuts to munch on, as they window shopped the different vendors, took pictures of Notre Dame and other sights, and did everything possible to look normal.

Magali was nervous at first, looking around to see if they were being followed, jumping at unexpected noises, and keeping her head down. But with a bit of wine, and seeing how relaxed he and Katherine were, she started to calm down, and even began to smile.

It was well after ten when Mille saw that the girl was falling asleep on her feet.

“I think we're in the clear, let's get back to the hotel,” he said, half carrying Magali.

“Do you think they'll be able to find us there?” Katherine asked.

“No idea. Did you dump her old clothes?”

She nodded. “First thing after we got out of the restaurant. Even her underwear.”

“All right, we'll get up early and check out of the hotel. Keep moving all day tomorrow, and pick a hotel at random for the night.”

“What if we leave Paris? We'd be safe then.”

“I'm having the ID's sent to a contact here. I want to be able to get them the day they're delivered. And we don't have the money to travel far.”

She cursed. “This wasn't how I expected to spend Christmas.”

“At least it's not boring,” he said with a grin.

“True.” She grimaced as they looked for a cab. “I didn't think my life would turn out like this when I agreed to be that assholes assistant. Be on stage with an up and coming magician. Travel the world. Become famous. Get harassed daily, and dumped penniless on my ass in London.”

“And now look at you. Having adventures with a handsome devil, making good money, saving damsels in distress. And all it took was you picking my pocket.”

Laughing she grabbed his arm. “It has been fun. And it's a good thing you decided to become my partner, you're sleight of hand sucked.”

“It was good enough to realize what you did, and I was able to find you. Eventually.”

“You were persistent.”

“That ID cost a lot of money. I almost cried when you told me you threw it away.”

“I didn't need it. I just needed enough money to buy a meal.”

“Starting a life of crime to eat British food. I don't think I've ever heard a sadder story.”

A taxi came to a stop and it was an expensive ride to the hotel. They stopped half a block away, in front of another hotel, just in case anyone asked the driver about them. As they made their way to their room, he and Katherine kept a careful eye out for anyone who might be following them.

Inside their room, he made sure to lock the door, used the chain for a bit more protection, and put a threadbare easy chair in front of the door. Katherine saw what he was doing and shook her head in disbelief, but didn't stop him.

Magali woke up enough to take off her pants and slipped into the single queen size bed. Katherine put on a long t-shirt, gave him a long kiss, and joined her.

John went to the bathroom, had a long hot shower. He'd had one when they checked in earlier that day, but after everything that happened, he smelled of stale beer and he needed it to relax. After drying himself off, he shifted to a twelve year old boy and put on one of his now oversized shirts. Grabbing a spare blanket, he sat in the easy chair blocking the door and fell asleep almost immediately.

Christmas Day
Sunday, December 25th

Knocking woke John up in the morning. It wasn't the gentle rapping of a hotel worker, it was hard enough to shake the door and his chair.

“Open up, MCO!”

He was up and shifting instantly. This wasn't a simple shift like the other day, he turned himself into a tall, statuesque Black woman with a shaved head. “Just a minute!”

Katherine was up and moving, putting a hand over Magali's mouth and whispering in her ear. A moment later they both silently went to the bathroom and the shower turned on.

Moving the chair out of the way, John opened the door a little, keeping the chain in place.

The MCO agents, the same ones from yesterday, clearly hadn't expected to see a Black woman, wearing a t-shirt that had clearly been slept in. The tall agent, held up a badge. “Ma'am I'm agent Monet, this is my partner agent Balland. We're with the MCO, can you open the door?”

“One minute,” he said, closing the door on them. A quick look around showed that nothing incriminating was in sight. Taking the chain off the door, he opened it up but stood right in the door, so they couldn't just walk in. “What do you want?” he asked, giving himself an accent that could have come straight from the Ivory Coast.

The short one, Balland, looked down and saw that John's t-shirt barely covered his pubic area and turned a bright red. Monet, who had a nasty bruise on his forehead, looked a little flustered.

“We're looking for three mutant fugitives. A man, woman and a teen girl,” the Monet said.

John smirked. “No man is in here. Last night it was just us girls.”

“The hotel registry says that a man and woman checked into this room.”

“They got it wrong. It's just me and my friend.” The way he said friend left nothing to the imagination. “She's in the shower now, do you want to see her?”

“We can wait for her to get out and dressed.”

“No. I don't want you standing around wasting my time. You want to see who is here? Come with me.” Turning away from them he walked to the small bathroom and opened the door. “Mon p’tit cul, we have company”

Katherine half opened the shower curtain, exposing herself in all her glory. “Are they cute?”

“No, they've got dicks.”

The two agents took a quick look around the room, making sure no one could be hiding. The Monet took a look past John and saw Katherine. His face turned beet red and he looked away a second later.

Blowing a kiss to her, John closed the door. “Satisfied?”

“Ah yes,” the agent said. “We must have the wrong room. Sorry about that.”

“No harm done. Now go away, I need a shower.”

The agents left, and John felt an immense amount of relief. That had been too close. Katherine came out of the bathroom, drying herself off. “I feel dirty.”

“Sorry about that. But you did your part perfectly. Is the girl OK?”

“She's scared, she almost freaked out in the shower, but I as able to keep her quiet. We really need to figure out how they're tracking us.”

“It's not a tracking device. The only thing we have that could be a tracker is their ID, we dumped everything else. And if they were tracking that, they'd know it was in this room, and would have torn the place apart.

“Magic?”

“Maybe. If they have something of Magali's, they might be able to spy on her a bit. But I don't know enough about magic to be certain.”

“Do you know anyone in Paris who could help?”

“Not on Christmas day, not without spending a lot of money we don't have. Even criminals like to take the holiday off.”

Putting on clean clothes, Katherine swore. “So we keep moving, and maybe don't bother with a hotel tonight.”

“I could make them no longer a problem,” he said quietly.

“No. I know we haven't always done things cleanly, and you've had to do... that, before. But those were for people who were about to kill us and we had no other choice. We don't have guns pointed at our heads, we're not about to be tortured and thrown in a shallow grave, or executed to make a statement. We don't step over that line without a damn good reason,” she said, her normally kind and friendly eyes hard.

“OK. We'll keep on the move, and make sure it doesn't come to that. I'll keep my hands clean for you,” he promised.

She leaned in to give him a kiss. “Thank you. Now change back to a man and put on some clothes before Magali gets out of the shower. We need to get out in case they come back to double check things, or the staff decides to see what's going on.”

Musee Carnavalet
Mid-Morning

John skipped alongside Katherine holding her hand, eating some chocolate and humming to himself, his long brown hair done up in a pretty ponytail, wearing a brand new white dress and red stockings. He looked like a cute eleven year old girl enjoying a trip to the museum. Magali was on the other side of Katherine, looking a bit bored, and keeping her head down, the long bangs of her wig covered her third eye. Katherine was pointing out the different attractions, playing the role of a mother to a T. Her makeup and somewhat dowdy clothes, made her look to be in her mid to late thirties.

The only thing that could be considered out of place was that they were all wearing backpacks. They couldn't get rid of those, since they had what little was left of their limited funds, spare clothes and supplies.

Looking around the museum, which had been a hotel back in the 19th century and was now a museum showing Paris throughout the ages, they were doing their best to look like an out of town family. The MCO was looking for a teen girl, and two fairly young adults. They couldn't do much to make Magali look a different age, but turning themselves into a single mother visiting Paris with her two daughters, that was child's play. Since John didn't often have a chance to act like a child, he had taken to the role with glee, begging 'mom' for some ice cream and candy.

Magali kept giving him strange looks. He wasn't sure whether it was because of his shifting, his turning into a girl, or that he was being so childlike, not that it mattered. He had a role to play and he'd play it. When it came to magic or a con, the trick was always in the misdirection. They needed people to not really see the teenager, so make them see the cute young girl instead.

Entering another room, John nearly groaned in frustration. The MCO agents Monet and Balland were walking through the exhibit, clearly looking for someone.

“Maman! Maddy! Look at this!” he shouted, dragging Katherine towards a large alcove. The walls panels had vibrant images of swans, chickens and game birds, that were beautifully painted. “The birds almost look real. I want to paint like that!”

Katherine smiled patting his shoulder. “If you practice hard you'll be able to, Millicent.”

“I'm going to draw a beautiful picture as soon as we get back to our hotel. It will be as beautiful as those!”

From the corner of his eye, he saw agent Balland smile. The agents left the room without bothering them, or even asking any questions. Which was a good thing, Magali was trying a bit too hard to look unimportant.

“Maman, I need to go to the bathroom,” he said. That was their code for splitting up so he could follow the MCO agents.

“OK, you know where it is. Maddy and I will keep going,” Katherine said.

Running to the public bathroom, he checked to make sure no one was around, and went into the men's room. Entering a stall he quickly stripped out of his clothes, shifted into an adult male, with a large beard and moustache, and got dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt.

Stepping out he went looking for the two agents. He soon found them, they were looking more and more frustrated, looking closely at anyone they saw.

“Excuse me,” he said in an American mid-west accent he'd been practising with Katherine. “Um, how do I say this. Po-ur la momento?”

They looked at him very confused.

Pointing at his wrist, he asked again. “Poor ah momento? Do you have the time?”

“Oh, you want the time,” Agent Monet said in English with a thick accent. “It is eleven ten o'clock.”

“Danke! Danke!”

“One moment, please. Have you seen a girl, fourteen years old, dark brown hair. Has her head covered. We are MCO, we are looking for her,” Agent Monet said, showing his ID.

“Sorry. I didn't see the girl. Is she dangerous?”

“Very dangerous. A criminal. She hurt her parents.”

“If I see her I will get you.”

“Thank you.”

He let the agents get a little ways away, pretending to admire the statue that was being displayed. Once they'd forgotten about the American tourist, he meandered towards them, seemingly keeping his attention on the art.

“Where is she?” Agent Balland asked. He sounded angry, making a fist and hitting his leg.

“I don't know. La Prophétesse said they'd be here,” Agent Monet replied.

“This is the second time she's been wrong. Can we really trust her?”

“She was right yesterday. The couple who helped her must be doing something to throw her off.”

“So what do we do about it? We can't exactly tell the police to look for a woman we haven't seen or gotten a decent description of, and a plain looking man who can vanish into thin air. Especially at Christmas, there are simply too many people.”

“I'm going to phone the office. They'll call her and we can try to get a better idea of where they are,” Monet said, heading for the entrance.

That was all John needed to know. Heading back to the bathroom, he shifted back into the little girl, got dressed and exited, intent on finding Katherine and getting out of there.

“Did you go into the wrong room little girl?” Agent Balland asked.

Silently cursing, he made himself blush. “Yes. I really had to go.”

The agent smiled. “Well be more careful. You don't want to see anything you shouldn't in there.”

Nodding, he hurried away, head down, her shoulders up around her ears, as if trying to hide.

He heard the agent enter the bathroom, the heavy door thudded as it closed. A moment later it slammed open.

He took off running.

“MONET! Get the girl! She's a shifter!” Balland shouted.

Tearing through the museum as fast as his short legs could go, John wished he was anywhere else. The small tights and dress wouldn't let him shift to a larger size better suited for running. There weren't enough people in the museum to get lost in. And he didn't know the layout of the museum well enough to hide. If he didn't do something, the much faster agent was going to catch him.

“HELP! RAPIST!” he screeched at the top of his lungs.

He kept screaming, putting as much fear into his voice as he could. Hopefully Katherine would hear him screaming and get out of the museum before she and Magali were spotted. He didn't like being the bait, but he could handle it a lot better than his partner could, and if Magali was caught it was game over.

The screaming was drawing attention at least. The few people he passed didn't look very helpful, too fearful or uninterested, but one person caught his eye. A man who was with his family, and had a young girl. The guy did not look happy, neither did his wife.

“Help!” John shouted again, heading straight for them. Sliding to a stop, he got behind the man and clutched the woman around the stomach, crying as hard as he could.

Pointing at Balland, he started sobbing,making himself sound panicked and on the verge of a breakdown. “In the- in the bathroom- came in- grabbed me! Put his hand up my dress!”

“I'm with the MCO. That man is not a little girl,” Balland said, too focused on John to think about what he was saying.

“Il va se faire enculer en prison, ce pedophile!” the father said, grabbing Balland.

A hand grabbed John's shoulder, digging into his flesh. Looking up he saw agent Monet looming over him. Even worse the agent was reaching for his gun. Pushing his power to its limit, he shrank just a little more. It felt like his skin was crushing him and about to split open, but he was small enough to slip out of the hold.

With his newfound freedom, John grabbed Monet's arm and sank his teeth deep into the mans hand. Blood filled his mouth. Monet bellowed in pain. Then John was slammed into the wall hard enough to stun him.

The woman started screaming, hitting the agent with her purse, calling him every name in the book. The daughter was wailing in fear at seeing her parents fighting, and security was coming fast.

Shaking his head, John staggered to his feet and ran for it. He wasn't a fighter, running away was the smartest thing he could do. All he needed now was to find a private place to change and he'd be able to walk away.

Rubbing his badly bruised shoulder, John wished he could relax in a nice hot tub with a big glass of something alcoholic and a bottle of pain killers. The bruise wasn't the main source of pain, his entire body felt like it had been put through a compactor and squeezed. He'd pushed his limits going so small to get away from the MCO, and now he was paying the price.

“I'm sorry,” Magali said.

“About what?” John asked.

She pointed at his shoulder. “You got hurt because you're helping me.”

“This is nothing. You should learn now that you're going to get hurt sometimes. No one wants to feel pain, unless they're crazy. But you need to accept that it happens and not fear it. It's how you know you're still alive and breathing.”

Katherine took a quick look around. “Just when is your friend getting here?”

“Anytime now. He's probably been here for twenty minutes already, but is just being cautious. And Kévin is not my friend. He's a person I've done business with in the past.”

“Do you have any friends?” Katherine asked.

“I've got you,” he replied.

He chuckled as she rolled her eyes, then a familiar face caught his eye. Kévin, dressed casually for Christmas, appeared from behind a large group and took a seat.

“Mille, this had better be good. My wife is furious that I'm working today,” the older man said.

“Like I said on the phone, I'll owe you a favour. And I thought you were getting a divorce.”

“So did I,” Kévin said wistfully. “Cayenne had a different idea, and since I didn't want to be turned into ash, I changed my mind. Now lets get this over with quickly before you have even more people after your head.”

“We seem to be very popular this Christmas,” Katherine said.

“You are, Marionette. If I were you, I'd go on a long vacation on another continent, Word is Gruber has put out a large reward for both of you, preferably alive, but dead is acceptable. The Stasi are also stretching out their feelers. A person on their payroll has asked me about you.”

John leaned in close. “And you told them?”

“Nothing. I owe you my life, so I simply said I couldn't tell them anything. They accepted it. The MCO on the other hand are not so friendly, and my contacts have told me they are very unhappy with you.”

“Do they know who we are?”

His friend shook his head. “No. They suspect you, but so far, you are only a rumour to them. If you're not careful that will change.”

He'd been afraid of that. Pointing at Magali, he asked, “Do you know why the MCO wants her so badly?”

“She hasn't told you?”

Magali turned white, ducking her head down. Katherine put an arm protectively around the girls shoulders, which also kept her from bolting.

“Not in any detail.”

“That's the son of the former Paris MCO Director."

Looking at the girl, he couldn't see anything masculine about her. He'd seen her in her underwear the night before and she'd looked all girl to him. Going by the scared and humiliated look on her face, Kévin was telling the truth.

“You're serious?”

“My contact was very certain of it. Isn't that right Marque?” Kévin asked.

The girl nodded, keeping her eyes on the table. She hunched down even more, her cheeks turning a brilliant red. “Yes,” she said in a whisper. “I ran away when I heard they were going to take me somewhere to examine. I was changing so fast I was able to hide and live on the street. But somehow they found me a few days ago and they won't leave me alone.”

John leaned back in his chair, blowing air noisily out of his mouth. That was interesting news. “Well, that explains why they've been so intent on hunting us down. What can you tell me of La Prophétesse?”

“Not much. If I knew anything useful, I'd have already told certain parties that want to make an example of her. She appeared in the last month or two, helping the MCO. She only talks to them by phone, and she is only contacted from their office using an unlisted and apparently untraceable number. One person tried to track her down, he was found a week later dead in the Seine, with a bullet in the back of his head.”

“Thank you for the help, we should get going. Tell Cayenne good luck on her next attempt to take over France. And I'm sorry for bothering you on Christmas, I'll make sure to have something nice for her when we meet next time.”

“I'll tell her you said hi,” Kévin said, laughing. Then he got serious again. “If you can, get out of the city as soon as possible. I've heard that the MCO has now made finding you and her their top priority. Take care of yourselves.”

With that they went in opposite directions, trying to look casual, while watching out for the MCO.

“He's married to Cayenne?” Magali asked.

“Yes. He complains about her a lot, but they love each other.”

“Is she the supervillain Cayenne.”

He nodded. “She is. He's a supervillain as well. Technically I am too.”

“Let's worry about that later,” Katherine said. “Magali, why didn't you tell us the truth?”

“It's- What if you woke up and everything you knew about yourself and your family changed. You weren't you anymore and you're entire life was shattered so badly it could never be fixed. How would you feel?” the girl asked.

Pursing her lips, Katherine was silent for a long moment. “I don't know.”

“I was alone and afraid. And no one would help me until you two appeared, and I didn't know what you would do if you knew who I was really was. And I didn't want you to think I was disgusting or evil, and abandon me, or worse hand me over to them.” Tears began streaming down the girls face. She angrily wiped them away.

“Don't worry,” Katherine said, hugging her. “We're still going to help you. We gave you our word, we'll keep it.”

“You will?”

“Yes, we will,” John said, patting her on the shoulder. “I know what it's like living alone on the street. I ran away from home willingly when I was twelve, but it still wasn't easy. So now we just have to figure out how to avoid the MCO.”

“We can't take a train or a bus out of Paris,” Katherine said. “They'll be watching those. Hell they'll probably know exactly which one we'll be taking thanks to their psychic.”

“Stealing a car probably won't work either. They'll know the make, model and licence plate before we're out of the city.”

“We should be fairly safe as long as we stay near a crowd and keep moving. But tonight is going to be a problem. We have to sleep sometime, and three people walking around at night is pretty obvious. How long until we get our ID?”

“Probably the 27th, maybe the 28th, Christmas is playing hell with shipping.”

“What do you need ID for?” Magali asked.

“So we can access our bank accounts, We lost most of our ID's, all our checks, and cash the other day. Now we're waiting for our new ones to show up.” John kept his voice low, but otherwise tried to act like a normal man enjoying the day with his family, smiling pleasantly completely at ease with the world.

A car parked on the side of the road. Four men stepped out, trying to look casual. The way they watched the street, and the one keeping his hand close to his hip ready to grab the gun that was just visible under his coat gave them away.

“Smile,” he said.

Katherine, who still looked like a middle age mother, smiled so naturally it almost fooled John. Magali tried, but it looked force. Putting his arm around her shoulder, he tried to look like a doting father, his greying temples helped with that.

“Maddy,” he said in English, while using her assumed name, “I know you've found Paris boring so far. What would you like to do this afternoon? Anything you want.”

“I don't know,” she replied in fairly good English, keeping her voice bored and a bit sullen. She and Katherine had been practising that phrase all morning until she could say it like a native.

“How about the Christmas market at the Eiffel Tower?” Katherine said. “They have a Ferris wheel and other rides. You love the Ferris wheel.”

“OK.”

The MCO agents walked right past them.

Turning to look at Katherine, so he could watch the agents and make sure they were in the clear, he asked, “Which way to the subway again, dear?”

“That way,” she said, pointing down the street. “I swear you'd get lost in a paper bag sometimes.”

One of the agents stopped and turned to look at them. He said something to the others and came their way. John ignored him, guiding Magali with his arm, so she wouldn't give them away, and they walked down the street completely oblivious to the man.

“Excuse me,” the agent said in French.

They stopped and looked at the agent. John took a step forward, making sure the attention would be on him. “Sorry, do you speak English?” he asked.

The agent smiled, and replied in very good English, “Yes I do. You're Americans?”

“Yes we are, from Chicago. What can I do for you?”

“I'm an investigator for the gendarme, the Paris police. I'm looking for three people, a man, a woman and a teenage girl. What are your names?”

“Well isn't that a kick in the nuts,” John said, chuckling like it was a funny coincidence. “I'm Miles Mccollough, this is my wife Mary, and our daughter Maddy. We've only been here for three days, decided to see the world and get a bit of culture. Paris is a beautiful city.”

“Yes it is, thank you. Where are you staying?”

“We're at the Hilton Paris Opera hotel, on Saint-Lazare. Wonderful place, have you been there?”

“No, I haven't. It's a little out of my price.”

Katherine spoke up, before the agent could ask another question. “These people, are they in trouble?”

“They are suspects in a crime. I can't go into much more detail. I just have one more thing to ask and then you can go.”

“Of course, of course,” John said.

“Can I see your daughters forehead?”

John started laughing. He saw that the other agents were quite a ways down the street, questioning other people. “You want to see her forehead. Why?”

“I'm sorry, but the teenage suspect has a mark on her forehead.”

Moving so he was standing to the side of the agent, he looked at Magali. “Let's get this over with, sweety,” he said.

Clearly struggling to not shake or run away, Magali reached up to take off her hat, drawing the attention of the agent. John reached out, snatching the gun from the agents holster. In one smooth motion he moved behind the man, grabbing him by the shoulder, jamming the barrel into his back.

“Not a word,” he hissed in French. “We haven't drawn any real attention yet, let's keep it that way. You don't want to die or anyone getting hurt, I don't either.”

Katherine grabbed Magali and hurried down the street, taking the first corner they came to.

“What are you going to do?” the agent asked, keeping his hands down and away from his sides.

“You and I are going to have a little talk, while the ladies go shopping. It will all be nice and friendly and in a few minutes we'll each go our separate ways. Now, I'm going to let you go and we're going to cross the street. We'll keep walking, away from the ladies and your friends. No sudden movements, nothing stupid. I want you to go home to your family tonight, but if you want to play, we play for keeps, do you understand?”

“Yes.”

He moved to stand beside and a hair behind the agent, putting his hand and the gun into his jacket, still pointing at the man. “Very good. Let's start walking.”

“Do you know who the girl is?”

“The former Paris MCO directors son. That could be very embarrassing for you if that got out.”

“She's a murderer.”

“No one's perfect. Who did she murder?”

“An MCO agent, Jules Maigret. Broke his spine with that eye of hers.”

“Was this before or after the MCO tried to take her away?”

“Before. She's the directors child, do you think we'd make her disappear? That he'd allow that?”

He shrugged. “I don't deal with the MCO, so I really don't know. But I understand what it's like to be on the wrong side of the law.”

“Yes, you do Mille. When we realized you were a shifter we did some very quick research. You have quite a record.”

“I do my best.”

“Did you murder those five people in Nice?”

“If I did, they deserved it. They should have known better than to hurt little boys and girls.”

The agent laughed. “So you think you're some kind of vigilante. Doing bad things for the greater good?”

“Hardly. I want money and a good time. If I do a bit of good occasionally, I'll take it as a bonus.” They were well away from the girls now, it was time to end this. Bringing the gun up he hit the agent as hard as he could in the back of the head.

The man crumpled to the ground, moaning and holding his head. Putting the pistol in his pocket, John took off running down the street, ignoring the alarmed looks he was getting from the pedestrians. The agent would survive with only a headache, and by the time he recovered John would be far away

Now the only question was, how did they keep the MCO away from them.

Tour Maine-Montparnasse
Late Afternoon

Even on Christmas day the Tour Maine-Montparnasse was fairly busy. The tallest skyscraper in Paris, many people wanted to go all the way to the top to watch the sunset. It was also the only place in Paris where you couldn't see the Tour Maine-Montparnasse, which was widely declared to be the ugliest building in Paris.

John stepped out of the elevator and saw Katherine and Magali almost immediately. Katherine had worked her magic and now looked like a tanned young woman, while her partner in crime looked to be almost eighteen and was equally tanned.

Waving to them, he walked over and making sure no one was too close, decided to see if the agent he'd spoken to earlier had been lying. “So Magali, what did it feel like murdering an MCO agent?”

The teenager practically jumped in shock and confusion. “What?!”

Katherine looked almost as shocked. “What are you talking about?”

“Well that answers that,” he said, smiling at the girl. “Sorry, the agent and I had a little talk and he spun an interesting tale. Needed to see if it was true or not. You passed with flying colours.”

“They said I'm a murderer?” she whispered.

“That's what the man told me. Now I want to help you even more. Unfortunately I have no good ideas.”

“I've been thinking about that, while you were playing with your friends. I've got an idea,” Katherine said, smiling viciously.

Intrigued, John leaned against the window and listened to her plan. By the time she was done telling her idea, he was grinning just as nastily.

Latin Quarter, Paris
Morning, December 26th

John sat at an outside table enjoying a warm coffee on the cool morning. He desperately needed the caffiene after the mostly sleepless night, he still made sure to look his best, appearance was everything. Katherine and Magali were close by, wandering in and out of stores, making sure to constantly be on the move. He'd prefer having them hiding in some backroom out of site, but they couldn't know when the MCO would have their pet psychic spy on them. It was safer for them to stay in the crowds.

He'd been watching the street for over an hour when his two favourite people in the world appeared.

“Agents Monet, Balland!” he shouted. “I've been waiting all morning for you. Come here, get a coffee and sit down. We have so much to discuss.”

The two men looked at him, then at each other. They weren't used to their prey inviting them over for coffee. They walked over, looking around for any potential surprises, when they were satisfied everything was on the up and up, they sat down.

“Sorry about your hand, Monet,” John said, motioning at the large bandage that covered the side of the mans hand.

“Why do you seem so happy to see us?” Balland demanded, his moustache twitching with anger.

“My partner, Marionette, she has a hobby. She loves taking photos. She even insisted we get an instant camera for Christmas, despite us being down on our luck. She's quite good at it too. And did you know, Marque is pretty talented as well.”

“What are you talking about?” Monet asked. From the look in his eyes, he knew what was coming.

“Last night we decided to take some photos. And while they're quite good, I don't think they put you in a very flattering light.” He slid a large brown envelope across the table.

Balland hesitated before opening it and taking out the photos. His face turned red at the sight of the first one.

John really couldn't blame him. The photo showed Balland in bed only wearing underwear, leaning over a similarly clad girl who was clearly a young teenager. He dropped the photos, pulled out his gun and pointed it at John.

The people around them shouted in surprise and fear, hastily getting to their feet and running inside or down the street.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you,” John said, grinning like the Cheshire cat. “Marionette and one of my Parisian friends have a lot more pictures. And every single MCO agent I have seen in person or in a picture is in one or more of them. Agent Monet, you'll really like the next one.”

Monet took the photos and looked at the next one. It showed him getting a thick wad of cash from a woman heavily wrapped up in clothes, with a bit of purple skin showing at the wrist and around her sunglasses. “What do you want?” the agent asked.

“First, Balland put the gun down. Unless you want to explain all of this to the gendarme.”

Balland lowered the gun. He was shaking with rage, but was still capable of thinking.

“Thank you. Now I still have some legal business in Paris. It will be finished in another one to three days. If I have to keep on the move, it will take longer and someone is going to get hurt. So here's the deal. You stop looking for Marque, Marionette and I, and we disappear. You will not hear of us or our actions while we're in Paris. As soon as my business is done, we will leave France. Once we're in a safe country, all of our photos will be burned.” Leaning back in his chair, completely relaxed, he waited for their response, knowing exactly what it will be.

“You're blackmailing the MCO,” Monet said.

He nodded happily. “Yes I am. It's either that or we start playing for keeps, and neither of us wants to do that.”

“How can we trust you? You're a thief and a murderer.”

“I'm a con artist, who does some theft on the side. I value my anonymity. I slip in, trick some people, maybe pick a pocket or two on the way out and disappear. If I release these photos, I'll be declaring war on the MCO. What do I gain from that?” he asked.

Seeing their hesitation, he pushed a little more. “You can shoot me right now, the photos get released, the MCO takes a hit and you and all your friends end up in prison or unemployable. I can release the photos in three days, and then I'm enemy number one for every MCO agent in Europe and maybe America. Either way, we both lose. You forget Mille, Marionette and Marque exist for one week, and everyone walks away to play again another day.”

Monet stood up, put the photos back in the envelope and grabbed his partner by the arm. “If you commit any crimes in Paris, or are still here in one week, we will hunt you down like a dog.”

“I'm glad we could come to an understanding. Have a good day gentlemen.” Tipping his hat to the men, he hurried away. The police would likely be arriving soon and he had no desire to be anywhere near the area when they arrived.

Boston, Massachusetts,
December 31st, 1988

Sipping his wine, John was truly happy with his life. They were at a great restaurant, fat and happy after a meal fit for a king. He was dressed to the nines in an expensive suit, drinking wine that cost ten thousand dollars a bottle, staring into the eyes of the most beautiful woman in the world. Katherine was wearing a fantastic dress that would normally be seen at the Oscars, with a fortune of jewels and white gold as accessories.

Magali was there as well, sipping her drink, juice not wine since they were in America. She was dressed more plainly, entirely by her own choice. Her pants and shirt had still cost several hundred dollars, and she had bags of clothes waiting for her in their hotel suite.

Normally, he would be put out having a tag along with them. But the girl was growing on him, it felt good having someone to protect and guide. He'd almost be a little disappointed if they decided to send her to Whateley.

Looking around, he realized that things weren't going to get much better than this.

Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a little, battered box. “Katherine, I'd planned on giving this to you on Christmas Eve at Notre Dame, but things kept happening. So I'll do it now.”

Getting down on one knee, he held up a simple diamond ring. “You've been my partner in crime, stuck with me through thick and thin, gotten me out of some tight spots, and made me a better person. Without you, I don't think life would be worth living. Will you marry me?”

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she got a huge grin. “Yes,” she cried, jumping into his arms.