Assembling Evil

The cold breeze was just what the girl needed. The heat wave had made going outside an endeavor in itself but the lectures in the overfilled classroom were torture. Trying to understand the professor required the utmost concentration; something that she was now lacking. Fortunately the professor had the same problem. This resulted in more time spent on breaks than lectures. Now that the sun was going down people actually enjoyed themselves. As she walked down the street she heard excited cries from the local sports bars. For a moment she thought about joining them, but decided against it. She had far too much studying to do. She could just catch the highlight on TV.

By the time she reached her apartment the sun had gone down. She dropped her bag and opened the fridge. She grabbed some leftover pizza and settled down on an old, patchy couch.

As she ate she noticed a small green light darting across the evening sky. She soon realized that no airplane could move like that, and got up. As she walked closer to the window the light grew stronger and stronger.

It stopped moving. The girl watched it intensely for several seconds, before it suddenly gave off a bright green flash; blinding the girl. It took minutes before she could see properly again. When she did she realized she was no longer in her apartment.

She was standing in a room with black walls, a black floor and a black ceiling. There were no apparent light sources, but for some reason she could see the room with some difficulty.

The girl's heartbeat skyrocketed and her breathing became shallow. She looked around for an opening, but couldn't find anything. All the surfaces were perfectly smooth and featureless.

A low hissing sound began all around the girl. Suddenly the air was thick with a taste she didn't recognize, and as she started to panic she breathed in lungfuls of the gas. Slowly her heartbeat calmed and her vision became blurry. It didn't take long before she fell unconscious.

* * *

As the aircraft touched down Marcus Smith breathed a sigh of relief. Finally he could get off the damn plane. Trans-Atlantic flights were a pain, even on business class.

He reached out and woke up his companion, Doctor Shaun Williams, who had somehow managed to sleep through the landing. He responded by mumbling something about decay rates before turning in his seat. This was of course somewhat complicated by the fact that he was still wearing his seatbelt.

They had received a number of odd looks during the flight, mostly due to their rather diametric appearances. Marcus was wearing a black tailored suit and matching leather gloves and his blonde hair was cut rather short. Shaun on the other hand was wearing unclean jeans and a t-shirt with some formula that a mathematician would probably have found hilarious, but didn't make sense to anyone else. His brown hair was a tangled mess and he had a few days worth of facial hair. Most people would probably assume that Shaun had poor hygiene. Marcus knew that he just got distracted far too often to even consider such trivial things.

Shaun finally woke as the boarding ramp was attached. He's got something of a talent for that, Marcus thought.

The captain thanked everyone for a pleasant flight while they gathered their things. Marcus only had a messenger bag that had stayed close to him at all times during the flight. Shaun on the other hand had a backpack full of things that probably shouldn't be on a plane.

He followed the crowd of fellow passengers to the passport control, but as they approached more and more people had stopped and were frenetically searching their bags for something. Marcus couldn't help smiling at the sight.

The man at the checkpoint only offered a token look at Marcus' and Shaun's passports, his attention focused on the mass of tourists and businessmen that now demanded to speak with his superior.

"What was that all about?" Shaun asked once they'd cleared the checkpoint.
Marcus opened his bag and took out about two dozen passports, all issued to different persons and in different countries.
"You stole them?" Shaun asked.
Marcus nodded.
"But why?"
"Well, I was bored and decided to challenge myself," Marcus said. "That, and you spent most of our money on plutonium just before we left. These should help get us started."

Marcus put the passports back in his bag before asking, "By the way, what did you need the plutonium for?"
"Oh that. I was hoping to do a quick experiment before we left," said Shaun "Nothing fancy. Just trying to reduce the amount needed to achieve fission."

Marcus mentally kicked himself.
"Do you mean to say you built a nuke? A working nuclear weapon?"
"Don't worry. I didn't get to finish it," said Shaun slightly dismayed. "I didn't get the detonator working."
"So what you're saying is that there is a nuclear weapon somewhere in London that only needs a detonator?"
"Don't be silly, Marcus," said Shaun cheerfully. "It's in Belfast."
"Lovely," Marcus said, his spirits raised. At least there the damn thing might do some good, he thought

The two passed customs by means of a suspiciously placed suitcase that Marcus stole from some unlucky passenger. Once placed alone near a pillar and an innocent tip to one of the security guards it didn't take long before the entire airport was evacuated and the bomb squad called. In the ensuing commotion both of them slipped out.

Once a safe distance from JFK Marcus hailed a taxi and told the driver to take them to Manhattan.
* * *
From her vantage point at the top of the skyscraper Rachel Murphy could hear the sirens from the streets below. The police had erected barricades around the bank and had managed to keep nosy reporters and curious bystanders away from the entrance. Inside Von Metzger and several of his minions had taken hostages and were emptying the bank vault. In not too long she would storm the place with the aid of the ULH.

She was wearing black body armour which, on her petite frame, made her look quite rotund. Over her back an AKM had been strapped tight and she had a Colt 1911 holstered on her hip.

There was a loud crack. Rachel could see a number of brightly coloured people flying into the bank. The sonic boom that followed rattled every window in the area. Rachel muttered a few choice curse words to herself before putting on her helmet and securing the strap. A second later she took a deep breath and performed a swan dive off the skyscraper.

As she hurtled towards the ground Rachel concentrated hard, and as she did she started to feel lighter and fall slower. She then twisted her legs towards the ground. When she finally reached it she landed on her feet with hardly any momentum, as if she had just jumped down from a chair, instead of the bloody mess everybody who had seen her jump had been expecting. Then she ran into the bank.

Inside it was the usual carnage. Shattered glass was lying everywhere. Several innocent bystanders were dead or wounded. Others huddled in corners and beneath desks. Several men wearing ski masks were lying in a pool of their own blood. But not all of them were.

Two men, who had hidden behind an overturned desk, rose up with submachine guns pointed at her. She saw one of them moving for the trigger. Rachel concentrated and both the guns flew out of the hands of the men and hit the roof.

The men stood still, stunned at how their weapons defied the laws of physics. Rachel let them. This was the fun part. She let the guns fall back to the ground, albeit at a much slower speed than normal. She had learned the hard way why guns shouldn't be dropped.

The masked men looked at her for a moment before deciding to do two very different things. One of them grabbed a chair and charged her. The other one did the smart thing and ran. Rachel sent the charging man flying sideways into a decorative pillar without as much as blinking. There was a loud crunching sound when he hit. There was a louder one when Rachel tipped the pillar over him.

The other man was trying to open a window when he started to soar weightlessly through the air. He screamed several obscenities before he violently hit the floor with a loud thud. As he lay there groaning in pain, Rachel walked up to him and placed her foot on his chest.

"You are experiencing about 3 Gs right now," she said in a matter-of-factly manner. "That's the reason you can't get up and why it feels like the Statue of Liberty is standing on your chest. Now, I'm gonna ask you some questions and if I think you are lying I'm gonna get up and stand on you. Understand?"
"Y-yes," the man managed to say.

"Excellent," Rachel said. "Where's your boss?"
"Upstairs," the man said. "On the roof. Those other guys went after him."
'Those other guys', Rachel thought. Probably my impatient allies.
"Are there any more of your friends hiding at this floor?"
The man gave Rachel a scared look before keeping his silence. Rachel responded by fulfilling her promise and started shifting her weight. It didn't take long before panic surfaced.
"Over by the teller! Please!" the man shouted.

In the blink of an eye everything by the teller's booth became weightless and started flying around. Innocent bystanders screamed in terror as they found themselves swimming with various office supplies, but there was one that stood out. He was wearing a ski mask and combat fatigues.

Rachel set the bystanders carefully down. The same could not be said for the robber. He hit the ground with a massive crash that echoed through the bank. As the dust settled the man could be heard groaning in pain and some of his limbs bent in ways they shouldn't.

Rachel stepped off the man she'd interrogated. He awkwardly rose to his feet and looked at his comrade. His breathing quickened and he gave Rachel a doe-eyed look. Then he fell, not to the ground, but horizontally, towards a nearby window. The glass shattered when he hit, but it did nothing to stop him.

There was a loud crash from outside, soon followed by a car alarm. Rachel laughed. Car alarms never got old. She then found the stairs to the roof.

The stairs were soaked in blood. As she got farther up she found the cause: several other robbers that had been beaten to a pulp. Quite literally in one case; his skull had been split open and bits of brain covered the walls. Rachel sidestepped the man. She had seen far worse and in far greater quantity.

As she approached the top of the stairs she could hear fighting and judging by the sound levels (and slight tremors) she guessed that it was the 'beat him senseless by means of the environment' school of fighting.

She reached door. It was open and she could see Wildcard. As Rachel walked out she saw she was talking to Jack Moore, the leader of the United League of Heroes. But the star of the show was The American, who was alternating between throwing Von Metzger into the various roof mounted installations and throwing said installations onto Von Metzger.

As soon as he saw her, Moore walked up to Rachel.
"You're late! Where have you been?" he demanded.
"I decided to secure the lobby first," Rachel said. "It doesn't look you needed my help all that much anyway."
"And what if it hadn't gone this well? Then what?" Moore said. His face was dark red.
"Then maybe you'd give me a heads up before storming in," Rachel said.

Moore clenched his fists. Rachel got ready to obliterate the man. He had hit her once and that had resulted in a concussion and a broken jaw. Since then she'd pretty much waited for an excuse to return the favor.

Unfortunately it didn't present itself, as The American threw the beaten Von Metzger at Moore's feet. He gave the man a good kick to the face before standing proud above him as he began what Rachel had come to term the 'superiority speech'.

She walked far enough away so she wouldn't have to listen to it and opened an ammunition pocket and fished out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. As she lit it Wildcard walked up to her.
"You know, smoking kills," she said without a hint of jest in her voice.
Rachel scoffed. "Yeah? So do we. I haven't seen anyone complaining."
Wildcard didn't respond.

Wildcard was one of those with the impractical kind of costume, like Rachel long ago. She wore white leather pants and tank top, neither protecting much. But as long as she didn't wear a black dress Rachel didn't mind.

"Do we know why he needed the money?" Rachel asked.
"Some new doomsday device. Nothing new," said Wildcard, her thoughts seemingly elsewhere.

"Is something wrong?" Rachel asked.
Wildcard massaged her neck. "The rent is due today but I'm broke. I was hoping to make some cash today, but then I'm needed here, except, I'm not really... Jack and The American did pretty much everything without my help."
"You're not alone," said Rachel glumly. She was two weeks behind on her rent and unlike Wildcard she didn't have any regular employment.

She pushed back her worries when she saw that Moore had finished his speech and was gloating.
"Girls, let's send this monster back to where he belongs," he said.

Rachel groaned and extinguished her cigarette.
"You're kidding, right?" she said. "We are just gonna send him back to prison? For what? So that he can just break out again in two weeks time, recruit a few more criminal idiots and do it all over again?"

She walked up to Moore and looked down at Von Metzger. It was a pitiful sight. The man was bruised and had several deep cuts in his face. When she leaned to look closer he started whimpering. If it had been any other man she might have felt bad for him, but you had to earn a name like Von Metzger.

"What do you suggest?" The American asked.
"Something a bit more permanent," Rachel said.

As she said it she pulled her pistol and, without hesitating, she shot Von Metzger in the head. Not once, but three times. The end result wasn't pretty.

Moore grabbed her by the vest and pushed her against a nearby wall.
"What the hell do you think you're doing!?" he bellowed at her.
"Pest control?" Rachel suggested. As she said it she clandestinely aimed her pistol at him. One wrong move and he'd find himself missing a kidney.

"We don't kill people," he said.
"The people in the stairs beg to differ," said Rachel.
"That was self defense!"

Rachel scoffed. "Come on Jack, it's not like anyone of those could actually harm any of us. America is bulletproof, Wildcard once recovered from being nuked and you could just as easily have turned their guns into styrofoam. In fact, you could've turned my gun into styrofoam, but you didn't."

Moore let go of her and stepped away. He gave her a look that might have killed puppies. Then he gave a nod to The American before walking down the stairs. The American looked first at the body of Von Metzger and then at Rachel with watery eyes before following Moore downstairs.

Rachel turned to Wildcard, who had been standing close to one of the duffel bags that Von Metzger and his men had filled with money. She pocketed a small wad of notes in a hurry before turning to Rachel.
"I better get down. They might need me."

As she left, Rachel leaned back and got out her cigarette pack. She smiled. There was at least one less person in the world trying to kill her. As she finished smoking she Concentrated on changing her own gravity and started to fall home.

* * *
The street was so packed with people that someone bumping into another was pretty much inevitable.  Combined with the fact that most of the people were upper-middle class meant that Marcus had just found what he suspected to be pickpocket heaven.

As he walked amongst them nobody noticed their wallets, phones and other valuables going from their pockets to Marcus' bag. He now had, in addition to the passports, twelve wallets with both cash and cards, even more cell phones and a watch he'd managed to sneak off some distracted man's wrist. All in all a pretty good haul.

He found the café where he had left Shaun, who was tinkering with a small gadget he had brought along from England. The device looked like a winged corkscrew with more spikes than seemed strictly necessary.

"So, I've got some stuff," said Marcus, deciding that he didn't really want to know what it was for. He opened the bag and showed the content. "It should get us some decent starting capital."
"Does that mean we can get a hotel room?" Shaun asked, not looking up.
"Not yet," said Marcus. "Most of this stuff isn't exactly standard currency. We need to find a fence."
"So let's look around," said Shaun with undue enthusiasm. "I'm sure we'll find one if we ask around."

If only it were that easy, Marcus thought.

* * *
The apartment complex was one of the older buildings in New York, but not in a nostalgic way. The paint was faded and in several places nonexistent. Most utilities only worked occasionally and the entire building seemed structurally unsound.

And, unfortunately for Rachel, it was her home.

After Rachel's identity as a superhero had come out nobody wanted to hire her. She'd known the reason for a long time. Superheroes were always late, their co-workers would often be killed just to spite them and their workplace would on occasion turn into a warzone. In fact several insurance agencies refused to give insurance if a company had a know superhero on staff.

This had lead to one thing: Rachel was broke. Her parents would occasionally send her some money, but not enough. It just barely covered her living expenses. And in addition to that she had to maintain and supply several weapons. She'd long ago begun taking ammunition from fallen foes.

As she entered Rachel was careful not to make too much sound. She sneaked up the stairs and into her apartment. She wasn't in the mood to argue with the landlord about the missing rent.

The apartment was a single room and a common bathroom. The room contained only a bed (or rather a foam mattress with some bed sheets), a drawer and a handful of old books. She had been forced to sell her possessions to make ends meet, but her supply of valuables was running low.

She removed her bulletproof vest and laid down on the bed. Everything had gone to hell. During the last years things had slowly gone downhill. There had been more crime, and thus more work, ever since the League of Goodness had left to stop the ancient evils. Moore was getting more and more unhinged. And then there were the Norwegians…

As she laid there she thought about Wildcard. She might have an idea, she thought. Nobody would complain if she robbed thieves and the thieves were unlikely to press charges. She started to think about all the things she could get with some extra cash. A place with hot water in the bathroom found its way to the top of the list pretty soon with a proper bed following closely.

She'd decided. She was going to find some lowlife scum and literally make him pay.

* * *
Shaun's enthusiasm had been entirely unfounded. Finding a fence had proved problematic, especially as Shaun had the subtlety of a nuclear detonation. Several of Marcus' discrete inquiries had been shot down because of his bluntness.

Marcus was ready to give up. The sun was setting and although he didn't have enough cash for the kind of place he wanted, it would still get them decent lodging. He grabbed Shaun, who had been explaining to some girls how the buttered cat paradox could actually be made to work within certain environments, and left the bar.

Back out on the streets the crowds were changing. The business people had left and now people were flocking to the bars and nightclubs. As they walked down the street Marcus saw a figure hovering above the crowd. As the figure slowly glided closer his fears were confirmed. A man wearing a skintight suit coloured red, white and blue.

He couldn't tell exactly who it was, the number of superheroes wearing that colour combination was quite staggering, but considering this was the United States he felt it was better to play it safe.

Marcus grabbed Shaun and led him into a nearby alley, away from the approaching guardian of truth and justice. He dragged Shaun behind some dumpsters and peeked around the corner as the superhero glided past.

* * *
From her vantage point Rachel could see the two men crouching behind the dumpsters. As she observed them she decided they would make ideal targets.

She silently leapt from the building, gaining speed as she fell, before suddenly slowing down and landing, maybe not gracefully, but at least not with a crash.

The two men hadn't noticed her. Their attention was on The American who was patrolling the streets.

One of the men, the one Rachel assumed was the leader, was a tall white man with short blond hair. He was wearing a tailored black suit with matching gloves. This lead to stark contrast with his companion who had tangled brown hair and unwashed clothes. He also carried a large backpack.

Rachel silently sneaked closer. As she went she took her pistol out of the holster. She took up position behind some cover and pointed the gun at the head of the man in the suit. Then she released the safety.

The sound wasn't loud, but enough for the men to notice. They both slowly turned. The man with the dirty clothes gave Rachel an odd look, his eyes darting from the gun to Rachel herself. The man in the suit just looked down the barrel, smiling.
"It would seem you have me at a disadvantage," he said calmly. "What are you going to do?" His voice had more than a hint of mockery in it.
"You're gonna give me all the valuables you have stolen and then you're gonna turn yourselves in." Her voice didn't carry the commanding tone she had wished for, but at least she didn't foul up her lines.

The man stood up.
"I don't think so," he said. "Actually--"

As he said it he took a step towards Rachel. She didn't hesitate and pulled the trigger. The bullet stuck centre mass, but to no effect. The moment the bullet hit, the man dissolved into black smoke that hung there in the shape of him. A second later the smoke reformed and he was solid again. He chuckled.
"They always do that," he said. "Ready Shaun?"

Rachel turned. The other guy was standing with what looked like a gun made out of white plastic, glass and steel. The gun also had a rectangular barrel, something that puzzled Rachel for a second. She stopped caring the moment the gun started humming ominously.

She dived for cover behind some trashcans and narrowly avoided the bright light fired from the gun. The shot hit a garbage bag and it burst into flame, filling the air with a noxious odour.

"So be it," she muttered to herself.
She stood up and looked at the two men. The man called Shaun pointed the weapon at her and the low hum started again. But before he could fire his local gravity shifted and he fell sideways into a wall and stayed there.

Rachel turned to the man in the suit.
"Didn't see that one coming did you?" she said.
"No... I'll admit that I didn't," he said and dissolved into smoke again.

Rachel focused on the man and shifted the man's gravity. The smoke became rather turbulent but didn't make any other indication of Rachel's influence.
"Oh crap..." she said.
"Yeah," said the man, clearly amused. "You know I wasn't sure if that was actually going to work."

There was a long silence. "Anyway... Now what?" the man asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, it would seem you can't hurt me and I'm not much of a fighter myself. I think that's called a stalemate."
"I could kill your friend. I can make his chest weigh a hundred times more than normal and crush him. So maybe not."

The man gave a look to his friend who was still stuck on the wall. He had made several attempts at getting off but the amount of Gs made them all in vain.

"I would advise against that," the man said. "His father isn't a forgiving man. Of course, come to think about it, neither am I. Now you may live to tell the tale for a while, but we'd get you in the end."
"I would like to see you try," said Rachel giving the man a confident smile.
"Yes, I guess you would," said the man. "But personally, a vendetta would just be needlessly violent and bothersome right now. So how about this; we walk our different ways and never bother each other again, not counting the odd mass fight, naturally."
Rachel shook her head. "No. I've got a rent to pay and whatever loot you've got is gonna pay it. I'm not leaving."

The man stared at Rachel for several seconds in disbelief before starting to laugh.
"What's so funny," Rachel demanded.
As soon as the man stopped laughing he walked right up to Rachel and tried to pat her on the back; something that didn't go that well as he was still a cloud of smoke.

"Tell you what; I've got a proposition for you."
"What?" Rachel said. His sudden change of tone didn't help her suspicion.
"Me and my friend here," he said, moving his hand in the direction of the man still stuck on the wall. "We have a lot of stuff that isn't exactly standard currency."
"Stolen stuff or drugs?" Rachel asked.
"Stuff. And I don't know anyone that might buy them. But you, you're a local. And, judging by your behaviour, I'm guessing a crime fighter. So you probably know a few people that might be interested in the stuff I've got."

"And why would you assume that?" Rachel said. "You really think I hang around lowlifes like you on my spare time?"
"Let me rephrase that," he said. "You probably beat shit out of these people when you need something. If you lead us to them I'll give you a third of the profit."
"And just how much is a third? A third of a million? Or a third of a hundred. Or is this the part where we bargain about the split?"
"I was hoping not, because if this fails we're back to death threats and assorted unpleasantness," the man said cheerfully.  "I was kinda hoping to avoid that. Anyway, with two thirds of the cash I'm hoping will get me and Shaun here a nice hotel for a few days. So if it's enough for you depend on whether your rent is batshit insane."

Rachel studied the man. His exact facial expression was hard to make out as the smoke never stayed in one place for long. He might have been trying to look reassuring, but came off as rather demonic instead.

Slowly and carefully she lowered her pistol. As she did the man became corporeal again.

"I'm afraid I didn't catch a name," he said.
"Rachel Murphy," she told him. "And don't make a joke. I've heard them all."
"Okay Murphy. I'm Marcus Smith and the guy you still got stuck to the wall is Doctor Shaun Williams."

Rachel released her mental hold on the man and he fell to the ground. Smith walked over and helped him onto his feet. Once up he was up he started to massage his chest. He then whispered something Rachel couldn't hear. She did, however, hear Smith's response:
"No, I don't like her much myself either."

"I can, for all intents and purposes, fly us to the place we want," said Rachel, ignoring Smith's comment. "It would be a lot quicker than walking."

Smith gave her a suspicious look. "For all intents and purposes?"
"Well, technically I change the local gravity and we fall in the intended direction. Practically the same."

"No," said Dr. Williams. "No more gravity. I'd rather walk."
"You need gravity to walk," said Rachel.
"Oh yeah," said Williams with a smile. "But I'll still walk."

He picked up his rifle and stuffed it into his backpack before walking back out on the street. Rachel turned to Smith who just shrugged before following him. Rachel sighed before following.

Rachel led them to another back alley half an hour's walk away. It was a dead end with just a few open dumpsters lining the far wall. The only thing of interest was the stairs down to a basement. The basement door was reinforced steel with a small peephole in it.

"This is it," she said.
She stepped up to the door and knocked three times. Each knock echoed through the alley. The peephole was opened and a pair of eyes could be seen on the other side.

"You can make this painless and just open the door, or we can do this the fun way," said Rachel.
The man on the other side of the door looked at her for a moment before he closed the slit and started to yell a warning. He didn't get to finish it.

The door buckled for a moment before it detached from its hinges and fell free of the doorframe. It continued into the hallway on the other side and hit the man. The impact sent him flying into the wall and the door followed after him, pinning him there. Rachel released her hold on the local gravity and the door, with the man following close behind, crashed to the ground. She smiled to herself.

"That was cathartic," she said as she crossed the threshold.
Smith frowned. "Doesn't catharsis usually involve art of some kind?"
"You don't think this count as art?"
"Maybe... Who knows what counts as art these days," said Smith as he stepped over the man and followed Rachel down a corridor.

"You know, there is one thing I've been wondering about. Just how did you know I was evil?" he asked.
Rachel turned to face him. "Well, hiding from The American did give me quite the hint, but there were other factors."
"Ahh, let me guess. It's because I'm British and wearing this suit," he said. "Yes, that combo has ruined a number of covers."
"Well, yes, but actually it was your hair colour that tipped me off. No man with blonde hair has ever been good. It's a law or something."
Smith put his hand trough his hair. "It's a dye job."
"My point still stands," said Rachel.
"It probably does..."

As they approached the end of the corridor shouting could be heard. When Rachel reached the door this too detached from its hinges, although with less force than the first one. As she entered the room she saw a lot of boxes filled with various items. There was a desk in the middle of the room with two flimsy chairs at opposite ends. At the far side of the room three men were desperately trying to clear away some of the boxes blocking a backdoor.

"I really wouldn't try that," said Rachel.
The three men quickly turned around and their eyes widened once they saw her. They all pressed their backs up against the wall by the door, as if they hoped to simply phase through it.
"Because I booby trapped that door a few weeks back."

Rachel couldn't help smiling as the three men panicked and ran towards her until they realized what they were doing and settled on a spot exactly in the middle.

"Care to introduce us?" said Smith who was standing by the demolished door with Dr. Williams.
"Oh yes," Rachel said cheerfully. "Smith, this is Wallace, also known as The Ragdoll. Ragdoll, this is Smith. Mr. Smith would like to do some business."

Ragdoll's eyes went from Rachel to Smith a few times before he slowly sat down at the table. His two associates crept into a nearby corner. Marcus calmly went to the table and started unloading stolen goods onto it before sitting down himself. Williams started to look through the various boxes in the room, occasionally stopping to examine some object closer. Rachel herself leaned against the remains of the doorframe and started to imagine how she would spend her cut.

For several minutes only the low conversation between Smith and Ragdoll could be heard, occasionally interrupted by Williams rummaging through a box. This silence was suddenly interrupted by the sound of Smith slapping Ragdoll across the face.
"You can look at pretty yet deadly girl later," said Smith. "Right now I want your attention here."

Rachel stepped over to the table. As she came close Ragdoll looked as if he was about to wet himself.
"I take it there is a problem," Rachel said.
"It seems your associate here has a crush on you Miss Murphy," Smith said. "Now normally I wouldn't give a rat's arse, but it is proving to be quite a distraction."
Rachel leaned across the table towards Ragdoll. She could smell the sweat and his breathing was rapid.
"Either you get this done, or I'm gonna demonstrate how you got that nickname."

Rachel wouldn't have been surprised if the man had wet himself. He certainly looked ready to. She could hear Smith stifle a chuckle before talking.
"Now I'm as big a fan of threats as any bloke, but to be frank, I'm not so sure if that's the best course of action right now."
"What do you suggest?" asked Rachel.
"How about you wait outside? You've already rigged the backdoor to blow, so there's only one way out."
"You can turn to smoke," Rachel said, not hiding her suspicion. "What's to stop you from just floating through the keyhole or something?"
"True, but that would kind of defeat the whole purpose of this deal," Smith said. "Shaun would still be stuck here and you would probably just crush him for the hell of it. You strike me as the type."

Rachel looked at Williams, who was looking back at the two while absentmindedly rubbing his ribs. He looked like a child in the proximity a particularly mean bully. The way he looked at her made Rachel feel slightly sorry for him. She turned to Smith and Ragdoll.
"Okay, but don't take too long. And if I don't get my money I'll take out my frustration on the lot of you." She looked at the two men who had been hiding in the corner. "That includes you."

With that Rachel walked outside. It was probably for the best. She wanted a smoke and, after so many years in New York, habit meant she could only do it outside. Her teammates were partly to blame for that.

She lit up a cigarette the moment she stepped outside and looked around the alley. The place was a dead end alley filled with garbage. At the end there were two dumpsters overflowing with black bags. Rachel couldn't tell what was in them, but the smell meant she didn't want to find out.

The alley was flanked by tall buildings, making it hard to see the sky. Rachel couldn't see any stars, but considering the amount of light pollution in New York she wasn't surprised. It was one of the things she missed. Rural Canada could be a crappy place, but at least it was pretty.

She leaned against the wall and was about to start reminiscing when something hit one of the dumpsters behind her. Whatever it was, it was enough to make the lid slam shut, and the resulting noise made Rachel react by pure instinct. She threw the cigarette away, ran to the shattered doorframe for cover and unholstered her gun. For a while she just stood there, ready for anything. When she realized that nothing was happening she started to take a few careful steps forward. As she came nearer she focused on the dumpster's lid and used her powers to slowly open it. She couldn't see anything, but something had hit the garbage with a lot of force. She stepped closer.

Something lunged out. Rachel was caught by surprise and fell. However she managed to keep the gun trained on the dumpster. She struggled to get back on her feet, but stopped when she saw her attacker: a naked girl trying to crawl out.

Rachel got to her feet and put her gun back in its holster. The girl was a mess; her brown hair was long and tangled and her tanned skin was smeared with various substances from the dumpster. But the worst thing was her eyes. They were wider than Rachel had thought possible and they reacted to everything as if it was new and utterly terrifying.

The girl managed to pull herself out of the dumpster and fell face first on the asphalt. She didn't seem to care. She crawled behind some garbage and disappeared from sight. Rachel carefully followed.

She found her in a fetal position, shivering violently. When she saw Rachel approaching she made a low whimpering sound that intensified as she came closer. Rachel stopped and kneeled a few feet from the girl.

"Are you ok?" she asked, before realizing that it was a pretty stupid question. The girl merely whimpered some more. "What happened to you?"
This time the girl responded. "Where am I?"
"New York," Rachel said.
"Where's New York?" the girl asked, still shivering.

"Oh crap," Rachel muttered to herself. Behind her she could hear the sound of two men talking.
"I have to say Murphy; you got us a great deal. I swear that guy paid more than that stuff was actually worth." Smith's voice could be heard from the corridor.
"Oh crap!" Rachel said again, this time loud enough for the girl to hear. She hugged herself even tighter.
"I have no idea how he is going to turn a profit on it though. But I guess that really isn't my prob--" Smith stopped talking when he saw them. He stood still for a moment before speaking. "Murphy, is there any particular reason why you're with a naked girl?"

Rachel scowled at him before turning back to the girl. "What's your name?"
The girl seemed lost in thought for a second before she suddenly started breathing rapidly and look around franticly. She then started to mumble to herself.
"What's wrong?" Rachel asked.
"I can't remember," the girl said, covering her head with her hands.
"You can't remember your name?"
"I can't remember anything." The girl's voice broke and she started crying. Tears started to stream down her face. It just made her look even dirtier.

Smith walked closer. "Amnesia. Got it once myself. A right pain if I ever had one." Then he did something Rachel hadn't expected. He removed his jacket and was about to put it across the girl's shoulders, but hesitated for a second as he studied her back. When he finally put the jacket on the girl, his eyes were narrow.

"Did you notice the cuts," he said.
"What cuts?" asked Rachel. She sat down next to the girl who had stopped sobbing shortly after Smith gave her his jacket. She was now pulling it so close that Rachel feared it might tear.
"She's got a bunch of deep cuts along both sides of her spine," Smith said. "They're too straight to be accidental."

Rachel sat down by the girl and tried to look at her back. It wasn't easy, the girl was holding on to the jacket for dear life and it wasn't until Smith got her attention she let enough go of it for Rachel to get a proper look.

He was right. She had six deep cuts on her back; three on each side of the spine and each a few inches in length. There wasn't any blood. They all looked as if they'd been cauterized. The cuts came in pairs, two just below the shoulder blades, two at the backside of the ribcage and two about level with the kidneys. Rachel couldn't tell how deep they were, but deep enough to worry her.
"We should get her to a doctor," she said. Too late did she see that Smith was shaking his head.

"I can do that," said Williams from behind her. Rachel, who had completely forgotten about him, turned to see him standing with a device that had far too many spikes to be considered healthy. "Trust me, I'm a doctor!" he said and walked towards the girl.

Smith rose to his feet and held out his hand to stop him. He leaned over and whispered something. Rachel only caught 'not a medical doctor' and 'find someone else to experiment on'. Reluctantly, Williams put the device back in his pocket and stepped away, sulking.

"Tell you what," Rachel said to Smith. "Why don't you just give me my money and then you two can go. I'll take care of her."
"And why on Earth would you do that?" asked Smith.
"Because I'm a goddamned hero, that's why!" Rachel yelled at him. "This is what I do!"
"Oh right," said Smith, suppressing a chuckle at her outburst. "To be quite honest, with all the threats and violence I had sort of forgotten. My mistake." He took some of money out of his pocket and held out a third of it. "I guess this concludes our business." Rachel snatched it out of his hand and pocketed it. "I guess this is where we part company," he said to the girl. "Best of luck to you." And with that he turned on the spot and walked away with Williams following him like an eager puppy. And then Rachel was alone with the girl.

Rachel turned to the girl, who was looking at her with curious eyes.
"Let's get you some food and a place to sleep," Rachel said as she gently tried to coax the girl to her feet. "Then we can figure out what happened to you tomorrow."

For the first time the girl smiled. "Food sounds nice," she said and crawled to her feet. Her smile, however, disappeared the moment she stood up and realized that Smith's jacket wasn't long enough. She immediately crouched back down and covered herself. Rachel sighed. She'd feared this moment. Getting the girl from the alley to her apartment would be difficult. The ideal method would've been to use her gravity powers to 'fly', but considering the girl's condition that was out of the question. And so was simply walking there.

Then Rachel heard groaning from the destroyed doorway. She stepped up and saw that the guy she had hit with the door was starting to come to his senses. Rachel suddenly realized that getting home without pants wasn't going to be their problem.

She walked over to the man, who was now realizing just how much pain he was in, and pulled off his pants. Then she gave them to the girl. The pants were far too big for her, but she seemed content. As Rachel gently led her out of the alley she even dared to smile.

The walk back to Rachel's apartment was uneventful. There were some curious looks, but in New York, a dirty girl in baggy pants and a tailored suit jacket didn't really register as that abnormal.

When they reached the apartment building the girl looked rather unsure.
"I think the alley was less dirty," she said.
"Unfortunately that's probably true," Rachel said. "But at least I've got a bed and some food."

Once they got inside Rachel told the girl to be quiet. The landlord was probably asleep, but she really didn't want to get into an argument or try to explain the situation. They snuck up the stairs and entered Rachel's one room apartment.

Rachel motioned towards the foam mattress. "You can have the bed. And I'm sure I've got some clothes you can borrow."She started to rifle through her clothes. It proved more difficult than she'd anticipated. She was quite petite, but the girl was both taller than her and had a large, athletic build. Finally she found an old, blue tracksuit that fit reasonably well.

The girl took the clothes and turned her back to Rachel before taking off the jacket. Once again Rachel saw the deep cuts on her back.
"Do those hurt?" she asked.

The girl stopped for a second, seemingly lost in thought, before putting the new jacket on in a hurry. "No..." Her voice cracked and her eyes teared up as she said it.
"Look, I know someone who might help," Rachel said, trying to sound as reassuring as she could. "I'll talk to them tomorrow. Now just try to get some rest and it will all work out just fine."

The girl nodded and wiped away the tears before huddling up on the mattress. She looked at Rachel. "Will you be here when I wake up?"
"I didn't go through all that just to leave you alone later."
The girl gave her what Rachel though must have been the sweetest smile ever before lying down and closing her eyes.

She watched the girl fall asleep. She looked like a kitten the way she curled up. A giant, human shaped, kitten. Rachel shook her head. It was moments like these she understood what they meant when they said sleep deprivation had the same effect as alcohol. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. Sleeping in this position wouldn't be hard; she'd slept in far worse conditions.