Topic: Call-In

[Commander La'ra]

Another City of Heroes fanfic, though not a Bob story this time 'round.

It's a sequel, of a sorts.  The GF wrote me a...erm...story...involving one of my villains and her hero.  I'm one of those people that always asks 'but what happened after that', and thus, I started working on Call-In.

Posting rate should be much faster than usual.  I'm writing this for the significant other, and she continually 'reminds' me that I should be working on it.  It's sort of like living in the same house with Grim Reaper in that respect.

------------------------------------


Call-In


"Back on in three."  The sandy-haired producer calls out.  The last strains of a commercial plays over the booth speakers.

"You're back to Mystery Lynn on Paragon City's Ninety-five-nine hottttttt FM...Murray in Skyway City has a problem with his neighbor's bedroom antics.  Could you tell us what the trouble is Murray?"

"Yeah, it's...it's the noise level.  I mean, I know they're into each other and all, but Christ, I work the early shift.  All f*ckin' night all I hear is 'Oh God' this and 'Harder!' and screaming and hollering.  I don't wanna spoil their fun, but I don't wanna start sleeping in earmuffs either."

"Have you said anything to them about it?"

"No...no...I mean, I figure they might try and keep it down.  I even talk to 'em occasionally, but it's kind of hard for me to bring up."

"Why's that?"

"Well...it's two women.  That doesn't bother me, I'm cool with that, but I don't...well..."

The DJ closes her eyes for a second.  Passions surround her, as individual as a face, or a voice, or a scent.  She picks Murray's out easily, drifts through it.  Distance isn't always an issue for Mystery Lynn.  Murray is talking directly to her.  That's as good as being inches away.

"You're worried they'll think you've been listening in."

Silence.

"A little, yeah."

"I'd still talk to them.  If they're as energetic as you're letting on they're probably aware of it."

"Man.  Afraid you'd say that."  Murray chuckles.  "Still gonna be rough."

"You'll manage I'm sure."  Mystery grins  "And there is the off chance they'll ask you to join in."

A nervous laugh from Murray.  A surge of excitement that let her know that he'd probably had that idea before.

"If that happens, though, you have to call back and tell us about it."

The call ends.

"Next up we have...oh my.  Hello, Razor."

"You rock!"  The voice in her headphones sounds young, enthusiastic, and somewhat stoned.

"What's going on with you today?"

"Just calling in for some free advertising, babe!  Bonesplatter's got a gig!"

Mystery didn't encourage people calling in to get airtime for their personal projects.  She didn't encourage people to call her babe.  She made exceptions for Razor.  His affection was honest, and his band eager.

"That's great."  She smiled.  "Where at, I might try and drop by."

"That club in IP!  Ah hell....where'd I put the flyer..."

There was only one place you'd call 'that club' in Independence Port.  It was just called 'Amp' this week, and usually featured the kind of music Razor and his merry thugs enthusiastically mangled. 

"Amp?"

"Yeah!  You rock."

"I know it well."  She admits.  She did.  She hadn't been there since it'd been a drug producing hideout for a gang of cybernetic anarchists known as the Freakshow.  She had a flash of memory.  Wild emotions, thrown punches, the able assistance of a well-liked fellow in a hat.  Someone had bought the warehouse at the police auction and turned it into a rave spot.  "When's the show?"

"Friday night at eleven!  You gonna swing by?"

"I might."

A spike of wild hope from Razor.

"Yeah!"  He shouts.  "You f*ckin' rock!"

She laughs, the call ends.  She glances at the clock.  It isn't time for another song yet.  She looks toward her producer, reads the words he’s fed to her call screen.

"Liz from Galaxy City, you're on the air."

"Hello there, Mystery."

The voice on the phone spoke perfect, unaccented English.  The Dee Jay recognizes it anyway.  More than the voice, the anger, the borderline mania, the hunger.

"Uhm...."  Mystery's fingers curl, uncurl.  She leans closer to her microphone, her voice quieter than it had been.  "...hello.  You had a question?"

"Yes, I did." 'Liz' replied.  "There's this woman.  We had an encounter I enjoyed considerably."

The Dee Jay has her eyes closed.  'Liz' is speaking precisely.  Excellent diction.  She was usually less formal, more emotive, despite her tendency for well thought out plans.  What was she up too?

"I see.  And you're..." 

"...hungry for another taste."

Feet shuffle against the broadcast room's floor.  Cheeks flush slightly.

"Well...have you tried calling her?  Asking her out?"

"Well."  There was a trace, a bare hint of 'Liz's' usual accent.  "I have called her."

"I...well how'd that work out?"  Mystery asks.  Her heartbeat is accelerating.  Excitement and fear.  She'd been carried to her car that night.  There'd only been one person it could've been, and that person knew her secret.

"I'm not sure yet."  Accent or no, that sentence was the 'Liz' she knew.  Unpredictable but deliberate.  Teasing, with the trace of a sadistic laugh.  "I'm still waiting to see what happens."

"Sounds like you know what to do...what was your question?"

"I wanted to know how you think she might respond."

The Dee-Jay squirms a little in her seat.

"No way to tell.  Just have to wait and see."

"Oh, see, I'm just...not very patient."  

Mystery reaches, trying to touch her caller's heart.  Hunger.  Lust.  Curiosity.  All seemingly normal, but mixed in odd portions.  She knew from experience that 2 + 2 with ‘Liz’ didn’t always equal 4.

“Well...maybe you’ll have to be.”

“Maybe.  Or maybe I should just be more assertive.  She’s got a great apartment.  Could surprise her there.  Jump on her and just have my way.”

“I...”  The inside of the Dee Jay’s mouth goes slightly dry.  “...don’t know.  Coming on too strong...you risk rejection.”

“In this case, ‘no‘ isn‘t an acceptable answer.”

Mystery shivers.  What was the woman suggesting?  Rape? Blackmail?

The Dee-Jay contemplates the possibilities.  Fear asserts itself, but something else too.  Something that’d enjoyed being abused, that’d been quite satisfied with the floodgates she’d opened out of desperation.

“I...”  She looks up.  Her engineer is giving her a look that states ‘what the f*ck?’ despite his silence.  She blinks.  “...I think it’s time to go to commercial.”

She hits a button.  A Cell Phone company begins preaching the dogma of better networking as Mystery whips off her headset, snatches up the phone’s for-real receiver.

“Look, I don’t understand wha....”

There’s no response, just the hum of the dial-tone.

Mystery exhales, replaces the telephone.  She leans back in her chair.  ‘Liz’ is capable of most anything, she knows.  She should take tonight as a threat.  She should take precautions.  When she goes home tonight, ‘Liz’ might actually be waiting.

She might not be, too.  Mystery knows. 

The thought gives her a chill.

[Lara]

LOL I do love this. Well done.

[Grim Reaper]

Wow, massive tension! If your gf writes as good as you, I'd love to see that story too.

As for living in my domain (2 links!), I think something can be worked out. She could be Ysabell's buddy. I even have a swing

[Scottish Andy]

wow... that's pretty cool... and damn hot!

Interesting twist with the 'empathic over the phone' attribute. Looking forward to more

[Commander La'ra]

Like I said...faster....

---------------------

The apartment door eases open.  The Dee Jay peeks in.  There's no one waiting for her, at least not in the living room.  If there's anyone hiding somewhere else, she cannot feel them.

She walks into her loft, turns on the lights.  Mystery was born with her abilities.  She trusts them as most do their sight, but as any person with functional eyes knows they see worse in the dark, the Dee Jay knows there are things she cannot sense.  She slides through the living room, checks the closet, the bedroom, the other closet, the bathroom.  There's no one waiting for her.

She bolts the door, not sure if what she's feeling is relief.

The Dee Jay knows she should be scared.  'Liz' was not entirely sane.  'Liz' wasn't even 'Liz', or she wasn't most of the time.  Her name was Wilhelmina.  Wilhelmina Elizabeth Einhorn.  No one called her Wilhelmina.  They called her Colonel.  Her crimes were extensive.  She had no abilities to match Mystery's, but she had firepower, brains, and a cadre of loyal soldiers-for-hire.  In the Dee Jay's other job, the two had tangled more than once.

Then, about a month ago, there was...the incident.

Mystery still isn't sure what to think about the incident.  It hadn't started out as what it became.  It shouldn't have transformed from apprehension to passion.  That was the problem with the Colonel.  Paths did not always take a logical route.

The Dee Jay removes her coat, hangs it on the rack near the door.  She fetches a drink...alcoholic though mildly so...from the fridge and walks to her windows.  Steel Canyon is spread out beneath her, millions of little lights burning in other people's windows.  If she stretches herself she can hear the people behind the windows, a vast droning of passions.  She doesn't.  It's an unpleasant sensation, like having a hundred loud songs playing at once.

She wonders if Colonel Einhorn...'Liz'...Wilhelmina...is watching her right now.  And if she is...she wonders what's she's thinking.


*   *   *



Mystery slid into bed after late night had become early morning.  She slept deeply.  She knew she was dreaming of 'Liz'...Wilhelmina...but couldn't remember the dream.

She lays in her bed.  The Colonel hadn't been waiting for her.  That was good, she supposes, but it didn't mean that she wasn't still in danger.  Why would the woman call her, taunt her, if she didn't have some plan?

Mystery has an answer, but she whispers it to herself, not quite fully acknowledging it.  She shakes her head.  Whether or not there was a supervillain targeting her for destruction, it was time to get up.

There's no show for the Dee Jay, today.  Three nights a week was her usual schedule, sometimes with a special broadcast on holidays.  There is, however, her other job.  The one that'd first brought her into contact with Colonel Einhorn. 

Superhero can seem like a silly thing to call yourself, so Mystery usually doesn't.  Costumed Crime Fighter is less pretentious, or so the Dee Jay believes, but she doesn't generally wear a costume.  Mystery's gifts can be used dramatically, but it tires her, wears her out quickly.  Thus, she usually uses more subtle methods, and to suit her tactics, doesn't dress in a fashion that would grab a dead man's attention.

She does have a costume.  It's hidden under some old Christmas decorations in the closet.  It doesn't get much mileage. 

It won't be getting any more today, Mystery decides, glancing out the window.  Snow is falling fitfully, and the wind cries out every so often.  Not a day for spandex.  Especially small amounts of spandex.

She gets out of bed, goes through her usual morning procedures though it's closer to afternoon than morning due to the lateness of her time slot..  She dresses;  jeans, shirt, sweatshirt with the logo of a local art festival, glasses.  There's also the belt strapped under the clothes and the device attached to it.  Unlike some other 'meta's' (as they're often called), Mystery cannot fly.  An extremely gifted man had built the device and with it, Mystery could take to the skies.

She probably wouldn't be using the thing today.  It got more use on costume days.  Occasionally though, spandex or not, she found herself in an exciting situation she wished to withdraw from quickly.  Hence, she usually wore the belt.

Mystery sets up her voice mail to forward calls to her cell.  She has friends in this business as well as in radio.  Sometimes they needed her help.  She slides her coat on and heads out of the apartment.

[Governor Ronjar]

Not Bob...but equally...enticing.

I want more of course...

--guv!

[Grim Reaper]

I'm curious how you are gonna play this out. Esp the tension curve. Gimme more, so I can see

[Commander La'ra]

Probably my favorite sequence from this story so far.

------------------

Mystery drives a Prius.  It's cheap on gas, quiet, and kind of nondescript.  Water sloshes under her tires as she pulls off the Argo Highway and onto Talos Island.

Talos Island is out in the bay, connected to the rest of Paragon City with some lengthy bridges.  It's commercial, but hipper than Steel Canyon or Galaxy City when it comes to image.  Lots of Internet-based companies have their offices here, and the executives go without ties or wear shorter skirts.  It's got its gangs and its troublemakers just like the rest of the city, though.  She's looking for a specific one today.

Billy.

She'd first 'met' Billy on a costume day.  He'd locked eyes with her during a street brawl.  She'd been about to put him to sleep or send him flying with a burst of telekinesis when she'd felt his sudden fascination.  It was sexual, of course -- Billy was a teenage male -- but the awkward innocence of the desire had stuck in her mind.  She had, despite the raging battle around her, been about to say something to him.  That would've been all it would've taken;  a simple 'I know you don't want to fight me'.

She hadn't been fast enough.  Her friend with the hat had sent Billy sprawling with a painful-looking kick.  But Mystery remembered the fascination.  It was her key inside his head.

The car's door chime begins to ring as she climbs out.  She closes the door, the alarm chirping as she activates the lock.  She's parked near Spanky's Boardwalk.  Billy likes to hang out there, with other members of his gang.  Mystery strolls down the street.  She makes a small mental effort;  onlookers will tend to look right past her.  She's not hiding, per se, just encouraging people not to look at her.  Brown eyes search for her target.

Some time after the brawl, Mystery had realized why she kept thinking about Billy.  His sudden entrancement with her, the wild-yet-untrained lust he'd felt...they belonged to a child, one who had not known real love, real heartbreak, one who couldn't truly understand, yet, that he and his Freakshow friends weren't just having a good time.  They hurt people.  Sometimes they killed them.  It wasn't the type of thing someone who could still feel like Billy would want.

She needed to get to him soon.  Hearts matured like wine.  Given time, Billy's feelings would be that of a man, measured, more controlled, but no less earnest.  That could only happen if his present path didn't sour his heart, stunt him, turn him hard or bitter or cynical.  If she could keep that from happening, it was worth a thousand drug busts or foiled robberies.  At least to her.

Her ankle length boots crunch the snow.  She's gazing down at the boardwalk.  No Billy, yet, but it won't be long.  His companions are creatures of habit.

It would be possible for her to 'steer' him, mentally.  She senses feelings easily.  With more effort, she can change them.  She knows to avoid the temptation.  The effects only lasted as long as she maintained the effort.  Once her influence faded, they'd be back to normal.  If they knew what caused their shift in outlook or mood, they'd usually become righteously -- and justifiably -- pissed.

Mystery shivers a little.  She'd learned that lesson well.

The Dee-Jay is stamping her feet, keeping gloved hands firmly in her coat pockets, when Billy and his posse appear.

There are five of them.  Young, pierced, tattooed, in bright colors that did not match and with uniformly shaven heads.  Weapons concealed but not hidden.  Pedestrians avoided them.  They didn't move with a purpose.  They were just patrolling, cruising around, letting everyone know this was Freakshow turf.

Billy didn't walk among the crew.  He was the Omega Wolf, the new guy.  He trailed behind, saying little, looking less threatening, less belligerent, than the others.  Even without her abilities, Mystery could see reluctance in him, his doubts as to why he was here, with these people.  She smiles.

It was time to start.

The Superheroine closes her eyes.  Thoughts and passions swirl around her.  Intangible fog.  She's close to Billy and his friends, though, and knows what to look for.  Strong feelings of territory, strength from the Freaks.  Though they preached anarchy and freedom, in their minds they were still about greed and hostility, or at least this bunch was.  Mystery has encountered their wilder counterparts, but they were higher up the gang's food chain.  Doubt and boredom in the mix...that was Billy.  She follows that thread of thought towards him, not touching his mind yet, but feeling who he is. 

Mystery can read minds in the classic sense:  The access of memory, of plain language thought.  That takes effort.  Her brand of mind magic involves passion, emotion. 

She's willing to exert effort for Billy.  She can hear him trying to convince himself there's a reason for him to be here.  She can hear him recounting all the ways his companions have 'helped' him.  She can hear him regret intimidating a shopkeeper, scaring a young couple away from a park bench.  She can hear his thoughts in regard to her; not too surprisingly, the memory of locking eyes with the spandex-clad superheroine has remained fresh.

Hello, Billy.  She says.  It's no different than talking, to her.

She sees him stand straighter, suddenly alert.  He's not fearful, just surprised.  He's not completely beneath the notice of his fellows, but he's not important enough for them to note every action or shift of mood.  They don't notice his reaction.

Not again.  He thinks.  Despite the mild frustration and hostility than accompanies the statement, she grins.  There'd been a spike of happiness and excitement from him at the 'sound' of her mental voice.  His clumsy attempt to hide it is endearing.

Still, there is some honest irritation.  It doesn't bother her.  Humans were complex creatures.  Moods were usually cocktails rather than shots.  She understands.  It's a little disconcerting to have 'the man' ('the woman' doesn't sound as oppressive) in one's head when standing next to one's criminal allies.  She never contacts him when he's alone;  his discomfort is small price to pay for having the bad example of his posse standing right next to him.

You don't sound happy to hear from me.

His mood shifts.  He tries even harder to hide his excitement.

Why do you keep BOTHERING me!

I didn't know I was bothering you.

Yes you did!

All right.  I'll leave you alone.  She doesn't break the link, but she goes quiet.

She feels disappointment, a little self-directed anger.  She sees him looking around the boardwalk for her. 

If that's what you want.  She adds.

I don't see why you keep doing this.

I don't see why you're still running around with them busting shop windows and mugging little old ladies.

I don't mug little old ladies!

You didn't shoot at people till two weeks ago.  Then you tried to shoot me.

He's silent.  Down below, he shifts uncomfortably.

I'm not mad at you.  She assures.

I know.  He admits.  I don't understand that.

I'm just not taking it personally.  She explains.  If you'd hurt me you'd have regretted it.  That's why I keep 'bothering' you.  You're not like your 'friends'.

Because I'm a pussy?  Slight anger.  Conflicting ideas of what he's supposed to be like.

My friend, the one who kicked you?  He hates hurting people.  Is he a pussy?

Consideration from Billy.

Can't really say 'yes' there, can I?

The Superheroine chuckles lightly.

What do you want me to do?  He asks.  He always asks this. 

I want you to do what you think you ought to do.  What you really think you ought to do.  She never gives him the 'out' of a command.  He has to decide what he wants, even if she's coaching him.

She can feel the uncertainty in his brain.  Teenagers always amazed her.  That their own feelings could survive with all the other influences -- most from their own bodies -- pulling at their mind...it was an everyday miracle.  The uncertainty was his own, and it was strong now.  Much stronger than it had been a couple of weeks ago. 

I still don't know what I ought to do.  I don't think these guys are...right for me.  I just need to figure out how to...I don't know.

She nods to herself.  It wouldn't be much longer, for Billy.

Is that you on the cliff?  He asks.  Sharp-eyed, that Billy.  He always spots her.

You know it is.  She replies.  On the last visit, he'd credited her hair.  It was long, red, and noticeable.  She supposed if she really wanted to disguise herself, she'd tuck it under a hat.

Lust, clumsily suppressed, from Billy.  The urge to tell her she's pretty.  She laughs and pretends not to notice.  She's amused enough that the spike of fear catches her by surprise.  Brown eyes whip down towards the boardwalk.  Nothing immediately bad is happening, but Billy's sudden terror isn't going away.

It's his posse.  They're talking back and forth, pointing her direction.  She lets their thoughts in.  Pretty girl.  Newb spotted a good one.  Get her, let the new guy have first crack.  Looks like she might have cash.  Doesn't matter if she has cash.  He hadn't said anything to them, they'd just followed his stare.  Now they're proud of him.

They gangers begin to move, nonchalantly, toward the end of the boardwalk.  It's the too-casual motion that the Superheroine knows signals the start of a hunt.  They're dragging Billy with them.

Run!  He urges.  She smiles tightly.

She takes a moment to decide what to do.  Billy's posse aren't that formidable.  She could disable them.  She's not sure she can do it without...a lot of fuss and bother.  She's made progress with Billy.  Fuss and bother might derail that.

She eases away from the post she's been leaning on.  The gangers will take some time to get to her.  Her car isn't far away, and if she doesn't run, they shouldn't suspect she spotted them.  She stretches her senses out a bit, not taking a chance on being a surprise.  She stops walking.

The Superheroine is being watched.  Not by Billy or his posse.  Someone far more dangerous.  Last nights call, last nights fear, come roaring back. 

Not here...

She can't spot an immediate threat.  That doesn't mean there isn't one.  Thousands of windows look down upon her.  Plenty of rooftops.  Colonel Einhorn has some crack shots in her employ.  The thoughts don't feel like her.  It's one of her crew, but she can't see them.

Mystery starts walking again.  Billy's posse are coming up the stairs from the boardwalk, still lazy, still far away.  The other threat...the nebulous emotions that let her know there's a threat...heighten, focus to an almost computer-like clarity.   Even as she strides toward her car, she closes her eyes, stretches herself.  There's no contact with whoever is watching her.  No voice, no visual.  Even talking to them will be hard, but she thinks she has him.  The mind is sharp, amazing concentration, almost unnatural calm.  It's a male.

Billy's posse is getting closer to her.  She'll make it to the car first, but not by much.  She may have to run.  The observer's interest rises

Her car chirps as she keys the doors from across the lot.  Billy's crew begins to walk faster.  Billy is beside himself.  They'll catch her if she doesn't run.  They might catch her if she does.  She has to chance it.

Mystery bolts.

There's a chorus of yells from behind her as the Freaks begin to pursue in earnest.  She has a few priceless seconds before they're up to speed.  She's halfway to her car.

The observer's determination swells.  She can feel his focus, and it's not on her.

No!  She screams it.  Without firmer contact, the observer may not hear.  Something gets through, because determined calm is wrecked by confusion, uncertainty.  She's at the car.  She's in the car.  The engine starts about the time the Freaks arrive.  Angry young men bang on her windshield, rock the little Toyota back and forth.

The observer's concentration returns.

Please no!  She screams again.  Less uncertainty this time.  Reluctant agreement.  She throws the car into reverse.  Chaotic thoughts from the Freaks.  They want her.  They have weapons.

Mystery let's loose some fear.  Of getting run over, of being seen, of getting caught, whatever.  There's no noticeable effect on the Freaks.  They're a bit frenzied.  Still, no weapons are pulled.  She's out of the parking lot and away.

She searches for the observer.  Still there but making his escape.  Frustration.  Irritation.  She tries wildly for a more concrete thought.  She gets several.  He was meant to observe.  If necessary, to protect.  No altruism there.

His boss wants Mystery for herself.

[Grim Reaper]

mmmm is she just a snack, a passing interest? Or is she more to our villainous colonel?

OT: I'm getting a Prius next. Don't like the car but the tax benefits make it worthwhile...

[Scottish Andy]

wow... nice way to rack up the tension there! I was really worried about her getting roughed up.

It's cool that she's 'working' on Billy, the way she's working on him. That's smart stuff. Looking forward to more.

[Governor Ronjar]

Too ill today for an indepth review. Liked the mind-speak sequence.

--guv!

[KOTH-KieranXC, Ret.]

I really like this. Your CoH stories are really growing on me, thanks in major part to this one so far. The style seems somewhat different from your normal writing in a way, although I can't put my finger on exactly what it is. Either way, though, great action, great suspense. Looking forward to more.

[Commander La'ra]

Another chunk.

-------------------

The superheroine drives quickly.  She has no destination.  The speedometer on her dashboard creeps upward.  Her sweaty hands knead the steering wheel.

She knows now, that the Colonel is coming for her.  She need not wonder.  More troublesome thoughts replace that worry.  When will she pounce?  How?  What does she want?

What does she want from me?

The Colonel couldn't just want her dead.  She could've killed her after the 'incident'.  Even if she wasn't willing to have her minions do it for her, she could've killed her today.  Was this about fear?  Did she want Mystery scared?  That couldn't be all she wanted, could it?

None of it made real sense.

Mystery removes her glasses, wipes some moisture from her eyes.  If Colonel Einhorn just wanted to scare her, she'd succeeded.  The superheroine knows better.  She'd scared her with the phone call.  Greater efforts than that had been made.  Underlings had been sent to follow, preserve.  That meant there was more to come, more than just rattling her.

She should ask for help, she decides.  The idea scares her more than the Colonel does.  There are plenty of people willing to help her, but she's not willing to share her secret.  The incident had been violent.  Its aftermath had been frightening.  Nevertheless, it was hers, shared only with the other participant.

Colonel Einhorn wanted Mystery for herself.  Good enough, Mystery decides. 

That's the same way I want it..



*   *   *



The Superheroine's destination turned out to be fenced off park area in Galaxy City.  She'd chosen the spot with some care:  When the Colonel had called in, she'd claimed GC as her origin.  She had probably been lying, but Mystery's powers could be enhanced by the foggiest connections, sometimes, and it couldn't hurt to come here.

She'd given some thought to finding a peaceful spot outside of Paragon City.  It had been a seductive impulse, at first, but Paragon is Mystery's home turf.  She knows it's rhythms.  She can spot aberrations.  Colonel Einhorn is definitely an aberration.

Mystery sits on a park bench, folds her hands together and closes her eyes.

Thousands of voices.  Happy, sad, frantic, calm.  Young, old, stunted, cynical.  Hungry, horny, cold, tired.  Passions blend and ebb.  Most are strangers.  Friends are lost in the tide.

She can look closer, separate familiar from a sea of the unknown, but she wants to feel the pulse.  The City has it’s own, but every neighborhood, every block, adds something to it.  Mystery is worried about GC's contribution.  Modern, but not distinctive.  Colorful, but conservative.  Newcomers say Galaxy has no personality, but it does.  It’s informal, unconcerned with appearances, quieter than other parts of Paragon. 

The superheroine waits for Galaxy’s heartbeat to register.  Then she looks for palpitations.

Plenty of the usual.  A mugging here.  Grease fire there.  She listens for worry, but not vanilla worry.  Worry over something unusual.  Worry over strange faces or occupied apartments known to be empty.  She follows trails of emotion, hears glimmers of thought.

Tiny leads are followed.  Snow begins to fall.  The cloud-obscured sun dips down toward the horizon.

There’s a man on the North side of Galaxy City.  He’s curious and worried.  Strangers coming and going from PC Shack.  Guy who ran it folded up tents after the alien thing, moved to Boise.  Still owns the building.  People in there now.  Seen them coming and going.

The thought fades.  Mystery doesn’t try too hard to recapture it.  There were myriad similar thoughts, but she thinks this is the right one.  People, not woman....the Colonel brought her minions.  PC Shack...recently closed business, type of place most passers by would expect to see people at.  The details of it not being open probably weren’t well known.  No solid evidence, of course, but Mystery operates on intuition.

She walks to her car.  She pulls a City Directory out of the glove box.  Handy detective thing her hat-wearing friend had taught her.  PC Shack is a short drive.

She doesn't drive straight there.  She's learned not to just barge in on the Colonel.  The superheroine parks three blocks away and rubs her temples.  Letting in everyone, even on a shallow level, both tires and numbs her.  Her head is hurting, and other people's noise is in her head.  She can't tune it all out so well when she's tired.  Mystery pulls a bottle from her coat pocket.  Aspirin.  The empath's best friend.

She takes a walk, circling the area while avoiding sight of her target building.  She's dealt with Colonel Einhorn enough to know that there'll be lookouts.  Some will be people.  Some will be electronic.  She doesn't know how wide a perimeter the Colonel has set up.  Wilhelmina could be watching her now, but it seemed unlikely.  The more area you tried to keep an eye on, the more likely something could slip through.  The Colonel would keep her front narrow, if she could.  If the Colonel was even there.

Mystery finds an alley.  It doesn't lead directly to the old computer shop.  It does lead close to it.  The superheroine begins to stroll down the forlorn lane, ankle-high boots crunching on the slowly accumulating snow.

The alley takes a left-hand turn.  Brick and concrete on either side, fenced enclaves for cardboard and trash every fifty feet or so.  A sign on the nearest door tells her she's behind a used bookseller.  A few yards down, the alley splits, one branch leading straight to her destination.  There might be cameras watching her right now, but if she turned down that little cul de sac, there would be.  She has a different idea.

The plastic box at the small of her back hums lightly.  Little vibrations slide up her spine.  Mystery's feet leave the ground.  The device provides the lift, she provides the steering;  though better at reading hearts and mending bodies (that hadn't shown up till puberty), she has a little bit of telekinesis.  She can manage gross actions, though not delicate ones.  She can break things, or if they're moving, shift their direction.  She slides up the side of the bookseller and sets herself down, lightly, on the roof.

The superheroine crouches, creeps across the rooftop.  A blast of heat from a central unit's exhaust musses her hair.  She's almost on her belly as she approaches the other side.  She peers over the edge.  PC Shack's back entrance is closed.  The alley behind it looks abandoned.

Mystery operates on intuition, but she's learned observation.  Helped in the spandex business.  There's a little bit of fresh oil on the asphalt behind the building.  There's no ice accumulated around the back door.  Odd, considering the weather and that no one uses the place.  She stretches out, 'listening' again.  She can't feel anyone inside the building. 

That didn't mean anything.  There are ways to block mental senses.  Whatever Einhorn was planning, it revolved around Mystery.  She'd have prepared for her.

Mystery shakes her head.  A little voice is suggesting she get help again.  She shoves it away. 

The superheroine has a moment of indecision.  She'd come here to find Colonel Einhorn, but the Colonel hadn't put out a sign.  Mystery had charged in on the Colonel once before.  That'd led to the incident.  She doesn't know what it could lead to now.  It might be smarter to stake the place out, see who came and went. 

That idea seems unsatisfying to Mystery.  Besides, whatever the Colonel was planning could happen tonight.

The superheroine looks for a way in.  The back door probably isn't the best idea.  Alarmed or trapped, probably, along with the front doors and windows.  Guards inside.  There's no quiet way in.

But then, why be quiet?  She was a DJ at a rock station, after all.

The box hums again, and Mystery is in the alley.  A mental shove tears PC Shack's back door from it's hinges, sends it flying into the building.  Mystery sprints after it, a wave of intense calm and happiness beaming out from her mind.  Anyone feeling that was going to have a hard time shooting her.

There's no one in the back room, no armed men suddenly unworried about the intruder and insanely happy to see her.  Mystery keeps going.  Surprise is gone, speed is now paramount.  PC Shack isn't big.  Mystery covers it quickly.  There's no one here.

The Superheroine, uncharacteristically, curses.

She berates herself for being too eager, for running right into the wrong building, even busting down the door, just because that damned woman had rattled her.  The moment of self-abuse passes quickly; it can't help her.  She starts looking around.

PC Shack hasn't been abandoned long enough for the stereotypical layer of dust, but habitation still leaves signs and Mystery is suddenly noting plenty of them.  Impressions left in the carpet.  A scent of gun oil and ozone.  Muddy footprints on the thin carpet.

Someone had been here.  Mystery steps into the back room, looking for more.

There'd been a chair in the back room.  The flying door had knocked it over.  Something colorful lies near it.  Mystery crouches down.  It's a rose, dyed the deep but not too deep electric blue that the superheroine claims as 'favorite color'.  Next to it, a remote camera and battery pack, its wireless antenna snapped off and useless.  Had she opened the back entrance normally, they'd have been waiting for her.

The superheroine picks up the rose.  Thorns prick her skin.  She closes her eyes and sighs.

[Scottish Andy]

Innnnnnnnnnnteresting.

Not sure of what you mean by "Had she opened the back entrance normally, they'd have been waiting for her". The rose and camera, or suddenly-arriving henchmen, or what?

And the Colonel is a very impressive person. Knowing how Mystery would track her down, find her place, how she'd case the joint... very Sun Tzu. And very unnerving for the Dee Jay. Someone able to predict you to such a high degree (though obviously not to 100%) must be very worrying.

Looking forward to more.

[Governor Ronjar]

The tension doth spike a bit more than in the usual La'ra vintage in this tale. I keep having to reread it to get the flow right. I can't just read the last post by itself, or it feels disjointed. This is among the few stories that affects me such.

Anyway, am interested to see it finish. Wondering how long a tale this'll be...

--guv

[Commander La'ra]

Not sure of what you mean by "Had she opened the back entrance normally, they'd have been waiting for her". The rose and camera, or suddenly-arriving henchmen, or what?

She was referring to the rose and camera.  IE:  Had she not busted the door down in a somewhat uncharacteristic fashion, she'd have opened it to see said objects on prominent display.

The tension doth spike a bit more than in the usual La'ra vintage in this tale.

I hope so.  It's the primary 'target' with this story, and I've already ruthlessly axed two scenes that deadened, rather than promoted it.  I really hate doing that when I like the scene...maybe I can use varients thereof in another story.

I may be worrying about it too much.  Never really tried what I'm shooting for with 'Call-in' before.

Anyway, am interested to see it finish. Wondering how long a tale this'll be...

I think it's about 2/3rd's done. That's referring to what I have sitting on my hard drive as opposed to what I've posted.  It seems like it'll end up nearly the same length or slightly shorter than most of my earlier La'ra stories.

[Commander La'ra]

Writing wise, I'm nearing the climax.  Posting wise, we're to a scene that, to me, doesn't add much to the tension...I revised it a bit to cut down on length, which helped, but the 'old man' part seemed necessary to me.  Tell me what ya' think.

--------------

Mystery doesn't kick anything as she exits the building.  She just feels like doing it.

She doesn't know if this building was a ruse or a decoy.  She does know that if had been a trap she'd have walked right into it.  It might've been a bomb instead of a rose waiting for her.  An earnest attempt to kill her.

She forces herself to walk at a normal pace.  Her cheeks are flushed.  The wind is cold on her face.

Why was it a rose and not a land mine?  Mystery is trying not to dwell on that question.  There are obvious answers.  Colonel Einhorn likes to play with her prey.  Colonel Einhorn is just proving a point.  Colonel Einhorn is insane and needs no logical motive.

The superheroine has no trouble believing any of those, but there's another option she's trying not the think about.  For the thousandth time today, she shoves that one out of her mind.  She takes deep breaths.  Calms herself.  She'd taken the offensive and been thrown a curve ball.  That wasn't any reason to stop, and though PC Shack might've been a deliberate misdirection, someone had to set it up.  Clues may exist.

She pulls her coat tighter, buries her hands in her pockets.  The snow is heavier than it was.

The Colonel would've left nothing in the building.  At least nothing Mystery could find without an evidence analysis team.  Mystery had other avenues to pursue; they'd led her here, after all.  There might be more.

She doesn't sit down this time.  She doesn't need the all-or-nothing concentration she'd needed to sift all of Galaxy City.  She's looking for a certain person, that nosy, worrisome person who'd noticed the intruders at PC Shack in the first place.  She finds him easily, allows herself to probe a little deeper.  Mystery is as respectful of people's privacy as her abilities allow, and all she needs from the man is an address.  He's in apartment 320, in a building within view of the shut down computer store.

A light switches to 'walk'.  Mystery crosses the street, strolls down the sidewalk.  The apartment building is five stories, older.  She has a feeling most of the tenants are elderly.  It has that look.  The stairway door is locked, but there are intercoms for the apartments.  Residents could likely buzz you in.

"Yeah?"  A voice asks when she hits 320's button.  Irritation, but curiosity.  He wasn't expecting visitors.

"Hello.  You don't know me, but I need to ask you some questions about that computer store across the street."  She replies.  His mental response is instant: Suspicion, more irritation, impulse to utter an obscenity and shut off the speaker.  It doesn't last, for she's sending things his way.  Her suspicion.  Her desire for help.  Her knowledge that he's the man to ask.  It's not manipulation to Mystery.  It's merely communication.

There's a buzzing sound from the stairway door.

"Come on up."


*  *  *


The man was small, balding, and favored wife beater shirts and brown pants.  He was old. Above all, he was helpful.  He hadn't called the police when he'd seen people in the computer store, but he'd certainly kept an eye on the place.

"Gray van and a car.  Some kind of Ford.  Parked around back where you couldn't see 'em good."  He'd explained.  "I got their license numbers."

The vehicles were probably stolen, and they probably had false registrations.  It was still a lead.  Mystery had copied the numbers down with a smile.

"Bunch of guys, I think.  I saw 'em doing stuff around the building.  Like working on the wires and the lights and stuff.  They took off sometime last night, I suppose.  No one was there this morning."

The men were the Colonel's goons.  They'd been setting up their cameras, their alarms.  They'd lit out after Ein had made her call.  They'd left the rose, on orders? 

No, that didn't feel right.

"There was a woman, too."  The old man had clarified.  Mystery's heart sped up. 

"Tall for a lady.  Fit, like a runner.  Brown hair."

Mystery had felt like cheering.

She leaves the old man's building with a promise to play a favorite song on tomorrow's show.  He'll remember to listen, but he won't be able to recall much about who visited him or why.  He'll remember that he helped someone who appreciated it.  The rest...Mystery takes pains to keep her dual identity dual.


*   *   *


A quick call on her cell phone has the police looking for the Colonel's vehicles.  It isn't an official search.  Some cops are cooperative when it comes to superheroes.  Mystery knows a couple like that.

She doesn't mention the reasons.  She doesn't mention the Colonel, though she does stress that she thinks the beat cops should stay away from whoever's in the vehicles.  She makes pleasant conversation after her request, then hangs up.

Traffic ebbs and flows around her.  The superheroine can think of little else to do.  She has to wait now.  Or does she?  Surely there were other avenues to search down, other ways to find Wilhelmina and her merry band.  She removes her glasses at a stop light and rubs her eyes.  Her stomach growls.

She debates going to the police station.  She could search through call reports looking for suspicious behavior in vacant buildings.  She could 'feel the city' as she did around PC Shack.  She doesn't know where to start, but if she just kept looking...

The light turns green. Mystery replaces her glasses.  She has to stop, she knows.  It's time to stop, at least for today.  Food and rest are more important than Colonel Einhorn.  Food and rest will help her find Colonel Einhorn.

The superheroine turns toward home.

[Governor Ronjar]

Haven't seen the rest, but I imagine shortening this section helped the flow.

This set of mini-scenes seem like the necessary connecting points for larger pieces of the story. Beyond that, I can say little beyond liking the helpfulness of the old guy.

--guv!

[Scottish Andy]

Mystery had felt like cheering.

She leaves the old man's building

Beyond your confusing of the tenses here, I "can't think of anything else to say yet". 

[Commander La'ra]

Beyond your confusing of the tenses here, I "can't think of anything else to say yet". 

That was actually intentional.