"Just horrible," I agreed, trying not to roll my eyes.
    "Freakin' variants everywhere, blowin' people up, breakin' into buildings, blowin' up the Citgo sign! And if they screw with the home game season I'm gonna be right pissed, what with them rebuilding the bleachers and stuff? I gotta tell ya, man," he swung around the corner without slowing down. "I'm touch with the people, too, you know, you get that feeling, and I think it's good in some ways, the kids, they were wearin' decent clothes for a change once that Phoenix Talon left all the kids stopped wearin' the skin-tight orange and silver shirts which were just ugly and there was no way my kid was wearin' one of those. You got any kids? Yeah, I think kids are important for society today."
    I tried and failed to tune him out. It was fascinating, sad, funny, and sickening all at the same time. He went on, "You know, the heroes were okay for a while, but they got outta hand what with that killer on their team and all, bang, take em all out, one after the other, get em outta the city, get em outta our lives. Wouldn't have had that whole problem in Brooklyn if it hadn'ta been for those guys, I'm firmly convinced of that. Sure, they helped out with the aliens and stuff, but that was self-preservation, you gotta look at it that way. Hell, they were just gonna disappear. So they're not doing us any favors by doing this stuff. And I got my finger on the pulse of this city, I do, I'm a cab driver, I listen to people, I can tell what they say. We're here, lady."
    Finally. I tipped him extra.
    "Thanks a lot, lady, you have yourself a nice evening, make sure nothing happens to you, you know, it's a dangerous city. Hey buddy, need a ride?" A business-suited type got in. I could hear the driver rattling on as they departed.
    Dangerous city, indeed. Especially if your name is Mark Gordon. I put the cab driver behind me and focused on the immediate goal, walked into the lobby and studied the listings. Pressed for the elevator, got on with a couple of other people. No one made eye contact, which was normal enough. One man read the newspaper. A couple got off, another got on, and then we were at his floor. I strolled down the corridor and tried to settle into the character I had decided on. This shouldn't take long.

[Perspective switch: Scott]

    I walked in and closed the door behind me. The secretary looked up, as did a couple of men in one of the glass-walled offices across the room. One of the two men looked back down. The other one didn't. That was my bird, I suspected, doing my best not to stare back at him.
    "Can I help you with anything?" the secretary inquired politely.
    "Hi, is Mr. Gordon here?" I chirped my best imitation of Scott, smiling.
    "Yes, may I ask your name?"
    "I'm Sarah, I'm from the temp agency."
    She called in to the office and spoke with the man. I could see his uncertainty through the glass. Gordon motioned the other man out of the office—his own office, but Gordon was the boss, after all, and he could hardly use his own, given the busted window....
    "Go right in through there," she indicated.
    "Thank you," I smiled perkily and bounced through the door. It took all I had not to laugh, and I think there was a certain glint of amusement in my eyes, but hey, that could have just been... perkiness. "Hi!" I offered him my hand and remembered to keep a rein on my usual assertive shake.
    "Hi." He looked vaguely stunned, shook his head. "Uh, have a seat. Someone called and asked you to come over here? We hadn't called for anyone, but we do actually have an opening, so it's a little odd, but acceptable...."
    "Great!" I beamed at him, from the look in his eyes he had recognized me but wasn't sure which one I was. I kept my ditzy smile from becoming the grin it wanted to be with an effort.
    "Do you have a copy of your resume with you?"
    I made a moment's show of looking through my handbag and tried to decide how long to draw this out. I'd done what I wanted to. I looked up at him with my best doe-eyed dismay. "Oh my god. I left it at home. I'm so sorry...."
    "Well," he started to ask me something about my fictitious work history, and then the outer door into the main office opened. I saw him look up, over my shoulder, and half turned as my phone rang. It was a man of middle years, broad-shouldered, carrying a briefcase from which he had just pulled a gun. Gordon looked shocked and scared, as well he should; I recognized that Javelin look. The gun was out and level, a nice little piece with a silencer.
    So much for my disguise. I set up shields over everyone in the area, including Gordon, then tripped the switch in the drone's brain that would send fatigue poisons into his blood. I saw him stagger a little, then recover, moving forward. He didn't look happy to find me there, protecting his prey.
    "Son of a bitch, what are you people doing here? He's mine, don't you understand that?" he snarled at me. "Get out the way, I'll solve your problem for you!"
    "You are my problem," I shot back.
    He dropped the briefcase, spilling sharp, unpleasant things onto the floor, reached down and popped open a gas canister as he kicked the main office door closed behind him. I'd been half-ready for that this time, took a deep breath immediately as the gas filled both rooms. The secretary dropped, as did Gordon. I could see it seeping through my field, wondered how long I could hold my breath.
    Then the sprinkler system came on. Thank you, Scott, I thought fervently. The gas was heavy enough that the sprinklers forced it down to the floor. Javelin did not look pleased. I hit him again, harder than I meant to, felt something go crunch and saw a spasm cross his face. He still didn't seem inclined to run. The gas was down far enough I would be able to breathe again in a moment. My phone continued to ring.
    The two associates in the other office had just realized that something extraordinary was going on and were coming forward to see what it could be. Javelin kicked the door in, grabbed one and put the gun to his head. I wasn't sure how long it would take for me to put up a shield; not a gamble I wanted to take with a hostage at risk. The scene went from one of quick, decisive motion to stillness as we stared at each other, surrounded by a scatter of unconscious bodies.
    "What do you want?" I asked Javelin.
    "I'm perfectly willing to trade this innocent guy for that guilty guy," he offered. "I know you hate him as much as I do. Hand him over."
    "I kinda want to talk to him."
    That smile is... frightening. "Well so do I, we can talk to him together. It's not too difficult, is it?" he dropped his voice to an intense murmur. "I mean, how hard can this be to get? You hand him over, we bring him into the conference room, well, there are cops on their way now, we go somewhere nice and quiet..."
    "And you skin him? I don't think so." I shook my head, watching him carefully.
    "I know you hate this guy. I can see it in you."
    "Yeah, so?" In point of fact, I felt little regarding Mr. Gordon aside from a certain sense of disgust. He was no one, a flunky, a functionary. I reserve my spiritual venom for those above him on the chain.
    "You're wasting time," he urged. "The cops are on their way here, this guy's gonna be taken away, you're not going to find out anything you want to know from him."
    "Neither will you."
    "I know, and that'll really piss me off," he sighed. "And then I'll have to start doing things to your friends. I have to vent my anger somewhere."
    "I don't have any friends." And that's why.
    "What about pets? Those are fun."
    The sound of shattering glass came from one of the other, empty offices—thank you again, Scott. Javelin glanced over his shoulder. I took advantage of his moment of distraction and threw up shields over both of them, freeing the hostage from his grip.
    "Now then." I looked at him, wondering what I was going to do with him. As it turned out, I needn't have bothered.
    "Fuck you," he snarled. "You understand me? I'm so sick of you people," he muttered. "We will do this later." He put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger, too fast for me to stop him.

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