Scott kept an eye on the office, watching the pandaemonium which ensued in the wake of the rapid events. On top of one of the new settees in the conference was a file folder, all by its lonesome in the otherwise entirely clean room. Trap. Definitely a trap.
    The authorities appeared, the sprinkler system was shut down, a lot of people complained about the latter and were questioned by the former, trying to establish what had happened. Two building security officers, two policemen, and a man wearing a silvery-grey jumpsuit-like outfit with an insignia on his chest. PITS. Scott remained very, very quiet, switched his awareness from one part of his gaseous form to another to watch the entire office.
    The PITS guy spoke into his radio. "Yeah, okay, keep on it." He glanced at one of the associates. "You have any idea what happened here? Looks like the gas came out of there, get that canister, we're going to need a sample of it. You, so what happened?"
    One of them cleared his throat uncertainly. "This woman came in, and our boss was talking to her, this guy showed up with a gun, and she must have been Needle from the Revolution, 'cause she threw up shields over everyone, or they all started glowing, anyway, and later on she did that to us when he was holding me hostage—"
    "Who was holding you hostage?"
    "That guy who blew his head off."
    "Damn. That doesn't make any sense," he muttered. "And then she flew off with your boss?"
    "Mr. Gordon, yeah. They were having a conversation, he was holding a gun to my head, and saying 'I know you want to kill these guys too,' and can't we just go off, and she said she wasn't gonna kill him, and she flew off with him, so I don't know what she's gonna do with him."
    "Maybe she just didn't want to share him," a cop muttered venomously.
    "And so she flew off with him... why would she be interested in this guy?" the PITS agent talked to himself, glancing around the scene.
    "I dunno."
    "Me neither," the other associate volunteered quickly.
    The agent looked from one to another. "Hold it a second." He seemed to reach a conclusion. "Bullshit. You two both know something."
    "What do you mean?"
    Scott called Winters. This could turn into a problem.
    "We don't know anything, swear to god," the first one protested.
    "Get these two into custody," the PITS agent ordered the cops, who exchanged a glance.
    "Are you sure—"
    "It's a paranormal situation, we've been hired," the agent cut him off. "We're in charge."
    "Winters here," she answered.
    "There's a member of the paranormal investigation team here on-site, could you patch me through to him please?" Scott requested.
    "Yeah, okay." She put the call through. In the meantime, the agent spoke to his radio again.
    "Yeah? She definitely has a hostage, keep following that aura trace. As long as she keeps using her abilities, we should be able to track her down once you've got the lock on it, good? Go."
    Scott dialed Needle on his other phone. His first call went through to the PITS guy.
    "Yeah?" the agent said.
    "Hello sir," Scott greeted him politely. "I don't know your name, but this is Scott Silver, and—"
    "Jesus, what do you want?" was the growled response.
    "Don't arrest anybody there, I swear I'll explain once you're out of the building, and I'll call you back. Please."
    "Hold it—"
    "Please?" Something bad was going to happen, he just knew it.
    "Hold it. Hold on a second, I gotta go check something, got a call I gotta take. You—hold onto these two guys, don't let 'em go anywhere, get that girl up, hold onto her. Block off this half of the building, okay? Do it." The cops exchanged another unhappy glance at his authoritative tone, but followed his orders.
    The agent took the two steps toward the conference room, grasped the doorknob, turned it, and opened the door. The room exploded with an earthshattering roar.
    Scott was already in motion, knowing that he could not save everyone, wrapped himself in liquid form around the PITS agent and absorbed the force of the bombs which had been placed in the settees with that inviting folder on top. The heat of the explosion was reflected from his outer surface, doing him some damage, but didn't touch the man he had protected. Concussive force rippled through his body, which no doubt hurt the agent inside him somewhat and threw them both backwards nearly to the other end of the building, but he managed to route the shrapnel through himself and around the agent. A couple chairs exploded as well, and then the wall collapsed.
    Everyone else was killed more or less instantly; the secretary, the policemen, the two associates who may or may not have been involved in the League. All evidence was destroyed. The sprinklers went off again. The people in the other offices saw Scott flying out of the explosion, hit the wall, and remove himself from the stunned agent, who rolled to his feet and whipped out a gun.
    "What the hell just happened? Good god," he whispered, looking at what they had just come out of .
    "The bomb they put on their conference room door just blew up," Scott informed him. "That's what happened."
    "Shit. Who are these people? What is going on? I want some answers, quickly."
    "You can have answers, not here," Scott came as close as he ever had to snapping.
    The guy pulled out his radio. "We need a trauma team up here, we need the best medical you can get, but I have a feeling we'll get nothing but corpses. I want an engineering team here stat, in order to make sure the upper levels of the building maintain position. Get a fire team here now, clear police out, cordon the building. Got that? Good. And follow up on the other thing but when you get there do not engage, understand? Do it." He hung up. "Name me somewhere we can meet and talk and you'd better name it quick," he growled. "You have about thirty seconds before the cops show up."
    "Lieutenant Winters' office."
    "Go."

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