The conference room. Picture of a man on the brink of losing control.
    "How are you going to tell me that things have gotten worse?" Cooper demanded incredulously.
    "We just got information from our key contact. They're up on the roof. They're spilling everything to the strike team, they're putting the pieces together, and they've got Gordon. We don't have any other choice!"
    "No. This city is ours. I am not letting this thing go, we are not pulling out. You call Spanner and activate an Omega. Now."
    "Sir, we don't even know what an Omega's going to do, this is such an untested technology—"
    "I'll tell you what an Omega's going to do. You, make sure that an Omega happens, and every one of those people—everyone from the Revolution, from the strike team, everyone who has the slightest inkling that this is going on, ends up dead. You got it? I am not leaving. No."
    A subordinate—the one who was supposed to be reading—glanced at him uncertainly. "I really don't think this is wise, sir. It's always been our policy to pull out whenever we get—"
    The other man pulled out a pistol and shot him in the head.
    "Anyone else got a dissenting opinion?" he demanded.
    "Right sir, we're calling an Omega now," someone murmured, picked up the phone.

    Phoenix heard the announcement of his teammate's capture and reversed course in his dash across the city. His costume covered by a trenchcoat, he came up from a subway tunnel into a crowded square. The coat flapped in a sudden breeze, revealing a flash of orange and silver.
    The crowd turned as one and stared at him.
    "What?" he asked. What the hell?
    They were throwing things at him, mobbing him, grabbing any object to hand for use as a weapon. He wriggled free and whipped out a grapple, climbed the side of a building and got out of range. Several people fired guns. He stuck to the rooftops after that, heading for the police station. He had a few close moments with a machine gun, gave the finger to its wielder as he swung off to safety.

    Lucky, stuck in traffic, fumed. Finally, it broke a little. The car behind was accelerating far more quickly than it ought to. It bumped her bike, hard. No room for maneuvering. All she could think was that the bastards had caught up to her again, they just didn't know when to quit. She turned and slammed the staff through the windscreen, barely missing the driver as the car veered off the road. Screams began sounding. The car in front of her stopped dead. She barely missed it; a teenager threw himself in front of her, trying to drag her off the bike. People were screaming, turning their cars toward her.
    She drove the bike up over a couple of cars, escaped the immediate melee, and headed into the sewer tunnels. People followed her, shouting. Someone made a phone call.
    "We can get her! We can get her!" they screamed.

| Top |