Border, KS

Ninja Grandpa, sadly, didn’t die from being shot right in the crotch. But apparently there is a universality to being hit there that transcends species and perhaps even mortality, and his eyes widened in a startled agony as his flesh ripped and hiss and he stumbled back. Too bright blood splattered to the tile and he began to howl in agony and rage.

Walter didn’t let him. He fired the breaching shotgun again, and explored the universality of knee-caps among species and mortality status. And as the rage began to grow in the other…being’s…eyes he charged. He let the carbine swing back down and threw a quick, powerful round-house that lead with the hilt of the iron knife. It impacted with a meaty thunk on the side of the man’s face and sent him sprawling. His cheek, where the iron had clearly broken the bone there, puckered and hiss like it was being pressed with an iron.

Walter never stopped for quips or one-liners, because of the healing he had seen the others do. And he figured that if anything this guy would have more of it. He lunged in, both knives angled down for fatal blows to the heart and throat. He was a hair’s breadth away when Ninja Grandpa managed to pull himself together enough to roll away and only take one of the knives in the bicep with a hissing screech of agony once more, as Walter’s knees hit the floor with a thunk.

“Damn you!” The other man cursed as he rolled unsteadily to his feet. Walter gave a grin as he came up from his knees. Maybe he was feeling a little bit cocky, or maybe he just wanted to show off (which was not different from feeling cocky, really), but Walter paused to look at him. He opened his mouth to say something, and even though it clearly hurt him more than he could have imagined Ninja Grandpa lunged at him with a blur of mad speed and brought his stone-like fist into Walter’s jaw.

Walter couldn’t remember anything between seeing that fist about four millimeters from his jaw, and then being on the ground staring at the ceiling. He assumed he must have at least gone ass over tea-kettle, if not done a couple of wicked flips along the way, but he couldn’t remember them at all. And his jaw hurt more than he could ever remember it hurting, including that one time he had been in a fistfight with a Samoan on a Hawaiian army base. “Christ…” He murmured, if only to find out whether or not his jaw was still working right or if it had been broken. He pulled himself up to his knees, expecting a hammer blow to come and kill him while he was working on banishing the dancing quicksilver spots from his vision.

But looking over he found Ninja Grandpa in much the same position, gasping and working his way up. Apparently the pain of the blows, and whatever expenditure it took to heal him and overcome it to slug the bejezus out of Walter had also taken its toll on him. He looked even more wan than normal, although the boiling rage in his eyes had only grown with the pain in his body. But despite the increased paleness he looked…more normal somehow. Less intimidating, without an aura of power or menace that Walter had barely even realized he normally felt.

With a grunt Walter stumbled to his feet and braced himself on a chair. He started to say something, to focus himself through sarcasm or start to reach for one of the knives that had clattered out of his hands (he supposed), before he looked around again. Not all of the darkness was from his vision. A line of creeping, rolling darkness had started from the windows, which now only showed a black as complete as the moonless night outside. It moved across the floor and toward him, and when it reached him it didn’t just cover the floor. No, that would have been too normal. When it reached him the darkness started to pool about his ankles, thickened strands lapping across the tops of his shoes.

“Your fight is over, boy.” A deep basso voice called from those growing shadows, and Walter felt fear grip his heart like the icy hand of the reaper itself.

A fight has an ebb and flow like a tide, and gaining the momentum is important. Walter knew that as he stepped forward to meet the charging man, but also knew how fast he was; knew that in a heartbeat the man would be standing beside him and attacking, and that he had to react. Which s why he almost missed his first block when the man was…slower than before. He was still unnaturally fast but he was no longer blindingly so. And as Walter brought his knife back an inch to turn aside the blade he saw that Ninja Grandpa looked angry, downright pissed off at the fact that Walter was apparently doing better.

And all that did was bring a smile to Walter’s face. While the other man’s blade didn’t shatter, which meant he had come prepared for the fact that someone might know something, it was turned aside. Walter kept the momentum of that turn and brought his other knife around in a slash that aimed to end the fight decisiely with an opened throat. Whatever had happened to his speed the other man was still too quick for it and pulled away, but it left a gash down the man’s shimmering clothes that parted to reveal the skin beneath.

And parted the skin beneath in a slender line that didn’t just begin to bleed but smoke and pucker like a burn as Ninja Grandpa pulled back and cried out in pained shock, and shocked pain. And in that moment Walter saw something in his features. That shock was not just the surprise of sudden pain, it was surprise at the very concept of being hurt. As if the man had never expected to experience it, or maybe just that he never expected someone like Walter to do it. Regardless, it looked like nothing more than the first time Siobhan had burned herself and learned what fire was.

Walter stepped back and stared a little bit. “How old are you?” He asked, somewhat stunned. Apparently it was the wrong question because the look of shock changed to a look of fury as intense as a sun and long-burning as the core of the earth. Ninja Grandpa lunged forward again now with the speed of rage, the knives licking out with the speed of a methed up snake. It was all Walter could do to throw his knives in the way as much as possible, and only through sheer skill and training did he stop most of the slashes from hitting him.

But it was only most, and once again Walter felt the stinging agony as razor sharp blades sliced through clothing and flesh alike. He spun away and the two of them ended up facing one another, each gasping from the unexpected wounds. Even with whatever had evened the odds a little bit he was still slower, and more worn out, and older; watching someone as quick as Ninja Grandpa almost made him feel all those old fights.

But he was older, he thought. And whatever it was that this demon-ninja-vampire-monster-thing had, he didn’t have Walter’s experience. Ninja Grandpa’s eyes were wide with rage, but there was also fear in them now. Walter didn’t suppose that his eyes looked any different, although he had the benefit of not seeing them and could assume that they looked all cool and badass and tricksy. Well then, he thought, time to act all cool and badass and tricksy.

“Hey…do you know what a master key is?” Walter asked, apropos of nothing. Ninja Grandpa blinked almost owlishly, as if he was trying to place the comment in to any possible context of what had gone on during his day.

“What?” He asked, forgetting to curse or call him a mortal or be supremely weird. Walter took advantage of that brief confusion to grab his slinged M4 carbine and bring it to bear. He reached forward to the device attached to the barrel, squeezed the trigger on the KAC Masterkey door breaching shotgun, and shot Ninja Grandpa right in the crotch.

The expansive main rooms of the Border Police Department were old, airy, and filled with little pockets of violence as men and women did their best to try to fight off…whoever it was that was attacking them. There didn’t seem to be a lot of them, but it was hard for Walter to see them as he came in to the room with Leah.

Not because of the darkness, which was hardly a factor given the large number of windows in the entry way and the floor where the detectives and officers had their desks and professional lives. It wasn’t even Hollywood dark, and Walter would have expected to be able to clearly see the foes.

Except they moved so damnably fast, he thought. They all moved like his old friend Ninja grandfather, and wherever their sudden movements ended a man cried out and fell to the ground. Some of them stirred with the slow breathing of the unconsciousness, but some of them did not.

“Pick a target, Major.” Leah said as she brought her shotgun up, and Walter nodded curtly. Bracing themselves, all loins properly girded, they stepped out into the combat zone carefully. He looked through the sight of the rifle and waited until one of the…speed things stopped for a half second to bring an archaic looking knife around. Walter didn’t hesitate, his finger pulling the trigger. A single shot rang out and took the man in the hand. He cried out in pain and dropped the knife, but turned in a blur without apparent effect besides that. Walter thumbed the rifle from single fire to three round burst, and the next three shots should have taken him squarely between the eyes—but the bastard moved, and they ended up with solid center mass shots. He cried out in pain and fell to the ground in agony, but he didn’t die. He stayed down, but it was clear from his writhing that he would survive.

“Damn it, how do we kill these people!” Walter cursed to his partner as she pointed out another target. Another three round burst cracked through the already near cacophonous room, and took one of the other assailants in the chest and neck. He started gasping and guttering as he tried to draw in breath. The man staggered back against a desk, clawing at his neck as bright blood flowed out across his chest and splattered to the floor in a thickening pool. Even as Walter watched in horror the man’s neck began to slowly heal, the flesh knitting like a time-lapse hospital recording set to fast-forward. But it stopped when the man’s movements stopped, the crimson stained hands dropping away as the man fell back against the desk finally and streaked it with the last trail of his life.

“Kill shots.” Leah answered grimly. The smaller woman tracked her shotgun quickly to one side and fired, absorbing the recoil with a practiced ease as it barked out a deadly spray. It caught one of the attackers messily between the eyes and he fell to the floor without so much as a gurgle or a scream. “If it would kill us in one shot, it will kill them.” Her shotgun was already moving again as she spoke, her voice cool and composed despite the carnage. Walter didn’t even spare her a glance as the two of them advanced towards a group of police firing on an advancing enemy.

“How do you know this shit?” He asked as he fired again at a man who jerked away with a speed and grace he could only mostly follow, and who began backing away to the exit. Walter moved his rifle to track another one and fired, this time the shots taking the assailant in the heart and sending him sprawling through a plastic table that had held–ironically–donuts, sending the sugary treats flying along with the papers proclaiming it to be someone’s very unlucky birthday.

“Later!” She said, her voice tight. She turned to fire but then saw her target had backed away toward the exits as well, and her eyebrows raised. “Uh…Walt?”

“I know.” Walter said, watching them. As they backed away it seemed like the light from outside grew dimmer and dimmer, the room inside growing darker and darker to match it. With the instincts born of watching films and playing video games he turned, keeping his rifle up, to see what would be approaching him from behind.

Ninja Grandpa stood there, his pale skin almost glowing in the growing dark of night, his eyes wide and luminous bright. “The troublesome mortal, and more than enough time to flay you like a beast.” He smiled, and it was a terrible smile that should have been filled with fangs and was filled with the promise of a painful demise. “Do you feel it, boy?” He asked as he stepped forward, drawing not just a single blade like last time but a pair of slender knives of some gleaming metal. “The fear of the elk when it knows the hunt is at an end? The deer’s terror when the wolves circle? Do you taste eternity?”

“Do you ever stop talking?” Walter challenged. His finger itched on the trigger of the rifle, but then he looked back to Leah and saw the look in her eyes. He shook his head and slung the rifle back over his shoulder. Instead his hands moved to his belt and drew out both railroad knives. They felt warm in his hands, from the heat of his body where they had been against him; and they felt right in his hands. Ninja Grandpa’s steps faltered a bit and while he covered it smoothly, Walter saw it. He took the knife in his right hand and held it in a forward grip, his thumb on the spine of the blade. The other knife he moved to a reverse grip, the blade down and the edge toward the other man. His stance was light and slightly forward, his chin tucked down, and every movement spoke of a man who was not a stranger to what was about to happen. Despite the fear, despite the tension, and despite the obvious cheating bullshit he knew his opponent had, Walter smirked ever so slightly.

“Alright, boss fight, let’s do this.”

There are some rooms that look the same in the light and the dark, nothing more than a washed out umbral reflection of their daytime selves. For some rooms darkness is a sinister mirror, with every edge suddenly jagged, and every comforting nook a disconcerting portal.

And then there are rooms that suddenly go dark while holding a violent assassin who just finished monologuing, and they are a different kind of scary all together.

Like most police stations the interior of the Border Police Department was not prone to airy windows and skylights, and when the lights went out the room was almost impenetrably dark. Walter heard the air conditioner turning off, and felt the room go still. The hum of the recording equipment, and all the sounds of electricity and power and civilization were gone. The only sound was the low peal of chuckling from the prisoner, and the sudden harsh sound of metal squealing and rending away. It took Walter a second to realize it was the sound of the metal bracket that held Tennyson to the table, and he stood up in a jolt and reached for his gun.

He never saw the blow that sent him sprawling back to the wall, and he barely even heard it coming. It was just a sudden rustle and jingle, and then he barely had any time to tense himself before he impacted the wall. It set stars dancing across his vision, and he gasped as he forced himself to his knees. He heard Leah making a similar groan, and then the sound of a heavy door being kicked back off its’ hinges and clattering away in to the hallway. There was a pause, as if Tennyson was considering their forms, before Walter heard him leave the room.

It took several agonizing moments before Walter could get feeling besides pain to return to his limbs, and he gasped as he drew himself up to his feet. He reached down to undo the snap on his holster with shaking hands, grunting in pain and forcing himself to concentrate. “Leah, are you alright?” He asked as he started walking toward the door.

“I’m fine.” She grunted, and as Walter’s eyes were adjusting he found her coming up beside him, her weapon already out as well.

“Some day on this job I’m going to know what the hell is going on.” Walter murmured softly as both of them pulled flashlights out of their belts. Walter took it in one hand while still bracing his gun with practiced ease, while Leah mirrored the movement. As they did so they heard sounds of shock, and the opening pops of gunfire, coming from other parts of the building and carrying through the old structure. They shared a concerned glance.

“The Alexanders are probably chasing whatever it is.” Leah murmured. Both firearms up and all loins girded, the two of them pulsed forward into the hallway covering each other’s backs.

The hallway was empty as their boots crunched on the remains of the door to the interview room. “Jesus…that looks like it was thrown off by a dinosaur.” Walter commented as they looked around the carnage. There were pockmarks on the walls where shots had already been fired that they had missed in the ringing of their ears and the stunning rush of pain. “Damn…we need to get moving.” Walter said, starting to move down the hallway—before Leah reached out and grabbed his arm.

“Wait…we need something more.” Leah said seriously. “The armory is a few hallways down, and we can get more ready for…whatever the hell it is out there.” The sounds of more fighting came from the rest of the building, and Walter’s instincts called for him to start moving toward them to protect other soldiers. Police… Walter reminded himself.

“OK. But speed, speed is good.” Walter agreed with a quick nod as the two of them began to make their way through the halls.

It was one of the tensest and most difficult walks of Walter’s career. Every crack, every pop, every little tick of an ancient building settling in the unseasonably cool morning drew them to pause and scan their surroundings in sudden tenseness. But finally they came to the armory, and in through the door in an almost run.

“Dibs.” Walter said quickly as he moved over to the racks of rifles and pulled out one of the M4A1 carbines the department used for SWAT and other tactical situations. At this point in his life it felt as natural to him as he slung it over a shoulder as a backpack to a student. He quickly opened the ammunition locker and pulled out magazines which he quickly shoved into his belt. “Ready?” He looked over to see Leah having done the same with a department shotgun.

“Here…” She said, as she went to a safe that Walter hadn’t seen opened on his tour. It opened with a clunky key on her keyring, but she did it with a practiced hand. She reached in and pulled out another small box, which she quickly opened and began pulling several slender items out of. She handed two to him, which he stared at in confusion. They were knives made out of railroad spikes that had been half flattened to form several inch long blades, with the bottom half still their original shape and wrapped in leather. “Trust me.” She said, as she tucked two of them into her belt, and racked her shotgun.

Walter considered it for a moment, and then nodded to his partner. “Fine, let’s go.” He ordered, bringing his rifle up to his shoulder and chambering a round. With a quick step the two of them made their way back out in to the hallways. Toward the main room, toward their fellow officers.

And toward a police station at war.

Tennyson leaned back and smiled. The question hung in the silence of the room as everyone, even the ones behind the glass, considered it and it’s repercussions. Finally, Walter answered.

“Nope.”

“Why not?” Tennyson asked, an almost disappointed note in his voice.

“Because that’s a really idiotic cliche that normally involves a more complicated plan then anyone could actually pull off in the real world.” Walter responded. “And as hard as you’re trying, you aren’t a super-villain.”

Tennyson looked deflated for a moment, like he had been really hoping he would be seen as a suave super-villain. But then he grinned again and leaned forward against the table, his whole demeanor suddenly engaged once more. “I like you, Richards. So I’ll be honest.”

Walter didn’t respond, but slowly raised one eyebrow and let the man continue.

“Of course it wasn’t my plan to get captured. I was sent to kill the two girls. If I didn’t and got caught then it was simply a bonus.” Tennyson said this as if he were discussing his grocery list, the score of the Chiefs game, or holiday shopping. Walter put a hand on the table and braced it to keep himself from coming across the table. Hot red rage raced through his mind, and his heart, like a charging horse. He knew he had to get it under control, knew that part of Alexander sending him in was an implicit agreement that he would keep it under control, but the smug bastard was just sitting there with a smirk like it was nothing.

“A bonus?” Leah asked with a more even keel than Walter would have been able to manage at the moment, with his knuckles white and the rising heat of anger in his chest. He managed to give her a grateful look before he turned his eyes back to the other man and forced them to be calm, and steely.

“Well perhaps not a bonus, call it some intriguing additional intelligence. For example we now know that someone wants to help them, which is how I got caught.” The captured criminal explained, with a shrug. “We thought there might be…outside players swinging things one way or the other, and now we know.”

“You act like you’ll be in a position to tell them.” Walter finally managed to rejoin the conversation with an effort. His voice was mostly level, if only somewhat edged, and he forced his hands to move from the table edge and resume a normal posture.

“Oh, I will.” Tennyson offered airily, waving his fingers lightly. “I may spend some time in here or county, but I will be back in their employ before too long. And with even more intelligence then we ever expected.”

Walter’s curiosity outpaced his still simmering anger at that last comment, and he couldn’t help but raise his eyebrow again. “What, you can magic your ass out of closets as well? And what intelligence will you be taking back even if you could get out?”

Tennyson’s smile was now nothing eve cousin to a mirthful grin; instead it was filled all with hidden knowledge and smug superiority. It was a snake’s grin, a predator hiding in the bushes and waiting to pounce with what it knew—and they didn’t.

“There is so much here that you just don’t know about, Walter. Things that will get you in trouble if you don’t get out of their way.” Tennyson offered in an almost amicable tone. “The best thing you could do? Get on a plane with your daughters, and leave. I can tell you the people I work for will not follow you, will not chase you, will not hunt you. You will not hear about the Border any more, and you will be safer and better for it.”

Walter stared at him for a moment, as if stunned by the impromptu speech. “What don’t I know?” He asked, any attempt at good cop bluff or bluster in his voice gone. Tennyson simply began to laugh, shaking his head.

“Oh, Major Richards, I don’t have the time to tell you what you don’t know. Even if we left out the things you just never studied at your schools and kept with my areas of specialty, we would be here for weeks.” Tennyson’s laughter suddenly vanished from his face, which assumed the icy harshness of a wind racked peak. “We knew that there was somewhere in the city that was protected, where some things had been hidden. We were trying to find it, and find a way in to it. But the people that protected it were very good at what they did, and we couldn’t.” His eyes glinted like blue diamonds, and Walter swore they were darker then they had been a minute ago. “Turns out it’s here. All waiting for us. And you brought me in. Under the law, under the moonless night, and under iron you brought me past all their defenses. And what is iron from without is gossamer from within, and my masters come calling for me. I call you, oh knife of the darkness. I call you oh crow of midnight. I call you oh storm of shadows. Thrice called, thrice willed, thrice done.”

As he finished, the room shuddered as the air conditioning turned off, and all the lights went dark.

Alexander pulled up short before the door, turning to face the others. “Something isn’t right here.” He said after a moment’s reflection. “I’ve seen a lot of guys in a lot of boxes, and none of them have ever been that calm.” He shrugged a little bit as he looked between Walter and Leah, who were designated to go in. “I don’t know what it means, but I don’t like it. So be careful, and we’ll be right out here.” He reassured them, before he turned and opened the door.

They walked in to the room to find the man seated comfortably behind the desk like it was in his office and he was waiting to speak with a pair of subordinates. His wrists were handcuffed in front of him to a u-bar on the desk, and were folded over together as best they could be in patient repose. The dark hair sprayed with silver framed a sharply angled face, handsome in a striking way when lit with a smile. What it had on beneath those crystal eyes was a cousin to a smile, or an uncle, but it had too much smirk in it to be a truly joyous thing.

“Ah finally.” The man offered. “I was getting so bored of just sitting here, waiting for things to begin.”

“Edwin Tennyson.” Walter said as he moved to sit down. “Investigated by Interpol three times for three different crimes, nothing ever proven. Some minor crimes States-side, but nothing like this. Which means either you had a habit for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, before you decided to get real violent; or you were always violent, and decided to get real sloppy.”

“And you must be Walter.” Edwin said with a cool little smile. “Please sit. Can I get you something? Coffee? And yes, that’s one alias.” That drew both officers up short. “Mmm, surprised?” He asked.

“Are you…new at the alias thing, Mr. Tennyson?” Leah asked as she laid a folder out on the table in front of them. “Because normally you don’t share the alias right away, or so I’m told. Kind of supposed to be a secret.”

Tennyson gave a lazy smile as he leaned back, to the extent that his handcuffs would allow him to. “And where would the fun in that be? So many people running around with secrets. Secret names, secret lives, and secret agendas. But if you never find out about them, then you can’t see what happens when they’re revealed.”

“Uh huh.” Walter said absently as he reached out to adjust the folder, and pulled out pictures. “We have you on attempted murder of a group of teenagers, on top of aggravated assault, weapons charges, breaking and entering, and of course parking in a handicapped spot to commit all of the above felonies.” He said, spreading out photos of the crime scene, the seized weaponry, and the parking violation.

“Is that the crux of it, the parking violation?” Tennyson asked, a note of genuine amusement in his voice as he considered the picture.

“We just wanted to lay out exactly what we have you on, Mr. Tennyson. It’s quite a staggering array. The attempted murder by itself has a median sentence of over 12 years, and that’s assuming that a record doesn’t surface for you.” Leah explained once Walter was done with the pictures.

“That’s a pretty little butcher’s bill, Mr. Tennyson.” Walter continued from his partner smoothly. “But we’re willing to help make a lot of it go away.” Walter said, attempting pleasantness and unable to keep a certain amount of edge from his voice. “So let’s make a deal. You tell us why you were there, and who sent you, and we make some of these charges go away.”

“First, you can’t make the charges go away, only the DA can do that.” Edwin Tennyson responded simply, reaching out to brush away some of the pictures. “And what makes you think someone sent me?”

“Do you have some reason to want to kill these teenagers besides someone sending you?” Leah asked, as Walter raised an eyebrow. He had been about to ask a similar question, albeit in a more angry tone of voice, and with more expletives.

“No, I was just curious.” Tennyson gestured non-chalantly with his hands. “I was sent. But the question I’d like to ask you is: How do you know it wasn’t my plan to get brought here all along?”

BEGIN CHAPTER 6: DEVELOPMENTS

Monday started early, with the coolness of the weekend leaving a little lingering mist on the still slumbering city. Walter walked in through the mist with a briskness to his step that matched the air, and a determined look on his face. The desk sergeant gave him a nod and waved him on through, a matching expression on the hispanic officer’s face.

The holding cells of the headquarters were deep in the back, and he had to stop and be checked several times, which warmed his heart. Even under normal circumstances he was in favor of people doing their job properly. When the people they were keeping had tried to kill his children—well, he thought briefly that maybe the guards weren’t there just to keep people from getting out.

Finally he came to the secured interview room, and looked in through the darkened glass to where a single prisoner was secured. “Only one?” He asked as he looked to the others. Marshal Alexander, Andre, Leah, and the newly minted Corporal Shaw were in the room watching.

“He’s the only one who has seemed willing to talk at all. In fact one of the others doesn’t have a tongue.” Alexander offerd darkly, shaking his head.

“So he either had cancer, or used to be a snitch for some very serious people.” Walter said as he stopped to consider. The man in the room, the one apparently willing to talk, was handsome. Sprays of silver dusted his dark hair, and his eyes were a pale crystal blue visible even through the dark glass. “But this one will talk?”

The rest of the room shared a look that Walter couldn’t identify. “Well…” Andre offered with a shake of his head. “Kind of.” He motioned.

The man seemed to know he was being spoken of, and raised his eyes to exactly where Walter was standing. “Transit lux, umbra permanet.” He said, with wry smile of amusement.

Before Walter could ask, Leah raised her notepad. “It means ‘Light passes, shadow remains’. It’s an inversion of a latin phrase, apparently.” She offered, before she smirked at Walter’s raised eyebrow. “I had to google it; they don’t reach latin at Hebrew school.”

Walter snorted before he turned back to the window to gaze on the man inside. “What did we pull up about him?”

Shaw turned away from the monitor, where he had been considering something. “He has a record for some minor violent crimes, and it looks like he was questioned by Interpol for a couple of things but either they were wrong, or nothing stuck.”

The others considered him for a moment before they looked back to one another. “So we have someone who may be violent, or may not be. Except we caught him with a rifle shooting at teenagers, so that answers that.” Walter summed up.

“So we’re going to go in a little bit blind.” Alexander agreed. “Maybe more than a little bit.”

“Come, Marshal and Marshalings.” The voice from inside the cell cried out, his voice strong and with just the hint of a melodic accent hiding behind years of practice. “I do believe that there are 72 hours before you have to charge me, and I have been waiting to talk to you.”

They all stared at the glass for a moment. “Christ, what an asshole.” Andre murmured, before they shared a general shrug.

“I’m never going to be able to let you go out on Friday nights again. Ever.” Walter proclaimed to his daughters, with a mix of exasperation, concern, and relief. “Or any other night.” He amended with a grumble. “So when I asked you about shenanigans, you neglected to include breaking and entering for what good reason?”

The conference room the Richards family occupied was the same one that Walter had spoken to Tania Summers in a few days before. It was a somewhat more quiet scene now, with Antigone and Siobhan torn between the exhausted relief of adrenalin having left their system and the sullenness of teenagers before an angry parent.

When the police, besides Officer Shaw, had arrived it had been briefly pandemonium. None of the shooters were dead but two were severely injured, and the one who had been hit with the pirate brand pepper spray had been loudly promising vengeance on “that craven sow who lit my face on fire.”

Of course when Walter had arrived his first reaction had been relief and hugs that were desperately reassuring on both sides, heartfelt and deep. Both girls had been able to see the stark relief etched plainly into his features. They had both been shaky, and blankets and hot drinks (black coffee for Siobhan, tea for Antigone) had brought a sense of calm if not normalcy back.

But now they were a few hours later and creeping into the time of day normally referred to as ‘wee hours’ for some reason, and the debriefing stage was leaving everyone exhausted.

“We had to.” Siobhan said with a sigh. “Before you get all hot and bothered,” she continued as he started to breathe in to respond to that, and despite her intense desire to never associate those words with her father, “We did. He was creepy to us.”

“He was creepy to us is not, as far as I know, an acceptable defense in a court of law for any crime.” Walter’s voice carried a bit more weary sarcasm then he normally liked to employ with his children, and he softened it with a tired little smile.

“He knew something Bonnie had said at school.” Antigone continued before her sister’s snark cannon could fire and make it worse—she got more and more so the more exhausted she got, which did not help when arguments or debriefings reached their second or third hours. “Verbatim. We needed to know how.” Walter suddenly looked very serious at that revelation, and was about to say something when a uniformed officer leaned in.

“We found a letter for you, Walter.” The officer said. He held out an opened envelope and an unfolded letter, which the girls instantly recognized as being a matched set with the others that had started their adventure that evening. “It’s cleared and printed.” Walter still pulled a pair of gloves out and put them on before he took the proffered goods. As he turned the envelope over the girls could see that their instincts had been write as they identified the handwriting. At their intensely interested expressions Walter raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.

He considered the letter slowly, and only his poker face kept emotions from showing.

“Pretty freaky shit?” Siobhan asked. Walter only nodded, slowly.

“He answered my first two questions, and it says he isn’t pressing charges. In fact,” Walter offered with a wry note as he glanced up to meet his daughters’ eyes. “It says he, in fact, gave you tacit permission to do what you did.” Walter gauged the looks on their faces. “Is that what happened?” His tone of voice was doubtful, to say the very least.

“Sure!” Siobhan said instantly. “So now that we’ve given our stories—err…” She stumbled for a moment, before amending “I mean testimony three times…you gonna habeas our corpuses, or are we under arrest, copper?” She asked with a forced cheer that belied her sheer exhaustion. Walter considered her, and the butchery she had just performed on both English and Latin, and waved.

“Please try not to commit any felonies—or misdemeanors,” He added immediately, “on the way home. Monica is waiting outside.” He explained, which made both girls blink. Walter raised his voice to call out to the hall. “Officer Shaw, why don’t you come in?”

The girls passed the mocha skinned officer in the doorway, and paused to both give him a simultaneous thankful hug. With reassurances that it was, quote, nothing, Shaw came up to Walter and stood. He looked like he didn’t know what to do, and Walter surprised him by reaching out and shaking his hand. “Thank you, Officer Shaw.”

Shaw smiled. “They pretty much did the work, sir. I just got to take out the trash.” Walter nodded.

“Still, someone had to be there to do it. Thank you.” He offered the younger man solemnly and sincerely. “I see you’ve put in for promotion to Corporal and transfer to investigations?” He asked, to which Shaw nodded. “Well, investigations is full, but I spoke to Marshal Alexander about a different opportunity.” Walter grinned as Shaw looked briefly hopeful, then disappointed, then confused. “Welcome to the Three Stripes Task Force, Corporal Shaw.”

Scotty Ravotti, known as ‘The Body’ and self-proclaimed World-Class Hottie, didn’t hesitate. He reached out and grabbed the attacker, who was two inches shorter and probably twenty pounds lighter than him. With the training of years of backyard wrestling for a surprisingly (perhaps disturbingly) popular Youtube channel, he pulled the man in to the air and arched back, driving his foe rough in to the concrete and the unexpected embrace of unconsciousness. Scotty straightened up triumphantly, while the other man breathed and bled on to the ground.

But the triumph was short lived, as one final man came up behind Siobhan and placed the barrel of a rifle against the back of her head.

**** ****

Officer Julian Shaw did not wake up that morning for his evening shift in a particularly heroic mood. He did not put on particularly courageous underwear, and his eggs were not more valorous than normal. But when the moment came, Officer Shaw chose heroism.

He had heard the first gunshot while he was a bit over a block away. It almost could have been a backfiring car, but he started moving. By the time he heard the second shot he knew what it was, and wished that he hadn’t been just coming off shift. He was off-duty, barely, and still had his cell phone; he had the department’s emergency line dialed before he even realized he was doing it, and drew out his service firearm.

“Shots fired, old market. Coming from the psychic shop. Officer Shaw responding. Send backup.” He left the phone connected but put it in his shirt pocket as he carefully walked forward.

He came on the scene just in time to see a teenage boy flawlessly slam a man in a bullet proof vest in to the concrete, his M4 Carbine sliding away. Shaw chose heroism when he saw the other man raising his own weapon at the darkly dressed girl.

“Hey!” He called out sharply. The man started to turn his gun, but before he could act the dark haired girl did.

**** ****

Siobhan heard the call and felt the barrel shift fractionally, and she responded instantly. While Antigone took to music and dancing at 5 like a natural, Siobhan had always needed a more aggressive outlet. As a consequence she had studied martial arts for the previous decade, and her response was pure instinct.

She whipped around and grabbed the rifle’s stock, shoving the barrel in the air and away from anyone on the ground. Next her heavy booted foot lashed out in a vicious kick to the inside of the man’s thigh, impacting his femoral artery and dropping him to his knees with a cry of pain and shock. Her knee next came out to play, striking the man’s face and breaking his nose in a bloody crunch and spray that robbed the man of consciousness, the tension leaving his body in an unexpected rush.

She was about to do a little victory dance, or maybe spit on the unconscious and bleeding man–Or more likely throw up and pass out too, she thought–when she heard a gunshot and turned back in shock.

**** ****

Officer Shaw watched in a moment of shock as the girl, 5’2″ in her boots and maybe a buck ten soaking wet, mauled the attacker so thoroughly. But the other short girl–a sister, he realized–grabbed his attention with a cry of fear.

“One more, by the glass balls!” The sister shouted, grabbing her friends and getting clear out of the way. Shaw moved his firearm to the window, sighted with the quick movements of long instinct, and fired.

Border P.D. issued Springfield Armory .45  caliber handguns…for some reason, as all the nearby departments issued 9 millimeters. His barked loudly, and in the dark the burning powder was visible as a brief gout of flame that illuminated the street in its glow. The window shattered like a discordant symphony, shrieking and tinkling and then silent as no return fire came and the normal sounds of night returned. Silence punctuated only by the chirping of far off cicadas.

“Evening.” Julian Shaw offered to the high school kids, his own hands shaking a little bit as he holstered his firearm.

“Shit titties!” Siobhan cursed loudly. Antigone and the others screamed, and Scotty cursed even more loudly and fluently than Siobhan. For a long moment no one moved, until Siobhan saw the note in her hand again, and some sense returned and tamped down on the flooding panic. “GO!” She shouted, grabbing Antigone by the hand and Monica by the shirt. Scotty shoved Lacey forward, and the group started to bolt for the door.

The girls passed through the doorway just fine, but something tickled Siobhan’s recollection as she did so. She gasped and turned, grabbing Scotty by the lapels of his jacket and falling back in a classic judo throw–except she didn’t send Scotty tumbling away, sliding back just enough to pass through the doorway on their momentum.

“What the fu-” Scotty started, as Siobhan pointed her finger up. A thin trip wire ran across the doorway between the store room and the store front, right at neck level on the taller young man.

“Get back here!” Antigone hissed, although any concern for quiet was ruined with the crash of a heavy table hitting the ground. Siobhan and Scotty scrambled unsteadily to their feet and started toward the impromptu barricade.

“Why don’t we just run?” Monica asked, via panicked shouting.

“Letter!” Antigone responded. Siobhan saw her sister pop up, kneeling on the left side of the barricade holding her slender bottle of Pep-Arr Spray brand pepper spray. Her shoulders were shaking slightly and she was deathly pale, but her hands were steady enough on the bottle. Something about her position rattled Siobhan, until she remembered. She grabbed Scotty and jerked him to the left instead of the right, just as a bullet flew from the doorway and hit the desk where they had been going. A huge chip flew off the desk but it only revealed how thick it really was as it embedded deep in the wood.

The man who had fired came around the corner to the doorway, raising a military looking rifle for another shot. He might have gotten it off had it not been for the meddling of (presumably) Gregory Shepherd. The trip wire caught the shooter in the throat and held, sending his legs out from under him. He hit the floor with a thump and a choking gasp, his hands moving to his throat. Above him the second part of the trap, a pair of small gargoyles on a platform that the commotion had disturbed, fell on to his chest with a meaty thunk and the snap of breaking bones. He lay still, breathing but either unconscious or just deciding to stay down. With him down Siobhan and Scotty threw themselves behind the barricade and Siobhan started to fumble in her purse for her own pepper spray.

The first man’s friend came around and stepped over the fallen shooter, raising his own rifle. Antigone depressed the trigger on the pepper spray and a stream lashed out. It wasn’t incredibly easy to aim, but both girls had practiced with their father and she was, at the end of the day, the daughter of a sniper. The man jerked away but the stream still hit his left eye, and he cried out in pain as both eyes slammed shut in real and sympathetic pain. He stumbled back against the wall, one of the boards that caught him snapping with a resounding crack.

Siobhan’s eyes opened wide, and she saw Antigone’s did too. “Everyone out!” Siobhan blurted, making it an order by saying it really loudly instead of with particular force or authority. Scotty was up first, kicking out the front door which had been unlocked with a rattle a bell’s jingle. In various states of stumbling and surefooted-ness, and a universal and continuing sense of panic, they exited.

Right in to yet another man with a rifle, coming around to flank them.