਀ ਀ ਀ ਀ State of Mind਀ ਀ ਀
਀ ਀
State of Mind
਀ ਀ By Stephen Tsai਀
਀ ਀

਀ ਀ ਀ Dr. Mitchell Roston finished his calculations on his new reactor design. A Generation IV variation of the Supercritical Water Reactor, he had developed an innovative design that would allow him to upgrade existing Light Water and Pressurized Water Reactors with only modest structural modifications. With an increased thermal efficiency, the technology offered a chance for energy corporations to improve their operations with only minimal investments. That the Pentax Corporation was too narrow-minded to see the future had gotten him fired from his last job.

Roston thought back to his last day with Pentax. The arrogance of those fools! Yes, Dr. Johanssen had been killed, but it was that foolish cow's fault that things had gone wrong! Luckily for him, Pentax was in no mood to get involved in a long protracted legal battle, so he was able to minimize the negative publicity when he interviewed and joined the Exelon Corporation.

Exelon was a giant energy corporation that ran eleven nuclear reactors around the Midwest; four around Chicago alone. When he presented his ideas to the board, they were willing to take a chance and bring him on board. A chance to improve the plants without needing to reapply for environmental licenses was appealing to the bean counters. Some of their scientists expressed concerns and urged the board to proceed with caution. Cowards... Roston thought. Once he had finished his installations, he knew he would be vindicated and be showered with the glory that was rightfully his. It'd be his name in the scientific journals. The audience in Stockholm would hang on his every word. And those fools in Pentax would be choking on their own shortsighted stupidity when they realized what they had lost.

As he finished his report, the telephone rang. "Yes?"

"Dr. Roston, it's Dr. Burton. It's about your proposal for the Braidwood plant. I don't think I can support your proposal."

Roston cursed under his breath. Fool! "Well Dr. Burton, maybe if you could discuss what's bothering you, I could change your mind."

"Your proposal is very ambitious, but changing out the light water coolant for supercritical fluid without a scaled load test seems to be very risky. The EPA is still leery about our plants ever since the LaSalle site area emergency a few years ago."

"Well, a scaled load test would mean a plant shutdown to do a restart. Are the board members going to accept that instead?" Roston smiled to himself; he knew the bean counters would never accept that kind of downtime.

"I think we need to take the test back to simulations. If something goes wrong, the supercritical fluid could lose containment and we'd be risking a reactor failure."

Roston's hand trembled with rage, but he held himself in check. Dr. Lamar Burton's opinion carried some weight with the board. If he didn't sign off on it, then his plans would be shelved. Back to simulations? That would means years! "Let me think about that Dr. Burton, and I'll get back with you."

Roston hung up the phone without listening to Burton's last comment. He had come too far to be stopped now. If Burton wouldn't help, then he would just have to go over him. He would have to put his plans into motion without him. This time, he would not be denied. As the old adage said, "it was easier to ask forgiveness than it is to get permission."

* * *


"And what happened next?"

Angelina trembled as she looked around unsteadily while lying on a coach. "It was like...feeling a dam breaking. I couldn't hold it back any more. All the emotions, the stress..." She shook her head as she struggled to continue.

Dr. Emily Marshall nodded as she took some notes. They were in a private room at their downtown clinic. Dennis Halbert was in the next room. Angelina had told Emily that he was associated with the Project in the past, and hopefully he could provide some additional information.

"Angie, where is all this stress coming from?" Emily asked. "I know having powers can be stressful, but your metabolism's showing a sharp spike from the last time I examined you. Is there something else going on in your life?"

"It's nothing..." Angelina said as she turned away on the coach.

"Don't hold out on me Angie," Emily said sympathetically. "I don't have to be a telepath to know you're hurting from something."

Angelina looked back at Emily as her eyes began to tear up. "It's just..." she shook her head before continuing. "It's just all the stuff the media's slamming me with. I hate to sound so shallow about it, but..."

"Angie, maybe you shouldn't go reading the newspaper or watching the television news about yourself. The other Saviors are pretty sure that your enemies have agents in the press."

"But I can't stop it," Angelina said with tears. "You know I hear people's thoughts around me all the time. What you may not know is that it's a lot more intense when people are thinking specifically about me."

Emily looked at Angelina with dawning realization. "So all the media attention about you is making people think about you."

Angelina shook her head as her eyes showed her frustration. "Did you hear the latest? Some television news show trotted out some bogus doctor claiming that my telekinetically lifting people out of the Sears Tower could give them cancer because I was damaging their DNA?"

Emily looked up with disbelief. "You can't be serious. No, I didn't see that one. I'm aware of some of the... well... unkind comments said about..."

"You can say it Dr. Marshall," Angelina said softly. "'Gene freak', 'power-mad slut', 'Nazi dominatrix', and of course the ever-popular 'danger to all mankind' for the ones who don't have any imagination. Did you know there's a group of old women living in south Chicago convinced that I'm causing their pneumonia by thinking bad thoughts about them? There's a whole bunch of horny middle-aged businessmen in a bar right now taking bets on which one of them can score with me first. Then there are the sleazy lawyers who are trying to build a criminal defense around the possibility that I made their client commit carjacking and deal drugs. The police and fire departments are trying to investigate if I had anything to do with a half-dozen cold cases of vandalism and assault, based on 'anonymous tips'. And that doesn't even cover the really disgusting things some people are thinking about, like those drug users in the East side of town who want me to..."

"OK, that's enough," Emily said firmly then sighed. "I had no idea it had gotten this bad."

"The media's not even the worst of it. All it takes are a few misleading headlines and people's imaginations do the rest. Trust me when I say this: Nothing can illustrate the worst parts of people than their fantasies gone wild."

"Angie, I want to first tell you that you're not being shallow. Everyone wants to feel accepted one way or another. I can't even begin to imagine what it must be like being slandered twenty-four hours a day like that."

"There are times I want to just fly away and never come back..." Angelina said despairingly. "Maybe if I disappeared, it would all go away."

"Angie, running away is never an answer. Wherever you go, there's always going to be people who want to believe the worst of everyone else. There's a pathological need for some to drag others down to their level." Emily paused before she continued. "You may not hear this from anyone else in the city, so I'll say it. You are a wonderful person. By my count, you've saved nearly 25,000 people already, even if most of them are too shallow or cowardly to admit it. You live an honest life when it'd be so easy to use your powers for selfish personal gain. You're carrying a burden that I can't even begin to imagine. You've made your share of mistakes, but I want you to know that you don't have to face them alone. Madelyn believes in you. Rusty believes in you. I believe in you. And we are going to help you through this."

"I don't know if anyone can help me," Angelina said in despair. "If this were some giant bug-eyed monster from outer space; that I could handle. Public opinion, I don't know what to do about it."

"We have people who can help in that arena. Rusty told me to expect someone to contact me today. Another thing we need to do is to get to the bottom of your sensory overload problem. I'd like to run a few more tests to see if we can at least alleviate the symptoms." She reached under her chair and put on a full-face helmet. "Can you read what I'm thinking right now?"

Angelina glanced at Emily for a moment then looked away. "36-18-27; your locker combination when you were a freshman in medical school."

Emily sighed. Back to the drawing board Rusty.

"It was a little fuzzier than normal," Angelina admitted contritely.

"It was supposed to be an 85% rated neural shielded helmet," Emily huffed as she took the helmet off. "Nova Tech Corp is trying to develop the technology to counter hostile telepathic opposition for their powered-armored combat suits. Rusty shipped me this prototype in the hopes that it might help you block out all that mental noise in your head. I guess it's lucky for him that most psis don't have anywhere near your capability."

Just then, there was a knock on the door, followed by the door opening. "You're ready for me then?" Dennis Halbert asked rhetorically.

"Humph...so you are psychic, Mr. Halbert," Emily said.

"Not in the same way," Dennis said as he handed a set of handwritten notes to Emily.

Emily flipped through the first few pages of notes that had everything Dennis could remember about his experiences with Project Mindshadow. She shook her head and grimaced. "Dr. Hans Gruber...and here I thought cosmic justice would have put an end to him by now."

"He gets his comeuppance," Dennis said. "Just not right away."

"I'll have to take your word for that," Emily said. "This section you wrote about some of the test subjects...having difficulties with sensory input sounds relevant."

"Euphemisms don't work well on me," Angelina said with depression. "The exact words you're reading are 'test subjects were driven insane',"

Emily sighed exasperatedly. "I'm a doctor. Shielding my patients from bad news is part of the job," she said matter-of-factly.

Dennis walked over to Angelina and put his hand on her shoulder. "That's not going to happen to you."

"Is that a vision of the future or just false hope?" Angelina asked with dejection.

"I'm basing that on the fact that your parents were two of the ones who did pull through."

Angelina turned to Dennis and paused for a moment. "What were they like?"

Dennis sighed. "Your parents were good people." He looked at Angelina more carefully. "You've got your father's eyes. When he got excited, his eyes would get really intense just like yours. Other than that, you're a spitting image of your mom."

"I keep thinking...what my life would have been like... if they were around when I was growing up."

Dennis turned to Emily. "It might help your treatments if we knew what kind of sensory input Angie's getting. I still remember some of the tests they did on us back then if you'd like to try them."

Emily shrugged. "As long as they don't involve Dr. Gruber's usual methods of cutting her open, go ahead."

Dennis went to the corner of the room and pulled out some medical equipment, a hearing-testing device, and a blindfold. "Angie, your mom was in 'Lot 6' from the original Project. Your dad was in 'Lot 2'. I was in 'Lot 13', lucky me. Each of these groups were subjected to a different set of drugs, treatments, genetic modifications, and training regimens, each designed to stimulate and encourage different types of known or suspected set of ESPer abilities. You however are a wholly different critter; you're the results of combined treatments, plus whatever drug cocktails they fed you when you were growing up." He paused as he put the blindfold around Angelina's face. "Like I said before, an accident."

"Great..." Angelina groused. She tried to look around. "What now? Use the Force and pin the tail on the donkey?"

"Something like that." Dennis then put the sound-proofed headphones on Angelina and switched on the microphone. "Basically, we're cutting off your normal senses as best we can. If you have additional senses, then those should be coming forward now. Now normally, you have difficulty reading my mind because of the changes the treatments made to my brain. But if what I suspect is true, you can still see me, can't you?"

Angelina tilted her head and focused her attention into the darkness. "Yes... I can see your body's molecular structure. It's like seeing you in an X-ray machine."

"Who else can you see?" Dennis asked.

"I see Dr. Marshall...walls made of wood and concrete...the receptionists and seven other patients in the building."

"Not bad. Can you see what I've placed in front of you?"

"It's a metal dish with some medical tools. Scalpel, forceps, a couple others I don't recognize."

"See if you can pick them up telekinetically."

Angelina shook her head. A moment later, the tools lifted in the air and arranged themselves in a mid-air circle. "Come on, this is easy."

"Most of Lot 2 didn't think so. Some of them bled from the nose whenever they went past two pounds of mass. Your dad was one of the best; he could do almost fifteen on a good day. But that's not what I was trying to test." He gently touched his finger on one of the forceps handle. "Can you feel that?"

Angelina stiffened and looked up. "Yes... I can feel the warmth from your hand heating the metal. I can even feel your pulse against the handle."

Dennis nodded. "OK, you can take the blindfold and headphones off."

Behind them, Emily watched with some fascination. "What does all that mean?"

"It means Dr. Gruber decided to take the opportunity to play mix-and-match on Angie's drug treatments, probably with the Project's permission. I suspect when it became apparent what kind of power was growing in Angie's mind, they decided to try and expand on her original genetic potential. Unfortunately in this case, she probably has more senses than her brain can handle right now."

"I don't understand," Emily pondered. "How could they expect anyone to withstand that kind of sensory input and still function in daily life?"

Dennis looked at Emily with a grave expression. "They weren't meant to. Free will was never part of the Project's intended goal."

Emily looked down with a disgusted expression. "You're suggesting they were going to hot-sleep their successful candidates and use them as weapons?"

Dennis nodded. "That's the impression I got towards the end of the program."

"How did you get out?" Emily asked.

"In a world where being sane means being a slave, madness is the only real solution. I took a little vacation from reality and got shipped off to Metro State in Massachusetts."

"Great...I'm taking advice from a crazy man," Angelina deadpanned.

"I think Dr. Marshall would prefer that I 'had difficulties adjusting to my new circumstances.' It took me a few years to come to terms with the things that happened to me and where to go with my life."

"Angie, there's a couple of things I'd like you to try to help get your brain chemistry closer to norms," Emily said. "For starters, I want you to try and resume a normal sleep cycle."

"I can't sleep," Angelina said despairingly. "It's like... I can't turn my brain off."

"Listen to Dr. Marshall," Dennis urged. "Several of the Project's test subjects did go insane precisely because they were never able to figure out how to power down their brains after the treatments."

"Even if I could go to sleep, people around me might get hurt when my mind starts dreaming," Angelina said.

"We'll figure something out once we cross that bridge," Emily said.

"There are some dreaming techniques I had to learn to balance out when I first got out of Metro," Dennis said. "If you'd like, I can talk you through some of them."

Emily then reached into her desk and pulled out a cardboard box and opened it, revealing a set of chocolate chip cookies. "Second, I want you to start eating again."

Angelina looked at the cookies with distaste. "There's... bugs in them..."

Emily rolled her eyes with exasperation. "We don't live in the 30th century. Food processing is what it is. I want you to start getting your brain endorphins from something other than using your powers. Sterilize the food if you have to; I'm certain that's within your ability."

Dennis helped himself to a cookie. "Greektown?"

Emily nodded. "A little bakery on South Halsted."

Angelina shuddered as Dennis started to eat. "Do you have any idea how many chemical impurities that thing has?"

Dennis swallowed with exaggerated enjoyment. "Nope. But consider this; you were eating stuff like this, chemical impurities and all for the first thirteen years of your life and you turned out OK. There is such a thing as too much information, you know."

"Give them a try," Emily urged. "Just think of it this way; you have to be the first patient I've ever had to encourage to eat chocolate chip cookies."

Angelina picked up a cookie with a trembling hand, and then reluctantly took a bite. She chewed it slowly, feeling the chemicals in her saliva quickly going to work on the simple sugars in the chocolate and flour. The taste itself wasn't bad; in fact, it was as enjoyable as ever. If only she didn't have to watch the slide show that went with each bite.

"Don't overdo it of course," Emily said. "After going as long as you have without eating, your system's going to take time to adjust."

Angelina nodded as Dennis started on a second cookie. "To your health then."

* * *


Daniel Carter took a moment to look out the wall-height windows as he finished a legal brief, resolving a dispute between three international companies. The legal professionals that made up the staff at Carter and Bing had prepared much of the document, but ultimately every document leaving this office was his responsibility. With great power comes great responsibility, he quoted to himself, and almost laughed when he remembered where the adage came from. Here he was, billing these multi-nationals thousands of dollars an hour and the best he could come up with was quoting summer action movies.

"Mr. Carter, Mr. Rutherford McMiller on line one," Carol the receptionist called on the intercom.

Daniel pressed the button on his phone. "Rusty, how's the high-tech business?"

"Always exciting," Rusty replied. "If I were you, I'd hold onto that Nova stock."

"You really shouldn't be telling that to your lawyer, of all people," Daniel chided mildly. He knew the comment was in jest; Rusty always played by the rules and his portfolio had showed no significant stock sales in months.

"Listen Daniel, I need a favor," Rusty said, turning serious. "I need your office to open up a new case file for me. I have someone facing an organized libel and slander campaign that needs some legal defense."

Daniel shrugged; a simple slander cease-and-desist was hardly the sexiest case he had ever done. The word "organized" caught his attention though. "What did your boy do? Piss on Bloomberg's shoes?"

"It's a girl and she lives in Chicago. I'm sending the details to you now on your encrypted fax machine."

Daniel stood up and walked to his private fax machine. He pulled the pages as they scrolled off the printer and whistled. "She's a hottie... a little young for you though, isn't she?" he said frivolously.

"This is serious Daniel," Rusty said. "She's been targeted by an organized propaganda operation by General Garner. I want you to help her the way you helped Samantha Carter."

Daniel grimaced. What was it with that guy and little girls? "If he doesn't like this girl so much, then why doesn't he just send in some agents to pick her up?" he asked, bracing himself for anticipated bad news.

"Because he doesn't have sufficient forces to make that happen."

Daniel's blood chilled at that comment. "Wait a minute... this is Garner we're talking about? Thousands of soldiers, dozens of metahumans, the best weapons the military can buy, and he doesn't have sufficient forces?"

"Do you remember what Samantha Carter could do?"

Daniel sighed and squeezed his eyes shut. "Last time I heard from her brother Lou, he and Sam were playing catch with each other." With cars, he didn't say.

"Angelina has molecular-level telekinesis, on an order of magnitude that I've never seen before," Rusty said. "She can literally see and rearrange matter and energy at will. She's also a Class 1 broadcast telepath who can read and control whole groups of minds at a time."

Holy shit... Daniel said to himself as he read the file and the ramifications began to emerge in his mind. He jotted down a reminder to himself to contact a physicist who specialized in metahuman studies. He'd need an expert opinion to determine the full scope of what this girl could do. "Christ, what the hell does she need protection for? If Garner's bothering her, why doesn't she just vaporize him on the spot?"

"Because she's also one of the most morally restrained people I've met. She's trying to live a normal life, despite her abilities. Garner and his goons though are trying to psychologically wear her down and she's too inexperienced to know how to deal with this kind of attack."

"So what's Garner's want with her? Put her in Cryogenic Detention?"

"I suspect he wants her as a living weapon. Whether she's used against foreign governments, enemy metahumans or to monitor and pacify the populace is anyone's guess."

Daniel shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He wasn't sure he wanted to get involved in a case this big. "Garner's not going to give up that kind of power without a fight."

"I know," Rusty said. "He almost gunned down a hundred civilians trying to apprehend her. The Dark Saviors had to warn him off and even then, things got tense."

Great...so what's going to stop him from gunning down nosy lawyers Daniel asked himself as he thought about the case long and hard. On the one hand, Carter and Bing was no stranger to huge cases and this one had the potential to be as big as it got. Putting Garner in his place once again would be a nice fringe benefit. But he wasn't sure it was fair to just leave his caseload in David Bing's plate. He knew though that David wouldn't complain as long as the case brought in the cash. "OK, Rusty, I'll meet with her, but I'm not sure how much good I can do."

"Thanks Daniel. I owe you."

* * *


John Raintree smiled as he read through the daily set of transcripts. After much delays and planning, they were finally getting some intel on Subject F67. It had taken some clever scientific expertise and a black-bag operation by their special-ops personnel, but they were getting recordings from the Packard house. Building audio bugs as tiny as possible that could use the house's existing wiring for power and transmission had taken some tricky engineering, but it was necessary to minimize the chance that they would be spotted. A mid-day break-in had planted the bugs with minimal signs of entry. Best of all, the voice recordings were showing progress, in more ways than one. His musings were interrupted by a knock on his door.

"Enter."

Colonel Joel Scott and Master Sergeant Fred Fredrickson walked into the office. "You wanted to see us Mr. Raintree?"

"Yes Colonel." Raintree slid a folder forward. "I just wanted to let your people know that we've been able to plant surveillance on our target. Not real-time unfortunately; the devices are set only to transmit when the subject isn't present to minimize the chance that she spots the energy surge, but they make excellent records of tracking her schedule, along with monitoring her psychological state."

Scott and Fredrickson looked over the transcripts. Scott then nodded. "OK, it's a start. Based on what you've given us so far, we have a working plan being developed. It might entail the use of Special-Class Weaponry."

Raintree nodded gravely. "That's more General Garner's area. He'll have to get weapons-release permission from the National Command Authority for that. We would really prefer that F67 be captured alive, if at all possible."

"Not a problem sir," Fredrickson said. "Based on her actions so far, the Colonel's come up with a little surprise that should hopefully exploit her apparent altruism against her."

"We're counting on her good will then?" Raintree asked.

"That was the plan," Scott said, but then paused as he studied the transcripts. "I'm not sure if your media Psy-Ops is necessarily going to help us though."

"What do you mean?"

"For this plan to work, we have to assume she's going to care whether or not civilian targets are in jeopardy. If you burn her out from caring about others, then that gives us one less hook we can use."

"If we don't wear her down, you'll be facing a confident and self-assured opponent, not someone who's ready to surrender when the time comes," Raintree countered. "We have to grind her down! We have to make her despise the life she has now, or she'll never give it up!"

Scott and Fredrickson looked at each other with concerned expressions before Scott asked, "Mr. Raintree, what exactly is the intended goal of this operation?"

"Whatever do you mean?" Raintree asked nonplussed.

"You seem to be taking a very emotional response to the target. If there's another agenda at work, I'd very much like to know what it is before I commit forces into battle."

Raintree pondered for a moment. "Tell me Colonel, do you have children?"

Scott looked at Raintree with suspicion. "Two boys; twelve and sixteen."

"And you want them to succeed in life. To achieve everything their potential allows them."

"Of course."

"Then tell me...how would you feel if they chose to fritter away their lives in trivial and wasteful pursuits?" Raintree stood up and began to slowly pace the room. "Do you know when F67 was born, I was in the operating room? I've spent the first few months monitoring her growth before Subjects F12 and M21 tried to make their escape attempt, then the next twelve years watching every move she made from toddler to childhood to teenager. I've studied every report card, read every book report and science project she's ever turned in. In a very real sense, I've been her father in every meaningful way possible."

Fredrickson shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Scott sighed, and then spoke up. "Mr. Raintree, are you sure you aren't getting too close to the target?"

Raintree nodded and smiled. "Yes, of course. I simply wanted you to understand my perspective on what I'm about to say next. In the last four weeks since her escape, I've watched her achieve everything our scientists projected and more. I've seen her fulfill every goal Project Mindshadow was ever meant to achieve, but then squander it with meaningless drivel. I've witnessed her alter the fundamental nature of matter by sheer force of will, and then listened as she giggles about boys and lingerie with her idiot friend. I find myself maddened as she casually alters people's minds while toiling away wasting her potential behind a cash register of a minimum wage job, in the fruitless pursuit of a so-called 'normal' life. Am I getting emotional about the target? Perhaps. This project has meant my entire life. So please understand where I'm coming from regarding Subject F67. She is going to be returned to the Project. If that means a level of dedication on my part, then so be it. I've invested far too much to have it any other way."

Scott grunted and wrote down a few notes into a pad. "OK, I think you've made yourself clear. So let me do the same. I'm not here to serve your private agenda. If you're feeling your biological clock ticking, that's your problem, not mine, and it's sure as hell not my soldiers' problems. I'm here at the request of the Attorney General to resolve a threat to national security, not to fulfill some personal vendetta."

Raintree nodded. "Understood Colonel."

Scott and Fredrickson stood up and left the room. "What do you think Fred?"

Fredrickson growled, "I think he's nuttier than a fruitcake, sir. And I think we're making a big mistake with this media Psy-Op. It's like the old Jim Croce song says, 'Don't tug on Superman's cape.'"

"Colonel Mitchell tells me that Los Alamos is confident they can make the warheads to our specifications."

"That might not matter. If our target ends up being a bunch of newspaper reporters, she might just let them fry. I'm also not thrilled that the plan relies on our target having more of a conscience than we do."

* * *


Walter Winthorp III looked around the street before he got out of his car. Behind him, a news van pulled up behind him and a camera crew disembarked. A star reporter for the local television news show, he also wrote a weekly column for the Chicago Sun-Times, and appeared as a regular guest for the national talk shows. He was blessed with good looks and was a skilled public speaker and communicator. He considered it his calling to inform the public on what to think, for their own good.

"Get that camera set up," Walter ordered as he looked around the building. He had been told of this clinic from certain high-level contacts he had in the government. According to his mysterious contact, the Dark Saviors were seen landing here after their fight with Maelstrom a few weeks ago. His contact further went on to tell him that they were harboring a dangerous fugitive who was responsible for much of the calamity that had befallen Chicago in the last month.

Inside the waiting room, several waiting patients turned with surprised expressions as the media circus came in with lights and cameras. The receptionist regarded them with a startled, then annoyed expression. "What exactly is going on here?" she asked sternly.

"Walter Winthorp III," he introduced himself as the cameras began to roll. "I'm here to look into allegations that this unlicensed clinic is harboring dangerous fugitives."

"There are no such fugitives here and we are fully licensed," the receptionist hissed indignantly. "We provide medical assistance to people who need it, nothing more."

"Well, that's commendable. I happen to be a supporter of national health care, so I fully support that effort," Walter tried to offer. In his experience, it was important to mix honey with vinegar when trying to extract information from unwilling interviewees.

"What's going on here?" Dr. Emily Marshall asked as she came up to investigate the commotion before taking quick notice of the media entourage. "You..."

"Walter Winthorp III here," he introduced himself again, "you're Dr. Emily Marshall, correct? Maybe you've read my column?"

"If I wanted to read fiction, I'd wait for the next Harry Potter," Emily spat venomously.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm here with Dr. Emily Marshall, investigating the whereabouts to the metahuman fugitive who's held Chicago in a state of fear this last month..."

"Shut that camera off now!" Emily ordered harshly. "Where did you get this location?"

"Oh, we have our sources Dr. Marshall," Walter offered smugly. "I just thought that it would be fair to offer you a chance to explain your side of the story. As someone who was once charged with malpractice, I wanted to make sure that we get the story right this time."

"There is no story and you have no right to be here!" Emily charged.

"Well, unless you have an injunction, I'm afraid we do. You know... freedom of the press... people's right to know..."

"People's right to know what a cheap-shot artist you are? That I think they already know," Emily said harshly. She shook her head...So Mr. Halbert really can tell the future... good thing he had given her the heads up... "Get Mr. Carter up here now. Tell him he's got a visitor."

"Who?" Walter asked curiously.

The door to the doctor offices opened and Daniel Carter stepped out with a stack of papers. He was wearing a dark pressed three-piece suit, which had the desired effect. He smiled with a confident manner as he handed the documents to Walter. "Your injunction Mr. Winthorp. This is a cease-and-desist order signed by Judge Cashman, from the municipal court downtown Chicago, requiring you to leave the premises and not to return within 100 yards. It also requires you to cease printing or broadcasting any news or opinions about my client or her patient, pending a full investigation of the facts in this matter."

Walter looked at Daniel with a stunned expression. His face gave away his surprise of being caught unprepared. Emily read Walter's expression and returned a smug look. "You see Mr. Winthorp, we have our sources too."

Walter nodded reluctantly to his cameraman, who lowered the camera and turned the spotlight off. He then walked up close to Daniel. "This isn't over. I know every judge in this town and I have connections on this matter," he declared as he turned and walked away.

"We'll see about that Mr. Winthorp," Daniel replied coldly. "I think you'll find I don't roll over as easy as picking on a defenseless teenage girl."

"Defenseless...?" Walter whispered incredulously as he stopped and turned back towards Daniel. "I understand you're new in town, so maybe you haven't heard. This 'teenager' is the most dangerous threat this country has ever faced. I have no idea what foolish ideas they've put in your head to drag you all the way here from New York, but you are on the wrong side on this one Mr. Carter."

"The only person in the wrong here is you Mr. Winthorp," Emily said harshly.

"You'll be hearing from my company's attorneys Dr. Marshall," Walter declared as he headed towards the door.

"God... more scum-sucking lawyers..." Emily muttered as Walter left, then turned to Daniel. "No offense."

"None taken," Daniel said. "Now maybe you can introduce me to your patient."

* * *


Laura Packard sighed as Angelina put a check for $100 on the kitchen counter. "Really Angie, that isn't necessary."

"No, it's OK. I don't want to be a burden Mrs. Packard."

Laura looked at Angelina, who then looked away. "You really haven't been any kind of burden Angie. You work so hard at that job, keep up with your schoolwork, help around the house... honestly, I'm worried that you're pushing yourself too hard. You barely eat or sleep. Lately, you've been very tense and shaky around everyone."

Angelina looked at her hands and realized what Laura was talking about when she saw them trembling. "It's nothing Mrs. Packard," she swallowed and gritted her teeth in concentration. "I'm just having a hard time keeping my mind focused with all the stuff going on around me."

"This has something to do with those...powers? Maybe you should see a doctor?"

"I am; someone I helped out is paying for me to see a specialist. She told me to eat and get more sleep to balance out."

"Well, that's good advice, though somewhat obvious. She couldn't prescribe any medication?"

"Drugs don't work well on me anymore. I have to really concentrate or their molecules fall apart when they hit my bloodstream."

Laura finished her preparations in the kitchen before bringing food out to the counter. "Well, try and have dinner then. I'm making beef stew, and Roger will be home soon."

Angelina nodded and stayed quiet. Unlike Laura, who had come to accept Angelina's situation, she could still feel palpable tension whenever Roger was around. Unfortunately, like most law enforcement agencies, the Coast Guard was having its own difficulties with the rising metahuman population. Between the water-breathing drug smugglers, super strong pirates, and other menaces making all their lives more tenuous, it was a wonder Roger kept quiet as long as he had, but for Angelina, his anxiety alone was like listening to fingernails on chalkboards.

The front door opened and Roger walked into the house. At the same time, Madelyn walked downstairs. After hanging up his coat, Roger then headed towards the dining room and paused when Angelina came in from the kitchen.

"How was your day Mr. Packard?" Angelina asked.

Don't you already know? Roger thought before catching himself and nodding. "It was... nothing special. Just the normal stuff. How about school?"

Angelina fidgeted as Madelyn came down with a looks and thoughts of concern. "Well, the school's aptitude tests are coming up, so a lot of people are studying for that."

"Is that coming up again?" Laura asked. "Maddie, are you ready for that test?"

"Oh God, you had to remind them, didn't you?" Madelyn said with mock despair to Angelina.

Just don't cheat Angelina heard in the back of her mind from Roger. She sensed that the thought was more instinctive than directed, but it hurt all the same.

"After dinner, I want to see both of you studying," Laura reminded them. "No TV until your homework's done. If you have any questions, come to your father or me."

The family sat down as Laura put a bowl of beef stew in the middle of the table, along with salad and hot vegetables. "So what else is going on at school?" Laura asked. "I heard there was some trouble at the mall last week."

"Um..." Angelina hemmed uncomfortably.

"Well, you know... Willie's still a geek, so no loss, right?" Madelyn interrupted. "I'm sure the media was just blowing it out of proportion. You know how those journalists are."

And what was that I heard about enslaving the crowd? Angelina heard Roger almost desperately wanting to ask. What other abilities are you not telling us? Above the table, the chandelier almost imperceptibly began to swing as she anxiously tried to block the accusing thoughts out.

"Well, thank goodness no one was hurt," Laura said as she passed the plate of vegetables to Angelina. Angelina took the offered plate and spooned a small amount onto her plate. She blinked as a tiny wave of mental force peeled away tiny numbers of microorganisms and chemical preservatives. Intellectually, she knew these couldn't harm her in any way. But she was having hard enough time watching her body digest her food and didn't need the additional burden of forcing herself to ignore them.

And what are you looking at now? Angelina heard from Roger as she paused before eating. Food not good enough for you anymore?

Angelina suddenly dropped her fork and shook her head as she stood up. "I'm sorry, I..." She then bolted from the table and ran up the stairs as Laura, Madelyn and Roger watched with surprise. Laura and Madelyn looked at each other with a knowing expression, and then Laura stood up and slowly walked up the stairs after Angelina, leaving Roger and Madelyn alone.

"Thanks a lot dad!" Madelyn said acidly.

"I didn't say anything," Roger protested.

"You didn't have to! I'm not psychic, but even I can feel you drilling her with the evil eye!"

"Maddie, you don't know what's really going on," Roger insisted.

"No, I do know! You don't trust anyone you don't control!" Madelyn retorted. "You treat everything like being with your Coast Guard crew!"

"That's not true! I am looking out for you and your mother!"

Madelyn shook her head and forced herself to calm down. "You're looking in the wrong place then. Angie would never hurt us. She would do anything to protect us. If you don't know that, then you don't know her like I do."

* * *


Laura walked up the stairs to the bedroom and tried to open the door, only to find it sealed. She knocked gently. "Angie, can I come in?" After a few seconds, the door opened by itself and Laura walked in and stopped at the sight of dozens of loose objects floating through the air throughout the room. Angelina was curled up on the bed with her head buried under a pillow.

"I didn't ask for any of this Mrs. Packard," Angelina whispered despairingly. "I'd give anything for all this to go away."

Laura walked past all the floating objects and sat on the bed next to Angelina. "Don't be so hard on Roger. It's difficult for him to adjust to changes like this."

"It's just so hard for me... I know it's unfair to judge people by their thoughts but..."

Laura sighed. "Angie, I don't have all the answers. But I do believe that all things have their place. I believe that things happen for a reason." She paused, pulled the pillow off Angelina's head and caressed her head. "All I know is that since your changes, you've healed my arthritis. Maddie also says you saved her life, along with her classmates."

"Someone else would have saved them if I didn't," Angelina replied dejectedly.

"But that doesn't change the choices that you made. You have a gift Angie; not just your powers, but also your discipline and moral courage. Maybe it doesn't feel like it now, but one day I see you accomplishing great things, even more than you've already done. People will realize who you really are if you give them a chance. And when that time comes, I'm sure that you won't let us down."

* * *


The Braidwood nuclear power plant in Will County was the largest in the state. It served Chicago and northern Illinois with electricity, and along with its sister stations in LaSalle County and Byron, were the cornerstones of the Exelon energy corporation's presence in the Midwest. The plant was powered by two Westinghouse pressurized water reactors, which used high-pressure water both as a coolant and a neutron moderator. Because of its atomic properties, the design was a very stable safe design.

Dr. Roston walked through the corridors leading to the main control room. In one hand, he had a set of orders to supervise the maintenance test cycle for changing out the coolant for fresh fluid, because of the presence of boric acid, which made it slowly corrosive to the steel piping.

"Well, these look OK Dr. Roston," the plant manager said as he read the order over. "I'm surprised you managed to get this through to the board so quickly though."

"Well, you know bean counters," Roston said with an easy smile. "They want everything ship shape for the upcoming inspection."

"I keep telling them to get their maintenance in order. Glad to see you can talk some sense in them."

"Do you mind if I look over your control systems while I'm here? Dr. Burton told me that you were getting some unusual readings the last few weeks."

"Well, everything's unusual these days," the manager shrugged. "Wouldn't hurt to look them over I guess."

Dr. Roston nodded and unpacked his briefcase. Minutes stretched as he typed in a set of diagnostic commands and looked them over. Behind him, the plant manager looked at the results and grunted. Everything seemed in order. "You're looking good," Roston said.

The manager nodded. "I'm going to get some coffee; be right back."

Roston waited until the door closed behind him, then reached into his briefcase. He looked around to check that no one was watching, and then inserted a flash drive into the computer terminal. A few seconds later, his computer override programs were loaded and awaited his command from the outside. He was going to need control of the temperature and pressure systems for his plan to work. Once he proved that his design worked for a sustained period, he would hand control of the plant back to the owners, gambling that they would be impressed enough not to press charges for his actions. He needed to hurry though; he still had three more plants to visit and he needed to finish his modifications to them before anyone double-checked his story or forged orders.

* * *


Angelina sat with dejection as her English teacher Janice Gibbs looked over an assignment. Another downside of being a telepath was getting to hear the bad news and criticism multiple times.

"Angie, I have to say I'm disappointed by this essay. It's sloppy and rushed and your prose really meanders too long before getting to the point."

Angelina nodded. "I know...I didn't have time to do it right."

"What is wrong with you these days?" Mrs. Gibbs asked. "You turn in your book report late; you're not paying attention in class..."

Angelina struggled as the rest of the criticisms went unheard. Her head was still throbbing from the crushing pressure from the combined thoughts of the student body from earlier that day. Ever since the riot downtown, she didn't trust herself to tap into people's minds anymore, for fear that she wouldn't have the strength of will to let them go. But going cold turkey was proving far harder than she could have imagined as she could feel her powers trying to feed on any energy they could get.

"Angie, are you listening to me?" Mrs. Gibbs asked pointedly.

Angelina snapped to attention just as several stacks of books flew across the room as the shelves snapped in half. Mrs. Gibbs looked abruptly at the commotion with surprise. "What the...?" She got up and walked to the wall where the shelves were once mounted. She shook her head and muttered, "Must be some kind of cheap material on these shelves."

Angelina shook her head painfully. "I'm sorry Mrs. Gibbs, I'm just not feeling well right now," she winced painfully. She could feel the molecules of the books, shelves and the air around them rippling with psychic energy. It felt like keeping a wild animal caged; if she didn't let it out soon, something dangerous might occur.

"Well, get better fast Angie," Mrs. Gibbs said. "Aptitude tests are coming up and you need every point you can get right now."

Angelina nodded hurriedly and left the room as quickly as she could. It was the end of the normal school day, which couldn't have come soon enough. She had spent the lunch hour hiding in the school's empty auditorium, in a desperate attempt to try and keep other people's thoughts out of her head. Being forced to stay after school to talk to her teachers about her failing schoolwork was a mixed blessing in that the school building was now mostly empty, other than extracurricular activities.

Angelina drifted towards the school gymnasium. She could feel Peter there along with several of the other football players playing a pickup basketball game. She really wanted to talk to him about their relationship. Even her telepathy wasn't giving her solid answers in matters of the heart; Peter himself didn't know how he felt and she already felt badly snooping in his mind about something so personal.

Just then, Angelina felt another presence coming as she entered the gymnasium. She groaned; Cindi James apparently had the same idea. A thousand tempting ideas trickled into her mind before she managed to quash them; if she even thought about going down that route, then how could she ever face herself?

"What are you doing here Angelina?" Cindi snidely asked as she walked into the gymnasium.

Angelina opened her mouth but couldn't say anything. What am I doing here? What did I think I was going to accomplish showing up like this? I feel like such a fool. "I just wanted to talk to Pete."

"You know what I think? I think you should stick with someone more your speed like Willie," Cindi harshly replied.

As they both confronted each other, the basketball game paused as some of the players noticed the bickering. Two of the guys exchanged an amused remark as Peter turned and look on in aghast.

"Cindi, Angie, look, I meant to talk to you girls about the other night," Peter said as he toweled off briefly.

"Don't worry about it Pete, nothing's going on," Cindi declared confidently. "Angelina was just leaving."

"Don't talk like I'm not here!" Angelina snapped.

"Stop Cindi, you don't want to go there," Peter warned.

"What?" Cindi demanded. "You're taking her side now?"

"No... I mean... yes!" Peter said awkwardly.

Angelina shook her head in disbelief as she listened to the exchange, both verbally and mentally. "Pete... I can't believe you... Even after all we've been through... you're afraid of me...?" she whispered incredulously.

"Afraid of you?" Cindi mocked.

Suddenly, the lights of the gymnasium exploded and the school sprinkler system began spraying water. The players and bystanders of the gymnasium all shouted with surprise as they headed to the exits. Angelina gritted her teeth and tried to squeeze her mind shut. She could feel the water particles as they drifted through the air, along with the molecules that made the rest of the school building. If she didn't get her emotions under control, the calamity would grow.

And that's why Pete's afraid of you, a nagging voice inside her head told her. That's why all those nasty newspaper articles get written and half the city thinks you're some kind of monster. As the chaos in the gymnasium began to calm down, Angelina found herself alone in the dimmed ruined gymnasium with tears of frustration streaming down her face. First the football stadium, now the gymnasium...what next, trash the cafeteria?

"Hey there," Madelyn said quietly as she entered the gymnasium.

"How'd you know I was here?" Angelina said quietly.

Madelyn tapped her temple. "I was pretty sure you needed to talk to someone - probably because you're still putting stuff in my head."

Angelina shook her head and covered her face. "Oh my God... I can't even keep my thoughts to myself anymore..."

"Angie, your mind needs other people's thoughts. It's part of who you are. Trying to cut yourself off like you have these last couple days would be like me trying to go without food and water."

"So you're saying I'm destined to be some kind of mental parasite?" Angelina replied with despair. "Some superhero that is..."

"You know, you make it sound so nasty. Remember when you told me how food digestion is an ugly process for you to watch because of those crazy senses of yours? But we all have to eat, don't we? What you do is no different."

Angelina shook her head. "There is a difference; my needs mean someone else has to suffer. It means robbing them of their free will and twisting their minds like taffy."

"Only if you choose to do that to people and I know you wouldn't. I mean, look at me. You're in my mind more than anyone else and I'm still me. If I weren't, someone would have said something by now."

There was a long quiet pause as Madelyn and Angelina watched the spilled water throughout the gymnasium gather into a floating blob in the middle of the room, drying the rest of the stands and floor. "So, Cindi and Pete, huh?" Madelyn sighed.

"Part of me wants so bad to make her just go away. But the strange thing is, she really is attracted to Pete," Angelina admitted. "So I end up feeling like such a selfish needy little bitch for wanting to change that."

"Well, what are you gonna do? Football players and cheerleaders have been dating since our folks...well, at least my folks were going to high school. Evil government agents probably never date," Madelyn added with some amusement. "Besides, I mean come on; you're not the first girl to lose your mind over a guy."

Angelina snorted. "Just the first one who might blow up the school doing it." She then looked up. "Fire department's coming. They'll be here in a few minutes."

"Well you've almost finished cleaning the place up," Madelyn observed. "It's not like they're going to have much to do."

"Come on," Angelina said as she took Madelyn's hand. "I don't feel like answering questions. I'll take us home."

"Could we swing by Paris on the way home?" Madelyn asked mirthfully.

Angelina groaned inwardly, and then sighed. "Only if your parents give their permission."

"Pooh..."

* * *


Dr. Mitchell Roston smiled as he typed his authentication onto his control terminal from a hidden area in the Dresden Nuclear plant. The computer program he had secreted into the main master control systems of the four nuclear plants around Chicago had not been discovered yet. With these systems, he could manipulate the fluid temperature and pressure systems, turning the normal pressurized water coolant into a supercritical fluid. Once it hit that state, the fluid would take on characteristics of both gas and liquids; it would have low viscosity, high diffusion rates and no surface tension. It would also yield nearly a 50 percent increase in thermal efficiency.

It was all coming together, Roston said to himself. Years of frustration, humiliation and having to deal with the doubts of his peers would soon come to an end. The energy produced from these plants would prove his theories valid once and for all. He would be hailed as a visionary and a pioneer as he deserved to be. This would be history in the making, and he would finally receive his just due.

* * *


"Temperature's still going up," the technician said urgently.

Around the control room in the Braidwood Nuclear plant, Dr. Lamar Burton looked on with growing apprehension at the inexplicable readings. For some reason, the coolant controls were not responding and the temperatures were climbing to alarming levels.

"Pressure's climbing to critical levels in reactor one. Reactor two's just behind it."

"Can we activate the emergency scram?" Burton asked.

"Scram controls aren't responding Dr. Burton," the plant manager said with frustration. "Something's interfering with the mechanism. It's like something's preventing the rods from getting through the reactor."

What the hell was going on? Burton raged to himself. He was doing his best to keep calm, but all the men in the control room were too experienced to be fooled. They all knew how serious it was becoming. All the practiced safety drills and emergency procedures were failing. If they couldn't figure out what was going on, it would only be a matter of time before the temperature and pressure caused a reactor meltdown.

"Dr. Burton, you have a call from the LaSalle plant," the plant secretary said as she came into the room.

"Take a message, I don't have time," Burton said tersely.

"Better make time sir," the secretary urged, immediately getting everyone's attention.

Burton picked up the phone next to his station. As he listened, his knuckles turned pale as his hand gripped the phone tighter. He wasn't sure how much he wanted to share the information he was getting over the phone, but one thing was clear: It was far worse than he feared...

* * *


Roger Packard came home, set his briefcase down and looked around the house. He had spent the day drilling young junior officers in live-fire exercises, but his head wasn't really in it. His daughter's words from the previous night had bothered him more than he wanted to admit. Had he really been unfair to Angelina? Madelyn and Laura were both right; Angelina had never been anything but a sweet kid when they were growing up and he honestly hadn't seen anything to change that. For the sake of his family, it was time to swallow some of his pride and clear the air.

"Angie, can I talk to you?"

Angelina nodded silently and sat down. Roger sighed and put his arm around Angelina. "I know that... I've not been the most understanding about your...situation. It's just that... the few times I've ever had to deal with the metahuman population; it's always been as dangerous enemies. Over time, I guess I've let it affect how I see people. It made me forget the good you did helping Laura." He paused, and then continued. "So I just wanted to apologize about how I've acted the last few days."

Angelina blinked away some tears. "Thank you Mr. Packard, that means a lot to me," she said as she leaned her head into Roger's shoulder.

"I know that it'll still take some time and... I'll probably still slip now and then with my... head...thoughts...whatever. But I want you to know that, no matter what, you're a part of this family, and I haven't forgotten that. Maybe this weekend, we can all go out to Lake Michigan and try and reconnect with each other."

Angelina nodded. "I'd like that..."

* * *


Dr. Roston grimaced with annoyance as the alarm went off inside the Dresden power plant. Of course his modifications were going to cause an increase in temperature; that was the whole point of the exercise. He had gone over the design schematics for all four plants in Chicago and was confident that they would be able to withstand the increased thermal and physical stress. Only the over-conservative Nuclear Regulatory Commission requirements made those thresholds so low. It was nothing that he needed to bother with. He would be finished with his exercise long before those plants were in any actual danger.

* * *


"Alright, let's try to piece this together," Burton said as calmly as he could. "When did all this start?"

The plant manager scrolled through the recorded data feeds that monitored the nuclear reactor. "Everything was clean up until about two hours ago. Right there," he pointed on a blip in the graph, "we got the first alert that the coolant had reached the critical level, but the temperature control system didn't respond. We tried to adjust the pressure system to compensate, but that wasn't working either."

"Pressure and temperature regulators for all our plants going bad all at once," Burton muttered suspiciously, and then turned to the plant's security manager. "What does it look like to you?"

The plant's security manager nodded. "It has to be an insider; someone familiar with those systems. But the last time I checked, no ransom's been demanded."

"Crazy people these days don't always ask for money," Burton reminded the manager.

"Mr. Burton, it's the board," a junior technician said holding a telephone. "They want an update."

Burton looked around the room, read the general consensus and nodded. "Tell them we're calling the mayor and the governor." He sighed heavily at his decision, but his duties were clear. If they didn't get this under control in the next few hours, their first responsibility was public safety. He then pulled out a set of binders that he had never expected to need, outside of practice drills. It was time to put FIRELIGHT into operation.

* * *


Walter Winthorp III jotted down some notes as he listened on the phone. An anonymous source was giving him a sensational story and he wasn't about to let himself be scooped by his competitors. A nuclear plant going critical? Hell yeah, that's a story! He called his television producer and had him book a physicist who could help him walk the television audience to the conclusion he wanted to present.

"Mr. Winthorp, line one," an intercom buzzed.

Walter picked up the phone. "Hey Frank, I'm just finishing up."

"Walter, are you sure about this? I mean, how reliable is your source? I'm not hearing anything on the wires."

Walter scoffed. "The government's probably covering it up. My source just sent me a set of camera-phone shots and audio from the control rooms; it's real," he assured.

"Maybe we should hold off until the mayor has a chance to get the first-responders up to speed."

Walter snorted derisively. "Yeah right; and watch the nationals scoop us? I don't think so! There's no way you can say this isn't newsworthy. And besides, once that little bimbo shows and messes things up, it'll be all the proof I need to get Judge Cashman to reverse his ruling and we can get to the bottom of what she's really up to."

* * *


Just then, Roger's pager went off. He growled under his breath with annoyance at the interruption - probably that newbie slick-sleeved butter-bar of an Ensign falling off the boat again. His annoyance disappeared instantly when he saw the text message: FIRELIGHT.

"Holy shit...!" he muttered under his breath, getting Laura's and Madelyn's immediate attention.

"What is it Roger?" Laura asked. She recognized the look on Roger's face almost immediately.

Roger ignored Laura for the moment, as he quickly dialed a number on the phone. "This is Chief Petty Officer Roger Packard, calling in?"

"This is Watch Commander Exley, acknowledge FIRELIGHT alert Zulu Zulu Bravo."

"Um... Zulu Zulu Bravo acknowledged," Roger replied, and then hung up the phone.

"Dad, what's going on?" Madelyn asked.

Roger looked at the girls in the room with a pale expression. "The Coast Guard's just activated FIRELIGHT." He paused when he realized whom he was talking to. "It's a Homeland Security Alert Level Red notification to all first-responders."

"What?" Laura gasped. "What for?"

"It's because the Braidwood plant is melting down," Angelina said softly.

"Braidwood...Nuclear plant?" Roger asked with concern. "How do you know?"

"Your neighbors are watching TV," Angelina sighed.

Roger turned on the television, hoping that Angelina was wrong. His hopes were dashed as soon as the words "Breaking News...Nuclear Meltdown Crisis..." flashed across the screen.

* * *


Mayor Richard Daley wiped the sweat from his brow as his assembled cabinet listened to the speakerphone. Daley was grateful that the media was currently preoccupied covering the chaos on the streets; the last thing he needed was for the whole world to see him shaking on live TV. On the line was the state governor Rod Blagojevich.

"...and the National Guard is being called up to help with evacuations," Blagojevich concluded.

"And when can we expect to see them?" Daley asked, even though he knew the answer.

The voice on the other end paused. "They're deploying as quickly as possible, but with the roads being flooded with traffic..."

So thanks to that asshole on TV starting a city-wide panic, it could take over a week before any help arrived, the assembled politicians all knew. It would be Hurricane Katrina all over again, only this time, there would be no rebuilding for years.

"Mayor Daley, we have a helicopter standing by for you," one of the advisors said.

"What about my wife and kids?" Daley asked, with a lingering feeling of guilt.

The bodyguard shook his head. "All phone lines are jammed. Traffic's snarled from here to the state line."

"Then what's the latest from the plants?"

"According to Exelon, all four plants are still uncontrolled. They say that if their crews can't get them under control, they expect the first plant to breach in under an hour."

"What about the Dark Saviors? Is Red Nova still around?" Daley asked.

"Unfortunately no; in fact, we've heard rumors that the Dark Saviors are currently dissolved."

Daley shook his head in frustration. "What about that new girl? The one that saved the Sears Tower?"

"Um, I don't think that's an option Mr. Mayor," one of the political advisors said with caution.

"And why the hell not?" Daley demanded.

"For starters, we don't know she was actually trying to save the tower and not wreck it. We've also built your whole reelection platform around taking firm action against metahuman vigilantes. If we end up going back on that platform, we lose credibility."

"If we don't get help, there might not be a city to run for reelection," another advisor snarled.

* * *


Madelyn picked up the ringing cell phone as soon as she realized Angelina's lack of interest. "Hello?"

"Madelyn, is that you? Where's Angie?" Emily Marshall asked.

"She's um... well... we're having a moment..." Madelyn said apologetically.

"You're what?" Emily said in disbelief.

"She had a really bad day at school today and with all the media stuff going on, I think she's really depressed right now."

Emily stared at the phone in stunned silence. "Madelyn, do you have any idea what's going on out there?"

"Um... something about the Braidwood Nuclear plant melting down?"

"Not just Braidwood. Listen up Madelyn; tell Angie it's all four nuclear plants in the greater Chicago area. This is no accident; it's a terrorist strike of some kind and right now, the authorities don't have any solutions. If she doesn't get out there fast, there won't be a Chicago to save."

Madelyn was speechless for a moment as she nodded. "O-OK, I'll let her know."

"Who was that?" Laura asked.

"That was Angie's doctor; she says it's not just Braidwood, but three other plants too. She's asking why Angie's not fixing the nuke plants."

Roger did a double take. "Wait a minute...you said Angie was psychic. How does that translate to stopping a nuclear power plant?" he asked.

"Calling Angie psychic is sort of like saying China built a little fence to keep the Mongols out," Madelyn admitted contritely.

There was a quiet pause. "Is this true Angie?" Laura asked quietly. "Could you stop this from happening?"

"I... I don't know..." Angelina said as she shook her head uncertainly. "I don't think I can do this."

"That's not true!" Madelyn insisted. "I've seen you pick up half of Antarctica! You can do anything you put your mind to!"

"That was just a big glacier," Angelina protested. "I wouldn't know where to begin to stop a nuclear reaction." She looked downcast. "And the people in this town don't want me to get involved in their problems. They'll blame me for starting it. They're probably going to blame me if it all goes bad."

* * *


Emily Marshall and her staff hurriedly carted the immobile patients they had in the ward to the downstairs shelter area. With luck, they would be able to hold out until the rescue workers arrived, if they ever did. Her disappointment in Angelina's apparent paralysis was overshadowed by her rage at the public's reaction to the imminent disaster; the lootings, the acts of vandalism, and the violence breaking out as tempers fueled by fear and panic dominated the news.

The work was interrupted by a pounding on the door. Emily turned to one of the aides. "Get the rest downstairs; I'll check on this." She then walked up the front door, looked outside and almost laughed. What did the bastard want now? "What is it?"

"Open up, I know you're in there!" Walter Winthorp ordered.

Emily opened the door and coldly looked at Walter. "You're within a hundred yards, though that might not matter in another hour," she said tersely. "Besides, shouldn't you be evacuating?"

"The roads out of town are all packed," Walter said hurriedly.

"Gee, you would have thought someone started a panic," Emily mused sardonically.

"Where is she?"

"I have no idea who you mean," Emily said coldly.

"You know goddamn well who I mean!" Walter exploded. "Why isn't she out there stopping this?"

"Stopping it? You mean you haven't written your column about how she's responsible for it?" Emily said sarcastically.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Walter said in disbelief.

"It means maybe she's not coming this time. Maybe she's tired of being called a genetic freak by your newspaper. Maybe she's fed up being blamed for every imaginary ailment and called out by the phony doctors your television show came up with."

"You can't be serious..." Walter said incredulously. "She's going to let nine million people fry because of a freaking newspaper story?"

"What was your favorite saying again? 'The real power of the people is power of the press?'" Emily said caustically. "Well, congratulations; you've conned enough people to ridicule and condemn the only hope they have into sitting this one out. Why don't you write that one up for your next column? I'll make sure to look for it in the obits."

* * *


The alarm klaxons got the attentions of everyone in the Braidwood control center. Technicians scrambled to check readings from the various control panels.

"We have a breach!" one of the technicians shouted. "Reactor one, coolant pipes section four!"

"That's right at the turbine junction," the plant manager tersely added. "What are the temperature readings there?"

"Right now, about 400 C but still climbing!"

"Alright, I want everyone in suits, now!" Burton ordered. "Everyone not equipped to operate in a contaminated area, I want evacuated immediately!" He picked up the telephone; he had to give the update to the board.

* * *


Mayor Richard Daley's office was a beehive of activity. Between coordinating Homeland Security, first responders, and traffic control, every available resource was tied up.

"...and highway patrol has opened up all lanes going outbound to facilitate evacuation traffic. We have roadblocks set up at all major Interstates to warn off incoming traffic. Unfortunately, the police are reporting a sharp increase in lootings and vandalism."

Daley shook his head. "It comes with every crisis. Anything else?"

"Mr. Mayor," another advisor added, "the national media's outside. They want a statement."

Daley looked at his assembled cabinet. The stress was apparent on everyone's face; like most big government organizations, crisis management was never considered a priority in the day-to-day operations of running a city. The drills were rarely practiced and when they were, there was always a lackadaisical air to them.

"Mr. Mayor... I think it's time we asked for metahuman assistance in this matter."

"Richard, we can't do that!" the political advisor urged. "Even discounting the political ramifications, sending untrained, unskilled metahumans into a complex situation like this can only make things worse!"

"Mayor Daley," another advisor added as he held a telephone. His face was pale with sweat. "We just got an update from Exelon. They said Braidwood's number one reactor just breached from the pressure. It's leaking radioactive steam into the atmosphere and they're recommending a minimum safe distance of three miles until they can get the breach sealed."

"And if they can't seal it?" Daley asked.

The advisor shook his head. "Then that distance is going to grow with each passing hour. If any more plants go, then this whole thing will spiral out of control."

"As if there's any control now?" Daley demanded, and then sighed. "Inform the press that we will be releasing a statement in a few minutes. Tell them... that we will be requesting any and all available assets to assist and that for the duration of the crisis, the ordinances regulating metahuman interference with the authorities will be suspended, pending investigation of the nature of the abilities manifested."

"Mr. Mayor..."

"Frank, your objections are noted," Daley retorted. "And once this is over, we can debate the merits and flaws of metahuman intervention in the city in a structured setting as we have been. But before we can do that, we need to make sure there's still a city to run."

* * *


Roger Packard paused his preparations to report in to his emergency station as the television announcement was being made. He shook his head with exasperation. Typical cover-your-ass politician; even with the city in jeopardy, he falls back to political posturing! As if Angie should be grateful she wasn't facing arrest for saving people without authorization!

Angelina sighed. "Well, I guess that kind of oblique back-handed request is the best I'm going to get."

"It's political bullsh...crap..." Roger snarled then trailed off in deference to present company.

"Roger!" Laura objected.

"I didn't say it!" Roger replied contritely.

"So, you're going to stop it?" Madelyn asked hopefully.

"I guess I'm going to try," Angelina said as she stood up. An instant later, Angelina began to pulse with energy as the air around her body crackled. Roger and Laura watched with a mixture of fear and fascination as her normal clothing transformed into a sleek black and silver costume. She lifted off the ground and began to float in the middle of the living room as the long black cloak billowed behind her.

"Oh my..." Laura gasped.

"Told you she could do anything," Madelyn said softly.

"Angie, are you sure you can do this?" Roger asked.

"I should be able to control the radioactive molecules to keep them from hurting me, but I'll have to hope that someone at those plants is willing to help out with the technical know-how," Angelina said as she started to ascend, then paused and turned to Roger. "Sure, whatever you think is best," she said with a slight smile then disappeared through the ceiling.

"What did she mean by that?" Laura asked Roger after a moment of silence.

"Well, I..." Roger hedged awkwardly, "I was just thinking... her outfit's kind of inappropriate..."

"Dad!"

* * *


Dr. Roston cursed as his computer terminal flashed a leak warning from the Braidwood plant. How could that be? He was so sure that those plants were sufficiently over engineered to withstand the stress. Could he have made a critical mistake? No... he told himself. Someone else must be interfering with his experiments; perhaps those foolish emergency workers tried manually dropping the temperature, which could be potentially catastrophic. Not his fault at all, he told himself. He just needed to make a few adjustments to the other plants to make this work and make sure that the blame went where it belonged when he submitted his final report.

* * *


"Sir, something's happening," one of the technicians at the Braidwood plant reported. "Radiation warning sensors around the leak area are dropping back to norms."

Burton looked at the screen and paused. Although it looked like a good sign, he couldn't afford to get his hopes up. With everything else going wrong, it could have been a faulty radiation sensor for all he knew.

"Hey, you can't go in...!"

The control room staff all turned at the sound of the security personnel voices abruptly being cut off. Before they could investigate, Angelina walked into the room. "Sorry about that everyone. I was in a hurry and your security people are understandably very tense right now."

"Careful," one of the technicians urged, "she's probably here to wreck the plant!"

Burton suppressed an urge to slap the man; such a stupid thing to say... "Well, she's a little late then." he retorted with exasperation before forcing himself to calm down. "I take it you're responsible for the radiation drop off?"

Angelina nodded. "I've resealed your leaking pipes and I'm currently holding the steam that escaped in a tight little ball until I can separate out the little bits of metal in the water. If you have some place I can put it, that'd really help."

The various technicians and managers all looked at each other with uncertainty, not knowing how to respond. Burton finally stepped forward. "There's a waste processing area underneath the plant. There are tanks available that can hold toxic fluids for the time being."

Angelina closed her eyes and focused her mind on the molecules around her. "I can drop the temperature of the steam in your reactor up to a point, but I'll need someone to explain how a nuclear reaction works at the atomic level."

The technicians looked at her with confusion and some doubts. "There shouldn't be any steam in the reactor itself," one of them explained. "This is a pressurized water reactor; the coolant's supposed to stay liquid due to the pressure."

Angelina slowly shook her head. "It doesn't feel right. The density of the water molecules doesn't feel like liquid." She concentrated her molecular empathy on what she could feel from the reactor. "The molecules don't seem to stick together like water. There's no surface tension...but I should be able to cool it down either way..."

Dr. Burton's face showed bewilderment during Angelina's explanation, then sudden realization. "No wait, stop!"

Angelina's eyes blinked open as the rest of the staff looked on. Burton turned to Angelina and spoke with as much clarity as his current level of stress allowed. "So what you're telling me is that the fluid in the reactor core has reached supercritical state?"

Angelina looked at Burton with confusion, but then nodded. "The water molecules in the reactor look like the ones you're thinking of, yes."

"Then you can't just drop the temperature," Burton warned. "Supercritical fluid has nearly 50 percent more thermal efficiency than normal water. If you just drop the temperature of the water below supercritical, then the remaining heat in the reactor will just dump into the core structure and melt the whole plant down. If you can sense and control molecules as you claim, then you need to slow the main reaction down first before cooling the fluid."

"I need someone to show me how a nuclear reaction works in their minds," Angelina said.

The men in the control room each looked at each other nervously; despite the stakes, no one welcomed casual intrusion into their minds. Finally, Burton nodded. "I should know what you need to know."

Angelina sifted through Dr. Burton's memories, doing her best to ignore the irrelevant personal information, along with the nervous feelings of everyone else in the room staring at her like she was some kind of leech. "The steam... or whatever you call it has leaked into the control rod cylinders. The pressure is blocking the control rod drive shaft machine."

"Can you clear those cylinders out and drop the rods into the reactor?"

Angelina's forehead furrowed. "The molecules are being a little stubborn... the pressure around the core is keeping me from just pushing it out of the tubes. But I think I can try a different idea if you think it will work. I can change the steam in the tubes into the same stuff your control rods are made of."

Burton thought about it carefully. "That should work if you think you can pull it off. Is there anything we can do to help?"

"Yes; think happy thoughts." Angelina paused to concentrate on the narrow rows, and then added, "I'm serious; they help me stay relaxed and focused."

* * *


"Mr. Mayor, we have an update from Braidwood! They say that the reactor core has been stabilized and the steam leak has been contained!"

There was a momentary collective sigh of relief before Richard Daley continued, "What about the other plants?"

"Well, they say that they're still working on those plants," the advisor reported. No sense going into...unnecessary details on who or how the plants were being saved, he told himself. Protecting the mayor from the political consequences of decisions made under duress was part of his job, along with serving the agenda of his true bosses at the Project...

* * *


Angelina gasped as she flew close to the Dresden nuclear power plant. The last of the four plants, Dr. Burton's voice was in her head, warning her that this plant would be different. Unlike the other three, Dresden was a Boiling Water Reactor, which had significant design differences from the Pressurized Water Reactors she had helped shut down earlier. What really made things worse however were all the bright sparkling molecules she was seeing shooting out of the plant.

"Dr. Burton, there's unstable molecules going everywhere here! Are we too late?" Angelina asked as she assessed the area.

Dr. Burton winced as his head ached from the strain. This mind talking stuff takes some getting used to, he realized. "It looks like the containment structure's been compromised. You'll need to seal the main dome before going in."

Angelina flinched; she could feel the molecules in the air pelting her mind like hail. She had to dedicate some of her concentration to continually ordering molecules to not hit her body or she would suffer some serious radiation poisoning. She then reached out and pushed the molecules that made up the containment dome and ordered them to merge back together. As the cracks began to shrink, the pressure between the remaining fissures increased. She concentrated harder; it felt like trying to squeeze a garden hose shut with her fingers. Eventually, she managed to seal the dome, at least for the moment. As she did so, she became aware of another thought pattern in the area.

"Dr. Burton, I thought you said the plant was evacuated. There's a Dr. Mitchell Roston still here in one of your auxiliary control rooms. Is he supposed to be here?"

Dr. Burton cursed, and then briefly wondered if Angelina heard his profanity. "No he's not. If you can pull him out of there, then you probably should. But whatever he's doing, he's doing it without any authorization from the Board."

Angelina nodded as she flew to the front entrance. Under different circumstances, she might have simply phased through the walls of the facility, but with all the unstable molecules in the air, she didn't want to risk having some stray atoms passing through her body while her molecules were out of phase.

As she entered the main control room, she closed her eyes and tuned out from listening to minimize the distractions of the klaxons and flashing red warning beacons. Her molecular senses homed in almost instantly on the reactor cores; it was like staring into the sun. Dr. Burton had instructed her to look for the scram control rods, but mounted below the reactor instead of above it, and to expect boiling steam instead of pressurized water. However, she was having a hard time homing in on the body that her telepathy told her must still be there.

"Dr. Roston, where are you?" Angelina mentally called out. "Don't be afraid, I'm here to help get you out safely."

"No...!" Roston thundered so loudly it startled Angelina. "Don't interfere! I'm so close!"

Angelina winced; the reactor was reaching critical temperatures and the containment structure was showing signs of imminent failure. "Listen to me! You're being bombarded by radiation right now! Your suit isn't holding it back!"

Roston looked around frantically. Where was that voice coming from? He had already lost contact with the other three reactors; Dresden was his last hope at redemption. He would not be steered away by imaginary voices fueled by doubts or fear.

Angelina mentally reached for the reactor scram mechanism while she narrowed down Dr. Roston's molecular signature. She could feel heavy steel doors blocking access to the auxiliary control area; probably safety features designed to shield off radiation as long as possible. "Dr. Roston, I'm going to override the safety controls blocking your escape, but I need you to go through as quick as you can! I don't know how long I can hold it!"

Roston continued to work on the control panel, adjusting the coolant feeds and reactor controls as the heavy steel door opened. He ignored it; the voices were trying to rob him of his destiny. Any minute now, the reactor would stabilize at its natural higher energy state, proving his design once and for all.

Angelina cringed; the reactor core was now so hot, she could feel the heat in her mind. Roston had still not moved; was he not hearing her? She could also feel the steel safety door's mechanism pushing to close itself as per its programmed instructions, while the radiation in the air intensified. She gasped; she needed to push back against the radiation from hitting her body and the pressure in the coolant pipes was threatening to open up another breach. She shook her head as she released the safety door; she needed to shut the reactor down or everyone else in the Dresden area would suffer the consequences and that was going to take everything she had left. Once the reactor was shut down, she'd open the door again, she told herself.

With the door now released and closing, Angelina refocused her attention to the reactor core, feeling below for the scram control rods. They were there as promised; but the excessive heat had caused the sliding mechanism to buckle. She smoothed out the control rails and began to push the rods up as gently but firmly as she could. Careful...careful... she told herself. Just then however, she heard a loud explosion from the opposite end of the plant. Oh no...! Dr. Roston...! The pipes in his area finally ruptured, sending radioactive steam into the entire wing of the control stations. She felt a momentary singe of scalding pain coming from Roston's mind, then nothing. No thoughts at all. She looked down with regret, as the reactor core finally began to slow back down.

"Dr. Burton, I've pushed the scram rods for the reactor in place, but..." she paused as doubts and second-guessing already began entering her mind, "I lost Dr. Roston."

Burton looked on at the linked control station in the Braidwood facility as the rest of the control staff finally breathed sighs of relief, each giving thanks in their own way. He had meant to call security to bring Dr. Roston for suspected sabotage, but it looked like he had paid the price for his ambition his own way. "Don't worry about Roston," he said quietly. "You did everything you could. You made the right decision."

Angelina sighed as she slumped from a combination of exhaustion and stress. With the core under control, keeping the remaining radiation off her wasn't that hard. Out in the city, she could telepathically hear the good news being reported around the city. Well, at least most of it. "I guess congratulations are in order Dr. Burton. People in the mayor's office and Exelon are already talking about what a leader you were in the crisis."

Burton looked pensive even as the rest of the control staff shook his hand and offered their congratulations. "I'm sure the truth will come out soon."

Angelina shook her head and sighed. "People don't want to know the truth. It really doesn't matter how many people I help, no one knows about it. I'm still getting used to it."

Burton shook his head. "Not quite. I know... and ... thank you."

* * *


Daniel Carter took a sip of water as he stood up by the podium. As the lawyer who had filed the injunction, it didn't take the media long to figure out that he would be the best source for any follow up questions. He really should have hired an actual PR person to handle the press conference, but the speed that the crisis had occurred and resolved made that impossible.

"...and what about all the people who suffered during the evacuation?" one of the reporters demanded. "We have reports of families who are still stuck in traffic."

"That's a logistical matter for the authorities to resolve. For future crises, it's clear that the city's infrastructure needs to be reexamined."

"Mr. Carter, Walter Winthorp," Walter said, identifying himself unnecessarily. "I understand that at least one of Exelon's personnel is still unaccounted for. Do you know if any attempt was made to rescue him as well?"

"My understanding from talking with Dr. Burton was that Mindshadow was far too occupied with the crisis at hand to spare the energy away from the reactor core," Daniel replied.

"Was it because she waited until it was nearly too late to take action?" Winthorp urged. "My sources say she didn't even show until the reactor cores began to breach; the crisis was already publicly known for hours by that time."

Daniel suppressed an angry remark at the hypocrisy. And if she had shown up early, you'd be the first to slam her for interfering with the authorities. "I'm not in a position to guess what prevented her from showing up earlier."

"Mr. Carter, a follow up," another reporter chimed in. "Did Mindshadow's interference prevent Exelon from rescuing their man from Dresden plant?'

"Mr. Carter, do we know what caused the crisis in the first place?" a third reported added. "Is there any chance that Mindshadow's abilities contributed to the plant failures in the first place?"

"There are absolutely no indications that she had anything to do with the plant failures," Daniel almost snarled. "The Nuclear Regulatory Agency is currently on-site and will be releasing a report as soon as they know what caused the plants to fail in the first place."

"But if they can't find any technical or mechanical failures," Winthorp pressed, "would it be fair to suggest that Mindshadow's powers did indeed contribute to..."

Suddenly, Daniel slammed his hand on the podium and glared at Walter and the rest of the press. "You people...!" he shouted harshly. "What is it going to take? For the city to actually be destroyed? Are you saying it would have been better if those plants had melted down?"

After a momentary pause, the harsh questioning resumed as Daniel angrily tossed the clip-on microphone back to the podium and he stormed off the stage. The one saving grace was that the pack of media vultures had made up his mind on taking the legal defense case. He had always prided himself on being on the right side of a worthy cause and right now, defending a girl who just saved the city from this pack of worthless jackals was the easiest call he had to make. Even if it ended up pro bono, at least he would be able to sleep at night.

* * *


The Nuclear Emergency Search Teams went over the wreckage at the plants. Priority was put on ensuring that the plants were cleaned of any radioactive materials so it would be safe to reenter the area. Because of the contaminated area, power wasn't available, so surveillance was limited.

The Dresden plant was slated to be last on the list for cleanup. As the plant that sustained the most damage, it was deemed too dangerous to enter until heavier equipment was brought in. Beneath the wreckage, a faint pulse of light was still visible. As the night air began to cool, the rubble began to shift until finally a glowing purple hand erupted from the central core.

* * *


Dr. Emily Marshall finished taking Angelina's blood pressure, pulse, and respiration along with the rest of her physical. "Well, everything looks good. Ordinarily, I would have recommended doing some tissue biopsies, but I didn't see anything that looked like any kind of radiation damage." She paused to write the results to Angelina's medical file. "You know, you had us worried there for a bit..."

"I know... I'm sorry... it's been a crazy couple of days."

"So what was it like trying to fix a nuclear reactor?"

"Like trying to thread needles while being smacked by a million ping-pong balls. I was mostly afraid that all those fast moving particles were going to make me mess things up." Angelina shook her head and smirked. "Ironically though, using my powers on those plants made my head feel better than it's been for over a week."

Emily shook her head and smiled. "Well, I guess all you need is a steady stream of disasters to fix your sensory overload problem."

Angelina then looked away for a moment. "Dr. Marshall, what's going on with the Dark Saviors anyway? How come I'm hearing media reports about them dissolving?"

Emily sighed. "I don't know the full details myself. Rusty apparently ran into an enemy and the encounter was exceptionally violent. There was apparently an energy discharge and he seems to have disappeared. No one's seen him in days. Then just a few hours ago, I got word from Eddie that Nicole has disappeared from the Providence office. She apparently had a mysterious visitor, then shortly after that meeting, took some unauthorized technology and went underground. Eddie's very upset; he doesn't know what's going to happen now."

Angelina looked downcast. "I didn't know... Maybe if I had been there..."

Emily shook her head. "There's nothing you could have done. The problems between them were there even before you ever showed up on the scene. It's what happens when you have a team of Type A personalities. Inevitably, egos are going to pull them apart."

"So does this mean you can't treat me any more?"

Emily shook her head. "It'd hardly be very appropriate of me to encourage you not to abuse your powers then abandon you just because you can't come up with a few bucks." She nodded reassuringly. "I'll be around to help you as long as you need me."

"It could be dangerous Dr. Marshall," Angelina warned. "There are still a bunch of powerful people in the government out there after me. If the Dark Saviors really are gone, then they might take that as a sign they can put pressure on people who help me."

"Maybe this might help," Emily said as she pulled out another folder. "Rusty was working on this before he vanished. It's everything he could find about this Project that's after you from his contacts in the government. Among other things in there is a listing you should read. According to government records, your name isn't Clancy. It's McGee, which might explain why you've not been able to find anything about your real parents."

Angelina scarcely breathed as she glanced through the file. "I didn't know any of this... All these people... and they're all members of the Project?"

"Some work for the Project. Others probably were victims or test subjects, which if Dr. Hans Gruber is running it, is one in the same. Unfortunately, I'm a doctor, not a detective. I really don't have the resources to track childhood birth records in the government census database."

Angelina thought about it for a moment, and then pulled out a business card. "I think I have someone who can." She got up and picked up a telephone, but then frowned. "Automatic message..." After a quick pause, she continued, "Hello, Mr. Nunez, it's Angie. You asked me to call if I found out anything important about my folks. Well, I just found out something important, and I need to see you when you get this message."

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