2103:12:03:07:20:22

  For all that yesterday was insane, the morning after was a normal one. Mom was already downstairs as usual, eating breakfast and overall getting ready for work. Michael was still in bed according to Mom – not that I cared.

  After exchanging our routine greetings, I made myself a bowl of cereals before settling down at the kitchen table. Continuing the routine, I grabbed my phone and checked the news.

  The headlines were a mess. Messages of mourning; life-and-times-style biographies and obituaries; Guardians and other heroes responding in interviews or open letters; analysis of what the Jannacht is doing and where it was going – most of the websites, tickers and newsfeeds focused on Charm concentrated on the fallout of yesterday.

  Jagar Natha had been more of a fixture in the city’s imagination than I’d realized, and even Elegast was more popular than I’d thought. In hindsight, it made sense. Despite their small size, the Sentinels were an old group, formed long ago in New Seattle, and were as much at the roots of Charm’s foundation as the earliest refugees building it.

  But that was not all the news told. While we were ambushed, Featherpiercer and Karlomagus had led an attack against the Numbers Room, leaving the villain 4039 dead. Then when the heroes came to intervene, Darkstar had slain the Guardians Pearlessence and Cat Astral in an ambush before being driven off by the Wardens Antibaronne, Pia Pietra and Adaptavian, and the Guardians Sandelabra, Rostam and Tahminah.

  And all of that was accompanied by a slew of less impactful crimes and attacks emerging all over Charm. Dead Hive clashing with the Jannacht with little to show for it, solo villains (and regular criminals) taking advantage of the chaos to make bank, henchie shootouts, seemingly random cars lit on fire, stores and alleged fronts of the gangs broken into and vandalized, etcetera.

  Add to that the events on Saturday with the failed Motorgang ambush, and the news was overflowing with information on the Weekend Massacre. A title evocative enough to finally get the average person worried about what was happening.

  But there was one more piece of news that stood out above the rest. One headline that, to me, indicated Jannacht’s new path forwards the most.

  I found it in a scrolling ticker below a live broadcast that read: DRAKE BLACKFLAME (MINOR, MOTORGANG) DEAD. ACUTE PUNCTURE (MINOR, JANNACHT SYNDICATE) SUSPECTED CULPRIT.

  “Something wrong Sammy?” Mom asked. Apparently, I’d stopped with my spoon halfway to my mouth when I read the title.

  I read the headline out loud to Mom.

  She frowned, looking angry. “Does it say anything about his state?”

  She was asking if he was resurrectable. I clicked on the ticker to open the link to an article and began to read.

  It was disconcerting. Not so much the fact that Drake had died – though I did feel conflicted about it; the little psychopath had been very young – but the fact that junior masked were now killing each other at all.

  To be fair, I could’ve died twice over these past few weeks. Darkstar would’ve killed me but for that undiscovered facet of my power, and the collapsing bridge likewise could’ve been the end of me. But all that had been by accident, more or less. Charm’s masquerade hadn’t been so far gone that minors were attempting to kill each other in the streets.

  Until now.

  “Just says he’s dead,” I said to Mom. No information about the condition of his body, nor anything about why, when or where he’d been killed, only that he had.

  Which meant he likely wasn’t coming back. Unless the Guardians lied about him dying and had secretly spirited him away after his resurrection – one of the more common conspiracy theories online – the headline would’ve read ‘captured’ or ‘injured’ if he was still recoverable.

  Mom continued to frown, looking deep in thought at the news, but she said nothing.

  I continued reading other articles when it was interrupted by a message. One from Amber, from her Crowsong-phone.

  “One of Nth-Sight’s bombs is moving. Looking for it now. Meet up?”

  I looked at Mom. She’d finished her bowl and was busy cleaning and putting it away. “Mom?”

  “Hm?” She put the items in the dishwasher.

  I hesitated for a second, thinking of an excuse. “Can I stay home today?” She turned to look at me then, eyebrows lifted as she blinked in surprise. I repressed the urge to squirm under her gaze. “I don’t… feel well.”

  Even by my standards that was a bad lie – and from the inquisitive look, surprise and disbelief in Mom’s eyes, it seemed she thought that too.

  But she didn’t say or do anything. No checking temperatures, no asking what was wrong. No confrontation on what the real reason was or annoyance about me wanting to skip school. None of the classic scenarios I’d imagined occurred.

  Instead, she gave me a soft, sad smile and said, “Sure Sammy.” She walked over and stroked my head – without mussing or messing up my hair, for once. “Just make sure to get some rest alright?” She kissed me on the top my head and left the kitchen.

  I blinked, wondering what was happening. Did the weight of last night’s event show on my face or something? Or did she just trust me not to skip out on school without good reason? I hadn’t so far, after all. It could also be simple indulgence – I’d never really pushed limits, and she was rarely strict with me.

  Either way, I supposed that meant I was free after Mom left for work.

  I texted just that to Amber, sending another one to my friends that I wouldn’t be coming to school today, then finished the rest of my breakfast.

  X

  I got to our base at around 9:00. Amber- well, Crowsong was already there, waiting for me in front of the flatscreen with a map projected on it. I didn’t recognize it, and from the sparse details on it, I couldn’t believe it was somewhere in the city.

  A stationary red dot lay at the center of the map, a line jutting from it towards a label that read: last pulse <10 minutes ago, 47°15'30.8"N, 123°42'48.0"W. Coordinates, but not ones inside the city’s if I remembered them correctly. Still Charm Prefecture, but a bit to the north and west.

  A weird place to put a bomb.

  “It’s outside of the city,” I said by way of greetings.

  Crowsong didn’t turn around. “Yes,” she said hoarsely. No further comment.

  Even though she was in full regalia, she looked and sounded tired. Which wasn’t surprising considering last night, but it made me want to ask, “Are you sure you want to go out today? Especially with what happened to Drake, if you aren’t-”

  She turned to look at me. Even through the beady lenses of her crow mask, I felt her glare non-verbally telling me to shut up. So I did.

  I joined her at her side to get a closer look at the map. It wasn’t a satellite one, merely an abstracted ‘paper’ one. It had a little detail, but that in itself was revealing; there was no location to detail.

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  “Is it at like a secret base or something?” I asked. “A Jannacht outpost? Motorgang safehouse? Dead Hive storage?” Considering the location – or where I figured it was, at least – and the activities of each gang, those three seemed the most likely.

  “Maybe. I wouldn’t know,” she said. “No messages from Nth-Sight about it or anything?”

  I shook my head.

  “Then we’ll just have to go there.”

  “Where’s ‘there’, exactly?” I asked.

  Crowsong turned to me in question, “Ah, right,” and then turned back again. She took out her cellphone and zoomed out, further and further until Charm got into view. The location was over twenty miles away from where we were, and not along well-travelled roads.

  “And how are we going to get there?” I asked the obvious. “I need to be back home before four at the latest, and I’d like to be before three.”

  “Ever heard of a car?” Crowsong asked sarcastically.

  “You have a car?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re allowed to drive it?”

  “…Define ‘allowed’.”

  So that’s a no.

  “What if we get pulled over?” I asked.

  “What cop is going to pull over two masked?” she said rhetorically. “If anything, they’ll call the Guardians, who’ll recognize our description and not do anything about it.”

  I suppose she would know better than me. You know, as the one who owned-

  “Wait. If you have a car, why have I never seen it?” I asked, suspicious. “Why have we never used it?”

  My mentor, my teacher, my moral compass was silent for a moment. “Okay, so maybe it’s not exactly my car,” she admitted. “More like… mine-adjacent.”

  “We’re stealing your mom’s car?” I asked. I didn’t know whether to be baffled, outraged or impressed by her audacity.

  “No, no. Of course not,” she replied. “It’s my dad’s-”

  “It’s not about who-”

  “-and he doesn’t even use it. Takes public transport whenever he can and uses Mom’s whenever he can’t ‘cause hers is bigger.”

  “Amber,” I said. God this was weird, but, “Heroes don’t steal cars.”

  She tsked at me. “Well, how else are we-” she cut herself off.

  We both knew exactly how we were going to get there.

  X

  During training, I’d liked being a horse. The times were few and far between – turning non-existent the moment I mastered it – but they were memorable. The form itself was beautiful – old world majesty condensed in chestnut coloring – and running around with my tail whipping and mane streaking as the air flowed past my speeding form; it was a feeling of freedom similar, if lesser, than flying.

  Being ridden however was… less so.

  Not to say it was all bad. Just… different. Different in the same way that going on an un-weighed-down run was compared to running with a backpack full of water and rocks was. Not bad, just… needing some getting used to.

  On the other hand, at least Amber had the time of her life.

  And it was Amber that had the time of her life. No way would my mentor drive her heels into her sidekick’s flank and shout hyah, hyah! to spur her on. That would be undignified and more importantly, un-serious. And no way my mentor could be anything like that with her apprentice. No, this was purely Amber bullying me, her friend.

  By the time we got to the bombsite in the middle-of-nowhere Cascadian outback, my form had been run ragged from galloping at top speeds near constantly.

  Luckily, shifting back to base form took care of the exhaustion.

  As stated, the place we were at was in the middle of nowhere, right beside the two-lane road we’d ridden on. The location was close to an old reservoir, before the cracks Tyranicus’ Meteor had made the reservoir a part of the Crater Sea. A distant part, true, but still connected by the snaking tendrils its crash had created.

  But that did not mean it was completely uninhabited… okay, it was, but there was an old house there that had withstood the test of time, half-collapsed though it might be. It was an old, American-style two floor and many-feet wide mansion whose roof had given up. On one side of it stood a second smaller, single-floor cabin-like structure, and on the other side was a quarter of the frame of what once must’ve been a greenhouse. Across from the three buildings stood a single standing garage disguised as a classical red barn, though not near as large.

  “Had fun?” I asked my mentor, feeling a bit miffed – there was some phantom backpain from the ride.

  At least horse-me didn’t have allergies. I could already feel my eyes start to itch, but that was just my mind playing tricks on me; the allergy medication of other-Sam worked, so that ‘start to itch’ feeling wouldn’t grow to full-on irritation.

  Though I couldn’t see her expression, from the way she turned around and looked at her cellphone, I figured she must be feeling sheepish.

  “The-” she croaked. She scraped her throat. “The bomb should be somewhere around here. The last pulse was a while ago, but it hasn’t moved.” She focused on her phone more deeply for a moment, before looking at the four buildings. “The map isn’t detailed enough. I’ll take the house; you take the barn-looking thing. Search the obvious places, and if either of us find anything, we send the other a message. If we don’t, regroup in an hour and we’ll figure out what to do next. Good?”

  I nodded.

  “Good,” she said. “Now let’s hope the bastard hasn’t buried it somewhere.”

  We went our separate ways.

  I approached the double doors to the not-barn, grabbed their handles and tried to push, pull and slide them open. They were locked, so I shifted to crow form and did a loop around the oversized garage. One of the windows to the side was broken, so I went inside through there instead, settling on a wooden beam up above to survey the interior.

  The building’s insides were more garage-like than the exterior. A long workbench spanned one side of its walls with a mostly-empty wall for tools behind it. There was a sink at one end, along with a rolled-up garden hose attached to a faucet. On the other end, a trio of box freezers sat, each closed. The wall on the opposite side held nothing, but the hooks nailed into it spoke to the image it must’ve once held bicycles, spare tires, shelves and who knew what else.

  And at the heart of it all, a car. Pristine, silver, sleek, luxurious and expensive; it was a Kirin, the type of car a rich person would buy if they didn’t want a supercar. Just one step below in cost to a lower-tier, custom-made maker car.

  Not the type of car you’d hide, let alone leave in a ruin somewhere.

  I descended from the rafters and shifted back to examine the place. I looked inside of the car, but besides the obvious – steering wheel, chairs, etcetera – the car was squeaky clean. Likewise, the rear seats held nothing.

  Just to be sure, I checked the door to see if it opened, but no luck. Since I’d rather not smash in the passenger side window to check the glovebox – Crowsong could open it later if necessary – I decided to go check somewhere else.

  I walked to the tool rack, opened the cabinets of the workbench, but found nothing. I walked to the box freezers, opened each of them, but again found nothing. I turned to-

  I blinked.

  Well. That was easy.

  On the ground, about two meters away from the trunk of the car, sat the bomb. It just lay there. On its side, on the concrete floor and right out in the open. Aside from the ends of two tubes jutting out each of the holes – did that mean it was armed? – the pill-shaped device looked the exact same as the day Nth-Sight send me to retrieve it.

  Weird.

  I took my phone and called Crowsong.

  She picked up at the second ring.

  “Something wrong?” she asked.

  “I found it,” I said.

  A second of silence. “Already?” she asked.

  “It’s just… sitting there,” I said. “Out in the open. On the floor. Tubes sticking out.” I stepped a bit closer to examine it. “The liquid’s still in them.”

  “Don’t touch it. I’m on my way.”

  “The doors-” I tried, but she’d already hung up.

  I stood there, waiting. The doors rattled as Crowsong tried and failed to open them. A quick series of clicks followed, followed by one of the doors sliding open, bringing in additional light to the garage’s interior

  “Alright,” Crowsong said as she walked over. “Where is- huh.” She blinked. “It really is just lying there. Weird.”

  My thoughts exactly.

  “Do you think its armed?” I asked.

  “Don’t know. Could be,” she stepped closer and crouched next to it. “Certainly looks like it. I’d imagine the fluids would have to mix for it to explode, and since it hasn’t, that must mean there is some kind of trigger elsewhere. A remote one. But why would he want to blow up this place?”

  “Maybe he wants to blow up the owner of the car?”

  “By placing it behind it?” she said. “Normally you’d rig it to the battery, the doors, the pedals, the wheels, or anything else that activates when the car does.” She rubbed the lower half of her beak in thought. “Maybe this one’s a back-up? A reserve bomb for if the other one gets used up or lost?”

  “All the way out here?” Seemed unlikely.

  She shrugged. “Just spitballing. I’ve got as much a clue as you as to why.”

  Fair enough.

  “So what do we do with it?” I asked. “Take it with us?”

  “And let Nth-Sight augur it back to us?” she replied. “No. Our best bet is to disarm it. But how?”

  “We can take out the tubes,” I suggested.

  “That might just set it off.”

  “I can try it while mimicked? That way, if it does blow up, all I’d sacrifice is just one form.”

  “Unless the explosion is one that lasts longer. Long enough to take out your real form as well,” she shut down. “Could also be radioactive, or carry some exotic effect that lingers in an area.”

  “Well, what do we do then?” I asked, annoyed. “We can’t just leave it here.”

  “I don’t know, okay,” Crowsong said, growing frustrated as well. “It’s not like I’m trained to disarm maker bombs. And it’s not like we can remote detonate it ourselves or something – we don’t have the equipment.”

  An idea popped in my head. “What if I smashed it?”

  Crowsong’s head snapped to me. “That’s even worse! You’d be-”

  “Not like that,” I interjected. “What if I take it up with me in the air and let it drop on the road or something? That’s… almost like a remote detonation, right?”

  Crowsong looked at me, then at the bomb, then back to me.

  She nodded. “Better than nothing. Let’s do it.”

  I saluted and shifted into an owl. I took hold of the pill-shaped bomb as best and carefully as I could and flew out of the window I entered through.

  I scouted for a stretch of road best to smash it on. The area was surrounded by forests with soft moss and/or grass and soil underneath, and it was highly likely dropping it from up high would allow the wind to carry it away from target. Meaning it might not explode if it didn’t land where I wanted it to.

  Nevertheless, I didn’t have much choice. A swoop and drop or pseudo-bombing run might leave me in the blast range, while throwing the bomb horizontally across the road might not wreck the bomb enough. Or worse, it would damage the bomb not enough to explode, but enough so that it could explode, turning the whole situation into an unknown, unknowable hazard.

  So I had to do it the old-fashioned way by dropping it like a rock from as high as I reasonably could.

  Calculating the trajectory, I aimed the bomb and let it go. I shifted midair from owl to base to crow to better track its fall while also flapping my wings to get more distance.

  Just in case.

  I tracked the pill as it fell, wind batting at it from one side, then the other. At some points, it looked like the device would wind up hitting dirt or a tree beside the road, but every time that happened a countercurrent would correct its course. And then, ten seconds after I’d dropped it…

  Well, nothing. From as far as I could tell, it hit the road. But other than that? Nothing. Maybe the blow wasn’t hard enough to crack its shell?

  I hovered in the air for a whole minute just to see if it was a belated reaction, but still nothing.

  I swooped down, slowly circling my way downwards around where I saw the pill had dropped. The closer I got, the more details became clear, to the point I saw that it had broken apart in several pieces – four, to be precise, each of them looking roughly equal in size and shape.

  I landed and shifted a few meters away, then walked up to it.

  Again, I saw it had been split in four, but also that the ampules had broken and spilled its contents. The liquids were no longer the red and blue they had been before, but had mixed to turn into a rainbow-colored liquid. Not rainbow-colored like oil in the sun, but as if someone had painted the road underneath the patch, giving an odd depth to the pool of liquid.

  Yet, the longer I looked, the less colorful and deep it became, slowly turning into a brown sludge.

  “That’s what’s left?” Crowsong asked a few minutes later, having walked up to me as I’d continued staring.

  “Yep,” I said. The liquid had turned brown by now. “I think the fluid is… neutralizing, or something? It was rainbow-colored when I came here.”

  “Huh,” Crowsong said. “Well, brown’s less alarming, so I think the problem has solved itself.” She walked up to one of the four split pieces, tapping it with her foot. “Weird that it fell apart like that, though. Like it broke apart along the seams or something…”

  “Should we do something with it?”

  Crowsong rubbed her beak. “Better not leave it on the road… let’s sweep the pieces to the side. Just in case.”

  Just in case of what, I didn’t know, but we did just that before going back home. Thankfully, Amber the Equestrienne was more restrained with her joy this time.