Drew stared at the monitor, idly dragging her mouse pointer back and forth across the screen. She'd watched all three videos. Her new motorcycle 'keys', really a pair of remote starters and security fobs, dangled from her other hand. Some deeply ingrained training slipped them into her pocket, reached into the left-hand drawer of her desk, and pulled out her pistol. With an offhand motion she tossed it, holster and all, to Grace.

"Get rid of that."

"What do you mean? I am not a weapons expert; I don't know any safe disposal..."

"I don't care. What you did to the phone. Do it."

"I..." Drew glared at the woman. Without speaking, she stood and held the gun before her, dangling from her finger and thumb like a dead animal. Smoke, steam, and frost filled the room for an instant, and the icy mannequin sat back down, the chair creaking beneath her as it adjusted to her new form.

"Thank you."

She clicked on the first video again. Charlie appeared, flanked by Angela, and began nattering about finances, non-profits, and LLCs. As she remembered, he neatly evaded why any of the measures were needed. He reached the part where he started talking numbers, and she reached up and idly toyed with the debit card she'd tucked into her shirt without thinking about it. It slipped; she still hadn't found a bra. Then again, she didn't really need one anymore, except for modesty.

The card squeaked, drawing her attention. One corner of the plastic bore a distorted impression of her fingerprint. One drawer at a time she searched her new desk, finally finding a scissor in the bottom drawer. She pulled it out, staring for a while before slowly, carefully trimming the edge of the card back to its proper shape.

She slipped the debit card into the inside pocket of her jacket, then tapped the mouse to pause the video. For a while she rolled the selector back and forth, first rewinding, then fast forwarding. Eventually pure random chance wound up with her looking at the links to the two other videos, the first labeled 'original', the other labeled 'official release'. Unthinking, she clicked on 'official release'.

A face stared back at her. Not her own. She'd almost begun to think of it that way. Her reflection in the glassy surface of the monitor hadn't seemed a stranger, but then she'd seen the video. She'd seen the original footage. She stared at the simple yet professional graphics proclaiming the name of the woman on the screen: Midnight. A woman who wore the only face she would ever have.

A few stills from her career prior to the Rain of Fire filled the screen as the voiceover did a quick bio. After that the other face filled the screen again, then the camera panned back to give the viewers a full length still; she recognized it from one of the photo shoots Charlie had forced her to sit through. The woman on the screen had a body any woman would want, envy, or both.

"Miss Williams... Midnight... Drew?"

"Yeah?" Drew growled.

"Do you still wish me to stay with you?"

"Yeah."

The icy mannequin settled back. Her chair creaked, trying to adjust despite a thin coating of ice across the entire mechanism. Drew stood, turned the monitor around to face the room, and then walked over to stand next to Grace's chair. She rested her hand on Grace's shoulder, snatched it back when the icy burn of frostbite punctured her palm.

On the screen, Midnight engaged the looters. She threw her flashlight, leapt for the top of the truck, and brought both feet down on the guy's head. After that, things got hectic and confusing; she practically danced through gunfire without being hurt, her own return fire dropping enemies, who afterward lay writhing in clearly non-mortal agony. She got into the building, cut the hostage loose, and incidentally sheltered the redhead as the madman leading the looters cut loose on the two of them with an assault rifle.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Drew winced as Midnight shrugged off the gunfire like hail, rolled to her feet, and fired off a volley of shots that left her opponent's body armor hanging loose. He jammed a glowing blue needle into his leg, and everything got even crazier. Whatever camera had recorded the event couldn't follow as he attacked her. Midnight's counters didn't outpace the camera, but they came at such a rapid pace she seemed to have at least three arms. Every attack left the looter open, and every time it did, she hammered her shin into the side of his knee.

Eventually his chemically enhanced speed and strength battered through her defenses. Her jacket tore away, her gun and holster flying a moment before the looter grabbed them. She dove through the door, only to have the looter rip it from its hinges and throw her into the side of the truck.

He stood there, panting with exertion, as she tore her way free of the wreckage, losing more of her shirt and half of one pant leg in the process.

"Funny, I don't remember my clothing getting trashed."

A new squad of gunmen opened fire, and bullets sparked from Midnight's bare skin as she turned and charged them.

"Okay, I remember that bit. I was really pissed they'd ruined my slacks. Guess I wasn't thinking too clearly."

Grace remained silent. On screen, Midnight demolished the remaining gunmen, then nearly disappeared into the darkness of the parking lot. The redhead from inside snuck up behind her, a bat in hand, and then the leader of the looters...

"Fred. His name is Fred."

...Fred leaned out of the trailer and tossed a grenade. Midnight half turned to run, saw the hostage behind her with the bat, and leapt back toward the incoming explosive. It detonated the moment she grabbed it, her hand shaping the charge, blowing most of it backward toward the truck.

Drew looked down at her right hand. No scars. No bruises. Nothing to indicate she'd absorbed the impact of an exploding grenade.

Midnight flew backward into the redhead. The semi-trailer, sparked by some fragment of the grenade, exploded. Flaming debris rained down on the parking lot, and the camera jerked as something out of the field of view struck it. The point of view swayed as Midnight's body jerked time after time, burning fragments glancing away, each lighting another portion of her tattered pantsuit aflame.

Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, the rain of debris ended. Midnight stirred, then rolled over as the redhead trapped beneath rolled the unconscious hero off of her. In repose, her belligerent nature concealed, only the angel remained, revealed. The redhead knelt, scrabbling at the angel's burning clothing, yanking it away before it could sear itself to Midnight's skin. The heroine barely moved, arching and rolling as if to assist the redhead. Each scrap of fabric removed revealed another welt or burn.

When she'd thrown each bit of burning cloth across the lot, the redhead finally turned to look on the angel and froze. When she moved again, she crawled the few feet to the angel's side, each move tentative. She reached out with one hand, fingers tracing along her side until she cupped Midnight's face. Her lips descended.

The camera jerked once, the scene shifting, and then fell to the ground. After a moment's static, the screen filled with a simple text graphic, stating Midnight had survived and made it to medical care at Blue Bloods Headquarters. The same graphic asked that anyone with knowledge of the redhead's identity call a toll-free number, as the Blue Bloods were offering a reward for keeping one of their own from burning to death.

Drew leaned over and spun the monitor back around.

"That... doesn't seem so bad." Grace ventured.

Drew's fist clenched. Her nails bit into the palm of her hand. Grace didn't know. She couldn't know. She hadn't been shown.

"That's the edited video. The original doesn't cut off there."

"But... the camera?"

"A clever bit of editing. There's... more."

Grace just waited, silent and unreadable in her ice form.

"She did more than kiss me, Grace. I'm not sure what she did do..." Fragments of memory surfaced, soft breasts pressed against her own, the taste of old cigarettes and cheap beer invading her mouth, worst of all the lack of any kind of horror or resistance on her own part. "I'm not sure what all she did, but I saw enough in the video. Sick freak. Midnight might have been lying there dying, and she decides to get her freak on."

Grace sat, unmoving, wisps of steam rising from her icy skin.

"Well? Aren't you going to say anything?"

The wisps of steam expanded into a torrent, obscuring Grace from sight for a moment. When it cleared, she sat there covered in nothing but her hair. Her gaze never faltered, her poise absolute. Without thinking, Drew pulled off her jacket and tossed it to the tiny woman. It landed draped across her front like a blanket; Grace never moved, never broke eye contact.

"You're not the only one this has happened to."