"I know why we're doing it, but I still think we're..."

A key turning in the lock on the door stopped Katrina midsentence. A moment later a distinguished older gentleman stepped into the cell, escorted by a big, bald, Black man in a suit, who could only be Agent Jamil Johnson. The older guy must be the judge. Katrina shut her mouth and vowed silently to keep it shut unless he asked her a direct question.

"Good evening, Agent Johnson."

"Good morning, Mister Watkins." Johnson's deep bass rolled through the room, far more intimidating in person than he had been over the phone. He reached out with one massive paw and shook hands with Damien, then extended the same hand to her. She shook it silently, smiling but not speaking.

"Good evening, Miss Wells." Katrina nodded her reply. Johnson narrowed his eyes at her silence but turned to the older gentleman. "This is Judge Christopher Carter. He's here as a personal favor to me, so I'd prefer you don't waste his time."

"We really appreciate you coming here, your Honor." Damien nodded his head, and Katrina copied him.

"So, what's this all about, then?"

"We'd like to turn ourselves in. We've typed up our confessions," he turned to the short stack of papers sitting on the table in the middle of the room. He handed the smaller one to the judge first, followed by the larger.

The judge turned to Agent Johnson, his whole bearing demanding explanation.

"It might help if you told the judge your aliases."

"Oh, yeah." Red heat rushed into Damien's face. "She's Siren. I'm Centurion."

The judge took an involuntary half step back. To his credit, his gaze never wavered. "I haven't tried a violent crime case in almost ten years, Jamil."

"I know, your Honor, but we needed someone I knew could be discreet."

"You intend to cover this up?"

Johnson extended one hand, rocked it side to side. "Yes and no, sir. You've seen the video?"

The judge, already flipping through the two documents, nodded his head absently. "I remember thinking to myself I didn't envy the poor bastard trying to prosecute a hero."

"Yes, sir. Based on the video, I think the absolute best case should this go to trial is a conviction for manslaughter. Worst case, he could claim self-defense and walk."

I wouldn't think of that as a worst case. Damien's voice whispered into her head.

We're not going to try to get out of this. We agreed. She thought back to him.

The judge and the agent both half-turned to look at her. "Did you say something, Miss Wells?"

She shook her head, biting her lip to keep from responding aloud.

"So... they're confessing to what, exactly?"

"Fundamentally? Manslaughter in self-defense, under extreme emotional duress." He shrugged, as if to indicate he couldn't understand why they'd insisted.

"Given what I saw of that video, there's no way we could have taken this one," he nodded toward Damien, "in successfully unless he let us. Are you telling me he's willing to sit in a cell?"

Johnson waved to the plain cinder block walls of the room. Katrina knew the cots were more comfortable than they looked, but even with that knowledge, the cell was clearly just that: a cell. She reached out and took Damien's hand, suddenly terrified that the judge would separate them.

"Well... I guess he might be. Obviously, they're looking for a deal of some kind?"

Damien spoke. "Yes, sir. I... I killed those men, sir. I can't even say I wouldn't do it again in that situation, although I hope I'll never have to find out. I want to serve whatever sentence is appropriate, but I can't help but think my gifts would be wasted if I sit in a cell for the next ten years."

The judge cut in, absently flipping through the papers again. "Three. Probably cut down to two and a half, because I can't see any of the inmates giving you a hard time. If we could even convict you, which I doubt at this point. What do you want?"

"I want to help, sir. The Blue Bloods offered me a position, and I'd like to take it, but I don't want anyone to say I didn't serve my time. I was hoping I could serve my time under house arrest here. With a kind of work-release whenever they need me in the field." He smiled hopefully at Judge Carter.

"This is highly irregular. Most people in your situation would want to walk away Scot free."

"I don't think that's right, sir."

"If I told you your sentence would be served at Rikers, separate from your partner, who would also be serving a sentence for aiding and abetting, would you go?"

Katrina closed her eyes, clamping her jaw shut to keep the words in. When Damien said, “I would, sir”, she nodded agreement.

"What about you, Miss Wells?"

She steeled herself before opening her eyes. She met his gaze and nodded.

"Is there a reason she's not speaking?"

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"Her powers, sir."

The judge looked at Agent Johnson "I would mention how irregular this is, but I figure it's going to get worse."

"Yes, sir. I'm hoping you know a federal prosecutor who will go for the deal we're looking for."

The judge pulled out a chair and nearly fell into it. "You're going to owe me for this, Johnson."

Damien jumped as if he'd been poked with a cattle prod. "Sir, do you mean you'll offer us that deal?"

"I mean I'm going to do what I can to keep you working in the service of your country. Anyone who's willing to sit in a cell when he could be on the run with her," he nodded to Katrina, "is just the kind of boy scout we need out there. Things are getting strange." He rubbed one hand over his eyes. "I think I can find someone, but... this is wrong in so many ways."

"Would putting them out of circulation at the moment be less wrong?"

"No. I told you I see your point. They're remanded into custody until I can find a prosecutor and we hash this out. Do they have a lawyer?"

"Mr. Morgan says the Blue Bloods will provide one for us."

"Good enough. I'll be in touch. In the meanwhile, you two stay here, and keep yourselves out of trouble until we make this all official."

Katrina couldn't help it. She skipped across the room to the judge, threw her arms around him, and whispered, "thank you!"

His eyes glazed over. Agent Johnson slumped, one arm propping him up where he leaned against the wall. Damien just looked at her, shaking his head.

"Oops?"

***

Someone was coming. Jane felt him moving from far away. She trembled with his every step closer, shaken to her very core.

Soon he would open her eyes, and the silence would end. The ghosts of her past gathered around her, rubbing their loss into her skin until she felt nothing else.

He would come, and she would die, and she would rise to seek the one who had sent him. When the silence broke, she would see justice done at last.

***

A light flashed in one corner of Angela's screen. Steve looked up, annoyed by the high-pitched whine until she clicked on the light and a single line of text raced across in front of her. He couldn't even pick out a single word, but her shoulders slumped.

"I was afraid of this. Who's ready?"

He looked up from where he'd been messing with her roster to make sure he had Saturday night off. "Uh... Jack. Flex. Me. You. Charlie, maybe."

Angela stood, closing down her computers as she did so. He couldn't complain about the form fitting jumpsuit under her lab coat, but the coat itself kept obscuring his view. Of course, that kinda made it hotter. "Not Charlie. Get the others in, now. We're headed to Philly."

"Philly? Why?"

"Because humans aren't the only ones with blue blood."

***

Angela recited the rules to the rest of her team as she led them to the newly completed hangar. They all knew them, but the unruly child lurking in her head might not. This reminder might make the difference between life and death in the field.

"Remember, code names only. Not all of us are public, and some of us would like it to stay that way."

After waiting for their mumbled replies, she continued. "Okay then. Let's have a roll call."

"C'mon, Ang, there's four of us. We all know who's here."

Jack ignored Steve's complaint and chimed in. "Jack Hammer, present."

Much to Steve's dismay, Jesse followed Jack's lead. "Flex here."

They walked another few moments in silence, Angela glaring pointedly at Steve, letting habit and the rear-view cameras built into her headset guide her along the corridor. The other two grinned, each enjoying Steve's discomfort for different reasons. Finally, Steve shook his head and pulled out his long-handled fire axe. He spun it like a baton as he spoke. "Axeman, ready to rock." He spoiled the presentation by losing control of the axe halfway through, whacking himself on the head with the handle before getting his grip back on it.

Angela shook her head. "I still can't believe you're trying for a sponsorship deal with your code name. It's bad enough you douse yourself in the stuff."

"Pfft. What kind of a name is Widget, anyhow? I still think you should have gone with Mega... what in the hell is that?"

They'd reached the hangar, and she took the opportunity to watch each of them through the video screens in her protective glasses. Jack walked along, unperturbed by the sight in front of him. Flex followed, staring around with unfeigned delight. Only Steve stood stock still, staring. Before Angela could twit him about his reaction, Jack answered his question.

"Osprey vertical takeoff and landing aircraft. Or, it was until somebody, what is it they say these days? Pimped it out?" He looked at Angela for confirmation of his guess.

"You are correct, Jackhammer." She forced herself to adopt the even, cultured tones she'd copied from Katrina's newscaster persona. They hadn't been secretive before, but this would put them on the map, so to speak, and she needed the practice before the paparazzi hit.

"I can see you've put some big guards around the turboprops, but what's she got under the hood?"

"The turboprops have been replaced with higher power, lower endurance custom engines. As you mentioned, the cowling around them should prevent any accidental damage, as well as making it far less likely someone will wander into the path of a blade. We've added a pair of engines to the tail, similar to the configuration of a Warthog." She pointed, and Jack nodded his recognition.

"You got a GAU-eight on this thing as well?"

"No. Per Charlie's standing policy, we're not going to put lethal weaponry on any of our vehicles. We're dangerous enough as it is, we don't need a reputation for excessive force."

Steve, jogging to catch up, interrupted. "What do you mean, dangerous? We're not even armed, for chrissakes."

Angela thumbed a control on her smart phone and a quintet of engines coughed, then growled to life on the far side of the Osprey.

"The three of us can, literally, tear someone limb from limb with minimal effort. You, on the other hand, are carrying a damned battleaxe."

Steve followed her around the back wheels of the plane, frowning. "Hey, this is a piece of rescue equipment. Classic firefighter stuff."

"It's also a weapon, and not one with many 'nonlethal' applications. Just be careful with it. Do you understand, 'Axeman'?"

Angela thumbed another button, and a car alarm 'safe' bleep sounded from the heavily modified SUV in front of them. "We're not taking the Osprey today. We don't have any gear to speak of, and this is easier to set down in small spots."

The engines, one positioned outside each wheel, twisted to point to the front and rear, letting the four Blue Bloods get to the doors. They wouldn't hurt anyone while idling, but Angela knew at some point someone would try to get in or out with them going full blast, so she'd programmed them to avoid killing anyone.

"Okay, folks. time to go."

"What the hell is this, then?"

Jack just popped open the back door, slid to the center of the bench seat, and started pulling on the five-point restraint. "No clue, but it looks like a flying SUV."

Jesse... Flex flowed over the back seat and into the cargo area. "So cool!"

"Yes, it rather is." Angela climbed into the driver's seat, and pointedly stared at Steve until he started around to the passenger side.

"Why are we going in Frankenstein's SUV instead of the cool looking jet?"

"Because I only have so much time in the day."

Steve propped his axe, head down, in the foot well of the passenger seat. Angela leaned over and slapped the handle into the restraining clip on the glove compartment. Steve frowned at her, but he buckled in. After a quick check of her internal cameras to be sure Flex had buckled herself into the jump seat in the back, Angela hooked herself in.

"I haven't learned how to fly a jet, really. This is programmed to be a lot like driving a car, with one big difference."

She waited, knowing Steve couldn't resist for long. Finally, he turned to her, frustration clear on his face. "What's the big difference."

She shifted gears, slid a control, and the car launched itself through the widening gap in the ceiling of the hangar. "Duh. The Skycar flies."