Giselle materialised in Sedgwick Kansas with a team of twenty crimson‑clad Legion members to find Celeste arguing with an overweight police chief in black outdated SWAT gear and, to her shock and dismay, the Eastborough Baptist compound already surrounded. Not content to wait for introductions, Giselle dropped her grip on Enrique, one of the Legion’s junior teleporters, and marched over to where the faunamorph was standing opposite the chunky grey‑haired man with a walrus moustache.
“And I’m telling you, you need to wait for-”
“I know what I need Missy, and it ain’t your-”
“Hi there, hi,” Giselle said, fixing both of them with a wide, forced and aggressively amicable smile, “Giselle Pixus, speedster, Legion of Heroes. What, ah, what’s going on here?”
“Chuck Brady,” the police chief said before Celeste could get a word in otherwise, “Sheriff of Sedgewick County. I eat things. And I could ask you the same thing. This is an active crime scene.”
They were standing on a grassy strip beside the sidewalk, to the east of which lay a carpark, a nail salon, and the remains of a crumbling down mini‑mall. Across the double lane road to the west lay a wide block suburban property, in the centre of which stood a large, mostly‑single storey brown Ranch‑style house surrounded on the street sides by a waist‑height chain link fence and about a quarter of a football pitch of flat‑mown lawn. Around the edge of this lawn approximately a dozen local law enforcement officers, dressed in black SWAT tactical gear and carrying assault rifles, had taken up position aiming at the house’s windows, from which no movement was visible. The police chief, who looked to be in his mid‑fifties to early sixties, followed Giselle’s gaze as she took all this in, his face set in an expression of smug satisfaction.
Giselle did not have time for this. “Sheriff,” she said, not so much turning on the sweetness as upending the whole syrup bottle, “Thanks so much for getting her as quick as you did.”
“Well what can I say Miss,” the fat man said with a bemused smirk, “When we roll, we roll out.”
“Exceptional. Well, it looks like you’ve done a great job keeping everything under control, and you have our sincerest thanks, and we are ready to take over.”
“Oh now,” Sheriff Brady said, with a brief stroke of his moustache, “I don’t think that’ll be necessary. We’re already set to go.” He waved a hand high above his head to one of the SWAT members. “Your little friend has explained it all to us, I know this Fredericks fellow, and we are more than ready to take him down.”
“It is my strong preference-” Giselle began with all possible politeness.
“Well I’ll take that into consideration Missy,” Brady cut her off, “But your friend here called us first, and we’re here first, and we’re gonna do our jobs.”
Feeling the heat rising in her cheeks, Giselle fixed Celeste with a look that could have melted diamonds. “You called them?”
Beneath her gaze, the faunamorph withered. “I thought… they would be closer…”
“And you thought right Miss,” said the sheriff, slapping Celeste hard on the back, “Quick as a flash we were, much quicker than you Legion folks. Don’t know why anyone bothers paying you.”
“We’re NFP,” Giselle smiled through gritted teeth, “Sheriff, I’m sorry to do this, but I’m going to have to pull rank. This is Legion business. Have your men pull back.”
“Legion business?” Brady scoffed, “You got a boy trapped in a ranch house with a kooky old man, you call that Legion business? I call it simple kidnapping, and I feel I’ve got a county judge who might agree with me.”
Giselle never let her smile waver. “The law clearly states-”
“I know the law Miss.” That statement, Giselle knew with utter, seething certainty, was patently false. “Thirty years I’ve known the law. I want tips on the law from you, I’ll ask.”
The Legion’s leader drew in a long, calming breath. Then she smiled. “Azleena,” she said into her earpiece, “Could you please get the relevant criminal codes for our good friend here and send them through to me?”
“I don’t care what you show me on no phone,” shrugged the Sheriff, “This is my crime scene, I’m in charge of it.”
Giselle turned around to the assembled Legion members assembling behind her, the force of the smile now physically hurting her face. “Enrique,” she said sweetly, gesturing to the teleporter, “Would you be so kind as to head back to Morningstar and get those printed. It might help if we’ve got the legislation in front of us.”
She turned back to the walking butterball of a man and tried to set her words down as firmly and politely as possible. “Mr Brady. Sheriff. I apologise if it feels like we’re storming in here stepping on your toes. But we’re not looking to steal any thunder, we’re here for one of our own. You know what I’m saying. You know who’s in there. You-”
“Powerless human, way I hear it,” the Sheriff spat, hooking a loogie onto the grass, “Minor celebrity, but not one of you lot, couldn’t possibly be.” He crocked his head back towards the spread-out SWAT team. “Now you just hold tight there and don’t get your panties in a twist, and we’ll have him out and safe all lickety‑split.”
They were running out of time.
“Sheriff,” Giselle said, pursing her fingers together in front of her as if in respectful prayer, “Let me make myself abundantly clear. We are not state, not federal. We’re the Legion of Heroes. Now I respect that your men have made the effort to come out here today, but when it comes to who’s better suited to handling the situation the Legion-”
“Legion?” Brady scoffed, “I don’t see no Legion.” He swept his gaze over the Acolytes arrayed behind Giselle. “I see a bunch of children, most not old enough to drink.” He levelled the speedster with a patronising smile. “I’ve been a hostage negotiator for twenty‑three years Missy. When I need a bunch of college kids come tell me how to do my job, again, I’ll holler.”
It was a testament to Giselle’s utter professionalism and the commitment she felt to her organisation’s reputation that she did not immediately, despite approximately thirty‑six hours without sleep, supersonically stab this man in the neck. Instead she just smiled, bent her head slightly in a gesture of grating genuflection, and turned, smile still straining the muscles in her fac , back to her team.
“We,” she announced sunnily and through barely gritted teeth, “Are going to let the locals try first.”
“What?” exclaimed Natalia, pushing her way through, her mascara‑tinged eyes bulging with absolute indignation, “We’re waiting?” There were similar sounds of annoyance and dismay from the rest of the group.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“Are you serious?” said Celeste.
“I am serious,” replied Giselle, doing her absolute best to keep her voice level, “Just as serious as I am about the fact that when we get back to Morningstar, you, Celeste, are going to write me a 200-page essay entitled ‘Why Law Enforcement Call Us, We Do Not Call Law Enforcement’.” The speedster’s head tilted to the side as she spoke, her wide eyes fixed on Celeste the entire time in a way that made it abundantly clear where Giselle’s tolerance lay for one more word of protest. Celeste wisely shut up.
“Spread out,” Giselle commanded, smile vanished, “Set up a perimeter, defensive positions, give the locals a wide berth. I’ve had enough surprises for one lifetime.” At that moment Will and Wally appeared, carrying another ride‑along Acolyte crew. “Spread the word.” She strode over, directing questions in unbroken succession to one and then the other. “Where’s Jane? How’s your patient?”
Will look surprisingly pale. “She’s on her way.”
“Why didn’t you teleport her?”
“She was worried it was a trap.”
“Good, that’s just great,” said Giselle, “So we have essentially a complete erosion of trust. Fantastic. You?”
“Blackmore’s under observation by Delores.”
“Fine. That’s a long‑term project anyway.” Giselle marched away from the greater host of Acolytes, motioning Will and Wally to follow. She also flicked a firm nod at Natalia and Charles Farrington and, though it burned her to do so, Celeste. The faunamorph thankfully had the good sense to at least look sheepish.
“Alright look,” Giselle said, keeping her voice low as they formed a loose huddle away from the prying ears of the Sheriff, “Until the entire bench of the Supreme Court comes down and convinces that moron we actually have jurisdiction, I am not going to push this. I have had about my fill of Legion members attacking American peace officers for one day, and I am not letting this get blown up all over the news.” As she said it Giselle could see over Wally’s shoulder two white vans approaching down the street, from their markings carrying what looked to be camera crews. “Not now, okay? So we let Sheriff Braindead over there have his shot at playing hero, and we see how it plays out. Best case scenario they get Matt, they all jack off, and everyone goes home. Worst case they get Matt shot, and well it seems like for some reason we don’t care about that anymore.”
“Yeah I mean what’s the worst they can do?” Natalia shrugged, “Kill him?”
“PASTOR PHILIP FREDERICKS,” a police officer standing over by Sheriff Brady shouted at the house via megaphone, “COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP.”
If Giselle still had a bridge of her nose to pinch by the end of the day, it would be an absolute miracle. “In the meantime,” she stated, “I want the five of you – six, you’re in this too Azleena‑” she said, touching her earpiece, “‑looking for ways into that building. Safe ways.” Giselle paused. “Options. Teleportation.”
She looked at Will, who threw a quick glance at the building and squinted his eyes. A small plume of sulphur wafted up from his back.
“Disruptance.”
“Typical. So no phasing either.”
“Not unless they’ve skimped.”
“Unlikely. At the very least though it means nobody’s going out that way.”
“Agreed,” said Farrington.
“Invisibility then,” suggested Giselle, “Sneak someone in to recon and ID.”
“Advise against it,” crackled Azleena’s voice, “I’m looking at the video feeds. Those cameras hanging from the awnings have thermal sensors. They’ll see us coming.” The genius paused. “Very expensive for a suburban church.”
“Nat, Wally?” Giselle asked, turning to the psychics, “Who do you sense inside?”
“Dozens of people,” Natalia scowled, “It’s like an entire Podunk family.”
“You know how these cults love communal living,” Wally sighed. At that moment though, the front door of the complex opened, and a stream of men in plain shirts and trousers and women in ankle length dresses poured into the front yard, running frantically towards the police line.
“Oh crap, oh crap,” swore Giselle, but it became immediately apparent that they were neither under attack, nor were these suicide bombers – every member of the congregation had their hands up, several were screaming, and all appeared absolutely panicked. As they reached the edge of the property the SWAT members lunged forward, surrounding and hurrying the civilians away with a probably unnecessary amount of force.
“They’re just letting them through,” hissed Giselle, her voice rising, incredulous, “They could be anyone, they could do anything, they’re just-”
“They’re being detained,” Wally reassured her. His hand was on his temple, as was Natalia’s. “And I’m not getting any animosity or pushback. Nothing but panic.”
“Same,” Nat confirmed.
“Alright,” breathed Giselle, turning back away from the rushing crowd, who were being chaotically herded into the back of police vans, “Where does that leave us?”
“There’re still two people inside,” Natalia said, her dark eyes squinting. She scowled at the complex for a few seconds. “I can’t get through. Psy-Block.”
“Psy-Block,” confirmed Wally.
“The Pastor and, who, Matt?”
“WE KNOW YOU HAVE MATTHEW CALLAGHAN WITH YOU. RELEASE HIM, AND YOU CAN WALK AWAY FROM THIS UNHARMED.”
“Maybe he dosed him?” Celeste suggested. Giselle turned to her.
“What about you?” she demanded, “You got us into this mess, can you get us out of it? Go mole or… something? Rat? Get Matt out?”
“He didn’t really want to get out,” Celeste shrugged, “He wanted to catch someone. He wanted to get everyone here.”
“Well, everyone’s here now, mission accomplished,” growled Giselle.
“I don’t know how much more ‘in the act’ this Pastor can be,” Farrington added.
“Why don’t we make this simple?” Giselle sighed, “I run in. Azleena, find me a door or window without clackers. I’ll run in, carry Pastor Fredericks away, then somebody with some bolt cutters go and free Matt in their own damn time. Sound good?”
“It’s either that or we drop someone big or heavy from space,” said Will.
“My way has less squashing. The whole point is to get the Pastor and whatever evidence he’s got intact. Matt too, preferably.” She turned towards the house, cracking her shoulders. “Alright, here we go.”
“Wait!” Azleena voice cried suddenly in her ear, “Don’t!”
Giselle paused mid‑step. “What?” It was rare for the young girl to sound so urgent, let alone so alarmed. “What is it?”
“I’m cycling through Helen’s bodycam,” said the genius, and the six of them glanced over to where the technopathic cyborg was standing on the Legion’s perimeter, facing in towards the house, “I’m picking up something, above the front lawn, there’s- I need someone to go and take an air sample. Not Giselle!” Azleena practically shouted.
The group of senior Legion members exchanged glances, then Will shrugged and strode over past the Legion and the police line, ignoring the shifty glares the SWAT team gave him. He stopped at the foot of the grass, reached into his back pocket and pulled out what looked to be an empty sandwich bag. The teleporter swiped it through the air, then glanced back.
“YOU HAVE FIVE MINUTES TO COMPLY OR MAKE YOUR DEMANDS KNOWN.”
“I’m sending Helen.” Giselle nodded, though she knew the genius couldn’t see, and a few seconds later the bulky short‑haired half-robot girl stomped over. Wordlessly, Will handed her the bag.
“Analysing.” Helen’s robotic hand had retracted and transformed into what looked almost like a metallic satellite dish, which enveloped the bag like a snail’s mouth swallowing paper. “Analysing.” Over the comms link, the genius swore. “I knew it. Giselle, do not run in there.”
“What?” Giselle replied, her hand going to her ear, “Why?”
“The entire field is covered in electrostatically suspended silica crystals,” Azleena explained, “The second you go in at speed it’ll shred every inch of your body and the instant you breathe it’ll tear apart your lungs.”
“Suburban church huh?” said Wally, his expression dark. Azleena didn’t sound amused.
“This is high grade military ordinance,” she said, the words continuing to tumble, “Not for commercial sale, bleeding edge. I thought I saw something strange on the in‑depth cameras but I didn’t think-”
“Good pick,” said Giselle, cutting her off, “What do we do?”
A moment. Then: “Come back,” Azleena told her, “I can fabricate a polycarbonate suit and respirator, cover your entire body. Then you go in.”
“How long will that take?”
“Six minutes. It’s already printing.”
“Good enough.” Giselle turned to Farrington. “You’ve got lead. Wally, explain to Sheriff Dipstick over here that sending any speedsters in will kill them. Hopefully he’ll listen to a polite young white man more than he does me. Nat, link. Will, home. Celeste-”
“You still want me to try mole?” the faunamorph asked, looking hopeful, “I could go real big?”
“Hold that thought,” Giselle ordered, “The terramancers too, if they’re considering tunnelling inside. I guarantee if this guy has black market anti‑speedster tech, he’s got landmines.”
“Agreed.”
“Agreed.”
Will gripped Giselle by the arm and closed his eyes. As they turned away, the girl took one last look at the complex.
“Hang on Matt,” she swore, “We’re coming.”