Jane Walker landed in the street outside her home to find sirens, dust and death.

She’d been accompanying the cargo plane back to American airspace, oblivious to what waited for her until they landed, until she turned on her cellphone to hundreds of missed messages, dozens of missed calls. She’d left her prisoner behind, racing up through the clouds in a slipstream of thundering air and golden panic. She descended on the city, windows shattering in her wake, and when she landed in the centre of the street her feet drove a crater into the asphalt. But none of that mattered. For all Jane could see was the smoke billowing from the remains of their apartment, and the bodies of the dead being laid out front.

“Matt!” she cried, sprinting towards them as the crowds parted, “Matt!”

To her relief – to her eternal, desperate relief – a familiar figure raised his hand over the commotion. Pushing policemen, paramedics and gawking civilians aside, Jane stepped through the crowd to see Matt resting in a small pocket of space beside an ambulance, Giselle carefully wrapping bandages around his legs and arms as she argued with a paramedic.

“I can heal it,” the short-haired African American ambulance officer was saying, “This is ridiculous, I understand if you don’t trust cops, but I’m not-”

“Touch him and I’ll break your filthy neck,” Jane swore, storming over. The paramedic turned, saw her coming, blanched and abruptly stepped back. Matt watched Jane’s approach with tired eyes.

“Hi.”

“What happened?” Jane demanded. Then before anyone could even answer she launched forward, snatching Matt up into a bone‑breaking hug.

“Ow,” Matt winced. Jane pulled back abruptly, although her hands still held a trembling vice-grip on his shoulders.

“What happened?” she repeated. Giselle shook her head and – the paramedic now retreated – continued to silently minister to Matt’s superficial wounds.

“I left the gas on,” replied Matt. Jane’s eyes widened in disbelief, only to narrow half a second later.

“Come on man,” Giselle sighed beside him.

“You-”

“Don’t freak out,” Matt told her, “Everything’s cool.” He kept his gaze fixed on her, clearly trying very hard to ignore the street scattered with bits of mortar or the black‑clad bodies either moaning or laying silent. “I was maybe a little bit attacked.”

“Absolute circus,” Giselle said.

Jane’s heart skipped a beat. Her breathing began drawing in fits and starts, and the air around her started to tinge.

“How… you…”

“I’m fine,” Matt assured, making a grab for her hand. She stiffly evaded him. “I’m fine. This is… we’ll get through this, okay? It’s going to be alright.”

Jane could barely hear. Her ears rang and her head pounded, and her fists were clenched so hard she thought her fingers were going to tear through the gloves.

“Where are they?” she hissed, and her eyes began to seethe gold, “Where are they? I’ll kill them, I’ll burn every last one of them, I’ll rip their heads off, I-”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Most of them are already dead,” Giselle interrupted. She indicated over at the bodies. All around, the growing crowd was staring at the three of them, craning their necks despite being pushed back somewhat by the disorganised police officers. Jane neither noticed nor cared. “The mines worked,” the speedster prattled on, “And then Matt’s strobes kept them down long enough for me to get back-”

It took every ounce of Jane’s restraint not to grab Giselle by the neck. “Get back?!” she demanded, turning to tower over the crouching woman, eyes ablaze with fury, “Get back?! Where the hell were you?! How could you let this happen, you were supposed to be watching him, you were supposed to-!”

“Jane!” Matt barked. For a moment, Jane barely heard him, could do nothing but glare at the silent, stony‑faced speedster, who had slowly risen to her feet, staring back; but eventually the feeling of Matt’s eyes boring into her forehead made Jane turn reluctantly away. She met Matt’s furious gaze, his face caked in a thin layer of dust. “Enough.” He glanced at Giselle. “Give us a minute.”

“I’ll see to the Legion stuff,” Giselle said, not reluctant at all to leave.

“Thanks.”

The speedster flicked Matt a brief, almost sad smile before risking one last look at Jane and walking – not running – briskly off towards the police line. Jane her go, her teeth clenched.

“She saved my life,” said Matt.

“Where was she?” Jane growled, the words black and guttural.

“It’s fine.”

“Where was she?”

“She was getting lunch. She-”

Jane let out a deep, savage growl. “I’ll kill her,” she snarled, “I’ll kill her, I’ll kill every last one of those useless-”

“Jane!” Matt grabbed her by the wrist, hard, and pulled her to face him. The shock of the contact caused the death threats to slip momentarily from Jane’s lips.

“Calm. Down,” he ordered.

“Calm down? Calm down?!” Jane wrenched her arm free from Matt’s grasp and reeled away from him, hands clenching and unclenching within her gloves. Without realising it she began to pace back and forth beside the ambulance, boots kicking cracks in the ground. “Are you kidding me? Are you freaking kidding me?!”

“Take a breath.”

“This was our home!”

“I know. I know.”

“How are you not upset?!”

“I am upset,” Matt said, his voice deliberately even, “But don’t make a scene.”

“Scene?” Jane snapped, lunging her face an inch from his, “You want a scene, I’ll give you a scene.” She spun back to the crowd and the corpses. “Where are they, where are those miserable scum, I’ll kill them, I’ll burn-”

“Do you want me to be safe?” Matt demanded, and suddenly all balance vanished from his voice. Jane turned back towards him, incredulous, only to find Matt’s glare resolutely matching her own. “Or do you want to throw a tantrum? Get a hold of yourself.” Jane flinched as though he’d slapped her. “You’re better than this.”

“I-”

“I don’t need anger,” Matt snapped, “Anger is useless. I need you to shut up, take a breath, recognise what you’re doing, and do something else.”

“How-” Jane spluttered, incredulous, “Like-” She forced herself to stop mid‑sentence, and through curling lips and gritted teeth drew in a long, angry breath. “Like what?” she finally managed.

“Like geez Jane, I don’t know. Talk to the survivors. Look at the bodies. Do something other than rage and punch things.” Jane felt heat rising inside her chest, but before she could snarl out a response Matt held up his hands, his eyes squeezed shut, waving down at her. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said, “That wasn’t fair. This isn’t your fault. I’m just stressed.” He opened his eyes and looked up at her, his expression sickened and sour. “Turns out this isn’t fringe lunatics anymore. It’s coordinated.”

“Matt-”

“Just…” He held up his hands again, as though even talking right now was too painful. “Go. Find out what you can. Do… Legion stuff. The training. I don’t know. I don’t know anything. Just… give me some time.”

A hot, tight pain crept through Jane’s chest and up her throat, constricting her voice. She took a step forward, hands reaching towards Matt, but Matt shied away, averting his gaze as he pressed further back into the side of the ambulance.

“Please,” he murmured, “Just… please. Find something.” He looked back at her with miserable, defeated eyes – which a moment later caught on something off in the middle distance. Jane glanced over her shoulder, following his gaze over into the waiting crowd to a familiar blonde head. “Plus,” said Matt, folding his arms, “Seem like our lawyer’s here, so I’m pretty sure she’ll have fires that need putting out.”

“I’m not leaving,” Jane scowled, turning back to him.

“And I’m not going anywhere,” sighed Matt, dropping his arms to his side, “Clearly. So just… go figure out who all these people who want me dead are.”

Jane grumbled something inaudible and irritated, but in the face of Matt’s dejected stare she finally relented, storming over towards where Giselle was on the phone calling in more of the Legion.