The van's engine rumbled as it drove into the motor pool, turning and backing in until its rear doors were almost touching the ones at the back of the garage. The doors flew open and a quintet of detainees were bundled inside. Four PRT troopers and me, with both hands occupied. I was better able to hang onto these guys, so it only made sense.

One of my detainees, a man with a bloody handprint over his face as war paint, tried to struggle free. Not only did he get nowhere, I tightened my grip until a pained groan escaped his lips. He settled down after that, at least. We moved them quickly through the halls, down to the detention block. Ideally, the police would process them because they were unpowered criminals. The problem was, too many stations had been damaged by Leviathan. More than that, because these shitheels were Fenrir's Chosen, they argued it was a parahuman problem anyway.

Whatever the case, it meant they were our problem to deal with. We piled into an elevator and headed down, mostly silent. I was a little nervous, since Triumph had sent me back to base early. I was pretty sure I'd done nothing wrong, maybe he was just a nice guy and looking out for me. Maybe it was just that we needed someone with powers in the vehicle or something. Whatever the reason, I wasn't going to complain.

The elevator opened and we got the detainees moving again. A short walk this time, to their cells. The guys running this place would handle the actual processing, so at least I wouldn't have to worry about boring shit. With a bit of help from the troopers, I got my guys into their cells, then helped with the rest. Ten minutes later, I was at the orderly desk, waiting to get rubber stamped.

“Okay so,” a portly trooper wearing body armour, but no helmet, said. “We got some reports here to do, won't take too long now and then you can head off.”

“I thought you guys did the paperwork,” I replied, cocking my head. That got a laugh out of him, followed up with the dull 'thud' of a fat sheaf of papers hitting the desk.

“You bagged 'em,” he replied with a shrug, handing me a pen. “You tag 'em.” I glowered at him for a moment before snatching the paperwork and pen, then retreating to a seat just down the hall.

Ohhh my god why was that print so small?! Well fuck you too Form 210.a 'Affiliation of Detainees', I don't need glasses you do. I squinted and read, scanned really. I guess academia had taught me something useful...though I don't know if my history professors had supercop paperwork in mind. This one, at least, was pretty easy. All five were Nazis, and I put as much on the page. I turned to the next paper and...ah good, Form 210.b 'Description of Detainees'.

The next hour was spent crossing Is, dotting Ts, and cursing Triumph with every stroke of my pen. Now I knew why he sent me back early, the bastard. If I'd known, I'd have stuck with the halted convoy we'd been called in to back up. Oh well, it was done now. I slapped the pen and papers down on the desk, then headed out once I got a nod from the trooper.

I paused leaving the detention block, glancing at my watch. It was a little past seven, seventh of June. A shiver ran up my back. Tonight, Mannequin would be infiltrating the PRT headquarters. I wasn't sure what time exactly, I'd been focused on running as fast as I could rather than staring at the clock. That was an error I'd correct this time. Not that I wanted to do this again but...I wasn't taking chances with my luck.

“Amaranth.” I glanced up and, to my surprise, found Miss Militia standing just up the hallway. “Come with me a moment, I'd like to speak with you.” I glanced at my watch again and grimaced.

“Is it gonna take long?” It wouldn't be bad, having her around for this, but I didn't want to miss it either. Armsmaster had... “I kinda have somewhere to be.”

“Not long at all,” she replied easily. She gestured to a heavy door set in the wall across from her. “Join me?”

Miss Militia opened the door, gesturing to it. I suppressed a sigh and stepped through, taking a seat at the table there. It was just one of our interrogation rooms, the sort those gangsters would be seeing the inside of before long. She grabbed the chair and set it to the side of mine, rather than across. I guess this wasn't supposed to be an interrogation.

“How are you feeling?” Miss Militia asked after I sat down.

“Fine,” I replied with a shrug. It was true, besides the anticipation of what was currently infiltrating the base. “What's up?”

“I wanted to find how your patrols were coming,” she answered easily. “We haven't had the chance to patrol together, I've only heard from Battery and Triumph.” I shrugged again.

“They've been...productive?” I hazarded. It was true, I definitely had more arrests than the average Ward of my experience. “I guess it sucks that like, we can't do anything about the villains.”

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“Give it time.” I was getting sick of that answer. “And you're not...feeling anything about them?” I narrowed my eyes, what was she getting-- ah.

“This is about what I said to Battery, isn't it?” I grumbled, crossing my arms. I was hoping the dumb words falling out of my idiot mouth had been ignored and forgotten. “It was just a stupid feeling, nothing to it besides me being a whiny little--”

“Don't be so hasty,” Miss Militia interrupted. “To dismiss it as just you worrying about your friends. You said you 'had a feeling', what did you mean?” I squirmed in my seat as her gaze bored into me.

“I just...” I chewed my lip, thinking. “I dunno, I thought it would be attacked and then it was.”

“Have you had any other...feelings since then?” I bit my lip hard enough that I felt it sting.

“I...” I checked my watch, 19:23. “I don't...” 19:24.

I started as her hand suddenly gripped mine, warm and gentle. I met her eyes and saw she must have been smiling behind the American flag covering her face. My vision blurred and I looked down at the table. She was going to think I was crazy, she'd never believe another word from me. That was the truth of what threatened to spill out of my lips like a stream of sour bile. But I remembered Armsmaster, bleeding out as I desperately tried to stop it. I screwed my eyes shut and felt the uncomfortable tickle of tears sliding down my cheeks.

“M- Mannequin,” I managed, though my voice trembled pathetically. “He's going to attack Armsmaster tonight and I don't know when but he's going to gut him, cripple him, almost kill him.”

I ignored the way Miss Militia's grip tightened on my hand. It had finally been too much, finally gotten to me. I was pathetic, not even able to deal with this shit myself. She let me go and said something I didn't hear as I wrapped my arms around myself. Now the inevitable question 'how did you know' would come, and I was fucking certain my answer wouldn't pass muster. I'd either be sectioned as a psycho, or sectioned because they thought I was part of the Nine, since I knew where they'd be and--

“Amaranth!” Miss Militia barked, drawing my attention. “Are you absolutely certain that Mannequin is going to attack?” I sniffed and nodded.

“He's--” I choked and tried again. “He's gonna nominate him...” I flinched as her chair scraped across the floor.

“Come on,” she snapped. I looked up, vision still blurry with tears. “Amaranth, get up. If Mannequin is here then we need to move now.” She extended a hand and I looked at it.

“You--” I sniffed and hiccupped. “You're not--”

“Amaranth.” I jumped to my feet at the whipcrack of Miss Militia's voice. “Let's go.”

A surge of adrenaline broke through the hazy panic that had settled over my brain like a palpable fog. I fell in behind her as Miss Militia began charging down the hallway. As we ran, I heard Dragon's voice whisper in our ears. My heart sank as Miss Militia sped up, almost leaving me behind. She reached the elevator first and slapped the controls, then held the door as I belatedly made it in.

It rose swiftly, silently, and the silence was only broken by my panting for breath. My ears were ringing and my throat was parched and I was pretty sure my costume was trying to strangle me. The edge of every object was sharp, the lights were too bright, and fuck I was sweating like a pig!

I ignored my discomfort as the doors opened and we began running again. Miss Militia pulled ahead and away, her power rapidly shifting between a grenade launcher, an RPG, and what could only be a PTRD. Even with that extra weight, she continued to pull away. I let out a choked grunt and forced my aching muscles to go faster, but only managed to stop her from gaining more distance.

She was five doors ahead of me when one sprung open just past her. A shotgun flashed into her hands and she rounded the corner, vanishing inside the room as her weapon barked. My stomach twisted as I charged the last thirty feet to Armsmaster's room. Miss Militia was still shooting, though now the sound of single, tremendous blasts came around the door.

I ducked into the room and ran past Armsmaster, bleeding out on the floor. I dashed into the bathroom and grabbed the first aid kit, flinching as another shot rang out, sharper than the earlier ones. I glanced when I came back in, seeing Miss Militia's power morph from a huge sniper rifle into a diminutive submachine gun. She joined me as I tore into packs of gauze and began putting pressure on Armsmaster's stomach.

“Reinforcements a minute away,” Dragon's voice spoke in my ear. Was she afraid? “Hang on Colin.” The last line, a whisper, not meant for me.

Miss Militia and I worked silently, piling gauze on top of gauze to try and stem the bleeding. It was easier with two people, and four hands, and by the time backup finally arrive he was stable...ish. I back away as the PRT medics took over, wiping my brow. My heart was still pounding and I felt sick to my stomach. I stumbled over and sat on a nearby, torn up couch. Springs prodded at my projection, but I ignored it and just tried to calm down.

The heroes left me alone, at least. My hands gripped the exposed frame of the couch, wood creaking under my fingers. I forced myself to breathe slower and slower, focusing on that and not the sensation of my burning muscles or the sticky blood on my hands. It was fine, I'd done good, really good, the best ever.

It hadn't been enough.

I grit my teeth together and drew a breath that rattled in my chest. God dammit, I had gone out on a limb and it hadn't fucking worked! Was that the kind of fucking loop I was in, where I'd always just be too late to actually do anything? Wood creaked and splintered under my fingers. I was just--

“Whoa, hey kid!” Assault's exclamation made me jump. I pulled my hands away from the now-broken frame, sighing.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, rising from my seat. “Uh, I think it was kind of a write off anyway.”

“Are you alright, Amaranth?” Miss Militia asked, walking away from the troopers currently examining a hole in the wall.

“Fine,” I replied tersely, clenching my hands. “Just...fuck!” I swore and kicked the ruined couch. I sighed, suddenly tired, and shrugged at her. “You know?” She sighed and Assault frowned.

“You should head back to your quarters,” Miss Militia said gently, glancing at the pool of blood near the computer. “You did good tonight, Amaranth. Don't doubt that.” I swallowed and nodded, trudging out of the room.

I did good, but I had to do better.