Report Assessment 11:

  While your reports remain frustratingly narrative, we appreciate their thoroughness. We urge you again, to follow standard reporting procedure. A form can be provided to you should you need help with the format. Assessment, Action, then Reflection is the standard for a reason.

  As it is, I must read your report, and retype it to fit our standards.

  But, of course, you are the Red Fox, and we are here to support you.

  Our best men are working on a more combat ready prosthesis to support your disability, but if you want some time with a Fox martial trainer as well, to work out some of the kinks, we can set up some sessions for you. At the moment, your new invisibility power seems like a grand boon to your operations, and we suggest you continue to develop it.

  As for your attempt to put together this new Alliance of Superheroes, we are worried it is doomed to failure. The only successful teams in history are anchored to powerful Superheroes like Captain Iron or Justice Jameson, far above the typical operating capacity of the Red Fox. We are worried that you, and Sniffer Sleuth lack the level of prestige needed to be that anchor.

  But it must be stated again, that you are the second Red Fox to ever make it to Journeyman level classification.

  We have several plans for how to grow your prestige, and can send a package when you are ready.

  As for your romantic pursuits… we do not need such granularity as you have provided, but we think it is valuable that you continue to develop your relationships with other heroes, support class or otherwise.

  We look forward to further communication, and hope that it is a little more streamlined. But we understand you will, of course, do as you wish.

  Ever Your Steadfast Servant,

  “Kitten”

  Red Fox Action Log 47 Cont:

  Getting this close to her, my heart hammered in my chest. She was tall for a woman, maybe only four inches shorter than my six foot. I couldn’t make her age at first. She had a youthful beauty, yet the confidence of experience.

  Probably could say the same for myself, though. Not the beauty part, but the youthful confidence. I pegged her as maybe her late twenties, early thirties, maybe only five or so years older than me. But maybe she was actually much older. Hard to tell.

  Her eyes seemed wide on her face, doe like. She had impeccable makeup, knife-sharp cat's eye, with bright bubblegum pink lipstick.

  She breathed in deep, her shoulders rising with her chest, then let a sigh out, seeming to relax.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, bright blue eyes pinning me.

  I immediately thought of my favorite Superhero. But it couldn’t be her. One, she’d be in her supersuit. And two, her powers were much, well, much more flashy than whatever it was she had used.

  “Do I know you?”

  “No, but I know you,” she said, her face suddenly brightening. “You’re the Red Fox! Why are you wearing so much gosh darn black?”

  “I’ve got red too. Wait, who are you?”

  “Stonewall. Impenetrable skin.”

  Hadn’t heard of that hero. Didn’t mean it wasn’t true, but I couldn’t verify it. I struggled to be as suspicious as I knew I should be. She really was stunning.

  But then again, White Rabbit had used her good looks to get past my guard, and I paid greatly for it. Though, how could I have known she was the world’s most powerful precog? She knew exactly what to say to keep me off balance. I’d been hurt, but for every Bunny was a Nora. A Jill. Even though she’d hurt me, she’d also been part of the most important time in my life, a time where I’d molded myself into the man I was. With her help.

  I couldn’t go through my life distrusting every pretty woman. Sometimes people were pretty. We all wanted to be pretty. If you could be alluring to friends and strangers alike, wouldn’t you try? Not everything is a ploy.

  “Where is your costume?” I asked.

  “I’m off duty!” she replied in a strained whisper.

  “How do I know you’re really Stonewall?”

  She picked a baseball bat off the ground, presumably the bot’s weapon, and crushed it in one hand.

  Woah, mama. Having her on our team would really, um, it would really fill the team out.

  “You’re staring,” she said. “We need to move.”

  “I need to get my teammate.”

  “You’re on a team?”

  “Just the two of us right now.”

  “I’m not joining your team.”

  “I didn’t ask!” I said, maybe too defensively. “He’s got investigative powers.”

  Sniffer Sleuth stepped out of the darkness.

  “You two are being very loud,” he said. “You look familiar.”

  “Sometimes I get Justice Julia, and sometimes I get that gem lady. People must think all redheads look alike. You Sniffer Sleuth?”

  “I am,” Sleuth said, then cocked his head as if trying very hard to figure something out. Eventually, he shrugged.

  We made our way through the aisles. The clack of metal feet on vinyl tile came from behind the fishing section. Two, maybe three. Hard to tell.

  I became invisible, and snuck around behind it. Three bots. Two with rifles.

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  I ran fast, leaping, then dashing one to the ground with a kick. He collided with another. A gunshot rang. Had to keep moving. I yanked the gun from the last one standing, and cracked its butt over its mechanical eye.

  Stonewall came sliding in, skirt billowing around her, yanking the leg off of one that I’d hit, and cracking it over the other’s head. I adjusted my grip on the rifle, and brought it down on the third, hard. In a moment, we’d broken all three.

  I dropped the gun I’d used, the butt had snapped, and picked up another, handing it to Stonewall.

  She shook her head, and responded by flexing her bicep. It was adorably feminine. But she had crushed them real good, so I just nodded, and slung the gun over my shoulder.

  We moved quickly, leaving the aisle before more showed up. Gunnar’s radio hack must still be working.

  We slunk through the aisles, past the pool noodles, the kind I’d used when I’d worked somewhere like here, play fighting with Gus. I drove the memory from my mind. We’d made it to the middle of the store, the clothes, an ocean of them.

  Then we saw them, the hostages. Mostly employees, maybe a dozen men and women — no, teenagers mostly, kids. Just like I’d been back then. They had their whole lives ahead of them. It’s why we were here.

  The man walking among them brandishing his own rifle seemed to be muttering to himself. Skinny, pale, dirty clothes. Nothing surprising. How had he gotten here though? What did he want?

  I motioned for us to get somewhere else, so we could plan. A dozen aisles later, we were ducked behind a display of watches.

  “Get anything off of him?” I asked Sleuth.

  “Hard to get anything when he’s soaked in that much cortisol and adrenaline. He’s scared mostly. The worst place to be. If he were more confident, we’d be better equipped to talk without the possibility of him hurting someone.”

  “We can’t kill him,” Stonewall said.

  “Wasn’t planning on it. Yet.”

  She gave me a concerned look.

  “We’re saving those kids,” I said. “If that means this guy gets hurt, I’m not gonna get broken up by that.”

  “That’s what cops say,” Sleuth admonished. “Heroes find a way.”

  Stonewall nodded, solemnly. I sighed.

  “I can sneak up close to him,” I said. “But I can’t be sure I can incapacitate him without killing him. Kicks to the head don’t tickle.”

  “What if you just get his gun?” Stonewall asked.

  I thought for a second. It would be difficult with only one hand. But if he wasn’t expecting me, I may be able to catch him when he’s switching his holding on it.

  “I think I can do that,” I said. “After that, I think I can subdue him also. Sleuth, you’d need to work on freeing the hostages. Stonewall, you can make sure no reinforcements show up.

  “You’re good at this,” she said. “I would have come up with something similar.”

  “Then why didn’t you?”

  “Well, golly, I didn’t want to step on your toes.”

  “Doesn’t matter who leads, as long as we get those kids to safety.”

  “It matters who leads,” she said. “Ask me about it later.”

  Who was this woman?

  “We got it?” I asked.

  They nodded. I went invisible without another word.

  I saw them creep up slowly. I took it at a quick crouch til I got close. Should be enough ambient noise, fans, patrolling metal feet, to cover the approach.

  I felt my cell phone buzz. Didn’t need to look at it to know what it was. The bots got their radio up.

  Now or never.

  I crept up behind the young man with the gun. He was muttering to himself. The rifle hung slack at his side. I would need to be very careful.

  I held my breath. I walked heel to toe, shuffling the last bit. I’d made it inches from his right arm. He turned. I stood stock still. His nose was inches from my chin.

  I could feel my chest start to burn.

  Don’t breathe. Wait for the right moment. Don’t breathe.

  He turned back to his starting place. I stuck my hook in the receiver of the rifle. It could still fire, but couldn’t cycle a second round. I quickly grabbed the barrel, and yanked it free.

  My hand popped into view.

  The guy cursed, his eyes wide.

  I struck him with the butt. He reeled. The hostages screamed, and gasped.

  The sound of running metal feet. Dozens of them.

  “Keep them away!” I shouted.

  Sleuth knelt next to the first hostage, and cut him free. The hostage ran for cover.

  Stonewall punched the first robot to round the aisle across from us. It went flying off its feet like a crumpled bit of foil.

  Gunfire.

  I kicked the bad guy to his back, then went invisible again. The hostages threw themselves to the floor.

  Stonewall was a blur. The sound of machine parts crashing to the floor was like a chain of firecrackers as she crunched a dozen of them in a second.

  The rifle still hung from my hook. I ejected the magazine, just as he got his hands on it. A round went off into the ceiling. I backed up. The rifle was near useless now.

  I didn’t see any more robots.

  “It doesn’t have to happen like this,” I warned.

  “You think that’s all I have?”

  “There’s more?”

  Twenty robots fell from the ceiling all at once, crunching harmlessly on the vinyl tile, sending chucks into the air. No guns I could see. But there sure were a lot of them.

  Instinctively, I backed up until I realized that Sleuth and Stonewall were behind me.

  “Stonewall, stay here and make sure they’re safe.”

  “Got it.”

  “Sleuth. Start shooting.”

  He unslung his gun, and fired at the first bot. And it was on.

  I ran forward and with the lightest push kick I could manage, slammed the bad guy into a rack of clothes. I then leapt into the air, and kicked the first robot so hard it’s cylindrical head snapped back, and nearly off, hanging on by a single rivet. The second kick dislodged it completely, sending its head into the next one.

  I shoulder checked it to the tile, and kept moving.

  Sleuth aimed and shot, methodically, taking each one out one by one with two rounds to the chest. Where did he learn to shoot?

  No time to think. These guys still needed to see. I blinked into invisibility constantly, just kicking and retreating, and kicking again. My legs ached. My feet tingled like I’d hit a funny bone, nerve sensitivity from kicking metal plates over and over.

  Suddenly, Sleuth was next to me, lashing out with the baton. A bot grabbed my prosthetic. I hit the quick release. It stumbled back. I hopped, sweeping a roundhouse into its head.

  Soon, it was all over.

  “FBI! Get down on the ground!”

  The feds, and the police crashed in.

  We faded into the darkness, and exited out the back.

  One police officer tried to stop us but Stonewall crushed his pistol. He ran away. We hoofed it to the van.

  “I wish I could have talked to the hostages,” I said, only just realizing that I’d left my prosthetic. I needed a better one anyway.

  “You’re kind of scary,” Stonewall said.

  “All the more important that they see I’m there to help.”

  Stonewall hung back, seemingly struggling with the dry earth in her dainty shoes. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand. The sun beat down mercilessly.

  “So,” I asked Sleuth in low tones, “what do you get off of our new friend?”

  “Perfume — oranges, ambergris — that sort of thing. Gelatin and chocolate on her breath, a lot of it. Chocolate pudding cups.”

  I stopped walking.

  “Chocolate pudding cups?” I asked.

  Fury rose in my blood. I turned on the woman behind me.

  “You’re Gem Blade,” I said.

  There is a particular feeling you get when you meet a celebrity, a rush of excitement, when you meet someone you have seen in pictures over and over, but never met. I’d felt that earlier. But I’d ignored it for two reasons.

  One: I’d never seen many pictures of Gem Girl in civilian clothes, and with her hair tied back and in glasses. It’s a simple trick, but it’s enough to give her plausible deniability. Two: when people tell you who they are, you tend to believe them. Nobody over the course of your day to day is likely to lie to you about their identity, unless your job is to specifically look for that.

  If the girl behind the counter serving your coffee gave you a fake name, would you have any reason to suspect it?

  “Aw fiddlesticks,” she said.