By and large, I think I’ve pulled over most of the older posts I wanted to highlight in the new space, so the archive weekend posts will likely be limited to the Spotlight reprints as I end each chapter. Which, as it turns out, I just did.
This chapter: gazelle vampirism, super-powered prison fashion, shadowy conspiracy chambers, and the only event that leaves every single version of Crowd speechless. Plus, pray for us all, because Stallion’s about to be the reasonable, level-headed one. This can’t bode well.
Chapter 6: Special Persecutor
“He’s not dead,” Roc said quietly.
“Still. And: no shit,” Stallion returned for the bajillionth time. He’d tracked Roc down to the observation room for The Stone. Which wasn’t moving, and hadn’t moved in the two days since they got back from leaving a crater in Canada. Which meant Voice was still alive. Somewhere.
“So then where is he?” Bruise asked. Stallion had dragged the cutter along, hoping he could get the Stone Cold Bitch to, you know, move or something.
“We still haven’t heard from Covert?” Roc asked, finally taking her eyes from the not-moving glitter rock on the other side of the unbreakable glass.
“Not since the tool ditched us just after the border,” Stallion said. “Girl, seriously, you aren’t doing Volume Knob any good just standing here. Unless you’re waiting for him to die?”
Here was where he normally would have been dodging giant concrete hands or something, but even Stallion’s normal button-pushing barely got a rise out of the girl.
“Covert has intelligence resources we don’t,” she said, turning back to look at The Stone.
“And we have still being big deals instead of has-beens,” Stallion countered.
“Stallion has a point,” Bruise said. Stallion locked eyes with Roc in a bit of shared shock, then they both looked to the guy with green hair (this week).
Bruise fell back a bit, but explained: “Covert brought us on that mission in the first place because we’re big, loud, and have a massive PR machine. If things went south, we’re the bright shiny thing to point to, and it wouldn’t be the worst thing Trent’s had to spin.
“We don’t have a military industrial complex and world-spanning intelligence agency to use, but we do have fame. I know you don’t always like it, Teresa, but sometimes that opens a whole other set of doors, you know?”
“See? Listen to Chewy,” Stallion said with his extra-wide grin.
Roc bit her lip a moment, checking out the still-not-moving Stone.
“I don’t even know where to start,” she whispered.
“Girl, even I know where to start,” Stallion said.
“You do?” Roc and Bruise asked at the same time. Stallion chuffed air and crossed his arms.
“Seriously? You guys suck,” he said. “The psycho from TV. Duh. He hacked this place that went ker-blooey, right? He’s gotta know who they are and where else they are. We show up, flash the smiles and the awesome, and grill the hell out of code-loser until he gives it up.”
“The authorities aren’t just going to let us waltz in and–” Roc started.
“Since when?” Stallion returned. “The love us. You probably won’t even have to flirt with any boy cops to get in.”
He dodged the concrete bludgeon by several inches. There was his girl.
“I told you, I’m not–”
“We gonna dance with each other, or with the psycho?” Stallion asked. Roc fumed a moment, then nodded.
“I’m in. Let’s go.” She was out the door before she’d even finished talking. Stallion heard the security checkpoint beeping even as Bruise and he scrambled to catch up. Just as they’d passed out of the tech maze that protected The Stone, Bruise’s phone rang. Stallion could smell the nerves and hormones surging as goth-boy checked the screen.
“I … I have to take this,” he said. Stallion rolled his eyes.
“Girlie’s already in high gear, so I’m not waiting for you to deal with your rent boy or whatever,” Stallion said, running for the open front door.
“Tell Schizo where we went if her dupe-stapo let you talk to her,” he yelled back just before leaping skyward to try to catch up.
What call could be that important? Click to find out