Fortunately, Rianne was able to make it back to cover during Trace’s latest salvo. Although she was hauling a ton of weight, she still made it back to the wall in about the same fashion as a car wooshing by on the highway. Who the hell is this girl? Trace wondered.

She gave him a few brief instructions, basically calibrating him to the shotgun she was handing him. From her description, the grouping of the shot would be a bit tighter than he’d want for his average clay shooting session, but he’d make due. Trace nodded, indicating that he understood. This might be a bit dicey because she would be running the extinguisher to the target and somehow getting out of the way.

Trace was wrong, yet again. The Constable’s muscles began to expand, breaking the confines of her shirt sleeves. Trace stared, mouth actually open at the sight. This was starting to get a bit ridiculous. He had a ton of questions to ask, but didn’t really have time. During his gawking, the first extinguisher took flight. With a slight curse, Trace swept the 870 towards the target, led the extinguisher a bit less than he would normally and squeezed the trigger.

The shotgun roared, belching its pellets at the red clay pigeon stand in. They struck home, causing the extinguisher to rupture. The fire-starter was doused by the flame retardant material which seemed to have some kind of effect on him. Trace caught sight of the second extinguisher and hit it dead center with the shotgun.

The third extinguisher soared into the air, a little lower than the first two. That was most likely due to the positioning of the canister when it was thrown. Trace’s aim was off on the third and he missed it, slightly high. Cursing, he worked the action on the Remington and took aim as the extinguisher bounced. His third shot struck true and completed a massive cloud of white fire-retardant.

Trace let out a celebratory whoop before realizing that, because of this massive cloud, he couldn’t see the target at all. “What now?” he asked, pumping the action again and leveling the shotgun at where he believed the target was.

The clay pigeons stand ins away. Trace managed to hit them all with only a miss on the third. If he shot clays he was used to a completely different style of shotgun. Upwards of ten inches longer on the barrel with a different shot and choke. Either way, Rianne couldn't complain. Four shots left four in the tube.

Looking out across at where the mutant had been was a field of white. Rianne blinked. As her eyes opened her vision shifted from visible light to infrared light. The chemical in the air had extinguished all the fires. To Rianne there was a cloud drifting in the wind with her target standing plain as day in the middle. His heat a stark contrast to the cloud around him.

"I got him." Rianne reached over and took the shotgun back from Trace. She pumped a shell into the chamber, sighted down the barrel, and fired.

The shot pounded into the mutants chest. Rianne could see that as it impacted the cloud immediately around the mutant raised in temperature. The mutant started moving. Rianne tracked him through the cloud. Pump. Fire. Pump. Fire. Pump. Fire.

The mutant went down on the edge of the cloud.

Rianne dropped the spent shotgun and switched to her SIG. "Follow me." She would lead Trace through the mist to where the mutant fell. It seemed it was hard for the mutant to stop attacks completely when he couldn't start a fire. If the shotgun hadn't stopped the mutant, two police mag dumping would do the trick. The question was how would they apprehend him? Pump the paddy wagon full of fire retardant and stuff him in?

Trace released the shotgun as Rianne reached over and took it out of his hands. He wasn't offended or anything; he'd just hit three targets with impeccable aim and had executed their on-the-fly plan to perfection, but why would he be able to hit a target that was standing completely still? Of course, there was the little matter of not being able to see the target he was shooting at, but he could fire blindly into the cloud just as easily as she could!

Only, she hit the mutant pretty solidly. Trace heard the guy cry out. It sounded like he was moving. Rianne then sighted the shotgun again and fired several times in succession. It seemed to Trace like every shot was a hit. Super vision!? what else was she capable of?!

Suddenly Rianne was dropping the shotgun and had her SIG out. She motioned for Trace to follow her, and after that impressive display of shooting, he figured she knew exactly where she was going. He pulled his sidearm back out and followed, providing cover as they moved.

As they approached, Trace noticed a form on the ground. It was still and unmoving. There were no visible wounds that he could see, but visibility was still somewhat reduced because of the dissipating cloud from the fire extinguishers. Trace aimed his weapon at the unmoving figure and said "I'm going to check him..."

Trace knelt down next to the man's form and checked his pulse. It was there, but it was fairly faint. The man appeared to be unconscious, but Trace wouldn't trust that as far as he could throw him. Reaching down, Trace slipped a pair of handcuffs out of a pocket an secured them on the guy's wrists. He then took out his chip gun and injected the chip into the guy's arm.

"He's out cold..." Trace reported, stepping back from the mutant. "I'm guessing it was a bit too much for his system to handle. He probably redirected all the energy he could from the pellets. It probably overloaded him." He said stepping back from the man. "HQ is going to have kittens over this one..." He said, looking around the scene.

As they approached Trace indicated he would check the mutant. Rianne drifted off the side so she could maintain an unobstructed sight picture on the mutant. Though he appeared down, he could just be playing possum.

It seemed the mutant really was out. Trace cuffed the fire mutant without incident.

Rianne brough the gun back into a high ready when Trace audibly confirmed the mutant was out. He then postulated on how they brought him down before suggesting, "HQ is going to have kittens over this one..."

"This can't have been the worst they've seen. And no one died." Rianne said before keying her mic, "17484 I have a 10-92 one suspect..." She handled the coordination with dispatch.

While they would not need someone to put out large fires this mutant had created they would need some help insuring the mutant didn't just burn his way out of the vehicle taking him to jail. Or the jail for that matter.

Once the ESU backup arrived they took the still unconscious mutant and unceremoniously tossed him into the back of a van. They then pumped fire retardant into the van. Not enough that the mutant couldn't breath but enough to make any shenanigans he might try difficult.

Rianne, looking at the ESU vehicles said, "Nice job, butt-fairy." She turned to him, and held out her hand.

All things considered, the situation was pretty well handled. The fire-starter was contained. Trace hadn’t ever seen that much fire suppressant poured into one space. Seriously, it looked like one of those foam parties that colleges purportedly did not have. “Enjoy the ride!” Trace called out, suddenly wondering why he would bother talking to an unconscious man. Again, the little things.

Trace turned back to the officer who had come to his assistance today. Headquarters wouldn’t be too thrilled with the high-profile nature of the attack, but it was really limited to a few blocks and there weren’t any casualties. Which could have been much, much worse by any standards.

“You too, Constable Barbie” Trace said, shaking hands with the officer. “What the hell are you?” he asked, confusion a bit evident in his voice. He’d never met a mutant with so many different powers manifesting in so many different ways. He couldn’t really connect the dots between any of those powers in a way that made sense as one thing.
“I mean with the powers there. You run like a car on the highway. You saw that guy” he said, gesturing towards the ESU vehicle “though a whiteout and you chucked those fire extinguishers like they were nothing.”

Trace thought about his statement for a second. “Ever thought about joining SUPER? We could use someone with those abilities” he asked, hoping she wouldn’t dump a truck on him.

“What the hell are you?”

Well that is certainly a rude thing to ask. Before Rianne could reply with how she is a lady and how she isn't so suprised him as a butt-fairy is not used to seeing one, he amended,

“I mean with the powers there. You run like a car on the highway. You saw that guy though a whiteout and you chucked those fire extinguishers like they were nothing.”

Well that took the fun out of replying to him. That question was positively reasonable. "I work out." She held a face like Trace had just pissed in her cheerios for about three seconds before she broke into a small smile. "My power is... Diverse, but limited. I can life thousands of pounds or run faster as a car and can see outside the visible spectrum or hear outside the normal range."

“Ever thought about joining SUPER? We could use someone with those abilities”

"All I know about SUPER is that I'm supposed to bail yall out of any trouble you get in with the rest of the force and keep out of the way. If you would like to enlighten me?"

"I work out" Trace rolled his eyes. Right. And milk really did make you grow big and strong. Spinach could give you super strength. Four rounds of lather, rinse, repeat could make you a super model.

The next reply illuminated the truth a bit further. Rianne explained that her power, essentially, was to adapt to the need that was presented her. That was pretty cool. From her description, that power applied to not only her physical strength but all of her physical senses also. That really could make her the perfect operative.

Surveying the scene, Trace thought about the entire situation. It had gone out of hand fairly quickly and because of that, he'd probably strained his purview a bit as far as SUPER was concerned. From the ESU response, it was evident that Rianne wasn't a normal officer, which meant that he was really lucky. Certain police entities had requisite knowledge of SUPER, but as illustrated by Rianne's statement, they didn't know the full picture.

"Well... We're the good guys." Trace said, simply. And for the most part, it was true. There were aspects of the organization that Trace was unsure about. He'd heard rumors of things that couldn't precisely be called good, but the overall direction of SUPER had the overall good of society at heart. Some threats needed to be dealt with and keeping an eye on those threats was a noble cause. "We keep the public safe and keep an eye on threats. I can't get much more into it." He said, knowing the explanation was a bit bare.

"Look, to get you further information, I'll give you this." he extended a business card "That's contact information for our version of HR. Give them a call. I'll let them know you might be in contact." He explained.

Trace didn't seem too enthused by her joke. It was only fair she get to make one, right? Her real explanation seemed to interest him though. But he was probably interested in all the ladies that could outrun cars, lift trucks, and see in the dark.

Or he just wanted he to join SUPER and her power set was perfect for the organization.

Trace went on to explain what SUPER was. Well, he explained in an excruciating lack of detail. Rianne didn't fault him for this. He worked for some secret governmental agency, he couldn't just disclose it to the first pretty face that could haul his slow ass across a war zone.

And Trace was aware he had steak but was giving crumbs. He extended Rianne a business card with information to contact the super secret HR. So secret they aren't called HR.

Rianne searched his face before she took the card. As far as she could tell he was on the up and up, "I'll think about it." She took the card. "Just tell them the butt-fairy sent me?"

“Actually, they usually refer to me as ‘Trace’“ he said, hoping that his new nickname wouldn’t catch on too much. That could be an awkward thing to get around the office. He could think of a few people that would never let him live that one down. It was probably going to be one of those things he’d have to explain, at length, to everyone he met.

“Well, it looks like you’ve got everything pretty well-at-hand here.” Trace said, surveying the aftermath of the afternoon. One of the benefits of being a fed was that he could typically skip out on a scene before the paperwork started getting particularly difficult or time consuming.

“You really should call that number. It’s a great opportunity to really do some good.” He said as he turned to walk away. Hopefully, she wouldn’t figure out what he was doing early enough to stop him.