“10-23 at….”

“10-50 PF at 57th and…

“... show 10-8.”

The police radio chattered on, voices all over each other as Rianne drove through the city. She was patrolling today only responding to high priority calls. The day so far had been slow, for her there had only been one call for service but by the time she arrived on scene other officers had arrived and squared it away. She hung around to assist if necessary, but it went without incident.

The rest of her day was mostly spent writing a supplement to that incident. Normally she would work to not have to write one, but today had been uneventful enough to warrant offering to do one.

Time to do some community policing.

Rianne drove to a neighborhood in her sector. Before she could get out of her squad car though a Ford Focus flew down the road. The Focus was clearly traveling 60 miles per hour in a clearly marked 35 mile per hour residential.

Flipping her lights on, Rianne punched it in her squad car and closed in behind the Focus. Community policing could wait, this chucklehead was likely to hit a kid running into the roadway. As she moved behind the car she was already on the radio, predicting her stop so she wouldn’t be on it when she made the stop. Blessedly the driver decided running from the police was not worth it and pulled over.

As soon as she stopped her patrol car she threw it into park, stepped out, and made for the Focus. She watched the movement of the driver the entire time. Male, short dark hair, patchy facial hair, likely mid 20’s. No passengers She approached the passenger side of the vehicle then leaned to look at the man across the car through her mirror sunglasses.

”What’s the rush there speed racer?”

“Uh...Wha-...Um.. I’m running late for work and I didn’t realize I was speeding.”

Rianne sighed. She hated this part, the lying like it will help. ”You were going almost twice the speed limit. License and proof of insurance.”

“Uh… yeah, here you go.” The man handed Rianne his license. She took it and watched as his hands moved back to the steering wheel.

Rianne stepped away from the vehicle and looked at the I.D. Matthew Spinneli, male, date of birth 10/24/ 1992, 6’1”. She was about to head back to her car to run his license when a call came over her radio.

Everyone has bad days at work. They have to deal with that obnoxious co-worker, someone makes their life difficult in the most infinitesimal ways, they spill their morning coffee. There are hundreds of mundane issues that can take a day that is perfectly fine in potential and send it spiraling down a dark path.


Today was that day for the newly appointed SUPER agent, Trace Tanner.


His recruitment had proceeded much as one would expect when being drafted into a pseudo-secret government agency. Approached, by a shadowy government type, in a dark alley. Black bag over the head. Dragged off in a van. Taken to some off-the-map black-site.

Reality was much more mundane than that. A superior had recommended Trace for an alternate duty assignment, which lead to him making a contact, which lead to a job application and interviews, pretty much like any job. Reality often pales in comparison to the movies. The job, however, was something straight off the reels. Trace was now a secret agent… Which meant a lot of sitting around. And watching people. And being quiet.

Trace was out on a surveillance mission. Plain-clothes, sit at a café and try not to be noticed while noticing everything going on around you. So, Trace sat at a table, with a coffee and some of those Italian cookie things with a newspaper and a notebook closed on the table. Trying to seem like you are reading is a lot harder than actually reading. Especially when you have a chip gun poking you in the back. Trace hadn’t quite gotten used to the implement, but that’s just something he’d have to get along with. It came with the job, and if there was a chance to do some good along with that job, he’d do it.

Just then, something caught the corner of his eye. A familiar face, slipping around the corner into an alley. Trace reached deep within himself and with a slight mental effort, pushed a bubble up around himself and his table. The bubble snapped into place, the difference not seeming very evident to Trace. He’d had years to get used to the change between normal and compressed time. Nearly leisurely, Trace reached up and flipped through a few pages of the notebook. He stopped on a page that held a playing card with Alley-man’s face on it. A fire manipulator. Nasty piece of work. Definitely on the to-tag list. Time to get to work.


Trace let the bubble collapse. It had been nearly a second in normal time, but he’d had about a minute and a half to look at the dossier. He’d picked up that trick somewhere along the line and it made a lot of mundane tasks much, much easier. Trace got up from the table, and casually walked to the corner. Peaking Trace tried to see exactly what was happening with the soon-to-be-tagged target.


The fire-manipulator was arguing with another person and he was getting incredibly aggressive. Like psycho aggressive. Man, what a hot-head… Trace thought to himself, amused. It’s really the little things in life. Anyhow, the situation was starting to get a bit out of hand and the fire-manipulator was actually smoking not with a cigarette or anything, but physically. Out of his body. That has to be inconvenient.

Trace decided that it was time to intervene. It wasn’t usually good policy to let those you are tasked with protecting become greasy black smears on the wall. Trace stepped around the corner, crouching low and moving quietly. He managed to get within about 7 feet when an errant can managed to catch itself under his foot. Trace realized about a second too late and the resounding crunch was enough to alert the parties in the alley to his presence. Trace looked up just in time to see a fireball drag back.

Nearly on instinct, a time-bubble popped into existence around Trace. Time stretched out around the bubble, the fireball creating a sort of orange blob effect. Trace shifted his view back and forth and spotted his salvation: a dumpster a few feet to his left. Trace formulated a quick plan and readied himself. Release the bubble in 3…2…1… he thought to himself and dove for the dumpster. At the same time, he released the bubble and time snapped back to normal.

The resulting sound of the fireball passing by and the momentary breeze of oxygen being pulled from the air WOOSHED by Trace who suddenly was not in the same location as he had been a second ago. From the sound of it, the previously cornered person had taken off running. Smart move.

The fireball proceeded to soar by, striking a nearby tree which sat in a planter of flowers. The whole thing went up like a dry Christmas tree with a faulty light strand. Which is to say, instantly. HQ isn’t going to like that one… Trace thought, drawing his sidearm. At about that moment, police lights and sirens lit up in the street beyond the alley. WONDERFUL! Trace thought, ducking around the dumpster, firearm raised.

Much to his surprise, the alley was empty. Trace cursed under his breath and started running. As he rounded the corner, he saw the target, running down the sidewalk, knocking people out of the way. Trace took off after him at a dead sprint. What a fantastic way to start off a Monday.

Over the Radio came a call in her sector about a mutant throwing fireballs. It was right up Rianne’s alley. A normal patrol officer would likely try and step in, but this would require a SWAT team, or an SRT.

Rianne went back to the car window and threw Mr. Spinneli’s papers back at him. His ID flying and hitting him in the eye. “Hey! What Gives?” Rianne didn’t answer she was already running back to her squad car. ” 17484 show 10-17 to 10-39Q.” Her badge number, en route, to other crime in progress.

Once in her car she hit her lights and siren and hit the gas. Launching back into the roadway she quickly made it out of the residential before opening up the engine and weaving around traffic. People had no idea how to drive around the police. People move out of the way of Fire EMS but police they think they are being pulled over and get squirrely. If she could she would leave her lights and siren off but policy was policy.

”10-7 on 10-39Q” Confirm location.

The dispatcher relayed the address again and Rianne approaching a turn put both feet on the brake, the sudden deceleration shifted weight to the front of the car for the control she was about to need. She then moved her foot to the gas and hammered it while spinning the wheel. The vehicle shuddered as in the midst of a rapid deceleration the vehicle turned and then lurched back into motion.

The alley was right ahead, Rianne hit the breaks and unbuckled her seatbelt. Then she saw the suspect. He was on foot on the sidewalk. She gunned the car again and headed toward the mutant. She wanted to block him with her vehicle but he had other ideas. The mutant hearing the engine turned and threw a fireball at her patrol car.

The fireball burst and threw fire all across her windshield but it held up. Rianne, now mad, planted the horn of her push bar into the mutants ass at 30 miles per hour. That’ll look great on the dash cam footage.

Fire must not be the mutants only power. The hit did send him flying into the wall, but he was able to recover. Though, both him and Rianne would need to see a chiropractor after that hit.

Rianne threw the car into park and jumped from the squad car her 870 in hand. The shotgun is the greatest tool any patrol officer has. AR-15s are amateur hour in policing.

”Face on the pavement, now!” Rianne yelled as she backed behind her car for cover.

Trace was no slouch in the gym, but unfortunately things like “concern for his fellow man” and “unwillingness to cause bodily harm to the innocent” caused him to lag behind his quarry. A few people he passed had taken nasty burns as the mutant had passed by, bumping them with the odd limb or pushing them out of the way. A few even bore handprints where the guy had touched bare skin. I really have to stop this guy… Trace thought to himself, picking up his pace. This chase had to end before someone got seriou—


At that moment, the mutant turned and threw what could only be considered a handful of fire at an approaching squad car. As the fire splashed across the windshield, Trace winced. Hopefully the officer inside wasn’t hurt or anything. Trace’s fears were soon put to rest, however, as the car suddenly accelerated and the officer behind the wheel decided to play proctologist with a bull bar. That’s got to hurt! Trace thought, slowing to a walk as he approached the scene.

Trace barely had time to react and the officer was out of the car with a shotgun in her hands. That kind of stopping power hitting the fire-starter up close would make Trace’s day seem not so bad by comparison. Hell, he was already feeling a little better because he hadn’t had a rectal examination by an intrusive metal guard on the front of a cop car.


The officer shouted an order at the perpetrator and sought cover behind her vehicle. Trace doubted the efficacy of that type of cover against a human Molotov, but it was certainly better than nothing. Hopefully this guy wasn’t capable of producing fire hot enough to burn straight through it.


Trace hesitated momentarily. Like many humans, Trace realized that shotgun pellets were bad for complexion. But there was the small matter of this whole chase being started by Trace accidentally alerting the fire-starter to his location. So, Trace quickly slipped a phone from his pocket and expanded a time bubble around himself. He dialed a SUPER number used for discrete communication, allowed the call to go to voicemail and muttered “This is Delta 5, we’ve got a mutant at my location, designation ‘Delta’. Local LEOs on site, I’m attempting to tag and detain suspect. Incident was public, might need a clean-up.” He relayed a few more minor details like the initial location of the encounter and descriptions of the officer that was holding the gun on the suspect. The call would be transmitted from Trace’s device and would show up as a missed call and a voicemail on the other end without the phone ever ringing. Sound familiar?


Trace allowed the bubble to drop and swayed a little bit. His power took a lot out of him, so using it too much was a bit hazardous. He’d have enough left in him for a few more bubbles, but much beyond that and he’d either lose consciousness or end up with a debilitating migraine. Knowing the way the day was going, the latter was incredibly likely. Steadying himself, he slowly approached the car. Trace decided that it was probably best to keep the solid steel vehicle between himself and the potential fireballs, so he crept around the back, doing his best to remain unseen.

At that moment, a few pieces of the puzzle started to click together. Every time he’d seen the fire-starter use his powers (except for the first time), the man had been moving. In fact, as he’d been running, it seemed that his powers had gotten stronger. And stronger. And he had reached the point where he was burning people on brief contact. Uh oh.


Trace poked his head around the back of the car and his worst fears were confirmed. The fire-starter’s ability didn’t appear to be just the ability to create fire out of thin air. No, it was much worse than that. The fire-starter was changing kinetic energy into fire. And he’d just been hit by a ton-and-a-half battering ram moving at 30 miles per hour. Hoo boy.


The halo around the fire-starter was so bright that it hurt Trace’s eyes to look directly at him. The wall behind the man was starting to blacken a bit from the sheer heat of the energy coming off of the target. That didn’t bode well for the intrepid young officer who only had a shotgun and a car protecting her from the fiery depths of hell. Trace lunged forward as the fire-starter threw his hands forward, a white hot lance of flame launching forward. He slammed a time bubble into place, encompassing himself and the officer in a pocket of compressed time.


“Well, this is a fine mess you’ve gotten us into!” he exclaimed, a little harshly. It was likely due to the headache starting to form in the back of his head. This day sucked.

The impact from the car didn't seem to have put the guy down, and he didn't seem to be worried about the shotgun pointed at him. He even seemed to be glowing brightly now. Rianne clicked the safety off her 870. The moment the man made an aggressive man he was getting a shot of Federal Flight Control double ought buck to the chest.

"Last chance! Face, pavement! Hands on your head!" The man did not comply, instead he brought up both hands.

In the next moment a few things happened. First, the world slowed down around Rianne. Second, her shotgun went off. Third, the plastic wad that holds and stabilizes the shot, giving Federal Flight Control its range, was just floating in front of Rianne. And fourth, someone spoke behind her.

“Well, this is a fine mess you’ve gotten us into!”

Rianne, having realized time was out to lunch but not understanding why, spun around to face the voice. As she turned she threw the stock of the 870 over her shoulder and flipped it over allowing her to tuck the weapon closer to her instead of giving this newcomer the barrel to fight her over.

"Back the, " She swore, "up!" She now had someone throwing fireballs on one side and someone jumping up behind her on the other. Only then did it hit her, that they were the only two that time had remembered while on break. "You do this?"

Trace could handle a lot of crap being thrown at him. Hell, in most cases, he just kind of took whatever was thrown at him. But on this day, this awful, horrible day, Trace couldn’t really handle any more.

“No, Constable Barbie! I didn’t do this! Some other save-your-butt fairy came along and happened to stop time to pull you literally out of the fire!” he exclaimed, looking over her shoulder. Trace had some fairly decent chops when it came to his mutation, but, even he couldn’t stop time altogether. Currently, a white-hot lance of flame was coming straight at the aforementioned Barbie. This was not good.

Trace took a deep, calming breath. With the predicament he’d gotten himself into here there was no place for hot heads and screaming. “Look… I have to point out that we’re in a pretty delicate situation here. Look at what’s going on. Quickly, because we only have about sixty seconds here… I can’t hold this for long.” he said, a sense of desperation entering his voice.

Trace raised his hands in front of himself, open palms raised showing that he wasn’t a threat. Hopefully this woman had some brains and would realize that they needed to do something or they’d both end up as crispy critters.

"Constable Barbie?" Rianne asked, in no way amused by the name. Her lack of amusement made plain she carried on addressing the rest of what the man said. "I think you'll find I'm tougher than I look, but thank you anyway for the assist." She'd make him regret the name later. For now, fire throwing mutants trying to turn her and her squad car into a barbecue.

They had sixty seconds, that's all the man could hold whatever it was he was doing up. As much as Rianne was not happy about it, until he proved otherwise he had come to her aid and seemed to be there to lend his help.

Fire throwing man on one side, a smart-ass time stopper on the other. She turned her head to look at the incoming streak of white hot death. So he didn't stop time, just made it really slow.

"He throws fireballs and shrugged off my squad car. Any ideas there, butt-fairy?" Rianne said as she brought the shotgun back around to point at the the threat.

Trace was heartened by the fact that his remark had obviously struck a chord. He nodded as the embattled officer thanked him for the assist. He got the sense that those particular remarks would be revisited at a later time, but that would have to wait for then. They had bigger fish to fry. Hopefully not themselves.


Trace took a quick peek at the fire throwing nutball that was assaulting their position. That was a situation that was not going to resolve itself any time soon. Trace had an idea of what he’d like to do, but no idea how to implement it. And no sure-fire way to make sure that he got himself and the officer completely out of harm’s way.


"He throws fireballs and shrugged off my squad car. Any ideas there, butt-fairy?" Butt-fairy? Really? Trace laughed a little and shook his head. He’d brought that on himself. He’d started out with the name-calling, so turnabout was fair play.


Trace turned around and looked at his back “I was hoping there’d be some shiny wings back there, but it doesn’t look like we’re that lucky…” he said, “We’re going to have to move pretty quick here. See that low wall on the other side of that little tree garden thing over there? I’d say we make a run for it. He won’t know what’s happening for a few seconds after the bubble goes... We’ll pretty much be a blur from where we were.”

Trace pretty much accepted that Officer Hunter (that’s what her nametag said) would go for the plan. “Ready?” he asked in preparation. “On three…. Three… Two… One…” he counted down, ready to make a move.

The butt-fairy didn't say anything about his new name. This was for the best, they didn't need to devolve into a pair of five year-olds. Instead he made a reference hoping for a guardian angel or something before providing a plan of action. Low wall, other side of tree garden. Rianne nodded that she understood.

A countdown. On three he said, then counted down. Not the time to point that out. Once the countdown was over they moved. They a moments to clear where they were before fire rained down on them. The butt-fairy wasn't moving fast enough.

Rianne, while in a dead run, dropped her shotgun and grabbed the butt-fairy by his waist, threw him over her shoulder and ran. Her power gave her speed as she moved, the car was well behind them when fire coated it. She made it behind the wall in less than a quarter of the time it should have taken them and deposited the butt-fairy.

"We need water or CO2. Something to control his ability to make fire." Rianne keyed her mic and called in a request for some hardware from FDNY or the ESU. "Now we get to hang on, and hope that works."

Rianne drew her SIG from the holster, habit. She knew it wold dew little, but training takes over under stress.

Trace had time to take about one step before the bubble collapsed. Then, the oddest thing happened: he felt the sensation of flying. That was new. Things like that didn’t usually happen when his bubbles collapsed. There was a first time for everything, but this didn’t really seem like something that should…

Trace’s euphoria cut off as his stomach impacted a shoulder. And then, they were moving. Not just fast. Faster than people fast. Constable Barbie was a mutant. What kind of mutant is she?! Trace thought, a bit confused. He wasn’t the biggest guy possible. But he was actually bigger than Constable Barbie. So being hauled up on her shoulder like a sack of potatoes likely indicated that she had super strength.

The movement was another thing. Powerful, this one was. Pretty much the next thing Trace knew, he was being unceremoniously dumped behind the low retaining wall he’d indicated before. “Air Constable Barbie, the only way to fly…” he remarked sardonically.

“We need water or CO2. Something to control his ability to make fire.” Trace nodded, the plan starting to form. CB reached up and triggered her radio, causing Trace to remember the call that he placed earlier. “I called for backup earlier too…” he said, gesturing to the badge near his waist.

“I work for SUPER” he said casually, figuring they were beyond the cloak-and-dagger. LEOs were generally on the same side as SUPER, so it probably didn’t hurt to tell her. “I’m not entirely sure we’ll get much back up from that end, but they’ll see to things after all of this is done.” He observed.

Trace took surveyed the area and spotted a fire extinguisher at a nearby café. That could help. “So… Would a chemical fire extinguisher do the trick on this guy? Think it would knock him back a step?” he asked, trying to be helpful. “Name’s Trace Tanner by the way. Probably better than whatever you’re calling me in your head...” he said, using his own thoughts as a template. He drew his sidearm and checked the safety. No time to pop out and be unable to act. That would lead to charring, scarring and other unrelated horrors. Man, this was going to be fun.

The butt-fairy made a joke about being carried to safety.

”Cute.” Was all Rianne said in reply. There was a mutant throwing fire at them, now was not the time his jokes or his tone.

The first piece of a plan in place and butt-fairy decided to provide his name, Trace. He also asked if Rianne thought a chemical fire extinguisher would work. Monoammonium phosphate was likely what he meant, works on Class A, B, and C fires. It was worth a shot. ”Officer Rianne Hunter,”she provided her name, saying her first name like the river in Europe. ”If we had a lot maybe. The best a couple of extinguishers would do is likely buy us some time. We need to drown this guy with an extinguisher or fire retardant, have nothing around him combustible.”

They needed to get something onto the mutant to slow him down, but moving in the open could make them into a barbeque. ”You ever shoot clays?” If she could recover her shotgun and get a few extinguishers she could lob them over the mutant and Trace could shoot them with buckshot to rain it down on the mutant.

Rianne could cover ground fast enough to maybe make it work.

Man, this one was not receptive to humor. That was definitely a downside. Maybe it was because of the situation, but that was pretty much just how Trace operated. He'd always found himself using humor in situations where there was a lot at stake to diffuse his own anxiety.

Hell, he'd gotten so used to it that he didn't even feel the anxiety anymore. It was just natural. He'd come to accept the stress and the high stakes for what they were and laughed them off as often as he could.

The Officer gave her name in a very matter of fact way and went on to describe the plan that Trace had hinted at. Well. At lest they were on the same page. Following the officer's gaze, Trace had a feeling he knew what the plan was going to be. Trace puts his butt on the line, gets barbecued and then Constable Barbie skates off--

"You ever shoot clays?" she asked, the plan becoming evident. "Yeah, I've shot fairly often..." he said, a bit surprised by this turn. He had definitely thought it would be him running for the extinguisher and all. "So we need the shotgun and the extinguisher. Or multiples, based on this guy's firepower..." he said, the pun hanging out there.

Good. Trace had done clay shooting. And it appeared this plan surprised him, not enough to stop his wit though. Trace made a pun, Rianne looked at him and said, "That was terrible." With the slightest of smiles on her face.

She looked back out at the destruction wrought by the fire throwing mutant now making his way toward them. "I'll get the shotgun and the extinguishers. You keep him busy when I run into the businesses, don't want them torched because I stole their fire extinguishers."

Rianne vaulted the wall and opened fire on the mutant to get his attention. She'd lead him away from Trace the butt-fairy and rely on him to get the mutants attention when she made it to the businesses.

Shot fired and she was off. Feet pounding pavement as she ran, faster and faster. She ran feet away from the mutant moving somewhere in the vicinity of 75 miles per hour. The fire mutant did his thing, missed, and Rianne scooped up the shotgun. She slung it across her back and kept of trucking, this time across to the businesses with shop faces facing her.

In the first one and she had an extinguisher. Out and in the next and she had a second. Once more out and into a store for a third. Now she had to head back to Trace. She couldn't haul any more with the shotgun and move this fast.

Trace only had a fraction of a second's warning and Constable Barbie was out looking for accessories. She hopped the wall and was off in what seemed like a flash. Man, how many powers does this chick have?! he wondered, adding 'Enhanced speed' to the list of potential abilities. The idea here was that she'd user her speed to get to the items they needed and get back to Trace to enact the plan. The plan here was to bombard the fire-starter with as much flame retarding materials as possible and, hopefully, that would put him out of commission.

As soon as she started moving, Trace leveled his weapon at the fire-starter and waited a fraction of a second. Rianne was just about to enter the first of the shops and the dirtbag was pretty focused on her. Time to get some attention. Hopefully it would turn out to be non-lethal for all parties involved.

Trace squeezed the trigger several times, sending projectiles at the enemy. The shots weren't particularly aimed at hitting the guy, but they'd certainly be close enough to get his attention. The scumbag flinched and ducked behind cover momentarily. He then turned his attention fully to Trace lobbing fire in his direction.

Trace threw himself flat as the fire blossomed above his location. A sudden burst of heat in his back alerted him to the fact that the last fireball had gotten a little too close. He stripped out of his jacket as fast as he could and stomped it on the ground, extinguishing the cinders. That was his favorite jacket.

Crawling to the side as to not appear in the same position where he had fired before, Trace worked his way to the right. Trace risked popping his head up from cover to see where Rianne was. She had cleared the third location and was hauling three extinguishers and a shotgun back in his direction. In a fluid motion, he swept his weapon up and fired again, placing shots closer to the target. He had to buy Rianne enough time to get back. The enemy ducked beneath cover again, providing an opening.

Rianne used moment of suppression Trace laid down on the fire mutant to run. She had to make it back to Trace before the fire was all over them again. The weight of the extinguishers slowed her down, but she was still technically speeding across this roadway.

Coming to a skidding halt, Rianne slid in beside Trace. Her boots left skid marks like a tire behind her. First she dropped the extinguishers and then slung the pump action Remington 870 shotgun down and passed it to trace. "seven plus one Federal flight control. It won't pattern like a you'd want for clays. Five inch pattern at 20." Rianne quickly explained.

Rianne grabbed one of the extinguishers. "I'll get it close. Hit it right over his head."

Instructions over Rianne grabbed the first extinguisher, stood up and her uniform popping seams as her muscles grew for the otherwise impossible toss, threw the first extinguisher. She went down, grabbed the second. She waited a second and jumped back up and tossed the second.

Rianne then went down for the third. Repeating the same procedure she sent it flying.