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Trace pushed a time bubble into place around him and the blonde lady that was questioning him. He was looking for a bit of privacy and, from statistics and training, he figured the woman might be the easier of the people in the room to deal with. It wasn't pure sexism, just practical sexism. That wasn't as bad, right?

The bubble snapped into place as she was finishing her sentence. She knew he was awake and knew that she had him at a major, major disadvantage. If Trace was right and the interaction that had happened earlier ended the way he thought it had, he was somewhere else entirely.

String theory tells humanity that, based on every possible action, their exists a universe where the other possible outcomes took place. If that was true, it meant that time was not concurrent and linear. It was more like a the fibers on those rally big, comfy scarves. The threads, which were time, ran parallel and across each other. The tiny, tiny gaps between the threads were, well, space.

Putting your finger on one of these threads, it could be traced end to end on the comfy scarf. You could follow it from beginning to end. Straight-ish line, start to finish. But, if you folded that scarf and pushed down, two separate threads could be pushed together, making them indistinguishable.

Stalker brought the space manipulation. Trace brought the time. Trace was the the threads, Stalker was the finger. They'd pushed so hard that there was a hole. Holes let in all kinds of things.

So as close as Trace could figure, he was likely either in custody in his own universe, or, he was somewhere else entirely. The danger was very real.

"Alright Kealey, what would you like to know?" Trace asked, his voice calm and firm. He was trying to portray that he was in control of the situation, even though he was entirely out of his element. "Where did you say we were again?" he asked.

Consciousness returned to Trace in a trickle. He felt his eyes slowly open, but his mind was fairly cloudy. Looking up a bit, Trace saw a blonde and an Asian looking at him. That wasn't something you woke up to every day.

In his hazy state, Trace thought he might have heard someone say the word cops. "No... cops... please... SUPER... Bad..Ughh." he managed to get out, feeling incredibly exhausted. And incredibly light. From his training, Trace knew that wasn't a good sign.

Exsanguination had multiple stages. Early symptoms included feelings of lightheaded-ness, dizziness, fati-

An overwhelming sense of calmness swept over Trace. His thoughts started to drift back to his childhood. It was a decent life, it was pretty good. City living-

Euphoria was also a symptom. Trace struggled to keep himself conscious. It was getting much harder. A surge of adrenaline forced Trace back. "Help." he murmured, feeling weak.

Trace saw Stalker get up off the ground calmly. And then promptly lost sight of him because the mutant-battery started struggling. A bit of a tighter squeeze and a harder press from the handgun stopped the struggling entirely. By the time Trace looked back up, Stalker was gone. That was decidedly not good. He noticed remnants of a smoky haze in front of him and the hairs on the back of his neck jumped straight up.

OF COURSE the Stalker would have some form of creepy smoke teleportation. Or maybe it was invisibility? Or had he-

Trace’s thoughts cut off abruptly as he heard a bellow behind himself. He barely had time to bodily shove the captive agent and twist before a knife bit into the back of his shoulder. He felt the blade scrape against his scapula and let out a cry of pain. Instinctively, Trace reached out with his power.

Again, Trace experienced something he’d never experienced before.

Time stopped entirely. It could have been a fraction of a second, but it could have been a year. Trace had no idea. He had no frame of reference. Some combination of the adrenaline of taking a knife wound and the third mutant’s ability to enhance powers had caused a massive surge in his powers. Time had stopped for everyone. Trace couldn’t tell if it was localized to the area or if he had somehow managed to affect time as a whole. All he knew was that he couldn’t really move and that he was still aware.

And then the first ripple came. It was small, at first. A sensation in his head that things were not right. Frantic, Trace reached out and tried to extinguish his power, but something much larger had him in its grasp and it was not done with Trace Tanner yet. Additionally, he had another sensation, some sort of link that had been forged between him, the Energizer Mutant and Stalker. There was a tangible connection and he could feel it between them, thrumming with some indescribable power.

Then came the second, larger and more volatile. Panicked, Trace rolled his eyes around. The eclipse had started sometime during the fighting. He’d lost track of time. It was dark around them. He felt as though that might have been something he should have seen.

The third ripple thrummed through the link between the three mutants caught in their epic melee of death. He felt the ripple effect Stalker. He felt it pass through the other agent. He felt it run though him.
The ripples began coming faster and with them, pain and sensation flared through Trace’s body. Locked in a timeless scene, he couldn’t react, couldn’t make it stop, couldn’t scream. He felt the ripples pulse, gaining momentum and resonating through every fiber of his being, the shear amount of information pushing itself into his brain, causing and overload from which Trace was sure that he would never recover. The pain, the light, the heat the-

Silence. Trace opened his eyes. In the blitz of everything that had happened, he hadn’t realized that he’d even closed them. The place to which his eyes opened was not the park that he’d been in originally. Describing what he saw to the best of his ability, it was as if he was seeing multiple film strips running all at the same time. Inspecting them closely, Trace began to make out shapes and scenes. Some from his own life, some, he gathered, from people that had been around him recently. In those moments, Trace was himself and he was everyone that he could see.

He saw a displaced psychic, afraid of the world and scared of an all too familiar future, dark and persecuted. The dead were his only company, the living were far too dangerous. Apprehension, near terror, yet a strong resolve and a decision to act and a strong hesitance to return home after a time away. But again, there was another version, similar but different. A child. A wife. Just as much hardship. Just as much pain.

A young officer, joining an organization she didn’t understand for reasons she knew were good and right, sure that she could make a difference in the world. Confident that there was no weight she could not bear, no challenge she couldn’t overcome. A fond relation with an agent who suddenly went rogue, a friend in a position that was precarious. A split. Another person, different but familiar. Male. Proud. A ridiculous monster truck.

A young college girl, trying to do good in her life. Working with a clandestine team that seeks to put right the wrongs in the world. Terror at a recent encounter with a demonic entity that had shattered a seemingly normal portion of her life, the part where she didn’t have to run, fight and hide. Confusion and terror, fleeing from the scene.

A young boy screaming into the night, mourning the loss of his parents in an alley. A group of mutants absconding into the night having killed them. They left the boy. He was special. He wasn’t one of them, he was one of us. Unknowable pain, the emotional kind, although somewhere, Trace felt a strong physical pain and a cold sensation. His side was wet. That was strange. A million more images and stories flashed through Trace’s head. He could control plants, no, he could control animals. He could start fires, then he could reconfigure his body. He was an empath, he had math vision, he had bone spikes, he had wombat hands. Wind, memories, mind reading, lie detector. Some familiar, many not. But his mind kept coming back to one. A single experience, etched into the fabric of his being. So engrained that he saw it over and over and over.

A young man, questioning his own motives. Feeling as though he’d been betrayed. Scared, alone, pursued. But resilient. Fighting despite the odds. Standing defiant against all the things that had gone wrong. Afraid for those around him and trying to protect everyone he could, even his enemies. It was familiar. It was right. Trace latched onto that feeling, let the emotions and the feelings flood back into him. He felt himself becoming whole again, some displaced part of him returning to reality. Which brought him back to the pulsing.

Trace was suddenly rocked by a massive pulse. He was physically thrown backwards through the air, the force of the blast akin to videos he’d seen of an atomic bomb. Trace felt himself hurtling through the air before the pressure and force was enough that he blacked out.

Trace’s plan to irritate the other agent had worked quite well. He noticed a subtle shift in his posture which likely indicated he was considering using whatever he had up his sleeve. Good. He’d almost driven the man to violence. That likely meant that he’d slip up shortly. Probably wanted to watch the Mets game. Or worse… The Yankees. That thought almost sent shivers down Trace’s spine in and of itself.

They had walked a decent distance and had cleared the park. The foot traffic in the area was considerably lighter. The vehicle traffic was, well, light for New York. Most people in the area had come on foot in anticipation of the Eclipse festival causing things to be pretty hectic. Hell, even without the cars New York had a way of making itself hectic as it was.

The opportunity came in the form of a shove on his shoulder. Trace stumbled forward a couple of steps and seized the opportunity to make the gap three or four steps in quick succession. He slammed a time bubble up with Stalker just outside the boundary. Close enough that if Trace held the bubble for too long, he might cross the boundary. That generally didn’t go too well when it happened. But also close enough that Trace could try to pull something off that might just save his life.

He took a step back and turned to face the other agent. The only way he was going to easily make contact with an operator of this guy’s caliber was if he caught him completely unaware. As though he had some kind of power that could have him stumbling forward one instant and be turned around and punching him in the face before anything seemingly could have transpired. So that’s exactly what Trace was going to attempt to do.

Now, this wouldn’t be any ordinary punch. Trace would have to drop the bubble the exact moment before his punch would land. No room for error. If he messed up and his fist passed through the bubble, it would probably miss. And could possibly tear his arm off. He wasn’t sure. Projectiles traversing the bubble did weird things like skew off in random directions. Would the same thing happen to his arm?

The risk was entirely worth it. Trace squared himself up right inside the boundary of the bubble, drew back and threw all of his strength into a punch that would have his fist stopping about four inches behind Stalker’s head. The parts of his face in between would catch all of that force. As his fist approached, he dropped the barrier and noticed in the fraction of a second his arm wasn’t torn asunder. So far so good.

Trace thought he had made it. The man he’d been worried about called out to someone behind Trace right before he was going to pass. Somewhere deep in his mind, a voice screamed that it wasn’t true. That the threat was close. Adrenaline surged through his veins. They were separated by ten feet… five feet… dead even… And a hand reached out, snagging him by the bicep. A voice, low and confident said “Let’s not make a scene, Mr. Tanner”

Well, this was the worst case scenario. And it literally had reached out and grabbed Trace by the arm. He’d heard rumors of a specialist in S.U.P.E.R that could track mutants. It was said that he could track any mutant, anywhere. Trace had even heard an audio recording of the man once, provided by a co-worker. That was what struck a chord with Trace. It was The Stalker. Worst case indeed.

Trace’s mind went into overdrive. A million thoughts hit his brain at the same time. He was going to die. This was it. Should he fight? Could he fight? His mind popped back to when he was a kid and his parents had told him that if a stranger grabbed you that you made it impossible for them to take you anywhere. You kicked, screamed, fought. Generally, you made a scene. For some reason, that advice didn’t seem particularly relevant But, then again, maybe it was.

Trace turned, cooperating with the slightly older agent. He was going to play along for a moment, but he wasn’t going to go quietly. But he needed to wait for the right moment. Hell, he’d bumped into someone as he was turning around. Too many people in this area. He needed to get some distance. Plus, he couldn’t user his power in these close quarters. It wouldn’t do him any good. He was too close to his enemy and it would just take both of them in. That might serve useful.

Trace’s training had kicked in. No amount of training could fully suppress human emotion. But it could sharpen that emotion into a blade you could use against an opponent. Readying himself, Trace began his plan. “So what do I call you? Stalker seems a little off putting. Wouldn’t want to startle any of these nice people.” He said, bravado flaring. He wasn’t going to let this man cause him to panic again. He was done being hunted. The best way to deal with a predator was to not become prey. Trace wasn’t going down defenseless.

Trace was kind of amazed he’d managed to avoid detection this long. He’d been on the run for about an hour and a half at this point and, to his knowledge, he hadn’t been discovered as of yet. He’d gone ahead and stopped for a moment to get some food from one of the stalls at the Eclipse festival. He found a corner out of the view of the general public, sat down and ate some street tacos, which were particularly delicious. He also drank a decent amount of water. Every good fugitive on the run needed to stay hydrated.
Trace stopped for a moment to wonder who they’d send after him. He didn’t know all of the agents in S.U.P.E.R, but there were some notable agents that might make the list of ‘fugitive hunters’. Or maybe Trace was the first. He hadn’t ever heard of anyone trying to leave before. But, then again, with a shadowy government agency, you probably wouldn’t hear about people leaving. Or stepping out of line. They’d probably send Wick. That would suck. That guy was lethal. Or Nolan. Or maybe someone he hadn’t even met. A chill ran up his spine. They might send some specialist. Things could get ugly.

Trace swept his eyes over the crowd. He was practically in the middle of the park. Not a great place if you were found, but a pretty good place to not be found. There were people all around. Hopefully he’d be able to avoid detection long enough to get himself out of the park and by doing so get all of these people out of harm’s way. That was the goal. No innocents hurt in this exchange. If there was even going to BE an exchange.

Had they gone after Zero? Was that what was taking them so long to catch up? The thought of that girl in the hands of S.U.P.E.R brought a sick feeling to Trace’s stomach. If they had figured out who she actually was, then they would probably do some pretty awful things.

The good news was that the guy who might have known who or where she was probably wouldn’t be telling anyone anything for six to eight weeks. The knockout blow probably broke his jaw. It was not a pleasant memory. But hey, look at the other guy.

Trace checked his watch. It had been nearly an hour. It was about 15:00 (3:00 pm). If this went on for much longer, Trace would have to find some place to stay. He wouldn’t be able to go home. They’d be watching that, everything in a five-mile radius and every person he’d ever known, in all likelihood. This situation was getting more precarious the longer it went on.

Should he just turn himself in? It would definitely minimize civilian casualties. It might save his loved ones. But, then again, it might not. S.U.P.E.R might not buy the reasons that he gave for… What had he done, exactly? Turned coat? He wasn’t working for another agency or faction. He’d definitely departed. And knowing S.U.P.E.R, that was more than enough.

Trace got up and started into the crowd. He’d already spent too long. He needed to move or else he was going to get caught.

Trace glanced down as something brushed his leg. It was Zero, trying to get his attention. She mouthed ‘thank you’ and was promptly lead out of the room. He winked at her, hopefully under the notice of the other two SUPER goons that were present.

Unfortunately, Trace had used an awful lot of luck that day. GI-Jim must have noticed the gesture because he began moving almost immediately after it happened. “Wait a second.” the slightly imposing agent said, stepping up behind the captive Zero. The other SUPER agent had ahold of her. GI-Jim pulled out his sidearm and levelled it at the back of Zero’s head.

Unfortunately for him, Trace had started moving as soon as he had.

Trace reached up and grabbed the goon’s gun arm. Since he was behind him, it was a fairly unexpected move. Trace redirected his arm towards SUPER goon 2’s leg just as GI-Jim pulled the trigger. The weapon discharged a round and the second SUPER goon hit the floor. They’d made a major mistake. They’d caught Trace on a bad day.

Trace raised his knee up under GI-Jim’s elbow and the resounding crack and firearm falling to the floor let him know that his aim was true on the strike. He drove his free elbow right into GI-Jim’s face but was intercepted by the agent’s undamaged arm. Trace kicked the fallen firearm out of reach and continued his motion, sweeping the goon’s legs out from behind. “RUN!” he yelled at Zero who he couldn’t actually see. The kid had a good head on her shoulders. She’d be fine. SUPER would be much more interested in him for the time being.

In a flash, GI-Jim was up and on his feet assailing Trace with a hail of blows. Trace blocked those he couldn’t take and took those he couldn’t block, countering wherever he saw an opening. The fight seemed to stretch on for a while. Throughout the entire engagement Trace was realizing that all of the rumors were true. SUPER was not at all what he had thought it was. It was time. He was done.

GI-Jim was wounded and tired, so it didn’t take long for Trace to find the opening that he needed. Trace slammed GI-Jim’s jaw shut with a blow from a fist and he crumpled to the floor, unconscious. SUPER goon 2 was laying on the floor, bleeding and looking like he was about to go into shock. Trace took off the Agent’s tie and bound the wound, hopefully preventing the man from bleeding to death. Trace reached down and grabbed the man’s radio and pushed down the button. “This is Delta 5 calling all units. Two agents are down on the NYU campus. One is bleeding from a gunshot wound to the leg. Send medical. As for the perpetrator, I’m the one you want. Catch me if you can.” That should shift all of the focus off of Zero and onto him.

He reached into his pocket and dropped his cellphone on the ground. He smashed it under his heel and started running.

Some things were worth risking it all.