Fast Enough (Closed)

TUESDAY 8 PM

Jenna pulled the pink sweater dress over her head, being slightly tender with her previously wrecked arm-but it was just about good as new. Pulling open a drawer in the dresser that sat across her bed in the teeny tiny single dorm room, she retrieved a black hoodie and a pair of yoga pants. The space was hardly bigger than most people's closets-upon opening the door, there was maybe seven feet to the opposite wall. A dresser was on the left, the top of which held several books, a tennis racket, and a stand up mirror. On the right was a twin sized bed with colorful bedding. A bulletin board hung above the bed, neat notes and reminders pinned to it, along with a few photos of friends and family. There wasn't room for anything else, the narrow space between the bed and dresser only about a foot and a half wide.

Small, but it was free. Nestled in the far back of the Academic wing, Jenna and several other 4.0 students lived in the quiet here, studying their nights away. Well...she would have been, were it not for her volunteer job.

Jenna paused to frown at her own reflection. The bruising that had been on her thighs and chest was gone now. The nastiness that had been her arm had also faded away, her russet, brownish red skintone unmarred and unblemished with any evidence of her previous injury.

She hadn't really tested the limits of her healing ability, before. She was grateful for that-Friday had been a rather painful awakening to just how dangerous this job could be. Hopefully she wouldn't have to go through anything like that again. Hopefully.

...was she really going to go out there, knowing Rush might be around? Jenna's teeth worried at her lower lip slightly, her hands taking out the pearl earrings she had worn today. She thought about what Laura's echo had said when she saw her in the Speed Force, first got her powers. What she had been tasked to do.

Laura wasn't here to look after the city, anymore. It was up to her-and while the job should have probably gone to someone tougher and more capable, the responsibility was hers. She had to try. There wasn't anyone else.

Jenna sucked in a breath and pulled on the hoodie, snagging her backpack as she turned out the light and left. She'd get out of sight and pull her boots on, go change into her costume in the secret base, get ready for tonight just as she had every night for the past six months. The people of the city needed protecting. She was here to look out for the little guy.

The new body itched and creaked, it was hard just sitting still in the dingy hovel; whatever the content of all the empty bottles and syringes on the floor had been, frequent urination was likely one of the many ailments William Larson had derived from his excessive consumption. Finally, just as Ixion was about to give up and vent his frustration by lashing out violently using another host, the chatting software responded.

"What's up?" Asked a laid-back, though not entirely friendly voice from the other end of the video-chat with no video input.

"Yeah, I was just thinking, what are you up to?" Ixion compelled his host to ask in his uniquely clumsy way.

"Not much, apparently-" Came the reply, there were echoes from the other end, as if the speakers were talking in a large cave, "just lying around."

"You don't mean 'laying around', right? That's not what I call 'not much', if you get what I mean." The host said, almost instinctively. Vulgar animal.

"Dude, that's kind of low--I'm really not doing much, just...thinking...about stuff." The voice sounds pensive, and honest. Too honest. It seemed unlikely that this Alex Whipple would be pouring his heart out to a former henchman who he barely knows. It's probable that he is in an altered state, or enthralled in some sort of crisis.

When the new crematorium worker found only a handful of ash in that chamber, he had, in his terrified panic, added sand to the urn to fake the remains of a full body. Ixion had erased that discovery from the chief of investigation's memory when the police were checking on the list of recently apprehended criminals following the bus-attack and the later bomb-hoax. Ixion had even heard firsthand description of a lone man walking from the direction of the crematorium way past the workers' normal time for going-off work, when he had the occasion to visit women of that profession in the city's fringes. The description was nothing like the man seen at the bomb-threat, but it was also possible that he had been another hired help from this Alex Whipple.

The Alex Whipple on the other end of the voice-chat, however, did not sound like someone who would hire suit-wearing men who jumped into the sea to elude capture. Who could he be? Alas, there wasn't time enough for that thought, John Murdoch will be receiving a visitor soon, and one that Ixion was concerned about.

Rachel tapped her fingers against the steering wheel of yet another stolen car. She wasn't even sure why she had taken it-it was a flashy candy apple red and it had just caught her eye, she supposed. She had yet to buy a car herself, so far. No real need.

She parked a few streets away and tossed the keys on the seat-someone else's joyride tonight, no doubt-and strode down the darkened sidewalk for the government building just down the way. The tall blonde woman was, as usual, dressed to impress-her slinky black dress hugged her curves and sported a daring neckline, managing to look sophisticated and sensual without looking cheap. Absolutely gorgeous yet unattainable. Well, unattainable for most.

Blonde hair curled and falling all around her shoulders, lips and nails painted a dark red, her pale skin soft and gleaming-she was a sight for sore eyes.

Sauntering in and sailing right past the staring first floor employees, Rachel pressed the call button for the elevator with one red tipped finger and stepped inside, snapping open her matching black clutch as she did so. She flipped open a burner phone and dialed one of two numbers she had memorized-and let it ring.

"Hello." Her voice was like velvet, a teasing note entering on the second bit of phrasing. "Did you remember our 'appointment'?"

"Hello." John let the voice on the other end carry out in the reserved conference room--empty beside himself. He plunged one of the few syringes he had remaining into his legs. Better that the craving struck now than later. Soon enough, John wouldn't need those thugs he just busted to bring him more of the substance, he was promised that...by someone.

"Did you remember our 'appointment'?" Taking a deep breath as he coaxed the drug along his veins, John Murdoch hoped the inhalation would sound somehow seductive through the phone-line. "How can I forget?" He asked, piling frivolity upon frivolity. "Come on right up to the top floor, don't let me finish this champagne all by myself~" With that said, he waited for her appearance, knowing that she had been through this place countless times, and with a good idea as to where he might be.

The two had met many years ago, two meta-human villains in the same social circles. John was instantly hooked by her extraordinary looks, and learned to admire her as more than just flesh after knowing her power and character after some time spent together.

She had turned down the payment for some of the more recent commissions he had asked her to do, and having been elected premier, he thought it was time to pay it back by inviting her over a brand new playground, even if her sudden entry had sparked some disquiet in the local population, John Murdoch was sure that her presence by his side would solve many more problems than it'd cause; some of the problems much more personal than others.

The door opened, and in waltzed Rachel McCullogh-or rather, Clarice Summers these days. It didn't really matter-she was Mistress Rush. She was more Mistress Rush than she had ever been Rachel.

The woman closed the door behind her and stood a moment, both hands behind her on the door knob, a little smile playing at her lips. "Champagne? My, you know how to treat a girl."

Did he know she didn't have the locket? If not, the celebratory wine and dine would have to wait. She wasn't looking forward to admitting failure-that meddling child-but she hoped he would see it as she saw it-a temporary, annoying set back.

"So...I'm sure you've heard..." She released the door knob and drew closer, one of her graceful hands trailing fingers along the table in an almost absent fashion-but her green eyes watched his intently. "I'm back in town...?" Ah, whoops. For the first time in a long time, too. Without Laura, it just hadn't been the same-she had moved on to more profitable hunting grounds.

She was closer now. Rush was a woman who could thrill all five senses. Her looks, the sound of her velvet voice, the scent of her expensive, exotic perfume, the feel of her-the taste. For all the evil she did and had done, she continued to be blessed in all departments of feminity.

"I am sorry about that." A pout of her red lips for his benefit, tracing her fingers along the edge of the table. "But it isn't entirely my fault. Much as I love attention, it was the girl who threw me into the spotlight."

Sitting with his arm on either rests of the large conference room chair, John watched with smiling blue eyes as Rachel made her way to the edge of the table, and as he idly listened to her roundabout admission of the revelation of her identity, he couldn't help but trace her up and down in his mind, renewing the cognitive body schema he had stored for her. Even compared to the best the city had to offer, she still rested easily in the top one percent.

"I am sorry about that." He listened to her apologies, drinking in the soft, velvety voice and allowed parts of his thoughts to wonder what others sounds she could make. Nevertheless, there is more to be done with this woman than with her body.

"Why don't you have a sit first, my love?" Flourishing a hand, he directed a slightly smaller, narrower seat diagonally across from him, facing the ice bucket and bottle on the table as his chair did. The large glass windows behind him would, if corrected calculated, shed the mild, cloud-filtered light on the curvatures of her body in that angle.

"As for showing yourself a little prematurely--don't worry about it. Not in my city." He felt confident that so long as that little Velocity get back on running around, playing hero, the people would calm down. The naive, goodhearted heroine was one of the many reasons why John Murdoch felt so secure in his position, even the entitled, cynical masses seem to have a hard time staying displeased at problems where she'd show up to be helpful, indeed, John was positive that some people actively wished for disasters to befall them, in order to attain the opportunity to approach the young woman.

Ask about the locket. John blinked, he was sometimes a little thrown off by how he tend to suddenly remember important things every now and then, as if some sort of guardian angel was whispering reminders to him like a spectral personal assistant. "Oh, and by the way, I don't suppose you'd have something from the museum for me, would you?"

Her hands curled around the top of the offered chair, leaning forward on them slightly to better his view. She knew what she looked like. What men wanted. Most men. John wasn't an easy plaything. That was what made him different.

It didn't mean he was dead, however. She hadn't worn the expensive gown just for herself, afterall.

He forgave her for getting herself outed, and Rush favored him with one of her dazzling smiles-only for her expression to darken moments later, eyes averting themselves.

She pouted, walking around the chair and taking a graceful, ladylike seat and crossing her long, long legs as she did so. Rush exhaled with her eyes closed, then opened them to watch his blue ones.

"Your little pet was there, I'm sure you know." She began, eyes narrowing slightly. "There was a newspaper story about the arrival of that locket, the completion of the exhibit. Quite the bit of fanfare..." This might not go over well. She would have to see.

"She swapped it out. She swapped it out and was waiting for any would be thieves." Of course, she would not have been if she and Alex hadn't been entertaining themselves, but Rush was loathe to accept responsibility for the cost of her fun.

A pause. "I only hurt her a little. My being there was a very unpleasant surprise-" She might have grinned, but she was still watchful for a bad reaction. "But no. I don't have the locket. At least not yet." Green eyes flicked back to him, looking disappointed, a little angry, and slightly, veeeery slightly-anxious. It depended on his mood somedays, how he would react to bad news.

Rush bit her lip, her hand moving to his knee. "But I will retrieve it. Either when she returns it to the museum-or, if you gave me just a bit more slack with that rule of yours, I'm sure I could make her give it to me." Oh, she would like that.

The locket...she didn't have the locker for him?! John felt his mind cloud over just for a minute, and when he came to once again, he found himself soothed by the soft voice and the hand on his knee.

"You mean to suggest that you were outfoxed by my little pet?" John said, icy blue eyes rising to lock with hers; the cheer of his voice growing rigid ever so subtly. That Velocity? Is that possible? It felt incredible that the innocent young woman, who might as well be a high-school graduate--judging from what he saw of her--could have the strategic and physical prowess to thwart the veteran villain Mistress Rush. Who could she be?

"But I will retrieve it. Either when she returns it to the museum-or, if you gave me just a bit more slack with that rule of yours, I'm sure I could make her give it to me." John considered this. That Velocity had indeed been useful in keeping the citizens happy and willing to overlook some of the disturbances he had caused during his time of office, but her meddling in his retrieval of the locket would put her net utility into question, perhaps he over-estimated her importance in the picture.

"Tell you what," John Murdoch leaned back a little and broke off eye contact, running a hand through his pale blonde hair, "if you can bring that locket to me, I might not need that pesky brat hanging around anymore. Try not to rock the boat too hard too soon though, you wouldn't want to be playing in police state oversaw by the big guys, would you?" He thought of the other meta-human alliances from other places, and gritted his teeth almost visibly.

Rush had noticeably stiffened at the first question. Outfoxed? Her? No, the brat had just gotten lucky, a fluke. Stealing the oil trap however...well, she would chalk that up to carelessness on her part.

But the results were the same, weren't they? She was empty handed.

For now.

Her uncertain watchful expression melted into a dazzling smile when he relented. "Punishment it is, then." Her voice was almost gleeful.

Rush leaned back, her hand leaving his knee to trail to the fabric of her dress, smoothing her fingers over her thigh. "I don't think she has any pull with the big wigs. So long as I leave her alive, I can't see them casting so much as a glance. There's no one to help her." She looked over the emerald ring on her hand in disinterest.

She glanced up, a pensive expression. "I suppose having a heroine, even a new, inexperienced one in your city keeps the big capes' attentions elsewhere? Should you need it, I am sure a campy villian to match your disgustingly wholesome heroine could be introduced."

Her little protege might fit the bill. Come to think of it, she had not seen him in a few days. Hm.

"You know how those hero types are. Territory guarded and all that."

John rubbed a long index finger across the sweating neck of the champagne bottle, making the glass squeak.

"Very well-" he said with a resigning exhalation, leaning back and raising his eyes to the ceiling. "Looks like this can sit in the vault some more," indicating the bottle; maybe by the time the year comes to an end, the incremented apparent age of the thing will make it tastier by placebo effect. "Meanwhile, let's both get to work on that locket-alright, sweetheart?"

Despite his many powers, for the time being Ixion didn't entirely feel comfortable leaving John to his own devices, what with the numerous enemies that might still be roaming free in the city, ready to pounce when the mayor's parasitic guardian angel looks away. Not to mention, that as insignificant as Ixion had always considered the young heroine Velocity to be, he didn't really have a way of catching her once she knows what's coming. Besides, his previous careless display of special interest in the museum's new items had apparently been sold out to the news by one of the lowly crooks that were a part the contact chain. The man had, of course, found his wife and child dead from gas poisoning shortly after, but that did nothing productive with regards to what media exposure of the matter there had been, even though it had been enough to shut the man up from snitching out anything more.

In short, Mistress Rush was, in this situation, really the best tool for the job in regards to getting the locket from that Velocity, in addition to her other services which neither John nor Ixion minded enjoying.

- - -

Alex woke in cold sweat. He had seen something terrible in his sleep, but even then, he knew it was more than just a dream. The vision of a slit-open throat had the same quality to the other images he remembered shortly before his amnesia--hazy, cramped and gray--even the blood that splattered all over the walls and bed sheets seemed washed out of colour, black like ink.

He sat up, folded away the blanket he had slept under and formed a simple set of clothing on his otherwise naked body. The blue light of dawn presently played across his vast lair, and strange reflections of the waves danced on the walls like some otherworldly celebrants of an spectral carnival--their songs and revelry lost between space and time, and only their quivering shadows remained to be seen.

The strangeness of his immediate environment were somehow conducive to calm contemplation, and he was able to carefully think of the things that had happened in the last few weeks. His adventure in the city had truly began when he had, per chance, run into the innocent heroine and protector of the city; she had initially intrigued him, and drew him to her side like moth to a lamp, yet his rational understanding of their immiscibility had ultimately kept him away. The appearance of Rush--the veteran villain once haunting the city--had provided him with an outlet for his dissatisfaction, but such an outlet must be short-lived, given his lack of genuine sadism--his inability to derive pleasure from the infliction of harm itself, which would surely render himself a target of the sadistic woman in time. More recently, he had come to know that the celebrated heroine were in fact as vulnerable as he had expected--just a brave, kind and perhaps naive young woman doing what she think is her responsibility, and not someone invincible by any means. They had come to an agreement, that, for the time being, at the price of her forgiveness, he will make no
further trouble for the girl as she faces what might be a much greater threat.

Alex haven't been able to properly think of this exchange before, and now, he found it unbalanced to his favor...or maybe it's only because he wanted to do more for the girl with the selfish ulterior motivation of approaching her. Whatever the case, now was a time as good as any to mind his own business. Which, after being neglected for quite a while, would still be the search for his own origin.

Alex logged on to the internet, and picked up on where he left off in the research about the particular patch of ground he woke up in years ago. If he had been more diligent--he thought to himself--he'd be off visiting the place in person, but this time, something other than laziness seemed to be holding him in place, but what exactly would that be?

- - -

"I swear I told you everything!" The chair-bound prisoner shrieked before the heavy belt landed again on his bruised and swollen face. Opposite to him were the officer responsible for interrogation, who had, minutes before, gotten the location of several drug stashes out of the two others before beating them unconscious. "Help! Help!" Something in the interrogator's eyes made the prisoner scream aloud, reach out for assistance from the enforcers of the law that he just inwardly cursed moments ago, or perhaps he had only been reaching out for the compassion of his fellow human beings.

"That's enough." The jailer finally intervened. The interrogator breathed deeply, coming to his senses slowly as the haze of overbreathing faded, and became aware of the pain from his bleeding right hand which still held on to the misshapen belt. That's enough. Ixion thought, and braced himself before returning to his primary host, ready to find the premier in yet another intertwining web of naked bodies, a thought not entirely unwelcome.

One, two, three banks-why not? Split up the boys in blue, whittle down those pesky distractions. Mistress Rush was setting a pattern. The bank on 5th street...then 21st, 31st-the city’s little celebrity heroine was clever enough to see the pattern, she was sure.

Assuming she’d show up at all. Rush had a feeling she would. Hero types...tsk. No sense of self preservation, as she had said before. And always so boringly predictable-she was sure there’d be some sort of speech about the ‘people’s hard earned savings’ or some other such thing.

And the girl had been out since the beatdown, and not in a sling. Accelerated healing? That was new...Rush wasn’t sure she liked that, the girl having something she didn’t. Wouldn’t matter in the end, she supposed.

She hit 53rd street and suppressed a smile as she saw the red and blue lights coming from the opposite direction. So Miss Goodie-Two-Shoes was kind enough to involve the bumbling police. Cute.

She saw the girl in ‘normal’ speed racing headlong her way-still a distance away, far enough she could only barely make out the expression on the lower half of her face-a tense, disapproving frown. Rush swung the canvas sack of fluttering hundred dollar bills over her shoulder and phased through the brick wall of the bank, right where the vault would be. She had zero interest in it or the money already stolen-but it was good to keep up appearances.

/////////////////////////////

Jenna zipped up just barely ahead of the police as they surrounded the building, tires screeching and skidding as they braked hard, doors opening and slamming. She had waited for them. She wasn’t sure why...Rush had never had a problem evading the police. Maybe she just needed the moral support? An audience to pretend to be brave in front of?

Inside her silver gloves, her palms were sweaty. All they could do was wait-she was standing in front of the bank just off the steps, zipping back and forth from the front side to the back, left, and right walls. The police were tense and waiting behind their cruisers, eyeing the blue blur.

“Mistress Rush! We know you’re in there! Come out with your hands up-and at normal speed!” The heavy set sergeant's voice blared over the sound of distant traffic, sounding slow and warbled to Jenna before she zipped up to his left and stopped. She almost wanted to tell him not to bother, but...she should let the police do their job.

“She’s not going to come out.” He growled to her, an expectant lift of his brows. “You can’t...phase in there or something?”

“No. Sorry.” Jenna was glad for the silver goggles-he couldn’t see her avert her eyes. No, she couldn’t phase through stupid walls. Even in the midst of her anxious impatience she felt a small surge of jealousy. Rush had had her powers for a long, long time-she could do things Jenna hadn’t even fathomed trying. She also felt bad for not being able to charge into the bank and stop Rush from making a mess-had to wait. Had to be patient...and hope she didn’t get herself humiliated like before.

And then there she was-a purple, hazy blur phasing through the front doors-walking down the stairs in normal speed, looking for all the world like she was strutting down a catwalk. All around them guns came up. The villain’s ruby lips curved into a grin.

Jenna felt her heart seize up, muscles tensing, drawing taut. This was it.

Rush moved for a police officer with an almost lazy gait-and Jenna found herself there, cutting the taller, bustier woman off as she slid into her path. “You’ve taken money that doesn’t belong to you, Rush.” She said firmly, though her heart hammered hard in her chest and her hands still felt pretty clammy. “I think you better put it back.”

“Mistre-”

“I am not calling you that, creepy.”

Rush frowned. “Tsk tsk, still no manners, I see. I would have thought you would know better, given what happened last time, little girl.”

Jenna felt her face flush, hands balling into fists at her sides. “It’s not going to go down like that this time.” She felt eyes on her back. Great, she’d get her ass handed to her with an audience. Awesome.

...awesome.

“Maybe not-but only because I have better things to do-” And then she took off!

For a brief minute, Jenna was just as shocked as everyone else. “H-hey!” She burst into speed too, not about to let the bad guy get away again with other people's valuables. Rush ran straight into a building-and Jenna cursed as she was forced to go around. Shit, shit, shit-how was she going to keep tabs on-oh, there she was again, in the street-

/////////////////////////////////////////////

As she had hoped, Velocity began the chase. Still intent on stopping her from making off with the cash and valuables, the silly thing? Foolish girl. Rush darted through another building-and then straight up one, almost daring the girl to-oh, actually, Velocity could do that too it seemed.

Well. Just made for a more interesting pursuit, didn’t it? Rush lead the way, leading the girl back towards the warehouse district, the trap she had laid for her. It was almost too easy, really.

...except the girl wasn’t as far behind as she had thought. Throwing a glance behind her, Rush’s eyes narrowed. No, the little bitch was closer than she thought!

Worse! She was GAINING on her!

Gaining. On. Her.

Flattening her left hand against her side and tightened her hold on the bag, tucking her chin, pulling her limbs in tight. This was not a thing. This was not happening. That should be enough to get her where she wanted her-

It wasn’t enough. Fine. She would beat the hell out of her on the street, knock her cold-and THEN drag her back to the warehouse for interrogation. And once she knew where the locket was...well oops, guess the little tyke was more fragile than she thought and would die accidentally.

And slow, given this insult.

Just as she whirled to dish out a well deserved bit of violence-she realized the girl was gone.

What? She had just been-and then a strong, powerful force struck her hard all across her back, propelling her forward and into a solid wall.

//////////////////////////////

It was BIG news. Footage from a news helicopter showed the explosion of water from a sidewalk fire hydrant, the high pressure striking the purple clad villainess and pinning her into a wall across the street. Velocity was there, her hands still on the heavy duty wrench she had managed to ‘borrow’ and put to use juuuust at the right time.

Traffic had screeched to a stop and there were sopping wet bills everywhere-the money soon to be reclaimed by Velocity and returned to the banks. The water slowed-but Rush was already gone. Today at least-the blue blur had triumphed over the purple one.

This time, John Murdoch had no interest in lingering about with the myriad female bodies he had just indulged in, feeling lightheaded from the effort and short-tempered from the busywork in office.

Nevertheless, he didn't drop the facade of civilized lavishness as he joked and showed the women to the door. With that done, he shambled back to the still-warm bed and collapsed back-first therein, switching on the television for its hypnotic droning, which, no matter how mundane it seems, was in practice a better sleep aid than the most soothing classical music.

However, before today's various disasters in the world as reported by the news network can send him drifting off, an interview about certain very fast-moving women caught his attention, and he sat up in his bed.

Ixion was annoyed to be interrupted as he churned through the city's demographic data looking for someone who might fit Velocity's description, nevertheless, it wasn't often that John Murdoch would be excited about anything like this, and so, relinquishing control from the statistician at the computer terminal, Ixion rushed back into the body of his primary host.

- - -

Where has he felt such a feeling before? Alex thought, walking by the shores in the mild, but nevertheless chilly sea wind all by himself. A sensation from the dream--or was it a recollection?--had lingered after the poignancy of the actual physical event had subsided.

There was a dread in the dream. A dread, not of the bloody, throat-slit body before his eyes, but of something else more terrestrial but also--he reflected--more tangible. Only, what had he been dreading, and why? I'm sure I felt the same more than once... He spoke to himself voicelessly, trying to think what other time he had felt this way.

The moon waned in the deep blue of the night sky, but cast its gravitational force down earthward all the same--the black waves of the ocean swelled and encroached on the narrow beach like fire singing away at a piece of paper--yellow and uneven with age. Eventually, Alex's fear of suffering from wet feet drove him to turn back, climbing up the cement stairs to the platform above, and as he watched himself step up the first rung of the staircase, he remembered when he had felt the same dread as in the dream before.

- - -

Impossible! Ixion stormed about the opulent room, his host's jaws hung agape and breathed harshly, as if a caged animal.

From what little could have been seen from the helicopter and various other footage, it appeared that Rush had been thwarted once again by that Velocity! This time much more completely than the last, no less.

Only three syringes remained for John's addiction, and there was no telling how soon they'd run out, and how soon the fool is thrown out of office when discovered to be a hopeless addict.

The man flung himself against a tall dressing mirror, fingers curling into claws and dragged greasy streaks down the glass surface, hot breath misting up the reflection. Ixion could see his own eyes glinting in the reflection, and didn't want to think about the last time something like that had happened. For the time being, he must calm himself. Perhaps Rush's defeat had been a trick after all, he wouldn't put it past her to do something like that--she might even had secretly switched outfits with the girl to give the illusion of victory and loss in reverse, as much wishful thinking as that is on hindsight, considering their difference in figure. Either way, it seemed best to simply stay put, and hold back the craving as much as possible before at least hearing Rush's personal report.

There was a noise downstairs, at the front door. It hadn't been more than a few minutes after the shocking, live news report. If that. She was no longer soaked, but she was hurting. Rush couldn't even remember the last time she had been this hurt. The pressure of that blasted water had been bad enough striking her back like that, and the brick wall was hardly a comforting experience. She had nearly broken her face-only quick thinking had saved her model looks from being forever tarnished-but that didn't mean she had escaped unscathed.

"John!" She was angry and murderous, could scarcely believe the little brat had managed to outwit her, surprise her like that. She had been out of her sight for just a moment! Where had she found that wrench? What on earth had given her the idea?

Most enraging of all, how was the slip of a girl faster than she was, then Laura had been?

But she isn't Laura, is she?

Her face red and lips drawn tight, she didn't race through the home-but stalked around angrily, preferring the well placed footfalls of her boots in normal speed.

Someone was in the house, given the dense security measure hasn't been triggered, John quickly put two and two together on the likely identity of the visitor. Haphazardly throwing on a buttoned shirt--presently unbuttoned--he briskly shambled out of the bedroom, looking worse for wear as the tone of Rush's call had suggested the worst, and the mostly plausible situation.

- - -

The strange dread Alex had felt in his dream, as he had recalled when staring at his own feet on his first step up the cement staircase, were in fact a fear of arrest--the veritably soul-shaking knowledge that the punishment of law is on its way. Alex had felt the same way when escorted onto the police vehicle after pretending to be a peddler soon after first meeting the little heroine of the city. That could only imply one thing--that brutal scene in his dream, which brought the same fear of legal retribution, had been of his own making.

During his brief employment under the White King, Alex Whipple had been quickly promoted to the "Knight" rank given his exceptional efficiency, whose pragmatic cause remained a secret to most of the gang, even with his yet undeveloped proclivity for covertness.

Alex had been partnered with another member of the group referred to simply as the "White Knight"--a taciturn and deadly gunman in his late twenties it seemed. Despite the scant number of occasions during which the two actually spoke to one another, it seemed that they had an intricate chemistry, building on a few coincidental co-operations and much time spent together, lying in wait and watching each others' backs.

To his best knowledge, the White Knight is the only person in the world Alex Whipple had ever killed, and to this day, he poignantly recollected his bewilderment at being attacked by his partner in crime and, no less intensely, the subsequent astonishment as his body glided wraith-like upon his assailant seemingly of its own accord, enveloping the gunman and filling his lungs until the instigator of the conflict ceased to struggle. Alex soon learned of the disbandment of the White King's gang, but never understood his late partner's motive.

If his inference is correct about what happened in his dream, that would be his second murder.

- - -

John had the urge to grab a handful of the woman's blonde hair and slap her across the face, but the indoor balcony's railing was more resilient than he had expected, and by the time the wood under his hands had been squashed to kindling, the fury had mostly past and cool calculation could take place.

There was nothing to be gained by alienating his primary ally at this point, but he could hardly see the point of playing nice at the moment. It appeared that the time of conservative babysitting of Ixion's main host had come to and end, and that volatile pawn on his chessboard was becoming more trouble than she's worth.

The man turned away from crestfallen woman in his house, and dropped his voice to a monotone half and octave below usual. "I want you to watch every corner of this city every night from now on, and never miss a second until we get that girl, and watch her rot in pieces under the sewage." Obviously, after I find the locket. He reminded himself. He might appeared to be shaking, and he hoped out of what little desire to preserve his pristine image he had recovered at this point, that Mistress Rush would interpret the motion to be of anger, and not of excitement from seeing the vividly gruesome images in his mind's eye.

(This is Ambrosia_64. Odd account issues that will hopefully soon be resolved, but for now...)

It had been a long time since anyone had had the balls to talk to her like that. A long time. She felt a flare of excitement, a thrilling feeling of danger-and immediately after, anger. He wasn’t giving due praise. Didn’t even ask her how the brat had managed to outsmart her.

How she had managed to outrun her.

The reminder of it might have incited rage, but he was presenting himself up as a challenge, throwing his weight around-and she had no intention of catching it. No, suddenly Rush was all predator, a calculating murderess used to getting her way.

“Last I checked, John,” Her voice was tinged with cold, calculating anger, her eyes narrowed into glittering green slits on his back. “Outside the bedroom, I don’t take orders from you.” Her tone was low and dangerous, as if she were a cat no longer amused by a mouse.

Entirely too confident in herself and her abilities, of her untouchable nature.

Laura was dead. And the brat had gotten lucky.

This time.

“And if she’s dead-not that that would be any fun-” Though she already planned on eliminating her. She was faster. She was faster. Faster even than Laura. “She can hardly tell me where your little trinket is, lover.” The word was little more than a hiss. By the v sound, she was already a blurred image-and by the ‘er’, she was gone. Faster than the eye could track, faster than a thought-just gone.

He could wallow in anger and disappointment alone. She wouldn’t be talking to him for a least a week, maybe more. Let him come crawling back.

She was sure he would.

////////////////////////////

Room 303 was used exclusively for courses taught by either head of the Criminal Justice department. After her 11:45 class it was not used again until her next class at 1:30, and so Jenna tended to stay put and study in the internim. The petite half filipina hardly looked up from her notes as her professor gathered up his things and tossed a “see you soon” on his way out-just a cheerful wave and smile.

She was sporting a navy blue sweater with a silhouette of a cat’s face printed on it in a light pink. Paired with it, a fluffed, airy pink skirt with a tulle overlay, just short of knee length and opaque navy blue tights with matching light pink, lace up women’s oxfords. Her short hair had been partially pulled into a perky little ponytail, pearl stud earrings and the fashionable, oversized frames college kids seemed to love, prescription or non. In this case, non. She just liked the way they looked with some outfits, and they were a cheap and affordable accessory.

She hummed a pop song to herself as she paraphased sections of the previous chapter, intending on reviewing her notes later. Neat but cramped writing in a blue gel pen filled half the page she was on already.

Jenna Paige-a busy bee in and out of costume.

John slowly unfurrowed his tightly clenched fists and allowed them to slip down the dented wall. The light still shone from the open bedroom door, hastily left open yet, its luxuriant orange light seeming out of place as it trickled mockingly into the dark hallway. There, the proprietor of the domain paced aimlessly, taking a step in the direction of a particular cabinet and its scant but special content, and stopping.

There was a whispered snarl, teeth bared in shadows, then an agonized chuckle that grew stronger and stronger with rising madness, and finally, "fine-", an abrupt, mellifluously modulated pretence of pleasant acquiescence.

The next day, several men and women of the city were seen--or not seen, in some cases--to suffer a fit of faintness, followed by moments of intense expression before seemingly having awoken from a daydream. However, given that these happened in different places and at different times, no one took notice of the apparent innocuous phenomenon.

The premier did not come to office on that day, and his body was left strapped in chair in the basement of his home, dozing in a drug-induced slumber as the contents of his last remaining syringes dripped into his vein through a makeshift I.V. rig.

''Hey," the biochemistry lab assistant looked up from the sprawling counter-full of papers as his colleague suddenly stormed off from their work. "I thought you just had a smoke break!" However, the dark-haired, broad-chested young man didn't so much as pause to listen as he stroke down the hallway, ripping off his lab coat and bursting into the sunlit campus face stern and eyes blazing, as if meaning to stare blind the sun itself.

He scanned every figure in sight, noting their sex, stature and skin colour; soon enough a young woman caught his attention, and before she could decide on whether to scream, he had her in his grasp, his gaze drilling into her eyes. "What's going on?!" A few passersby turned to look as the young woman's trembling hands dropped her phone, shattering the screen on the concrete. "No." He hissed between gritted teeth and left the girl collapsing on her powerless knees. ''Hey you! What's the fuck is this?" The others were rushing over now, but he had turned for the corner of the street behind a solid building. "Are you okay? Do you need help?" The young woman was being helped onto her feet again; a few of the compassionate interveners chased after the man who fled out of sight. "Who was"He's my boyfriend." Still bent over, the girl in the centre of the spontaneously formed circle of protectors suddenly began to speak in a calm, neutral voice. "We had an argument and he got excited for a bit, that's all. Really, I'm fine. I gotta go to class now, if you don't mind." There was an any apathy in her voice that left the others to stare speechlessly, and those looking for the eluded young man found only an empty street down the way he went.

"No." Not this one either. “Hey you there!" The voice sounded familiar; the campus was smaller than he thought, or else his luck was even worse. Disappearing around another corner, it seemed like some discreteness had to be practised given how heedlessly he had given away the impression of there being a polygamous creep running around.

-but then, he found the third potential candidate for possibly being the city's celebrated heroine.

The doors of room 303 swung open, and, eyes on the target, a young man with slightly curvy black hair, broad chest and solid stature stepped into the room--a wide but steady gait, due either to an attempt at caution or a subconscious certainty of the verity of his goal.

The young woman looked up with a slightly quizzical, surprised expression, pausing in her scribblings and taking him in with a blink of those almond shaped, dark eyes. “Hello there.” She greeted with a tip of her head as she lowered her pen. She had never seen the man before, but he looked self assured and purposeful. “I’m sorry-” She started apologetically, glancing back down to her notes, a small frown. She should probably get out of his hair then, if he had work to do in here.

“I didn’t know anyone else would need the room, whoops.” She said as she laid her notebook on the open textbook and closed it to mark her place, sliding both items into the canvas tote she had slipped over her shoulder. Flashing him a friendly smile, she trotted down the steps towards professor’s lectern, pausing on the last one, one of her small hands resting on the banister. “Are you maybe from the helpdesk? That dang projector's been on the fritz the last few days.”

She gestured towards the object at the back and top of the room, just to the left of the second door.

As the girl made her series of actions and comments, he merely stood and stare, taken aback by her nonchalance in contrast to those others who had the misfortune to catch him in a state such as this, including the two other young women he had assailed this morning, and for a moment, he almost forgot his goal in invading the room.

“Are you maybe from the helpdesk? That dang projector's been on the fritz the last few days.” The closeness of her voice at this moment as the girl made her exit seemed to reawaken him from his momentary indecision. His lips cracked open quite abruptly as he hissed self-disapproval in the hesitation. Most likely this wouldn't even be the right person, and that the whole ordeal of personally searching through the campus was just a fit of madness that he will end up regretting, but what has been started had to be finished.

Swiveling around with nigh-preternatural speed, he flung out a hand for the girl's shoulder, invisible tangles of nervous projections shooting down his outreaching arm as he attempting a swift infiltration of her mind.

He didn’t look to be feeling so well, now that she was closer. Maybe even hopped up on something...she smiled again, a bit of uncertain and maybe even a little concerned before stepping off that last stair and moving past him for the door.

It wasn’t just a lowering of her guard-she had no guard. Jenna Paige was just Jenna Paige during the daytime. No enemies, no worries aside from keeping up with her studies and finding new ways to spice up Ramen noodles.

Maybe that’s why she didn’t expect anything sour to happen here, let alone an attack on her mind.

The girl half twisted with widened, startled eyes as his hand clamped down on her slender shoulder, but before she could think to do anything else-he initiated his attempt to get inside her head. “!”

To the villain it’d be like hitting a sand brick wall-not quite impenetrable, but more resistance than either of the other two students had offered him. He'd feel her startled surprise and panic, but wouldn't be able to derive anything else on first pass.

To Jenna, it felt like someone was trying to burrow into her skull. Still in normal speed, her hand had dropped her bag and moved to the fingers clasped on her shoulder-trying to pry them off as her teeth grit against a distressed, small noise of anxiety, of pain.

The secret heroine sank to her knees, confused and trying to resist whatever this was-but it strained not just her physical body but her mental state.

No, no, no-

It was easy--the smallish girl had no sign of alertness as he caught her shoulder, so much so that his heart almost sank at the implication that so defenseless a person couldn't possibly be the meta-human heroine that had lately became such a thorn in his thigh.

However, it then dawn on him that his impression was incorrect; compared to his previous victims of the day, this girl's apparently unguarded exterior was contrasted by a sudden manifestation of resistance once he actually proceeded with his infiltration.

Where normally he would be able to unfold the target's mind into layers and layers of recent memory like prying open cabbage leaves, the mind of his present target felt like a tightly shut clam shell, frustrating his purpose despite the increasing violence of his methods.

Just barely, he could feel the shoulder he grasped sink lower to the ground--a direction he could only surmise by a vague, lingering awareness of his own body schema, for he had began to loose track of the direction of gravity in his forceful concentration; his vision were a blur of colour and shapes, but anything representative of the girl's mental activity had yet to appear. In time, however the villain was able to collect himself somewhat in the psychic chaos, and he remembered how to properly handle cases involving obdurately resilient minds.

What would had felt like frantic blows against the girl's mind ceased, and for a brief moment there was peace, but then, a steady rising wave of mental pressure was sent her way, while rhythmic successions of the psychic assault were prepared; this, he felt sure, would coerce the target to surrender her secrets soon enough.

Jenna sucked in a breath during the brief respite. The feeling of relief that had washed over her quickly gave way to a dreading dismay as the cease in pain turned to a rising pressure that was almost reminiscent of a fever dream.

“P-please-” She couldn’t handle this. Whatever he was doing, whatever this was, she couldn’t endure it-not forever. It was a terrifying, foreign sort of violation, unlike anything she had ever experienced-the edges of her resolve were cracking. Her pulse quickened, thoughts increasing in speed as the hostile force relentlessly pressed against the meager defenses of a novice heroine. Her hand was tight on his fingers and the other was balled tightly against her thigh-but the pinpricks of her nails and the feeling of his fingers digging into her shoulder were far away points of physicality, of real she could hardly process as the pressure increased and the attack commenced in earnest.

The sand brick wall collapsed and then imploded.

The petite woman screamed, a short, agonized sound that wouldn’t travel far in the empty corridor or classroom, but conveyed the pain of the mental breach-and then he would be washed in a tangled whirlwind of thought, faster than sound or maybe even light-panicked, desperate bids for her to hold on, to focus, to do something.

But the confusing mind was finally unravelling, exposing its abundance of information. Her name was Jenna Paige. She was barely twenty years old, a full time student. She was intent on studying law after she completed her dual major. She knew she was being attacked. She did not understand how, or the initial resistance she had managed. She thought it was Rush getting back at her, somehow.

She was frightened to be found yet again, but the previous instance wasn’t clear to him. Something she was holding onto, hiding.

But there in the whirlwind he would see it clear as day-the start. A frightened blonde woman cowered in a dark alleyway. She was in a short dress and teetering on high heels, looking frightened and out of it, several large men in a semi circle around her person. The owner of this memory stood frozen at one end of the alley, frightened and unsure-but rapidly filling with strengthening resolve, with bravery.

“Hey!” And she charged down the alleyway, her POV making the men look like giants as they rounded on her, as the other woman fled. And with her, the brash would be heroine’s resolve.

Fear. Real, instinctive, gut wrenching fear.

The memory ripped away and hundreds of other thoughts washed over him-and then there was a blip of another, a feeling of life and movement, a strange place that crackled with energy as her legs moved, as a tall woman in a shimmering blue suit called out over the tunnel of energy between them, powered it. Her blue eyes were pleading. Her words were a call for action. “Take up the mantle.”

Velocity. Laura’s echo, a mere shade of the murdered heroine existing within the Speed Force.

Things tumbled again. Visions of out of control fires and car thieves, of would be muggers and violent reoffending thugs. He would see heroic actions performed in spite of nervous butterflies and nagging doubts. He would see the light hearted nature of everything else.

And then there was the visage of the girl herself, unsure and frowning slightly into a floor length mirror, the reflected background of a white, small room, a base of some kind-studying her own reflection as she pulled on the familiar mask to complete the original look. He’d feel the swell of buoyant hope and the contrasting weight of responsibility as she prepared to venture out into the world as Velocity II and do whatever she could for the city, for the little guy-for Laura.

He had found the right girl, but the flurry of thoughts...and these small bits of resistance, of coiled, wrapped memories, pieces of information she struggled not to reveal, not to let him have-

”Pleasestoppleasestoppleasestop-” The words were more breathed than spoken, jumbled and fast despite the girl sitting still-if a little shaky, trembling. Her blurred vision was still on his shoes as she tried to expel the invader, unaware of what he was seeing and not seeing.

The technique that he had learned throughout the invasion of hundreds of minds in perhaps as many years proved effective soon enough, yet, instead of raw, clear images presented from the defeated victim, what struck the villain's own psychic projection was a flood of cascading information, rushing by him at dizzying rate that almost threatened his precarious balance in the transient mental state. For a moment, he was even convinced that the seemingly defenseless girl were indeed too vulnerable to be truly as she appears, that the whole thing had been set up as a trap to tear his own mind asunder. However, the undeniable tone of panic soon made it clear to him that she had little idea of what was happening, beside the unmistakable malignancy of his encroaching presence upon her, body and mind.

He realized soon as well that there was no way he could discern useful information at the rapid pace that the girl's thoughts had been gone through--an oversight, he should have guessed that such a thing might happen with the speedster types, but then again, that two-faced Mistress Rush had never let her guard down enough for him to experiment on such a meta-human. At the moment, all there was to be done was to absorb as much of the information as is possible, and attempt to extract something useful from it later, most crucially of them all, he had to know the location of the locket if it was indeed she who hid the artifact.

At this point, the villain had almost completely lost control of his host, who stood numbly, hands clutching tightly as if stuck in rigor mortis, and if anyone were to walk by the room at the moment, there would be a startling sight of an apparently senseless man clutching the shoulder of a girl down on the floor, staring vacantly like a ghost while she moaned in terror and agony.

The rush of her mental processes only intensified, the poor girl half sobbing at his feet as she tried to hold her thoughts together, to keep him out-but it was like sand through her fingers. The heroine’s heart was pounding, battering into the inner wall of her chest with enough speed to make an EKG machine crash.

Her pupils contracted and her vision zero’d in on his shoes. And finally, somewhere in the midst of all of the jumbled thoughts and the swirled feelings of fear and agonized powerlessness-he would feel a surge of choice.

Both of the heroine’s small hands blurred out of sight before wrapping around the backs of his ankles. Within the space of the fraction of a second, she then jerked her arms backwards in super speed-pulling his feet right out from under him.

The host body went down, striking his head hard against the tiled floor-and was knocked cold.

Another sob wracked through the small woman as everything stopped. She felt violated, and she felt afraid. Her fake glasses were on the floor and the sprawled out man’s shoes were on either side of her. She moved to stand and stumbled back into the door frame, breathing hard and still staring at the unconscious man lying at her feet.

A few students had come running in response to the short scream, a cluster of concerned, energized people ready to help and hinder an assailant-only to draw up short on the scene of the laid out man so much larger than the petite, tear stricken young woman standing over him.

Whatever they said, Jenna didn’t hear-she shoved off the door frame and scooped her bag up, pushing through the group to scurry down the hall. She felt like she was under water-everything was a little softened and muted. Her stomach turned and twisted in on itself as she hurried out of the building-bursting into the bright sunshine and feeling no less oppressed, exposed.

She beelined towards her dorm room-then stopped short, hesitating. He knew her name. He knew who she was, who Velocity was. Dark eyes widened, she backed several steps away from the front door to the Academic Wing and turned on her heel, heading to the only place her scattered, adrenaline filled mind could think of-the library.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“The red or the purple? Hm.” For a wealthy, wealthy woman, Rush could be shockingly base at times. Nothing much was going on-a toddy on a hot day, a bit of self pampering on the poolside. She was wearing a floppy, fashionable hat and a long, strapless sundress-though the halter top strings seemed to suggest a bikini of some kind beneath it.

Useless fool! The villain cursed as his host remained unconscious, darkness surrounded him. He'd be sure to teleport this host into the middle of the Pacific ocean as soon as he come to--or, on a second thought, maybe he wouldn't, since it would mean having to transfer all the powers from the host to a different body before the host drowned, but it's the thought that counts.

The sound of static-ridden conversation over walkie-talkie immediately drew he to alertness, and surely enough, his freshly opened eyes caught the figure of a man in dark blue uniform coming down the hall behind the circle of other students who were heroic enough to stand guard over the unconscious assailant.

He shot up on his feet the seized two of the vigilante-wanna-be's by the collar and flung them hard in the direction of the uniformed man, before bolting fast in the opposite direction, only to discover that another threatening figure were reaching for its lapel at his approach. He rolled on the floor in an unnatural way not conceivable for the human body, and slammed back-first through a nearby door, shattering the lock and disappearing into the unlit space--literally, because the subsequently arriving personnel found no trace of anyone in the then unused laboratory, nor any plausible passage of egress beside a floor vent that could hardly fit a grown man's arm.

---

"Here's your order, m'lady." Alex found himself in an awkward position as he carried a glass of something alcoholic to the poolside woman on a tray. It would appear that brooding about like a troubled anti-hero was not practical after all, given how he found himself caught of guard by the dangerous villainess while he stared blankly into the ocean by a seaside bench. Good thing that Mistress Rush seemed disinterested in bring pain and suffering to the others for the time being, and appeared oblivious of Alex's shifted opinion on the meta-human woman, thanks in part to his gift of pretension.

---

"Jenna Paige" a name was all he needed to pin down the daytime identity of the pestering heroine, given his access to the demographic registry; what other information about her personal life he could retrieve from the brief exposure was largely uninteresting for Ixion's present goals, though he did note with a passing intrigue on the strange, dream-like circumstance through which the girl inherited the power of her predecessor, which he could still not confirm to be anything beyond an illusion of his own. The other point of interest he had some awareness of was the very existence of so naive a superhero in so harsh a world, maybe there really was more to society than cutthroat mutual exploitation, but that's a joke to laugh to on another day.

Five minutes of mediation later, he resigned to the fact that he still had no clue on the whereabouts of the locket, though a few places was suspect. Another minute or two passed, and he returned empty handed to the concealed office room empty handed; miles away, Jenna's dorm room were in tatters, cabinets thrown down, drawers pulled out and emptied of their content as if having been eviscerated, the bed sheets torn to shreds and every mobile objects displaced in order to reveal any space large enough to hide a locket no larger than a peach core. Very well, that is one less place to search. In all honesty he had not expected to find anything illuminating in the girl's room, but her apparent heedlessness back in the room where he attacked had given him the idea to be sure. There was, of course, the strange chamber where she put on her Velocity gears, but the location of the place remains unknown--that is, until he force it out of her like he had been asking someone else to do.

Thinking so, he returned the body of John Murdoch, his primary host, and compelled him to consider the purchase of a conciliatory present even as the pale man unstrapped himself from the drug-dripping IV rig, and coughed to ensure a pleasant sounding voice over any phone-calls.

“Thank you, Alex.” She said with one of those dazzling smiles, a look over the tops of her sunglasses. “Purple then?” She inquired without really waiting on an answer, accepting the drink with graceful fingers as she looked over the perfectly shaped oval lengths of nails on her other hand. Yes, purple would be perfect!

Taking a sip and then setting the drink aside, she began to twist the cap off when a telephone rang. It was muffled and deep within the expensive purse she had taken along, little more than a cheap beach tote for the woman.

Picking up her drink and lounging back into her chair, Rush reached into the bag and retrieved the cell phone, checking the ID. He would see her smile to herself, the smug satisfied expression of a cat who had eaten a canary. Well. It was about time-he’d made her wait almost an entire day, the devil.

“Hello darling. Miss me already?” Her tone was a mixture of pouting and purring.