FIC: [Haven] Cape Haven - PG13, gen, superhero AU

[roseveare]

TITLE: Cape Haven
AUTHOR: Roseveare
RATING: PG13
LENGTH: 18,000 words
SUMMARY: Nathan Wuornos used to be a superhero. Now he's Police Chief of the little Maine town of Haven. But in the face of worrying statistics and a growing amount of trouble, he may need to don a costume again to lead a new team of heroes if he's going to make a difference. Ensemble, super-team AU, first person POV, UST between almost any 'ships you care to name, mostly gen.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, no profit, yadda, yadda, yadda.
NOTES: Crack AU that has been simmering in my brain since... well, not long after I watched my first episode of Haven, actually. What can I say? I had fun.
NOTES #2: Significantly influenced by the style of the novel Soon I Will Be Invincible by Austin Grossman. Which you should all read, because it's awesome.



Cape Haven

The town of Haven is a sleepy little place, on its best days. Nestled in a natural harbour dotted by nearby islands, pleasant when the weather's good, which is a fairly large qualifier in Maine. We don't see much crime. It's not a target for villains, like the big cities, like New York, Chicago, or LA. Not the sort of place you'd expect battles between god-like beings to light up the sky with bursts of power or to shake the earth underfoot. The big players normally leave us alone.

Perhaps it's something in the water, or the ground. Some chemical or radiation leak, source never traced. A mysterious artefact or alien spaceship buried beneath the soil, seeping its influence into the roots of Haven, into its population. Maybe its genetic -- something from the original settlers, centuries ago, passed and spread out among the gene pool. I don't know; nobody does. But one thing that's for certain is we have a lot of powers here for one little town. Far more notable a cluster even than those New York schools where so many of the really famous heroes spent their formative years.

...If anyone cared to notice. Generally they don't notice, because here in Haven, we're small-scale. You'd be hard-pressed to find anyone that famous from around these parts. Not so many who've been out there fighting off alien invasions or demon-gods. Duke Bloodrush and Null are the closest, and even then, I know for a fact that at least Bloodrush has got one big, damaging secret. I swear I don't know why I've kept it, over the years, never spilled the dirty truth of how he's fuelled.

We're small-scale, but there are a lot of us. By far the biggest problem around here isn't powers belonging to people gone rogue, but powers folks didn't know they had and can't begin to control.

My name is Nathan Wuornos, and I am a super-powered individual. That's not a statement I can make without irony. For years my ability was misdiagnosed as a nerve disorder, until events occurred which made certain secondary powers undeniable, made it obvious that I'm not damaged, but special... for what that distinction is worth. I was dubbed The Implacable Man because I haven't felt anything since I was eight years old. Not heat or cold, pain or pleasure: let's stop here a moment and think about that one. I have a superpower that nobody in their right minds would ever want.

I can almost guarantee you won't have heard of me. I had a few big ideas once, back in my early twenties. Then I grew up and faced reality, and now I run the police department here in Haven. No secret identity, no name, no costume... except the rare occasion I'm called on to wear full dress police uniform. Occasionally still the powers, because being able to work through a bullet wound or a frozen meltdown or a lunatic with his skin on fire comes in handy. Sometimes, someone will still come out with the name, but that's just embarrassing.

I've been doing this about a decade, and I figure I've found my niche. There's a need for someone around here, like me, who's able to shrug off at least half the things thrown at him... Being numb isn't a defence against mind-bending or reality-warping, but it's a start. I can't claim it's never been necessary to bring in real heroes to pull our asses out of a situation I'm helpless to affect. That's embarrassing too, but hey, at least I've gotten to meet some famous faces.

I think that's part of the reason they come to me first. That, and the fact I'm a cop, already in the employ of the state. I'm sure it was never my powers that led them to pick me.

They come one morning late April, right after the latest weather fiasco, and in fact, bits of me may still be thawing out from the evening before. I can't feel them, but the skin of my extremities still looks a bit pale. I've a coffee and a newspaper on the desk in front of me, not really at work yet, when I see the progression of them along the corridor outside, through the office's interior windows. There are four of them in suits: three men, one woman. I might not have psychic senses or microscopic x-ray vision to read their IDs, but I've seen enough of their like before to recognise OPOA agents.

There's a bureaucracy for everything, and superheroes are no different. OPOA -- Office for the Powers of America -- is the branch of government that oversees superpowers.

Officer Barnes is nervously leading them down to my door. I hide the newspaper and push my coffee away from me. So much for any chill-out time before today's disasters: today, the disasters are coming to me.

It's probably a new power on the loose in town. These guys don't get involved for the usual scale of Haven's problems, but they must know something that spells trouble or they wouldn't be here.

Officer Barnes sees me looking through the glass in the door and pushes it straight open, stepping aside to admit them. They file in. Last one in makes certain the door closes behind them, shutting out Barnes. "Nathan Thaddeus Wuornos?" says the one in the lead, and adds, without the slightest trace of humour I can perceive, "Mr. Implacable?"

"Yes," I say, and correct, "but it was The Implacable Man, and isn't anymore. Here I go by 'Chief Wuornos'."

"We know," another says. They're in no mood for witty banter, and it was never my forte, so I'm happy to skip it. One of the reasons I'm not cut out to be doing anything to attract their attention. The ability to play the crowd and get that corny laugh is as important as being able to fight. I sit still and wait for more information. I'm good at sitting still. Don't try to match my stare, either. When you don't recognise discomfort, fidgeting and blinking are optional.

"We're here with a proposition," the woman says, with an open gesture of her palm. It's calculatedly friendly, open, and I realise I know her a little. Kate Bartholomew works for the State Governor's office. I've met her in my professional capacity a time or two, and in the midst or aftermath of catastrophes a time or two again. I was nearly unconscious, last time, and the other times weren't close-quarters, so maybe it's forgivable for me not to recognise her right away. She steps between the OPOA men and places a collection of thick files from under her arm on my desk. Curiosity draws me to pick them up.

The top one is mine, but it's not my name on it, it's The Implacable Man. I'm not curious enough to examine what's in it. I move on and flip through the rest. Duke Bloodrush is in there, and my eyes automatically roll to the skies at mention of his name. A bunch of other more 'successful' powers to come out of Haven, heavy on those inverted commas. Null, I flip through with more interest, looking at the images of the blonde woman inside. We met once from afar, in the heat of battle. I can't remember the exact words of our yelled exchange. The big teams scooped her up pretty quick, despite her mysterious and not-very-trustworthy origins: a backstory as a Fed does not check out, and no-one really knows where she came from. But everyone wants a team member who's immune to other superpowers. Defender is there, too. Our paths cross fairly often. He's a big part of the clean-up work around Haven. Cursed, like me, with a power no-one would want. The presence of The Human Taser raises my eyebrows.

"What is all this?" I ask.

"You know them?" Ms Bartholomew encourages.

"I've met most of them. I meet a lot of people." I stand up. There aren't enough chairs for everyone to sit down, so it seems if I don't they'll just keep hovering over me. "Look, if there's a situation--"

"The situation," says the second of the OPOA men, "is ongoing." He seems to weigh me up and makes a decision. Holds out his hand and supplies, "Edward Jant. I'm going to be your liaison with the OPOA." I shake the hand without feeling it and incline him a wary nod. "I'm sure you've noticed the recent escalation in the newly-manifested powers around the Haven area. In the last three months alone, super-powered intervention has been required fifteen times."

"It's been busy," I allow. Escalation? Maybe I've been too busy to notice, I think wryly. "These things come in waves. Might be quiet for the next three months." I can always hope.

"We chart patterns," snaps the third man, the one who hasn't spoken until now. He sounds impatient. "Where superpowers are concerned, we look for areas of concern, and here we have found one. Haven's powered population is ever on the rise. We fear some imminent disaster is building..."

I glance at my calendar. It is Tuesday.

"We believe it is no longer sufficient," Jant picks up, "to leave this in the hands of regular law enforcement. Even with an unofficially super-powered member of regular law enforcement." He regards me wryly. "Plus unofficial civilian auxiliaries." He means Defender, I think. So much for Dwight's work being managed on the sly.

"Am I being fired?" I don't believe it, but subtle tension spreads through my body nonetheless.

"Absolutely not," Kate Bartholomew hurries to say. "In fact, we hope you will retain your current role and in addition we wish to hire your other identity."

"The Implacable Man." That's put in gruffly by the guy who's obviously not pleased about the earlier correction.

"We want you to lead a team," says the geek, jumping the gun judging by the fashion the others glare at him. "We're hoping it will be that team." He jabs a finger at the collection of files between my hands.

"You are the first we've approached," Bartholomew says. "We were hoping you would take personal charge of recruiting the others." She gestures vaguely with one hand.

She means as someone like them, rather than the OPOA showing up with their files and their suits and bureaucracy. If they want Bloodrush... well, if they want Bloodrush, I may not be the best person to send, either, but I've a better chance than these four. Allergy to authority -- at least I'm only a cop.

I flip through the files again. "You want to put me in charge of these people?" Half of them won't take me seriously as The Implacable Man: that's not a credential that will earn me any points. Bloodbath... sorry, Bloodrush won't take me seriously anyway. Defender, I can probably convince. I don't know White Witch; she's a new name in town. I have no idea about Null, but it seems unlikely she'll be lured away from the Mighty Eight, or whoever she was hanging with last. "You really think we need a team like this in Haven?" A state-sponsored Super-Team from Maine. There's a joke in there somewhere. The thought makes me snort just a little but also induces me to want to make it happen because sometimes irony needs to be swatted.

It's not really funny. When I think about it, it's been tougher to keep a lid on this town, this past year, than it ever was before. Yesterday I was almost frozen into a human popsicle. Two months ago, after the last time I saw Kate Bartholomew, I was in hospital for a week.

"Can you do it?" Jant asks.

If I were honest, I'd tell them straight out that these people aren't going to take me seriously. I'd ask if there wasn't anyone else who could lead their team, and advise they go to that person instead. That they're approaching me is more about my status as Police Chief and the level of trust and answerability that already implies than my super-powered past, which is merely the bonus that allows them to attach me to this. Turning them down will leave me facing one of two scenarios: a mounting situation with out-of-control powers and woefully insufficient local resources, or a super-team loose in my town anyway that I've waived any iota of control over.

So I say, "Of course I can do it. The question is what you're ready to put up to entice people like Null into the fold."

Kate Bartholomew's eyes glitter. "Then, Mr. Wuornos, we are in business."

***

I pull Defender into a meeting in my office. He's usually around somewhere locally, and it's not even a question of phoning or texting -- just put the word out that I want to talk and he shows up. His power has far less practical application than even mine, but he has a military background and a ton of gadgetry and technical know-how, and I trust him.

I send Bloodrush a text. It's one of life's genuine mysteries why we still have each other's phone numbers. Part of me doesn't want Bloodrush -- Duke -- around at all, but the reasoning part of me knows we need him. We're not going to have anyone who can fly or lift buildings. He's the closest we've got to a powerhouse. If I happen to know the price of that power and be unhappy about it... Well, he's already been using it for years.

I nip down to Puppetmaster's dry-cleaning store a short way down the street. He says "no" and I don't blame him. His power is basically reanimation of the dead, and he'd rather stick to dry-cleaning than ever use it again.

I don't know the others, but I know we need Null. Defender, Bloodrush and Null will be the backbone of the team; strategy and know-how, strength and speed, invulnerability. Null might be the most important. I tell Bartholomew and the OPOA people flatly that they are going to have to take me to meet Null and be in on that recruitment interview. Along with most of my department in the ten years I've been doing this job, I've been sent crazy twice, hypnotized into mindless minionship, turned into a cat, de-aged, gender-flipped, and who knows how many times reality as we know it could have changed on us, but the official count is three. Null is the best thing that could happen to this town and my police department.

Null is in Seattle, with the Mighty Eight. There's six of them. That's what you get for naming yourselves without taking life, death and sex into account.

The OPOA and Bartholomew have a private plane ready. It's not exactly VIP, more cramped and functional, but I think it's got some extras built into it because in a lot less time than anticipated, we can see Seattle laid out below the clouds. I haven't been there before, but I recognise the landmarks.

I never get to see it any closer, because that's when we pull up -- literally up, above the highest of the cloud cover. I choke back a curse as I spot our destination. The Mighty Eight (Six) have a spaceship. My heart sinks. How am I ever supposed to offer incentive for Null to leave this behind for our not-so-sleepy seaside town? Even if we're successful, Jant and Bartholomew are going to have to offer her the majority of the OPOA and Maine Governor's budget for the whole team.

The spaceship is huge and graceful, obviously alien technology, with flat, sweeping wings down either side and seamless white bodywork. There's a giant logo on the top of the near-side wing that I stare at as we come in to land. I wonder about our logo, which we'll need if the disparate bunch of second-raters I've been asked to bring together are to become a team.

A section of the spaceship hull slides open to allow us entry to a docking bay, and I discover I was miscalculating the scales in my head when I disembark and compare the size of our plane to the space we're in. It's even bigger than I thought.

The interior is pretty opulent for a battle HQ. Kate Bartholomew leans in to me while we walk down a too-long, too-shiny silver corridor and hisses with a certain amount of bitchy disgust, "They have a tennis court and an onboard bar."

I stare back at her. How the hell does she think we're going to talk Null into coming to Haven?

Maybe Bartholomew's starting to think the same. Walking next to me, her face goes surly.

We're shown into a reception room by a robot. I fought evil robots once, but I'm not used to all this. I feel like a rookie. But I'm worse than a rookie, I'm a failure. I never made it in this world.

Null is waiting for us. One side of the room is all either glass or screen, I can't tell, but the result is to make the curving side of the spaceship's hull seem transparent. I can't remember seeing anything like windows from the outside. Null has her back to us as we walk in, standing looking down at mostly clouds, so far as I can see, and in the hazy distance beneath them, Seattle.

When she turns around, she looks pretty and aloof, calm and professionally interested. "Hello."

Ed Jant introduces me prominently before he introduces himself and Kate, then half-turns back towards me and gestures for me to speak.

I don't know why they think I'll wield some sort of weight here.

I open pretty straight. "Miss Audrey Parker?" Everyone knows she's not Audrey Parker, but it's what she calls herself, doggedly, even after historical documents have proved she's been at least five other people over the last two hundred years. She claims not to remember. "I need to talk to you about a job offer."

"Okay..." Her nod and shoulder tip is uninvolved. Another one, it suggests to me, and tries to politely cover resignation, maybe amusement, maybe even boredom. She wanders across to us, to where the robot indicated we should sit but we haven't yet. She's almost as reticent as I am about the gesture when she offers her hand to me across the table.

That's when everyone in the room sees me humiliate myself completely, because I haven't felt anything in upwards of twenty-five years, but I feel this, the touch of her hand, when I reach over to take it in mine.

***

It's been so long that I've forgotten what sensation feels like. In that moment, every part of me is wired directly to my right hand, to my tingling palm and fingers, to the unfathomable smooth-warm-soft of her touch. I must make some sort of noise, but in that instant, I don't hear anything, don't see anything, I just feel. Every other sense is irrelevant next to the one that hasn't worked since I was eight years old. The experience of it being back now is so overwhelming that I drop to my knees. My instinct apparently isn't to let go of her hand, but to clutch it harder.

She's trying to pry herself from my grip, and when she manages it, the world goes dark again, everything returns to its flat state, and that brief burst of... of life, and reality, closes down. It's like going from colour to monochrome, but worse. I blink and my vision blurs in my eyes. I stare down at my hand, then up at her, then again at my hand, like my brain is caught in some kind of loop.

I feel bereft.

Raised voices insistently repeat identifiers that are meant to be me. Bartholomew calls me 'Wuornos'; abandoning the addition of 'Chief' after the first few times. Jant goes for the superhero tag, 'Implacable'. In the circumstances, that name is hilarious. Null opens her mouth and starts, "Implac--" before breaking off in disgust and impatiently asking, "What's his name?"

A moment later she's kneeling in front of me, hands hovering but taking care not to connect, speaking softly, "Nathan. Nathan." In truth, I'm already starting to come out of it. "I'm sorry," she says, woefully. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Nothing has hurt me since 1983, and that didn't either... exactly. Then again, maybe it was the cruellest thing that could have happened.

Touch. I'd forgotten touch.

I want it back.

I resigned myself years ago to being this way. No pain, but no pleasure either. Barely alive. It's been a long, long time during which I have not thought about the need to feel the touch of another person, to feel comfort, even if it means losing my protection from its opposite. Null has opened me up now to an ocean of yearning for things I can't have. A chasm yawns inside me. The tears on my face aren't adequate as a response.

I need to pull this together, now, before any chance of succeeding in this enterprise goes up in smoke. Even if everything else feels small and pointless in my new perspective.

"You didn't hurt me," I say, roughly, and raise my hands to ward her off, even if that's incredibly unhelpful as a defence. She backs away, stepping around the table. I start trying to peel my knees from the floor. My balance is shaky. "I just... got caught unaware. I didn't expect..."

"You felt that," Null says, with arch, gentle irony.

I know what she does. I've read her file. I didn't forget. But I'm not like mind control or hallucinations, world- or body-altering transformations. I'm just passively numb, and I didn't anticipate my flat state of being would be something her powers could affect. I didn't expect she could simply... reach out and touch me.

I'm on my feet. This is a start. I tell myself the floor is solid under me, even if I can't feel it. "I'm sorry," I rasp. "It's been a long time." Her hands are small and pink, fingers twitching in reflex by her sides, and I try not to stare at them longingly. I absolutely try not to imagine them trailing over my skin in more intimate places... If she did that, I would feel it. Thought almost whites out completely at the idea.

Damn it. Stop. Breathe.

I need to stop eroticising the powers of a woman I've only just met, even if the touch of her hand was the most profound experience of my life. It's beyond inappropriate. I'm not like this.

"No, I'm sorry," she says. "There are other people with powers that I can't touch. I should have been more wary."

She sits down and I sit, too, face to face across the low table. The chairs are probably comfortable. I try to relax back into it. There are enough places where Jant and Bartholomew could sit, but they hover at my back instead. I'm ferociously embarrassed. I have no way of knowing if my face is burning, which makes it difficult to try and pull such reactions back. I haven't felt my face since I was eight, but a minute ago, I felt my hand... Focus.

"I hope we can set aside the inauspicious beginning," I say.

"I'm listening." She nods.

This may actually work in my favour, I realise, because I have her attention and... her sympathy, I suppose, though the thought does my ego no favours.

"I'm here because we're trying to set up a new team. Haven is in trouble. There are escalating numbers of super-powers developing in the town, and it's a situation we're increasingly going to need more than just the police permanently on hand to keep a lid on."

Null's eyes widen slightly. Most of her past identities have been traced back to Haven at some point, and Haven was where the newest identity, Audrey Parker, first showed up a few years ago. The only real chance we have to win her over depends on home-feeling. She nods her head thoughtfully. "I knew you looked familiar. You're the Police Chief."

"Yes." She remembers me. I wonder if it was that same moment a few years back, our eyes meeting in the midst of battle... Shut up, Wuornos. For all I know she was there last time, after I got taken out, and she just witnessed my lengthy stint as an unconscious hostage.

"Chief Wuornos will also be in command of the new team," Bartholomew fills in, sounding uneasy in the wake of my episode -- not what they were expecting from someone who goes by the name 'Implacable' -- but she sets it aside, takes a deep breath, and starts rattling off figures, terms and conditions. I wince at the figures: that won't match what Null gets right here. Also, I did mention the spaceship?

"Wait, whoa, wait," Null says, raising her hands and leaning forward. She quirks what might be an amused look my way, but it's lightning-quick. "Stop. Backtrack. You guys are setting up a new team of supers. Based in Haven."

"It needs one," Bartholomew says tightly, taking that for sarcasm, though I don't think it is.

"Things do seem to be getting worse." I nod encouragingly and try to hold Null's gaze. She has gray eyes, clear and intelligent. "More than regular cops ought to be asked to cope with."

Null stands up and says, "I'll go get my stuff." The rest of us gape, and she stops in the doorway, looking back, noticing no-one else has moved. "My lawyers and accountants are going to want to look over the contract and finances, and they'll probably gripe, but at the end of the day they work for me. We might as well start now. I'll see you in the docking bay in twenty minutes."

Then she's gone and we stare at each other, all three wondering if that just really happened. We have her. We have Null. It wasn't even difficult. Purely imaginary butterflies swarm in the pit of my stomach as I realise Haven's super-team is a go. Part of me was just waiting for Null to kill it here.

"Are you all right?" Jant asks me. He inclines his head seriously and there's concern in there, as well as a trace of suspicion. "I've never seen you react like that to anything."

He's known me less than twenty-four hours. I wonder how much footage is out there of me pretending to be a superhero, or of me being a cop. How many times did he watch it, for his research, while they were considering my part in this?

I reply with numb lips, "I'm always all right."

It's not true. The first moment I felt Null's touch, my world came crashing down around me.

***

When Null reappears, it's a little over twenty minutes, but still faster than any of us expected. She's in costume, this time, a full body tight-fitting jumpsuit of silver trimmed with pale yellow. It covers her from neck to fingers and toes. Unless I somehow touch her face, I'm probably safe. Doesn't really matter, when the damage has already been done.

Her boots are silver, another kind of alien synthetic like her costume, their heels flat, the tread silent. Her modest cleavage isn't shown off by a low-sweeping neckline. Her lines are broken by a bulky utility belt with pockets for ammo and what at least looks like a regular gun, but probably isn't. The ensemble speaks of practicality and focus on the job and is something the likes of Unstoppable Woman, War Princess or Green Mother would never entertain. I'm kind of glad we're not asking any of them to be on-team.

She doesn't carry any suitcases, only a small box, about six inches square, held in both hands like it's heavier than it looks. "Pocket dimension carry-all," she supplies, grinning over the top of it, then her grin turns into a pensive frown. "Made by the Ultimate Brain. Your plane doesn't run on any Butron energy, does it?"

"No. Your luggage is safe," Jant assures her.

I've stepped into another world. I haven't even stood in the same room as the likes of the Ultimate Brain, the greatest scientific mind on Earth, and super-powered on top of that, and he's certainly never gifted me a custom luggage set. If I've fought alongside heroes of Null's reputation and power level before, it's only because it was the thick of battle and I was there in the ground support, unseen, unremarked-upon.

I shake myself out of it. If I have to lead them, I can't allow myself to be awed by them. They're extra personnel, no more. I definitely need to forget about what happened when Null touched me, and nerves that had been long dead lit up again. I can't live with that longing and stay sane. All those years had let me forget what I'd lost. I learned to live with it through not knowing.

There's probably a memory manipulator out there who can make me forget Null's accidental touch. I'll make enquiries.

Right now I stupidly ask, "Can I help with that?"

She shakes her head and laughs, hefting the cube. "I think I got this one, Mister Implacable."

"It's..." I sigh. "Let's stick with 'Nathan'."

She nods and smiles beatifically. Somewhere inside my chest I feel that, too, even though she hasn't touched me.

***

The OPOA plane takes us back to Haven, or at least to the small airfield a couple of miles out of town. It's ironic that chunks of real estate get torn up by misdirected powers every few weeks but the local authorities wouldn't contemplate letting the developers put anything the size of an airfield any closer. We drive the rest of the way into town. All through it I bite my tongue on the one question I want to ask Null: why?

She hasn't signed anything yet, although she was in touch with her accounts and legal people on the plane. I don't want to scupper Bartholomew and Jant's deals. Don't want to make it obvious how needy we are.

She also had a loud argument with her boyfriend, 'Charm', among the Mighty Eigh--Five. Just to put paid to any final scraps of ambition my subconscious might've been clinging to. Then again, she ended the conversation with, "I'm going home, Chris, and it's my choice," and cut the call.

Back in town, Jant and Bartholomew take Null to get settled in at a B&B, and I return to the station, still dazed from the events of the day.

Defender is waiting in my office, snoring quietly in one dark corner with his feet up. Nothing changes discernibly in his breathing, but his eyes open smoothly as I shut the door, and he sits up, wide awake and ready. "Dwight," I acknowledge. I try to reshuffle my brain enough to have this conversation.

"Local hero team?" he asks laconically before I have chance to launch into my pitch.

"...Yeah." I sit down, jacket still on. There's no gain to putting my feet up. "You want in?"

He nods. And that's that.

I grimace, and because it's Dwight, I let him see my uncertainty. "You ever work with a team before?"

He shakes his head. "Not powered. Not since I left the military. Allies don't like not being able to use guns around me."

It's something I should have thought of before, but at the same time, I'm not blind to the fact this team isn't going to be able to take on monumental battles. Its abilities are defensive more than offensive. We're here to stand against the threat of power itself running rampant, not supervillains in search of world domination. I'm the only one whose primary weapon is a firearm, though Bloodrush, Null and The Human Taser all carry. "We'll adjust to work around you."

Defender -- Dwight -- is a huge guy, well over six foot, broad-chested, but even though he's built like one of the strength heroes, that part's all human. His ability, if you could call it that, is to attract bullets. Yeah. Fortunately, they all head for the centre of his chest like there's an invisible target there, so he can protect himself. Along with everyone else around him, because if Dwight's in the room, there's only one place any shot fired is going to go.

He protects himself by wearing body armour, sculpted to his form. It started out as a modified bulletproof vest, but he's earned a few grants and local sponsors after the work he's put in, and the vest was upped to a gold, blue-trimmed breastplate, as well as the armoured plates along the outside of his arms -- because a bullet will still travel through any limbs that get in its path on the way to the centre of his mass. There's a bit of plating around his hips and outer thighs as well, with intricate joints to enable ease of movement. The rest of his costume is plain dark blue spandex. But there's alien shielding tech in the breastplate, because it's not just bullets. I've seen him using a crossbow, so it's not projectile weapons as a rule, though it does seem to include anything shaped like a gun.

His story is a sad one: daughter inherited his powers, and no-one realised until the moment they'd activated, and by then it was already too late.

So with that loss behind him, he defends Haven, and tries to save other people's kids.

We've been quiet a stretch. He asks, "How about you? You going to do it?"

"It's no secret why they asked me to lead." I touch the nameplate on my desk, that says Chief Wuornos. It's actually the same one my dad had: no initial on it, no need to change it.

Dwight nods. "They want their super-team tame."

"Teams have gone rogue before. Better to stay answerable to someone. Having power isn't a license to decide you get to make decisions outside of and above the law."

He waves it off. "Are you going to do it, Nate? Don a costume again?"

It's on the tip of my tongue to say, I'd been planning to skip the costume. But I realise, now I'm forced to face the question head-on, that won't work. I'll be at the forefront of three to five other people in costume. What will the omission look like? That I'm not really one of them. That I don't want to be one of them. No... I'm forced to admit that I can't do this as just a police chief. "I guess so."

I really hate myself in spandex.

The costume might still fit, more or less. I wore it once as a stalling tactic, to hold a villain until the real cavalry got here. The last time was about three years ago, for a charity publicity shoot -- cameras and not bullets; Dwight would be safe. If it needs any minor alterations, I decide I'll get Puppetmaster to do them. He can pitch in even if he's not fighting alongside us.

"I'll tell them you're in," I say to Dwight.

"It'll be nice to draw a regular paycheck again," he responds. "And it's a relief someone finally noticed we need more help around here. Tell them thanks."

***

After Defender leaves, I read reports and catch up on the events of a thankfully quiet day, and then it's time to go home. As I head out to my car I'm still caught up in wondering if I'll sleep tonight, or if Null's touch will haunt my dreams, when a dark figure leaps down from the side of the police building, fetching up in front of me with an athletic twist.

"Don't expect a round of applause," I tell him.

He's in uniform, which is a skin-tight black and red affair that on the face of it leaves little of his body's contours to the imagination, but I happen to know there are fluid reserves held in stiff bladders in the sides, and tubes that feed blood into contact with his skin when he wants to use his powers. He's varyingly known as 'Bloodrush' and 'Duke Bloodrush', and it's barefaced cheek that he calls himself that, considering he wants to keep his power source a secret. Still, no-one knows how literal a description it is.

His real name actually is Duke, so that part is more pun than affectation, though of course, not many people are privy to the fact that's his real name. Duke Crocker. We were at school together.

"Hey, Nate," he says, scuffing a hand through his hair and cracking a roguish smile. "You called?"

"I texted," I correct, and walk around him, still heading for my car. I'm too tired for this right now. I thought he'd be in San Francisco and expected to hear back from him within a day or two, not for him to turn up in Haven within hours.

"So what's this about a new team?" he pesters, rounding me and cutting me off, leaning on the door of my blue Ford Bronco, casually in my way. "What's this especially about you being on any team?"

"Not just on it, Duke." I smile at him and let that sink in. I reach under his arm to rest my hand on the door handle and wait for him to move. This could take a while.

He curses. "So Chief of Police isn't enough any more, huh? Look, hey, nothing against you--" That's a lie, to start with. "You're a decent guy and all, but if your superpower can be misdiagnosed as an illness for thirteen years, it's not much of a superpower." He's chuckling as he says that last. I glare at him.

"Seriously. Don't let them use you," Bloodrush says. "You're numb, not invincible. Just because you can't feel the damage doesn't mean you're not hurt."

"I heal," I retort, rigidly. He is trying my patience. If I expect to be able to lead a team with him on it, I probably shouldn't punch him.

"Yeah. Really, really slowly."

"Faster than normal."

"Right. You're hardly Unquenchable." Unquenchable is the immortal member of the Light Legion: cut him to pieces and feed him to dogs and he'll still reform into Unquenchable again before the day's over. "Which, okay, is great, because the guy's a serious asshole. But you are not a superhero."

I lean into his space and give him my best smile, injecting as much soft glee as I can. "I'll be in charge of you."

He steps away from my car and backs off. "I haven't said that I'm joining up, yet."

That's a mood killer. I kind of forgot I was supposed to be selling this idea. I stare at him and he stands, arms hanging, abruptly uncomfortable. I realise I've been counting on Duke being in on this, and I don't really know why. Our paths haven't crossed much over the past few years. But for some reason I've been assuming all the problems would be on my side, with this one, having to work with the jerk.

"It's Haven," I say, like that would be all the reason he needs. He hates this town. He only comes back here because his father made him promise to protect it. Maybe I'm a jerk, too, standing here and invoking that. His father, by the way, was a world-class asshole, with the exact same power: Duke's a second-generation superhero. Second-generation asshole, too. "Join us. We need you."

He grins and shakes his head. "You don't need me. I work alone."

It says something that he's enough of an all-rounder to have been doing that for a decade. He's strong, fast, even smart, though that's not a super-power. Combat-trained like Dwight, though we're talking tai-chi and not military. We need him. Null is proof only against the specialised stuff. Dwight's powers are pure defence, even if the rest of him isn't. I can take a pounding. The Human Taser can deliver one, but she needs to get in close to do it, and that's a risk in itself. We need Duke to be our heavy hitter. We don't have another option for that role.

"There are reasons I don't get too close to other powers, Nate," Duke says, intense as though willing me to understand. Yeah, right, reasons I know. "Except the ones who're being naughty." He waggles his hands. He doesn't wear gloves; his costume ends at the wrists. To be honest, it looks like surfing gear. He does surf, so that's probably what he adapted it from, or modelled the first prototype on, and he's just stuck with that look. I remember he toyed with a red cape for a while, but I think it offended his martial artist's sensibilities the way it got in the way in a fight.

"Try," I respond, and it comes out as a growl. "I'll even personally take care of your little 'problem' while you're with us. No need to bother anyone else with it."

His eyes fly wide at that. "You'd--"

"It has a twisted logic to it. After all, it won't hurt."

"Nate," he says. Maybe he's going to say something else. He changes his mind, though, and huffs a half-laugh, half-sigh instead. "Come and get a drink."

***

We go to The Grey Gull, of course. Duke owns the bar and restaurant, though he pays other people to run it, in memory of a couple of old friends of his who left him the deeds. There've been a lot of folks in this town who either got killed or got out.

"So who else do you have?" he asks, shouting over the crowd. He's drawing a lot of stares. While he's hardly the most famous of capes, he's been on TV, and his look is pretty distinctive. He ignores the stares with ease; it's probably more disconcerting for me, sitting with him.

"So far? Defender," I say, and at his roll of the eyes because that one was almost a given, I add with smugness, "and Null."

"Holy shit. You got Null? For real?"

"She's in town already. Came back with us today."

He blows a low whistle through his lips. "Well, there's one incentive. You gonna give me any more?"

"Ed Jant wanted Puppetmaster, but he said no."

Duke shrugs, unimpressed anyway. "There's only so much a man can do with stuffed toys."

"Hardly toys," I murmur. "There are two more on Jant's approved list. White Witch and Human Taser."

"You mean Lady Pain," Duke picks up flatly, "and man, she is a pain. In every sense of the word."

"She changed her name when she changed sides," I berate Duke, but my heart's not really in it. I guess every super-team needs their link to how the other half lives. Lady Pain -- Jordan McKee, now I've read her file -- spent the last three years making waves among various villain teams as a torturer extraordinaire, using the specially honed weapon of her body to draw out people's secrets with their screams. Until today, reading over my potential recruits in the plane on the way to Seattle, I didn't know her real name or her history, and the reasons her power probably manifested the way it did. Assault victim, years ago... The police reports, the pictures... Now no-one can touch her at all.

"I thought you and she used to run in similar circles," I prod, because Duke has definitely drifted toward if not the dark side, at least the more mercenary, less greater-good side. McKee was more a hand for hire than ever an out-and-out villain. Not one of those out to take over the world or harbouring a crazy revenge complex, except that one guy. She just wanted to get by. Her body handed her one obvious resource to use. I guess it's hard to be idealistic when your superpower is to hurt people.

"You're kidding me. She's a member of the Metahuman Guard. If they ever find out about my thing..." His voice drops almost to nothing. "They find out I need to use our own kind to get my game face on, they'll be out for my blood. I fought her a time or two. Ow, is all I can say to that."

I change the subject. "How about White Witch? Do you know her?"

"Haven't a clue. I met an English guy who supposedly did magic once. He had a wand -- the stage magician kind, not the witchy kind. Never managed to spot the trick, so who knows? I've seen The Illusionist on the news, like everyone else."

I nod, none the wiser. I'm going to have to approach both the remaining women tomorrow. I remember the photos in the file of The White Witch -- Jennifer Mason, misdiagnosed as schizophrenic first, before the rest of her powers manifested. At least we'll have one thing to talk about. She's younger than the rest of us, looking cute-faced and innocent in the photographs.

It's a struggle to reconcile the police incident photos of Jordan McKee with the footage of Lady Pain, still dressed in almost nothing but wielding an assault rifle in one hand and a whip that was pure posing in the other. It wasn't as though she needed a cat-'o-nine-tails. She used to use it to drag people within reach, and they always screamed a lot louder when she got her hands on them. The Human Taser is so much more innocuous a name.

"You think you could work with the Taser?" I break off from nursing my drink to jump back a subject with Duke. "Don't tell me you'll call off and claim it's a moral stance. I know you've skirted the line of not-so-legal on a few of your adventures."

He glares. "She keeps her hands off, and I guess yeah."

An hour ago, he was swearing he wouldn't work with anyone. I think -- yeah, Duke's on board. It's a relief and a burden in equal parts, much like Null's presence. I pick up my glass, bump it to his, and drink to it anyway.

"Reconsider, Nate," he says, out of nowhere. It sounds almost like an entreaty. We've been through one enough times already tonight that I don't bother reply. He sighs and slumps forward onto his elbows. "God damn it, Nathan. Do you know how stupid you looked in that costume?"

I reach out and pat him on the face; I hear the sound my hand makes on his skin, pat-pat, but that's all. "It's sweet that you care."

He oozes frustration and grumbles, "We're not all going to have to live together, are we? Because I have seen Factor Force break-up tapes and I can say right now, 'do not want'. It was like Big Brother with explosive body fluids and eye-beams."

I grimace and agree, "Definitely not." Probably the best our budget can afford so far as a dedicated HQ goes is for me to have a room cleaned out on the upper floor of the police station.

"How about a team jet?" He sees he's reaching far too high. "Well, maybe a few flight packs."

It's possible that since OPOA and the state governor's office didn't have to max out their offers for Null, we can stretch to some flight packs.

"Call sign?" he asks with faint hope.

"I'm the police," I remind him. "We have radios."

Duke Bloodbath shakes his head. "This is going to be the most shit super-team ever."

"Well..." I slide off my barstool, straightening up. "We don't have to beat up giant robots or alien armies or foul the Mad Scorpion's latest plot. Just keep Haven from imploding under the weight of its own super-potential."

"You know, one day they need to dig down under the soil and find out what it is that's making this town so crazy," he snipes. "Probably more cost effective, in the end."

"Maybe it isn't anything," I reply. "Maybe we're just lucky."

***

I go home and eat, and shower, and try not to think about Null's touch, but everything loops back to it. I try think about my remaining team-members for recruitment tomorrow, and end up wondering if Lady Pain's skin would also be enough to pierce the darkness. Apparently it doesn't matter to me that it would be pain I felt. My long-dead nerves are hungry for experience. I find myself jerking off in the shower, and since sexual arousal is unreachable ninety-nine percent of the time, honestly I just go with that.

I think about machines and doomsday devices I've heard of over the years, built by one evil Doctor or another to strip a super-hero of their power. I wonder if there's anything out there that would actually work, and if I could get access to it. Do they stash them in a government warehouse somewhere? It's crossed my mind before, what if I could be normal?, of course it has, but never so keenly as now.

I can't do anything of the kind. I have a super-team to lead, it's what Haven needs from me, and those abilities, unwelcome and unhelpful as they mostly are, are my passport to do it.

Lying in my narrow bed, I dream in endless circles about the impossibility of feeling. Innocent touches mix in with the sexual. Null runs her hands across my bare chest, this time, smiling her self-contained smile. Jess, the last woman I was with for real, tangles her body with mine as we did two years ago, except this time I feel her. Lady Pain makes me scream, and in the dream, it feels as good as the rest.

I tear myself from the dreams and make myself get up, feeling mostly screwed up.

I slept in, but the morning demands another shower. My body is uncooperative. I let the water run cold and stand in it until I'm fit to report at the station. By then I'm already going to be a little bit late, so I only grab my old costume from the bottom of its drawer and don't have time to check it for holes and wear. I'll do that, and try it on for size again, at work -- in a locked cubicle, privately. Right now I dress in pressed jeans and shirt with a gray vest over.

Outside in my driveway, Lady Pain is sitting on the hood of my car waiting for me. She smiles and waves coyly as my steps falter. I lower the keys, bag and jacket that I'm juggling and stare at her.

Oversexed as I am today for a man who can't feel, I still wonder if she doesn't feel cold either. There's a lot of creamy skin on display, even by superheroine standards. What she's wearing amounts to a bikini with some extra straps and spikes, plus knee-high boots. Her costume amendments for her change of allegiance make it green and black rather than just black. She still has a whip on her belt, but it no longer has those jagged razor edges on it.

"So finally we meet," she says, and her voice slides into me, reawakening all the desires of my night.

"Villain dialogue?" I manage to stutter. She slides off my car.

There are gloves on her belt, and that's also new since her defection from evil, an announcement that she might consider touching someone without the intent to cause pain. She shrugs and deliberately pulls the gloves off her belt and onto her hands. "Habit. I hear you're recruiting."

"You've saved me a journey." I nod warily. "Are you interested?"

She tips her head and doesn't answer straight off. "My abilities aren't very team-friendly," she says, with a pout. There's something darker in there than simple flirtation. The warning is serious.

"We'll figure out how to work around that." Like Dwight.

She waggles a finger. "I'm once-touched-never-forgotten. That's my brand of pain. Are you and your little band of hopefuls ready to risk a taste of that?"

Duke's already had a taste, apparently. I should ask him for the story behind that. "We've got Null," I say, and her lips pout in another reaction I'm not confident to try to define. "The rest of us would have to take care." If I hadn't read her file yesterday, I might ask her about covering up a bit more of that vicious skin.

"The rest," she corrects. "Because you..." She walks closer and I stand my ground, raise my chin. Her uncovered skin is so close to me and I dare her to touch me. I want her to touch me. "We've never fought, you and I, but I... well, I looked, you see. You're obscure, but I wanted to know if something like you existed. I've known about you for a long time, and I've always wondered..." But it's only her gloved finger she uses to tap me on the chin. Maybe she really has changed her spots.

"...Whose ability would win," I finish, gruff and low. It's possible all the work of that cold shower has just been undone. I try to concentrate. "We have Null, Bloodrush, Defender. Me. I'm planning to approach White Witch today. Are you in?"

"Trial run," she qualifies. "I'll show up, put the time in, see how the other kids want to play around me. I've never worked in a squad where it would be a problem if you knocked your allies unconscious with a love tap or a stolen grope." She's backed off from me a bit now. I daren't look down. "I don't know how I feel about working with Bloodrush. We'll see. And I'll see you again, Implacable Man."

"It's..." I begin automatically, then realise I don't need to correct her. How much thinking has she done on this? I discard the unnecessary protest. She's already turned away. I call after her, "I'm Nathan Wuornos."

"Call me Taser," she responds, and I can't tell how much of her cheer is false. She has layers of affectation. She isn't going to yell out her real name here, in any case. "Later!"

Then she's strolling down the street, and my neighbours are a mass of stares. At least one of them is looking alarmed and raising a cellphone to his ear. "Don't worry!" I call over hurriedly. "She changed sides, remember?" He rethinks and has an obvious oh moment and waves, grins abashedly, and put the phone away.

I look down at the line of my jeans.

...Damn it. This behaviour isn't helpful or professional. But there might be two women, now, among my own squad, who I'm able to feel after some fashion. I might not stand a chance with Null, but I think that Lady Pain... likes me.

I am so beyond screwed.

***

I'm late for work and nursing wood I can't feel on my first day reporting for duty as the leader of an intrepid band of superheroes. I officially suck. I continue to carry my jacket and bag in front of me and I just hope that nobody actually asks I demonstrate my old costume this morning.

In my office, Null is in civvies again, soft grey pants and a cream t-shirt with an innocuously cute lace detail on the collar. She looks fresh and neutral. She smells great, too. Pomegranate shampoo.

"Hi." She turns around as I come in, a fast smile at the ready. She catches herself from stepping closer, visibly remembering, and holds up both hands, indicating she won't touch me. I privately wish she would. I wish I could have hidden the extremity of my reaction before so that she would touch me casually again and again, never knowing the truth of it. "I know we're not official yet, but I wanted to get to grips with how things work around here. You've been here a while, check? For years I've only been here when the shit has really hit the fan, so you tell me... When things start happening, what can we expect?"

It's perfectly reasonable. I slip behind my desk and try not to be too obvious about my sigh of relief as I'm finally safely hidden. I gesture for her to take a seat on the other side of the desk. I didn't have time to stop for coffee but one of the perks of command is abusing it: I intercom the main office and get a work experience kid sent out for two coffees and some pastries from Rosemary's. Null and I then spend a pleasant hour or two discussing the practicalities of life in Haven law enforcement and my brain starts to behave again, mostly, as the thinking and reasoning parts of it get used to interacting with her as a person. My body has started to behave again, too, by the next time I sneak a look down at my lap.

"Where are you staying?" I ask Null. "Do you have family in town?"

She shakes her head. "No family anywhere." I should remember these things from her file: Audrey Parker was adopted, but even Audrey Parker's friends -- or work acquaintances -- don't know her. It's speculated that this is the result of some kind of identity-absorption secondary power, though no-one knows how and when Null encountered the 'real' Audrey Parker to get hold of her memories. Null has been at least four other women, so far as can be traced back through history. Null might be immortal, because she hasn't changed much from the oldest of her photographs. Except her hair, which was darker then.

She may be immortal, but she seems to trade her identity for it, again and again. That might suck worse than not being able to feel.

She's continuing, and I'm barely listening to the answer to my own question. "Kate Bartholomew's B&B. Called Over the Way. She recommended it."

I decide I'm not going to ask where Bartholomew is this morning. I left a quick message on the way in to say The Human Taser had checked in early and provisionally accepted a place on the team, which means I'm not due to hook up with Bartholomew and Jant again until 1pm this afternoon and our appointment with White Witch.

"Mrs Armitage runs a nice place, but we'll have to see about getting you something permanent in town. That's if the finance and legal issues are all going smoothly."

She tips a one shoulder shrug at me. It's almost the equal of a wink, the way she does it. "I just told them to make it happen. As far as I'm concerned, I'm here."

Really? "What about your superhero boyfriend?" I manage to say that without sounding like a dick. I think.

"I told him he could visit. Brute-Man's dating a Drogon princess. She lives on a whole other planet."

"So he's..." I feel a twinge of disappointment that I shouldn't. She can touch me, complains my petulant inner child, shouting 'Unfair!' Why's she dating someone else? "What's Charm like, in person?"

"An asshole," she says, with irony.

Okay...

She leans forward and fingers the bag I left on the edge of the desk. A corner of green-blue material is showing. "This is your old costume, isn't it?" She looks a little shifty, even mischievous. "I got all the archive footage our computer could find downloaded from the team database -- that's the Mighty Eight's database, sorry -- to my I-phone last night."

Oh, fantastic. Anything that's been captured on film is more likely to be disasters than not, because if it was big enough for the press to be there it usually meant I was out of my league. A few examples come immediately to mind. Bloody Mary threw me into the wall of a skyscraper, broke my back in two places and a shoulder blade on top of that: shortest fight I ever had, but the longest recovery. CNN got all ten glorious seconds of it. Worse was when HatTrick the demented magician hypnotised me into chasing around hallucinations. A bunch of capes from some team that were big at the time but have faded to obscurity since had to catch and sit on me until it wore off and I wasn't a danger to the public.

"I sucked," I announce, feeling I might as well get there before Null does.

Her mouth pinches cutely. "You seem to have been unlucky. But you didn't do it for very long, and those kinds of things happen to a lot of the loners early on. You chose to come home and be a cop instead." She pulls at the fabric, tweaking the lip of the bag. "I was astonished that you're still here and... that you at least look completely undamaged, after what happened with Infurion. If you don't mind me asking, what is your complete power set?"

It's a surprise to me that she doesn't know. Then again, I am obscure and apparently I have just had confirmation that the OPOA have access to more information than the most super of super-teams. Since we're working together, I guess that information is owed. "Can't feel pain," I start with. Can't feel anything is never something I advertise, but she can probably figure that out. "Means I can shrug off most damage. I heal a bit quicker than normal and... things normal people wouldn't heal. Damage doesn't stick around. I don't scar. I have mildly enhanced sight, hearing, taste and smell. I don't know if that's a power or a natural compensation."

Null nods slowly. The costume is on her lap now, her fingers smoothing over it. There's something intimate about that. "So why did you give it up?"

I snort, but most people can't take me seriously on this part. "I couldn't afford the medical bills."

Her forehead wrinkles. "What? But you heal."

"Sure, and faster than normal, but it's not fast. I don't have iron skin. I take the damage, I just ignore it. If enough of the big fights landed me in the hospital afterward... well, one day it hit me that I was spending more of my life flat on my back, and I was racking up far too much debt. So I quit."

Now it's with incredulity and not a little concern that she demands, "And you're going back?"

"Haven needs it. I need to stop my department being overwhelmed. I'd be in the firing line either way, so at least now the state's employing me, they can foot the bills."

Null looks unconvinced, but she holds up the costume. I don't see any obvious holes in it. She clearly sees my reticence because she says, "Go on. Have to find out if it still fits, right?"

I should get to work. I've been sitting here chatting with a famous superhero all day so far, and even though I've been reading the morning reports while covering Haven 101 for her, this has got to be starting to look bad. "Sorry, but..."

She tsks me. "Don't give me that, Wuornos. I'm gonna head outside a couple of minutes." She's on her feet, closing the blinds at the internal windows and over the door. "You're going to get back on the horse." Then she's gone, the door rattling shut behind her. I hear her click it to. I'm left alone in my office with my costume, which she spread out on her chair, legs hanging forward to the floor, shoulders and arms draped over the backrest.

I mutter every curse I can think of.

***

So what is it about the costume? A silly piece of overly bright, colour-uncoordinated spandex, lycra, or these days mostly alien synthetic, that gets treated like a badge of honour. Duke probably used a souped-up wetsuit. I had mine tailored here in town -- I never made any effort to hide my identity, since my powers were diagnosed as an illness first and everyone in Haven already knew what I could do. It only occurred to me later that the real reason for secret identities might be to save face if you end up making a massive idiot of yourself.

Mine's tight now. It's not surprising. It's been about a dozen years. I had it adjusted for the charity shoot, but that was a few years ago and I only wore it for about an hour. At least I chose muted colours, bluish green and grey. The whole suit is just one piece, with near-invisible zips up the sides and across the chest. I always had to remember to go to the toilet before I put it on, and with luck, manage to get at least one substantial break during the day. Not that it would cause me discomfort until I peed myself, but at that point, in these shades, some considerable discomfort.

It's old fashioned. Most folks are heading towards practicality these days, not so many of the tight body-fitting show-all variety as there used to be. I think a redesign is definitely in order. Maybe, considering I can't feel my hands anyway, there should be gloves. I wonder about something more durable against blades and projectiles and other impacts. I could never afford lightweight armour, but back then, that gear was a lot harder and more expensive to come by than it is now. And if the state is paying for it...

Null comes back in while I'm thinking these things and says, as if mind-reading is in her power-set, "It's not very practical, is it?"

On her heels is Duke Bloodrush. He says, "Nice shoes, Nate."

Apparently, they're all going to turn up in my office and in my home whenever they feel like it. So much for being in charge.

I have no idea where the boots are that used to go with the costume. Last time I think I wore Wellington boots, their dull green actually a pretty good colour match, but the photographer cut my feet off the bottom of the picture anyway. Today I just slipped my feet back into my brown leather shoes.

Duke eyes my crotch and adds, "I guess you weren't planning on having kids, anyway."

I shake my head, scowling at him. "I'm aware I need to get a new costume made."

Null marches over and puts her hands on me. I hold my breath, but through the fabric I don't feel it. I realise she must know how this works, or she wouldn't have done it. I hear the sound of her fingers running down my back and the flick of fabric stretched, then pinging back. "You definitely need new threads. I wonder if we can build some kind of armour into this. It's not like loss-of-sensation will be a problem if the material's too thick, right?"

Duke is nodding along with her. "I'll get in touch with my suppliers. Get him sorted in no time. Unless you want to? I don't have so good a line with the alien-import stuff as you maybe do?"

"Something like that," she agrees. "I'll see what the Ultimate Brain can come up with. He has material suppliers from six different planets, and most of it on-hand, since he makes so much stuff. At least one of those planets isn't on the approved list."

"I'd watch it talking about that in front of this one." Duke jerks his head at me. "He's asshole enough to arrest you for it even while you're trying to do him a favour." He stands in front of me and puts his hands on my shoulders. We've always been about equal height. The only reason he's taller at the moment is his ridiculous boots. He gives me a shake and then pats my shoulders again. "Nice one, Nate."

I'm unsure exactly what that's referring to, but I shove him off. They're both in league and it took only -- what, two minutes, tops, that they could've been standing together out there? They haven't met before that I know of.

"We'll make you all-the-way invulnerable yet," Null says, venturing out from behind me. I'm nervous what she was doing there. I have no way of knowing if she touched me, beyond what my ears can tell me. "It's hard to take knocks even in armour. It'll be a huge advantage if you're able to shrug them off."

"Yeah," Duke enthuses. "His recovery time is great. But careful not to impede his movements too much. He's reasonably fast, if not super-fast."

Duke and Null are grinning at each other. They look pretty friendly, but there's no point in jealousy given Null's existing entanglements. Duke claims to avoid relationships with other powers, but I wonder if her blood would actually work for him, given what her power is?

I really need to do some work before the meet with White Witch, I decide firmly. I'll throw the both of them out, and I'll get on with just that.

I'm about to when Stan bursts in without knocking, bringing news of a situation.

***

I'm already in uniform, as ill-fitting and in need of a re-think as that uniform may be. Bloodrush is in costume, too -- it's been years since I saw him in civvies: think part of that's either paranoia or need, because he daren't risk stripping himself of his power source. There are people who'd be seriously pissed to find out what he runs on. I'm surprised when Null's unremarkable outfit distorts and suddenly morphs into her superheroing garb.

She shrugs. "Psychic fabric."

"Of course."

But what the hell is going on? That's all I'm thinking as the three of us pelt out of the police station. We're just gathering up the team, and it's been six years since the last supervillain showed up in town. It can't be a coincidence that this is happening.

It's not like the trouble is conveniently happening right outside the police station, though. Duke groans and says, "We definitely need a jet."

"We'll take my car," I tell him.

"Great. The Scooby-Doo van."

"It's the Mystery Machine," Null corrects with a grin. "I'll see if I can't get some flight sets sent over from the guys back in Seattle."

It puzzles me still: one, that she just picked up and left so easily, without any goodbyes; another, that she doesn't really seem to have severed any ties at all. Is she with us, or not? Is she going to be heading back there in a few weeks when she tires of this diversion?

"That would be sweet," Duke says, as if the incongruity doesn't impact on him at all. Null gets shotgun position before he can as we pile into the car.

"Either of you know this guy?" I ask. I try to make it sound casual.

"Who did your underling even say it was?" I'm really going to have to insist that Duke not refer to Haven's police forces like that.

"Allen Toft," Null says. "The Amazing Replicating Man. I know he's one of the crazed scientist types, but I don't know him." She's got her I-phone out. If you look closely at the screen, it doesn't actually resemble any I-phone I've ever seen. I'm getting a better view from here than I've had so far, but I do try to concentrate on driving. Portside Road, out by the marina, Stan said. It's one of the tourist areas. Maybe I'm wrong and Allan Toft the Replicating Man has just taken his evil on holiday.

"Me, neither," Duke says. "You got his stats on there? I haven't tangled with this particular mad scientist dick before. It's be nice to know what we're going up against."

She passes the modified I-phone over, and Duke reads out the highlights for my benefit. He hasn't finished by the time I'm pulling up at the edge of the carnage, at the side of the street where four cars are blocking the road, all piled-up together like someone gave them a big shove.

"Holy crap." Duke shakes his head as he slides out of the car. "It's Gurren Lagann."

People are screaming. I reach for my badge and gun -- but I'm wearing the costume. I can't even imagine how I made that oversight. Old reflexes warring with new ones, I guess, but the new ones ought to be heck of a lot more ingrained. I never used a gun back then. I had a kind of baton instead, and I have no idea where that disappeared to, either, in the mists of time and the back of my closet. But when I stand up and people get a good look at me, it has the same effect as the show of police authority. The cavalry are here.

Hopefully they won't look too closely at me. The costume is definitely too tight, and in the harsher daylight, it leaves even less to the imagination.

Allen Toft, whoever and whatever he is, is currently about a dozen identical men crouched, twisted and moulded into one giant being. The set-up has a mechanical framework but mostly seems to be composed of the singular biological component of Toft. I assume the one curled in the smooth, armoured shape of the head, the 'brain' of the operation, is the most likely candidate for the original man.

He's holding a motorbike in a giant hand and taking energetic, manic swings at The Human Taser, who's out in the street, dodging between cars and a fire hydrant. Her whip is in her hand but I don't see what use it's going to be against Toft's insane creation, and she's concentrating on trying to get out of his way. I don't blame her. Her powers rely on getting close in and being able to touch bare skin. There's nothing she can do here.

Which makes me wonder why she would even throw in.

Duke has pulled his face plate up to cover his face; it's silver like his eyes when powered-up. He reportedly doesn't like her, but it only takes the bike Toft's wielding to get close enough to brush her shoulders and send her rolling and he's cursing and moving forward in a blur.

Null's gun must be as disappearing-reappearing as her costume, because I swear there was no room for it in the line of her clothes. She takes a shot at Toft's head, at the brain or at least control mechanisms of the combi-robot, but it only causes a spark and a flash off some form of shielding.

If I'd come here as a cop I'd have a firearm -- but apparently it wouldn't be doing me any good. How the hell are we supposed to fight this? Null and I don't have much. The Human Taser just rolled under a car to hide, in the obvious hope that Bloodrush can take care of it. Duke looks tiny next to Toft. I certainly hope that he can take care of it, but an inner panic is telling me that it's the same old story all over again. Just one more fiasco with my name attached.

There are police coming now. I drop back and yell instructions to get the civilians out and set up a perimeter. When I turn around, Null's in the middle of things, using shots from her gun to provide a distraction to help Duke. If she aims at the faceplate the flare off the shielding blinds the Toft in control.

Duke tries to grab one of Toft-a-tron's legs, either to crush the mechanism with his strength or drag out the duplicate inside and deprive the limb of its major component, because he doesn't have the kind of strength that can give a hefty shove and overbalance that much weight. But the shielding flashes and there's a shout of pain, then Duke's rolling on the ground in agony.

I spring forward and haul him out of the way before Toft stamps on him. "Are you all right?" His face is stretched and grey, eyes returned to their regular brown.

The only reason we have this moment is because Taser has ventured out from the car and instead of heading for the police line, cracks her whip out at Toft. It has just enough reach to lick the shiny paint off the robot's head. That flash happens again, but unless she's as good at resisting pain as she is at dishing it out, it doesn't seem as though the shock travels down the whip to her. Null focuses shots around the impact, trying to find a weakness. I think her gun must have one of those endless clips I've heard about, the way she's going at it without a thought for power reserves or ammunition -- I'm not clear on which. It fires little bright blobs. They could be solid matter or just energy.

"Right," Duke grits, eyes silvery again. His hands are visibly burned, but I don't know if he really needs my hold on his arms to haul him up, given the way he then turns and uproots a lamppost. He swings the street furniture at the giant combi-robot like a sword. It's not effortless. His strength isn't inexhaustible like Lord Colbarion or Crusader. "Go get him, Nate," Duke urges, as Toft catches the other end of the lamppost and they struggle for it between them.

Go get him, Nate?

"You need to get to the head!" Null yells, joining the insanity. "Keptron shielding hurts like hell but flesh and blood can penetrate it, if you push slowly and hard."

"But you're immune." It's only sort of a protest.

"Not to science!"

Of course... Toft's actual power is duplicating himself. She can probably stop him from doing that, if she's touching him. This is something else. And I'm hanging around with people for whom climbing up an insane giant electrocuting robot merits that kind of routine, matter-of-fact, slightly impatient tone of voice. Shit.

At least it won't hurt, I tell myself.

Toft's legs are shifting to adjust his balance as he wrestles for the lamppost against Duke, but there's opportunity to grab hold and try to climb on. Electrical fire bursts bright in my face, and it's hard to make my fingers co-operate. I tighten them anyway, watching the skin turn red. If I could feel it, I probably wouldn't be able to cling on. I drag my leg up and take a foothold on exposed mechanisms in the ankle joint. An Allen Toft in the lower leg looks out at me, alarmed, but he can't do anything directly. The shielding is a barrier to him, too. The leg shakes and stamps, trying to dislodge me.

Duke takes the distraction to wrench the lamppost free and bash it across the midsection of the robot, hard enough that I don't think all the sparks are from the shielding, and then Toft is well and truly distracted trying to stay upright and keep Duke from landing another of those. I think one of the four Toft duplicates in the midsection is unconscious.

I scramble up. My foot gets caught for a moment in the knee joint, and since I'm just wearing regular shoes, that's probably done damage. Right now it doesn't affect me. The geography of the combi-robot's back is more difficult to negotiate: too smooth, not enough hand and foot holds, and mostly seems to be rearing backwards from the struggle with Duke. It would be a good trick for him to let go and watch the whole thing smash down, as it's definitely leaning beyond its centre of gravity, but if he does that now, it'll flatten me.

Duke yanks on the lamppost and I have to take the moment where the combi-robot's back changes angle to scramble onward. I'll fall about fifteen, twenty feet if I fall at this point, which may not seem much to the others with their ingrained hero mentality, but I remember how much damage it can do to me.

The seam of the neck looks as though it'll flips up like a bottle cap. I can't see a mechanism. Flashes half blind me as I get my scorched fingertips underneath the seam and use my ordinary human strength to try pry it up. A shadow looms over me -- with all the light in my face I can only vaguely discern shape and shadow now -- and I realise unpleasantly that for the first time on my ascent of the machine, I'm within reach of its arms. Null's shots ping and spark off the reaching hand. I swing around, crooking my elbow through one of the head's 'ears' as a handle, wedge my shoulder and trap my free hand in another seam on the combi-robot's casing. I kick out and brace my legs against the palm of the approaching hand. It pushes in on me, an Implacable Man sandwich between giant head and hand. I imagine I can hear my stressed joints click and groan. I yank upwards with my elbow desperately. Can I open the head up from this angle?

This thing has two arms, and Toft decides to let Duke bash freely with the lamppost while he makes getting rid of me his priority. The other arm starts to rise and I look around desperately. Every part of me is already engaged in the task of not getting squashed.

Toft-a-Tron shakes and wobbles from Duke's next urgent bash, and Taser's whip licks out again. It curls around the wrist rising to meet me and she pulls. Her strength can't possibly hold it.

But then there's Dwight, moving in behind her, curling his arms over her shoulders and fixing both hands above hers on the whip. She gasps and sort of squirms a moment, then goes very still. She's all skin, but Dwight is all armour. The only exposed part of him is his face. She averts her own face and keeps pulling on the whip, though it's mostly his strength that holds the robot arm down.

One of Null's bright little bullets sparks and dies off of Dwight's less harmful shielding. Null looks startled, but grasps the situation and holsters her gun.

Duke uses the lamppost to smash the robot's legs, and it drops to one knee. I'm shaken almost loose of my precarious pincer position, and the flip-top on the robot's head jerks open several inches, grinding nastily as whatever mechanism kept it locked tight shatters.

A grappling hook curls around the wrist of the hand trying to crush me and drags that arm away, too. Hanging from my elbow, I scrabble for any kind of purchase. The head closes, dragged shut by my weight, but when I do get my toes caught in a seam and scramble up, it lifts upwards again easily.

I reach slowly through a cascade of sparks and watch my fingers curl around the collar of the 'brain' Toft. He screams and sparks as I drag him out through his own shielding. Without his control, the movements of the combi-robot freeze. Its joints groan in the extended position its been left in. It can't shift or manage its weight any more. Two forces are pulling on it -- Duke on the other end of the grappling hook, Defender and Taser with Taser's whip. I should have thought of this.

The whole thing overbalances. Not very implacably, I frantically twist and adjust my fall to land on top of Toft.

The next half-minute is a bit confusing. Despite the soft landing, the fall must have dazed me. Or perhaps I absorbed too many shocks from the armour, because I have no idea what that energy does. Toft is under me, and then there are two Tofts -- no, three. They're all groaning and winded, but one of them sits on me so I can't move to stop the others crawling, then rising, and then -- four Tofts scatter in different directions.

Null grabs one and it disappears. "Wrong one!"

I hear Duke curse, but he's out of my line of sight. I curl uncooperative fingers into a fist and lash out at the Toft sitting on my chest. He vanishes, too. I roll and get as far as my knees, which gives me a better view of what's going on.

The armour frame for the robot is empty now. But four Allen Tofts are running. Null is running after what she obviously believes to be the real one. The Human Taser grabs another and it screams bloodcurdlingly and vanishes. The one Null is running after stumbles from some feedback.

Dwight and Duke subdue duplicates that quickly disappear. Null is reaching for the real Toft.

He splits. Null's hand catches the nearest. He vanishes. There are three more in front of her already, racing in different directions. She picks the middle one, but he has a head-start on her now.

A woman wearing white steps out in the street in front of him. Her hand traces the air beside her and fixes on something that wasn't there, but then suddenly is. A door materialises, looking solid and real for all that it's somehow standing in empty air and not quite touching the ground. Her fingers rest on the handle.

She opens it and her lips move. My ears just about catch words. "Go in here," I think she suggests, with nervous encouragement.

Toft looks over his shoulder at the advancing Null and takes his chances with the offered exit. The young woman closes the door behind him.

All the Tofts Duke, Dwight and Taser are chasing down pop out of existence.

Duke swings around, face dismayed. "What the hey?" He damps down his language at the last minute as he sets eyes on the girl. "Why'd you do that?"

I manage to get my feet under me and totter over to them. Nothing hurts, sure, but nothing wants to cooperate either. I'm already envisaging hospitals, MRIs, and stern tickings-off from the two local Drs Carr.

"Oh, he hasn't escaped." The woman in white hunches her shoulders and grins shyly. "He's just... in storage, I hope. At least, I don't think there's anything else in this one that will... eat him, or anything, before he's brought to justice." She taps the door with her fingers and that, too, fades out.

"Holy crap," offers Duke.

"White Witch, I presume?" My voice sounds rough as hell. I can't imagine what I look like. The Witch certainly looks uneasy and taken aback, running her eyes over me. "You want to join a super-team?"

"Uh, sure." She forces a smile and offers a little fist-pump. Huh. She's not what I was expecting.

"Welcome to the team. I'm Null." I am already suspecting that, by rights, Null should have my job. She runs through us all quickly. "Implacable Man, Bloodrush, Defender, Human Taser..." And she smiles, brilliantly, mouth turning into a hearty grin of genuine cheer that looks nothing like the serious-and-pretty image of her publicity promos. "Looks like we've brought down our first bad guy."

"Yeah, but what the hell was he doing here?" Duke asks. "This town is prone to deadly breakouts of hitherto-unknown powers. Attacks by supervillains are not so common." He kicks a discarded piece of giant robot.

"Taser..." I say roughly. "You care to explain that one?"

She has the grace to look somewhat abashed, but tips her head into one lifted shoulder and tries to offer a winning smile. "What are friends for?"

"You were interested in joining the team for protection," Null says, catching on. "What is he, old boyfriend? You guys have a falling out over your heel-face-turn?"

Taser's brows crunch a bit sourly. "We used to work together when I was Lady Pain. When he approached me to hench for his latest plan, he obviously hadn't heard about my new life choices. I turned around and told The Impossibles all the yummy details. He's been after me since, all revenge-bent crazy. Hey, I said I'd join the team."

"Provisionally," I remind her. "Is that over, now he's out of the way?"

"I'm willing to give it a try." She tips her head and it's all challenge, this time. "If you are."

"She's changed sides once, how the hell do we know she's not going to do it again?" Duke is bad-tempered, limbs trembling perceptibly, and sweating. Coming down from from his blood high.

"Thanks, Bloodbath," Taser says caustically, and smiles as his jaw clenches.

It's not Duke's decision to make. "She's in. For now." It's not mine either, really, because the OPOA and the state governor's office have already made it. Duke still looks annoyed, though.

White Witch looks like she's wondering what kind of a crazy team she's just joined.

Dwight shuffles on his feet. He's not used to working in the open, and Taser has been giving him a few assessing looks, ever since he wrapped his arms around her deadly body. I don't even know if he realises, actually, what a risk he was running there. I clap his shoulder. My fingers look like sausages, stiff, red and swollen, and I can barely move my hands. "Thanks for coming, Defender." I totter a short distance to signal all-clear to the police.

When I turn back, I get a clear look at the group. For the first time, I realise that all of us are here, in costume. They look like something from the TV. They look amazing. A moment ago, I was standing with them.

It's possible they look more amazing now than they did a moment ago, but I walk back to join them anyway. I need to figure out what happens now. I never worked with a group and I don't know what the rules are for the after-battle cool-down. They never show that part on the news.

I look for TV cameras and find only Vince Teagues, from the local newspaper, popping his curly head enthusiastically over police lines. I squint and spy beside him his brother Dave, holding a camera. Oh, well. At least we'll get a good write-up. I hope the photographs are flattering.

"Should we go for a drink?" White Witch asks tentatively, clearly having no better idea how this goes than I do.

"I have paperwork to fill out," I tell everyone apologetically, realising that I am indeed going to have a heap of it.

Duke snorts and grabs my shoulder. It's a determined hold, like he wants something and he's not planning on letting go. "I think Nate needs to go to the hospital before anything else."

...This is probably true. Even Dwight and Null are nodding.

"I thought he was implacable." Jordan McKee, Lady Pain and The Human Taser, is raising her eyebrows by increments as she looks me up and down. "...and I do realise that coming from me, it's a pot and kettle situation when it comes to modesty, but don't you think that costume is a little tight?"

***

We have our first formal get-together in our new HQ the following day. It's a mostly bare room, at the moment, and it only got cleared out in time because Stan and Officer Yardley spent last night stuffing all the reports filed up there into disorganised piles in the room next door instead. Which means I'm only making another problem for myself later, but there's something to be said for having dedicated space. It's a big room, so we can customize it how we want. At present, it has a circle of six relatively plush chairs nabbed from locations throughout the police station now parked at one end next to a whiteboard, open space in the middle with about nine square metres of impact absorbing mats for training, and a desk each plus a couple of computer stations with access to police resources.

Okay, highest tech it is not, but it's the best I could do in less than 24 hours. I'm going to talk to Kate Bartholomew about equipment funding.

My hands are bandaged, still swollen and clumsy. Duke has the whiteboard in my stead, but is drawing cartoons on it. I don't have any broken bones -- except a few toes, and they always break -- but some impressive bruises. I'm not wearing my costume today. It got ripped up in the fight, and anyway, Null is going to send the necessary specs to her upper league pals to work out something more practical for my particular needs.

I have the feeling that Null and Bloodrush, our two experienced heroes, have decided to take me in hand.

Later today, Ed Jant is going to come around with contracts, and we'll consolidate this, and it will all be real. Right now -- and probably for a while to come -- we're still figuring out what that means.

"The few times I worked with the Red Crusaders," Duke says, drawing Daffy Duck, "they had a big screen. It was all gold and black. That thing was beautiful. But you couldn't doodle on it." He waggles his eyebrows at me.

Dwight rolls his eyes and exchanges me a glance. He helped me finish putting this together at 8AM this morning. "Enjoy the advantages of low-tech."

Null giggles. It's the most peculiar thing. She's human, after all. I got caught up on the expectation of thinking her bigger than any of us. "We had a psychic projection board for our plans. You could do more than just doodle on it if you let your mind wander."

I, for one, am very glad that we're low tech. "At the end of the day, it performs the same function." Replacing the whiteboard with something sufficiently heroic is not going to be among my priorities. "But I am going to talk to Bartholomew and the OPOA about the equipment situation later." About flight, armament and armour, though, not stationary. But it might be nice to get some better computers. Probably I'd be setting my sights too high to ask for an AI. I give a rather hard smile. "We can use the board to make a list of useful suggestions."

Duke immediately writes 'JET'.

"Aim high," Null counters, "ask for a spaceship."

"You're probably still gonna get a minibus," states Dwight.

But Duke mellowly crosses out 'JET' in favour of 'SPACESHIP'.

"A better HQ?" the Human Taser suggests, and I sigh, as Duke raises a finger in acknowledgement, even if it's the Human Taser suggesting it, and writes that down, too.

"We could have a HQ on the moon. It seems to be the latest craze," White Witch says eagerly. Obviously she has not yet clicked to our meagre outlay in this operation.

"And how are we going to get from the moon to protect Haven?" My irritation finally busts over.

She eyes me nervously. "I could... open a door."

"Or we'd have our spaceship," insists Duke.

Right. Maybe she could open a door, even if we're not getting a spaceship, but it still hardly seems to most effective or cost effective location, even if there was the remotest possibility... "We're staying right here," I say, with a glare that I try to spread around to whole group, trying not to single out the Witch. She is the other neophyte here, after all. It's not her fault she made the suggestion that finally snapped my patience.

I know they're superheroes, and more successful ones than I ever was. But I've run a police department for the last three years, and believe me, budgetary concerns are at the forefront of my mind more often than not. It seems to me it's all I ever thought about back when I was trying to be a superhero, too. Equipment or the impossibility of having equipment. Hospital bills. I can't help but notice the next scraped-up after me yesterday was Taser, and she's walking around just fine today, and she doesn't have a healing factor listed among her power set. Do these people just not get hurt?

At least I'm not paying those bills any more.

"Flight sets," Dwight says, changing the subject with, finally, a sensible and within-reach suggestion. "We wouldn't need one for everyone. Yesterday would've been easier if a couple of us had the reach to go straight for his head."

"I'm going to see if I can beg some old ones from Invincible's stores," Null says. It's nice that some people have the confidence to come up with names like that for their ridiculously elaborate and plush spaceship-bases, in a non-ironic way.

The suggestions roll in. I already know which ones I'm going to conveniently edit out of the requests I put down on paper.

"Feeyon-beam pulse rods. My powers don't register them as bullets. We can all use them with impunity." Useful, but so expensive.

"Comms headsets." We have police radios, but perhaps better if I don't mention yet the idea of carrying around something the size of a brick.

"Psychic comms link. The Majestic will set one up between a given group of people for a reasonable fee." No. On no account are any of them having access to the inside my head as well as every other part of my life.

"Stun grenades."

"Hover-cycles."

"Badges. We totally need a logo." Things pause for a while on that suggestion -- Duke's -- and even further when Null caps it with, "A name. We don't have a name." I have to admit to them sheepishly that Ed Jant, Bartholomew and I were going to just knock something together on both counts.

That gets an outcry. Apparently I'm underestimating the importance of such things, because Null looks at me with disapproval and Duke shakes his head and tsks. "It's no wonder you never made it in this business, Nate."

"What?" I burst out, my annoyance rising again. "So I'm not a big-time hotshot like you. But I know one thing. What's important is the end result. We stop this town from being ground into dust by crisis after crisis. Regular police didn't sign up for this. We take the strain. So what if we're called the... the Haven Six and our logo's nothing more than a two-colour silhouette of the damn lighthouse?!" Which was what I was thinking of, to be honest.

"Not the Haven Six, Nathan," Nulls says, pulling a face. "If there's one thing I've learned in this business, it's that you really don't want to commit yourself by putting a number in your title. The lighthouse I can probably live with."

"Very phallic," Duke offers, and grins, so I think it's not an objection.

"But what colours?" Taser pipes up.

"Blue and white," I snap. Police colours. I can see this is going to be the latest argument. "Haven Defenders, then."

Duke points at Dwight. "That makes it sound like he's in charge."

I don't care, is my honest reaction, but we're all interrupted when White Witch says abruptly, "Nathan. Nate."

We stare at her. Duke says, with laughing puzzlement, "We're not naming ourselves after him."

"No, no." She wrinkles her nose crossly and waggles her hands like the words are written on the air in front of her and she's scuffing them out. "Names! We're talking about what to call ourselves and we don't even know what we're called. I know his name--" she points at me. "But that's because he's the Police Chief and you all keep calling him by it. Excuse me, but I can't take this seriously when I'm talking to people who'd want to be referred to as 'Bloodrush' and 'The Human Taser' rather than an actual human name."

"Says you, 'White Witch'," Taser snarks back.

"No, she's right," Null says. "No-one really sticks to code names within the group. Though it's bad form to shout out someone's secret identity in the midst of combat, so really it might be better..." She gages everyone's reaction to that and shrugs. "Okay, so we should start with the introduction round before anything else. I'm Audrey Parker."

"...No. You're not," Duke counters.

She glares at him. "Okay, maybe I'm not the best example, but since I don't have a better name to offer, let's stick to 'Audrey' for now." She looks genuinely pissed. It's clear that this is a sore spot.

"Dwight." Dwight lifts a hand in a stiff wave. "Hendrickson. I live local, don't wear a mask, so probably not too difficult to put the pieces together around here."

"Duke." Duke gives a rather more animated wave and a smirk. I'm not sure, and she doesn't seem his usual type, but he might be coming on to White Witch. Anyway, at this announcement everyone including White Witch rolls their eyes.

"Yeah, we know, 'Duke' Bloodrush," Taser sneers.

"No, it really is Duke," he argues, mildly offended. "Why does no-one ever believe that? Duke Crocker. Also a local, though I was a teen when I lit out of here, so it's possible no-one remembers... except Nate here, who never forgets anything resembling a slight."

I grunt. "It really is Duke Crocker. I went to school with him."

Some blinking and interested re-evaluation occurs.

The Human Taser sighs and stretches out her bare limbs in the chair -- she's sitting consciously clear of everyone else -- and then hunches in on herself, hugging her own skin defensively as she says, "Jordan McKee. End of story."

We all let her get away with that one. She looks so uncomfortable.

Everyone looks at White Witch instead.

"Oh..." she says, flustered when she realises she's the one who asked for names and is now the last to offer hers up. "I'm Jennifer Mason. I have a book..." She dives into the inside of her jacket, in civvies today, and pulls a book out. It's a regular, thin paperback that looks like a cheesy teen vampire novel. She waves it around, demonstrating. "It tells me what to do. It looks like that because it disguised itself to fit in with my collection." She blushes a bit and opens it up, holds the spread pages around to us, too. "I know; other people can't see it. But I can. There's writing on the pages, and it glows gold. The pattern on the front changes sometimes, too. I called myself White Witch because, well, spellbook, and... it makes me feel like Hermione."

"Fair enough," Taser... Jordan says, shrugging. "So now we all know each other." And there's something scathing, something vulnerable and defensive in the way she says it, but still, we do indeed. And maybe this disparate collection of people can become a real team yet.

I made a trip out special to get the Haven Herald this morning, before everyone arrived. It's sitting on the low table in front of the whiteboard now. Dave picked photographs that don't, thank goodness, show how indecently tight my ill-fitting old costume was. There are two pictures on the front page. In the first, I'm hanging onto the back of the giant robot suit's head; Duke pulls on one of its arms, Dwight and Jordan on the other. Null... Audrey... stands directly in its path, and while she's not actually doing anything at the moment Dave captured, she looks like a tiny, defiant figure facing up to Toft's Goliath. You can just see White Witch stepping through the door that got her past police lines in the left background. We look like one of the big teams in action.

The second photo captures the aftermath, the six of us standing together. I'm several steps in front, looking at the camera. This has allowed Dave to cut my lower half from shot and still fit in almost a full body shot of the others. I don't look implacable, but maybe I look heroically bedraggled.

The article mentions me by both names, everyone else by code name. It's good press. I'll have to thank the Teagues for it.

The headline they've given us reads 'HAVEN HEROES'.

I pick up the newspaper and tap my bandaged finger at on the block letters, showing it around.

"Oh, please," Duke groans predictably. "That's so unimaginative. And cheesy. And hackneyed."

But I wonder, as he does, whether this argument even matters, or we've already got our name after all.

END