J continued the call over her headset. “So you're admitting you set off the alarm? You're setting yourself up for punishment if you make it out of this,” Expecting to hear excuses or stuttering, J was instead met with only static. “Or was it him?”

Sam looked at Maxwell to the side of her. He was still slouched over the security desk with his hands covering his face.

“Shouldn’t you already know who did it?” Sam asked as she looked away from Maxwell.

“A dodgy response is a sure sign of lying. You may want to take lessons in bluffing from your little friend,” J replied. Sam bit her lip and kept quiet, refusing to say anything else that J could counter. She realized she had been impulsive in phoning the emergency in, and by acting first had put either herself or Max on the line. The awkward waiting game was broken by J, who ultimately answered, “Well, there’s no way for us to track who exactly did it from here. So for all intents and purposes, you two are off the hook.” answered J. “Unless someone else saw you two of course.”

“Wait, why are you telling me this?” Sam asked her. “And why so nonchalantly?”

“It's a supervillain cliché. It’s always polite to reveal a secret to someone who’s about to die,” J said as her tone of voice changed from passionless to dulcet. “Buh bye.”

With a swift tap of a button on her headset, J ended the conversation. She stood up and looked over her computer station to see just how awry the habitual business of supervillainy in her office had gone. Officer-class henchmen, dressed in business suits and dresses in the Reigning Storm colors, were in a panic within the central command center. The underground headquarter’s usual hum of machinery was drowned out by the buzz of electronics, clacking of keyboards, and a mixture of angered and frightened voices. J's mood changed quickly from the shock of taking in the chaos back to her normal nonchalant nature. She sat back down and continued her work on her computer.

A moment later, the metal door behind J slid upwards with the sounds of grinding machinery accompanying its unlocking. Another Reigning Storm officer scurried in carrying a tray filled with coffee cups and mugs, balanced on top of several binders. Although she wore goggles, one could tell that her expression matched everyone else's in the room except for J’s. The officer managed to set everything on the nearest desk to let her hands have a quick break before her balance could wane.

“Places people; he’s coming!” the officer shouted after she had taken a moment to catch her breath. The officers that were standing up quickly went back to their stations. She lifted her tray off of the stack of binders, taking the first of many cups off of it. “Here’s your tea, Ms. J,” the woman said as she set a hot cup of green tea on J’s desk.

“Thank you, Ms. C,” J said as she grabbed the mug and started to blow away the steam rising from it.

Ms. C made her way through three rows of connected computer stations to pass out the drinks. Finished and with an empty tray under her arm, the officer circled back around the oval-shaped room. She grabbed her binders and finally sat down next to J at her desk in the corner. Ms. C adjusted her black hair bun, straightened her side cap, and pulled the hem of her uniform down to straighten it before beginning her own work.

“You steeped this green tea perfectly,” J said after taking a sip.

“Oh! Thank you, Ms. J. Apologies for taking so long to return,” Ms. C said as she began to sift through the binders she had brought in.

“Are you still wearing that?” J asked with a semi-repulsed look on her face.

“Oh, you mean the goggles? Is it an issue?” Ms. C said as she began to adjust them. They were a bit more modified than the average henchman pair, but it still had the same magenta sheen on the lenses.

“You know you don't have to wear those all the time, right?”

“I know, but I just don’t feel comfortable showing everyone here my true identity and all.”

“Whatever…” J said as she went back to work.

“Um… so what do you think we’re gonna have to do about this bust of a mission?”

“Well, it’s not a bust yet. They still have some time left to escape.”

“But there’s probably gonna be casualties, right?”

J turned to the side to put on her reading glasses. She continued as she flipped through a small pile of papers, occasionally giving Ms. C side glances.

“Even if we lose a few of them, we’ll still be in the green if we’re able to retrieve everything off the list.”

“Really?”

“They’re expendable henchmen, Ms. C; especially the grunts.”

“I see. This is all still so surprising, this... supervillain stuff.”

"You've been here for, what, a month? You should be used to it by now."

Ms. C turned to face her computer monitor to hide her warm beige face, which was growing more flush.

“Don’t worry though, you’ll be fine if you stick with me,” J said as she lightly placed her hand on her shoulder. Ms. C calmed down and turned back to face J, giving her a smile.

“Thank you, thank you,” Ms. C replied as she put on her own headset. As the two returned to look at their computer screens, a rhythmic pounding noise grew louder and louder behind the metal entrance door.

“Right on cue, as always,” J murmured to herself.

The door opened up revealing a daunting figure on the other side. His giant-like stature and his long dark blue cloak gave him a silhouette akin to a towering monolith. His entire head was obscured in a menacing robotic helmet. Sharp edges protruded out of its sides and at the very top, very much akin to horns. Where his mouth would have been was also obscured by a jutting extremity. It was a costume that befitted the supervillain mastermind of the Reigning Storm. With every step he took, the pressure of his mechanical boots pressed and released upon the metal floor creating a surging rumble that could be heard, and felt, from the other end of the room.

As everyone in the room rose up and gave their attention, Kaiser Gravitus walked all the way to the end of the room and glared through the wide window that overlooked much of the base’s busy main hanger. He then turned his gaze towards the standing officers behind him, most of which were visibly apprehensive, such as Ms. C, while a few of them seemed calm like J. Gravitus motioned the officers back to work with a turn of his head and an annoyed growl.

“Status report on the museum operation, Ms. J?” Gravitus questioned as he returned to the front of the room. His voice was a booming and venomously sinister baritone that reverberated with each ending consonant.

“Security was taken out with ease. The infiltration was smooth; that GPO card we stole worked like a charm. It seems, however, we’ve just run into a bit of an issue,” J replied.

“And what might that be?” Gravitus leaned in closer.

J turned one of her monitors for Gravitus to view. The screen displayed a live feed of the museum’s security system. J continued, her expression still unchanged. “Apparently there’s been a backup silent alarm going off for several minutes,” She said as she took a sip of her tea; the drink still hot enough to fog over her reading glasses. As her eyes revealed themselves once more, she continued. “And the signal is going directly to the GPO.”

Gravitus straightened his spine and gritted his teeth. “Are they sending in a Super?” Gravitus said as he let out a growl afterward.

J spun in her chair to face Ms. C on her right. The sudden attention made Ms. C squeal, catching the attention of a few other officers. Her face grew red as she began rifling through one of her binders. “Well sir, a-according to these police records, anything involving the GPO in any capacity is met with GPO forces... and they will most likely be bringing a Super along too,” Ms. C willed out of herself.

J's arm was halfway to her desk, ready to set her tea down, but her intuition made her pause. In nearly the same instant, Gravitus' fist slammed onto the table, displacing and spilling every other item that was there. His left hand was clad in a gauntlet made of metal, with tubes that spiraled in and around his forearm, as well as dim lights emanating from under its thick plating. J finished setting her tea down as Gravitus raised his fist, almost in sync.

“Do we know who this Super is?” Gravitus said as he leaned closer to Ms. C.

“W-we’re not sure yet, sir. I can give you an approximation on who it might be as soon as possible,” Ms. C said as she started to frantically look through the binders.

“Forget it!” Gravitus shouted as he knocked the binders out of Ms. C’s hands. “Don’t waste my time. The infiltration team will find out faster than you can twiddle your fingers.”

Ms. C tried her best not to vocalize her reaction again, but the sudden aggression and the sound of a binder falling on the ground caught the attention of the entire room. Papers spilled across the floor between her own desk and J’s. Ms. C slid off of her chair and began to clean up the mess.

J attempted to reach down to assist Ms. C but quickly retracted her hand, realizing that it wasn’t her place to help. Gravitus was still looming behind them. J turned to look and her eyes met with the monolithic shadow’s gaze. His mechanized glowing yellow eyes were the only features of his face that were remotely humanoid. She couldn’t see the expression underneath it all but knew well that his full attention was on her now.

“We can’t risk coming up empty-handed. Tell the Lieutenant to retreat immediately with whatever he’s got,” Gravitus commanded.

“At once, sir,” J reaffirmed as she signaled at another officer to relay the message. “Shall we send another squad to assist?”

“That won’t be necessary. With Cyclone already on standby, the rabble should be dealt with quickly enough, covering their escape,” said Gravitas as he turned to walk towards his own desk.

“As you wish, sir.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sam took her hand off of the side of her mask and looked back at Maxwell. The anxiety and panic he felt had twisted his body and mind into a still and lethargic state. Sam, thinking of a way to approach him, hovered her hand over his back for a moment before giving him a few pats.

“Come on buddy. We gotta go,” Sam said as she began to shake him.

“Sam, you basically admitted to our fuck up by just calling them,” Maxwell said with his head still down.

“I spoke with J. She said that they can’t prove who actually did it.”

“J talks a lot of shit! What makes this instance so different?!” Maxwell snapped back as he straightened up from his chair. “Let’s list all the terrible things that could happen to us tonight, shall we?” Maxwell said in a mocking tone. He began to list points off with his finger, “We could get caught and get sent to jail for the rest of our lives, we could straight up just die trying to escape, and worst of all if we even get out of this mess, we’re totally fired.”

“Well waiting here isn’t doing us any favors.” Sam began to put her mask back on as well as ready her rifle for impending trouble. Maxwell adjusted his hair and took several deep breaths before putting his own mask back on. The duo exited the security room, making sure it was in the same state as when they had arrived. The once bright and boisterous display of superhero history had also been silenced, almost as if the room remained untouched. Sam and Maxwell felt it odd that the room, just moments ago, was a blaring mess of lights and sounds. They didn’t linger too long on the thought; their foremost remained escaping.

The duo’s boots echoed off of the tiled floor, cutting through the stillness. Continuing out of the new millennium wing, the duo could hear a stir of movement just outside the section’s double doors. The panic in the air became more apparent as henchmen were moving rapidly to gather all of their stolen items and personal equipment. Lieutenant Tempest stood on the balcony above them, barking commands while fixing his hat that he had so unjustly mistreated. As soon as the duo made their way in, Tempest turned around to see them, his eyes filled with hostility, and his usual snide grin replaced with an irritated grimace.

“Where the hell have you two been? I’ve been calling you this whole time!” Lieutenant Tempest yelled out with his foot tapping and his hands on his waist, awaiting their response.

“We couldn’t hear you with all the racket going on,” Sam replied.

“On your radios! What, you think I was yelling down the hallway like I was your mom?” Before either of them could answer, Tempest continued his tirade. “I swear, if you were both on the wrong channel…” If it weren’t for the masks they were wearing, the dumbstruck expressions the duo were making would be plain to see for Tempest.

“What’s our channel again?” Sam whispered to Maxwell.

“It’s five, number five,” Maxwell answered. The two of them clicked the sides of their masks until they reached the proper channel while Tempest was looking back down at the henchmen below.

“Everyone down here is accounted for, sir!” a henchman from the ground floor yelled up.

“We’ll discuss this later,” Tempest said to the pair of grunts. Tempest took off first and waved the duo to follow him down the spiral stairs. Most of the henchmen had finished packing whatever they could carry and were waiting at the gates of the unnatural wing. “Grab the rest of these and let’s get out of here!” Lieutenant Tempest commanded as he pointed at a small pile of duffle bags. Sam, Maxwell, and whoever else wasn't holding a bag, sans the lieutenant, grabbed the rest.

The reunited henchmen force hurried down the hallway towards their escape route, backtracking to their point of entry. Only halfway to the garage, Tempest received a call through his radio. “Change of plans, police are already circling us. We got orders to bail out,” one of the drivers said.

“You freakin kidding me right now?! We’re almost there!” Tempest cried out as his rage-fueled him to run even faster, passing by the other henchmen and getting in front of the entire pack.

“We’re sending you info on your new rendezvous, hang tight,” said J as she interrupted the call.

“So now we’re stuck in here?”

Despite Tempest's claims, the group had only made it halfway through the museum and already police sirens were growing louder as they approached the building. One henchman ran ahead of the pack and looked out of one of the windows.

“Sir, this looks bad,” the henchman reported. Tempest ran up to see for himself. Half a dozen police cars and armored trucks began to pull up on the street in front of the museum. It was almost certain that there was more en route, preparing to surround the entire park block.

“Goddammit,” Tempest whispered under his breath. The rest of the henchmen stopped right behind him to await Tempest’s next order. Coming up with no other viable options, Tempest ordered them all to go to the main atrium adjacent to the museum entrance. The henchmen pushed through the doors and quickly took cover behind the numerous help desks in the middle of the room. With most of the central cover being taken by other henchmen, Sam and Maxwell took cover behind a small display off to the far right side of the hall. “Okay, now would be a great time to know where we need to go,” Tempest whispered to his earpiece.

“Multiple backup spots have been compromised. Standby for further instructions,” J said.

“Standby?! For how long?” Tempest could feel his throat getting more coarse with each yell. Everyone around him began to look towards him for orders. “You heard what I said, we’re on standby,” Tempest said to everyone as he brought out his pistol and pulled on its slide. “Get ready for a fight.” As ordered, henchmen began to set their bags down and ready their weapons.

“Sam, I really don’t think I’m ready for this,” Maxwell whispered as he nervously took his FAMAS rifle off of its sling.

“Yeah, same” Sam whispered back. Although Sam and Maxwell had taken weapons training during their first weeks after joining, neither of them had ever shot at a living being; let alone a human. With the unstimulating task of guarding whatever the Reigning Storm told them to, be it never-ending corridors, prototype doomsday weapons, or even secret doors that lead to places too classified for the guards themselves to know about, they had had little chance to maintain their weapons proficiency. Nonetheless, the duo joined with everyone else in aiming their weapons at points of entry, specifically the doors in front of them. As a minute passed, an incomprehensible voice came bellowing over a megaphone from outside. Most likely, they were demanding for the villains’ immediate surrender.

Maxwell and Sam could feel the stress building around them, but most of all, within them. Maxwell could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and though his gun stayed trained on the entrance, his pulse overwhelmed his focus. Sam could feel droplets of sweat collect on her brow, but she was unable to do anything about them because of her mask. Worst of all, Maxwell could feel the tips of his fingers tingling, making it very uncomfortable to even hold his weapon. He felt like he was either losing his grip on the gun or about to shoot by accident.

The tension hung in the room for what felt like an eternity until finally, from across the room, a henchman threw his gun on the floor in front of him and began to crawl out of hiding. As his head popped out from the side of his cover, two henchmen near him pulled him back.

“What are you doing?!” a gruff sounding henchman said as he gripped his comrade’s collar.

“I am fucking done, man,” the other henchman replied with his voice cracking near the end of the sentence.

“You pussying out on us right now? Of all times?”

“Fuck yeah I am! Last time they sent a Super at us, it was Captain Proton. THE Captain Proton!” he continued. “If we couldn’t stop him in Bridgeport, how are we gonna stop him here?!”

The yelling caught the attention of the rest of the henchman still in cover. Several of them began to peak over and listen in closer, including Maxwell and Sam.

“Calm down! We can still get out of this when backup arrives,” a henchman behind the central reception desk called out.

“Yeah, well not all of us. Half of the boys from the Bridgeport mission are either crippled or in comas!” The cowering henchman frantically broke the grips off of him and got up from their cover. He then began to walk towards the doors while his fellow henchmen were either too confused or too fearful to do anything about him.

Lieutenant Tempest stood up. “Move one more step forward, and you’re dead,” he said as he aimed his pistol straight at the disobedient henchman. The henchman put his hands up and behind his head but continued to shuffle his feet forward.

“Go on then. Risk of death was in the job description, after all. I’d rather it be painless.”

“Pretty sure it’s not gonna be painless if I don’t aim straight for your head.”

“It’ll be way less painful than fighting Proton.” The henchman took one step forward and his boot clacked on the marble tile. The commotion outside had hushed down and the main atrium's domed ceiling made any noises reverberate around the room. Though his steps were inadvertently loud, he could feel that something was off with the sound. As he stopped for a moment, there was another resonating clack that echoed. Tempest and the rest of his henchmen began to scan their surroundings to find the true source of the noise. It had the rhythm of footsteps but its texture felt like two solid bricks banging together. The sound grew louder and it was only when it had reached its peak that they realized that it was coming from the other side of the doors.

A grand gesture slammed the push doors in front of them all open. With it came a light cloud of dust and pouring beams of lights from the floodlights outside. The source of the cacophony showed herself as her diamond boots clacked on the museum floor. She carried herself as a brawler and was a few inches taller than six feet. Her ensemble resembled a ballerina and a knight put into one; grace and beauty combined with plates of calcite green armor. It was a costume that befitted a justice-defending superhero.

“Greetings, minions of the Reigning Storm,” the woman said in a smooth yet intimidating low dulcet northern-french accent. “I am Lady Lustrous, and I...”

The once cowering henchman in front of Lady Lustrous pulled out his spare pistol and began to shoot at her point-blank. His fearful demeanor seemed to have vanished as his posture straightened as he fired into the silence. The rest of the Reigning Storm began to shoot along with him. Sam and Maxwell began to shoot wildly in the same direction, but not aiming with the precision of the rest of the henchmen. Most of the shots connected, but instead of the blood-and-gore filled mess that henchmen are known for causing, they could only see dust and crumbling rock.

After half a minute of raining bullets, Lieutenant Tempest ordered for a cease-fire as a cloud of smoke accumulated around where Lady Lustrous was. Several henchmen took the opportunity to reload their guns.

“I think we got her sir!” yelled one of the henchmen. He had set his goggles to infrared and saw no signs of heat from where the supposed superhero once stood.

As the smog faded, a rocky mold of a person had taken the place of Lady Lustrous. Cracks started to appear on the mound of earth and crystal as it began to crumble, revealing Lady Lustrous underneath it, shielding herself. She dusted any and all loose rocks off of her hair and her bare muscular arms. She then smirked and continued her entrance speech.

“As I was saying… I am Lady Lustrous, and I...”

One last shot was fired straight at her forehead. The impact of the bullet made Lady Lustrous cock her head back just a bit before righting herself.

“Oh forget this,” Lady Lustrous said as she pulled the bullet from her reactive earth armor. Her long ponytail and coattails began to pick up as she sprinted at the henchman in front of her. A punch was delivered right into his face that tore his metal mask apart and sent him sliding into the central reception desk.

Sam and Maxwell immediately realized that they were in for a real fight, something that Sam had always wanted to see up close and personal for ages. Gone were the days of having to watch aftermath footage on TV or a blurry phone recording. Sam made sure she had a good view of the action, basking in the triumph of a superhero beating up on henchmen. Shortly after, she then realized that she could be next on Lady Lustrous’ chopping block if she wasn’t careful. Maxwell acted in the exact opposite manner. He curled closer within his cover, hugging on to his gun ever so closer.

In most situations, a person would be at a severe disadvantage if they were fighting sixteen people alone. In this situation, however, the poor henchmen were the ones at a great disadvantage. Even Lady Lustrous' basic earthen armor was enough to counter the henchmen's basic weapons and her fists overpowered their weak armor as well. Her powers were overkill against the villains, but she didn't seem to mind in the slightest. In fact, she was enjoying it. Behind her was a floating mass of rocks. In a short period of time, the modest pile molded into a fist-shaped obelisk roughly the size of a compact car. The henchmen looked up in awe at the sheer size of it. Lady Lustrous punched downward in the air in front of her, moving the earth behind her to follow in the same arc. As she stomped, spikes and pillars of earth sprung from the ground, tearing up the tiled floor in the process, but effectively trapping a henchman. The pillars acted like walls and made moving around much harder. Rock, crystals, and debris scattered all over the room as Lady Lustrous utilized her powers with wild abandon.

The crashing of debris, gunshots, and gargled yelps of pain were the only things the duo could hear in the room. Blood from the henchmen and dust began to accumulate once more.

“We have a Super! Where the hell is our backup?!” Tempest yelled over his radio as he lobbed grenades at Lady Lustrous, still having the time of her life beating up on his henchmen.

“Repeat, have you made contact with the Super?” a staticky voice said over on the other end.

“Godammit, yes… and she has some kind of... rock powers?!” The call was cut off as Tempest ducked and jumped out of the way of incoming boulders and crystal spears. At least eight henchmen had been incapacitated, leaving only Tempest and one squad of seven.

Explosions and gunshots began to ring from the street where the police had bunkered down. While the police were visually engaged with the museum, a secondary squad of Reigning Storm henchmen launched an attack from behind, initiating a distraction for their comrades still inside the museum. Lady Lustrous took a pause to see what was happening outside. An explosion akin to a sonic boom caught the attention of everyone inside and outside. Something was soaring in a downward trajectory in the air towards the museum entrance. Sam and Maxwell thought it might have been a drone or a missile. It was only when it crashed through the museum doors the duo recognized that the flying object was human. The flying person went straight for Lady Lustrous for a jet-powered tackle that was strong enough to push her off her feet and send her slamming into a wall.

Left hovering in the center of the room, the roaring sound of jet engines permeated from the figure’s long tube-like sleeves. He wore a maroon trench coat with a flared up collar around his neck and a peaked cap identical to Lieutenant Tempest’s own hat. Unlike the lieutenant, the man wore a gas mask that concealed his entire face with tubes connecting to parts inside of his coat.

“Took you long enough, Vice,” Tempest said as he stood up from his cover.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Vice Cyclone,” said Lady Lustrous as she pulled herself out of the wall with ease. “I should be honored. The Reigning Storm sent their Number Two against a little rookie like myself.”

Vice Cyclone responded by deactivating his jet arms and landed to face Lady Lustrous head-on. Although Cyclone towered over Lady Lustrous’ by almost two feet, the superhero stood in her fighting stance without an ounce of fear in her eyes. Lady Lustrous struck the air around her, summoning more earth and crystal.

“Shit look out!” yelled Sam as she pulled Maxwell and herself out of the way of the erupting pillars.

Lady Lustrous began the fight with an all-out barrage of earth that spread across the room. Her strength was matched with Cyclone’s who, instead of having a superpower, had raw mechanical power from his robotic arms. As the two titans traded blows, the area around them began to split. The floor rose and fell in every direction, disorienting everyone but Lady Lustrous and Vice Cyclone.

Regaining his balance, Tempest realized the situation was now more of a warzone than a heist. Most of his men were cut off from each other and any of the hallways or exits. Seeing all of this as an opportune moment to reconsolidate, Tempest jumped over to where most of their loot was hiding and initiated a radio call to HQ.

“I see the backup, but where’s our fucking ride?!” Tempest said atop of the discord of crashing rocks and gunfire. Not far off, Sam and Maxwell were still scrambling amidst the mayhem.

“You okay, buddy?” Sam asked.

“I think I’m bleeding...?” Maxwell said, still lying on the ground. His pants had been torn, revealing that his right calf had been scraped by pieces of rock debris. Maxwell tried to stand, but every attempt saw him fall flat on the floor.

Sam started to breathe heavily under her mask. She didn’t have any sort of first aid equipment on her, or the means to get any. They were trapped between a desk and a slab of rock. The person-sized walls could be climbed, but climbing them would leave one unguarded which would be suicide in a fight. At first, she tried to hold on to Maxwell’s wound with her hands, soaking them in blood, but the action only made Maxwell scream out with more pain than he was already in. The chaos around her made it almost impossible for her to think coherently. Sam's fear quickly boiled into a rage that caused her to take direct aim at Lady Lustrous a second time. Before she attacked, however, the remaining henchmen all got a call on their radios.

“Here’s the new plan. Vice is gonna distract the super while we make a break for it, but the goods have to get out of here first,” Tempest said. “Henchmen S-44 and M-92 are the closest to the west gate. You’ll take all the bags and run straight out. There’s a van waiting for pick up just a mile away.”

Duffle bags suddenly appeared at Sam and Maxwell's feet. They looked around, seeing the henchmen who had thrown them running back into the fray. Tempest himself was on the other side of a jut of rocks, his attention immediately back to keeping himself alive. Lady Lustrous caught on to what the other henchmen were trying to do and erected as many more barriers as she could before her attention was diverted to Vice Cyclone again.

“Jump over the fence from the garden. Then keep running for a block until you hit an alley!” Tempest yelled.

In the rush, Maxwell had to drop his gun to even carry three of the bags while Sam could carry four of them along with her own rifle. With whatever they could grab that wasn’t torn apart, the duo sprinted as hard as humanly possible down the west hallway. They shouldered through doors and bumped into exhibits, triggering more alarms. Both of them were completely oblivious to it all. For an instant, Maxwell couldn’t even feel the pain in his leg anymore; his fight or flight response was in full gear and clearly that gear was leaning towards flight.

The harder they ran, the more the noise of the raging struggle began to fade and their feet could feel the terrain return flat. Sam kicked open the door in front of her before stumbling out onto the museum’s garden patio. It was mostly empty, with a few chairs, potted plants, and a stairway down to the garden area. As they stood, panting, chafed, and exhausted, the words of J echoed in their minds: "You two really need to do more cardio.” Their situation was much more severe than the day she spoke those words. More sirens began to gather closer the longer the fatigued pair of henchmen composed themselves. Unfolding from a distance, the fight between Vice Cyclone and the superhero made its way outside.

“Time’s up, Maxwell. We better keep moving,” Sam said as she continued heaving. She was surprised to see that Maxwell wasn’t breathing as hard as her. Thanks to the rising moon’s light, Sam saw a green shimmer emanating from Maxwell’s torn pant leg. A crystal was embedded in the wound. Blood was still dripping out, leaving an expected trail of it from the hallway to the outside.

“Oh god... What should we do…?” said Maxwell, his voice low and dazed.

Sam looked out over the patio to the rose garden. Stretched out in front of her was a labyrinth of tall hedges and rose bushes. It dotted the garden’s grounds for half a mile before ending on a brick fence.

We have to get through all of this? Sam thought to herself as she bit her lip. Checking behind her, Maxwell had fallen to the ground and was attempting to stand again. He tried by leaning his back on the museum’s wall and pushing himself up with his hands, but his legs quickly gave out causing him to stumble.

“Here, sit down buddy,” Sam said as she rushed over to Maxwell, helping him sit flat with his legs stretched out. Seeing him struggle to breathe, Sam took off his muzzle. The guilt of seeing her friend in so much pain for the first time was almost overwhelming. She had to look away from him for just a moment to calm herself. Sam thought about calling J again but hesitated. Sam didn’t want to get chewed out again and J would have most likely contributed nothing to aid them. She played with her dial on her mask’s radio until she realized who exactly she could try calling.

“Hey Mel, do you copy?” Sam said in a hushed voice.

“What? Who is this? The gruff yet relaxed voice of henchman M-31 said back.

“It’s me, you know... henchman S-44,”

“Who? Oh, yeah, you’re J’s friend right?”

“One, never say that to me again. Two, where are you? You’re at the rendezvous in the alley, right?”

“Yep. Safe and sound and ready to bring home the goods,” Mel said as he took a sip from his soda, leaning back in the driver’s seat of his van.

“I need you to do something for me. It’s an emergency.”

“Oh jeez, did you lose all of the loot?”

“No, we got most of the stuff, but one of us got badly wounded and I don’t think he can walk all that well.”

“Was it Tempest? Please tell me it was Tempest.”

“God, I wish… Wait, why does that matter right now?” Sam responded in startled confusion. “Look, man, could you just drive up closer, like on the street at the end of the rose garden?”

“Are you insane?! It’s like a warzone over there!”

Sam exhaled, giving herself a quick second to figure out a response. “Unless you wanna explain to the boss why you came back empty-handed; help us, please!” she begged.

Mel groaned over the radio and conceded. “I’m on my way. You got five minutes,” Mel said as he turned his radio dial and clicked off. Sam sighed in relief and looked back at Maxwell once again.

“Maxwell, how are you feeling right now?” asked Sam as she kneeled down near him.

“Tired…” Maxwell said, trying his best to cling onto consciousness.

“Listen, the van’s gonna come closer but I gotta get these bags over there first,” Sam said as she helped to pull out Maxwell’s sidearm pistol. “I’ll be back to get you. You just sit tight and protect yourself with this, okay?”

Maxwell slowly nodded and firmly gripped the gun in his hands. With all this said and done, Sam prepared to carry all seven of the remaining bags. With the entirety of her strength, Sam managed to lift them all on her arms and back. She then went down the patio stairs and into the rose garden, escaping Maxwell’s line of sight.

As Sam made her final steps down the stairway, a sudden realization made Maxwell’s heart sink into his gut; he was unsure if he still had the ring they stole. Maxwell patted around his body frantically. Most, if not all of this, would have been for nothing if he didn’t hang on to the ring. It felt as if the heart that sank had crawled its way up to his throat as it became harder to breathe for Maxwell. He opened every one of his uniform pouches and pockets until finally, he found it in one of them. He made sure it wasn’t some sort of hallucination brought upon by his wound and blood loss. Touching it with all ten of his fingers, Maxwell brought it so close enough to his face that it pressed against the lenses of his goggles. Hearing the clink it made as it tapped on the goggle’s lens created some much-needed solace for him. Maxwell put the ring back into his pocket and allowed his body to slide down more so in place.

As minutes passed, Maxwell began to take longer binks to give his eyes some rest. Though it became harder to keep them open, Maxwell made sure to pay attention to the noises around him. Besides the growing sound of gunshots and sirens, another pair of footsteps started up the stairs. It caught Maxwell off guard since they didn’t sound quite like Sam’s boots. These were much rougher and deeper sounding, running upwards.

“Drop your weapon!” a voice yelled out in front of Maxwell. Instinctively, Maxwell aimed his gun at whoever shouted. The built figure had made it up to the patio entrance Maxwell was sitting at. He wore the distinct dark blue police uniform while holding a simple handgun aimed straight at Maxwell. It was dark enough that Maxwell couldn’t see his face, but he could feel the shared tension swelling. With his finger on the trigger, Maxwell closed his eyes and prepared to shoot. He kept pausing, however, torn between not wanting to see his kill and knowing, or perhaps hoping he would miss.

The sound of more footsteps came from behind the officer. Sprinting up, Sam held her FAMAS rifle like a baseball bat and swung straight at the policeman’s head. Although a commotion was still active near them, the duo could hear the police officer’s skull crack as steel impacted bone. The swing knocked the body to the side, breaking several potted plants in the process. After looking around to make sure there was no one else, Sam latched her gun back behind her. She was a bit surprised, expecting a lot more blood from the strike.

Sam dropped down on her knees in front of Maxwell and went in for an embrace. She held onto him for a solid minute in silence, neither of them speaking. Despite the lack of exchanging words, Maxwell could have sworn he heard Sam sniffling from within her mask.

“Come on, buddy,” Sam said in the most calming voice he had heard all night. As Maxwell was still having trouble standing up, Sam opted to just hold him up in a cradle carry. Maxwell was used to being carried by Sam. They’ve known since they were kids that she has been the stronger of the two of them, and lifting his light frame was almost no issue for her. Having traversed the garden maze already, it was easy for Sam to make it out to the exit. After pushing right through some bushes, the duo made it to the fence where the gate had already been opened and an unmarked white van was awaiting them.

“The hell is wrong with him?” Mel said as he loaded one of the last bags into the van.

“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Sam replied as she showed him the dripping wound on Maxwell’s leg.

“Wait, you called this badly wounded? He’s got like a baby cut.”

“He’s got a fucking crystal lodged in his leg. How the hell is that a baby cut?” Sam answered furiously as she helped sit Maxwell down in the trunk of the van.

“Girl, I’ve seen hench’s missing limbs and even guys with their eyes hanging out of their sockets! In fact, I’ve seen shrapnel twice the size of this, in a guy’s chest in fact; and he still managed to stand on his two feet! Compared to this guy here, the rest of them acted like they just got out of a beauty spa!”

“Gee, you want a fucking medal for all mental scars you got?!”

“Trust me, I’ve been asking HR for years now.”

Deciding to ignore Mel, Sam made sure Maxwell was a bit comfortable in his outstretched sitting position before taking out a spare first aid kit from the passenger seat of the van. Both of them took off their goggles, muzzles, and berets, relieved that their day of work was almost finally over. Sam wiped the sweat off of her face and made a poor attempt to fix her hat hair. For now, all she could do was bandage the wound a bit and give Maxwell some painkillers. Maxwell yelped as Sam tightened the knot on the bandage. The once white material quickly turned blood red, but the pressure was enough to help with the bleeding. The pain shooed away his numbness. Maxwell was back to being conscious, or at least half-conscious.

“Sit next to him and baby him this,” said Mel as he handed Sam a half-drunk bottle of water. “Now, let’s get out of here already,”

With the bags, the duo, and Mel all back in the van, they quickly fled from the museum and its surprisingly unburdened streets. Mel filled the duo in on yet another rendezvous they had to make after leaving the first one. Mostly because he needed an excuse as to why he snuck away from his post in the first place.

“We still don’t know what’s gonna happen to us... after this,” Maxwell said to Sam, still dazed but able to take a sip of water on his own.

Sam sat quietly, having no more ideas or words of encouragement left. She made a passing glance at Maxwell before staring back at the dirty bags of stolen museum items facing her. Instead of the high-speed chase, Sam always envisioned after a heist, the ride to the next rendezvous was rather calm. Calm enough so that both Sam and Maxwell could close their eyes and rest for the time being. Their break was interrupted by several sharp turns, indicating that they were now off-road. The second rendezvous was located under a bridge that oversaw a dried-up irrigation canal. Mel parked right next to what was once a makeshift homeless camp with tags and graffiti painting the concrete pillars.

“Help me out with this will ya, number forty-four?” Mel asked as he hopped out of the van again. Sam joined him as they took some tarps out of the tent and placed it over the van.

“Is this a fake hobo camp?” Sam asked.

“It wasn’t a few months ago, but it is now,” Mel said as he slapped on one of the walls with the Reigning Storm’s skull-like insignia sticker tagged on it.

The three henchmen waited an hour for the rest of their troop to reach the new rendezvous. 9:00 PM had turned into 10:00 PM as several henchmen started running and sliding down into the camp under the bridge. Some came by themselves while a few others grouped in pairs or trios to drag the remainders. The two other vans from the beginning of the mission made their way down as well. The last ones to arrive were Vice Cyclone and Lieutenant Tempest. Cyclone appeared unscathed as he jetted down while Tempest looked even worse for wear than some of the henchmen. Two things everyone could plainly notice were that his hat and his trenchcoat were missing from his ensemble. The rest of him and his uniform was coated in blood. It was difficult to tell how much of it was his own or from the opposition. Over his shoulder, he carried another duffle bag of stolen loot, but the strap promptly ripped and the contents fell out behind him.

“Alright, how many are we missing?” Tempest asked, taking a heavy breath between every word.

“We’re missing seven from the heist squads and two from the backup squad, sir,” Mel responded. If Tempest had any energy left, he’d be screaming at everyone there. Since he wasn’t, though, everyone there was able to avoid anyone’s wrath until facing the boss, Kaiser Gravitus, back at HQ. Tempest wiped his bloodied face with a towel given to him by one of the henchmen and looked up toward Vice Cyclone. Still silent, Cyclone turned his head downward and returned the stare at Tempest. It appeared to the other henchmen that they made a wordless yet mutual agreement about something. Vice Cyclone nodded and flew off ahead of the pack with his jet engine arms, leaving a trail of black smoke behind him. As the roar of his engines faded and his silhouette was little more than a dot in the sky, Tempest looked back to his henchmen who were more or less gawking at the spectacle.

“Load what’s left of the loot all in one van and let’s get out of here already,” said Tempest as he got into the front passenger seat of one of the vans.

The ride back to headquarters was a quiet one, but not as silent as it was on the way to the museum. Most, if not all of the henchmen, were groaning in pain or talking amongst themselves about their failure. A few were bandaging up their wounds but the lack of first aid supplies onboard, as well as the fact that they were riding in a cramped van, made it arduous.

“We made it buddy. So, you still got a hold of you-know-what, ri-?” Sam said to Maxwell only to realize that he had already put his new pair of earbuds on and closed his eyes. Sam knew to take that as a signal that Maxwell no longer wanted to talk. She understood and respected his decision. There was nothing else to do now but for her to close her eyes and rest.

It wasn’t long until Sam reawoke. The air around suddenly dropped in temperature. As it grew more and more uncomfortable, Sam looked over to Maxwell to see if he was feeling the same way. The white of Maxwell’s eyes had turned pitch black. As he opened his jaw, dark slime started to permeate and drip from his mouth. The consistency of it warped and shifted so that it would change from liquid to smoke and back in seconds, passing around and even sticking on to Maxwell. Everyone else in the back of the van appeared to have felt nothing or even seen anything off around them. Their eyes were covered in the same dark material that was permeating from Maxwell. At last, he slowly turned his head and said:

“So boys, any ideas on who triggered that alarm?”

Though the voice was indeed Maxwell’s, it all felt off to Sam. The tone was warm and soothing, yet it had a coldness; a lingering, elated feeling that made Sam quite uncomfortable. Never in all the years of them knowing each other has Sam ever heard Maxwell sound so purposefully eerie. In an instant, as fast as she could blink, everything returned to normal. Maxwell looked completely fine and all of the darkness that was surrounding him vanished. The lingering feeling was still in Sam’s mind, however. It was almost like a deep echo that penetrated into her very heart; and from what she could see, everyone else in the van felt it as well.

“Yeah, who the hell did do that?” a henchman said aloud.

“My head is freakin pounding. That whole heist is just like a blur now,” another henchman added.

The van became livelier as everyone began to share their experiences from just a few hours before. Sam stayed purposefully quiet while taking mental notes of what the others were saying. Some henchmen had their timelines in disorder, with events occurring at the wrong intervals. Others couldn’t recall what they were doing at certain periods of time, but all had the same correlation of a sudden headache just then.

“Maxwell did you…?” Sam asked as she turned to him. Though it was the wrong time to ask questions with all the henchmen around them, Sam’s mind was racing with questions that needed to be answered. She would have to wait for a while though, because no matter what Sam tried to do to wake Maxwell up, whether it be whispering in his ear, pushing him, or even pinching his cheek, Maxwell finally fell unconscious.