"Oh my god!" I gasped, my hand covering my mouth. The first thing that came to my mind was, What the fuck? But I religiously stuck to the face I had on despite the bullshit happening. Not that anyone could've heard me cuss over the noise of gunfire, screams, stampeding feet, and crashing stuff.

"Wha-what's going on?" Deen said, her voice cracked with uncertainty. Didn't her Guardian Angel forewarn her about this? Her disconcerted face told me 'no'. She leaned towards me, perhaps on instinct, partially shielding me with her body as chaos erupted around us. “Let’s just calm down, Erind. Don’t draw any attention to us.”

Duh. I remained still in my seat, pretending to be frozen in fear as I surveyed the armed men around us. I had been through so much crap that puny humans with guns didn't faze me.

These assholes were securing everyone inside this makeshift hall for the talks, about one hundred, maybe a hundred and fifty of us seated on the rows of chairs, preventing any from going out.

They hit the stupid people using words versus bullets with the butt of their guns. I didn't know what was happening to the rest of the convention center on the other side of the divider walls, but it sure was noisy over there too.

Was it too late to go back to the Natural History Museum—Mom!

I almost forgot that she was also here and very vulnerable, unlike me.

My extreme annoyance, with a dash of quippy amusement at the ridiculousness of the situation, disappeared. An almost alien sense of danger filled my heart as I craned my neck over the taller heads of the audience in front of me to see what was going on with Mom.

She and the rest of the would-be speakers were rounded up and made to sit on the floor in the center of the stage. Four of the terrorists—for what else could they be—surrounded Mom and the other people I didn't care about.

Three terrorists carried bigass guns, their identities completely hidden by balaclavas and high-tech visor thingies. The fourth bastard was a weird one, looking more out of place in the tableau than a penguin in the desert.

Presumably their leader, he wore a magenta tailcoat with both sleeves torn off, looking like a down-on-his-luck circus ringmaster missing his top hat. His metal-plated arms boasted combat bioaugmentronics, so he probably didn't carry any guns. Unlike his subordinates, he didn't bother to wear a mask to conceal his distinctly angular face sporting a twirled mustache.

I was going to rip off his dumb mustache and shove it up his pointy nose if he'd hurt Mom.

On one knee, Circus Mustache was talking to one of the captured Greaves officials—Mom pointed this man out to me before; I couldn't recall his name, but he was supposed to be important or some shit. Circus Mustache apparently received an answer that he didn't want from the Greaves big wig and electrocuted him with a touch of his finger.

The man in the suit convulsed on the stage floor. Murmurings and a couple of screams emanated from the audience. Another Greaves person tried to come closer to help him, but a terrorist kicked him back.

My eyes darted to Mom. She was sitting still like I was, trying to be inconspicuous despite her very noticeable look.

She mouthed something to me. I sucked in lip-reading, but it should be something like, ‘stay put'—the same stuff Deen was hissing at me. I decided I had the correct interpretation because Mom lowered her downward-facing palms a few times while intensely looking at me.

Yes, Mom, I thought to her. This was a good time to develop telepathic powers; I wasn't sure if SpookyErind would suddenly give me those. I'm not going to transform to Blanchette and shred these fuckers for ruining my day. At least, not yet.

A terrorist passed by her. She stopped gesturing and deflated, lowering her bionic eyes. Other than her eyes, she didn't have any other augments I knew of, certainly none that could help our situation. Even her eyes didn't shoot lasers or whatnot.

"Erind...don't worry about your Mom," Deen whispered. She noticed where I was looking.

I glared at her.

She balked. "Uh, we should worry about her, and ourselves…and all the people here too. But don't let worry cloud your judgment. We should be careful of our next moves." And here we go with Deen taking charge.

I grabbed her arm, pulled her closer to me, and whispered in her ear, "What did your Guardian Angel say?" I tried to keep my tone from being accusatory. This was a fucking dangerous situation, and her future-seeing pet should've alerted her to this.

"Nothing," She whispered back. "It didn't say anything. I'm just as surprised as you are at what's happening."

"Really?"

Deen nodded while examining a terrorist that passed by our row. "And it isn't saying anything now. Which is a good sign."

Only a good sign for you, I wanted to retort. Given that her Guardian Angel didn't bother to give any advice, we had around a ten-minute window that we were safe.

Correction. Not 'we', only Deen. The Guardian Angel definitely didn't care about me, much less about Mom. I wasn't sure if Deen realized that it was only her who was safe.

I had to convince Deen to put herself in harm's way for my and Mom's sake so we'd also benefit from her power's protection. Surely, that was easy enough since Deen was only too eager to be the hero.

"Four on the stage," she said. "Seven amidst the audience...I think. I don't want to check behind me, but more should be there."

"Also more outside," I added. This convention center was expansive as fuck. Even if the terrorists concentrated only on this portion of the place, eleven people sounded too few to me. I hadn't organized a terrorist attack before, so I wasn't on point with logistics. But I bet there were maybe more than twenty fuckers for me to murder for bothering my mother and me.

Deen said, "What do you think they want?"

Circus Mustache was interrogating other Greaves people on stage. He didn't bother Mom. Maybe he knew she wasn't an officer of the company; she was before, but she was just a consultant now.

"I don't know," I answered Deen. That was a good question. Why did these fuckers come here?

Did they plan to steal some pieces of technology on display? Couldn't they steal that like while it was being transported to or away from this place? There was no need to attack the convention center and restrain a buttload of people while they stole the shit they wanted.

Or maybe the people were their target? Hostage for ransom? Hostage for trade secrets? Someone specific they wanted to capture? This was an excellent place to nab a bunch of Greaves people if that was their goal.

Deen kept yapping in my ear about not getting angry and not doing anything rash. Cliché lines in movies with hostages like I'd risk other people’s lives, including Mom. I was getting pissed trying to discern her barely audible words while the lady beside her was sobbing like a baby.

"You'll be in danger too," Deen added, more as an afterthought.

“I know, I know,” I said in exasperation.

We both knew getting shot was at the bottom of my list of concerns. And I also knew what was on top of Deen’s list. Her main concern was preventing the Adumbrae inside me from 'breaking free'.

She knew what I was capable of; memories of my transformation into a giant werewolf in Eve's underground arena should be fresh in her mind. It wasn't in mine because I could barely recall what the hell happened there. To Deen, me going berserk in the middle of Vegas was worse than anything the terrorists could do.

So...what did they want to do?

By now, the well-equipped Las Vegas Metropolitan Police, a large percentage of whom had city-funded augments unlike the police forces of other cities, should be on their way. They also had ComExo units that could rival those that the BID use, bought with donations from the Greaves Foundation, nudge, nudge, wink, wink.

These terrorists weren’t going to shoot their way out of here, that was a certainty. They could try; they weren’t going to win.

But I was sure these assholes had prepared an escape plan that didn’t involve them leaving in coffins. It wasn't nabbing their target and quickly getting away before the police could surround the building. For now, their intention seemed to be hunkering down for the meantime and fortifying this place.

Several terrorists moved a few panels of the divider walls and carted a couple of huge steel containers through the opening. The containers were a good head taller than the average man and had the Greaves logo splashed on their side. Either these were stuff they stole, or they faked the Greaves logo to get their equipment into this place.

"What are they doing now?" Deen muttered.

"I don't know," was all I could say again. I'm not the one with future sight here. Why are you asking me?

The terrorists started unloading machines from inside the containers. They placed one of them, a human-sized black cylinder, in front of the stage. With a push of the button, the cylinder expanded, with support legs stretching out and its top part revealing antennae and other stuff.

A signal jammer?

I checked my phone. The signal bars disappeared just as a red light on the machine started blinking. And what could be the other machines they were deploying?

"Put your phone away, miss." The stern middle-aged man to my left covered my phone with his hand until I returned it to my pocket. "We don't want to antagonize them."

"Ah, yes," I said. "You're right, thank you." About five rows ahead, a terrorist had snatched a laptop from one of the hostages.

Hostages.

Yep, that was what we were. And that was their plan. The terrorists were going to use hostages to escape this place in one piece. The hostages might not remain in one piece once the dust settled.

It wouldn't surprise me if some of the strange bulky contraptions they were setting up turned out to be bombs. I had watched too many hostage movies not to predict stuff like these. The terrorists would threaten to barbeque everyone if the police didn't let them get on a getaway plane to, um, I dunno, the Caribbean or something.

Where do criminals run off to anyway? I should make a catalog of destinations when it was my turn to flee from the authorities.

But that was a problem for future Erind. Right now, I should figure out a way to save Mom. Deen could take care of herself with her Guardian Angel. From the hostage movies I had seen—very nice reference, I know—the killings would be at the start of the attack and when the criminals were going to make their escape. Maybe some in between, like killing a few hostages to prove a point or to make the police back off.

I was sure the terrorists had already killed a bunch of people. By now, they weren't going to until perhaps the hostage negotiations were underway. That meant I had plenty of time to make my move.

Perhaps I could go to the restroom so Mom wouldn't see me transform into Blanchette. But could I ensure that Mom would be safe during the fighting? What about my own escape plan afterward? The BID would come once they heard there was an Adumbrae around. They might even drop a bomb here to kill me. I might survive, but Mom wouldn't.

I needed a way to fight these assholes while keeping Mom safe and ensuring I wouldn't get hunted by the BID. What should—my thoughts were interrupted by the piercing feedback from the speakers.

"Test...Mic test." Circus Mustache tapped the microphone on the ornately carved wooden lectern with the Greaves logo in front. He had a silky-smooth voice that was very punchable. Upon hearing it, anyone would expect that the speaker would con them. "Can-can you hear—You guys over there, you hear me?"

No one answered.

"The noise isn't too disturbing?" he asked. There was a still smattering of screams and cries for help echoing throughout the convention center. A few gunshots too. "Can I get even just a nod, please?" He cupped his hand over his ear. "You guys can hear me, right?" He held a thumbs up and nodded. "Right? Right? Cool then."

I stole a glance at the people behind me. Some hesitantly nodded.

"Splendid! Extremely splendid." Circus Mustache clapped his hands. "If there's open communication between us, then we can get through the night with no one getting hurt." He looked down at the twitching Greaves official he had electrocuted earlier. "Except him...and some others of you who have already been hurt or killed. They don't count. We'll start from a clean slate. Okay, people?"

Again, none of us replied.

He smashed his fist on the large lectern like a karate master chopping a board. It crashed right through, splintering the heavy wood. "OKAY, PEOPLE?!" His smooth voice became low and furious. Even with the microphone destroyed, we heard his shout loud and clear.

Several people nodded, and others mumbled, "Okay."

I wanted to groan. Can't I get a normal enemy for once?

Just a generic bad guy would be easy to predict. I could gauge how people would act based on approximations of my knowledge of normal human behavior. Someone not-so-normal enough to be unpredictable vexed me.

"We are from the Tea Pary," he continued, using his normal voice again. One of his henchmen handed him a new microphone. "A small, non-profit, civic group that serves this city through our...activities that not everyone might like. But such is life. We can't please everyone. You shouldn't try to please everyone."

Tea Party? I narrowed my eyes. I tried to scan the audience subtly. Where's that bitch, Imani?

She had mentioned the Tea Party when we first met. They were a criminal syndicate dealing with illegal augmentations and enhancements.

Was Imani part of their group? Was she a scout for them? It'd be a massive pain in the butt if she were connected to these terrorist assholes. That'd mean that they knew about me. Am I their actual target? But they hadn’t bothered me yet.

As if to answer my question, Circus Mustache said, “People, stay behaved while we do our shopping of all these wonderful technological inventions around us. We only want the inanimate objects, not you.” He gestured to all of us. “If you’re going to remain in your seats and pretend nothing is happening around you, then everything will be fine and dandy.

“Don’t be like those people who stand up just as the airplane had landed after being expressly told to remain seated. Flight attendants aren’t legally allowed to shoot you, but I will…I mean to say, I’m also not legally allowed to shoot any of you, but I will do it if you bother with our shopping. Got it?”

There was a vague hum as some people weakly answered.

He flung his arm, smashing the rest of the lectern. Wood splinters showered the front row. “GOT IT?”

“Got it!” The audience replied before the deranged terrorist could decide to make good on his threat of shooting someone.

Circus Mustache sighed while shaking his head. “You don’t need me to prod you each time to answer. You’re big boys and girls. You’re not puppets that I need to shove my hand up your asses to control your mouths to answer. Let’s try again. Got it?”

“Got it!” Everyone replied.

Including me. “Got it,” I also said. I got the beginnings of an idea. Puppets? Control? Maybe it was time I used Pino. And I could leave behind my real Erind body to show I wasn’t an Adumbrae!