The Chronicles of Cityopolis [Mr.MasterxAkumaTsuki]

Cityopolis a raging metropolitan of ever growing size and corruption, it’s large financial district with his huge glass towers giving way to smaller goliaths of industry before filtering down to the sounds of dogs barking, rap music and the crumbling of buildings in the slums. The city had it all it seemed, a night club district for both the well reputed and the non, the whole of it was a breeding ground for every kind of crime imaginable. Low and high.

While the police tried to keep the streets clean, the magnitude of it all was far too encompassing for the officers to handle alone. In a time of need civilians, both gifted with special abilities and not, donned masks and capes in an effort to clean up the city. The vigilantes were first shunned, but slowly gained acceptance and love as the wave of capes gave birth to a new breed of villains. By day it seemed all was normal, but by night a bloody feud had begun, between what the media called ‘Good and Evil’.

As the city grew so did the battles between the two until it threatened to consume it. The ‘evil-doers’ were locked away in the city prison or worse…the Brubaker Home for the Criminally Insane. It didn’t matter if you were in fact sane, by practical standards; any villain with special abilities, who ran around dressed up plotting heinous crimes ended up there to rot away. It was a double standard, the Heroes could dress up all they wanted and it was perfectly sane, but those who planned a crime, well, the crematorium took care of those who did rot away.

Heists were common place, and every company out there strove to provide the next biggest breakthrough in security causing the rise of Maddox Industries and Laboratories, who soon grabbed up half the city contracts for the Asylum and most of the buildings. All of them wanted to feel secure, and it didn’t matter the cost if they attained that feeling. They could remain in their walls of concrete and expensive glass, blissfully unaware that no matter the technology out there, there was always a way around it.

Despite dropping the glass cutter while hanging from her repel cord; Lab Mouse had been rather proud of the improvisation of smashing the glass to collect the egg sized diamond from the jewelry store case. It was entirely their fault for flaunting it out in the open so, why any Tom, Dick, or Harry could have broken in here and snatched it for themselves. Unlike them however, she felt her purpose a much nobler one than greed. With this priceless piece she and the Madd Scientist could continue their research fully funded and without worries of another heist merely on the premises of gaining income. The thrill of it all was what kept her going. Securing the gem in a pouch on her belt she quickly scurried her way back up the rope and out the perfect circle she had cut in the domed glass roof.

Such opulence had made this all so simple. Peeking out from the hole she gazed around for a moment before climbing up and scanning the rooftop. The cops would be here shortly, she was sure of it. Unless the imbeciles that ran Holk’s Fine Jewels didn’t believe in silent alarms. She bent over to reel in the rope, not caring to leave it behind, absent mindedly pressing a hand to the white leather mask that spanned across her eyes.

At the edge of the roof behind her, a hand slipped up and grabbed the raised edge of the roof, shifting to get the best grip before tightening, as the owner put weight on his grip. Another hand flicked up, gripping with a very soft slap of skin on concrete. And then the top of a head, with short, curly, somewhat thinning dark hair. And then a pair of eyes, brown, creased at the edges, but quick and clear and adapted to the relative dimness of the city night. They flicked around the roof, and fixed on the small form near the skylight.

He grunted softly, and a little off to one side, an expensive athletic shoe appeared, hitching over the side of the roof. With that leverage, he quietly eased himself over the edge. Sliding silently to the rooftop, he got to his feet and eased toward the Lab Mouse. Other than the top-of-the-line shoes, he was dressed in thrift store rejects; black pants, a tattered black trench coat, and a faded dark T-shirt of some obscure local band. The whole outfit had a number of major rips, but any large rents in the fabric had been crudely stitched together (or stapled, in one instance). As much as he seemed like just another street person, he was actually one of the city's defenders.

Francis Baker had been doing this for many years (he sometimes claimed to have been at San Juan Hill with Teddy Roosevelt's Rough Riders), so despite his inability to settle on an A.I. (alternate identity, or super-name), he was an old pro at this. He stole up close to her while she reeled in her line. As she finally finished and straightened, he spoke up, a note of mockery in his tone. "Ranging a little out of your cage, Mousey. Best put the pretty bauble down; we can do it easy or hard..."

Yes, he knew who she was; he'd only tangled with her a couple of times before, but he kept up with the updates of the files down at the Coalition, the informal secret gathering spot of the city's trusted heroes. He knew roughly what to expect, and he hoped he wouldn't have to resort to the rough stuff...

The woman closed her eyes for a moment and grimaced, before discarding the repel cord. She turned towards the sound of the voice shoving the gem in one of the pouches that hung from her belt, smiling. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Hobo-man?” She scanned the man from head to two recalling brief run-ins in the past in which she had usually escaped without too much trouble. She turned on a heal and took a step to the left crossing her arms, encased in high white gloves across her chest. “I’m sorry I don’t have time to play with you today, nor do I have any spare change so why don’t you shoo already.” She waved a hand dismissively.

Honestly the brunette didn’t have time to deal with any distractions. The silent alarm would have sounded from her improvisational methods of retrieving her mark, giving her approximately five minutes till the badges arrived to collect either her or yet another endless pile of paperwork from her escaping. She was rather looking forward to the later, but it wouldn’t be so if he decided to press the issue. Despite her cheerful tone and smile, Mouse’s blue eyes were darting around casing every possibly escape route. She had cased the place earlier when she had dropped off her employer’s watch for repair, but it always paid to be aware.

She took another step forward, her sleek thigh high white boots soundlessly making contact with the pavement. While yes, her costume was revealing, it served it purpose well. Oggle the eye candy while she used their distraction to escape via one of her contraptions, the high cut leotard was white, complimented by the faux mouse ears and tail. While the color was not practical, Madd had insisted and she admitted she looked like a rat in a black outfit. She cast her eyes finally towards the ledge wondering just how far from the fire escape she was.

"Hobo-man! Nice!" Baker shifted with her, staying between her and the nearest roof edge. His demeanor was relaxed, but his arms were loose at his sides, his stance was balanced and ready to move, and his eyes missed nothing. "There actually was a Hobo-man, back in the thirties. Before your time, obviously..."

His tone shifted from a conversational to more of an explanatory quality. "Now you know as well as I do that the cops have got to be on their way; place like this, this kind of neighborhood, gonna we wired like a Christmas tree. And all I really have to do is keep you busy until they show up. So why don't you just give it up quietly? It'll go over better with the judge. Or..." and he cocked his head to one side, looking at her speculatively. "If you give it back, and leave some money for the damages, I could let you go. Quite frankly, I'm not in the mood for police stations, and there's a Russ Meyer film on cable later on that I wanna tape."

"It's your call, of course, but either way, I'm not gonna let you leave with that rock very easily." And he bristled a little, flexing his intimidation skills just a little bit, and cracked his knuckles. Sometimes that worked well enough on street punks; he didn't expect it to frighten Lab Mouse, honestly, but he wanted to punctuate his intent. He actually hoped his appeal to sensibility would work better; he really did want to catch Beneath the Valley of the Ultra-Vixens, since he hadn't seen it in decades.

“Obviously,” She cocks an eyebrow questioning, but the gesture is inhibited by the white strap of leather that concealed part of her facial structure. She honestly could care less about the history of capes at the moment or if he had some movie to see. Did he just say tape? Did anyone even have a VCR these days?

She didn’t fear the poorly dressed man before her, honestly he did look like a hobo to her…maybe he just idolized the hobo-man from the 30’s. There were capes that passed down their masks and cowls to appetencies when they tired of the life. It happened in her world too, while she would never become Madd, he would eventually take her advice on who to pass the goggles on to. She was thinking too much though and while briefly distracted by her thought she focused once more towards escape.

“Seriously, you think I fear you or the police? If you’re concerned with your Slave Box of media lies, then why don’t you merely turnaround from whence you came and go scamper off so you’re not late.” Supers, always thinking their time was much more important than anyone else’s. It wasn’t like she had anywhere to be, no. “Seriously, Hobo-man the second, why don’t we call it a night? The store is insured for things like this. It won’t be missed, I’m actually sure they’ll come out ahead. In house appraisers, always over appraise.” She smiled sweetly wondering if she could try and convince him of anything even as she tried looking casually for another escape route.

"Oh, hell, woman, now why did you have to go and be all thoughtful about it!" Baker growled, noting her glancing around. He figured her for a runner -- she wasn't a brawler by nature; he knew that from her file, not from her petite frame. He knew plenty of small women who could kick major ass, although that was usually through cybernetics or mutation or alien empowerment or, in one particular instance, focused chi. She could use that chi in other ways, as well, which he remembered even more distinctly. "It ain't even the cost issue, hon; it's the profiting from theft that rankles me on a fundamental level, you see. Theft as a crime of property, I don't care as much about, it's the benefiting from stealing others' possessions that I can't abide."

He mentally prepared to leap after whichever way she dashed, although all that was apparent was a shifting of one foot. "It'd be one thing if you were broke and homeless and shoplifting food, that's not profit, that's survival. But you can afford that... lovely outfit, so that rock must be going to finance your lifestyle. What, you can't work for your hookers and blow with a day job like everyone else?" He ignored the typical intellectual twaddle about media lies and whatnot; in a moment, she might launch into a tirade of how she'd show them, she's show them all, and then he could banter her long enough for backup to arrive.

She smirked for just a moment, before her smile slowly began to fade as the faint sounds of sirens began to make their presence known. “How do you know I do not need this? How do you know this isn’t to solve cancer or something? Just because my suit is nicer than yours means nothing, hm?” She quickly reached to her pouch withdrawing a small windup white mouse. “I bid you good night, now.” With that Mouse took off in the opposite direction of the cape, and for the life of her, a response was unneeded. The mouse being dropped behind her, made its way towards the cape before stopping a few feet in front of Baker and releasing a thick cloud of white smoke.
As her gloved hands made contact with the edge of the widened lip of the building, she swung herself over. A miscalculation on her part, since she began to fly passed the fire escape, not even close to the ten foot gap between her and the rusted metal. Trying to not panic she quickly tried to focus her latent psionic ability. The Madd Scientist had been harping on her to try and develop it, but it had always felt like cheating. Despite the slowed descent she landed sharply on her ankle as she tucked into a roll. Wincing she glanced back towards the roof.

"Hey, my outfit is pragmatic..." Baker began, but then she interrupted him and ran. He cursed under his breath, and took off after her. She was small but quick, and he was reactive. However, he had a longer stride, and he thought he could catch up.

Then he got a face-full of smoke, which stung his eyes and made him cough and stumble. He castigated himself as an idiot; of course she'd try a distraction tactic like that, it was a rookie mistake to have been caught unawares like that. Still, it's not like he had far to run; he was close to her, he could still see her through smoke-bleared eyes, just off to one side, as she... as she vaulted up, and somersaulted, and then his shins were hitting the raised lip of the roof's edge, and he stubbed his other foot and went pitching over the side and into the alley.

He pinwheeled down from the edge, feet still kicking, and unlike his opponent, he didn't miss the fire escape; the back of his skull connected quite smartly with the edge of the railing, making him see stars and making all his limbs feel tingly for an instant. This slowed him enough so he wasn't able to grab at the railing as he slammed against it, but it was all right; the back of his coat snagged on a protrouding bolt, ripping open the coat, his shirt, and his skin beneath. It did stop his tumbling and paused his descent. But it was a momentary respite, as there was no way that little snag was going to stop a full-grown man.

So no sooner had he regained his senses than he plummeted to the next landing. His heels hit the railing, and his hands gryrated, grasping frantically for a handhold as he toppled forward, but he found nothing; his fingertips scraped some rust free, but weren't able to find purchase. His other arm, the cuff of his sleeve snagged, but only pulled the old stitching at the shoulder free, and didn't affect his balance much at all. So he fell the rest of the way with a muttered, resigned curse, slamming into several bags of garbage and a stack of bound newspapers.

"Oh, that's gonna sting tomorrow," he muttered, struggling to his feet on the slippery papers. Mouse-girl was down here somewhere, so he was still on the clock...

Mouse’s breath caught in her throat for a moment as she stood and watched as her pursuer fell from the roof, and like a rag doll slammed into the fire escape. She flinched, outwardly as she stood. She had seen a cape die only once before and it had been brutal, but she hadn’t been directly involved when he had flown into the transformer atop the phone lines. She had seen the incident from the street below as the fool blinded chased after Flash Bang.

She turned to leave; the cops would find him soon she reminded herself as she could hear the sirens growing louder. She looked over her shoulder as she took a few steps forward. “Have a good after life Hobo-man.” She took off as fast as her ankle would allow, silently cursing herself all the while for not remembering to tape her hands and feet before leaving. She had no intention of needing the wrappings since this was supposed to be a wham bang thank you ma’am easily styled job. She stopped and looked back over her shoulder again, fucking conscious eating away at her. Mouse really needed to work on that, something she needed to harden for. It was acceptable for Eli to be compassionate, it wasn’t for her. Pushed a stray lock of hair behind her real ear and willed herself onward. She’d place an anonymous call as soon as she got far enough away and to her cell. No need for the rats to eat at him.

Baker finally got to his feet after one newspaper-prompted full-body slip. He glanced up and down the alley, catching sight of the white-clad woman hobbling away. She was just brushing a stray lock of hair behind one ear (real, not costume), and limping onward. His back burned, a lump was already forming on his head, and his eyes wouldn't fully focus -- by his standards, these were minor injuries. He headed after her, ripping the flapping sleeve of his trenchcoat free and tucking it into his pocket, welcoming the sounds of the sirens as they got closer.

"Hey, Mousey!" he called after her. "We're not done talking yet! You haven't given me any justification for your moral relativism!" He was disoriented and aching, but at least his legs worked perfectly, which was more than she had going on at the moment. He went after her, trying not to imagine it too much like that stumbling chase scene from the end of "Pulp Fiction;" she was cuter than Bruce Willis, and he was a number of shades too pale to carry off a Ving Rhames.

“Fuck!” She sputtered out as she glanced back to see the should be dead vigilante chasing her down the corridor. She didn’t have time for this. The cops were just about upon them and to be caught would be catastrophic. She hadn’t pursued a relationship with the D.A. like she had been informed to do, by Widow, but she doubted even being his paramour would be able to get her off if she was discovered with the egg sized gem. It wasn’t even a money issue…
“Don’t call me Mousey!” She tried to pick up the pace, her body threatening to revolt with each step. “There…” She pants, “Is nothing further to discuss.”

Her brain was yelling at her to keep running that if she got to the abandoned building at the corner of 7th and Crowley she’d be able to escape through one of the tunnels. Run, run faster, and stop looking back. The sound of his foot steps ever growing in her head as she reached into her pouch grabbing the first item her hand hit. Before throwing behind her, she glanced at it, a flash mouse…it would have to do. As it hit the ground it made a slight spark and fizzled out as if nothing had happened at all. “Fuck!”

"Aw, but Hobo-man likes the name 'Mousey'" he taunted back, weaving a bit as he started to close the gap. She clearly hadn't been expecting him to get up again; they hardly ever did, the first few times. "And since you won't explain, I still have to figure it's unjustified theft."

He shook his head, trying to clear it. The dizziness and blurred vision would go away in a little while, he knew from long experience, but he didn't have that kind of time to wait. He bore down on the limping girl, and flinched as she tossed something behind her... another one of her little trick mice. However, it didn't do anything, so he grinned and pursued. He didn't intend to step on it, but in his minor disorientation, he accidentally did so.

Under his foot, the fizzled flash mouse exploded, incendiary chemicals jetting out from under his shoe, catching the expensive athletic material on fire. "Holy jumping Christ!" he cried as he kicked, attempting to blow the flame out, but instead, it flickered and caught his pant-leg on fire. He yanked the pulled-off sleeve out of his pocket with one hand, yanking his coat out of the way of the flames, and pulled a half-drunk bottle of water out of his other pocket. He paused a few moments, beating back the flames with the sleeve while he used his teeth to unscrew the bottlecap. He was moving quickly and surely; he hadn't practiced this exact situation, but have long enough experience with this kind of thing, you don't hesitate as much. Finally, he was able to douse the flames with the rest of the water, putting them out. Half his pants leg was gone, and the flesh of his calf and shin was bright red (and black and blue, where he'd slammed the shin into the edge of the roof), but the fire was out.

He glanced up, and Mouse had pulled ahead. He took a step and winced as the burned skin tightened at his leg, but he couldn't stop now. He lurched after her, limping not as badly as her, but still moving slower than he had been. He was still moving faster than her, but she'd gained ground while he'd been dealing with the fire. Now it was anyone's guess whether or not she'd get away.

Lady luck had just smiled once again on her, at least for a brief moment when the malfunctioning mouse ignited under the pressure of his foot. She’d smile at the luck of it all if she wasn’t panting so hard by this point. She didn’t bother to look behind her again at the point. She continued looking forward as she spotted the door marked with a red hourglass hidden among the other bright colors of the gangs’ logos. She tried the door knob finding it luckily unlocked and moving quickly inside.

Mouse quickly moved to a small pile of crates in the far left corner of the back storage room she had just entered. Braces her hands against the creates she winces as she uses her legs to push them out of the way. A small manhole with a keypad on it came into view, and she quickly dialed the code as fast as her gloved fingers and shot nerves would allow. The cover slide aside automatically and she jumped down into the darkness as a series of small glowing lights began to light up down the tunnel. It was roughly six and a half feet high and the initial drop was about ten to fifteen give or take. She had ignored the ladder, which only caused more pain to the throbbing ankle. If she was luck the only thing permanently damaged by the end of the night would be the boot she’d have to cut off when she made it back to the lair or her apartment. There was a slight dampness in the dark tunnel causing her footsteps to echo louder. The tunnels ran parallel to the sewer system, but maybe one of the water main pipes had broken recently. She sighed and pressed onward.

The portal would close soon and she’d owe Widow yet another large favor for using the tunnels, but the fact that she had successfully escaped outweighed whatever favor she’d owe later.

He was panting hard with the effort, himself, as he came around the corner and saw her ducking through a door. He galumphed in his hitched, fast-limping way to the door, and pried it open, ducking into the dimness within. He heard noises in the depths of the room, and stealthily limped over there, staying within the shadows. He peeked out from behind a stack of crates just in time to see the automated manhole cover slide aside, and she jumped down. He cursed, until he noticed the cover was still open.

"Yes, finally, a little luck," he muttered, as he hobbled quickly toward the open portal. As he drew close, he heard the servos start to hum, and took a one-footed leap, dropping through the hole just as the cover started to slide shut. If his hair had been longer, he might have had it caught, but as it is, he dropped into the darkness, and only belatedly realized he had no idea what sort of drop he was having to deal with. He stretched out a hand, and hit a rung. He winced a the impact, and was afraid he'd broken his thumb, but he nevertheless grabbed the rung, and halted his drop. He suppressed his own groan of pain, but listened, seeing if he could hear her footsteps or anything else.

At a limping pace she continues her way hoping she could still navigate the maze like structure that was the tunnel system under the city. The capes had their own system she had found out once when she had followed one down the subway system and saw her disappear through a panel in the wall. It was almost impossible that neither tube system didn’t intersect at some point, but they hadn’t, each seemed to have stolen a section of the old tunnels dug years ago and annexed it as their own before expanding. Widow had either bought out or most likely killed off anyone who tried to use what she called her system without proper “toll” payment.

With each sloshing step Mouse was thankful for her thigh high boots. It was bad enough she was hurting, but to have her feet wet would just make the already miserable situation worse. As it was she was going to have to hope some painkillers would get her through the day, heals were going to be hell after tonight. She took sharp turn to the left heading west, or at least she hoped it was west. While impractical signs in this dismal place would be rather useful, she mused as she took another quick turn and stopped dead in her tracks. She hadn’t been paying attention to her surroundings as she suddenly hit a black out in the tunnel. A pair of glowing red eyes, suddenly manifested into eight as she let out a blood curdling scream, the echo in the concrete tunnel being nearly deafening to those nearby. She quickly started taking a few steps back and she reached towards her pouches.

A hand gripped her shoulder-strap and pulled, dragging her into a side corridor. "There's another one coming up behind," Baker said in a soft, businesslike tone, as he led the way, half-dragging her down the smaller corridor. "Did you know there were giant-ass spiders infesting this place when you popped down here?" He barely gave her time to answer as he rushed them both down the dimly-lit tunnel. "God, Papa Anansi will be jealous as hell if I ever get the chance to tell him about it."

He paused at another intersection, and listened. He heard the skittering from behind them, but there was more coming from ahead. The side passage was even narrower, but that wasn't a bad thing in this situation, so he dragged her into it with him. "Have you got anything capable of scaring them off behind us, or closing up the passage or something? They could be running us into a dead end."

As soon as she stopped screaming and released what it was that had a hold of her now, she paused to give Baker and incredulous look. “Of course, hence why I was screaming. It’s how I say hello.” She shakes her head and pulls a hand from her pouch as he continues dragging her. “These are new…although I do have to kick Widow for outsourcing her genetics again. Bitch always outsourcing just to save a few pennies.” She scoffed and looked at the contents in her hand as she stopped. She had no clue who, or what Anansi, but right now that didn’t matter. Either a cape had gotten into the tunnels or Widow just wanted to assert her authority once more.

All she had left at this point was a flash, a smoke, a stunner and well she couldn’t remember where the hell this blue mouse came from and she was loathe to try it. Madd was getting senile as of late and while he tried to be kind with giving her new items, they weren’t always the best things for a situation, especially when he forgot he made them, what they did, or to tell her he made something. Brilliance and madness were only a razors edge apart. “Correction you could be running us to a dead end, I’m so mixed up right now I haven’t a clue as to where we are.” She huffed, not willing to acknowledge he had possibly helped her in some way. “I only have a flash, a smoke and a stunner and unless you’ve got some sort of mouth guard I don’t suggest the latter cause I’m not dragging your ass out of here. Don’t you even have anything useful?”

"What, like a gear belt? Go all Nightstalker with the gadgets and scary cowl mask? No thanks, my clothes get trashed enough, I don't waste money on that stuff anymore." He peered ahead, trying to see turn-offs, maybe a pressure door, something so they could take a moment and take stock of their surroundings. "I tend to improvise. I got a Coalition comlink, keys, a couple of bandannas, a plastic bottle, Swiss Army knife, some gum, and a cellphone. Any of that sound like something you can work with?"

He thought about the venom capacity of a spider that size. Technically, a critter that size ought not to have the kind of speed and ability these spiders had displayed, but when you were dealing with gene-gineering, a lot of impossibles were made possible. Given that, who could say what the venom was going to do? He knew enough about his own capabilities (and he'd better, after all those decades) the he wasn't worried for himself; as long as he wasn't stupid about it, he'd survive most anything. But he couldn't be sure Lab Mouse could say the same, and thief or not, she needed help.

He glanced back at her, saw the devices in her hand. "Well, wait, you've got four mice, what's the fourth do?"

She picked up the blue mouse by the tail, holding it out in front of her betwixt two white fingers. “I’m not sure and I’m a little afraid to find out." She looked at the white, gray and yellow mouse in her hand before looking back at the poorly dressed man, finally taking note of just how bad he looked. There was much more tearing, more blood and less clothing than there had been before. He looked like a wreck and the urge to hand him a five crept into her mind. “The bandana might help you if I use any of these. The stunners pack a punch so you’ll need to make sure that’s tied tight. I’m hurting far too much to deal with dragging you. “ She transfers the blue mouse to her hand with the others.

She reached into another pouch pulling out a special piece of white cloth tying it across her mouth. “Any idea how many there could be? I’ve only get three of these things.” She thought back trying to think the last time she had refilled her pouches at the lab, it had been probably a month or two before and she hadn’t come across the mouse in all that time. She could hear things moving in the tunnels, but it was hard to tell from where with the reverberations. She felt tempted to ask if his phone had GPS, but thought better of it. He probably had a pre-paid brick or even worse…a dinophone that only made calls. The comlink was a horrid idea. It would lead them right to the tunnel and her and cause more headaches than she had the current stamina to deal with. Thinking back to the last time she had come through here, she bit down on her lip. “We should head left.”

Baker nodded at her suggestion, and took out the standard red bandanna. He dipped it into some of the water that seemed to pool in the dank tunnels, and then tied the wet cloth around his mouth and nose. He wasn't worried about germs, as his system could fight off any infection; if he could fight off polio, he could handle whatever bugs might be lurking in a random puddle. "You keep talking about dragging me. I'm gratified that you're not the type to leave me for the spiders, but honestly, if you have to, I advise you to do so."

They came up to a Y-intersection, and he paused, listening, before he took the left fork. He didn't hear skittering down either corridor, but the noises behind them were slightly louder. "Fate tends to smile on me, in general. I get messed up pretty bad, but I haven't died yet." He hustled down the tunnel, looking for turn-offs or a door or something; so far, nothing. He decided to continue telling her a story, if only to take her mind off worrying overmuch about their situation. "There was this time Bad Tripp -- Hippie-themed villain, this was the '60s -- had gotten me cuffed and helpless in a warehouse. Here I was on my knees, and Tripp's hench -- because Tripp claimed guns "bummed him out, man" -- Tripp's hench had a .45 on me, execution style, right? No way out, is what you're thinking."

"Well, two things happened at the same time: the .45 hit a dud bullet, and got jammed, and the retaining pin for a big part of the warehouse's cargo winch broke. Metal fatigue, is what they said. Point is, the henchman stepped back to un-jam the pistol, and this big honking block of metal swung down on a cable from the ceiling and caught me square in the side, lofting me up and sending me out the third-story window of the warehouse. This was dockside in, I think it was San Diego. So I go sailing out of the warehouse and into the ocean nearly fifty yards out, hands cuffed behind me, broken arm and some ribs, semi-conscious, fully clothed. How I kept from drowning is a different story; let's just say I was lucky there were some harbor seals around, and that I had some beef jerky in my pocket at the time."

He paused for just a moment, as he saw ahead a slightly brighter-lit portion of the tunnel, in front of what seemed like a hatchway, akin to a submarine hatch, complete with a spinny latch wheel in the center of the door. "Well, hallelujah, looks like a way to keep these suckers out." At that instant from a ventilation gap in the ceiling just above the hatch, eight glowing red eyes appeared, and another spider came crawling out, sticking to the top of the tunnel. Baker glanced backward, and saw sixteen more red points in the dimness behind them, with a suggestion of more movement farther back.

"All right," he breathed, "if you think that gas'll work on arthropods, by all means, let's do it."

Mouse was only half hearing the story the man in front of her was telling. Er brain was methodically picking out key points to ask about later when she wasn’t focusing on trying to remember the layouts of the underground in her head. After Widow’s last ‘payment’ she had avoided them like the plague. She shook the thought from her mind, even as she took notes to check the web again to make sure a video of the incident hadn’t ended up on the web. She stopped when he did and looked at the bulkhead styled door. She didn’t recall this or where it went, but that wasn’t too hard a thing to understand as her ankle reminded her of its presence once more.

She stifled a gasp as first eyes appeared and then a fully fledged spider. “Let’s hope this works. Get that opened now.” She tossed the gray mouse on the ground trying to aim for a dry spot. It took a second, a second of baited breath and a nearly exploding heart, but finally a large plume of smoke began erupting from the small mechanical device. She quickly shoved the smoker and the blue into her pouch as she got ready to move forward.

Baker watched her throw, and took a deep breath, holding it as the gas began to billow out. He moved forward swiftly, or as swiftly as he could with his limp, making sure the girl in white was following. The spider on the ceiling began to get a little less sure in its grip, and as Baker approached, it reached out with its long fore-limbs, gnashing its pedipalps, but it was shaky in its movements, and slow. Baker took the chance, and flashed out a hand, grabbing one of the forelimbs and yanking to the side. The spider lost its grip, screeching madly as Baker bashed it into the wall, and abruptly into the other wall. He then whipped it up to smash its carapace into the ceiling before whipping the stunned, possibly mortally wounded beast around behind him into an underhand toss that skated the poor thing on down the corridor and into the distant dimness, just as he came abreast of the hatch.

He tried to turn the wheel quickly, but it resisted. The skittering behind them got louder, as he strained on the wheel. He grunted, wasting precious air, then he paused. "Hang on," he said, before he could stop himself. He pushed, and the door swung open. It was already unlocked; no wonder the wheel hadn't turned. He dashed into the darkness, helped Mouse through, and slammed the hatch, finding the wheel in the dark so he could turn it and lock the door closed. There were some pathetic tappings and scrapings on the metal almost immediately afterward, but they were disoriented, the spiders probably still under the effects of the gas.

"I think we're safe for now," he breathed in the darkness. "Unless I just set us up to turn on the light and find we're in some kind of death-trap. Do you have a glowing mouse handy?"

Pushing into the hatch behind the hobo, Mouse was gasping for breath and without caring slumped against the wall. She couldn’t see spiders in the pitch so it didn’t matter if they were there at that moment or not, her exhaustion claiming her. “Not everything I own is a Mouse you know. I don’t drive a Mouse-mobile or have a mouse-house” she snidely remarked. The temptation to rip of her thigh high boot was ever growing in her mind and the only high point was that in the pitch she had found out the ground was dry.

Reaching into her back pouch on the left side she pulled out two small sticks, cracking one and then shaking vigorously. The small stick started to glow gaining brightness with each passing second. She looked at the hobo before tossing the stick at him and repeating the same maneuver with the remaining one. The faint blue white light lit up a tiny portion of the room, but it was far from illuminating the entirety. Holding the stick to her face she sighs. “This is all your fault, you know. If you hadn’t decided to break the law by being a vigilante you could be home in the alley, watching TV and I could be sleeping and not wanting to gnaw off my leg. She rubbed at her temple, and fixed her mask where her rubbing had disoriented it. “I don’t know if we’re safe…I have no clue where we are or how many of those thing there are.” It was the truth. She was so turned around that for all she knew they could be back under Holk’s Fine Jewels and she’d never know it. Hell they could die down here, although she doubted it. There used to be camera surveillance at one point, it was how she had gotten caught down here before. Guess this was more cost effective than running the electricity to the cameras. “Hope you’re happy.”

“Yes, that’s right,” he said, catching the glow-stick easily. “Let’s blame all the law-breaking tonight on me. Because clearly, there were no other mistakes being made, not at all.” While she continued, he held the stick up and took a few steps forward, looking around the space. Low ceiling like the rest of the tunnel complex, but a fairly spacious room, reasonably fresh air but lots of dust, no automatic lights and no furniture within sight. Disused storage room, or some other purpose that hadn’t been required for a while. It seemed a good temporary respite.

When she was done, he turned back to her and smiled. “Maybe I am happy. After all, I’ve seen that movie, but I haven’t seen four foot black widows before.” His eyes narrowed. “We seem to be safe for the moment, and your limp has been getting worse. Let’s have a look at that ankle.” He saw the beginnings of her look and held up his hands. “We’re both in this together for now, and both of us need to be mobile. I’ve been a lot of things in my life, and a medic is one of them. I ought to be able to at least treat your injury while we rest up a bit. So sit down there, and let’s get that boot off.”

<assuming grudging acceptance>

As he hunkered down to help peel away the white boot, he muttered, “You really ought to go all the way, commit to the theme. I mean, you’re already wearing the ears. Get a Mouse-mobile, have a Mouse House. Or make it a cave, call it the Mouse Hole. You’d avoid trouble with Disney, that way, too.” He chuckled. “If you’d had a Mouse-copter, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”