Alright, so here's the situation as best we can tell. Super-dudes in suits and shades have abducted Mayor Larson from his Black Friday golf session, dragged him downtown, and taken over City Hall. The police are trying to get there, but all of the surrounding streets are obstructed. Apparently traffic was pretty bad to begin with, and then people started fleeing their vehicles and running for it when they realized what was happening at City Hall. Now the police are trickling in on foot and setting up a perimeter as best they can with what they can tote in on their backs.

And then there's me. "What kinds of powers are we talking about, Spook?" I ask as I make a small jump from the hood of an abandoned car to the trunk of another, then hop onto its roof to skate down the windshield and repeat the process on the other side. It's a pain, but it beats threading through the fleeing pedestrians clogging the rest of the road and sidewalk.

"Seems like a brick, a force projector, a lightning thrower, and a speedster. Maybe more; there's supposed be about a dozen of these guys. No indication of how many have powers."

"Is the lightning one a black guy with a skinny jaw, big forehead, maybe five-eleven?"

"Maybe? This stuff's going on right now, so I don't have much to work with yet. Just random snips of shaky videos, frantic tweets, and chatter over the scanner. I can confirm that there are at least three black guys among them, and at least two non-blacks. One might be Hispanic? Can't tell more than that."

"Alright, thanks. At least that rules out Hemopalooza remnants." Those have been popping up more often lately, trying to take advantage of the chaos as Forchester copes with the existence of superpowers in order to reestablish themselves as a relevant player in Forchester's underworld, but they haven't gotten very far since basically everybody hates them. Even Bling Blang won't do business with known Hemopalooza members anymore, now that they can't be bullied into it. "What about Tooth Fairy? Any useful intel?"

"Nothing we don't already know, but he's keeping an ear out. He's pretty busy just trying to get near the scene, though."

"Darn." I hop down to the ground and elbow my way through the people trying to cross between a gap in the cars. "And there's still no sign of the Cueballs? What about the Dream Enforcers? It sounded like they might be working together lately."

"I don't know, man. I- Oh, hey, the police just released a statement. 'Civilians within three blocks of City Hall should leave the area as calmly as possible. Those who are more than three blocks away should remain indoors. This is a tense situation, and hostages are involved. We ask that the citizens of Forchester stay out of the way and let us do our job.' I think they're talking about you, Wheels."

"Probably." I climb atop a van and resume forward motion. "Does it seem like the cops are setting up shop directly in front of the place, or are they using somewhere else for their main staging ground?"

"Looks like they're out in front."

"Excellent." I jump into the bed of a truck and then climb over the cab before leaping onto the back of a car. I hope all these people have insurance; cars weren't designed to be skated over. Lives are more important than paint though.

A couple minutes later, I reach an intersection with a semi truck stretched across it and nobody ahead to justify its position. I pay special attention to the logo as I get closer. "Spook, I think this traffic situation was engineered. So far this is two different intersections both blocked by trucks from Glimmer Industries."

"Hmm. We know some of the Cueballs used to work for them. Could be they have members or friends still on the inside."

"Or maybe Glimmer Industries are in on it."

"Maybe," Joe says doubtfully.

"You really have to question the morals and ethics of anybody who goes out of their way to produce glitter, Spook."

"If you say so, man. But I think it's more likely that the Cueballs just decided to work with what they already know."

"Well, I'm not saying you're wrong." The crowd is finally starting to thin out, especially on the other side of the truck, so I hop down to the street for the rest of the trip. Let my legs rest up until it's Action Time. Speaking of which, two blocks and a granola bar later I take a deep breath, build up speed, and then wall jump past some reporters to land amid the cordoned off police zone set up just around the corner from City Hall. "Inline Wheels, reporting for duty!" I say, keeping my hands visible and my Pepper Fists aimed away from any people as I turn to the nearest cop.

"Go home, kid," growls Officer Susan.

Oh, good. I was hoping for a sane one. And judging by the extra chevron on her uniform, it seems she's been promoted! I grin inside my mask and shake my head. "There's no I in team, Sergeant."

"I have a team."

"Yep, but it's missing the I. I'm here to fix that."

"Go home."

"One step ahead of you!" I thump my chest and grin inside my mask. "Home is where the heart is, and this-" I wave toward City Hall "-is the heart of Forchester... Although I guess Chester Mart could make a good claim to that title too. Well, this is at least the right ventricle of Forchester, and I am the defibrillator."

"No. This is a hostage situation, Wheels. We can't have your chaos screwing this up."

"That's why I'm over here talking to you instead of in there pantsing the perps. Look, we both know I'm not leaving. You can either chase me away and deal with this situation on your own while I lurk in the shadows to jump in when it inevitably goes wrong, or you can work with me, leverage my expertise at dealing with weird crap, and have me on hand in case things still go wrong anyway. Which it probably will, but at least we'll all be on the same page, so maybe we can do a better job of watching each others' backs than we have the last couple weeks."

Officer Susan sighs and rubs her temples, then shakes her head with a look of resignation. "Stay here for a second." She turns and walks over to a burly man with a laser-straight part in his white hair. That's Sheriff Drake. When it became clear how far the corruption in the FPD went, he stepped in to maintain order while they root out the bad eggs and reorganize. He looks up from the shorter SWAT officer he's been talking to and listens as Susan mutters and jerks her head toward me. Drake shifts to get a better view and frowns my way for a bit, then nods and turns back to the SWAT guy. Susan returns. "Fine. Do not leave my sight unless told otherwise. We do not need a blood bath here."

"I know, right? I've got a perfectly good shower back at home that uses good old fashioned water. Bathing here would be silly and very cold. To say nothing of the press coverage." I shiver a little, still not fully dried out after my fight with Terence.

She rolls her eyes then gestures to follow, leading me to a table they've set up with some laptops and notes on it. She beckons for her partner, Officer Burris, and they fill me in on what the cops know so far, which is not much more than Joe has already told me. I keep the mic active and turned up so he can hear too. Besides the mayor and bad guys, there are three council members, a judge, two guards, thirty-nine other government employees, and five to seven random citizens of unknown identity in there. Assuming nobody escaped that the police don't know about, anyway. And nobody is answering the phones to talk to the negotiator.

"What about the Suits?" I ask. "Any idea who these guys are?"

Officer Burris shakes his head. "We were hoping-" He glances at Susan and clears his throat. "I was hoping you might be able to tell us that." He turns one of the laptops toward me. "We caught a few images of them, and-"

"That one," I say pointing. "I've seen him before. Dream Enforcer. He shot lightning bolts at some Butterflies on, um..."

"The fourteenth," Joe supplies via SpookNet.

I snap my fingers. "The fourteenth. And you're aware that a number of Cueballs are on the loose, right? I ran into Rob, Jacob, and Jones earlier today and overheard part of a meeting about an attack they were planning on City Hall for Monday. It sounded like they might have teamed up with the Dream Enforcers, too, so I'm pretty sure they're involved in this. I don't know about Jones and Jacob, but Rob can manipulate gravity and we already know Harris goes intangible somehow. They're also working with that Terence Raymonds guy you lost a couple weeks back. I fought him a little while ago today. Left him stuck in the storm sewer at Sculpted Springs. He was after some kid named Marco Chambers, so I told his family to evacuate. I was going to call you guys in to grab him when I heard about Larson." I hesitate for a moment before adding, "They also have that Cassie Quinn girl. I thought I left her with you?"

Officer Susan frowns. "We put her in protective custody while trying to work out an arrangement with her extended family; her parents don't want her. She disappeared three days ago."

"Maybe you had too much custody and not enough protective, because the impression I got was that the Cueballs were offering her sanctuary. I think they've convinced her she was being persecuted by you."

"Her odor puts people in a foul mood, stresses them out. She probably interpreted that stress as hostile intent."

Burris snorts. "Told you we should've issued nose plugs. What about the rest of these, Wheels? Recognize any?"

"Hmm... this woman," I say, pointing at a young, light-skinned woman. "She looks familiar, but I can't place her. Is this the only shot you've got of her?"

"We think this one is her too," Burris says, bringing up a pixilated shot of a similarly shaped person inside City Hall, mostly obscured by a fern near the window. "For what little that's worth."

I glance over the rest of the images. "What are we calling these guys? Individually, I mean? Suits works as a collective."

Officer Susan points to the corner of the image of the woman, where it's labeled WFA1. The others are also labeled: Lightning Guy is BMA2, the speedy Hispanic man is HMA1, and the others are similarly useless.

"Screw that. This one I was calling McBugZapper before, but that's a mouthful, so we'll call him Zappy instead. That girl I don't quite recognize can be Bangs. This guy here is Speedy. And that guy," I point to the bulky white guy caught midway through hurling a police officer into the air, "that guy is Hefty." I point to the next group of pictures, featuring the eight other Suits dragging Mayor Larson into the building while the others were inside softening up the guards. "And here we have Blockface, Coach, McFly, Stubbly, Butch, Bigfoot, Heels, and Burnscar. You two got that?"

"We are not calling them those names," says Susan.

I shrug. "Don't really care what you call them. This is what I'm going to be calling them." I run through the names again for their benefit, then I pause for a moment. "You know, now that I think about it, there's something familiar about Heels and Burnscar, too." I frown at Heels for a few seconds before shifting my gaze back to Burnscar. "Not sure what's up with her. Him, on the other hand... I'd definitely remember that pattern of scarring if I'd seen it before, so I must have seen him before he got those burns. Burns..." I look closer and it falls into place. "Burnscar was at Pharmedica! He was one of their researchers!" I look at the others. "Yeah, and so was Heels. She's the one from the room with the pink goop."

"That can't be right," says Burris. "They're dead."

"What?"

"Maybe we're talking about different people, but a woman with slightly caustic pink goop on her and a man with severe facial burning were both recovered from within Pharmedica. They were both killed on the sixteenth during transport to the courtroom."

"How?"

"We don't know. The vehicle just exploded."

Susan shakes her head and pulls up some additional images. "No, Nigel, he's right. These are the same people."

"But..." He trails off with a thoughtful look. "Well, the vehicle's occupants were all burned to cinders. You think it was staged?"

I shrug. "It would fit. If we assume that the Cueballs are trying to collect superpowered individuals who have reason to dislike the establishment, and that these two's exposures to their own Pharmedica tech when I fought them gave them powers, then the Cueballs would have incentive to try recruiting them."

"That doesn't make sense," says Susan. "They were Pharmedica employees. The Cueballs should consider them part of the problem, not potential allies."

"I agree," says Joe over my Skullbuzzers. "So does Halon. She just got here."

I give another shrug. "Well, if I think of other possibilities, I'll let you know. Meanwhile, let's talk tactics for dealing with powers. Hefty is a brick -- strong and durable. We don't know his exact stats, but it's likely that his vision and respiratory system will be his main weak points. His eyes might be sensitive enough to target with chemical or physical attacks, but even if they're indestructible, that won't help them see through paint or a smoke screen. Depending on his level of strength, simpler things like an opaque sack might work. Even if he's strong enough to rip anything like that off, it can still serve as a distraction, forcing him to use his hands for something other than killing you. As for the respiratory system, he's likely too strong to hold down and strangle, but he might still choke if he takes a fire-hose to the face, for example. Other methods include gas, sprays, powders, and creative use of expanding foams or glues."

Burris nods. "And that strength of his requires something to brace against. If we can make him slippery, he'll have trouble bringing it to bear."

I nod back. "That reminds me. I'm out of ball bearings. We're going to need to detour through a hardware store."

"No," says Susan. "We can send somebody to pick up whatever supplies we think we'll need, but our job is to stay here, stay focused, and discuss plans. And I'm more concerned about HMA1 than WMA1."

"Right." I glance at the pictures to figure out who she's talking about. "Okay, we'll talk about Speedy. Play the video again."

Burris tabs over and hits play. The footage shows Blockface and Butch facing down an armed civilian inside City Hall while Hefty carries Mayor Larson over his shoulder and several other civilians rush past toward the exits. It swings away from the standoff in time to catch Heels stepping in front of the door. A burly civilian tries to charge past her, clearly expecting to easily shove the willowy woman out of his way, but he slams against something invisible and drops to the ground unconscious. Heels steps away as other civilians move up and seem to do a mime routine, unable to pass what I guess must be a force field blocking the door, unless they installed a huge, sturdy pane of glass for some reason. One guy approaches her but then an invisible force knocks him away hard enough to throw him against the opposite wall. The camera swings to follow, bringing the standoff with the armed civilian back into view. Then a door behind him slams open and reveals Speedy's figure for a few moments before he disappears in a blur that rushes across the screen, collides with the gunman, and skids to a stop just in time to avoid smashing into the force field blocking the door. He leans against it and then launches himself into motion, disappearing down another hall. Suddenly Heels enters the camera's field of view and looks at the person filming. Two adult men step step between it and her. She begins approaching and the video cuts off.

"Okay. Did you see how he skidded to a stop? It means he does have inertia. If you look at the path he took, there weren't any sharp turns. He curves around obstacles. This is good. It means that the less space and more obstacles there are, the slower he'll have to go. Another good sign is that he paused before rushing across the room. That probably means his reflexes are mostly human. They're probably still very good compared to a normal person, but not good enough to take in the whole scene immediately after opening the door. That means he'll be even more susceptible to obstacles, especially if they only engage after he's in motion since I bet he can't see as well while running. That part's only a guess, mind you." I reach over and slide the video back to where he opened the door, then time it with my stopwatch. "That was what, fifty feet? He crosses it in about half a second. That works out to, uh..."

"Sixty-eight miles per hour," says Joe, who's already seen this video and done the math himself.

"About seventy miles an hour," I say for my Skullbuzzer-lacking police partners. "And that's not correcting for the time he spent accelerating, or the fact that he was weaving around obstacles. So his top speed is definitely somewhere above that."

"I don't trust the skid, Wheels," Joe adds.

"Hmm..." That's a good point. "I mentioned inertia earlier, but something's off. He shouldn't be able to accelerate or decelerate that fast."

Officer Burris rolls his eyes. "Superpowers, Wheels."

"Yeah, I know. What I mean is that I'm not convinced he's actually using his feet exclusively to move that way. The amount of force is too high. Doesn't matter how supernaturally strong and fast his legs might be; he should still be limited by how much grip his shoes can get. It's like spinning out in a car -- too much force and you slip. So either he's got some way to increase traction, or he's got another source of propulsion, or he's messing with time and space somehow to avoid actually travelling as fast as it seems like he's moving."

"And what do those possibilities mean for us?"

"Well, they might lessen the effectiveness of making him slippery. He was visibly skidding though, so he does seem to rely on traction somewhat, so those plans aren't totally out the window. Just don't be surprised if they don't work as well as they should. It also means he might have some other abilities. If he's modifying his traction somehow, he might be able to use that to brace himself better during a fight, or to walk up steeper than expected slopes. Depending on how it works, maybe he can even walk up walls. If, on the other hand, he's got an extra source of propulsion, that might let him jump higher and farther than expected, change directions in mid-air... He might be able to apply that externally as well, not just to himself, in which case he could push people or things that are around him. I think that's unlikely, but that's just a guess."

"And what if he's messing with space-time?" asks Burris.

I shake my head. "Dunno. Might imply feeling less acceleration if he grabs you and starts running. Might interact oddly with gravity warpers like Rob. It doesn't let him stop or turn on a dime, though, so we probably don't have to worry about bullet-time ninja dodges."

"So how would you suggest countering this guy?"

"Barricades, hallways, tripwires, ball bearings, oil slicks, caltrops, flame throwers, machine guns, pit traps, stuff like that. Avoid open areas. Avoid being in the middle of straight hallways; hug corners instead, particularly when you know he's ahead of you. The corner prevents him from interacting with you until he slows down enough to round it. Watch your back, though; it might seem clear behind you out to a good distance, but he can close that distance very rapidly. Also, watch out for thrown items. He can move his legs very fast with a lot of power; maybe he can do the same with his arms. If not, he could always throw while running."

"Pit traps?" repeats Susan dryly.

"Well, you never know what the situation will bring. Ever watch Home Alone? Improvise."

"Wheels. Besides babysitting you, we're supposed to be brainstorming strategies that a SWAT team can use to enter City Hall and gain control of the situation. We're not going to be setting traps."

"Why not? You know where the exits are, and you've got manpower. Figure out which routes they'll take out of the place if things go sideways, and either block or trap those routes. And for the people who go in, I'm not saying they need to chop a hole in the floor, but if during the natural course of events somebody blasts a hole in the floor, roll with it. More in line with normal SWAT tactics, shotguns and automatic weapons will be your best bet as far as firearms go. He's fast, so you want either spread or high rate of fire. With an auto, don't try to track his movements. Jump ahead and let him run into the bullets. Also: he's too fast to keep up with, so don't try keeping up in the first place. Guess where he's going to be instead. Same rule applies if any of these guys start teleporting."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious. While we're being obvious, yes, we already thought to send for insulated electrical boots."

"Good," I say with a nod. "You should also run a pair of wires from at least your knees up to your shoulders, then coil another wire around your torso from hips to pits. Running wire along your arms might be a good idea too, linked with the other ones."

They look at me skeptically. "Don't we want to avoid metal when dealing with lightning?" asks Burris.

"Not exactly. Electricity focuses most of its current through the path of least resistance. Normally, anyway. This guy's somehow forcing it in a line, so maybe all the rules are out the window. But if they aren't, it follows the path of least resistance. Wires would give it easy routes around and along your body that do not pass through your body. In particular, you want to keep it away from your heart. Better to have burns along your skin than a heart attack." Joe and I upgraded my armor with something similar the first chance we had after seeing Zappy in action the other week. "This is probably more important than insulating boots. Boots only help if the electricity is trying to move through your body into the ground, or vice versa. That's normally the case, but with this guy, maybe it's just trying to come in your front and shoot out your back. Boots won't help, then. The wires will hopefully redirect most of it around you instead of through your organs."

"I don't trust it," says Susan. She turns to Burris. "Hedge our bets and go half and half?"

He nods and jots something on his notepad, then looks back up. "Anything else you think we should do, apparel-wise?"

"Well, if you're not already fire-retardant, you should probably start getting retardant... in... heee-eeee-eeee-eeere." Neither of them crack a grin, and I shake my head. "You two are old; you should know that song. What is wrong with you?"

"This is a serious situation, Wheels."

"I know. We need to get you two an infusion of culture, stat!"

"Wheels..." Susan growls.

I open my mouth to steer us back on course, but an extremely loud gunshot beats me to it. Or was that several gunshots at once? It's definitely several cops who swear, at any rate. Susan and Burris turn expectantly as a younger officer runs up. "There's a force field," she says to us. All three turn to me, so I tear a blank page from one of the notepads and start rolling calmly toward the barricade that Sheriff Drake is now crouched behind, directly in front of City Hall.

"Well?" asks Drake.

I ignore him and squat down to fold a paper airplane, which I then throw at City Hall. It hits an invisible wall about fifty feet from the structure. "You knew from the video that they had some kind of force field power they could be using. Why didn't you test before shooting?" He frowns at the building; I think that's the only expression Drake can make. While he broods, I stand and then sprint toward the crumpled plane before anybody can stop me, trusting to my danger sense to keep me safe from any counter-fire from the Suits -- who probably can't shoot outward from inside the force field anyway. Susan starts shouting something, but Drake interrupts her.

"Let the boy work, Preskill. I want to see what he's thinking."

The ambient sound changes subtly as I near the force field, much like approaching a wall. Not surprising. I pull up next to my plane and retrieve it, straighten up the nose, and then fold it over to give the craft a sturdy flat nose instead of the fragile pointy one it started with. Gripping the plane toward the back, I hold it in front of me and slowly reach out, probing for the force field. The plane presses its stubby nose against it, and it feels as though I'm pushing the plane against a window. I watch carefully as I hold it there, but the plane doesn't start to smoulder or anything. After a few seconds, I take it away, pull my mask up slightly, and press the plane's nose to my chin. No abnormal warmth or coolness. I pull my mask back down and tuck the plane into a pocket, then reach forward cautiously. My danger sense does not activate, and I find myself pressing my hand against a hard invisible air-temperature barrier. I brace my skates and push harder with both hands, but there's no flex at all. It is pretty slippery, though. I try striking it softly with my palm. It's hard as rock and the sound of the impact is dull. I take off my helmet so I can press an ear against it and then rap on it nearby, but only my other ear hears anything -- the force field doesn't transmit vibration at all. Helmet back on, I open the mouth-slit in my mask and lean close to the field so I can blow on it. My breath bounces back. I press my mouth against it and my lips form an air-tight seal when I try blowing again. So, it's not permeable to air, either. I lean back for a moment and wave away my granola-scented breath, then lean back in and take a whiff. No smell of its own that I can notice. I try licking it, but it's flavorless and feels smooth like glass. Not even an electric tickle.

I probe forward with my foot and then squat down to verify with my hands that it does go all the way to the ground. Hmm. Does it go through the ground? There's no visual indication in the ground itself that anything has happened. I drag a hand along it as I skate sideways over to the sidewalk. There's a plastic bottle on the ground here that some idiot litterbug left behind, and the force field is intersecting the bottle. I nudge it with my foot, but the bottle doesn't want to move. I give it a swift kick, and the part on my side of the field crumples, but the part that the field intersects does not respond in any way, nor does the bit on the far side. I crouch down and take out my knife to cut the end off it, then poke through. Nope, the field isn't just holding the bottle in place. It's inside the bottle. That implies that it's filling every gap it intersects, not casting shadows. Hmm. Might not be able to dig under it, then, unless it doesn't go very deep or can be blocked by certain types or amounts of material. The responsible part of me says I should try a storm drain, but the rest of me shivers and opts to ignore that notion for now. At least I had enough sense to buy that coat earlier.

I straighten up and drop the chunk of bottle in a trash can as I skate back to Drake, Susan, and Burris. "It reaches at least to the ground and permeates through anything it intersects to block off any internal voids. I don't know how deep into the ground it goes or if it's a sphere. It locks anything it intersects in place. It's sound-proof and has no taste, smell, or texture. Very slippery, possibly frictionless; not climbable. Seems very solid, and it isn't permeable to air, so we can't gas them. On the other hand, they might suffocate themselves if they keep it up too long. Light goes through it, so lasers might work."

"And where do you think I'm going to get a weapons-grade laser?" asks Drake.

"The same place they got people who can make force fields. But I don't just mean high powered lasers. Lower powered lasers could still blind them, and if you can focus enough light on one spot, you might be able to start a fire. Besides the obvious dangers, a fire would also consume the oxygen faster, forcing them to drop the force field or at least put a hole in it somewhere. I don't know if they can make holes."

"Hmm. Probably not worth the risk of a fire. They drop that shield, and it becomes a liability to us too."

"I note that you didn't express concern about the hostages, and you wouldn't have endangered them by trying to snipe the bad guys without good reason. What's going on in there that I missed?"

Drake frowns. "Most of the hostages are in one room, and they had three guards. Figured we take those three down, then send a team through a window to recover the hostages while the snipers discourage anybody else from interfering inside."

"But you forgot about the force field." I rub my temples. "That kind of thing is why I'm here, Sheriff. I thought you got that. It's not just discussing strategy and tactics with these two. I need to know what you're doing so I can warn you if you've missed something."

"Watch your tone, boy. I'm already bending things near to the breaking point working with you at all. And while I should've thought to check for the force field, you should have thought to warn me that I should check for it."

We stare at each other for a bit, then I nod. "You're right. I should have insisted on either working directly with you, or within earshot. I'm aware that this situation is highly irregular, and I didn't want to push my luck too hard. In hindsight, that was a mistake."

Drake gives a slight nod of his own, then turns back toward City Hall. "Mistakes happen. We're all on the same page, now. Enough of that. I have an omelette to cook, and I need you to help me crack the first egg."

"Alright. I'm going to need an analog bathroom scale, a screw jack, and a baseball bat."

"..."

"This isn't a joke, I promise. Oh, and if you've got a high-speed camera you could get out here, that would also be super helpful." I hesitate for a moment before adding, "And tacos. I require four beef tacos. No, make that five."

He turns to an underling with a shrug. "Do it."