“This is your fucking fault, Axon!” Tempest nearly screamed it at him from across the Bunker’s workroom. Her mind gave off rage, fear. She was pacing back and forth.

Rangan was slumped forward in an overstuffed chair, his head in his hands, his eyes and lungs still burning, his face covered in tears, coughs still wracking him every minute or two.

“It’s not his fault,” Cheyenne grunted through clenched teeth. She was stretched out on a cot, her arm immobilized in a make-shift splint, her body pumped full of someone’s left-over painkillers from a past injury. “Could’ve been you, Tempest. Could’ve been you on the ground. I would’ve done the same.”

Tempest kept pacing, agitated. “We’re in way over our heads. We should just send an anonymous tip to the cops. Fracking triple tunnel, from some other location, and send in what the guy looks like, and what we learned.”

“We should do that,” Angel said. “But we can’t stop there.”

Everyone looked at her.

“This isn’t going to end here,” she went on. “There’ll be more protests. They’ll try this again.”

She looked around the room, met their eyes.

Rangan could feel the passion coming off her mind. The protest was important to her. The whole idea of being able to protest – of people being able to come together, self-organize, exercise their right to assemble and speak in peace – that was a core belief of Angel’s. Fucking with that was an affront. She was angry.

He could understand that.

Angel spoke again. “Someone needs to stop whoever did this.”

“That doesn’t have to be us,” Tempest said, wearily now.

“Who better?” Angel asked.

Tempest pointed a finger at Cheyenne, “He almost killed Cheyenne.”

Cheyenne growled. “More reason to fuck homeboy’s plans up. I want in. Just gimme…” she clenched her teeth again. “…couple days…”

Tempest brought her hands to her face. “Let’s at least send in that tip. Did you get a good look at him?”

Cheyenne shook her head on the cot. “Disguised…”

They turned to look at Rangan.

He nodded. “Yeah. I know what he looks like,” he said. “More than that. I know who he is.”

And then he told them.

There was silence when Rangan finished.

“Wow, that’s heavy,” Angel said.

“Wish I’d… killed the bastard,” Cheyenne said between breaths.

“Axon,” Tempest said, calm now, “Can you put that together into one file? Shots of his face. His name. Anything else you know. Leave out the how. I’ll sanitize it, send it in.”

Rangan nodded. “I’ll get whatever more I need from Kade.”

Angel spoke up. “Cheyenne needs a doctor.”

Tempest frowned. “They’re cracking down on Nexus. There’s rumors of blood tests at the clinics. She can’t go there. Not unless she flushes Nexus and waits for the metabolites to clear… 72 hours.”

Cheyenne groaned at that.