She didn’t respond, opening the door and then closing it behind her. He could see through the bulletproof glass where she was talking to the mercenary.

He felt frustrated in a way he couldn’t articulate, which was probably by her design.

He’d need to pack up, he knew. They’d keep moving until the problem was resolved.

The living room of the house they were staying in had been co-opted. Two computers, one tablet screen, and a lot of papers were scattered around.

There were boards, too. Bulletin boards that could be picked up and moved from location to location.

Curious about how many more times they’d have to move or how long he’d have to wait until he had real freedom and responsibility again, he looked at the boards.

Valkyrie: scared
Dragon: hid for a while. Scared
Legend, Chev: staying away on long missions. Clandestine meetings.

It made no sense. It didn’t help that her writing got worse as her headaches did.

Bogeyman of Cauldron: captured, weapon kept up sleeve
Dinah Alcott: compromised? Shift of motives?
Why capture/corner/co-opt precogs?

He knew the name Dinah Alcott. Eerie to see it now.

What is the threat? Why scared?

It wasn’t what he was interested in, but now he was paying attention.

Hiding in alternate worlds won’t save us, so why avoid the city?
Who or what is here?

Blinding 11.1

I could remember conversations that Gilpatrick and I had had, back with the Patrol group. Gilpatrick had worked as a PRT squad leader, and he’d had his fair share of bad days. I’d had my bad days too. Even ignoring the obvious, I’d grown up in Brockton Bay. Gilpatrick had wanted to root out all of the ‘powers are cool’ types. To reduce the roster for his school-peripheral program down to a minimum, to the people who had to be there. Not every school had done the same.

A half dozen men and women and three dogs now rippled with enough muscle that their skin had split in places and they couldn’t move in straight lines. Their eyes were bloodshot and their throats produced noises like they were trying to scream while being strangled, and they hurled themselves against doors and windows. Inside, the members of the area’s Patrol block were all gathered together, trying to barricade doors and windows. Lights moved wildly, because some were using flashlights and others were doing the work, and the way those lights didn’t hold steady told me everything about how they were coping.

Gilpatrick had tried to train his squaddies for a crisis. To paint pictures and mix up the drudge work with some degree of strategy. He’d run over the basics, had talked about chains of command, and had drilled the older students on worst-case scenarios.