I hid the pain of my recent trip through time and memory with a wry grin and characteristic wisecrack. "Nice ride, kiddo. Where'd ya steal it?"
She shook her head, adjusting the collar of her trench coat. Her dark hair was pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail, soaking wet. Pushing a stray strand across her brow, she looked up at me. "Standard police roller, Mick. Rookies don't fly around in spinners."
"Yeah, I bet. Been meaning to talk to you about this police gig."
Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Save your breath, Mick. I don't need a lecture about how dangerous the job is."
I swallowed my lecture, stalling with a wounded look. "Me? C'mon, Natasha — why would I do that? I was just gonna ask you why you were here without backup, that's all."
The tinted passenger window slid down, revealing a shadowy figure inside. "She has backup."
I leaned over for a closer look. "Well, I'll be damned."
Her partner was an android. Police uniform, alloy skin, mannequin profile that the designers didn't even bother to give expression or movement to. His face was frozen in an eerie state of perpetual pleasantness, the epitome of a public official designed to protect and serve.
"This is Link, my partner and supervisor. Link, say hello to my friend Mick—"
"Mick Trubble. Yes, I know." His head turned my direction, eerily prescient despite his inability to emote. "This is official police business. There is no need for a Troubleshooter to be involved."
"That's Agent Mike Trudo to you, pal. HSSC operative 1138, mission code 8211420518. I'm in charge here."
Link's eyes flickered for a few seconds. "Mission code accepted. How can I be of assistance, Agent Trudo?"
"Keep Natasha out of harm's way, and we'll have no issues, Cyber-cop."
Natasha's head rotated from him to me, a bewildered expression on her face. "What the hell just happened? And what's the story with the explosion Downtown? It's terrible. You must know something about it, or you wouldn’t have called me. Then you took your sweet time getting here. It's been hours — I was getting worried about you."
"Long story, Natasha. And trust me — you're better off here than anywhere near that." Noticing her irritable expression, I quickly shifted gears. "I'll break it down for you later, I promise. For now, I'm assuming Poddar was admitted."
"Yeah, he's in the hospital for criminals over there. Benny told me I'm putting the whole op in jeopardy by being here." She rolled her eyes.
"Could be right, but it doesn't matter. I'm checking him out. We got a case to work on, and time isn't on our side."
"Checking him out? He just got in. No way he'll be ready to go. You didn't see him, Mick. He was hurt pretty bad. No one gets up and walks away from that."
"I got the juice to get him loose. Don't worry about it."
She stepped closer, fingering my flogger. Are these bloodstains? You're not in very good shape yourself, Mick. What happened?"
"A lot. You coming with?"
"You know they'd never let me in."
"They will if I say so."
"No need to rock the boat, Mick. We'll wait for you out here. Don’t take too long — Captain Flask wants everyone beating the streets."
"Best if you don't wait up, then. Evil eyes are all over the place, and you'll spook the goons around here. Might get froggy, especially with everything going on tonight."
"Fine. But promise you'll meet up later, okay? I need to know you're gonna be all right."
"I'll try. Best I can do."
She sighed, reaching into her jacket and pulling out the Mean Ol' Broad. "Found this in the warehouse."
I slipped her back in the holster under my arm. "Much appreciated, Natasha. Tell Flask that the man he's looking for is Beowulf Kilgore. He's an Elite: enhanced super-soldier with metahuman abilities. Best to use can openers like your partner if he decides to engage. I'll send him the info I have, but the important thing is to keep his people away if he wants them to keep breathing. Kilgore can take out an entire squadron of cops without breaking a sweat. I repeat: use android units for combat."
"How in the world do you know all of that?"
"I'm in the business of knowing things. Just get him the info, okay?"
She nodded. "I'll tell him." She tried hard to keep her voice neutral, but I saw the fear shimmering in her eyes.
I placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "It's gonna be okay, Natasha."
Her face softened. "There you are, Mick."
"What are you talking about?"
"You've changed since I last saw you. The way you look, the way you talk is different. I don't like it. It's almost like you were a different person until just now."
"We've both changed, Natasha. I just caught up with myself is all."
Her eyes widened. "Your memories?"
I tapped my temple. "All here, for better or worse. No way to tiptoe around it — I'm not Mick Trubble anymore. And I'm not the man I was before I came to New Haven. I'm someone else now. Someone new. You should know that Mick Trubble is just an alias. My real name is Michael. Mike Trudo."
Her expression saddened. "I … don't know what to say. What does it all mean for you? Do you feel like … someone else?"
"Got no idea and no time to worry about it now. If I don't move, more buildings will go down. More people will die. I'll sort everything out after this is over."
She blinked water from her lashes, face downcast. "Will it be over this time, Mick? If this guy is all that you say, what chance do you have?"
"I'm breathing, so there's a chance. I'll see you soon, Natasha."
"See you, Mick."
"It's Mike, remember?"
"I like Mick better." She gave me a lingering look before ducking inside the skimmer. Lights flashing, it glided down the street at full speed, leaving sparkling trails of water in its wake. I watched until it turned the corner before heading for the Mercy Center.
A panel beside the door flickered on, displaying a shadowed profile. "State your name and business."
"I'm here to see my friend who was brought in earlier. As for my name — you already know it. Open up."
A laser scan confirmed my identity. The door whirred open, and I entered the facility. The interior was similar to a standard hospital, except this one had tall, menacing security androids in gleaming red armor roaming the halls. The rooms were all sealed with no windows so that the clients enjoyed complete confidentiality. It was quiet as a funeral parlor, the atmosphere blacker than my morning coffee. No flowers or balloons in the place, just sour-faced aides and nurses with guarded expressions, all of them avoiding eye contact.
I strolled over to the receptionist desk, where a surly dame with clown-colored hair and garish makeup glanced at me over her spectacles.
"What can I do you fer, Mr. Trubble?"
"Checking on my friend Poddar. If you can point out the room, I'd be obliged."
She gave me a critical once-over. "Looks like you'd be obliged with some medical attention yourself if you don't mind my saying. You've been in a pretty bad scrap by the looks of ya. Didn't happen to do with that explosion Downtown, would it? Never mind — ain't none of my business."
I gestured to my battered face. "Just a few love taps. And the stab wound? Lug who did it was gracious enough to knit me back up so he could chin it up for a sec."
She harrumphed. "Gotta love the talkative types. Well, if you ain't gonna take advantage of our well-reputed services, you can find your friend in room 2012. Don't think he's gonna be much for talking, though. Got him sedated while the platelet accelerators work their magic."
I gave her my most charming grin. "Is there a way to speed up the process? I'm in a bit of rush to save this entire Haven from a metahuman terrorist, after all."