CLOSED: FOUND MY PARTNER. Feel free to read, however. I'd be interested in whether or not you like it.

I am not a super hero...

I am not even a regular hero!

I am just a person ... a bystander.

Lana Reed repeated variations of those statements mantra-like as she watched the events before her unfold. The four masked gunmen had burst into the bank and employed the very successful shock and awe method to take total control of the institution in under 30 seconds.

The customers and staff were face down on the cold floor under threat of brutal consequences should they resist. The leader (who would be called Chief by one of his cohorts and, later, the police) reminded the hostages, "It's NOT your money! And it's insured by your wonderful Federal Government. Don't get yourself killed for no reason."

The two crooks (who the authorities would call Blondie and Scar until positive IDs were made) immediately began cleaning out the tellers' drawers. Chief and a big guy (who the cops would call the Brawny one) held down the fort. Blondie and Scar finished the tills and headed for the vault.

Chief leaped up on top of the counter for a better view. He was continuing to scare those on the floor with a promise of violence when he caught sight of the impending stupidity that Brawny was up to. The biggest of the crooks was using the barrel of his rifle to lift the short skirt of a young, shapely customer. His lips spread wide at the view of her tight, full buttocks, well displayed by the thong barely apparent from her backside.

Chief showed his angered dismay, "What the fuck are ya doin?"

Brawny leaned down and patted one of the woman's firm butt cheeks. He ignored his boss's continuing chastising and asked, "Do you see this ass, Chief? Unbelievable!"

He ignored the customer's fearful sobs as he groped a handful of ass. He asked, "Feel good, baby? It's why you dress this way, right? So a real man'll take notice."

Chief continued to order his underling to pay attention but to no avail. Brawny lifted the now crying woman to her feet by a harshly clutched elbow. He directed her to a nearby desk and (with a shove) bent her over it. He again groped her ass (talking dirty to her) as he slung his rifle over his shoulder. As he began undoing his belt, his intentions quickly became obvious.

Chief walked over the top of the front counter to get closer to the wayward bank robber. "What the fuck are you doing? We're robbing a bank!"

Brawny only continued to ignore his boss, knowing that the man couldn't take his eyes, attention, and gun off the other hostages to stop him. As he whipped out his smaller (but just as scary) gun and ripped the now pleading woman's thong down off her buttocks, Brawny reassured Chief, "Don't worry, it's been a while, so this won't take long."

As the woman struggled to get away, Brawny used his strength and position to easily hold her down. He reassured her, "Relax, baby! You're gonna love this. It's just what you've been looking for."

Lana had successfully continued her mantra to this point. She'd thought the impending rape would be halted before it began. That obviously wasn't going to happen. She took the two steps necessary to reach Brawny, reached an arm up across her chest, then brought it down in a sweeping motion. Her sharp elbow slammed down on Brawny's spine at the small of his back. Despite the man easily being twice her weight, half a foot taller, and built like a brick shit house, Lana easily severed the wannabe rapist's spinal cord.

Chief's eyes and mouth fell open in shock. He hadn't noticed Lana until the moment she rendered his cohort irrelevant. He watched as the big man slipped away from the sobbing woman to fall to the floor like a giant bag of potatoes. Chief swung his weapon and leveled it at Lana, hollering, "Down, bitch! On the--"

Before he could finish, Lana dove behind a half high sectioning wall. He lost sight of Lana as he continued to holler at her. Chief leaped down from the counter, hollering to his men, "Get out here! Now!"

He hurried to a spot where he should have been able to see Lana. But she was no where to be seen. He carefully moved about the desks, sweeping his shotgun as he searched. Still, no sign of the woman.

Then just as suddenly she'd was there before him. Before Chief could react, Lana slammed something into his forehead. His knees gave out and he fell to the ground in a thud. (Later, the cops would find part a portion of the Employee of the Month statuette's engraved praise imprinted into the skin of his forehead like some kind of brand.)

Gunfire erupted as Blondie, then Scar, emerged from the vault and realized their leader was under attack. They, too, lost sight of Lana as she ducked behind the wall. And they, too, would each find themselves being attacked by the woman who they had lost sight of until it was too late.

CLOSED. I FOUND A PARTNER. THANKS.

FBI Special Agent Greg Roberts stepped into the bank's security monitoring office and closed the door behind him, looking back to the lobby from which he'd come. A dozen fellow agents from the Bureau were working with two dozen Law Enforcement Officers from the Capital City Police, County Sheriff's Department, and even the State Police. Sometimes, so many LEOs on the same premises could lead to confusion. Ironically, though, today's confusion wasn't coming from the variety of cops responding to the bank robbery but was instead coming from the witnesses to the crime.

"Can anyone tell me what the hell is going on?" Greg asked as he turned to face the others, which included his partner, a Capital City Police Department Lieutenant, a Double C computer technician, and two of the bank's security officers, including one of the guards who had been on duty at the time of the robbery. Greg said with dismay, "The witnesses can only be described as ... nuts!"

"You gotta see this, Roberts," said Greg's partner, Lee. The man who Greg liked to call also Special though not nearly as Special Agent Cramer waved him over to the bank of monitors. When Greg stepped up, Lee ordered the security officer sitting at the station to run the digital security recordings again from the beginning. Lee pointed to the larger of the monitors and told his partner, "Watch this woman here as all hell breaks loose."

Standing at one of the high islands at which customers were filling out banking slips was a young woman, early 20-ish, with long hair that was oddly mostly gray. Greg immediately thought it a wig and asked, "Is she with the perps?"

"No, just watch!" Lee said, a sense of excitement in his tone. He murmured, almost as if to himself, "You're gonna love this."

As the crooks burst into the bank with their campaign of shock and awe, the bank's customers and staff immediately performed one of two things: hitting the floor as instructed or searching for a place to hide, with the latter group eventually hitting the floor as well. All except for the gray haired woman. She simply stood in place, unmoving, unflinching, almost as if a store front mannequin. Greg might have thought she was frozen inshock, except that as the crooks spread out to take control, two of them ran right past her, with one almost running into her.

"Is she the one the witnesses are--"

"Keep watching!" Lee chastised playfully. "Good things come to those who wait."

"Bite me," Greg mumbled, causing his partner to chuckle.

Early in their now-year old partnership, Greg had often shown his impatience with the less experienced though still very skilled younger agent. Lee -- who incessantly meditated and quoted from a variety of religions about the need for peace and calm for a healthy existence -- had often tried to get Greg to attend one of his nearly-daily relaxation classes. Greg's response was always the same, a variation of whether there'd be horny women eager to contort into Kama Sutra positions, then -- once he'd gotten off and fallen into a relaxing sleep -- leave without wondering whether or not he was going to call them the next day.

Greg's attention remained on the woman, even as his gaze moved between the six monitors for different views of her and the crooks.

"Watch this," Lee said, pointing to one monitor. "The brawny guy ... there ... he steps up to the other side of the island ... here."

"What the fuck?" Greg murmured. The woman they were watching was just six feet from the big guy, and yet Brawny paid her no attention at all. "What's he doing?"

"Watch," Lee said. A moment later, Brawny leaned down. Lee pointed to a monitor with a different view, on which they could see the huge robber molesting a scantily dressed customer laying face down on the floor. A moment later, Brawny lifted the woman from the floor and hauled her toward a nearby desk. Lee pointed to another monitor. "Check it out! The big guy is right behind her ... and the guy he called Chief -- the leader we think -- he's looking almost right through her. And yet--"

"He doesn't tell her to hit the floor," Greg says, more to himself than anyone else. "Are you sure she isn't one of them?"

"Watch," Lee again says, pointing to yet another monitor.

A moment later, all hell breaks loose for the second time. The woman suddenly moves for the first time, turning and slamming her elbow down into the middle of Brawny's back, dropping him to the floor.

"Paramedics think she broke his back," Lee said as the one called Chief leaped down and went after the woman. "Severed his spine! One blow ... bam! Down he goes, but ... watch this."

He points to one monitor after another as the rest of the assault proceeds. The woman kept hiding from the assailants -- behind desks, islands, half-walls -- and each time one of the crooks approached to within just feet without showing any sign of seeing her before she took him out, usually with just one or two blows.

"One broken spine..." Lee reminded, adding, "...crushed frontal bone and nose on ol' Chief there ... cracked clavicle and three ribs on Blondie ... and dislocated shoulder and broken wrist on Scar." He stood to look at his partner, asking, "How the fuck...!... did that little lady take out four skilled bank robbers like that ... and then walk out without anyone seeing her?"

"No one saw her?" Greg asked, remembering the confusing accounts coming from the witnesses, many of whom were still sitting in the lobby. "Saw her kick their asses ... leave the bank ... or both?"

"Oh, lots of people saw her," Lee told him. "When she was kicking ass. But as soon as it was over..." He shrugged, pointing back to the monitors. The woman walked toward the exit, then paused. "She sees that the crooks locked the door with a bicycle U-lock ... looks around ... then..."

The woman turned and disappeared into a hallway. Lee continued, "There's no security camera coverage for that hall. We lose her there ... and she's never seen again. It's like she just disappeared." When his partner asked if the entire building was searched, Lee explained, "Underway, but ... I don't think we're gonna find her."

"So, who is she?" Greg asked. "Did any of the bank employee's identify her as a customer."

"Nope," Lee answered simply. "It's like she's a ghost ... or a ninja."

(OOC: Saw the changes. I like them.)

After she'd dropped the one they would call Scar (who now had new ones, too), Lana didn't turn to look at any of the hostages. With any luck, the others (who were supposed to be staring at the floor) wouldn't have seen enough of her to identify her to the authorities, who inevitably were going to arrive. She'd headed for the exit, only to see the impassable lock holding the two doors tightly together. She only mumbled, "Well, fuck."

Still not showing her face to the others, Lana looked about her for a place to hide. She'd only recently learned that although she could hide from people by simply holding perfectly still, her image still showed up on recording devices. She had to find a place to chill until the cops got the door open. Then, she could slip out with the others and make a break for it.

Spotting a hall that led back to the bathrooms and other doors, she kept her head turned toward the bank's front and moved that way. There was a little alcove with a water fountain in it. That was where she was hiding when the cops arrived.

There was no breach, per se. Lana couldn't see what was happening out in the lobby, but what happened was fairly calm. One of the bank employees had witnessed Chief pocket the key for the lock. He simply retrieved it, opened the door, and let the cops in. By that point, others inside the bank had used tape and extension cords to truss up the wanna-be thieves.

Once the hostages (short term as they were such) were being escorted out of the bank, Lana simply melted in with them. Once gathered outside for statements, she simply stepped back and sat on the bumper of a vehicle. As the others were being interviewed, she was simply ignored, like a fly on the wall. She stood at one point when no eyes seemed to be on her and moved a bit farther away. Then again. Then again. And, finally, turned and walked into the thickening crowd of onlookers.

She'd gotten away. The problem now was that her face was all over the security footage. And Lana Reed wasn't exactly unknown.

"Roberts!"

Greg turned to find his partner waving him to the bank's entrance, where witnesses were being interviewed. When he arrived, Lee asked an elderly lady there, "Repeat what you just told me, ma'am ... please."

"I saw that lady beat those guys up," she said with hesitation. "She's not in trouble, is she? I mean, she saved our lives. Stopped the robbery."

"No, she's not in trouble," Greg answered, unsure of whether or not he was responding truthfully or not. "What more can you tell me?"

"It's ... well ... it sounds silly, but..."

"Go ahead, ma'am," Greg said, giving her a comforting pat on the arm. "Nothing is silly to us. Go ahead."

"Well ... it was ... weird. I peeked up after she hit that big guy ... you know, the one that was raping that poor little girl. I looked away at that brute as he fell to the floor ... then looked back ... and she was gone! Almost like she disappeared. I looked up and saw that other guy coming ... the boss, I think ... and ... oh, God, suddenly ... she was there again ... hitting him in the face with a trophy."

The three of them chatted some more, but the woman had nothing more to add, blaming it on her need for new eye glasses. Then, she pointed out beyond the bank's exit and said, "You know, she's right out there ... at the ambulance ... if you want to ask her."

Greg's eyes widened as he stood quickly, asking, "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I saw her leave with the others."

Greg and Lee both hurried outside, but after a thorough search, they found no evidence of the woman. The Emergency Response Vehicle would be on sight soon, and they'd get an opportunity to run the security footage through facial recognition. Greg could only hope they'd get a hit.

Lana knew the authorities would identify her. She had little doubt about that. It wasn't like she was a nobody.

Even before she'd reached her teens, Lana had been nationally recognized (and sometimes nationally or internationally ranked) in academics, athletics, extreme activities, and more. She'd been featured on the Wheaties box cover after her free dive set records for depth and time both, beating even the men's records. She was the youngest person ever to have climbed the Seven Summits, the highest peaks on all seven continents.

And, of course, she had had famous parents. Lana's father had been an Army Colonel decorated for bravery in Afghanistan, Iraq, and Syria. Later, he became a powerful US Senator and was being talked about as a Presidential candidate. And her mother had been an Academy Award winning actress who became a powerful force in philanthropy.

Lana suffered what could only be called a fall from grace following her parents' death. She initially hid herself away. She fell out of the public eye, with the exception of the occasional and inevitable paparazzi stories. She lost herself (as the old saying went) in sex, drugs, and rock and roll.

And yet, Lana knew her identity would be easily discovered, either by facial recognition software or good old fashion human investigation. Of course, she hadn't expected a visit from the authorities so quickly. She was still packing a bag and making travel arrangements when she heard them via her enhanced hearing. A dozen or more pair of boots were hurrying her way, down the hallway and up the stairwell of her condominium.

There was no escape.

Of course, Lana didn't need to escape, did she?

In the alley behind the perpetrator's condominium building, Special Agent Greg Roberts gathered the other authorities around him for one last word.

"Our target is one Lana Reed."

Greg began turning slowly as he held before him a sheet of paper hot off the printer in the ERV which was still back at the bank. It was a full color picture of Lana taken a couple of years before -- back before her fall -- but it was still close enough to her current appearance to do the trick. Greg gave a physical description of the young woman to the others, which included several FBI agents and two dozen members of the Double C's Emergency Response Team, once known as SWAT before that awful Colin Ferrell movie by the same made the word hard for anyone to serious speak out loud.

"Keep in mind that Miss Reed is not a suspect," he warned. "She is a person of interest. First team in will be armed with non-lethal rounds and weapons only!" With a bit of a wry tone and a widening smile, he begged them, "Please! Do not kill this woman before I have a chance to interrogate her--"

"And ask her about that incredible ass!" someone said from the back.

Greg tried to hush the sudden round of laughter and graphic talk. Since the incident in the bank, a digital recording of Lana's assault of the wannabe robbers had made its way around the law enforcement entities investigating, and it had been duly noted that the woman was very well rounded in certain, delicious areas.

"Locate and subdue," Greg emphasized. "Locate, subdue ... and later, if I can, I'll get y'all her phone number." As a final round of low chuckles rolled through, Greg told them, "Let's do this."

Three minutes later, flanked by the ERT members armed with Tasers and shotguns loaded with bean bag rounds, Greg punched into Lana's lock the code they'd gotten from the building's Super. He growled in a low whisper, "Go!" The heavily armored and intentionally scary looking cops surged inside and scattered in pairs to every room as Greg hollered, following close behind them, "FBI! FBI!"

From all about the nice sized condo, one ERT member after another called, "Clear!" And within 90 seconds, Greg and Lee had between them taken a look in every room to see that Lana Reed was obviously in the wind.

"We've got a suitcase in the other room," Lee told Greg when he caught up with him in the living room. "She was packing to split, but ... she must have gotten wind of us and taken off."

"Yeah," Greg said simply, looking about himself. Something didn't feel right. He didn't know what it was, but ... his gut was telling him this just wasn't right. He nodded his head toward the ERT's leader, telling him, "Do a thorough check of the apartment. Have your other team search door to door. Ask around. You know the drill."

Within five minutes, the ERT was heading out. It was a big condo, but it wasn't that big. While the search had been proceeding, a dog had been brought in to search for weapons. Greg heard it barking suddenly and returned to the living room to check out the commotion. The German Shepherd was simply staring at the wall, barking as if it had cornered a guns dealer. But ... there was nothing there in which he should take interest.

"They do that sometimes," his handler explained. "Who knows what goes through a canine's mind sometimes, right?"

After everyone but Lee was gone, Greg looked back toward the empty space on the wall. As his partner spoke of returning to the bank, Greg told him, "I'll catch a ride with one of the Double C's. I have something I want to look into."

Lee departed, and Greg sent the last of the Capital City uniforms out. Then, he returned to the living room. He stared at the wall for a moment, then looked about the room. Then, he just plopped down onto the couch, drew a couple of relaxing breaths, and said in a calm conversational tone, "I don't believe in magic. I don't believe in the invisible man ... or the invisible woman. I don't believe in super powers. But Miss Reed ... something unexplainable is going on here."

He looked about himself for some sort of response, but there was nothing. He looked forward, then finished, "I'm going to sit here for five minutes ... give you time to think about it. I'm not going to hurt you. I just ... I need to understand what the hell happened back there in the bank ... if you don't mind explaining it to me."

Greg felt stupid saying all of that. It was true: he didn't believe in magic, invisibility, or super powers. But he'd also seen the bank recording. Mass hypnosis maybe? He simply had not explanation for it. And what the hell, the worse that could happen was he sat here for five minutes and left without a response, feeling like an idiot.

(OOC: I'm god moding you just a tiny bit below.)

Lana couldn't believe what she was hearing. The FBI agent had figured it out, her enhanced ability. He'd referred to it as possibly being magic, invisibility, or a super power. Lana had always thought of it as camouflage. If she only held perfectly still, those around her couldn't see her. Unless, of course, she wanted them to. Sometimes she revealed herself to a single individual, engaging them in conversation. When others neared, she went quiet. Her conversation partner then looked like he or she was talking to no one at all. It was fun.

Lana had never employed her camouflage in the presence of a non-human animal before tonight, though. She'd been sure that the dog handler was going to discover her. Good to know, she'd thought after her panic dissipated.

And now here was this agent revealing that he'd figured her secret out. No biggie, she thought. He's not certain. Just chill for five minutes. He'll leave. You'll disappear, permanently. It'll be fine.

While the agent had been ushering out the last of the cops, Lana had moved closer to the balcony's French doors. Now, out of the corner of her eye, she saw three familiar dark SUVs pull up to the curb across the street. In only seconds, a dozen Men In Black-looking men had emerged and were heading for her home's lobby entrance. Some were carrying shotguns, while others carried electronic gear. Lana knew very well what the strange objects were: infrared and microwave detectors.

The agent sitting across the room hadn't been the first one to figure out Lana's secret. He'd only been the first one to identify her, too. She moved a step forward. With a panicked voice, she got his attention. "Get me out of here."

The agent hopped up, pulling his weapon instinctively.

Lana could see the amazement in his eyes. Carefully, she swept an extended finger toward the French doors. "You get me out of here before they get here. And I'll answer all your questions. But. You have get me out of here. Now!"

The agent moved closer to the glass and peeked out again. Lana did, too. Two more SUVs had pulled up and more Men In Black were spreading around the perimeter.

She continued, "If they get me, you'll never see me again. No one will. Ever! They'll throw me in a dark hole in the ground. And you'll never get your answers."

Greg's reaction was instinctive, just as the woman's raising of her hands upon appearing before the Special Agent seemed to be: she'd suddenly presented herself with hands gently raised in surrender, and he'd instantly leaped to his feet and pulled his weapon from his hip holster. But Greg didn't point it at Lana, instead holding it with the barrel pointing downward, trigger finger on the outside of the guard. His subconscious told him to arm himself, but his conscious quickly countered with a reminder that this woman wasn't a suspect but was instead a person of interest.

And, he would quickly come to understand, Lana was more than just a person of interest, she was an interesting person. As she explained that she needed to get out of there and he needed to help her, Greg's mind was screaming at him She really can turn invisible! She really can! What the hell? When she gestured to the windows, he cautiously stepped closer to the balcony and peeked downward. He recognized the official nature of the vehicles and men just as easily as Lana did.

"If they get me," she informed him, "you'll never see me again."

As she went on, Greg caught sight of one particular man who remained near the vehicles, flanked by two others who took the stance of body guards. He stared for a moment, remembering. Unconcerned with revealing something he shouldn't, Greg said, "That man was at the bank. I remember him. He was ... where the hell...?" He searched his memory, then added, "Oh hell, he was with my boss. At the ERT vehicle."

Greg looked back to Lana -- but she wasn't there again. He growled without thinking, "Fuck..." He looked about the room and saw no sign of her. He holstered his weapon, talking to thin air, "Miss Reed, please. I need to know what's going on here. I'll help you. I'll get you out of here. But ... you have to trust me. And...! You have to promise me that you won't run. I can help you if you are a witness ... a person of interest ... concerned about your safety. But I can't help you if you are a fugitive ... if you are simply taking advantage of me to escape custody."

All he could do was wait for Lana's reaction. Greg didn't know, of course, that Lana's super power was more akin to camouflage than invisibility, that if she moved, he would again see her. For all he knew, she had already reached the out of sight front door and split.

"Trust me, Lana," he said, using her given name for the first time, hoping to instill some additional trust. "I can help you. So long as you are honest with me."

He glanced downward to the street again, asking as he watched the mysterious man, "Who are they...? And what do they want from you?"

He had a good suspicion that these guys weren't here because of the bank robbery. He couldn't know that he was right. Very right.

Lana hadn't meant to camouflage herself when the agent looked away. She was in the mode. She was acting on instinct as he had been. Of course, this was only a recently discovered instinct. So, did that make it instinct? Or learned behavior? Did it matter? Did it matter right now. Her existence right this moment was nothing but fear and uncertainty. All that mattered right now was that this man with the gun got her out of here.

He laid out his demands for helping her. Then he asked, "Who are they? And what do they want from you?"

She suddenly appeared again. The agent flinched, reaching for but not grasping his weapon. He was becoming comfortable with her, Lana thought. Hoped. No one had been entirely comfortable with Lana in a very long time. Just thinking it made her lips widen a bit in a pleased smile, despite the current situation. "They are people I can't hide from, like I can you. They are people who want to know how I do it. They are people who will not give me a choice as to whether or not I want to tell them how I do it."

She gave the agent a moment to consider what she was telling him. She asked, "What's your name?"

After he answered, she asked simply, "Can we leave? Please?"

It was kind of freaking Greg out the way Lana disappeared and reappeared the way she did. She explained that she couldn't be caught by these people, finishing, "Can we leave? Please?"

He took another look out the window. With the exception of the Boss, his bodyguards and two pairs of men flanking the entrance to the building, the other occupants of the SUVs must have all entered the building. That meant they were on their way upstairs ... up here! Greg moved quickly, heading for the condo's front door as he ripped the radio off his belt.

"Capital City units, there are unauthorized people entering the building under the guise of being federal agents." He waved frantically to Lana, encouraging her to join him. "Stop these units ... non-lethal force, only. I repeat. These are not federal agents. Do not allow them into the building."

As Greg opened the door, the radio went crazy with cross communications. The unidentified agents had already gotten past the Double C officers in the lobby, flashing what they'd claimed was an authorization of jurisdiction. They were coming up via both the elevator and the south stairwell. An FBI agent began a report over the radio when, in the background, another agent could be heard ordering the MIB-types to stay put.

"Stand down!" a voice called, followed by shouting from both teams and the familiar sound of a bean bag loaded shotgun firing. Without understanding who was hollering it, Greg heard over the radio mixed with more gun fire, "Federal Agents! Drop your weapons! Federal Agents!"

Greg grabbed Lana by the wrist and hurried her out into the hall. After receiving his orders, a pair of Capital City uniforms ran for the elevator while a pair of Double C detectives headed for the south stairwell. Greg pulled Lana behind him, heading for the north stairwell. He checked it for activity and -- neither seeing nor hearing any -- descended with the woman close behind him. He could feel and hear the continuing gun fire through the walls of the stairwell.

Hell was breaking loose elsewhere in the building. Lana was happy that it was happening out of sight. The scariest moment in her life had been earlier in the day when Blondie and Scar had shot real, live bullets at her back in the bank. And what was happening in the floors above and below her sounded much worse.

The agent who had introduced himself James Bond style as Roberts, Greg Roberts led her down the hall to and into the stairwell. They cautiously descended three floors before Lana stopped short in the bend halfway between floors. She called to Greg, "Wait!"

The Agent stopped. Lana tilted her head, listening. Her eyes widened in shock as she hollered, "Get back!"

She was too late. The stairwell door suddenly burst open, slamming into the FBI agent. Greg slammed against the wall, and a moment later the MIB-wannabes had him on his face with his hands secured behind him. One of the attackers stood and swung his weapon up the stairs, then down, wanting to draw a bead on their real target but seeing no one else but the Agent.

Lana had dropped to her haunches in the corner even before the MIBs got through the door. They had no reason to believe that she was there. Yet as the man with his knee to Greg's back was trying to get handcuffs on the Agent, the man standing swept around from behind his back an electronic device hanging from a shoulder strap. He tapped a couple of buttons and began sweeping the device about, parallel to his pistol. The man was staring at the unit's back side. From her perspective, Lana couldn't see the little screen that was showing the results of the infrared detector.

But she knew when he'd discovered her. His expression showed that he saw something interesting. Then his gaze and the aim of his weapon both rose to where Lana was crouched.

She panicked, threw her hands out, and screamed, "STOP!

*********

Two hours later, Lana smiled at disoriented man's stirrings. As he opened his eyes, she told him, "You're safe."

Her lips widened even further at the ironic humor of her comment. After all, FBI Special Agent Greg Roberts was supposed to have been saving Lana Reed, not the other way around. But, he had, of course. If the troops at the other end of his radio call hadn't sprung into action, she would have been trapped in her condo when the men with the infrared detectors arrived.

Greg grimaced. Lana told him, "Take it easy. You probably have a concussion. I had to--"

She stopped short of explaining what she'd done in the stairwell. Lana had never talked about her abilities with any one. She was hesitant to do so. But. Greg had, in fact, kept up his end of their deal. Well, for three of eight floors anyway. So, with a smile, she decided he was owed at least three-eighths of the truth about her.

Lana helped Greg to sit up on the old ratty couch. She handed him a bottle of water, looked about the dark, dingy space, and explained, "It's a needle room. About fifteen blocks from my place. It's where addicts come to fill their bodies with poison. After dark--"

Again, Lana stopped short again. She knew she didn't have to explain such activity to a Federal Agent. Again Lana's lips spread in a smile. She knew what question was going through Greg's head: how they got here. "I carried you here. Through the basement. Underground. Alleys. Even a sewer."

She lifted the end of the water bottle again, encouraging Greg to drink. Lana studied him for a long moment. She had kept her secrets secret for so long. Telling them to him wasn't coming easily to her. But. It was coming. "When I was little, my parents told me I was special. They didn't know why I was the way I was. They only knew I was. They were very loving people, and they took great care to guide me in my special-ness. I was allowed to participate in so very many things. And I was allowed to use my enhanced abilities so long as I didn't draw undue attention."

Lana blushed a bit. Greg and his Bureau investigators had identified her easily enough. She had little doubt that they'd seen her long list of accomplishments. She said with a bit of an embarrassed tone, "I, um. I may have attracted a little undue attention."

She diverted her gaze as the memories of her parents' passing returned to her. She continued with a more solemn tone, "When I lost them, my parents, I lost something else, too. Control. I fell apart. I started partying. Drinking. Drugs."

She glanced up for just a moment before looking away. Greg was a very attractive man, just the kind she would have given herself to during one of her frequent clubbing nights. She knew she shouldn't add this part, but the devil inside her caused Lana to continue with, "Sex."

The siren of a police car zipping past the building interrupted her for a moment. Lana looked back to the Agent and continued, "I lost control over something else, too. My powers. I ran into some money prob--"

She stopped, diverting her eyes again. When she looked back up, she admitted, "No. I didn't do it because I needed money. Money was just an excuse. I, um. I started using my, let's call them powers since I know that's what you're thinking, to steal. It started small. Just to see if I could do it. I stole tips from café tables. I'd sit next to men waiting for the subway, then take anything they took their hands off of. Briefcases. Cell phones. Their coffee. That got old after a while, and it wasn't getting me any real excitement."

Another passing police car interrupted Lana. When she looked back, she said with almost a sense of pride, "So, I started robbing jewelry stores. I would enter and find a seat somewhere out of sight of the security cameras. I knew the sales people couldn't see me, but that the camera's could. I'd wait for the store to close. I'd rob it. I'd camouflage again and wait for the police response. Then, I'd sneak out at some point."

Lana wasn't surprised when Greg suddenly named one of the stores she'd robbed. It didn't surprise her that he knew about the theft.

She pointed a finger out the dirty, cracked window from which the low light of the streets was reaching them. "That was when the men in black got on my trail."

Lana went on to explain that she'd missed a security camera and was seen on the recordings. She'd gotten out, but so had her secret. Soon enough, the mysterious men in the black SUVs were involved. "I don't knorightw who they are, but they want me."

They chatted some more, and at one point Greg asked about what had happened the stairwell. Lana looked away again before explaining, "Camouflage isn't my only power."

Lana stood, smirked devilishly, turned away, and looked about the room. The light spilling in through the windows was illuminating a cloud of dust floating in the musty air. She raised her right hand before her, rolled it into a fist, and aimed it at an old wooden chair leaning against the wall. Suddenly, a column shaped shock wave blasted through the hanging dust. The chair exploded as if someone had hit it with a sledge hammer. Little pieces rained down about the room as the dust swirled about the room.

Lana didn't immediately turn to face Greg. She wasn't sure how he was going to react to what he'd seen. And she wasn't sure how she was going to react to his reaction. "So. That's how I got us out of the stairs."

She turned to face Greg finally. "And. Well, I carried you here over my shoulder here. So. That's how we got here, in case you hadn't figured that one out yet."

(OOC: I use your pic for Lana below, but I am aware that she is not dressed in this outfit.)

Greg stirred, blinking his eyes open. His head was pounding. The last thing he remembered, he was face down in the stairwell, hands bent behind his back. He'd heard the sound and felt the cold steel of handcuffs ... and then a blast like an explosion. Only, there'd been no noise, except for the sound of bodies slamming against the wall. It was all very unclear in his muddled brain.

"You're safe," a soft, female voice reassured him. "Take it easy. You probably have a concussion. I had to--"

It was Lana Reed's voice. And by the time she went quiet, Greg's eyes had gained enough focus to allow him to see her and their surroundings. This was not the well lit hallway of her uptown condominium. She must have seen the confusion in Greg's face because she began explaining where they were.

"What happened?" he asked, getting Lana's help in sitting up. Greg's entire body ached, far beyond his pounding head. He scanned their surroundings more and knew that where ever this place was, it wasn't any where near Lana's most recent of residences. "How'd we get here?"

"I carried you here. Through the basement. Underground. Alleys. Even a sewer."

She was almost force feeding Greg water as he studied her expressions and listened to her voice for clues as to what the hell was happening. Finally, his lips widened in a doubtful smile, and Greg said softly, "Bullshit. Fifteen blocks? Through the Underground?"

When he used that last word, Greg did so as a proper word. Capital City had been and was today like many cities across the nation, possessing neighborhoods that ran the gambit from very-well-off to poverty-stricken. But recent changes in Capital City -- changes for the bad -- had causes the former to get smaller and richer while the latter got larger and poorer. Every year, hundreds -- sometimes thousands -- of normal folk found themselves out of work and on the street. Some were single individuals, but it was becoming more common for entire families to find themselves without money for food and shelter.

The Underground, with a capital "U", was where many of these people ended up. Basements, sewers, utility tunnels, abandoned or even still functioning subway stations, and every little passageway that connected them was being occupied -- sometimes long term -- by desperate people needing a place to hide away from the dangers of a society that didn't care about them. Greg knew, of course, that very often the horrors of the underground were even worse that what was above it. But where else were these people supposed to go? With the rise in poverty and desperation across the Capital came a rise in laws meant to keep such people out of the hair and eye sight of those with power and wealth.

It was ironic, Greg thought to himself as Lana began to explain about her childhood, that she herself had come from that very-well-off slice of the social pie but was now hiding down here where the scum of humanity lived. He hadn't gotten far enough into Lana's file to understand that while rich and comfortable, the Reeds has also been significant philanthropists before their deaths a handful of years earlier. It didn't surprise him when Lana got to the part about partying. He'd seen many children of the wealthy go down that path. Sometimes it was due to a trauma in their lives, but other times it was simply a path they chose as they stretched their legs.

When she began talking about committing crimes -- mostly for the excitement -- that didn't surprise Greg either. But when she got to the jewelry store robberies, that most certainly did. When the picture began to get clearer, he suddenly found himself asking, "The Aurora heist...? That was you?"

The FBI had been called in to help with a string of jewelry store robberies after the Double C found itself stumped. Each of the thefts had the earmarks of being an inside job. But each of the stores was independently owned; they each used different gem merchants and supply vendors; each was protected by a different alarm company; they had no common employees; and they were serviced by armored cars from different companies taking their daily revenues to different banks. The security footage had shown a perp' coming into view after the stores had closed, more often than not setting off the motion detectors and subsequent alarms. After taking what he wanted -- or now, Greg realized, what she wanted -- the thief then left camera view again and was never to be seen again.

The FBI had taken over the investigation after the fourth robbery when something new and unexplainable occurred. The thief -- Lana, by her own admission -- finished the job, then ... took a seat! She dropped into a chair in a corner close to the door and simply waited for the police response. Greg hadn't been assigned to the case himself, but he'd heard about the footage. A few minutes into the search of the store, someone called out, "She's still here!"

Greg was told it was like chickens running around with their heads cut off. The officers at the monitors kept telling those out in the store where she was being seen in the camera shots; and those searching the store kept telling those at the monitors that they were seeing things. It was, as Greg's great grandfather would have called it, akin to a Chinese fire drill. And then, to make things even more interesting, a pair of black SUVs with Federal plates but no other identifiers on them pulled up, and the men inside claimed jurisdiction, ordering every one else -- Double C and FBI alike -- off the premises.

"That was when the men in black got on my trail," Lana told Greg, the concern obvious in her eyes. "I don't know who they are, but they want me."

She went on to explain about her ability to camouflage, giving Greg a demonstration. It was amazing! It was as if she had a cannon up her sleeve, except that she had no sleeves and there was no explosion, except that of the chair disintegrating into a hundred or so shards all across the needle room.

After she explained that that was how she'd overpowered what she was calling the MIBs, Greg asked, "Are they still alive...? I mean, I am. So, I'm thinking that...?"

Lana reassured him that she hadn't killed anyone. He studied her for a moment. It was obvious that she was hurting. It was obvious that this wasn't the life she would choose if she had a chance to make such a decision. It was also obvious to Greg that Lana not only needed help but wanted it, too. She could have left him there in that stairwell to deal with the MIBs and the charges of Aiding and Abetting a Fugitive that would surely have come in short order. But she hadn't. She hadn't left him behind but had instead carried him over her shoulder through the Underground for fifteen blocks.

Greg chuckled, and when Lana asked what was humorous, he explained. "I still find it amazing that you could do that ... carry me all that way, I mean." Greg let his gaze drop to Lana's body for a moment, studying her ... ogling her, actually. He realized suddenly that he hadn't truly taken in her physical beauty until this moment. She was a very well put together young woman, yet, "I mean, I outweigh you by sixty, seventy pounds ... and it's not like you're a body builder or anything. Don't get me wrong, Miss Reed. I'm no male chauvinist pig, but ... really ... even with your, how did you phrase it ... specialness...? You have to admit, it's hard to fathom."

He listened to Lana's reply, then asked, "So ... what now? You're a person of interest, a witness and a hero, actually, in a bank robbery. And now, you're the prime suspect in a string of jewelry store heists. Plus..." He smirked, chuckling, "...now you've assaulted two supposedly federal agents and kidnapped a third. Theoretically, I should be putting cuffs on you and taking you in for questioning. But ... I figure if I try--" He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "--I might find myself bouncing off that wall."

"I still find it amazing that you could do that ... carry me all that way, I mean."

Lana listened to Greg's comments about her obvious appearance and unexpected strength. They didn't surprise her. And she didn't take them as chauvinistic, so they didn't offend her in anyway.

What did surprise Lana was the hungry look in Greg's eyes as he looked over her figure. She tried to suppress her pleased smirk but failed miserably. Lana liked being looked at. She knew she looked good. Over her life, Lana's shapely figure had gained her a great many things (tangible and intangible both) that her other abilities hadn't. She'd never hesitated to use her feminine wiles if it was the fastest, easiest way to get what she wanted.

Lana had dressed for her attempted escape from Capital City very much as she dressed on any other casual day with no great plans. A long, loose fitting blouse with a deep "V" neck showed off the cleavage of her C-cups, boosted by a black lacy bra. The tail of the shirt barely hid the firm, muscular buttocks accentuated by her tight fitting, black, Lycra body suit. She'd finished off the outfit with a pair of leather boots that reached almost to her knees. They had comfortable, low, two inch heels and anti-slip, rubber soles. The two, unconnected results were that they highlighted Lana's long, athletic legs while still allowing her to run and maneuver with agility and speed.

Greg asked, "So ... what now?"

He explained her situation and his duty.

She moved Greg's way, slow and unthreateningly. He'd just made it clear that he understood what Lana could do to him if she wanted. "I'm not going to hurt you. But. I'm not going to go to jail either."

Lana reached to the small of her back and pulled out a semiautomatic pistol, lowering it to her side. She hesitated for a moment, likely leaving Greg contemplating her intent. Then, with a little flip, Lana turned the gun around in her grip and offered it out to him. She waited until he took it, seeing in his eyes the familiarity with the weapon. The MIB who had taken the gun from Greg when he took the FBI agent down in the stairwell. Lana had reclaimed it, unsure of whether or not she would need it. She continued, "I have confessed my criminal activity to you. To an FBI agent. You have every right to take me in. You have a responsibility to."

Lana moved to a wooden box directly before Greg and sat. Looking into his eyes, she said with deep feeling, "I am putting my future in your hands. You helped me. You helped me get away from those men. I owe you."

She wasn't forgetting that she'd also helped Greg escape them. But right now, that wasn't relevant to their discussion. She continued, "I will do anything! Just. Just don't send me to jail. Please, Greg."

Lana used his given name, despite the fact that he'd used her surname the last couple of times he's spoken her name. She was trying to make a more personal connection in her plea to him. It was her way. She never passed on using those feminine wiles, after all.

Greg looked at the semi-automatic in his hands. He said casually, more to himself than to Lana, "The book would tell me to take you in. Interrogate. Investigate. Negotiate." He looked up to Lana and smiled playfully. "You did after all stop a bank robbery. I think you'd get some years shaved off your inevitable burglary convictions."

He stood, then holstered his weapon. He looked down into Lana's face. Even in the low light of the needle room, with it's persistent and now roiling cloud of dust, her pale hazel eyes sparkled. Greg imagined that any man who looked into those inviting orbs would do anything to make the woman to whom they belonged his own. He would ... and his little bit of history with Lana included a flight from justice, and beating, a kidnapping, and -- if would now seem -- an imminent act of aiding and abetting a fugitive.

"Anything?" he asked. He could see in Lana's expression that she would probably take back that dangerous word if she could. He chuckled, trying to add a bit of relaxing levity. "I'll help you ... Lana." He saw the effect of reverting to her own given name. "I will help you, but ... you have to do something for me."

He offered her a hand and, when she took it and stood, he told her, "It's time you learned to use your powers for good, not evil." Greg laughed again, admitting, "That sounded kind of corny, but ... I think you know what I'm getting at. Lana ... you have these powers ... these super powers ... that make you faster ... stronger ... more powerful than normal people."

He cocked his head a bit to look into the shorter woman's eyes closer. Smiling, he asked, "Do you see what I'm getting at?"

Greg asked, "Do you see what I'm getting at?"

Lana knew where Greg was heading as soon as he used the phrase super powers.

She cocked her head and said with a disapproving tone, "You want me to battle crime...! Like some sort of--"

Lana couldn't even bring herself to say the words. She drew a deep breath, then released it slowly before finishing, "Some sort of super hero."

She could see in Greg's eyes that she had in fact interpreted his offer correctly. "You can't be serious?"

But it was obvious that he was. Lana stood and turned away from the Special Agent, pacing about the dark room as she continued, "What, and. Are you going to expect me to wear some kind of super hero costume? Maybe something tiny and sexy that emphasizing my tits and ass, like all those fucking super chicks in the comic books? Really?"

She laughed in dismay at the possibility. She listened to what he had to say in response, then took a moment to contemplate the implications. What choices did she have? She could go to jail. She could disappear, literally, escaping Capital City forever. Or she could hide out down here in the Underground.

She turned to face Greg. Or. Or she could become a super hero crime fighter.

Lana donned a devilish smirk as she crossed to stand close to Greg. She asked, "What do I get out of this. I mean, other than you not taking me to jail?"

OOC: We decided not to write on this for a while and work on a table top like game I've been putting together. Feel free to remain subscribed if you have been following the story. We may come back to this.