Chapter 33

             This year, Christmas lands on a Sunday, putting Christmas Eve on a Saturday. Alicia got Karina, Marina and Chloe going in the morning so they could all get home, knowing there was a Christmas Eve service at church tonight. However, while all four of her friends are active, Zoey stays mostly motionless on her bed.

            After she finishes dressing, Chloe sits on Zoey’s bed. Her best friend, her longest running friend, was awake, but it was clear in her eyes that she was still burnt out from anger and sadness.

            “Will you be there tonight?” Chloe asks Zoey.

            “I dunno,” Zoey mumbles with her face still partially in her pillow. “Maybe.”

            “It’s fine if you don’t feel up to going,” Chloe says. “We understand.”

            “Thanks, Chlo,” Zoey says.

            Zoey and Chloe hold hands a moment, then Zoey lets Chloe go so she can get up off the bed. Chloe lingers as she looks at her depressed friend. Then she exits the room and joins the others in Alicia’s car.

            Minutes pass, maybe even an hour. Zoey couldn’t be sure, because she refuses to roll over even to look at the clock on her bedside table. Instead, she just stays put, closing her eyes in hopes she’ll go back to sleep.

            However, Neeko hops onto the bed again, like she did last night. She goes up to Zoey, looks her over, and then gently presses her paw to Zoey’s cheek. The soft pink paw pad is cold on Zoey’s skin, and she grumbles.

            “Neeko,” Zoey mumbles. “No…”

            Neeko lets out a “mrow” as she pulls her paw away from Zoey’s face. She shuffles in place while Zoey grumbles again. Neeko lets out another, slightly longer meow as she shuffles up closer to Zoey.

            “Neeko, really?” Zoey says.

            Neeko’s only response is another “mrow” that, for a cat, has some attitude behind it.

            “Alright, fine,” Zoey sighs as drags herself out of bed.

            Neeko hurries on ahead of Zoey as she heads out of her room.

            “I suppose I shouldn’t make you suffer just because I’m in a bad mood,” Zoey says to Neeko as they head for the kitchen. “It’s not like you’re the stupid skank who rigged a game just to take my boyfriend from me. And you’re not the idiot boyfriend who was okay with all that.”

            “Are you talking to the cat again?” Zoey’s mother asks.

            Zoey manages a giggle as she walks past her mother to the cupboard. Neeko patiently waits by her plate while Zoey picks out the next can of cat food.

            “It helps that she’s a good listener,” Zoey says before opening a drawer.

            Zoey pulls a teaspoon out and then opens up the can with the help of the pop-top tab. Neeko’s ears perk up when she hears the sound of the lid peeling off the can, ending with a short little snap.

            “Well you weren’t exactly choosing your words wisely,” Zoey’s mom counters while her daughter picks up the plate from the floor. “I know you were upset but you have to keep control of what you say.”

            “But that’s the point, Mom!” Zoey counters as she cuts up half the cat food. “When I’m angry—not upset, angry—it’s hard to stop myself! That’s how the brain works, with the logical side and emotional side.”

            “Then work on not being so emotional,” her mom says as Zoey puts the plate back down.

            “Really, Mom?” Zoey says as she stands back up, face with a flat expression on it. “You’re going to tell me not to be emotional? Where do you think I got it from?”

            “Your father.”

            Zoey laughs despite her mood.

            “He does tear up during Grease,” Zoey says while watching Neeko nom her food. “Did he really have a situation similar to that song ‘Sandy’?”

            “I guess so,” her mom says. “It was before I met him.”

            “But that doesn’t mean you don’t get emotional in your own way,” Zoey says.

            “Name one time I was emotionally compromised,” her mom says.

            “Tuck rule.”

            “Those idiot referees were up to something and we all know it!” her mom blurts, startling Neeko momentarily.

            “See? You get angry,” Zoey points out.

            “Yes,” Zoey’s mom says as she calms herself down. “But notice how I didn’t use any bad language in there. You can do it, too, if you try.”

            Zoey sighs and rolls her eyes as she works on her own breakfast, starting with hot water for oatmeal.

            “You’re only now having something to eat?” her mom asks.

            “Yes, Mom,” Zoey groans. “I didn’t want to get up after everything that happened last night. And speaking of, can I not go to the Christmas Eve service tonight?”

            “What? Why wouldn’t you want to go tonight?”

            “Because Shaun and his family will be there, and he’ll want to talk to me about this. He already sent me so many text messages last night because he’s not getting the message that we’re done. Which is stupid, because he apparently wanted to be done first anyway!”

            “What? Since when?”

            Zoey sighs. She doesn’t want to have to say it again but her mom deserves to know.

            “Shaun told his friends—who then ended up telling other people—that he wanted to break up with me, just because I kept him at First Base.”

            “Oh honey,” her mom says. “I didn’t think Shaun was that kind of boy.”

            “Neither did I, until last night,” Zoey says.

            “I am proud that you didn’t let him go too far, though,” her mom adds.

            “Thank you,” Zoey says with a slight smile.

            “But you should still go to tonight’s service,” her mom says, to which Zoey grumbles. “Your cousins have moved back, we should celebrate.”

            “I know, but we’ll be moving away,” Zoey says.

            “All the more reason, then,” her mom counters.

            “Alright, alright,” Zoey says as she sets the kettle on the stove. “I’ll go.”

            “Good,” her mom says with a smile. “We’ll talk about that dress you were wearing later.”

            Zoey groans again, but then laughs, her mood being lifted just a little.

 

            In Brooklyn, Howie Holmes walks with friends Gerald and Mikey to the address he was texted by Reciprocity Incorporated. They end up in the neighborhood known as “Dumbo”, in front of a big brick warehouse simply known as “The Tobacco Warehouse.” The Brooklyn Bridge is nearby, casting a shadow as they look around, thinking there has to be a mistake.

            Howie’s phone rings and it’s the Reciprocity number, so he answers.

            “Hello?” he says. “I’m at the spot you texted me, but, it’s just a warehouse.”

            “Then enter inside,” the woman on the other end says.

            “Uh… Okay…”

            Howie’s very confused as he hangs up, but he does as he’s told. He opens the door and his friends follow him inside. There are no lights on, but the three of them still take a few more steps inside. The air smells stale inside and it is dead silent, too.

            “What’s a secret organization doing sending you to a musty old place like this?” Mikey says, his voice echoing.

            The lights suddenly turn on, surprising the trio. Gerald and Mikey hide behind Howie as an instinct, since he’s the only one with superpowers.

            “Welcome, Mr. Holmes,” Mr. Darklite says, now visible at the center of the room.

            “Oh. Mr. Darklite, I didn’t expect you to be here,” Howie says.

            “And I didn’t expect you to bring your friends,” he says as he takes note of Gerald and Mikey.

            “Oh don’t worry, you can trust them,” he says. “They’ve kept my secret this long, they can keep this secret.”

            “So wait, the people renovating this place were you guys?” Gerald says. “The warehouse had holes and barely had a roof for like, decades.”

            “We always planned on using this place for ourselves,” Darklite says. “But after the power surge that created superhumans like ‘Homeboy’ here, we realized we could use this warehouse to benefit all of us. This is where Reciprocity Inc. will be based in the hopes of working with the New York Police Department, the New York office of the FBI, as well as supporting Homeboy against the street gangs, such as the Sons of Brooklyn.”

            “Yo,” Mikey says with an excited grin. “This is gonna be your secret base, man! It’s like… The Black Cave!”

            Howie and Gerald look at Mikey with flat expressions.

            “The Black Cave?” Gerald says. “Seriously, bruh?”

            “Well, I mean, it’s not perfect, but…” Mikey defends.

            “Nah, nah, nah,” Gerald says. “This shall be known as… HBHQ.”

            “HBHQ?” Mikey repeats. “Sounds more like something from chemistry class.”

            “It’s short for Homeboy Headquarters,” Gerald explains.

            “HBHQ,” Howie tries out for himself. “Yeah, that’s pretty good. And saves space if we text each other, y’know?”

            “Well, in that case,” Darklite says, “allow Reciprocity Inc. lieutenants Whip Cream and White Walls to give you a quick tour of the facility. I however must be going. I have important meetings to get to so we can all be done with work for the holidays.”

            Darklite waves over and two women walk over. The woman dressed in a cream white pants suit is blonde, while the other is African American in all black with leather pants and jacket.

            “Whip Cream, huh?” Mikey says as both he and Gerald grin at the woman in white. “So like, are you a fan of pumpkin pie or something?”

            “No,” she says as she pulls out an actual whip. “My favorite color is cream and I like to use this as my weapon of choice.”

            She grabs and folds the whip to then yank it tight. The resulting SNAP sound scares Howie and his friends.

            “Okay…” Howie says nervously. “And you’re White Walls, as in the tires?”

            “You guessed right,” she smiles. “Since you boys walked here, I’m pretty sure none of you have a car. That’s fine, because I’m a great driver. We’ll start the tour with the garage.”

            White Walls walks towards the west end of the warehouse and Howie follows. Gerald and Mikey are hesitant to move, but one step from Whip Cream and they hurry after.

            “Most of the warehouse doesn’t have walls,” White Walls points out, “but this area over here is the closest thing to a garage this place has.”

            Howie looks past White Walls and sees the line-up of cars, from large SUVs to sleek sports cars to sturdy trucks and even commonplace sedans.

            “This one’s mine, obviously,” she says as she walks past the black Chevelle SS with whitewall tires.

            “Wow, those look great,” Howie says, noting the thick two inch white circles on each tire.

            “Thanks,” she says. “Spinner rims and neon under-car lights got nothing on the classics.”

            “I dunno, I kinda like how those look,” Gerald says.

            “Cars aren’t toys to add meaningless fluff to,” White Walls says. “They’re precision machines meant to serve a purpose. Spinner rims and neon lights are just for looks.”

            “Then why do you have whitewall tires?” Gerald asks. “Regular black tires would work just as well.”

            “Boy, don’t you question me,” White Wall snaps at him. “It’s not like you’re getting a ride in one of these. These are all for Homeboy and the team when we ride out to counter any actions taken by the Sons of Brooklyn. You two are lucky Darklite’s letting you be in here.”

            “We can do stuff, too, y’know,” Mikey says. “We’ve been Homeboy’s eyes and ears when it comes to the SOB’s.”

            “Right, like it takes experts to listen to police scanners,” Whip Cream says. “We have all of that here and then some.”

            “Yeah but have you cracked the codes the SOBs use in their social media and all that?” Gerald asks with a smug smirk.

            “What?” Whip Cream says.

            “Where are the computers in here?” he asks as he looks around.

            “This way,” Whip Cream says.

            The group follows her over to a row of desks where a few techs sit and type as all sorts of traffic and surveillance video streams on the screens. Whip Cream gets one of the techs to move aside and lets Gerald sit.

            “You see, the SOB’s have taken advantage of social media as a way to communicate without there being a way to trace their location.”

            “What’re you talking about?” Whip Cream says. “They’re time stamped and GeoTagged.”

            “Then how do you bring up the GeoTag information?” Gerald asks with a smirk.

            “Easy,” Whip Cream says awkwardly. “You just, um, right click and…”

            “It’s in the meta data,” one of the techs says. “But that would take time we might not have.”

            “Exactly,” Gerald says. “And even if you could find where someone was when they posted the message, what you actually need to do is figure out where they’re going, what they’re planning and when they’re going to do that.”

            Gerald tracks down some important Sons of Brooklyn on Facebook and scrolls through their posts.

            “See here,” Gerald says. “All these ones are normal stuff. Bragging about something they did at some party, chicks they just scored with or making fun of a guy who didn’t score.”

            “Y’know, stupid stuff,” Mikey says.

            “But their secret code begins with the mention of ‘Sunny’,” Gerald points out.

            “Who’s Sunny?” White Walls asks.

            “That’s just it,” Howie says. “Sunny isn’t a person at all. We spent all of November thinking it was some kind of leader in the gang, that he was someone we could find, arrest and get to confess to crimes ordered. We kept striking out, and it was driving us crazy. But then one of the thugs we did capture joked around, saying ‘Maybe I’m Sunny.’ And that’s when it clicked.”

            “So ‘Sunny’ is just a name they chose to go with their secret code,” White Walls says.

            “Yeah, that’s what we were saying all along,” Gerald says. “Sunny isn’t a person, but they use the name to help phrase what they want to say. Like this post we saw a couple weeks ago. ‘Hey yo, who wants to help Sunny move?’ Turns out, this meant they were moving drugs. But then this one the next day, after Homeboy here helped police stop part of the shipment, another member posted ‘Yo who effin’ snitched about Sunny’s stash to Pops?’ This is because they thought there was a rat who talked about the shipment to the cops.”

            “Did he really type ‘effin’?” Whip Cream asks with an annoyed expression.

            “G doesn’t like cussing ‘n’ sh-”

            “Which is why you shouldn’t be cussing now,” G says, talking over Mikey.

            “Bruh, it’s just another word for ‘dookie,’ yo,” Mikey says, a little annoyed.

            “That’s just an excuse,” Gerald says. “When you start acting like words are just words, that’s when you talk like you ain’t got no manners.”

            “But obviously,” Howie says, interrupting the squabble, “the whole point of this demonstration is that you need us to crack the code.”

            “Not now that you’ve told us it all comes down to ‘Sunny’,” Whip Cream says.

            “Really?” Mikey says. “Did you not notice how G pointed out ‘Pops’ is code for ‘cops’? There’s a lot more complexity to this than you think.”

            Whip Cream grimaces as she brandishes her whip and it gets Mikey to lean away.

            “Okay I didn’t say anything about this earlier because I was scared,” Mikey says. “But I don’t like the optics of a white lady whipping a bunch of Black kids.”

            “She’s only here to whip these techs and the other Reciprocity staff into shape,” White Walls says. “Also, she’s Russian. Russia as a country got rid of slavery in 1723, before America was even independent from Britain.”

            “Yeah, but those slaves were replaced by serfs, who were unfree peasants that still had to serve a master,” Gerald points out.

            “Look at the brain on this one,” White Walls says.

            “Yeah, G’s the brains,” Mikey says. “Homeboy’s the muscle, and I’m the handsome one.”

            Mikey grins in a way he thinks is smooth and attractive. It comes off more “dorky” than anything.

            “Oh, this is a new one,” Gerald says, “from just a minute ago. ‘Yo! Y’all better be on time for Sunny’s Christmas Eve party tonight, and make sure to bring your gifts. We’ll do the exchange after eating.’”

            “Gifts gotta mean guns and weapons,” Mikey says. “They’re keeping to the holiday theme to disguise their plans more.”

            “But where’s the Christmas Eve party?” Howie asks.

            Gerald scrolls around to find more mention of the party.

            “Oh wow they even disguised it as an Event,” Gerald says. “They’re calling it ‘Sunny’s Christmas Eve Party’, and the address is… 10007 Peter Piper Place.”

            “Okay that’s not a real street address anywhere in New York,” Whip Cream says.

            “Because it’s code for 1PP,” Howie says as he realizes it himself. “10007 is the zip code in New York City, and obviously all three P’s are for Police Place Path.”

            “They’re planning on hitting the police commissioner’s office?” White Walls says. “There’s no way, that place is one of the most secure places in all of New York.”

            “Maybe that’s exactly why they’re trying it,” Mikey says. “It’s so crazy, no one would ever think they’d be crazy enough to do it, except they are.”

            “But what does the rest of this mean?” Whip Cream asks.

            “Christmas Eve Party,” Howie says as he thinks. “Wait, okay, I remember hearing Gramps talking about a police union party that the commissioner decided to hold at 1PP.”

            “When is that supposed to start?” White Walls asks.

            “Well, Gramps as a police chief, he’s gonna be there earlier, but the actual thing doesn’t start until around 6.”

            “Well 1PP is literally across the bridge from here,” Whip Cream says, “I don’t know what the rush on getting this information out is for.”

            “Wait, what was that part about your grandpa having to be there early?” White Walls asks.

            “There are a lot of roles in preparing for tonight,” Howie says. “There’s making sure security plans are in place, making sure the building is secure, making sure decorations are in place, and making sure the food is ready.”

            “That’s their way in,” White Walls says. “They can pretend to be catering. They mentioned dinner in the post, didn’t they?”

            “Oh that’s true,” Gerald says.

            “And those big catering vans and carts and stuff, that makes it super easy to sneak in weapons,” Mikey says.

            “When are those supposed to arrive?” Whip Cream asks.

            “I dunno, Gramps volunteered for the decorations,” Howie says.

            “Either way, we need to get going on this,” White Walls says. “We’ll have to do a quick run through of your new costume.”

            “New costume?” Howie and friends all repeat.

            White Walls walks over to the center of the warehouse, and presses a button on a support beam. A wall rises up from the ground!

            “Whoa…!” Howie and friends all say.

            The wall has all sorts of smaller compartments on it, but the main thing of note is the central slot with said new costume. And they know it’s for Homeboy because of the big orange H on the chest.

            Howie, Gerald and Mikey walk over as the wall finishes rising out of the ground. The full costume is revealed to be a pair of tights with padding on the thighs and knees, then a cross between chainmail and plates. There’s even a hood connected to the neck to keep with Howie’s current look.

            “Somethin’ about that looks like it’s from that Dragonball show, na mean?” Mikey says.

            “Oh, yeah, the armor they wear,” Gerald says. “I gotcha.”

            The central slot has a glass door that swings open and White Walls takes the costume off the hooks for Howie.

            “The ‘armor’ is made of carbon fiber backed with high tech foam padding,” White Wall explains. “The chainmail is also carbon fiber, and in a very close-knit pattern. We can’t let knives getting in through there.”

            “And the hood?” Howie asks as he takes the costume.

            “It’s just cotton so be careful.”

            “Oookay… But, will any of this fit me?”

            “We looked up your sizes from your high school,” Whip Cream says. “It should match up just like your football uniform.”

            “You looked up my uniform sizes? That’s not weird at all…”

            Howie goes behind the display case wall and changes into the new gear. And surprisingly enough, all of it does fit.

            “How does it look?” he asks as he steps out from behind the wall.

            “Bruh that looks pretty sweet,” Mikey says as he high fives with Howie. “Is it heavy, though?”

            “Not with my powers,” Howie says.

            “How do those even work, by the way?” White Walls asks while the display wall goes back down. “You don’t transform like everyone else out there.”

            “I guess I just always have my powers on,” Howie shrugs. “I’m now stronger, faster, tougher, with more endurance and agility than I was before the power surge in November.”

            “I actually like that a lot better,” White Walls says.

            “Well a lot of my stuff didn’t,” Howie says. “I ended up breaking quite a few things with my new strength.”

            “Enough talk, we gotta sniff out these SOB’s in catering,” Whip Cream says.

            “Alright, alright,” Mikey says. “Just don’t crack the whip.”

            “You’re not going,” Whip Cream says as she heads for White Walls’ white wall Chevelle. “You have no powers and no training for a situation like this.”

            “Mikey can help us search,” Howie says. “We need as many eyes as we can get to spot SOB members.”

            “So he’s going to be holding his phone up the entire time?” Whip Cream asks with a raised eyebrow.

            “The one thing Mikey can do is remember faces,” Gerald says. “It’s freaky good, like a photographic memory.”

            “And Homeboy has a point,” White Walls says. “Even if he had to have his phone out, more eyes helps.”

            “Fine,” Whip Cream says while rolling her eyes. “But you stick close to me. If stuff gets dangerous, I’ll protect you.”

            “Uh, ‘kay…”

            Mikey hurries behind Howie as Whip Cream and White Walls lead the way to the car. Obviously White Walls drives and Whip Cream is shotgun, with Howie and Mikey in the back. White Walls starts up the car and Gerald waves as the car drives out of the warehouse.

 

            “So what’re you doing tonight?” Cyndi asks Simon.

            The two of them are on the phone as Simon has lunch in his room.

            “My family’s going to go to the Christmas Eve service at our church, actually,” he says.

            “Oh, you go to church?”

            “Yeah, have I not told you that?”

            “I guess not. We don’t really know that much about each other, now that I think about it. But it’s fine, I was just thinking of hanging out a little more before Christmas. We can spend more time before New Years.”

            “Oh. What were you planning?”

            “Nothing, really,” Cyndi says nervously. “Just…to see you.”

            “Oh,” he says just as nervously back. “Wow, uh…”

            The two of them end up laughing nervously.

            “That’s… That’s nice of you to say,” he manages to reply. “So are you and your family not doing anything special tonight?”

            “No, not really,” Cyndi says. “Not like going to church or something, at least. We’ll have a nice dinner together and get to bed early so we can be ready for Christmas in the morning.”

            “Well that sounds nice,” he says. “If anything, I can call you tomorrow when there’s time.”

            “If you think you’ll have time,” Cyndi says, nervously playing with her hood strings. “It’s okay if you don’t, I’m sure we’ll both be busy with our families.”

            “Yeah, I guess so. But if anything, I’ll call you before Christmas is over.”

            “That sounds really nice,” Cyndi says with a smile. “I’ll talk to you then. Bye.”

            “Bye.”

            The two hang up and Simon returns to his lunch. Then he smiles as he realizes, he has a girlfriend. On her end, Cyndi also smiles, because she realizes she has a boyfriend.

 

            The black Chevelle drives up and parks a few blocks away from 1PP in New York. Homeboy hurries out of the car and leads the way for the others. They walk into 1PP but obviously security stops them at the front desk.

            “Who are you and what business do you have here?” the officer manning the front desk asks.

            “Agent Homeboy with Reciprocity,” Howie says. “Or is it special agent? We didn’t exactly have time to talk about this stuff, did we?”

            “Just ‘agent’ is fine,” White Walls says to him.

            White Walls takes a wallet out of a front jacket pocket. It has the Reciprocity Inc. insignia on one flap and an ID card on the other. The card has her picture but says “White Walls” rather than a real name.

            “We’re here with viable intel of an attack on 1PP,” she explains to the front desk. “The Sons of Brooklyn are likely smuggling in any number of weapons, all to attack the commissioner and countless other guests for tonight’s police union party.”

            “That’s insane, there’s no way they’d try that,” the officer says.

            “Which is exactly why they’re gonna try it!” Mikey insists.

            “What evidence do you have?” another officer asks.

            “We’ve decoded their social media,” White Walls says a little hesitantly. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but you have to trust us.”

            “Just ask for Police Chief Uriah Holmes,” Homeboy says. “He knows me.”

            The officers look at each other a bit skeptically, but one does pick up their radio.

            “This is Officer Charleton,” he says, “calling for Chief Uriah Holmes.”

            A few seconds pass before the radio sounds a reply.

            “Chief Holmes here. What’s this about?”

            “You have a visitor here,” Charleton says. “An ‘Agent Homeboy’. Says you two know each other.”

            “I’ll be right there.”

            Homeboy and the others wait for only a couple minutes before his grandfather, Chief Holmes, enters the lobby. He spots Homeboy and walks right over.

            “You’re an agent now?” he asks.

            “As of today, I am,” Homeboy tells him.

            “Sir, we need to hurry,” White Walls speaks up. “The Sons of Brooklyn are planning something, and our first guess is catering. We’d like access long enough to spot faces, maybe check items brought in.”

            Chief Holmes looks at White Walls and Whip Cream, then to his grandson.

            “Alright, but be quick and quiet about it,” he says.

            “Thanks, Gramps,” Homeboy says as he and Mikey hurry past.

            “Gramps?” White Walls repeats. “This is your grandpa?”

            White Walls and Whip Cream hurry after them, and head for the dining hall.

            Homeboy hurries through the doorway and looks around at all the round tables with chairs. The tables are set with plates, silverware and napkins. There’s a delicious smell in the air, so he and Mikey carefully approach the kitchen. They hear people at work inside, and peer around the corner. There are roughly half a dozen people in the kitchen, wearing red and white uniforms, but their faces are obscured or turned away.

            “Mikey, go in there and talk to them,” Homeboy whispers.

            “Why me?!”

            “Do you really think I can go in there and just talk to them, wearing this?!” Homeboy says, motioning to his costume.

            “Okay, good point.”

            Mikey takes a deep breath to gather up his courage, then walks inside.

            “Hey!” he calls out to the workers. “You guys got a sec?”

            The supposed caterers all turn to look at Mikey, and he quickly looks at each of their faces. He puts a hand behind his back and gives a thumbs-up, and Homeboy understands that means these are the SOBs they’re looking for.

            “What do you want?” the closest one asks.

            “To know what the main course will be,” Homeboy says as he walks into the kitchen.

            “That H,” one of them says. “It’s Homeboy!”

            Some of the exposed gangsters hurry to grab for boxes, while the rest run out the back. One pulls out a very big hand gun, but a whip cracks and strikes the gangster’s hand. He drops the gun and clutches his hand, then looks up to get a whiplash to the forehead!

            “Go chase those others,” Whip Cream says. “They might still go after the Commissioner.”

            White Walls and Homeboy head deeper into the kitchen, and he barrels into the other SOBs that stayed behind, knocking them into tables and even stove tops.

            Homeboy leads the way up the stairs, and White Walls prepares her own weapons of choice in a pair of pocket knives. She has one in each hand, blades at the ready in reverse grips. The two make their way up the stairs, as far as they go.

            “Do these stairs go all the way to the Commissioner’s office?” White Walls asks.

            “Honestly, I don’t know,” Homeboy says. “I haven’t been that far up.”

            They reach the final floor and hurry through the door. The SOBs have taken hostages, clearly upset they haven’t found the Commissioner.

            “Hold on,” White Walls whispers as the two stay behind a corner. “We need to keep them from doing anything to the hostages.”

            “Right, right,” he nods. “Maybe a distraction, too.”

            He looks around, and sees the fire alarm on the wall.

            “Of course,” he says, “oldest trick in the book.”

            He hurries over and pulls the lever.

            *BWOOP! BWOOP!* An alarm sounds and lights flash on all floors. The SOBs look around but see no fires.

            “Somebody must’ve just pulled the alarm as a fake,” one of them says.

            “You boys sure are smart!” White Walls says.

            The gangsters look to see White Walls standing in the open. They all aim at her, but she quickly gets out of the way, and Homeboy sprints forward out of a three-point stance! The guns fire, but seconds too late, and Homeboy tackles one into the other two. White Walls moves up as Homeboy gets up to go after the fourth.

            Homeboy swats the fourth gangster’s gun out of the way then rams a back elbow into his nose. The gangster staggers back while checking if his nose is bleeding. It isn’t, but he looks back up to see Homeboy’s foot going right into his face!

            White Walls uses cuffs to hog-tie one of the SOBs, but the other two get up. One grabs for a gun but she kicks it away. He gets up to his feet to fight but she uses one of her knives to cut his leg behind the knee. The gangster hobbles before she sweeps the legs.

            Homeboy sees the other SOB pick up two guns and aim at White Walls. He hurries over as the gangster shoots at her with both! Homeboy stands in front of White Walls and takes the shots to the chest! But between his superhuman resilience and the new armor, he manages to stay standing, though still out of breath.

            “HAH!” White Walls shouts as she throws one of her knives into the gangster’s knee!

            The SOB drops both guns as he shouts in pain. White Walls runs over and kicks him down with a heel to the face. She pulls her knife from the knee and uses a zip tie to cut off the flow of blood. Then she hog-ties him and the other gangsters up as officers pour in.

            “Get that one medical attention,” White Walls says as she points to the one with the zip tie. “And get the rest of these to somewhere for holding, we need to interrogate them on this little outing of theirs.”

            Homeboy watches White Walls walk past, and is in a bit of shock watching her clean off then put away her knives.

            Things calm down and all the SOBs not stabbed in the leg are in the same conference room. Mikey gives Gerald a call to update him on the situation.

            “That’s good to hear,” Gerald says. “Also, I’m thinking we need to get like ear pieces so we can all stay in touch. Even with Blue Tooth, our phones aren’t really that good if both of y’all are gonna be out in the field.”

            “Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Mikey says. “My mom keeps getting on me about my minutes, too, so we gotta change something.”

            “We should be careful when talking to these guys,” Homeboy says. “We can’t let on that we know their social media codes. They could get word out to the others and then it’ll change and we’ll be back to square one.”

            “Yeah, good thinking,” White Walls nods. “Okay, we’ll just be kinda general about it, no specifics.”

            “What if they don’t talk?” Whip Cream asks.

            “Well, I think it’s obvious which one of us will be bad cop,” White Walls says. “But let’s just try and go easy on them. I saw some of their faces. You really did a number on them.”

            Whip Cream simply shrugs as an officer opens the door for her, White Walls and Homeboy.

            “I’m pretty sure it wasn’t just you all taking on the heart of the NYPD by yourselves,” White Walls says to the SOBs. “So, when was it you were expecting back up?”

            The seven of them glance around at each other and at their interrogators, and stay quiet.

            “Okay, okay, I get it,” White Walls says. “You aren’t going to be rats. Maybe because you’re loyal to the gang, maybe because you’re afraid of what the gang will do if they find out. But honestly, what is there to be loyal to? I doubt they’re gonna care what happens to you after this. You’ll be in jail for much longer than the holidays, I’ll tell you that much. And, if they’re threatening you with violence, why are you sticking around?”

            “Yeah, Reciprocity isn’t anything like that,” Whip Cream says. “We stick together because we’re working towards a cause. Nobody’s gonna hurt our families just because we didn’t succeed.”

            “Families?” one of the gangsters speaks up. “Why would our families get hurt?”

            “Well, just think about it logically,” Whip Cream shrugs. “If the gang can’t take it out on you, who’re they supposed to go after? Who’s going to pay for your mistakes?”

            “And you made some pretty big mistakes,” White Walls says. “You see Homeboy here show up and you panic? You could’ve just acted like you were normal catering staff, lied to his face and see if he falls for it.”

            The gangsters all realize she’s right and react in their own ways.

            “But seriously, guys,” White Walls continues. “Whoever you’ve got out there, they ain’t safe. The rest of the gang will realize something is up, right? And when that happens, they’ll find your people and make them pay for this failure. Unless you help us stop them.”

            “You can’t stop the Sons of Brooklyn,” another speaks up. “There’s too many of them.”

            “Just because you think that doesn’t mean that’s how it is,” Homeboy says. “That’s what I was taught, anyway.”

            “And what’s that supposed to mean?” the same SOB says. “Anything’s possible if you just believe hard enough? You can be anything you want? Some dumb inspirational crap.”

            Homeboy angrily stands up, shoving the table forward and surprising everyone else.

            “Maybe if y’all actually had some faith in yourselves, and tried doing something with your lives,” Homeboy says as he glares at the gangster who spoke, “y’all wouldn’t just be prey for a pack of wolves like the Sons! If enough people would stand up to them, they’d have nowhere to go. But instead, you just let them walk all over you and do things their way. Do things your way! The right way! Then all this stops and we can all finally move on.”

            Everyone is stunned silent, and the gangster who talked back feels a little ashamed.

            “So,” the first one speaks up. “Are you saying you can help keep our families safe?”

            “Yes,” White Walls says. “Reciprocity has the means to protect your families from the Sons of Brooklyn. Just help us catch all the guys that were going to show up and help you pull this off.”

            The seven of them look around at each other, and seem to come to an understanding.

            “We’ll help,” the second one says. “If not for us, then for our families.”