The stench of stale urine mingled with flowery perfumes and cloying hairsprays, and before Ricochet opened her eyes, she knew she was in the women's restroom at the Den of Thieves. We made it, she thought as she looked around, a little incredulous that the plan had worked, even though Monet assured her it would. The dingy walls were covered with smoke and graffiti, and already she wanted to go back to Massachusetts.

"Come on," Goner said, pulling her along as she opened the door to the bathroom. "It's still early here -- we've got to get back to the pad before the cops find us."

"Cops?" Ricochet asked. "What would they be doing in this part of town?" Before she had left, the cops stayed to their beats and left the street gangs alone. No one in their right mind would be caught in the slums when it was dark outside.

But Goner shook her head, motioning for silence. Together they entered the darkened hallway, lit by a single bare bulb, and navigated the back rooms of the club, heading for the rear entrance. It wasn't until they were outside in the club's trash alley, bathed in the glow of a flickering streetlight, that Goner spoke again. Her voice was low, conspiratorial. "Things have changed," she whispered. "Gone sour. It's good you got out when you did. I wish you hadn't come back."

Ricochet sighed. "If you're going to say that every couple of minutes, I'm going to wish I hadn't, either," she replied, but Goner motioned for silence again. The rumble of a heavy truck rattled out in the street, and suddenly a large spotlight filled the alley. Goner pulled Ricochet behind the dumpster with her, and they watched the truck pass. Uniformed men stood at attention along the bumper of the truck, armed with UZIs. Ricochet felt them stare right through her as the truck rumbled on. "What the hell's going on here?" she asked.

"Martial law," Goner replied. She edged along the wall and Ricochet followed. When they came to a cross-alley, they stood up and ran down its length. At the end, a chain-link fence blocked their path, but they climbed over it quickly and continued down another alley. Ricochet felt the familiar surge of adrenaline pump through her body and she smiled when she recognized their surroundings. She hadn't been gone that long. They slowed down to a walk, and Goner interrupted her thoughts. "Those trucks are everywhere after dark, looking for us. The soldiers have instructions to shoot first, ask questions later. They're out to get us."

"Who's they?" Ricochet asked.

Goner shrugged. "The government. The public. Everyone who isn't one of us." She looked at Ricochet meaningfully -- she didn't have to say the word "mutant" for Ricochet to get her point.

"The government can't do that," Ricochet countered. "We're humans too."

"Maybe you are now, going to that fancy school back there," Goner said, turning around to make sure no one was following them. "But here we're all just a bunch of street rats, clogging up the gutters of L.A., waiting to be exterminated."

Ricochet shook her head. "I don't believe this. I mean, things were bad before, but --"

"They've gotten worse since you left," Goner explained. "Few weeks ago this gang of goth-punks shows up outta nowhere, muscling in on our scene, ready to fight anyone on their turf." Ricochet thought of Poser. "Trouble is, what they call their turf is actually part of Calliope's, a little bit of the Crips, some of Tores'. Nothing big, but enough to get us all riled up, Calliope especially. She takes after them like a harpy from hell, dragging Havier and Tores into the fray with her."

Ricochet whistled low. "Things must be really bad if Calliope'll work with Havier," she said. "She hates that kid."

Goner nodded. Around them, the sky began to lighten from night to a dull, dusky gray, and the city began to stretch and awaken. They hugged the shadows of the buildings, staying close to the walls, and hurried on. Goner continued. "Some drive-by shootings, a few random knifings, a bystander or two wounded or killed, and the city gets mad. Throw in a couple of mutants, and the city's crying for justice. So when the curfew's enforced, no one complains. When the scanners are called in, no one complains."

"Scanners?" Ricochet asked.

"And when a few street kids begin to disappear, no one complains."

Ricochet shook her head. "Scanners?" she asked again.

Nodding back the way they had come, Goner explained, "A faction of the National Guard, specially trained in dealing with miscreants and volatile individuals. I heard that off the TV. What it means is, they aren't afraid of killing a few mutants."

"This isn't making any sense," Ricochet said. "I can understand the public's fear, but why go after us? I mean, if it's the goth-gang's fault --"

"Have you already forgotten?" Goner asked, looking at her. "We know how to tell different gangs apart -- we know who's friend or foe. But to them, we're all the same. Street trash. And now they've started Operation Clean Sweep, to clean up their streets." Ahead of them loomed a large, decrepit warehouse, its wooden beams rotting in places, its soaped-up windows gleaming blankly in the early light. Goner took Ricochet's hand and led her over to the secret entrance into the warehouse, a small door nailed shut whose warped boards they could just barely crawl through. In the cool darkness inside the warehouse, Goner leaned close and whispered, "Welcome home."

The large room inside the warehouse was divided into separate sleeping quarters by large crates piled eight or ten feet high; in some places, they reached precariously close to the beams that held up the ceiling. Every girl in the gang had her own space, a small corner between the boxes filled with a few mementos of home, a few photographs and some clothes, and an old mattress bleeding stuffing and fluff. Calliope didn't like guys in her place, but the girls managed to sneak them in at night. As long as they were gone by morning, nothing much was said. Except for the time I brought Angelo here, Ricochet thought, remembering how livid Calliope had been when she found them together. Nothing had happened -- they needed a place to crash and this was the closest thing to home Ricochet had -- but they were kissing goodnight and Calliope swore she'd kill him if she ever saw him again. A few days later, she didn't have to.

Thinking of Angelo, Ricochet sighed. She wished she had asked him to come with her -- she needed to feel his strong arms around her, to know that things would be alright just by looking into his eyes. He's right, she thought as she and Goner weaved through the crates, heading for the large open area in the middle of the warehouse. You are falling hard.

The middle of the room was bathed in the bright light of a few overhead bulbs. In the center of the room sprawled an old pool table, and around the sides of the crates sat discarded sofas and chairs that the girls had found at the dump long ago. A few girls lay sprawled out on the sofas -- Ricochet didn't recognize some of them -- and someone leaned out over the pool table, ready to sink a shot, her back to them. On the other side of the warehouse, a short metal staircase wound up to an old abandoned foreman's office, which Calliope claimed as her own. Ricochet looked up at the dark windows and wondered if she was in.

As they stepped into the light, the girl at the table looked back over her shoulder. "'Bout time you got back, Goner. Calliope's looking for you."

"Had an errand to run," Goner explained.

Someone on the sofa gasped as Ricochet came into view, and she nodded at the girl. She felt her adrenaline still running high, and she could feel the gentle tug in the back of her mind as a slight headache began to settle in -- her mutant power at full height, ready to protect her from anything that came her way. And in this neighborhood, she'd need it. Another girl on the sofa said something in low Spanish to the girl at the pool table.

Suddenly, the girl whirled around, tossing the pool stick to Ricochet, who caught it nimbly. "Hello, Tores," she said.

Tores closed in on her, but Ricochet stood her ground. Gripping the ends of the stick, they held it between them like a line of demarcation, Tores glaring at Ricochet and Ricochet looking back at her with a bemused expression on her face. She almost wanted to smile, suddenly safe in the knowledge that of the two of them, only she knew that Angelo was alive. She could still feel the weight of his kiss on her lips. "I wouldn't imagine you'd be Calliope's type," Ricochet whispered.

Without warning, Tores pushed the pool stick away. Ricochet stumbled back a step and then, feeling the energy from her motion spiral through her body, swung the stick low and fast, sweeping Tores off of her feet. She staggered into the pool table, and when she regained her balance, she held a large kitchen knife in her hand. "I told you I'd kill you the last time I saw you," she growled.

"Just like you killed Angelo?" Ricochet asked. Narrowing her eyes, Tores lunged for her. Using the pool stick as a staff, Ricochet rammed its end into Tores' stomach, and the girl doubled over. Ricochet edged back, the stick held ready in her hands, but Tores fell to her knees, the breath knocked out of her, and Ricochet turned to Goner.

Before she could say anything, Tores leaped to her feet and pulled Ricochet's head back by her hair. Ricochet dropped the stick and reached for Tores, but she felt the cold sharpness of the knife pressed against her throat and she stopped struggling. Tores tugged on her hair, forcing her to her knees and then forcing her head back until she looked down into Ricochet's eyes. "For that remark," she whispered, "you will die."

"Still haven't forgiven yourself, eh Tores?" Ricochet asked, her voice choked. The knife pressed painfully against the exposed skin of her neck. If she was going to die here, by Tores' hand, she would make sure the girl remembered her. Swallowing hard, Ricochet asked, "Are you mad at me for reminding you about him? Or because he liked me more?"

Tores bared her teeth in frustration, and Ricochet felt the knife break her flesh. She felt a drop of blood run down her neck and into her shirt. From the corner of her vision, she saw Tores' hand shake as she tried to steady the knife and couldn't.

Suddenly from behind them, a strong female voice rang out. "Stop!" Ricochet felt the power in the word tug at the walls in her mind, and she sighed. Footsteps rang out and Ricochet could see shadows flank them, girls ready to step in if anything else happened. But the knife pressed tighter against her skin and she hoped they weren't too late.

"Go away," Tores growled. "This doesn't involve you."

"Put the knife down." Tores' head snapped back, and involuntarily she eased up on the knife. Ricochet could see the struggle in her eyes as she fought to resist the commands lacing the voice, but she couldn't. "Tores, put the knife down or plunge it through your own neck, I don't care which, but let her go."

The knife clattered to the concrete floor of the warehouse. Ricochet fell back as Tores released her grip, but before she could hit the floor she sprang up from her knees. Beside her Tores seethed, glaring at her with hatred shining bright in her eyes, but she stood down. Ricochet couldn't stop herself as she said, "Too bad no one was there to stop you from killing him."

Behind her, the voice said, "Ric, stop." As Tores lunged for her again, two of her friends were there, holding her back. "Get out of here, all of you. Now!" Ricochet started towards her old sleeping space, but the girl said, "Not you, Ric. You stay here."

When the room was empty, Ricochet looked over her shoulder at Calliope. She stood with her hands on her hips, her gaze leveled at Ricochet. Thick, dark curls spiraled around her face and down her shoulders, and she wore a tattered denim jacket mended with multicolor patches over a long white t-shirt that hung over tight purple leggings, and her leather boots were laced up to her knees. She pursed her lips. Ricochet didn't know what to say. "Hey, Calliope."

"Damn you, Ric," Calliope said, anger in her voice. She frowned, creasing her forehead. "You left without a word and it took me weeks to get past that. And now you show up at the worst possible moment and jeopardize the truce between me and Tores by almost getting yourself killed. Why did you have to bring him up again? You knew it'd piss her off."

Ricochet shrugged. "I just thought --"

Calliope interrupted her. "If you weren't my friend I'd kill you myself."

Turning towards her, Ricochet sighed. "I'm sorry," she said.

Calliope saw the blood on her neck for the first time. "My God!" she said, rushing over to her. She wiped the blood with Ricochet's shirt and looked closely at the wound. "Why didn't you say you were bleeding? I'll kill her if this scars."

"I'll be fine," Ricochet said, but she let Calliope clean off her neck anyway. This close she could smell the freesia perfume Calliope wore in her hair. She sighed and hugged Calliope close. "I missed you," she whispered.

Calliope looked down at her, a mix of emotions playing across her face. Then she hugged Ricochet back, resting her chin on the top of Ricochet's head. "I missed you too," she said. "Damn it, Ric, why do you always do this to me?"

No place was safe anymore, not with Tores prowling around looking to stick a knife through her throat, so Ricochet stayed in Calliope's room, away from the others. Calliope sent a few of the girls out to find out about Jon Erik if they could -- all the times he had entered her dreams, not once had he told her how to find him. But she thought they could find him soon enough, though Calliope hoped it wasn't too soon -- she didn't want Ricochet to leave her again.

As night fell over the city and the members of the Wyld Grrls gang came back to the warehouse to avoid the scanners and their curfew, Calliope sat in her room, listening to Goner report in. Ricochet lay sprawled out on the battered mattress, wearing cut-off shorts and a sweatshirt she had taken from Angelo's closet. Calliope kept glancing at her but Ricochet stared studiously at the ceiling. Finally, Calliope waved away Goner's words and interrupted her. "So what you're saying is you didn't find him."

Goner shook her head. "No one knows who he is." Calliope sighed. Before she could tell her to leave, Goner added, "The scanners got the goth-gang, though."

"What?" Calliope looked at Goner. "What happened?"

Goner shrugged. "I wasn't there, but it seems they were caught outside of the Den this morning before dawn. Three were shot on sight, two died at the scene. One of the scanners was killed too. The rest were rounded up and taken away."

Ricochet looked over at them. "Taken where?"

Before Goner said another word, Calliope shook her head. "Don't matter where -- as long as they're off my turf. I guess we can tell the others the truce is off -- things are back to normal now."

Ricochet frowned. "But they're mutants, just like us," she argued. "If the scanners can take them, what's to stop them from taking us as well?"

"What do you want me to do about it?" Calliope challenged. She glared at Ricochet for questioning her authority in front of Goner. "We aren't superheroes here -- we don't run around rescuing people out of the goodness of our hearts. It suits our needs to have them taken care of -- and it saves us the trouble of doing it in the first place."

Ricochet sighed and looked out the window. All she saw were the stars in the sky, obscured by a thin cloud of smog that hung around the city. When Goner left, Calliope came over and laid down beside her on the bed. Ricochet felt her fingers brush the hair back from her face, but she didn't look at her. Quietly, Calliope asked, "You mad at me?" When she didn't answer, Calliope tugged at her hair gently, a few strands at a time. "Ricky --"

"Don't call me that," Ricochet said.

"Then answer me when I speak to you." They sat quietly for a moment, Ricochet looking out of the window, Calliope looking down at her. Suddenly Calliope asked, "Is that what they're teaching you at that school of yours? How to save the world?" Ricochet shrugged. "Why would you want to do that?"

"Maybe some of us don't see things the way you do, Calliope," Ricochet answered. "Everything's not black and white all the time, and I can't be the one to decide who's worth saving or why. I just don't want anyone else to get hurt."

"That's why you left?" Calliope asked. "To keep people from getting hurt? What about me?"

"What about you?" Ricochet countered. She turned and looked at Calliope.

Tears shone brightly in Calliope's eyes, but she blinked them back. "I've always been up-front about the way I feel for you," she said. "You know that."

"And you know that I don't feel the same way," Ricochet said. "I told you about Angelo before and you just got mad at me. We're friends, Calliope. I trust you more than anyone else in the entire world. I don't want our feelings to ruin that."

Calliope looked at her and then nodded. "Then I guess you'll be leaving again once we find your brother, won't you?" she asked at length.

Ricochet nodded. When she didn't say anything else, Calliope asked, "There's someone else, isn't there? Someone you've met -- you don't have to tell me. I can see it in your eyes. Who is he?"

"I can't tell you that," Ricochet said, pouting.

Calliope sighed. Trying to change the subject, she asked, "So what's it like over there?"

"Completely different from anything I've ever imagined," Ricochet admitted, and the wistfulness in her voice made Calliope want to cry.

Instead she choked back her tears and asked, "Learn anything new yet?"

A smile crossed Ricochet's face. "You should've seen what I did to this Sentinel," she said proudly. As she started telling her about her adventures at the school, Calliope smiled sadly. This was a world where she didn't belong, a world where Ricochet didn't need her anymore. But I still need her, Calliope thought. Damn it, Ric -- why won't you stay in my world?

When Calliope awoke in a large canopy bed dripping with pink mesh, she knew she was dreaming. This was her old room, back in her daddy's mansion where there was always a party downstairs and no one paid her any mind until she figured out that the trick she did with her vocal chords to get people to listen to her was nothing more than a mutant power, and her daddy had thrown her out. In her dreams she was always back at the mansion, and her daddy still loved her even though she was a mutant, and Ricochet was always there, because a dream without her wasn't a dream worth having. But Ricochet wasn't in this dream, and the patterns of the shadows through the canopy were threatening, and suddenly Calliope only wanted to wake up.

A breeze stirred the canopy slightly as a hand drew back the mesh. Beyond the bed, the room crouched in shadow, and Calliope clutched the blankets to her chest. "Go away," she whispered. Jon Erik looked around the canopy at her, a wicked grin on his face, and as he climbed onto her bed, Calliope cleared her throat and felt her mutant power trill in her voice as she commanded, "Go away."

He crawled closer. "Your powers don't work here," he hissed. "This is my realm -- what I say goes." He looked around the room and asked, "Where is she?"

"Who?" Calliope asked.

His hands dug into her shoulders as he threw her against the headboard. "Where is she?" he asked again, his voice rising. "I told you to get her here, so where is she?"

Calliope figured he must mean Ricochet. "She's right here," she said, pointing beside her on the bed. In the dream there was nothing there, but she knew that Ricochet was asleep beside her -- she could feel her arm pressed against her lower back. "I wanted her to stay with me," she explained. "I thought Tores might try to hurt her and I wanted to protect --"

Jon Erik shook Calliope until she looked at him. "Then why can't I get inside her head?" he whispered. "If she's here, why won't she let me in?"

"Her powers," Calliope explained, and suddenly the shadows around them began to slither and writhe.

Jon Erik slapped Calliope and pulled her close until his face was inches from hers. "Tell her I'm in trouble. The scanners got me caged like an animal -- tell her to help me. Only she can help me -- tell her that."

Calliope nodded, and the shadows edged closer, pressing against her. She felt slimy tentacles wrap around her legs, felt leathery claws scrape at her arms. Closing her eyes and swallowing her fear, Calliope let out an inhuman shriek, hoping to scare away the unseen monsters. Jon Erik dug his nails into her shoulders -- she felt his hot breath against her cheek, and then she felt him shaking her.

"Calliope! Wake up, Calliope. C'mon, wake up." Calliope stopped screaming and opened her eyes. Now Ricochet shook her slightly, and she clung to her friend as the remnants of the dream slipped away. Ricochet looked down at the angry welts forming on her shoulders and whispered, "Calliope, what happened?"

"Your brother," she sobbed, afraid to tell Ricochet what she feared. If the scanners had him locked up, did that mean he was one of the members of the goth-gang?

"Did he tell where he was?" Ricochet asked. "Did he tell you how to find him?"

Calliope nodded, wiping the tears from her eyes. "The scanners," she whispered, and by the hope shining in her eyes, Calliope knew Ricochet didn't think that her brother might have anything to do with their rival gang. But Calliope had heard rumors about their leader, a boy called Nightmare, and suddenly she wondered if they really wanted to find Jon Erik after all.

When Jon Erik awoke, his back ached. The cold from the concrete floor had seeped into his bones as he slept, and his muscles popped as he stretched. His holding cell was nothing more than a small concrete cubicle with thick steel bars locking him in. Jon Erik couldn't stand upright, and when he lay down on the floor, his hands and feet touched opposite walls. Animals aren't treated this badly, he thought. How did the scanners ever manage to catch him? He had been leaving the Den of Thieves when suddenly the trucks were everywhere, blocking his way. Poser and Wannabe had jumped at the scanners, and he had tried to dodge back into the club. What had gone wrong?

He could hear the distant echo of bootheels ring through other corridors, guards making their rounds, but they didn't pass by his cell. Across the dingy corridor Jon Erik saw a cement wall pocked and marred by scratches, reaching away towards a ceiling he couldn't see. The wall was the same dismal gray color of his cell. From his position here on the floor, the edges blended together so that he couldn't tell where the cell ended and the far wall began. The only contrast were the bars, keeping him in.

To his right he could hear a slight moaning. Poser. When the scanner attacked them, she had taken a bullet in her thigh. He had entered her dreams earlier, and knew the wound wasn't healing right -- it had grown infected from her being kept in these damp cells, and he had felt the pain seeping into her sleep. Wannabe and Rust hadn't been so lucky -- the scanners had simply left them on the sidewalk where they fell, already dead. They were no threat to the public now.

Jon Erik rolled over on his side and stared at the wall. He wondered if Calliope was lying to him -- he hadn't been able to enter Ricochet's dreams all night long. And he didn't know exactly where he was, so he couldn't tell her how to find him. For the first time he could remember, Jon Erik felt afraid. He wasn't one to place his trust in another, even if she was his own flesh and blood. A sister he recalled fondly in sepia toned memories -- what if she didn't remember him at all? Would she come for him anyway?

Please, Skylar, he thought, drifting back into an uneasy sleep. Please come find me.

Calliope led the way through the back alleys and darkened streets to Hacker's place. He lived in a rundown trailer behind the Den of Thieves, and when Ricochet had last visited him, his home had been nothing more than an aluminum RV with a few wires dangling from it. But the trailer that Calliope approached didn't resemble the one Ricochet remembered -- cables snaked away into the night, and the entire place hummed as if it were alive with some unseen current or force running through it. Ricochet huddled close to Calliope, afraid to touch any of the wires, and she felt Goner press against her back, equally unnerved. "Why are we here?" Ricochet whispered.

Calliope turned to her. "If the scanners are government, chances are everything they do is entered into a computer database somewhere. Mutants captured, holding cells, the whole bit. If anyone can hack into that database and tell us where Jon Erik is, it's Hacker."

"Couldn't we have just called?" Goner asked, but Calliope motioned for silence. She carefully climbed the few steps and knocked on the door to the trailer.

Inside the trailer, a whirling started that reminded Ricochet of the sounds of a hard drive being booted. Beside the door, a pad lit up, its LED display in the shape of a hand. Words appeared on the palm -- "Place hand here" -- and trepedatiously, Calliope obeyed. The handprint glowed a bright green, and when she removed her hand, the letters had changed. "Orryn, Nathalie." These faded and were replaced with a more informal greeting -- "Calliope. Hello. Come in."

In front of them, the door whoosed open with the faint sound of a compressor. Inside the trailer, orange lights glowed along the ceiling, spaced far enough apart that shadows encompassed most of the interior. Ricochet caught the back of Calliope's jacket before she entered, clutching the denim fabric tight in her hands. As she stepped inside, a blast of frigid air ran up her legs from the floor, which was nothing but a grid of vents. Ricochet smoothed down her skirt with her free hand, and then reached behind her for Goner. She felt a hand slip into hers immediately, and behind them, the door slid shut. "I don't like this," Goner whispered in Ricochet's ear.

Ricochet turned back and asked, "And I do?" She saw a smile tug at Goner's lips before turning back to Calliope, who started to walk into the depths of the trailer, pulling the others along with her. Around them, the walls glowed with blinking lights, red and orange and green, and circuits gleamed wetly in the thin shadows. Cords stretched across the vented floor like thick roots, and dangling wires hung in clumps like vines. With every burst of recycled air, Ricochet felt goosebumps on her legs, the cold temperature reminding her of the coming winter back at the school. Soft whirls and incessant beeps filled the darkness. This is where computers give birth, Ricochet thought as they stepped through a doorway.

The room they entered was large, its walls edged with mainframes and circuit boards. In the far corner of the room sat a large monitor hemmed in by smaller screens and speakers. Ricochet gasped when she saw Hacker, stretched out on a bed of wires before the monitor. His body had atrophied since she last visited, his arms and legs withered away uselessly, his chest a sunken cavity, his long hair, unbrushed and unkept, hanging in dredlocks, entwining with the wires that supported him. His face was completely hidden in thick cables that wrapped around his head and throat like a turban. The cords entered his body at various places, and where the wire met flesh, the body had turned a dark color, similar to gangrene, though when she looked closer, Ricochet saw that the patches were growing circuits, spreading across Hacker's body. Soon the circuits and wires would cover his physical body entirely, assimilating the flesh into the computer like it had the soul.

A low buzz filled the room, and then a neutral voice issued from the speakers. It was a bland, sexless voice like those used in voice-mail systems. "Calliope. Ricochet. Goner. Hello."

Ricochet and Goner cringed behind Calliope, who cleared her throat and took charge of the situation, like she normally did. "Hey, Hacker," she said casually, addressing the monitor as if it were a living creature and not merely an extension of the prone body before them. "What's up?"

"You tell me," came the reply.

Calliope nodded. "Well, Ric here has this brother we just found out about, right? A few years younger, goes by the name of Jon Erik. Only prob is, the scanners got him. And we were thinking, what with your network and all, maybe you could help us find him."

"Describe him."

Shrugging, Calliope replied, "About my height, a real cutie, with long blonde hair." Behind them, a mainframe whirled to life, and the monitor was suddenly filled with long strands of data. On the smaller screens, images of kids in holding cells flashed by in rapid succession, and Ricochet tried to look for her brother among those pictures, but they changed too quickly. And then all the screens went blank again, and the only movement was a blinking cursor at the bottom of the large monitor. Above the cursor, the words FILE NOT FOUND glowed eerily in the darkness. "Not enough information," Hacker replied. "I need something more. Binary data, visual files, sound bytes."

"We don't have that," Goner said in a small voice.

Ricochet picked at the hem of her skirt. "I don't remember what he looks like," she admitted. The image from her dream had faded with her migraine, and try as she might, she couldn't recall the shade of his eyes or the shape of his lips.

Calliope took a deep breath. She remembered vividly what Jon Erik had looked like when he entered her sleep last night -- how could she forget? Nightmares don't fade as easily as other dreams. "I know what he looks like," she said. A cord snaked out of the bundle of wires surrounding Hacker's physical body, winding its way blindly towards Calliope. She rolled up the sleeve of her denim jacket and held out her arm. "I'll show you."

"Calliope," Ricochet said. She turned and looked at her -- tears shone in Ricochet's face. She knew what this would mean to Calliope -- to be entered by a foreign object was anathema to her, who had never taken a needle or a man into her own body. "You don't have to do this for me," Ricochet whispered.

Calliope smiled bravely. "You're the reason I'm doing it," she replied. Before she could change her mind, the cord wrapped around her legs and torso, heading for her exposed arm. The end of the cord was a parallel port, the metal edges sharp as razors. The tip touched the sensitive area inside of Calliope's elbow and then plunged greedily into her flesh. She moaned slightly and rocked back -- Ricochet stood behind her, and she leaned against her as the cord twisted into her arm, tightening. Then her eyes rolled back, and Hacker began to upload her memories of Jon Erik into his RAM.

The image on the large monitor filled the entire screen. Dark and grainy, it was an eagle's eye view into a small concrete holding cell. A boy sat behind the steel bars, his skin and hair shades of gray, and he hugged his knees to his chest, shivering. Ricochet gasped. It was the boy from her dream. "That's him," she whispered, touching the screen as if she could reach through it and touch him. The glass was cold beneath her fingers. "That's my brother."

"Mutant 10-623, housed in holding cell 48K, block B32, at the Los Sueños dos Muertos Facility. Security camera 623C scan."

Ricochet smiled at the screen. "That's just outside the city! A little ways out there, but not too far." She turned around. "We can find that easy enough!"

Behind her, Calliope sat on the floor of the trailer, holding her arm close to her chest. She wanted to tell Ricochet about the unease that Jon Erik had left with her after last night's dream, but couldn't. Ricochet wanted to believe that she could rescue her brother so badly -- she needed to believe that there might be a way to get her family back again, to live that "happily ever after" she desperately sought -- and Calliope didn't have the heart to shatter those illusions. But as she watched the boy on the screen, his hair obscuring his eyes but his gaze seemingly piercing through her, and she vowed to be there when he hurt Ricochet. She vowed not to let him hurt her.