Down a dusty street on the edge of town rides an old police car. It parallel parks in front of an abandoned barber shop, and Chief Sting steps out of the driver's seat. The old man with a gut walks around his vehicle to the backseat, where Lajon is pulled out of. "Follow me, kid. No funny business." With a twist of his keys, the front door of the barber shop is opened with a ringing bell.

Every step on the black and white tile floor creaks, as Lajon is escorted to a backroom door. "This ain't a police station!" he says with concern. "Great observation, Sherlock. Dis is where me and da boys hold special cases for da IBS to pick up." Now the tall teen looks confused as he's led down wooden stairs to a dingy basement. "Uh, irritable bowel syndrome?" "Yes. International Bureau of Supers. One of da Mighty Five comes for special prisoners, but you're a more private case. So until my buddy shows up..."

Lajon is tossed in a cell coated in dust. Iron bars slide shut at Chief Sting's hand. "Lajon Dust," he says with crossed arms above his gut, "Got any idea where your momma is?" Lajon stands from the floor. "I have no idea what you're talking about! Why am I here!?" Three sets of boots follow each other down the creaking stairs, belonging to a trio of old officers, possibly retired. As they walked past, Sting pressured his prisoner more. "Maybe I'll ask your pops about her. Unfortunately, dis place isn't wheelchair accessible. Shame what your momma did to 'em."

After a few seconds without answering, Lajon hardens his expression and tightens his lips. Sting sees this and says, "Well, if you won't talk to me, you'll talk to da Five. Now if you'll excuse us, we got a game to settle." Sting sucks in his gut to scoot by his friends at the round table and finds his seat. The only light source besides the lamp overhead was a barred window with broken glass about one block wide near the ceiling. Four men lean up in their seats; one shuffling a deck of cards says, "Alright boys, place your bets and get ready to make me richer." "Ha! You wish," says Sting, "What about you, Bill?" Bill, the only skinny man among them, spoke in a hoarse voice and seemed to have a slight, nervous twitch. "U-Uh not tonight fellas. I-I can't lose again like I did last week. Teniqua's still givin' me the cold shoulda."

As the men peer pressured Bill to bet, Lajon sat on the cold floor. Carefully he stretched his arms as far as they could go behind him, and tucked one leg up to his chest. With enough strain he managed to slip it over the cuffs, then the other leg. Lajon lifted his hands up to scratch his face. It had been bothering him since the car ride. Still, he had no plan of escape. Nothing stood out. Just a small cell in the dark. Lajon felt his pocket for his phone, but it was taken by Sting and placed on the card table, still on. Without hope, the teen leaned his head back against the cinderblock wall. However, a sound caught his attention.

Through the barred window near the ceiling, a black ball rolls onto the floor. Upon landing it pops loudly, spreading smoke all throughout the small room. Each of the men stood up from the table and began to cough. "What's the big idea!?" shouts the loudest officer. "It's not Teniqua!" Bill adds, "It would've been a live grenade!" Another loud pop bounces off the confined walls. Three men find the shortest among them frozen head to toe in ice. Another sound, this time a grappling hook wrapping around Bill. The scrawny man screams in a high pitch as he's dragged into the smoke. A wide eyed look comes over Sting before whispering, "Eddie?" *BANG!* The cylinder thrown past the chief's face strikes his fellow man behind him, freezing him solid in a matter of seconds.

Last to stand, Sting draws his firearm and shouts, "Don't make me shoot!" In the heart of smoke, the chief manages to see a dark figure. With sweaty hands he pulls the trigger, launching a bullet straight ahead at his target's head. Sparks fly upon impact with the mystery figure's forehead, who leans back and nearly falls. "OW!!" Vee shouts, "That really hurt!"

Confused at the voice of a young girl, one who shrugged off a bullet to the forehead, Sting slightly lowers his revolver. At that moment a metal hand reaches out of the smoke. A crunch sound comes from the gun in her grip, leaving it a mangled mess. Sting has no time to comprehend it, as a second fist lands in his round belly. "OOG!!" The chief falls on his back, and the assailant plants her foot on his chest. "Listen up! There's a new hero in Phoenix! And she doesn't like crooked cops!"

Moving through the haze, Lil' Miss Steel leans down to make herself known. "The name's Lil' Miss Steel, and I watched from a distance as you arrested an innocent man and took him to an unauthorized location." Sting gulps; Vee leans further in. "Here's the deal. You're not going to report any of this to anyone, and maybe I won't report what you're doing down here. Understood?" "Y-yes miss." "That's Lil' Miss!" she shouts with a hand on his shirt collar. "Yes, Lil' Miss!" Sting covers his face, as the masked vigilante raises her fist to strike. A loud metal clang causes him to flinch, then footsteps run up the creaking stairs. He opens his eyes. Both Lil' Miss Steel and Lajon were gone.

The teens run out the closed barber shop with their hands united. *Beep!* Both turn to the sound of the Murder Machine's horn as it drives up beside the three police cars. "Hurry!" shouts Chester from the driver seat. Lajon and Vee hop in the back and slide the side door shut. Chester floors the gas, and with a loud sputter the van propels forward at great speed, lifting the front tires off the road for a second.

The frightened Amy braces her arms against the passenger door and Chester's seat. "You're speeding!" "I know! It's awesome!" The grinning driver pointlessly imitates the sound of an engine with his mouth, while the teens in the back nervously laugh. "Ow!" says Vee, gripping her forehead. Lajon places a hand on her thigh. "Are you alright?" "I got the worst headache...but I'm fine."

Vee steels down her face and arms just in time for Amy to look back and notice. *gasp!* "Oh my gosh! You were shot!?" The human skin on her forehead begins to turn a shade of purple, and Vee once more winces from a pulse of pain. "I guess mom isn't invincible afterall. We just can't see her bruises." Turning to Lajon, she asks, "Why did that guy arrest you?" A look of discouragement comes over him for a brief moment. "I...I'm not sure. He said his buddy told him to do it. Doubt it was anyone official."

In the rear view mirror, Chester looks at Vee and says, "If I had to guess, Death Metal sent him!" "How are you sure?" asks Amy while clutching her seat belt tightly. The driver chuckles as he spins the wheel to turn sharply. "Because he's the only one who would want us out of town! Why? Because he's here too." Each of the teens trade looks of genuine surprise, and Vee pats Chester on the shoulder. "Wow, Chester. That's the smartest thing you've ever said." "Uh, I can't tell if that was an insult or not."

Smoke spews from the open door of the abandoned barber shop. Just outside, leaning against his cruiser, Chief Sting dials a number on his flip phone. Five rings later, Raymond answers in a carefree tone, "Sting. How'd the arrest go?" "Arrest went fine, but someone came to bust 'em out!" "Really? Who?" The old man wipes sweat from his face with his sleeve. "Dat girl he was with, I knew she looked familiar. You never said anything about Miss Steel's daughta!"

On the other side of the line, Raymond stores another Titanite crystal in his suitcase. "What? I thought she miscarried." "Christ, Raymond! She could've killed us all if she wanted to! Got her daddy's old gadgets too! I'll let you guess who!" Raymond chuckles as he shuts off the lights in his lab. "Oh, everyone knows it was Eduardo. Sting, thank you for your assistance. I'll handle this situation from here." An annoyed, perplexed look enters Sting's face. "You knew!" "Heh, goodnight chief."