The news alert came out at 3:05 am. Blaring alerts went out on streaming services, TV stations, and public address systems that were normally reserved for natural disasters. “Please remain calm. This is an alert for multiple cities in the Eastern United States and all privatized corporate city-states. There has been an accidental spill of hazardous substances. All citizens should avoid consuming non-bottled water and any fresh produce. Please seek medical professionals if you experience rashes or burning sensations on your skin. If you smell anything unusual or experience nasal discomfort or a burning sensation in or around the eyes, cleanse the affected areas with distilled water and seek medical attention. Containment efforts are in effect and will likely conclude in the next three days. Updates will be broadcast in this same manner as needed. Thank you for cooperating with emergency workers.”

Cordons began popping up around streams and rivers all around the eastern states. They swarmed with people in protective environmental gear. Tanker trucks ran nonstop to and from the prefab buildings at the edges of the cordoned areas.

Many people reacted to this entire situation with panic. Roads became congested, and disputes happened. One of the few areas of calm was the WS-FZ. Under the command of Jeremiah and several other community leaders, a shelter was built for refugees who came to them. Nobody asked Jeremiah where the water filtration systems and hazmat gear came from. Sam noticed that the trucks bringing those supplies looked similar to the truck he had seen at the Mod compound. He helped wherever he could. Everyone who worked for Jeremiah helped direct the people to food and living spaces. Even medical care was provided,

Thanks to Jeremiah and the leaders of the Winston-Salem Free Zone, nothing worse than bruises and scrapes happened to most people.

As always, there were people who tried to take advantage and push other refugees around. Some were greedy and tried to hoard food. One of the quiet, patient, and stringently polite staff solved these issues with as little conflict as possible.

David, Angel, and Jasmine even took shifts giving out blankets, food, and water to those in need. Whole families as well as single men and women of every age streamed into the tents where the distribution was going on.

Over the next month, housing was improvised in the Free Zone, and life began to move towards a new normal. The influx of people to the zone created a glut of people looking for income streams. Many new businesses were founded by honest, hard-working people. The less honest of them also found work, taking advantage of those who did honest work.

That was where Sam was asked to chip in on the effort. Violent assaults ended with the assailants waking up in medical beds in the clinics that had popped up.

Angel (AKA Novice) had a glorious time in her latest simulacrum suit. She would often play the helpless victim, shivering and cowering in mock fear in a dark alley as men with hungry grins and sharp knives closed in on her. Her attackers often had multiple broken bones, but none died. Jasmine (AKA Nightshade) would grade her performances. Non-lethal was a hard and fast requirement. The simulacrum needed substantial repairs in the first few weeks. Some of the assailants had used guns, and some had used baseball bats, but the majority stuck to knives that were either manufactured or improvised. After the first few weeks, she got much better at picking her targets and choosing the optimal time to close the trap.

Nightshade used thrown needles with potent tranquilizers to take down a healthy portion of the miscreants from a distance.

At the three-month mark, the three warriors took a break at a small night spot that had popped up. The homemade wine there was made from fruit that had been brought in in small batches from orchards and fields in the foothills of the Appalachians. They made a hell of a Granny Smith spritzer that Jasmin was enjoying with an arm around Johnny. She was done up in a form-fitting black tactical suit, while he wore a silk shirt and black chinos. His suit jacket was draped over Jasmine as if she were cold.

Angel was having a fresh (not hard) cider that was crisp and cold. She had gotten so good with her prosthetics that nobody could tell her from the other young girls who had taken a turn or two on the cleared area of the main floor with a boy or two. Her first partner was Sam, who looked like he was scared of messing up. He was careful to keep a respectful distance from the girl. The next few boys who took her for a spin around the floor were a bit more forward. One even went in for a kiss that left her blushing and returning to her cider with a giggle.

“Auntie Angie is breaking hearts tonight!” hooted Jasmine. “Johnny, it’s time you showed these little boys how it’s done before I kick your ass!” she shot at her man.

Johnny closed his eyes for a moment, and the music in the place swept into a slow and romantic song that wove through the room. The lighting became more intimate at the tables, and the dance floor lights swept over to their table. His eyes opened and focused on the grinning Kitsune. He stood gracefully, pulled her to her feet, and spun them out onto the floor together to start swaying to the beat with grace.

“That is how a man should do it!” giggled Angel.

At that moment, all of the address systems in the zone, phone, PA, streaming, and TV blared the alert again. This time the message was more frightening. “All civilians, be alert! A class five mutagen spill has been confirmed at Little River, Yadkin River, and the Pilot Mountain watershed. Highpoint and Thomasville are now under martial law and quarantined. Do not enter these areas unless authorized and equipped for nuclear-grade hazardous exposure. Authorities will update this message as the situation develops.”

The music did not return as Johnny and Jasmine returned to the table. After looking around in fear, the other patrons started to rush out. Some were none too polite in getting other people out of their way to leave. Jasmine got a call as she was taking her seat, the comms unit in her necklace flashing red to indicate the priority. She stepped away for a moment to take the call. She closed the connection and turned to Angel just as Johnny’s comms rang. “Novice and Nightshade are being called in. Let’s get to the house right away.”

Johnny looked over and said, “You ladies can ride with me. Sam, are you joining us?”

Sam turned from scanning the stragglers who were bustling out of the exits, “Sure. I can see where I’m needed from there. I need to get back to the Mod compound soon, though. I expect they will be dealing with plenty of damage control issues. I can’t mutate, so I can go places nobody else can.”

The boy who stole a kiss from Angel hung back and looked longingly at her. “Give me a moment,” she said as they locked eyes. She walked over to him, and he handed her a slip of paper before he finally ran out the exit and into the night. She returned to the group with a pensive expression on her face.

As a group, they all exited the building just as the newly refurbished hover tank slid up to the door, and the troop doors opened up two feet from the exit. Johnny made his way to the cockpit and cranked the engine. The low thrum of power vibrated through the seating area as they heard Johnny turn up the acid rock he was getting fond of when he drove lately.

The vehicle lifted smoothly off the ground and accelerated to cruising speed that took us out to the house in twenty minutes. We came blasting up to the big doors of the big utility bay, where all of the groundskeeping equipment was stored. The doors opened as soon as we got to them, and our massive vehicle slid smoothly to rest in a spot that had been reserved. Automated arms extended as soon as the engine was shut down. Fluids were topped off and batteries charged. Amo was reloaded, and the barrels were cleaned and lubricated.

Everyone loaded into the elevator and rode up into the main house smoothly. The doors opened with a gentle whisper as a clear bell tone rang gently. Jeremiah was there as everyone stepped out of the elevator.

They all walked into the study and took seats in overstuffed chairs. “We need to get on the offensive on this,” Started Jeremiah. “The Mods are prepping to take in the victims of the spill. Best-case expectations are for ten percent instant casualties from unfavorable mutations. Forty percent neutral  or harmless mutations are to be expected. Thirty percent of results will have cosmetic and trivial mutations. The last twenty percent will have dramatic and sometimes catastrophic changes. It is normal for a durable cocoon to form around those undergoing transformations. The more extreme the change, the longer they will be in the cocoon. Our task is going to be to find whoever we can who is in a cocoon and get them to the Mod settlement for treatment.”

Johnny spoke up with concern on his face, “The vehicle we came in on doesn’t have what we need for a rescue on this scale. The cocoons will take up more space than we have.”

“Haans has been working on a hover tank designed for this since the spill was reported. It should be able to provide everything you need. Michal Lewis and several medical staff will be going with you as well. You will have all the required lifesaving supplies on board. The task is to recover the victims before they end up being picked up by the government forces. I have teams throughout the state deployed to do the same work. We have reports of research installations being run by the military that we suspect are taking as many victims as they can. We don’t trust them to treat them with the respect and care they deserve.” Jeremiah said as he met each person’s eyes.

Everyone got up and moved quickly to get going. Angel had to go to the special room that held her simulacrums. Jeremiah yelled out to her, “You will see a new simulacrum with increased size and strength. Your control pod has it assigned as Sim D. Be careful not to move carelessly. The strength and speed are augmented.”

Angel popped into the pod and connected to the correct simulacrum. She triggered the lift that would carry it down to the bay gently. She moved to the external troop rig on the outside of the hover tank and locked into position. The engine started up smoothly, and the sounds from the interior were connected straight to Angel in her control pod. Her blood sang with the thrill of the ride as Johnny brought them up to top speed, his soundtrack in the cabin kicked into some high-energy heavy metal music.