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A Worse Idea 24

After an awkward moment of silence, Prometheus opened his mouth to speak. He didn’t know exactly what he planned on saying — something to the effect of “Try not to bring up your criminal record when I’m talking to you, Anne, because it’s uncomfortable,” seemed like the way to go — but the radio-cum-police-scanner preempted him.

“Uh, Julie?” the policeman said, his voice crackling through the radio. “We’ve got a, uh. We’ve got a…”

“What is it?” she asked.

“We’ve got a…”

“What do you have?”

“I forget the number.”

“You forgot the number?”

“The code. I’m looking at a, uh, it’s a metahuman thing, so I know it starts 131.”

An audible sigh from the woman.

“Julie?”

“Just tell me what it is.”

“Well, Julie, this girl’s head got torn off.”

“Super strength?” the woman asked.

“Looks like,” the cop said.

“That’s a 13178.”

“Well then,” the cop said, “it looks like we’ve got a 13178 on our hands.”

Prometheus looked at Sharise.

“I think that could be Katie,” he said.

“Your friend?” Sharise said. “No. No way! No. No. Nuh-uh.” She thought about it for a second. Didn’t want to admit it, but eventually she broke down and said, “Maybe.”

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