Took the Freight Train to Los Santos

[Shield]

In crime dramas, police procedurals, even reality cop shows, one thing you never got an appreciation for was the waiting. In order for the law to work, there was a process to follow, forms to fill, regulations to answer to. The system didn't operate on the primetime programming schedule like it did just a few short miles up the 101 in Hollywood.

Consequently, one hour after the LAPD showed up Tom and Chelsea were sitting on a bench just outside the yellow tape that surrounded the ruined terminal. They'd spoken to the police twice already already, two different officers who mostly asked the same questions and told them the same story - that the investigation was still in process and they needed to remain available for further questioning. It had been about twenty minutes from their last interview when they were approached by a bald man in a well-pressed suit.

"Mr. Harriman and Miss Wagner?" he said, and he pulled aside his jacket lapel to reveal the badge hanging on a lanyard around his neck. "Detective Lorrance Duquesne, Mutant Crimes Unit. Sorry we've kept you waiting here so long."

The thing about airports was there was never a good place to sit, and when there was, the seats were always uncomfortable. Duke was an officer of the law and, as such, was as comfortable on his feet as he'd been in his mother's womb, but he didn't want to tower over the two other mutants like some authoritarian figurehead. He glanced quickly around the concourse and then signaled one of the uniformed cops.

"Hey, Daniels, can you bring me that wastebasket? Thanks."

He upended the wire mesh basket and sat on it as a stool. "I'd ask you both how your day's been, but I think I've got a pretty good idea."

[Tom Harriman]

Mutant Crimes Unit. That was a nice, friendly-sounding name.

It was terminology; Tom knew that. It was like Youth Offending Teams, or a Domestic Violence Coordinator; both terms he'd stumbled across back in England that most definately didn't mean what it sounded like they meant. But even so, the tone of it put him on the defensive, as of the police somehow thought that the city's mutant population was so hell-bent on crime that they needed an entire division to keep it under control. Probably a division that recieved a lot more funding than it's sister branches, because clearly anything involving a mutant was several degrees worse than what a mere mortal could do.

In spite of the way the words grated on his nerves, he still managed to muster a tight smile for the Detective.

"From my perspective, it's actually going pretty well," he quipped. "I really wasn't looking forward to the business trip that I'm meant to be on right now."

[Freight Train]

Chelsea shrugged, kicking her dirty feet. The ruins of her socks rested in a heap directly under them, and she poked them with her toes as she tried to answer him without being defensive or employing sarcasm. It was hard to do. She chose to give a short version of the answer she really wanted to give.

"Yeah, today sucks," she relented, eyes flicking up from her ankles to look at the Detective. Her backpack leaned against the side of her seat, but her luggage was still out there in the concourse somewhere, provided it had even survived the fight. She wanted her extra socks and shoes.

[Shield]

Duke considered the two who weren't exactly suspects but were a whole lot more than witnesses in this case, the sort of figures that usually went under the broad euphemism of "person of interest." You didn't get very far as a detective in a city like LA without learning to read people, where the difference between grudging compliance and suicidal aggression was often buried in the footnotes. Tom's glib resignation and Chelsea's somber reticence were both defenses of a sort, but they were the reasonable sort. And Duke knew a lot about defenses.

"Well, I'm going to do my best not to make the day any more unpleasant for you," he said, fishing a raggedy notebook and a pen from his inside coat pocket. "We've already taken your statements about what happened. I just need a few more details for my department. Now, Mr. Harriman is a registered mutant, so we already have you on file. Miss Wagner, you are of course under no compulsion to register, but could you please describe your mutant abilities for me?"

[Freight Train]

Chelsea blew out a breath and rubbed at her eyes, looking guiltily at the floor damage she'd caused during the fight. She'd once bragged online about the nature of her powers and how she could potentially do exactly this kind of damage. She wished she hadn't done that now, but maybe she could get enough speed to run off in case the Detective thought she was a liability.

"When I move, my body gets really tough and strong. Depending on how fast I'm going, I'm effectively invincible and stronger than like, a tank. I've run through bullets and brick walls without being hurt. Just wish my clothes were that tough, y'know?" She pulled her feet up to rest on the edge of her chair and looked back at Duke.

[Shield]

"Really? That's incredible!"

Duke's poker face dissolved into a grin of unguarded wonder. "Sounds like you'd make one heck of a running back," he said. He scribbled down a few lines on his notepad and sobered by a degree. "So you say you've run through bullets. This isn't the first time you've used your abilities in a fight?"

[Freight Train]

She laughed nervously. His enthusiasm was disarming, but was too short-lived to ease the pressure she felt at suddenly having her worst memories pulled up out of her heart and mind or the growing idea that she was cornered.

"Uh, no. I've been in a few," she admitted. Quickly she added "But I never killed anybody!"

[Shield]

"I know, I believe you," Duke replied as disarmingly as he could. The aphorism that only the guilty had anything to fear from the law was a myth that nobody who actually worked for the law believed. Talking to the police could make anyone feel guilty. In Duquesne's experience, the people who felt nothing at all were the ones who needed watching.

The detective glanced back at the relatively calm Tom Harriman and turned a page in his notepad. "Has either one of you received any training with your abilities?"

[Tom Harriman]

"With my abilities?" Tom said first, jumping in quickly with a stall phrase so that Chelsea would have time to think about her answer; better to give the kid a chance to breathe, rather than feel forced to blurt out a response.

"I've practised," he admitted, "But I haven't had anything you could really call training since I left the military." He smiled a thin smile. "Unfortunately the British Army isn't quite as progressive as the LAPD in it's attitude towards mutants in the field. Or with it's attitudes towards anything else for that matter," he added as an afterthought.

He frowned. "Are you a mutant yourself?" he asked, scrutinising the detective, as if somehow a mere cursory glance could probe into his genetics. "I don't mean to pry; I've just never met anyone from Mutant Crimes before."

[Freight Train]

"Bet he is," Chelsea interjected. "Their leader is. I met him when he was in college. He's a nice guy." She squirmed a bit under the combined gaze of the adults, then answered Duquesne's question to get the interrogation back on track and try to deflect some attention back to him. "This guy Apollos helped me a little at the Retention House a while back, and before that I had a little training at the Cullen's School in New York. Otherwise, I haven't had any powers training." She winced as she butchered the name of Anna's home (again) and tugged at the frays of her jeans.

[Shield]

Duke nodded, and then smiled. Retention House. "Well, you're right on this one, Miss Wagner," he said. "I'm a mutant and proud. Not all of us in the MCU are mutants, and not all the mutants on the force are MCU. But it's good to have an insider's perspective. For instance..."

He swept a finger around at the wreckage nearby. It still hadn't been cleaned up, and the lab boys were still analyzing the scorch marks left behind by Plasma Girl's unruly aim.

"Most people look at this and think 'excessive force.' As far as I'm concerned, though, the two of you responded with the only force available to you. You didn't escalate. And fortunately you didn't hurt anybody. My foremost concern is that this doesn't become a habit for either of you."

He put the notepad away. He didn't want it getting between him and his real reason for being here.

"We've got no shortage of security footage and witnesses to corroborate what you did and why. It was very brave of you both to put yourselves on the line like that. But civilians and the enforcement of the law don't mix. You protect yourselves. You do what you can to keep others out of harm's way. But the moment you take the law into your own hands, mutant or normal, you put yourself and everybody around you at risk."

[Tom Harriman]

Tom bristled at the accusation. It was the same old bureaucratic rhetoric that he'd heard before. It sounded great in theory, but like any principle there was only so long it could survive when exposed to real life. In a perfect world, with a perfect police force, the division of responsibility between authority and citizenry was clear; but in a world of grey, where the boys in blue were overwhelmed by a task to big for them to handle, that ideology felt decidedly inadequate.

A quote tumbled unbidden through his mind: not the profound words of a philosopher, prophet, or poet; but of the Disney corporation, carried aloft by the dulcet tones of Nicholas Cage.

If something is wrong, those who have the power to take action have the responsibility to take action.

"Cute sentiment," he countered, offering the detective a tight smile. "But events like this just go to show that the people around you are already at risk regardless. The law doesn't stop bad men from doing bad things; it just enforces punishment in hindsight, and cleans up the mess. You don't have the manpower or resources to actually prevent crime, no matter how hard you try."

He fixed Duke with a probing stare. "A lot of people have the power to act. Is that shield you wear the only thing that gives you the responsibility?"

[Shield]

Detective Duquesne had been on the receiving end of a whole spectrum of stares, from "How-dare-you-accuse-my-poor-innocent-baby" to "Let-me-out-of-these-handcuffs-and-I'll-kill-you-pig." Tom's self-righteous jeremiad didn't impress.

"Mr. Harriman, I resent the implication that the LAPD does not prevent crimes," he said evenly. "Yes, we work within the system, and that's the same system that guarantees your rights and freedoms as a private individual. We are trained and equipped to deal with criminals. You aren't. And nine times out of ten, when civilians step into the line of fire, it makes our job a hell of a lot harder."

[Freight Train]

Chelsea'd been in only one other mutant-versus-mutant fight, and it'd been horrifying to her. She'd watched her math teacher, a man who could replicate his body, be killed nine times in a single second. She'd never forget that. Even now it colored her attitude towards using her powers for combat. It made her shrink up like she was now.

"Don't worry," she said. "I don't really wanna do much mutant fighting."

She liked her powers better when she just using them to explore, or break stuff. That made her feel tough and mighty, and made self-esteem rage through her body 'til the fun-sized teen felt like the Freight Train she took her "code-name" from. She used to feel that way all the time. She sighed and frowned as she wished for the thousandth time that she could just snap her fingers and go back to feeling that way.

[Tom Harriman]

Tom shifted a little in his seat. Here he was, prepared to launch into a full-blown argument over the ethics of citizen crime fighting, and the semantics of crime detection versus crime prevention; all the while completely ignoring the fact that he was turning poor Chelsea into an involuntary spectator. Every minute he spent arguing his case was a minute longer that Chelsea had to spend in custody. Guilt twisted in his gut, and it was almost enough to completely forestall his tongue.

Almost. "I meant no offense, Detective," he said, and meant it. "But I'm a man of science, and I can't help but consider the statistics. I see a police force that is overwhelmed by the sheer number of crimes taking place, and that simply can't afford the kind of resources and manpower it would take to make the kind of difference we all wish it could. They may be misguided idealists, but every crime stopped by a mutant with a conscience spares a victim that the police would never have had the chance to save."

His brow furrowed, attention focused squarely on his knees. "Maybe we're both wrong, though. Maybe Yoda was wrong too. Maybe 'do' or 'do not' aren't the only options."

A hand delved into a pocket, pulling out a battered leather driving wallet. Rifling through the sections he retrieved a pair of glossy cards emblazoned with the Treadstone emblem. "I work for a research company," he explained, realising a moment later that the Detective's notes had more than likely already told him the exact same thing. "We're a week or so away from announcing a new project; a way for mutants to help make the world a better place without needing spandex or a domino mask." He hesitated for a moment, hand half-way through the motions of passing one of the cards to Duquesne. "Or a badge, for that matter."

He completed the motion, proferring the card to the Detective. "I'm sure it'll make the news; just keep an eye out for the name." He offered a wry smile. "Maybe you'll see we're fighting out of the same corner after all."

[Shield]

Detective Duquesne gave the card a thoughtful once-over. He knew of Treadstone, but he'd never heard of them dabbling with mutants before. He filed that tidbit away in his mental list of interesting leads and tucked the card into his pocket. Truth be told, he thought Tom had his heart in the right place. After all, it was a similar line of thought that led Duke to the force in the first place.

"I'll keep it in mind," he said. "So..."

He took a deep breath with a clear note of transition. "Neither one of you has been charged with any crimes. You are, however, being issued a warning. That's not my prerogative, it's policy. Things went about as well as they could have today, but if you'd injured someone, they could press charges or file a lawsuit, and then it wouldn't matter what I say. We've got your contact information, and if we need anything more from either one of you, we'll call you. For now, you're free to go."

Tom had been outbound on a business trip, and Duke figured he could look out for himself and shuffle into the queue of all the other passengers whose flights were canceled because of the mayhem. But before he left, Duke turned back to Chelsea.

"Miss Wagner, is there anyone you need to get in touch with? I'd be happy to lend you a phone or call you a cab."

[Freight Train]

"Actually, the cab would be great. I've got some money for the fare. Also, I want my luggage." She put her feet on the gritty floor and made a face. "And if Treadstone could get to work on really really tough shoes, I'd be grateful for that, too."

She'd recognized the logo on Tom's card as it traded hands. Treadstone was supposed to be a big deal in the ever-worsening economy. Their PR was fantastic, and they were all over the news whenever she happened by a television that was running CNN, Fox, or the Daily Show. She didn't expect they'd have mutants on the payroll, which was the only part of the revelation of Tom's job that shocked her.

[Tom Harriman]

"You got yourself a deal, kid," Tom said, flashing Chelsea a chuckling smile as he handed over the second business card. "I figure I owe you one for saving my ass with Ironhide back there."

Even though it might not have been an entirely serious request, Chelsea's situation was the perfect example of everything that he and his team at Treadstone were setting out to achieve. While sure, encouraging the kid to run around smashing up the place wasn't the most constructive use of their time, what was the harm in making the kid a pair of new shoes?

Tom's mind was already in the middle of half-remembering an abandoned Treadstone research project into thermal- and friction-resistant high durability tyres for the next generation of jet fighters when he realised that he'd zoned out in the middle of a conversation. Returning to topic, he added a shrug. "Drop by any time; maybe I can bunk off for a bit and give you the tour or something."

[Freight Train]

"Sure," she replied, feeling a little ill at ease over the idea. She'd heard about Treadstone and mutant research. However, Jericho was supposed to be doing the same thing, and no mutant she spoke to seemed to like the idea, no matter how pretty a face Jericho put on it. "So, a cab, then? And my stuff?" she asked hopefully of Duquesne. "Especially my stuff."

[Shield]

"Sure thing. Hey, Daniels!"

Duke conferred momentarily with the uniformed cop, and in moments he was returning with a backpack and a scuffed old suitcase in tow. "They went into Lost Luggage when nobody claimed them," Duke said. "I figured you'd be wanting these back. The cab should be out front in a couple minutes. Enjoy your stay in Los Angeles, Miss Wagner."

He raised his hand in salute to the both of them and strode off.