Jack was not particularly a fan of blood, though they now knew that CBE was perhaps completely the opposite. Obviously her enhanced physiology was fuelled by it in some way. Jack was fascinated by the subject, but did not let it bother them too much. Too many metahuman abilities played fast and loose with the laws of physics and biology to let one unusual one distract them from other things.

They eyed the sticky patch on Punk's pants with distaste, before nodding to CBE's question. The woman was a trained special operative from the depths of Soviet Russia, if anyone knew how to deal with a bullet wound without proper medical equipment it would be her. Fortunately Jack was not entirely unprepared when it came to medical equipment, and they gestured for CBE to help Punk into the kitchen while they went into the other room, emerging a moment later dragging a rattling metal trolley.

"It is inconvenient actually, but I'm sure I can forgive you. Try not to bleed on the floor too much, it'll cost a fortune to get that out of the rug."

They waved a hand dismissively at Punk's attempts at an insult. "Please, as if I would waste time with High School these days."

They opened one of the cupboards, producing a bottle of vodka. Not much of a drinker themselves, they were still prepared to host should they need to, maybe this was the perfect moment. After all, there was a guest, and they seemed the type that wouldn't say no to a drink. Opening it, they held it out to the bleeding woman.

"Better the leg than your freedom."

Jack harrumphed, "Total lack of ambition if you ask me. I for one look forward to the inevitable rise of our robotic overlords. The world would be a better place with a bit more cold, emotionless logic in it."

This doctor was obviously not stupid, which was refreshing. Jack didn't spend much time with people as in their experience most people were, in a word, dull. This doctor was clearly not quite on Jack's level, but he could at least keep up for a time. Jack was quite enjoying the attention in fact. Unfortunately the doctor was becoming boringly adherent to the rules now, although not without good reason. Jack probably wouldn't have trusted themselves in this situation. On the other hand, Jack had prepared for this.

"Not to ring my own bell or anything. But I'm what could be considered a gifted individual. Pretty much always had been. Even before 'The Event' and that's why you should trust me."

They leaned forwards, "Not just cause I've always been clever, but because when I was younger I worked with Dr Julia Foster."

They couldn't help, with their theatrical bent, putting extra stress on the name. Jack had done their research on the doctor they would be seeing today, and they had chosen Nathan Havelock specifically because of the link they had. It had been a wonderful stroke of fortune, but not so hard to believe. Nathan came from money, not unlike Jack, it made sense that he would have been educated at the only Pre-Med to MD program in the state. The same place that Jack had spent some time when it had become apparent that they were more intelligent than their peers. Their father might have been unimpressed, but the private school Jack was enrolled in had thought his gifts something to be nurtured.

Dr Foster had agreed, but had been surprised when she discovered that Jack had been concealing the true scale of their intellect. They still corresponded occasionally, and Jack was fond of the grey haired lady.

"Call her, ask her about Jack Fontaine."

The Police were not in the building yet. It had taken them some time to turn all of their cruisers around, but they were beginning to make their way around. Jack judiciously misdirected as many as they could, but one or two had actually seen the crane slow above the building, and were ignoring that it had stopped above one a block closer.

"Elevator. Now."

They watched as Punk hobbled down the corridor to the elevator. There wasn't a camera in the elevator, it was older, but it should still be fast enough to get her to the lobby in time. Jack was relying on the Police being in a hurry to get to the roof. After all, how could she have possibly gotten off the roof?

"This is where it gets risky."

The limp was a dead giveaway, and although Jack had booked an Uber, it would still be a few minutes away. Punk had to convince the police that she was not the person they were after, and the best way to do that was to play right into their hands. Deliberately.

"Wait in the elevator, keep the doors open. Play dumb. Not that you'll find that hard."

The officers rushing in through the doors of the lobby saw the light spilling from the open doors of the elevator. One of them shouted out. "Hold it!"

They weren't challenging Punk however, and as three of them filed into the elevator, one of them nodded respectfully to the lady apparently on her phone.

"Top floor please ma'am."

None of them thought to question that the lady in the elevator went all the way to the top floor with them, or the fact that she stayed in the lift after they exited. By the time they realised their mistake, it would be too late, and Punk would have climbed into the limo that had just pulled up outside the apartment building.

"You're welcome."

Jack tapped a few more commands into the keyboard as the crane continued to move. It swung out over the street, then started to move up. The sound of computer keys was loud as they tapped away, "Hold on."

The crane accelerated, the last pieces of rubble and metalwork dropping from it as it spun. By now someone on the ground had realised what was going on, and cops were scrambling back towards their vehicles. It would take them at least a minute to get turned around and chasing her once more, and this time they would be doing it without Jack's help.

"You've been shot? Where? Calf?"

That was Jack's initial assumption, based on the way Punk had been moving. That and the Police's preference to aim away from the centre mass in order to avoid fatalities.

"That sucks, cause this is going to hurt, I'm going to slow down the crane a little, get ready to jump when I say."

The crane was approaching the roof of an apartment building, set to pass a few feet above the roof surface.

"Three, two, one, drop."

The roof was mostly bare, and Jack's vision was limited here, only imperfect angles provided by the cameras on a neighbouring building. Still, the blueprints they had pulled up were up to date, and they directed Punk to a stairwell and down two floors. Fortunately this building was extremely modern, and provided access to its inhabitants through a system of swipe cards. Every lock was linked to a central database, and getting into that database was childs play. The third door down the corridor unlocked itself. The owner of the apartment was out, but their wardrobe was full.

"Change. Something out of character."

Jack's tone brooked no argument. Not slowing the crane hopefully would have stalled the cops, but it wouldn't have stopped them entirely, if any of them had seen the figure drop from the crane then they would be arriving at the bottom of this building next.

"Do it quickly. You don't have long."

Jack hadn't thought that Punk would actually take a hit, but they had factored the likelihood of it into their plan anyway. It wouldn't do to take unnecessary risks. They started typing again, this time pinging Punk's phone through Whatsapp, uploading a worm that would retarget the phone's ringtone.

This time when the phone rang it didn't play 'Ring of Fire'.

If you like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain."

They coded the call so that when Punk looked at the screen they would see the caller ID had changed to 'Pick Up Moron'. Maybe she would hang up again, Jack hoped that they did not, while simultaneously jumping into the police radio channel to direct officers to optimum positions for their plan. It might not get the officers the perp, but by the time they realised that the person ordering them about was not a member of the SFPD it would be too late and Punk would be in the wind.

They switched to another keyboard and started to type rapidly, calling up programs and establishing links. It wouldn't take long. They switched from the radio mic as they heard the click of the phone being answered.

"About time. Now listen carefully, you've got about twenty seconds before everything starts happening."

They kept typing, ignoring Punk's questions. "I recommend you drop to the ground now."

They hit the enter key, sitting back and starting a countdown.

"Five, four, hit the floor, two, one."

And then the crane hit the building. It had swung across the road, gathering speed until it crashed into the windows. It kept going, rolling right through the space Punk had been occupying, and grinding to a slow halt.

"Get on."

Without waiting for a response Jack hit another key and the crane began to reverse with a scream of twisted metal and the tinkle of falling glass.

Jack was asleep at their desk when the blaring of the police scanner woke them. They yawned, sitting up straight and rubbing their eyes. The desk surface was scattered with circuit boards and abandoned electronics, a soldering iron resting in its cradle six inches from where Jack's face had been resting only a moment before. They flicked it off. It wasn't as if it was going to run out of juice anytime soon, its nuclear battery had a lifespan almost as long as Jack's, but it was senseless to waste it nonetheless.

They sipped at the coffee on their desk, grimacing at its temperature, before dropping the heavy mug back onto the surface and turning to the screens, computers and other devices that made up what could be called a command centre. The blueprints for a collapsible suit rotated on a screen, and they added a few changes as they turned up the police scanner with one hand.

Whoever was on the other end was shouting about a chase and a metahuman, which must have been the reason Jack had awoken from sleep. They kept an eye out for metahumans. There were some tentative attempts in the Senate to register metas, but beyond the Hero Program there had been little success, and Jack was always interested in adding more information to their own files.

They listened carefully until they discerned a location and then started typing. It didn't take long to hook into the various cameras located around the city, thanks to a backdoor long ago installed in the city's own software. A moment later video feeds began flickering onto the monitors. Jack focused on one in particular. It displayed a woman, early twenties, average height, and sprinting up a fire escape at a pace no normal human would be able to maintain.

They began tapping on another keyboard with one hand, and files sprang up. Right height, right age, apparently the right ability. This must be 'Punk. Jack had made it their business to keep tabs on the active metahumans in their city. Paladin was the obvious one, but everyone knew her, even if most had completely the wrong idea about her powers. There were a number of performers who's abilities only added to their shows, then there was Punk. After the Event there had been a number of vigilantes roaming the streets, enforcing the law with an added helping of super powers. Of course it couldn't continue in that fashion.

Punk was one of the few that was still active. Mainly because they didn't seem to be that active. Even Jack had struggled to discern a true pattern in her activities, and had come to the conclusion that they didn't really have one. They were an opportunistic hero, someone who stopped crime when they saw it, but without the resources or focus to do more. The Hero Program was an able attempt by the government to halt the tide of metahuman crime, but Jack knew it wouldn't be enough.

They watched the screens as Punk was slowly cornered, outmanoeuvred and outrun by police cars. They might be able to run faster than any human, but they couldn't outrun a combustion engine, or a mind as fast as Jack's. It didn't take long to lock her down, thanks in no little part to Jack's assistance, albeit surreptitiously.

When it was clear that Punk had no escape, at least none that they would be able to perceive, Jack hit one key and then leaned back. The sound of a dial tone filled the room…

Jack watched the entertainment with delight. They were not a particularly physical person, not exactly clumsy, but certainly not co-ordinated enough to pull off anything close to what this woman was doing. In fact, Jack doubted anyone without years of training could pull of this display of physical skill, and with the addition of a knife and blindfold to the entertainment things only became more fantastical. It was the kind of fight scene you wouldn't see outside of a movie, or outside of a world with metahumans…

Jack could see the bodyguard getting angry, especially as it became more and more clear that the woman was playing with him. She had no right to be playing with a man of his size and training. He might not be a secret CIA assassin, but he was no amateurish bouncer, Jack knew better than that. In truth Jack didn't really blame the man for getting angry, the whole show was embarrassing.

Jack leaned down and picked up the gun, handling it with evident distaste, before placing it on the table with a faint click.

"That was… entertaining."

They carefully read the screen presented to them by the woman, raising an eyebrow.

"And you're modest too. The Soviets really did a number on you didn't they? You say you'll work for me? Doing what? Killing people? I'm not a crime lord or a mafia boss, there aren't a lot of people I want dead…"

They shrugged, "Sounds like fun. I will provide you with accommodation and a backstory, you will… work for me. I'm sure I can come up with something."

Jack watched with disinterest as she replaced the kitchen knife in the block. Then nodded at the question, pleased that she appeared to be adapting swiftly to the phone she was using to communicate. They gestured towards the fridge.

"Be my guest."

They leaned forwards, switching to Russian as she helped herself to a coke from the fridge.

"So what should I call you?"