Super Hero Rhapsody: 1975

The service hatch bursts open, and floodlights slam across the narrow crawlspace. Sally, Mark V, and The Rose step out into a hard white line of rifles, badges, and gray coats.

Behind him, containment vans idle with their rear doors open. Wire cages, restraint harnesses, and coil launchers gleam in the glare. The Department is not here to negotiate.

One agent lifts a folder toward Sally, pages flashing in the light. Her photo. Redacted charts. A routing stamp. Not just a warrant, a blueprint.

The threat lands like a strike. Sally sees it at once, the arrest is not just about what she did to Mrs. Vale. It is about what the Department made her, and how far they will go to keep that weapon from being traced back to them.

The Gray-Coat Leader lowers his hand a fraction, then snaps two fingers. The rifles do not drop, but the line parts just enough for Sally to walk through.

The Rose shifts beside Sally, thorned fingers still raised, but she lets the opening stand. Mark V’s head turns once toward the vans, then back to the breach.

Sally steps forward into the floodlight and the armed perimeter swallows her. A cuff drone rolls out from the nearest van, arms open, waiting.

Sally keeps her hands up as the rifles track her, but she turns her head just enough to catch The Rose and Mark V in the floodlight behind her.

The Rose gives one tight nod, thorned fingers lowering by an inch as if filing the request away for later.

Mark V’s gaze flicks to the cuff drone, then to the vans, as if already mapping names, serials, and consequences.

The cuff drone snaps around Sally’s wrists with a cold click, and the metal bites hard enough to sting. The line closes behind her as she is guided toward the open van, while the distant locks keep grinding shut under Front Street.

Sally climbs into the van with her cuffed hands held close, ducking past the frame as the officers shove the door wider. Inside, she catches a fast look at the bench mounts, the floor drain, and a second set of restraints bolted opposite the first.

She settles onto the bench and keeps her eyes moving. One officer climbs in after her, while another slams the rear door partway shut, leaving a slit of floodlight on the pavement.

Through the narrowing gap, The Rose remains braced at the hatch, thorned hand low and ready. Mark V is already staring past the perimeter lights, tracking the drone and the van numbers like they matter more than the shouting.

A hard jolt runs through the van as the cuff drone seals tighter around Sally’s wrists, then locks to the bench ring with a cold snap. The engine turns over, the rear doors thud shut, and the only light left is the red blink of the camera watching her from above.