At A Bar Called O'Malley's #2

The substation fence glows with warning strips and floodlights. Inside, transformers rumble like distant thunder, and Thorne's contractors fan out between concrete pylons, rifles low and ready.

Scott spots two technicians under an open panel, sparks crawling over their gloves as they splice fresh leads into the control bank.

A contractor on the catwalk turns, rifle lifting toward the intruders. Scott steps forward anyway, the ground shivering under his weight.

The nearest breaker box crackles, one panel already half-open, one bad move away from killing the power to half the block. Mara tightens her grip on the evidence folder while the Dockhand freezes beside her.

Scott snatches his guitar free and hurls it into the Dockhand's chest. The man stumbles, catches it by reflex, and stares at Scott like he has been handed a live wire.

He lunges forward with the guitar held like a club. On the catwalk, the rifleman flinches as the Dockhand barrels toward the panel instead of the gunline.

The Stranger Contractor curses and snaps his aim toward the Dockhand, while the technicians jerk back from the sparking box, scrambling to shield the open panel.

The lead on the control bank tears loose in a spray of blue sparks, and the breaker lights flicker hard across the yard, exposing the whole bypass to Scott's next move.

Scott drives off the yard floor and hits the catwalk edge in one clean surge, boots ringing metal. The rifleman jerks back from the railing as Scott comes up into his space.

Scott closes the distance before the rifle can settle again, slamming the contractor into the chain link and knocking the weapon sideways. Below them, the open breaker panel spits blue light into the yard.

The Stranger Contractor claws for the rifle with one hand and the catwalk with the other, but Scott has him pinned at the rails. On the ground, the Dockhand staggers past the panel with the guitar raised, while the technicians freeze between the sparks and the fight.

A hard flicker runs through the yard lights, then steadies for a beat. The loose lead whips in the air below Scott, waiting for the next jolt or the next hand to grab it.

Scott yanks the contractor clear of the rail and drags him down into the catwalk span, away from the drop. The rifle clatters hard against mesh.

Below, Mara snaps the loose lead aside with the edge of her folder, and the blue sputter dies into a rough, ugly buzz. The breaker panel stops spitting light.

The Stranger Contractor freezes in Scott's grip, then goes still as the catwalk shakes once and settles. Across the yard, one technician stares at the dead panel, then at Scott, like the whole plan has just been ripped open.