Tuesday is the first one into the storeroom, sliding under the door as it opens. The sound of muffled grunts, punches landing, and then the clattering clang of pots and pans on the ground comes from the storeroom. The door finishes rising, and we all see the carnage in the pantry. There is a thin layer of flour on everything: the shelves, the floor, the unconscious bodies of four staff members.

The storeroom is filled with ingredients. I spot massive bags of rice, giant cans of whole tomatoes, jars of pickled peppers, and sealed gallon buckets full of dried spices. As someone who likes cooking, this place is wonderful. One day, when this is all over, I'll have a place like this. Directly to our right is a metal door that probably leads to either a walk-in fridge or freezer. Eight-foot-tall metal racks hold a variety of pots, pans, mixers, strainers, and other cookware.

Our group passes through the swinging double doors into the actual kitchen. Everyone is on high alert, ready to react to whatever might happen. None of us is ready for what we see. Chefs and line cooks are slumped against counters, passed out on their knees, and sleeping in front of their stations. The kitchen is incredible: eight-burner ranges, triple-level ovens, industrial-sized dishwashers, stew pots taller than my arm is long, various small pans hanging on hooks above every station, and even more. The kitchen has so many different appliances and machines that I've never seen before. Cooking isn't a passion; I don't have that piece yet, but it is something that brings me joy.

I don't see Tuesday anywhere, and the kitchen is so large that everyone splits up to look for her. While the others do that, I go around and shut off all the lit flames. Rorschach would be pretty pissed if her current abode burned down. This mission is about getting in and out like ghosts; a kitchen fire is counterintuitive to that. Despite not trying to, I'm the one who finds Tuesday. She's toward the back, lying on the floor in a giant pile of flour. She's making snow angels. She has a shit-eating grin on her face as she looks around for the others and then shushes me.

Why? Why is she like this? I know my helmet is mimicking the look of derision I'm giving her. It only seems to encourage her, and she holds out her flour-covered sleeve for me to help her up. Not happening. I lean against the chrome counter and wait for her to get up. A set of arms sprout from the ceiling, and then another from the palms of those, and another from those. Tuesday reaches her hands up to grab the waiting hands and pulls herself into the air. She uses her hand vines to swing over to me.

"You done screwing around?" I asked.

"Dick," Tuesday whispered, walking past me.

We join back with everyone, and Vivienne looks irritated at seeing me bringing Tuesday back. She leads everyone out the back door of the kitchen. We exit out into the staff hallway. There are luggage carts and crates everywhere. Despite these hallways being only to prevent guests from having to see the staff, they are carpeted and very nice. Satin nickel sconces line the walls every ten feet, and there is a red and gold ornate wallpaper to brighten the atmosphere. We sneak along, stopping at certain points to avoid running into hotel workers. Occasionally, we come to split paths and four-way intersections where Rorschach uses hand signs to signal which route to take. We reach a push door with a small window in it. Finally. Through the glass, we can see the actual hotel floor.

Rorschach gives the go-ahead, and we exit the back rooms right next to the elevator. A digital display showcases which floor each of the two elevators is currently on and whether it's ascending or descending. The lobby on this floor is deserted, but it's still an open area, and someone could come in at any minute. Vivienne presses the button to call it down to us. We're on the fifteenth floor, and the closest elevator is ten floors away. The next three minutes feel like eons. Anyone we run into presents a potential alarm that will lead to Capes. We aren't ready to start making waves just yet. This meeting is a huge leap toward it. The elevator dings, and the noncombatants get out of the way. Isaiah and Vivienne are on either side of the elevator, while Tuesday is ready to handle anyone who might be there.

"Clear," Vivienne said.

Everyone gets into the elevator and releases a bit of the tension they've been feeling. I'm not worried. All of them will do whatever it takes to guarantee the outcome I require. The elevator is just as decadent as you'd expect from a place where Rorschach lives. The top of the elevator is made of alabaster carved into stars and moons. A soft glow emanates from behind it, helping to offset the harsh shine of the chrome and gold that make up the rest of the construction. The floor number on the display continues to tick up. It's late enough that there shouldn't be many people out now.

"Floor forty-eight is where The Merchants are. The three of them are in their separate rooms. The conference lounge is also empty. There are no surprises, and the centipedes are in position. I have hotel security accounted for, the floor above and below forty-eight, the back entrance, and the roof covered as well," Rorschach stated.

"The moment we step off this elevator, we'll be entering a hostile zone. Tuesday, you and Hotpants are with me. Miles, stay behind the three of us and watch for stragglers. Remember, we want to incapacitate them, not kill them," Vivienne said, looking at Tuesday. "Understood?"

Tuesday looks around, somehow shocked she's being called out. She points at herself and makes a surprised face.

"ME?" Tuesday asked in disbelief.

"Yes, you," Vivienne spat at her.

"Contact in fifty seconds," Rorschach announced.

The seconds and the floors breeze by. Finally, the elevator stops with a slight shake, and then there is the ding of a digital bell. The doors slide open, and Vivienne hooks a right while Isaiah's smokey form explodes out toward the left. Tuesday somersaults out the door, throwing darts at the two guards I can see. Her projectiles hit one of the men in the cheek and the other in the ankle. Before they can react, two arms sprout from each of their shoulders. One hand wraps around their throats while the other's fingertips grow eyeballs and put them under Tuesday's power. Vivienne appears in front of the open elevator and frantically beckons us out of it.

Miles is in front of us, arms out to protect the rest of us. How cute. He really does have the makings of a truly great Cape. Miles exits first, and I'm right after him. Rorschach and Kai follow me as we step out onto the floor. I take a look at the guards, and they're all wearing bulletproof vests under their black suits. The guard Vivienne fought had black shades on. Had because she clearly punched him in the face, snapping them. I notice marks on his neck, bright red lines from struggling against her as she choked him out. Isaiah's guard didn't fare much better if the head-shaped hole in the wall and the uncomfortable position the guard is in are any indication. Tuesday's additional arms dissolve into nothingness as if they were an illusion.

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"Kai, grab the guns. You never know when we might need some extra firepower," Isaiah said, tossing the MP5 at the man.

Kai catches it, shrinks it down, and puts it in his pocket. The two men go around to the remaining guards and start to strip them of their submachine guns, pistols, and even their bulletproof vests. Tuesday walks over to one of the guards she pacified, and twists the dart stuck in the man's cheek to try to dislodge it.

"You little bugger, stop fighting me," Tuesday said, finally ripping it out of the man along with a small chunk of his cheek.

The darts are barbed. This is her being non-lethal? She slides the cheekpiece down the length of the dart and off of it. Then she bends over to try and put the piece back. It doesn't work and falls into the hole she's made in his face. She scrambles to grab it, wiggling two fingers around to grab it like the change that falls in between couch cushions. Rorschach is next to me and sounds like she might be sick. Tuesday succeeds and puts the piece in the man's hand. He is going to have a hell of a time when he wakes up. She takes his vest off and puts it on under her giant sweater.

"The three of us are going to continue to clear out the floor. The rest of you stay here until we've cleared the floor," Vivienne ordered.

Vivienne starts moving with Isaiah and Tuesday in tow.

(Rorschach POV)

The others go left, leaving me with the rest of them in the lobby. At the very least, that crazy bitch is gone. I thought Nobody was a psychopath with his calculated outlook on murder. But he has nothing on Tuesday. A sadistic, cruel, unhinged psycho bitch. Everything about her is unsettling and gives me the creeps. I've never been forced to witness her act on a job before because the two of us don't work together, and our responsibilities don't overlap. Thank God for that. Everything about her offends me on a personal level. From her abysmally poor fashion sense, the disgusting smirk, her childish antics, the lack of manners, and her offensively bad sense of humor, all are signs that she never grew out of her quirky and annoying phase.

The Mentalist aspects of my power are indescribable to other people. Unless you experience it, you will never truly understand. In the same way that my eyes and ears relay data to my brain, so too can my creations. My vision encompasses the roof, the lobby, the underground entrance we took, the front and back of the hotel, the ventilation system, this entire floor, and everything I can see with my human eyes. All the information is transmitted and processed instantly and perfectly. I don't have to focus on a creature to get the information; it's always just there and active. My awareness is all-encompassing, and my ability to multitask is without equal.

"Keep me updated with what they're doing," Nobody said.

Nobody. My boss, a pragmatic mastermind and maybe the most dangerous man in this entire city. I'm unsure if the others understand the type of man he is and why that makes him such a threat. He's been a Cowl for less than half a year and has committed or orchestrated the deaths of over fifty people. I can't imagine what he's like under the helmet. Nobody is the type of man who will enact change, and you can either be a part of his plans or a casualty of them.

The BNA says that Cowls have a fifty percent casualty rate in their first year. A coin toss determines whether they can survive or perish. Neuvohumans naturally have larger-than-life personalities. We have superpowers, so it makes sense we'd have egos. He doesn't. Everything about him is calculated. Every reaction and every move he makes is all toward his goals. Isaiah can't see it. He practically worships the guy. Vivienne's team is about to reach the first of the opposition.

Vivienne and the others sprint down the hallway in a V-formation, with her as the spearhead. I alert her to the three guards coming around the corner—contact in five, four, three, two, one. The redhead whips around the corner like a raging bull. She smashes into the first guard, sending her flying backward. Isaiah's smokey form rushes after the downed woman, sending tendrils of the harsh black substance into her mouth and nose. Vivienne is stuck between the other two, too close for them to use their submachine guns. She swats the pistol out of the hand of the man in front of her, kicking it away, and punches him in the face. While he's stunned, she delivers a horse kick to the chest of the guy behind her. His body armor protects him, and he pulls out a knife. Vivienne turns to face him and starts evading his stabs and slashes, backing up until the man at her back wraps his arm around her neck. They got her.

Vivienne doesn't panic. She jumps up, putting her boots against the knife wielder and pushing herself off him. The man choking her collides with the wall, loosening his grip just enough for her to slip out. The one she pushed takes the opening she creates to stab her. Vivienne puts her forearm up to protect her face, and the knife gets lodged in her arm. She grunts but leaves it in. Now unarmed, the guard assumes some sort of boxing stance and throws a jab. Vivienne takes the punch straight to the face, staggering back. She turns around, swinging the top of her boot into the head of the guard who's attempting to get up. His head bounces off the carpeted floor, and he's incapacitated. The guard who stabbed her isn't ready for her to charge at him and shove him into the wall. Before he can move, she punches him repeatedly in the chest. His vest protects him from the hits, but she's not done; she rips the knife out of her arm and stabs it in his left shoulder. The guard goes to grab the knife, and she wrenches his arm away. She twists it, gripping his arm with both hands, and judo throws him into the wall.

All the other guards are still on their rounds, oblivious to the fact that their comrades have been taken care of. By keeping the guards from firing their weapons, they successfully limited the amount of noise they were producing. The three of them move on, taking the left as I direct them to the next group. Wait, what is that? The woman that Isaiah asphyxiated is spasming. Did that idiot give her brain damage? No, that's not a seizure. The random twitching of her hand isn't twitching, she's pressing something. My butterfly flies to a different spot on the ceiling to get a better look. She's holding a small gray disk the size of a quarter. What the hell is she doing? Elsewhere, the remaining eighteen guards start moving toward her all at once. The personal bodyguards of all three Merchant members have started evacuating them to the conference lounge.

"Change of plans. The guards are converging on the last contact point. Turn around and then take a right. You'll run right into them. The Merchants are up and aware that something's going on," I said.

The crazy bitch turns around faster than the other two and sprints back. Vivienne and Isaiah are right on her heels. Eighteen soldiers who know there are intruders and that we're dangerous.

"While unfortunate, this outcome isn't damning. We'll just need to meet them and then rush toward our hosts," Nobody said, picking up one of the guard's pistols.

The trio is making it to the location quicker than I calculated. The group of guards has their guns up, moving methodically through the floor. They're checking corners and doors while sticking together. The tension keeps rising as the groups converge on each other. This might make our bargaining a bit harder if they accidentally kill one of them.

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