Day 163

[from Electron]

SILVERBURG SUBURBS

TWO WEEKS AFTER ELECTRON'S FIRST BATTLE

"-that's gotta be a home run-- it is! Homer!"

Half-a-dozen fans immediately scrambled to catch the ball as it flew into the stands, and ultimately it was a portly man wearing sunglasses who was successful, holding the baseball aloft with a triumphant smile before handing it to his young son. "That kid's gonna have a real nice souvenir to take home with him tonight," remarked the colour commentator, "not to mention memories of a comfortable win for the Rays here."

John Baxter was also enjoying the Rays' winning performance, but from the comfort of his sofa, while eating a bag of potato chips. This didn't make him any less of a fan, however, and he enthusiastically whooped and cheered each time the Tampa Bay team notched up a run. With that home run, the Rays now led 6-2 with only two innings remaining, and victory looked fairly certain.

As the next batter stepped up to the plate, John suddenly heard a noise that sounded alarmingly like the smashing of a glass window. It had definitely come from his own kitchen. John's immediate instinct was that his house was being broken into. "Not on my watch," he said. Getting up, he paused the baseball match, retrieved a baseball bat of his own from underneath the couch, and went to confront the intruder.

It didn't take him long to spot the intruder, as they were just exiting the kitchen. It was a black woman, and her attire caught John completely off-guard. As well as a stainless-steel domino mask that concealed part of her face, she was wearing a stainless-steel breastplate, gauntlets, and leg armor, and was carrying two long swords. For whatever reason, John was more fixated on the armor than the swords, the confusion evident on his face. "What the hell are you supposed to be?" he sneered.

The armored woman raised one of her swords, pointing it at John. "You're John Baxter, right?" she asked.

John, in turn, raised his baseball bat, preparing to swing. "Yeah, that's me," he said. "What's it to you?"

With a cry of anger, the woman charged forwards and swung at John with her swords. The first slash missed him entirely. The second pierced straight through his chest. The baseball bat fell from John's hands, and as the woman tugged her sword free, he collapsed to the floor, blood soaking into the carpet. The woman stood coldly over him until he had breathed his last, then turned round and left the house the same way she had come. One down.

***

"-John Baxter, 28 years of age, was killed after confronting an intruder who broke into his home while allegedly wielding two samurai swords. Witnesses nearby reported seeing an African-American woman wearing metal body armor and carrying two swords; this woman is now the prime suspect in the investigation, with Silverburg Police working to try and uncover her identity-"

Aaron watched the news report and couldn't help feeling a slight sense of regret. If he had happened to have been in the area at the time of the murder, perhaps he could have saved this man's life. Then again, it was no use wondering "what if": the man was dead now, and no about of regret was going to save him. All he could do was make sure that he saved the next person in danger.

He had known that this was going to happen almost since the very start of the training. One of the first things Martin had told him was: "You can't save everybody. The sooner you get used to that, the easier it'll be for you when someone you coulda rescued gets killed, 'coz like it or not, that will happen. You can't be everywhere at once, you can't stop a crime if you don't know it's in progress. Someday, whether it's on your first day or after three months, somebody's gonna get their purse snatched, somebody's gonna get shot up, and somebody's gonna ask you, "Where were you when this happened? Why didn't you prevent this?" And there ain't no answer you can give 'em that'll make 'em feel better."

Sure enough, a few people had already taken to the Internet to question how Electron had not noticed such a conspicuous woman during his patrols. Others had pointed out that the police hadn't noticed her either, and that of the various witnesses who had seen her, none had confronted her. Still others held a more straightforward view, placing the blame solely on the killer and questioning how she had managed to obtain her swords and armor without attracting attention. Aaron tried to stay away from such discussions, but he knew there would be those out there - not least the victim's family - who would blame him just as much as the murderer.

Ultimately, there was no use in dwelling on it. Switching off the TV, Aaron pushed the man's death to the back of his mind, though the masked, armored killer remained in his thoughts. If there was a chance that she could strike again, then he had to try and prevent that. Opening his wardrobe, Aaron took out his Electron costume and started to put it on. Today's going to be a long day, he thought to himself.