"Hi, uh, where do I go if I want to become a cop?"

Desk Sergeant Gleason looked at the woman on the other side of the counter. Her blonde hair was tied back, and her blue eyes blinked at him behind glasses. She was wearing a hoodie with her hands in the front pocket. She was about as average as a woman could be. "Well, miss, we accept applicants twice a year, and you train at the police academy."

"Is there anyone I can talk to right now? For an, I dunno. An accelerated course?"

"Ha, well... we do have the liaison in her office - "

"A her? Oh, perfect. Is she a le - " The blonde girl paused. No, better not ask that. I'll just take my chances. "Is she available?"

"Well, now, hold on there. We're very busy today, ma'am. I have to ask, why do you want to be a police officer?"

"Well, I have a friend who thinks I'd be really good at it, and my parents really want me to find some direction in my life..."

"It's hard work. Dangerous."

"I think I'll be okay."

"Also, there isn't really an accelerated course, unless you're already a police officer and you're transferring in from another precinct."

"I'm not."

"Well, tell you what. You can fill out this application - " He handed her some papers. "And I'll just buzz to see if she's in. If not, we're real busy here, so - "

He leaned down to check the sign in sheet. He only took her eyes off her for a second. So when he looked back and saw her holding up a pen and a fully completed application, he blinked.

"Is she in?"

"It says that - she - how dd you do that? He squinted at the papers. "Why is 'Danielle' scratched out with 'Daniel' written in instead?"

"Well, I don't know what the law is like when it comes to - look, can I just see her?"

"And what's this under 'gender?' What do you mean, 'it's complicated?'"

"It really is." She shifted nervously.

"Daniel Waters. Where did I hear that..."

"I'm sure it's a common name."

"No, I saw it on the OpNet somewhere, and - " Gleason looked to the girl's left. "Kid, you're just asking for trouble wearing that."

"My Mom bough it for me. She's a really big fan of Public Enemy. Hey, Big D."

"Hi, C.F." The girl spoke with infinite weariness. She looked him over. He was wearing a jean jacket and jeans, with a T-shirt that proclaimed it proper to FUCK THE POLICE. "Dude, Sergeant Gleason's right, you're just asking for it."

"Shit, bro, nothing wrong with freedom of speech, right?"

"You said the same thing when you called me 'sugar-tits.' Do you want me to fly you up the side of a - crap."

"Fly? Oh man." The desk sergeant stared at her. "Are you - "

"Shh." Danielle held a finger up to her lips. "Please. I don't want to cause a scene. I just want to see about being a civic defender, okay?"

"Told you, Big D, you shoulda just lifted up a car and asked whoever was inside to give you an interview."

"Because going to jail rocks."

"You in a women's prison? That would rock."



"So, mister... or miss... Waters, yes?"

"Yeah."

"I'm Laura Dern. Usually I don't greet applicants like this, but I'll make an exception here."

"You were awesome in Jurassic Park." C.F gave her a thumbs up. Danielle and C.F. sat side by side in front of Laura Dern's desk. Laura, being black, middle-aged and wearing glasses, didn't resemble the actress who shared her name at all.

"Does he need to be here?"

"He's sort of my agent."

"Yeah. I turned Dani here into a hot chick with my mega-turn-Danny-into-a-hot-chick powers and I kind of owe her one, so I'm her manager."

"I see." Laura tapped her pen on the desk. "And it IS 'Danielle?'"

"Well, not legally, but... I just figured it'd be easier."

"All right. Civic law says that you can have your name and gender legally changed and adopt that for the purposes of the law, so don't worry about that. So you say you want to be a civic defender?"

"Yeah."

"All right. That's probably out of my league. I didn't have anything to do with the last one."

"What happened to that dude, anyways? I heard he, like, went nuts one day."

"The Petro-Canadian? I had nothing to do with him, but between you and me, I wouldn't wear the color yellow around him. I hear the Directive has him in lockdown."

"Awesome. Hey, Dani, if this whole civic defender thing doesn't work out you should totally join the Directive. You'd be a wicked secret agent."

"No, I wouldn't, C.F."

"You would, too."

Laura held up her hand. "Look, here's the deal. There was a PR team, a personal tutor, and a couple of Utopia people for training the Petro-Canadian in using his powers. I can make the same thing happen for you. There's a lot of people who'd like to see Calgary get its own nova."

Danielle shifted in her seat. "Uh, I already live here."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do." She sighed. Calgary's very own nova! She lifts cars! She flies! Her chest bounces off bullets! "Yeah, that'd be great."

"Can I ask why you want to be a civic defender?"

"Well, my mom and dad want me to get a job, and it'd not like I can cure diseases and stuff and I don't want to fight in wars. So I figure... hey, works for me."

"Plus, there's no way she's going to go back to XWF."

"No. No way I'm doing that again."

Laura tapped her pen. "Well, then. Leave me your card, I'll be in touch, and we can make this happen."

"Totally. Here's our card." C.F. pulled out a business card and handed it to Laura.

Danielle stared at him. "We have business cards?"

"I got a great deal on them. Here." C.F. showed her the card.


"KO Co.?"

"Yeah, Knockout Company." C.F. and Danielle stood outside the precinct, as foot traffic streamed past and cars inched along. "I figured we needed our own name."

"And roasted chicken?"

"Well, one of those T2M guys owns the Star Power Bar & Grill, right? So we need our own restaurant too."

"Uh, what cut is the chicken?" asked Danielle, dreading the answer.

"Wings, of course!"

"Oh."

"'Cause you can fly, right? So there's nothing about a chicken that says 'my buddy Danielle' like the wings."

"But chickens can't fly."

"They can't?"

"No."

"Dammit. Okay. Have to cut it somewhere else then. Hey, speaking of flying they kind of towed my car."

"What?" Danielle blinked. "What for?"

"Because they're parking Nazis, that's all there is to it. I go over by twenty-nine minutes and they tow me. You know what I say to that? FUCK DA PO-LICE! FUCK - FUCK - FUCK DA PO-LICE - hi dude." He waved to a passing officer whose hand was on his nightstick.

Before the nightstick could come out, C.F. and Danielle vanished into the sky.



"Hey, Tweety."

Rudolph Tweet - AKA Tweety - looked up from the floor of his cell, and through the acrylic walls at the two guards in blue berets. His vision swam with the familiar haze of moxinoquatamine.

"Papers came in, mister 'civic defender.'" The door to the tray box slid open, then shut. "I've been meaning to ask you. Why the Petro-Canadian?"

"Oily powers. Sponsored by Petro-Canada."

"Well, you're gonna love today's edition. See you later." One of the guards turned to the other. "So who's next?"

"Steven Klein. Take that pen out of your pocket."

"Why?"

"Oh, trust me..."

Their voices faded away as Rudolph opened the box. He took out a days-old edition of the Calgary Herald, and stared at its headline.


Rudolph sneered. Black oil seeped into the paper. "My job," he muttered. "Took my job."