Author's note: First-person narrative is tough to write well. As pleased as I am with this story, I don't think I did that great a job. First-person, even more than third-person, requires a lot of description. In third-person, something like, "Her heart beating with fear, she opened the door," would be OK. That's insufficient for first-person, which requires something more like, "My chest ached from my heart pounding, and my ears hurt from the sound of my blood rushing. I was barely even aware of my hand trembling as it reached for the door. My mind was screaming at me not to open it, my gut didn't want to know what I would find, but still my hand reached out with a life of its own." Third-person can get away with more clinical descriptions; first-person needs to be more emotional. On the plus side, a first-person present-tense narrative can be a lot of fun, and can lead to things like how I started the first chapter, which wouldn't work in a third-person or past-tense narrative. All in all, I really enjoyed writing this. All feedback is appreciated.

. . .

This is bad. Very bad. My stomach clenches painfully. My heart pounds so loud it's all I hear. My knees go week and I almost fall to the floor. I've never felt this kind of fear before.

OK. Calm down. Freaking out won't help Leslie. I used to be a cop, so now I just need to switch to cop mode. So let's think things through.

No sign that the police have been here yet, so it hasn't been long since this happened. The other residents of the building know that Leslie's a cop and I'm a superhero, so they would've called 911 as soon as they heard a gun go off. Assuming the dispatcher or squad car recognized the address, they would've gotten here as fat as possible – maybe 10 minutes. So all this probably happened while I was in the car with Marie. Maybe even while I was in the stairwell.

The blood. Is it Leslie's or does it belong to her assailant? Check her holster. It's on the chair she always keeps it on, and it's empty. This bloodstain, this bullet hole . . . She must have grabbed her gun and taken cover behind this wall to open fire. There's a couple small spots of blood on the floor over here, where I figure Leslie was. Someone snuck around and attacked from behind. Maybe broke her nose or split her lip. But where's the gun? There, by the couch. Thrown, probably by whoever hit her.

So they disarmed her. Crack in the wall, a little above her head height; she kept fighting, slammed the guy's head into the wall. But she's not here now, and neither are they. So they must have subdued her in the end. No way to be certain, but I think I've got the general series of events.

Next question: Motive. Why'd they take her? Was it some guys with a grudge against her, or an attempt to get at me? Impossible to be sure at the moment, but my gut says this was about me. She puts away common criminals; if one of them had a grudge, they'd just kill her. The goal here was to capture her. That suggests a larger plan, and that suggests some degree of organization. The few clues point to me being the target. Leslie got hurt, maybe worse, because of me. If I'm right, then whoever did this has a lot to answer for.

I hear footsteps in the hall. Probably police responding to the call. "This is the police!" I knew it.

"I'm unarmed," I say before stepping into his view. I have my hands raised. I don't want to scare him.

"Who are you?" he asks with his gun trained on me. He's a young guy, Hispanic, cute, great body. He's a rookie. His partner's black, a couple years older, and is putting his gun away. I've met him a couple times, but I'm drawing a blank on his name. Still, he's the one I want to talk to.

"My name is Susan," I tell the rookie. "I'm Inspector Haines' girlfriend. Your partner can vouch for me."

"Yeah, it's OK," the black cop says. "She's cool." The rookie slowly holsters his gun, and I lower my arms and walk over. "What happened here, Susie?"

"Keating, right?" I ask. He's the only person I've ever met who calls me Susie. "Someone's captured Leslie. Call in forensics. Tell them to keep me apprised of whatever they find out."

"Excuse me, ma'am," the rookie says in a hostile tone. I don't like this kid. "We will conduct our investigation, and we'll let you know anything we determine you should be told."

"We'll keep you in the loop," Keating says more sympathetically. "Are you OK?"

"I'm pissed off," I say. "Someone's hurt the girl I love. I'm not going to let them get away with it. The police department has my number."

"Where are you going?" Keating asks.

"Hunting," I reply.

I put my costume on under fresh street clothes, then I hit the street. I need to find some leads, but unfortunately, I don't have a lot of places to start. Maybe the forensic team will find some clues, but it'll take a lot of time. The blood stains will take weeks, and nothing else stood out to me. Investigators might hear something, and hopefully they'll let me know. But I'm not going to sit around waiting. I need to do something.

I have limited sources in San Francisco. I call some contacts back in LA and have them do some digging, but it's been almost two years since I left, so they might not all be inclined to help. Besides, I don't know how much any of them will know about things happening here. I also call ExTRA and ask them to do what they can. They might be a better bet.

But my own investigation will be in San Francisco. And right now, there's only one good way I can think of to do that. Luckily, it's also the most satisfying way.

The first bar I go to is by the docks. It's a total dive, filled with rough men. A lot have ties to local smuggling. A couple work for the Mob, or other crime lords. No one important is there, but it's a starting point.

I'm wearing tight black leather pants, boots with six inch heels, a black top, and a leather jacket. I'm dressed to get attention, and as soon as I walk in, I get it. I walk up to the biggest guy at the bar, and sit on the stool beside him.

"I'm looking for information," I say. "I'm willing to pay, wager or fight for it. Your choice."

"What kind of information?" he asks.

"About a crime," I say.

"Then I can't help you," he says. "I stay away from that stuff. I don't even know who's involved with it."

"Thanks anyway." I stand up. "Anyone else able to answer a few questions?"

"I'll be glad to help, baby," a man says. He looks like a tool. He's got a mullet, for god's sake. Who's actually stupid enough to have a mullet in this day and age? "But you gotta make it worth my while." Ugh. He's got a nasally voice, and yellow teeth.

"I've got money," I tell him, trying to make it clear that's all he'll get.

"Come on, you can do better than that," he says. So predictable. It's an effort not to roll my eyes. "Why don't we go back to my place, and I'll tell you whatever you want to know?"

"You really think you can handle me?" I ask scornfully.

"I'm sure if you just give me a chance-" he says while reaching out to me.

I cut him him off by grabbing his wrist and bending it back. Then, with my free hand, I slug him. Now I've got the attention of everyone in the room. Fine by me.

"Here's the situation," I say calmly, but loudly. "A friend of mine has gone missing. A cop. She was attacked in her apartment earlier today. I want to know who took her, and I'm willing to pay for any information that will help me find her. If you've got a lead I can use, it's easy money. If you've got another trade in mind, I'm willing to consider it. With the one exception I've made clear. Well?"

A few people had returned to their seats while I was talking. I guess they didn't know anything. A few others are talking among themselves. Judging by their expressions, they're probably trying to figure out if they know anything, It's the five guys in front of me I have to worry about.

For a very liberal definition of 'worry'.

"Think you're tough, huh, lady?" one of them says. He's the biggest of them. The others are spreading out, surrounding me. "You think you can come into our bar, beat up our friend, and then demand information? Bitch, you made the biggest mistake of your life."

The two guys on my sides grab my arms and hold them in a tight grip. The big guy grabs my face. "Shame to mess up such a pretty face. But you brought this on yourself." He slaps me.

I smirk. "I'm going to give you one chance. Go back to your table, and I won't hurt you."

The men all laugh. "Oh, yeah, you're gonna be real fun," the big guy says. He punches me in the gut.

So much for the nice approach.

I headbutt the one in front of me. I wrap my arms around the two guys holding me, and then slam them into the other two guys. Big boy throws a punch, but I stretch my neck to move my head to the side. Then I throw a punch of my own, with a fist bigger than his head. Two try to rush me, and I go in between them. I grab their legs and trip them. Their heads hit the bar. Another guy jumps on my back. I ram him into the ceiling, then let him drop to the floor.

The last man wisely flees.

"If anyone thinks of anything," I say loudly, "call the police. They'll let me know, and I'll be back to reward you. Have a nice day."

One bar down. I didn't learn anything, but I didn't expect to. Besides, even a dead end like this at least narrows the possibilities, however little. And I'm going to eliminate a lot of possibilities.

I go on the warpath for the rest of the day, and I don't stop until late in the night. I shake down every small-time thug I can find, and it doesn't take long for word to start spreading. I'm sending a message to anyone who might know something: If you don't want trouble, you'll have to give me another target.

One thing does become clear, however, given the lack of information I can get: Whoever grabbed Leslie, they weren't just local muscle. It's looking a lot more likely that the guys were organized, professionals, not just standard thugs. That's bad in some ways, possibly good in others. On the one hand, it means they aren't likely to kill Leslie too soon. On the other hand, they'll be harder to find, better prepared when I do find them, and they've probably got something extra sinister in mind.

It doesn't matter. Nothing is going to stop me from rescuing Leslie.

It's 4am when I knock on Marie's window. She freaks out just a little when she sees me. Which makes sense, since she's on the fifth floor. Stupid mistake; I should've expected that reaction. It only takes her a few seconds to realize it's me, and then she opens the window. "What are you doing?" she whispers harshly. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Yes," I reply. "And I know I won't get anything more done tonight, so I'm going to rest up before searching some more."

"Searching? Searching for what?"

"Leslie." I say her name, and it hits me. The fear, so strong it makes me nauseous. My legs give out, and I slump against the wall, and sink to the floor. I can barely see through the tears in my eyes. "Someone's captured Leslie."

All day, I refused to give in to my emotions. I kept moving, kept in action, so I wouldn't have time to dwell, and I bottled up my feelings. But now . . . now, they're coming out. And I can't do anything except cry.

I wake up in bed, and I can feel someone beside me. I almost reach over, but I stop myself. It won't be Leslie. It'll be Marie. I remember now, I came over last night. She must have put me in bed. Still looking after me, I guess.

"What time is it?" I ask.

I hear paper rustle as she closes her book. "Just after 11. Are you OK?"

"I'm fine." I get out of bed and stretch. It's funny, the habits we never get out of. I haven't actually needed to stretch my muscles since I got my powers. I never get any kinks to work out. But the first thing I do every morning is stretch. Like I was still normal.

"Is there coffee?" I ask.

"Downstairs. But-"

"Then I'm going downstairs. Or maybe I'll just hit a Starbucks. Whatever. I'll be back tonight, so maybe leave your window open a crack so I don't have to wake you."

"Susan, wait. What's going on?"

"Did anyone call while I was in bed?"

"No. Who-?"
"Damn. All right, thanks."

"Dammit, Susan, tell me what's going on?!"

It's rare for Marie to yell, especially at me. I can't blame her for being upset. I want to leave, to get back to my search, to be doing something, not just sitting and talking. But I owe Marie an explanation.

"Yesterday, when you dropped me off, I found the apartment a mess and Leslie missing."

"Oh my god! What happened?"

"That's what I've been trying to find out. And any delay could put her at risk. So I'll be back later. Hopefully I'll know what happened then, OK?"

"How are you holding up?"

Terrified. "Angry." Desperate. "Determined. I need to find her. Help her. And take down whoever took her."

Marie nods. "OK. Good luck."

"Thanks." I slip out the window and up to the roof. I'll need a plan for today. I'll start by making some calls, see if any of my contacts have found anything yet. Then I'll pay a visit to some criminal leaders in the city. If they don't know anything, I'll figure something else out.

"I don't know anything!"

"Nothing?" I ask. "You're a top crime boss in this city. You hear about just about everything that goes on. And I'm supposed to believe that you don't know anything about an attack on a cop?" I tighten my arm around his neck. "You're sure nothing comes to mind?"

"I swear!" he chokes out. I believe him. Damn.

"I'd better not find out you've been holding out on me. If I have to come back here, I won't be so sweet." I drop him, and walk back through the path of thugs I beat up on the way in.

He was my last lead among the local criminal world. So now I have to figure out something else.

"Hey!" someone shouts when I reach the lobby. "Elastic Girl!"

I look over. The man is large, with long dark hair, and fingers that end in claws. He's wearing a cheap suit. "It's actually Elastic Woman," I correct him. "But OK. What do you want?"

"To kill you!" he says. "You attacked my boss. You're gonna pay for that!"

"Oh. All right, let's do this."

He charges me. He's fast, I'll give him that. I avoid his lunge, and he recovers immediately, turning and slashing at me. I barely pull my stomach back in time. His next slash does connect. My costume doesn't do much against his claws, and I feel my flesh tear open. I grit my teeth against the pain; I've endured much worse.

I grab his leg and pull him away to get a moment to recover. He grabs my arm before I can pull it away, and he bites me. The freak actually bites my arm. My elasticity helps a little, but it still hurts, especially when he starts chewing.

I form my other hand into a large fist and punch him in the head. It's hard and it actually hurts a bit, but it makes him let go. I follow up with a punch to the jaw.

He dodges under my next punch and charges me again. I try to avoid him, but he's not as dumb as I'd hoped. He stops himself before he misses me, and strikes before I can react. He tears my gut again, then his next slash cuts my arm when I try to block it. I stretch away, but he slashes my leg before I can get it out of the way.

This guy's just pissing me off now. He's just some jackass working for some other jackass. I've got more important things to do than fight this loser.

I quickly stretch around behind him, then I grab his legs again. I swing him around and slam him into a wall with a satisfying crack. Then I slam him into another wall. And then into the floor. He's still moving a little, so I grab his head and slam his face into the floor again.

I wince at my scars. I aggravated my injuries with that. I have to admit, though, that felt good. It was cathartic. I rub at a set of cuts and wince again. At least I don't bleed. Still, with the adrenaline wearing off, moving around is going to be a pain. I should probably go to a doctor.

Instead, I stretch up to a roof and take my phone and tablet out of their compartment in the back of my costume. I have a couple other directions to try. I start making calls. After a few dozen calls, I'm not getting any closer. More dead ends.

I'm tired. It's late in the evening; another day spent with nothing to show for it. I touch my scars. I guess I do have something to show for it. My stomach growls and a wave of nausea hits me. Stupid; I haven't eaten since breakfast yesterday. No wonder that guy could tag me. I'm lucky to still be on my feet.

I get a hot dog from a nearby cart. I have no money, but I saved the guy from a runaway car a couple months back, so he lets me eat free.

I'm on my second dog when a call comes in. The Star Wars Imperial March tells me who's calling. "Yeah?" I answer.

"We may have something," Tom says. He's my contact at ExTRA.

"Give me the details."

"Some surveillance footage caught four guys going into your building. They came out a few minutes later. One was being carried, and another was carrying a woman. The video's too grainy to confirm that it's your girlfriend, but it pretty much has to be. They got into a van, which has been found at an impound lot. It was brought there after it was found illegally parked on the street near a Wal-Mart. We found more surveillance footage that showed it driving behind the Wal-Mart before coming back out."

"So I guess I'm going to Wal-Mart," I say.

"Do you want some help?" Tom asks.

I consider. "No," I decide. "If I bring in ExtRA for the assault, the preparations will take at least a full day. It would be the day after tomorrow before we could actually go in. I'm not willing to wait on this. Leslie needs help now. But thanks."

"You shouldn't go in alone. It's too dangerous."

"So am I. I'll be fine. Give me the location."

I make another call while I'm on my way there. There's no answer, but I leave a message. I just hope they get it. Preferably soon. I make a couple stops and then head for the Wal-Mart, and I watch it until midnight.

It's time to finish this.