The Crazy Horse was just visible through the polluted haze, its flickering yellow and blue sign illuminating a square of sidewalk. The door swung open, and she watched the Professor emerge to throw a bucket of water onto the flooded street. The bar’s TV was loud; garbled words floated to her through the expressway’s roar. The screen showed a group of handcuffed people being forced into an FBI van while an angry crowd looked on. The wind changed, and a wave of freezing water found every opening in her bulletproof jacket. She didn’t notice, her body immune to the cold. She looked to the sky, and her shattered clock tracked every aerial target.