"What?"

Americana stood, blinking, scarcely believing her ears.

"You're under arrest," Nick D'Arcangelo repeated. "For assault, battery... and attempted murder."

The heroine just... stood there.

"You're kidding..." she finally said.

"No. I'm not kidding."

"B-but - I'm... one of the good guys."

"You should have thought of that before you battered Brian MacDonald to within an inch of his life."

"... who?"

The Assistant District Attorney smiled fiercely. "Razorback."

"... I only hit him... what, twice? Three times?" Americana stammered.

"Oh, I'd say it was a few more times than that," D'Arcangelo said, noting that a crowd was beginning to gather - a pro-Americana crowd.

"What are ya doing?"

"You're not arresting her?"

D'Arcangelo nodded to two nervous policemen. "Officers, place Americana under - "

A cry went up from the crowd as the officers looked at each other.

The heroine's head was spinning. There must be some kind of mistake... she had hardly hit Razorback... had the police beat on him after taking him into custody?

"You leave her alone, dammit!"

No... they wouldn't...

She snapped out of her fog - the situation was turning ugly.

"Hold on," she said forcefully.

The crowd quieted, and the policemen's hands eased off of their pistols.

"I'm... sure that there's been some mistake."

She glanced at the officers, then at D'Arcangelo.

"Leave them out of it. As an officer of the court, you have the power to make an arrest, yourself.

"I'll surrender, but only to you," she said, eyeing him steadily.

For several seconds, nobody so much as moved.

"Hand me your cuffs," D'Arcangelo said to the officer on his right.

"Is that... neccessary?" the man whispered. "What good will cuffs do?"

D'Arcangelo's answer was a glare, and the man sheepishly handed over the handcuffs.

Americana nervously held out her hands, and D'Arcangelo took her wrists.

This.. this will all work out, the heroine thought. They're making a mistake.

Nick D'Arcangelo didn't look like he was making a mistake, as he slapped on the cuffs.

Americana sat at a folding metal table, uneasily sipping at a cup of water.

She could only guess show many people were beyond the wall of one-way glass. Judging from the way every person in the building just 'happened" to wander out to catch a glimpse as she was brought in, the number was probably pretty high.

D'Arcangelo was making a big play out of her arrest. He could have brought her in through the garage, but instead he had walked her up the steps and through the front door of the station.

Nearly twenty newsmen - tipped off, she knew - had crowded around the front door, shouting and taking pictures.

Then she had been photographed by the police photographer - who was actually apologetic and quite nice, but still - !

And - they had tried to take her fingerprints. Tried. That was an indignity she would not allow - and no one was about to force her to give her prints.

Not yet, anyway.

She shook, whether from anger or fear or confusion she didn't know.

This... this wasn't right. She had been treated politely by almost everyone here but still, she was under arrest!

She wanted her father. She wanted Jason, she wanted her sister... but she had no one she could call. Not without compromising her true identity.

She exhaled forcefully. No tears, she commanded herself. This was a mistake, that was all.

Americana noted that most of the people here were treating her politely, but even when backed with all of her powers, being on this side of the proverbial fence was still frightening.

She absently rubbed her wrists, still feeling the handcuffs, even though they were no longer there - a kind judge had noted that the cuffs would be of little use against someone of her strength.

The door opened, and Nick D'Arcangelo entered the room, the barest hint of a smirk on his young face. He was flanked by a man and a woman that she had not seen before.

The trio sat, facing her.

"You've agreed to talk without a lawyer present, correct?"

"For now... yes," she answered hesitantly.

"Tell me," D'Arcangelo said, "How does your hitting Mr. MacDonald 'twice'... leave him looking like that?"

He pushed forward three photographs. They showed a man who had deep purple bruises all over his body. His arm was in a sling, and his jaw was wired shut.

Americana shuddered as she shuffled the photos.

She jerked her head up.

"I... have no idea! He wasn't anywhere near this battered when I..."

She looked down at the photos again. She knew she hadn't hit him a dozen times... he had to have been beaten after she had handed him over. But that would mean the police...

Maybe he had gotten those bruises before, hiding them with the armor? That would...

"Wait. Wait... a... minute..."

She stared at the photos, then looked up again, confused.

"This isn't him."

"What?"

"It's not Razorback."

"He's out of costume," sighed D'Arcangelo impatiently. "Trust us, that is the man we have in custody."

"Who somehow grew several inches?"

D'Arcangelo stared. "What?"

Americana lightly tapped the photo showing a man on a gurney. "This man's significantly taller... three, four inches. And - and, he's clean shaven in the photo. Razorback had at least a day-old beard."

She looked at each of the three in turn.

"That's your say-so..." D'Arcangelo began.

"It's easy enough to check," Americana said, sitting back in her chair. "Just put the armor together."

Nick D'Arcangelo was no longer smiling.

"And look at those bruises," Americana said, emboldened. "They're too large to be made by my fists."

"Bruises swell," said the other man nervously.

"Yeah, but impact marks on his jawbone, won't," Americana said, crossing her arms. "Again, easy to check."

Her eyes narrowed as she looked from the man to the woman to D'Arcangelo.

"Just what the hell are you trying to pull?"

The trio looked nervously at each other.

"And don't even try to 'fix' the evidence to fit," she said with steel in her voice. "I'm sure that there are a dozen people behind that wall who heard me."

She stared at them, her lower lip trembling.

"Matt," D'Arcangelo said quietly. "Check both of those things, please. Now."

She... she couldn't be... oh, hell, what if...

Americana leaned forward. "And while you're doing that you might want to find out who is the man in the photos," she said sarcastically. "You might try measuring him, instead of taking his height off of his ID."

The man hesitated at the door. D'Arcangelo impatiently nodded, and the man hurried out of the room.

"He's... Brian MacDonald," offered the woman.

"He's not Razorback," Americana replied.

"We'll... see," D'Arcangelo said quietly.

God, he thought, how this be happening?

True, he had wanted his face plastered all over the news - but as a crusading prosecutor, not as the idiot who had falsely arrested Americana!

All because the mayor -

The mayor. Larry Darien.

Oh. My. God.

He was the one who had promised him fame and a promotion in exchange for bringing down Americana.

And Darien hated her, no mistake - he wanted her so badly. He'd do anything, Nick knew, anything - including switching -

"Nick? Hello?"

"Uh... wh-what? Oh. Tracy..."

His assistant and Americana were looking at him.

"Um, I just... zoned out for a moment..."

"Uh, huh," Americana said crossly. "And you hid that 'oh my god' look so well, too."

D'Arcangelo blanched.

"I don't know what's going on here," the heroine said slowly. "But I am going to find out."

She raised an eyebrow. "This is more than a little mistake, isn't it, Mr. D'Arcangelo?"

The Assistant D.A. licked his lips. He was used to perps claiming they were innocent and getting all haughty. Trouble was, this one might be telling the truth.

The door swung open, and Matt stood in the door and jerked his head.

"Nick."

D'Arcangelo blinked as he rose. "You couldn't possibly - "

"Yes, what is it, Matt, that you don't want me to hear?" Americana said, her words dripping with sarcasm.

She felt a little badly, for using such a tone - the man was simply doing his job, after all. But they were trying to destroy the reputation she had worked so hard to earn. They were messing with her life.

Nick closed the door behind him. "Talk to me, Matt."

"I didn't lay out the armor yet, but I was calling over to order X-rays and a thought hit me."

Nick winced. "Good thought?"

"Well, yeah. I asked that they take a set of his prints - now - and email 'em over here. I compared 'em to the ones we took when we arrested the guy.

"Not even close."

"You sure?".

"It's a different guy, Nick."

"How - ?" Nick put a hand behind his head and sighed loudly. "I'm dead."

"I've notified the Feds - "

"What?!"

"Jeezus, Nick - didn't you hear me? We've got some guy in lockup and it isn't Razorback. He's escaped."

D'Arcangelo pressed his forehead against the wall. This wasn't happening.

"And I've got a comic book heroine in custody. A very popular comic book heroine."

He sighed heavily and stood up straight.

"Nick? You all right?"

"Fine, Matt. I'm fine."

D'Arcangelo flashed him a wan smile, then stepped back into the room.

Americana sat back in her chair, arms folded, glowering.

He had liked it better when she had been nervous, not he.

"Americana," he said haltingly. "It appears we - no, I've - made a mistake."

The heroine raised an eyebrow. "Do tell."

"Yes, well..." the Assistant D.A. cleared his throat. "It's become clear that, well, Razorback... somehow he's... escaped.

"The man we do have... well, we're now attempting to learn his identity..."

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air as Americana looked intently at the Assistant D.A..

"W-we couldn't question him... his jaw was broken..." Nick stammered.

Americana continued to stare in silence.

D'Arcangelo ran his hand over his face and sighed. "Look, I owe you an apology... I don't know how -"

"You owe me more than that," Americana said, steel in her voice. "You are going to get on those cameras you called down here and clear my name - with no ifs, ands, or buts. No legalise. You are going to make it perfectly clear, got it?"

D'Arcangelo opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

He sighed and nodded.

"I... truly didn't know..."

"Yeah, I know," Americana said sullenly. "An Oscar-winner, you're not."

D'Arcangelo looked at her questioningly.

"You would have had to know that myself or my lawyer, someone, would have tumbled onto the ruse fairly quickly. And truth is, you're a lousy actor."

Americana stood. "You realized who it was, didn't you?"

"No... I..." he said weakly.

"Doesn't matter. I'll find out.

"You know, I don't get it," she said, drawing closer to him. "Why were you so eager to arrest me? I've tried to stay inside the lines as much as possible. I rescue people, fight criminals... I protect the police and firefighters..."

She threw out her hands.

"Tell me, what have I d - ?"

She stopped, as a sickening awareness took hold.

"What?" D'Arcangelo asked nervously.

Americana stared.

"Is it just you?"

"Huh?"

"Did he just recruit you," Americana asked quietly, "Or did he get others, too?"

Matt and Tracy looked at each other, bewildered.

Then they looked at the silent Nick.

Americana nodded slightly. "Fine.

"I... am going to walk out of here. You are going to get on camera and clear my name, got it?"

"Yes," D'Arcangelo said. "Where.... where are you going?"

"I'm going to have a little talk," Americana said.

"With the mayor."