A/N: Hi guys! Thank you so much for your continued support. I'm having a blast writing this, really. If you guys like it, feel free to let me know. It feels awesome making people invested in something I made. Enjoy!

/***/

Satya recalled the sensation of bouncing.

Arms flailed in the air; her dress moved like waves as she came down, then up, and down again. Trapped within a vacuum, jumping on a trampoline, it was hard to distinguish what caused the stir which rippled her skin. The commotion outside mate it no easier to concentrate. Her world fell into blue skies, red sirens, and the constant, excited chatter of onlookers. Eyelashes fluttering, she awoke from her state which was somewhere between a nap and a coma.

Her hip leaned to the side as she rubbed the sand from her eyes. Human hand pressing on the ground, she could only think of pliancy. Whatever she hit, whatever she landed on, was not ground as much as it was a stretched-out membrane.

Plagued with questions, her head spun under the weight of the situation. Where did she land? Why were her clothes torn? Why was the structure of the tear molten plastic instead of cut fabric? With a smooth, fluid motion across her chest, she mended her gown. At least one mystery was put to rest – she was still in control of her light-bending abilities. The answer to that was doubt was welcome, but rose several other issues.

She looked up at the tower to see that the terrorist was gone.

She looked down and saw the safety net he placed below them; thick sheets painted like the Brazilin flag, canopying the area.

The phrase Ordem e Progresso was stretched out across a blue globe, and she found herself walking backwards as she read the phrase. An ironic message she thought – order and progress, yet there was nothing orderly about rebellion; nothing progressive against fighting an established conglomerate. White stars, a rhombus yellow as the sun, laid across a bright green pasture which broke the monotony of cyan. The flag itself was amateurish; done in spray paint by some hoodlums. What surprised her was the dedication to the work – the sheet stretched out thirty feet, and was tied to high-light pillars, establishing a bridge between two towers.

A sudden realization made Satya gulp. If the giant flag were not set under her, the fall would have ended her career as an architech.

Unsteady heeled boots crossed the quaking sheet. She looked up at the too-bright sun. A shadow fell over her as the helicopters flew above, filming the aftermath. Squinting, she formed a thin, light-obfuscating visor across her eyes. Whoever just threatened the stability of Vishkar had a message in mind; not mindless destruction.

Well, she thought as she looked at the media circus forming overhead, they succeeded in creating a story.

No doubt Vishkar would be painted as a villain.

/***/

Meanwhile, somewhere in the western favelas, the boarded windows rattled as a truck swerved into an alley. Frantic cheers and honking filled the air, followed by a string of curses from the neighbors. The Toads – a small, independent freedom fighting crew – drove into their headquarters.

The headquarters being, of course, Lúcio's family home.

They stepped inside, flinging the doors wide open. Lúcio's father greeted them with a basket of laundry in his hands. Loud folk music flushed the living room, which was painted primarily in oranges and greens. Botted plants hung weakly towards the dusty floor, the walls were cracked and smelled of moist stones. The drab environment changed in an instant as soon as the Toads stepped inside, bringing raucous merriment.

Carols and Lúcio greeted their father by name. The rest of the crew either ignored the greeting or replaced it with a curt nod. The old man shook his head; tresses of salt-and-pepper hair fluttered about his wrinkled features. "You better not get in any trouble," he commented and hoisted the bright blue basket into the bathroom.

The five guys entered Lúcio's room and shut the door behind them.

"WOOO!" Andre cried out, his posture better than ever as he pumped his fists in the air. "Safe!"

Removing scarves and bandanas, the guys settled where they pleased. Since Lúcio's bedroom was a small cluttered mess, there were not many options concerning comfort. If one didn't mind the rank clothing, they could lounge on the bed. If they had no trouble with trying to stand up for half an hour, they settled in the beanbag chair in the corner. Carlos took that privilege, first sitting on it as upon a throne before he sank into it like a ragdoll. Others were left to their own devices, standing against the wall or trying to sit on Lúcio's DJ-ing booth – which he discouraged with every fiber of his being.

The room itself was much messier than the resto of his home, but it provided a quiet, more urban air. Walls were coated with egg cartons for sound isolation, painted black for the aesthetic. The name of his crew was spelled out on the ceiling in holographic neon graffiti, and Andre insisted that his work was worthy of Leonardo's Sistine chapel (nobody had the heart to tell him Leonardo had nothing to do with it). There was not an inch of space without dirty clothes or cans of assorted beverages; legend had it that within that room, a pair of matching socks could be found.

Lúcio stood behind his booth and took off the heavy boombox from his shoulder. He cracked it place and rolled his elbow to regain some feeling in his arm. "I'll never get used to how heavy that thing is." Handing over the instrument to the guy lying on the bed, he picked up a pair of headphones and pressed them against the side of his head. A look of concentration flashed in his eyes, and as he caressed a couple of buttons on his booth, a quiet yet empowering beat blasted from the corner speakers. His head bobbed along the vibrations in the headphones. Satisfied with the ambient noise, he turned towards the ten-inch television set in front of him. "Yo, Carlos!" He whistled. "Go see if they're still talking 'bout us."

His brother outstretched his arms, unable or unwilling to step out of his seat. "What else would they be talking about? Turn it on yourself!"

For a brief moment, Lúcio's brows connected above tired eyes. Sighing, he walked around the booth and squatted to better see the grainy picture on the set. As he looked for the Atlas news, Andre managed to find the bottle of dirt-cheap champagne they stashed away for the mission.

"Hey, when do we pop this bottle?" He asked, scratching at the seal covering the cork. "And how'd you get this gold shit off?"

going through with the operation. Vishkar correspondents –

"Shh!" Lúcio summoned them around the screen. "Listen."

It was as though the television was a portal to another universe. The Toads huddled as one, squinting and staring into a single dot – sand Carlos who, again, refused to move. They awaited the news with bated breath; individual heartbeats catching in their throats. The newscaster spoke in a cold, calm tone befitting of a journalist, though she did not seem to be too grim about the incident. In the world, one would need to kill three people to cause a newscaster to change her tone of voice. Lúcio bit the skin of his thumb.

"There's something 'bout them journalists, man. Just wanna do her right on that desk."

"Cameras running and all."

"THIS JUST IN!" Andre cackled, his head twisting back until he was shushed again. "Yeah, yeah, I'm listenin'."

no casualties, but resulting in seven hundred thousand dollars in property damages. The representative of Vishkar –

"Seven hundred?!"

"Times a thousand."

"I heard."

Lúcio's hand was feverishly flapping in the air. "Shh!"

no intimidation tactics, calling them cheap and trite. The identities of the perpetrators are unidentifiable by security cameras, as the footage seems to emit a strange glow concentrated around the intruders' faces.

"Camouflage frequency." Carlos commended his brother, nodding. "Nice."

Lúcio returned the nod, eyes still on the report.

In addition, Vishkar employees state that the invaders wore masks to hide their identity. However, eye witnesses report seeing an unmasked man outside of the building during the intrusion's climax.

"I'd give her a climax."

Carlos scoffed. "Please. At this point, even your hands are pretending to be asleep."

The following is a clip taken by a civilian.

The Toads chuckled at the sight of the shaky smartphone camera capturing an architech chasing Lúcio across a bridge of hard light. He skated and twisted out of her sight as she fired particles of pure light. Some caught his clothing, sizzling through it. "Oh my God," said an impassive watcher standing beside the recorder. Zooming on their faces, the camera managed to capture the woman's frustrated expression. Lúcio's visage, however, was masked with a bright flash, as though his face was the sun itself.

Lúcio smiled to himself. They delivered a message to the people and managed to keep their identities hidden. All in all, a good day.

Andre managed to pop open the champagne. The cork flew into the television screen, cracking it until the image distorted and warped.

"Hey! Watch it!"

The hunched man poured frothy liquor across the floor, shouting profanities as he tried to catch most of it in his mouth. "Fuck yeah! Who's the boss now, bitch?"

"That's just phase one," Lúcio reminded. "Next thing we need is to – HEY!" His thick dreadlocks became soaked with champagne as Andre dumped it over him. His eyes, his cheek, his shirt and shoes were covered with amber-colored liquid, which smelled a lot like strawberries for some odd reason. Either that was what champagne smelled like, or that was what the cheap stuff smelled like. Either way it tasted delicious. He licked his lips and yanked the bottle away from his companion, taking the first real chug to his crew's cheering.

Their leader took away the nozzle and gasped with delight. He wiped away his wet lips with his forearm, proffering the bottle which soon left his hands. "D'ja get any glasses?"

"Glasses?" Andre took a quick swig and passed it forward. "Why'd we need glasses?"

Carlos spoke up from his seat as he unpacked a slim silver tablet. "We aren't gonna pass the bottle around, are we?" He pulled up his holo-projecting gloved, wiggling his fingers until they fit. "Don't wanna taste anything your nasty mouth touched."

"Don't kiss ya momma."

"What?"

"In that case, don't kiss ya momma."

"Fuck off."

"Carlito," Lúcio said, fully aware of how much his brother hated the nickname, "get us into Vishkar sometime this week, 'kay?" He chuckled, but his brother did not take this lightly.

With his stubby, oddly fast fingers, he spread out the tablet until it was as tall as he was. There he began to code, filling out the space of four square feet within thirty seconds. "You don't get water to boil by telling it to hurry."

"Ya sure you can get us into their servers?"

"The place had a fortified firewall, seven proxies, hacker-seeking rootkits…" He moved his fingers from the holographic panel and grinned; his eyes the picture of malice. "Easy as pie."

"When you're done," Andre said, "you gotta help me in my game." He drank more of the champagne, revenge on his mind. "I'm playing this girl in a tournament tomorrow and she's wicked hot so I gotta impress her with my gaming skills. So if you could hack the game for me or…."

"I can't help you with Starcraft. You get good or you get lost."

"Man, you don't understand how fine this girl. I get all distracted when she talks strategy to me."

"You're gross. I saw her Let's Play. She's looks twelve."

"Nuh-uh. Korean girls always look younger. All we know she could be old as balls."

"So now you're racist and gross."

"At least I ain't fat."

Carlos drew some hot air into his left nostril. Leaning back into his seat, he grabbed at the holographic screen with all ten fingers and carefully placed it against the wall. There, he felt around the sandpaper paint, trying to get the feel of where he could position the projection. His fingers pulsated in forest green ripples; Vishkar's domain was flashing below his fingertips. "Yo. Lúcio." His older brother turned around, dreadlock swaying across his shoulder. Carlos' wide, inquisitive eyes took in the gory details of the room they dwelled in, not finding any corner particularly neat. "Where do we station the screen?"

The DJ ran a finger against his soul patch. "Hmm…" After brief consideration, he realized that the only way to make the place look clean was to show as little of it as possible. He walked up over to his bed and threw all the clothing from the covers to the ground. Then, with two perfunctory strokes, he flattened the black sheets. "There." He ticked a thumb at the wall behind him. "Put the screen here. You three," he cast three fingers at Andre and the twins, Artur and Charo. "You stand over there. Uh, get me the frog head. It's over there by the pile of beer bottles. The other one."

Andre groaned as he folded his body and reached across the amber bottles to find Ribbit – the unofficial mascot of the Toads; a silver frog-shaped helmet complete with headphones and a friendly little smile. Lúcio wore it during his street performances before. Luckily, his street credit was not renown enough for the disguise to become recognizable nationwide. The head flew into Lúcio's hands and the smooth, silvery surface glinted in the streaks of sun peering through wooden blinds.

Carlos pushed the holographic panel across the wall. In a moment, it spun around the bedroom, finally landing to the side where they wanted it to. His fingers danced about the air, entranced. As Lúcio sat on the bed, he urged him not to touch the boombox.

"We really gotta do something about that thing," the DJ whined under the guise of a chrome frog. "My back is killing me."

"Look, it's the best I can do on a budget. You want something sleek and light? Give me twenty grand and I'll see what I can work with. Charo, turn off the music for a sec, we want this to look professional."

Though Charo walked to the booth and stopped the beat, Lúcio still heard it in his mind. His ears pulsed with vivid colors, his eyes saw the floor rise. He shut his eyes and shook his head, dispelling the phantom noise. "Okay then," he said in a cheerful tone, rendered melodic and synthetic by the helmet. "How do we look?"

With a flick of his gloved wrist, Carlos displayed a mirror image of them on the monitor. Lúcio in his disguise, on screen with his hands on his knees. Andre, Charo and Artur stood behind the foot of the bed; their heads uncovered but cut off so only their bright clothes could be seen. It was dark and silent; to an untrained eye, the crew was stationed in a professional abode, and not some young adult's bedroom. It was the best they could do on short notice. Frankly, for Vishkar, he couldn't put in the effort.

"We lookin' good?"

His crew expressed various degrees of agreement.

"Awesome. Vishkar online?"

"Doing damage control, most likely. That prick Korpal will be easy to find."

"Sweet." As he rolled his shoulders back, he felt something crack. His body felt like a crumpled ball of newspaper. One of these days, he should actually listen to his father's advice and get some sleep.

No time for that now. There were pushbacks to negotiate.

"Send them a message. You guys ready?"

Again. Varying degrees of enthusiasm, followed by Andre's "Well, actually…"

"Sending feedback in three… two…"

One, Carlos mouthed.

Sanjay Korpal, as well as a handful of his red-eyed associates, appeared huddled around an oval meeting room desk. Vishkar towers hovered in its center, in their miniature model cyan glory. Lúcio recognized the person who formed it almost immediately – her striking brown eyes and shiny black hair pulled up in a smart hairstyle. Her skin was a luxurious shade of brown, and with her silk-smooth hair it reflected pure sunlight, glowing golden in the midst of dreary blue.

As many people did, Sanjay looked at the projection on their wall. His eyes centered on Ribbit's – the mask's blank circles, which were half an inch above Lúcio's own eyes. The woman, however… her stare hit direct bullseye. It was an unusual instinctive response to seeing a man with a frog's head appear uninvited on a wall. She seemed unmoved, almost indifferent.

A node in his gullet swelled up, and he imagined that he should have cleared his throat beforehand. Luckily, the harmonic sing-song filter emitting from Ribbit's speakers rendered his groggy voice more pleasing to the listeners.

"People of Vishkar. We are the Toads." He tented his fingers as he saw them stand and watch with rapt attention. "We have infiltrated your company to bring the message of civilian resistance. Our neighborhoods and communities will not fall into the hands of corporate greed. We have seen many troubling things during our raid. Consider our visit your first and final warning."

"Dude, nice speech," Andre whispered. Charo shushed him with a swift kick to the shin.

Sanjay, a clean-cut man in his mid-thirties, straightened himself and spoke through a guarded grin. "Toads, is it? We welcome you to our facility. I must assure you, we do not take kindly to intruders. Today's security breach was an isolated incident and you will not wreak havoc in this company again." His chest jutted out. Jaws and fists tightened, the man's voice became a low, guttural command. "Disconnect immediately. You'd be wise to compensate the damage you caused to the people of Rio de Janeiro."

"The people of Rio have spoken against you – we are the people of Rio! We represent the public uprising. How dare you? How dare you burn our neighborhoods, cast our people out of their homes, and then say you are contributing anything to them?"

"We are contributing to them," the tall woman with silken hair stepped forward and declared. Her face was reminiscent of a sculpture; an angular visage with all the features one could find in some vintage actress. A sleek jawline, high cheekbones, and a stare which could cut through ice. "We are making the world a better place. We –"

Sanjay's lifted hand silenced her. She swallowed her words and let him speak. His posture was straight, stiff as a board, and his clenched fists laid upon the small of his back. "We will not tolerate your intimidation techniques any longer. You will be found. Authorities will be involved."

"You involve your authorities in everything!" Lúcio shouted, and the speakers of his helmet rendered hi outcry a shrill, incoherent noise. Charo winced behind him, biting her lip. On the other side of the screen, the Indian woman shut her eyes tightly and refused to open them until she heard the following, tranquil statement. "We have crime fighters serving as curfew enforcers. They police what we eat, what we watch, what we listen to…"

He counted away the items on his fingers, each item raising the level of his fury. By the time he was done, he spoke normally, but his heart beat so hard against his lungs that he struggled to keep his breathing steady. "You are exploiting the people you were supposed to benefit. We have become nothing to you. We're cheap labor you need to supervise. We've had enough!"

The woman narrowed her eyes and lifted her chin. "Our architechs –"

"We spent decades," Sanjay interrupted, "working to repair your community. The Omnic crisis ruined the world, and Vishkar singlehandedly –"

"Excuse yourself."

The speaker stopped in his tracks, lips still parted as he wondered what to say next. Tilting his head to the side, his eyes went wide. "Excuse… me?"

"Not to me. To her." Lúcio jolted his head to the side, gesturing at the woman. "What's your name."

She was still as her coworkers watched her. A hand pressed down on her chest and she cleared her throat. "Satya Vaswani."

"Satya," Lúcio said, "why do you think Vishkar benefits our community?"

"Well it's obvious," Sanjay began. "We have established a multi-national –"

"My God," said the robotic voice within the head of a silver frog. "Will you let her talk? It's like you've never negotiated before. The person who talks is the person the opponent is most likely to like."

Satya's eyes widened. "Oh. My." A deep breath entered through her teeth, and what ensued was a ricochet of opinions.

"Well… hard light manipulation is a skill possessed by few and practiced by fewer. It's painstakingly generated but once a person become proficient in it, they can cut down time of building by as much as eighty percent. Haven't you ever wanted to own something, but there was no foreseeable way of acquiring it? Hard light makes it possible for humans to bend reality. Order and harmony are the pillars of a functioning society, and are what we go by in Vishkar. Discord leads to crime and misery – tell me, when was the last time you heard of crime sprees in Vishkar-operated neighborhoods?"

"You can't have much crime if you imprison people for as little as hanging out outside after ten in the evening." Lúcio's fingers tapped along his knees, his shoulders falling. "What about you? What has hard light given to you that you are so adamant to support a blood-sucking corporation?"

Sanjay opened his mouth.

The blank circular eyes of Lúcio's helmet shot right at him, catching the movement of his tongue as he tried to reply.

Sanjay closed his mouth, and looked over to his associate.

Satya, for the longest time, seemed lost. It was obvious that her speech was a ploy; something drilled in the minds of hard light manipulators since they were children in training. When asked for a personal experience, her mind was blank. Eyes scanned the monochrome meeting room, inspecting the walls and pillars and tables, whose transparency reminded her faintly of glass. Nothing, not even her clothing could let her believe that walls were anything but walls, tables were anything but tables, and that terrorists were anything but terrorists regardless of what their tactics were.

As she was about to surrender her word to a coworker, her beautiful browns landed on the smooth chrome of her white arm. Hard light, moving on its own. She never felt the need to practice flexing a thumb. It came naturally, flowing like water, each move mastered with no effort on her part. The appendage – the attachment she no longer classified as such, became an integral component of her person.

She would have been lost without her light bending.

With nothing to add, she shoved Lúcio her robotic arm. "Hard light has given me agency over my body. It benefit me. It can benefit others if they embrace change. With the community's approval, we can make the world a better place."

Lúcio and Satya noticed that her hand lacked a pinky finger. What remained of it was a stump; white mass molten into her palm. Satya was reminded of her molted gown. With a flick of her wrist, her white finger grew again, and she bent it into her palm.

The Toad leader was not convinced, but the story made him quieter, at least for a minute. His head turned to Sanjay. "You have committed crimes against the favela after you took burned our homes. That is a transgression that Brazil does not forget. We require compensation, and for you to disband."

"Absurd. Vishkar stays where it always has."

"It can fall. Hard light is unstable."

"Ha!" The speaker shook his head; pearly teeth exposed between thin tan lips. "Doubtful. It's s sturdy as any other material and thrice as reliable. Any wall cracks under a barrage of bullets – only hard light has the capacity to fire back."

"True. But no other wall breaks when you play music to it."

Sanjay continued his smug grin. The corners of his lips fell downwards, in slow motion. The longer his face contorted, the more his eyes glazed. "You're lying."

"My fellow Toads have established a frequency which makes hard light decompose without the will of benders. One tone, and your hard light head pieces melt into your ears, ringing all the while. Bridges crumble, clothing melts, walls shatter. If that's the best you can provide for my home and my friends, I want none of it." His head turned to Satya, who examined her newly-grown finger. "Your coworker can testify to my claim. She witnessed how hard light reacts to the frequency first-hand. Isn't that right, Satya?"

She had not thought of it, but the note made sense. He blasted his boombox and suddenly the photon particles did not hit him. The bridge she built crashed. She felt the hard light on her body shrink. The dress which draped her body became mottled with holes. Her coworkers watched her, eager to hear her reply. "Yes," she said, and glowered at the frog's head she recognized. "Yes, I did. I remember how you sent me falling."

"Don't take it personally. I didn't want to hurt you – I was on my way and you came after me. Which, by the way, is the best case of determination I've ever seen. Ya sure you weren't trying to chase me down for something other than incarceration?"

He winked under his helmet but realized she couldn't see the gesture. Oh, right.

Sharp, finely-manicured eyebrows connected above glaring eyes. "Pig."

"So yeah. Back to my original point." Lúcio kicked back and crossed his legs, tenting the points of his fingers. "You leave the favela. I don't melt your entire infrastructure with a trap remix. We good?"

"No, we aren't," Satya said. Her forearms tightened; veins bulged as she tried not to run and hit the screen. "Hard light is improving the lives of millions. I'm sorry that doesn't give you the freedom to terrorize your community. Vishkar stays, and this is non-negotiable."

"Ya know we can pretty much decompose all things hard light, right? It's not the end-all, be-all of construction."

"Regardless, a city of hard light can stand."

"Really?" There was mirth in his voice; an almost boyish joy as soon as she said the words. "You really think so? Maybe we should sweeten the pot to this deal."

Her eyes were blank beneath her furrowed brow. "How so?"

"Do you know which frequency makes hard light go sploot? Well, we can talk that out. If you convince me there are more benefits to Vishkar than there are drawbacks, I'll let you know what the frequency is."

Carlos cursed in the background as Lúcio waved his hand at him. It was their universal sign for "don't worry, I have an angle". The Brazilian watched Satya consider the offer, and he saw the flash of doubt in her eyes.

"What's the catch?"

"You'll have to prove it to me on the venue and time of my choice. No weapons, no guards. Just me and you – consider it a date."

If the doubt flashed in her eyes second prior, it burned like a light tower then. Sanjay interrupted her exclamation. "You are a manipulating extortionist! We do no business with people like you! And why do you insist on her debating with you?"

"While the rest of you ran around shooting guns in the hopes you'll hit something, she built light bridges and teleporters to catch up. If there's anyone who understands hard light it's her. And if anyone's able to excuse your tyrannical sweatshop of a company, it's her!"

Satya was raving. Flattered, yes, but mostly raving. "I will not… meet you."

"Sure you don't wanna think about it? I can give you three days to consider it and then… well, I'd suggest investing in some non-hard light headphones 'cuz the beats are gonna be loud and fast."

Satya and her coworker exchanged a look which meant everything but looked like nothing. With slanted, tired eyes, she looked at the screen and sighed. "We'll consider your offer… you arrogant hoodlum."

"Just for that, the offer's going up to three days."

"BUT –!"

"Would you like to make it five?"

She stopped, her tongue tied.

All Lúcio could do was smile beneath his hot helmet. "I await your reply. Honestly, I'm thinkin' we're being reasonable. Three meetings in exchange for keeping most of your company intact… damn. That's just good economy right there. But I've got music to record and you've got interviews to give. Bye guys!"

He waved and ordered Carlos to end transmission. Puffing and gasping for clean air, he removed his helmet, revealing a hot, balmy forehead and a nest of tangled hair. Hi brother finally freed himself from the clutches of the abominable beanbag chair, and was beyond furious for his attempt at negotiating.

"A date? You would sell out everything – everything I worked for, just for a damn date?!"

"It's economical," he said.

"You keep saying that word. I'm not sure it means what you think it means."

"C'mon, what's gonna happen? They'll know the frequency and then what? They can't change how to create hard light. They're not God, even though they act like one."

Carlos huffed and turned nervously on his heel, wondering what else to add. "So now what? We wait and see if she'll agree to go out with you?"

"Best case scenario, she does and I convince her why the favela's worth keeping around, warts and all. She brings over the message and they stop meddling in our business. Plus they'd still be vulnerable to the frequency so that's just added protection."

"And what's the worst case scenario?"

"I'm sent to Hell in a handbasket by a stunner with legs like a grasshopper." He thought this was funny. Carlos did not.

The DJ's heavy body plopped on his bed, his arms crossed behind his head. "I dunno why. But I've got a damn good feeling about this."