The war was quickly escalating. Soon, groups like the Slingers would be capable of assaulting Blastaar's base of operations, and it was then that Janet would take her opportunity to strike. She had no intention of heeding Lockdown's warning. He had only gotten the better of her because he had taken her by surprise. Next time, he would not be so fortunate.
While she waited for this rare chance to take down one of the most dangerous crime bosses in Shadow City, Janet decided to further appraise herself of the situation by spending an evening in Paradise—which was not nearly as pleasant or glamorous as it sounded.
Approaching the entrance of the nightclub, she glanced over at the Ataraxian bouncer and received an approving nod in response. So she skipped the long line of frustrated locals waiting outside and passed under the large, neon purple letters that spelled "PARADISE." The moment she entered the crowded lounge, Janet collided with a wall of noise. Synthetic, upbeat music flooded her ears as obnoxious voices clamored to rise above it. Glasses clinked, lights flashed, and the sheer number of pulsing vibrations forced her to momentarily close her eyes and take a deep breath.
In loud, overpopulated places like this, she recoiled from her enhanced senses and suppressed them instead of amplifying them. Otherwise, the amount of information streaming into her consciousness became overwhelming.
Once she had gotten her bearings, Janet opened her eyes and walked to the bar, which was located at the center of the large room. A male Kestoran wearing a red jumpsuit stood behind the spotless, circular counter, passing out drinks to those who sat in his immediate vicinity. As soon as he spotted her, he waved a green three-fingered hand and grinned broadly.
"Clea! It's been some time. Welcome back!"
Dusk was the name her enemies knew her by. It was a mask, another persona she claimed when people needed saving and targets needed eliminating. But Clea—that was what she called herself when she just wanted to be no one for a little while. A face in a crowd—nothing more.
It was an ironic twist of fate, to be sure.
Her mother, being as excessive and elitist as she always was, had decided that it was a good idea to name her after the famous Cleopatra. "Watch closely, dear," she had always said, "and listen. A carelessly whispered secret can bring about the fall of an empire. It is a deadly game, but if you play it well, you too can bring the world to its knees."
Janet had always been a rebel, and though it had not taken her long to become as clever and manipulative as the rest of her family, "Clea" had not survived beyond her first few years of grade school. In truth, Janet was her middle name, but she had always told every person she met that it was the only one they were allowed to call her by.
Now, however, as she sank onto a metallic stool at the bar, she smiled back at the only individual in the entire city who might consider her a friend. "Hey, Tav."
"Was starting to wonder if something unfortunate had happened to you," he grunted, pouring her a drink and sliding it her way.
Janet caught the small glass between her fingers and canted her head. "The odds aren't in my favor, that's for sure. Not with the gang violence still escalating."
"And now we've got those vigilantes out there making things even more complicated," the Kestoran muttered. Grabbing another glass, he started cleaning it with a white cloth. "Don't get me wrong—we've always had heroic types like Lockdown around here. But guys like him have moral codes that they stick by—lines they don't cross. These new groups… I don't know if what they're doing is helping or just making the problem worse."
"Guess we'll find out," she remarked, swallowing a sip of the aquamarine liquid and wincing as it went down.
Almost imperceptibly, Tav inched closer to the counter, then leaned over it. She slowly lowered her glass and watched him with questioning eyes as his big green face drifted very near to her own.
"You see those women over there?" he whispered hoarsely, glancing to his right.
Discreetly following his gaze, Janet nodded. The two aliens stood nearby, conversing with a male human and his Argoran companion. Both women were tall, muscular, and wore black armored jumpsuits with jetpacks. One of them had pink skin, a long red ponytail, and a fearsome metal mask, while the other's skin was like copper. Dark, isolated coils grew from her mostly bald scalp, and she made no effort to conceal her true face.
"Yeah," Janet murmured.
"Rumor has it that they've been hired by Blastaar to find and dispose of Dusk. She's been interfering with some of his most profitable operations lately, and he wants her dead."
"Really?" she replied, maintaining an air of casual indifference.
"They call themselves the Twisted Sisters," Tav elaborated, "and I hear there are more of them. They've got quite the reputation."
"Yes, I've heard the name," she nodded. "Ruthless. Bloody. Don't take targets alive."
"That's right. Frankly, I don't enjoy having the likes of them here in Paradise, but I don't have much of a choice these days."
"Well, we can only hope that things will settle down again soon," Janet responded with a sad shake of her head.
"I'll drink to that," he agreed, pouring himself a glass of the same aquamarine liquid he had given her.
"To peace," she smiled, and they clinked their glasses.
The Kestoran threw back his head and drained his drink, but she took a silent, calculated sip, her eyes transforming into icy daggers as she directed another glance toward the would-be assassins. Her throat burned, but the sensation was a welcome one now. Her blood was boiling, and she was spoiling for a fight.
Anger and frustration had been steadily building inside her for two years. And now that she had come so close to having Stephen back, only to have him ripped away from her again, she was ready to unleash it. But this was neither the time nor the place for such a scene, Janet reminded herself as her trigger finger started to twitch.
So she took her time, making small talk with Tav and blankly staring at the surrounding screens until the Twisted Sisters finally decided to leave the nightclub. Then she waited another half hour before sliding her credits across the counter and informing the Kestoran that she was heading home for the evening.
The moment she exited Paradise, every muscle in Janet's body tensed, and she glanced around. Nothing. Taking a deep breath, she started walking back to her apartment. As air speeders rushed by above her, her long black coat flapped behind her and revealed the pistol that was holstered on her hip.
If Blastaar's sending assassins after me, he must be getting desperate, she thought with a smirk of satisfaction. I must have struck a real blow, and that means he's weak and far more vulnerable that he wants anyone to know. Soon… Soon I will finish him.