The street known as Acacia Crescent snaked up a massive hill which could nearby be called a mountain, framed on one side by gigantic mansions and on the other side by a steep cliff which dropped into the ocean. At the hill's top rested the sprawling, futuristic home of Evelyn Deavor, located at 113 Acacia. The place had no driveway, so Winston's limo driver stopped on the street outside of the home.

"She never learned to drive," Winston genially informed Artie and Voyd—who was clutching the "spotlight" in her hands—as they pulled to a stop. "And this mansion was commissioned especially for her, so, y'know—why include something she'll never need, right?"

"What about her guests?" Voyd asked uncomfortably, staring at the huge house across the street. It was a lot like Evelyn—sleek, cold, geometrically shaped. The only difference was that the mansion included a lot of glass, whilst Evelyn could hardly be considered transparent.

Winston shrugged. "She never really gets a whole lot of guests, tell you the truth."

I can't imagine why. Voyd bit the words back.

Artie Fishel, who was sitting in the seat beside her, unironically said, "I can't imagine why. A genius like her—every technician on the planet should want to pick her brain."

He said the words with reverence, and Voyd knew he was unconscious of their insensitivity, but still, it stung a little. But he was probably right, anyhow. Evelyn was a genius. This fact couldn't be denied.

She, Artie and the billionaire exited the limo, heading across the street toward Evelyn's mansion; the limo driver turned the car off and unfolded a magazine, waiting for their return. Voyd felt nauseous about heading into the villain's lair—sorry, house—without any super backup behind her, but she and Winston had agreed that it would be best if only Voyd and Artie came along. The more superheroes that intruded on her home, the more skittish and uncooperative Evelyn was likely to be. Still, it made goosepimples rise on Voyd's arms under her suit, to be heading into the villain's mansion without her friends by her side.

The expansive lawn was unmaintained, grass grown too high and straggly. Two large flowerpots on either side of the grand front doors were unmaintained as well, the flowers inside having long since shriveled and died. They approached the front doors, and Winston pressed a button on the wall beside them. It made no sound, but Voyd assumed he'd rung a doorbell.

After an uncomfortably long 30 seconds of waiting, Voyd ventured, "Uh, do you think she's coming?"

Winston chuckled. "You know Evelyn. Always fashionably late. Of course she's coming."

Voyd kind of hoped she wasn't.

After a minute and ten seconds—Voyd counted—the door clicked, and then creaked open slowly. A moon-pale face peered out, circles slashing darkly under its hollow, hooded eyes, head covered by an unkempt mop of dark hair.

A cigarette jutted from the door, clutched between two thin fingers. "Anybody got a light?" Evelyn Deavor asked hoarsely, in lieu of a hello.

Winston was unfazed, and immediately produced a lighter from his breast pocket, clicking it on so that the flame danced. "Knew you'd ask that. Here you go."

He lit the cigarette, and Evelyn held it to her lips, taking a deep drag. Voyd watched, wondering how the simple action of smoking a cigarette could instill such terror in her. It felt so utterly weird to be in such close proximity to the evildoer, to this woman who had nearly destroyed her and all her friends just months before.

Evelyn exhaled, a puff of smoke rising from her lips. "Thanks. They don't let me have lighters, y'know." She scoffed, rolling her eyes to the heavens. "For real, what could I do with a lighter?"

"For starters, you could burn the house down," Winston reminded her.

"Why the hell would I do that?" Evelyn stuck her leg out, clothed with baggy black pants; the inventor hiked these up, revealing a black band around her ankle. "It's my own invention, how hilarious is that? It's designed to shock the hell outta me if I attempt to exit the house. If I burnt the place down, I'd burn myself down with it. Not smart."

She glanced over at Voyd, her devil-may-care expression unchanging. Voyd wavered as the genius inventor's hollow eyes pierced hers. "Um… hi," Voyd said awkwardly, raising a hand in greeting, and feeling insurmountably stupid as she did so.

"Hi." The amused contempt dripped from Evelyn's voice. "Why don't you all come in? Let's stop standing around out here like idiots."

With that, she disappeared inside the house. With a glance at Voyd and Artie, Winston beckoned them inside, and with some reluctance, she followed him; Artie was less reluctant, trotting into a mansion like a stray dog who's found its home at last. The door creaked shut behind them like an omen, and Voyd nearly jumped at the sound of it clicking closed.

The entryway was quite grand, with a tiled floor and two large staircases snaking off on either side towards the hitherto-unseen second floor. The ceiling high above was a point of interest for Voyd. She stared up, trying to figure out what was wrong. Then she realized it. Where there had previously been lights, there were now empty holes. Even the wiring was gone. So when Winston had said Evelyn wasn't allowed near tech more advanced than a lightbulb, really, he'd been underexaggerating.

Voyd, Artie and Winston followed Evelyn through the entryway into another room, a huge living room with plush couches and chairs galore, and a glass wall which overlooked the cliff and sea below. The room was relatively dim, the glass wall and the sunlight outside providing the only light. Again, there were no lightbulbs in here, nor any technology of any kind.

Evelyn extinguished her cigarette in a nearby ashtray—"I'm trying to quit. Operative word being trying," she admitted—and then flopped down onto a red loveseat, regarding her brother, Artie and Voyd impassively.

"So. You want my help." It was a statement.

Without waiting for them to answer, she squinted at Artie. "Who the hell are you?"

"Uh, Artie Fishel, ma'am." He stepped forward with hand outstretched, though his face turned red from being acknowledged by Evelyn. "It's an honor to meet you."

She shook the offered hand, looking amused. "One of my brother's pets?"

"One of our best new minds," said Winston proudly. "I wish I could show you the work he's doing, but…"

"But, alas. No tech allowed." Evelyn reached lazily behind her head, to a coffee table with a mostly-empty wineglass upon it, and grabbed the stem without even looking. She raised the glass to her lips, draining every last drop, the color of congealed blood. "It is what it is," she said when she was finished.

"Ah, you're wrong there!" Winston corrected her with a smile. "I got an emergency permit from the courts half an hour ago, expedited by the NSA. So, it's not no tech allowed, it's almost no tech allowed."

Evelyn blinked at him. "Is that so. The courts are trusting me with technology. Must be some crazy shit going on out there." She elongated the A in crazy to disproportionate levels. "Well, better make it quick. My grief counsellor comes over in half an hour."

She said the words with casual contempt—for herself? For everyone else? Voyd didn't know. Still, it struck Voyd with surprise that the proud, contemptuous Evelyn would even think of seeing a grief counsellor. Voyd supposed it must only have happened at Winston's insistence, though.

Winston's face abruptly hardened at Evelyn's words, and his voice quieted somewhat, as though he thought Artie and Voyd wouldn't be able to hear him if he spoke quietly. "Ev, you're lucky Susan's meeting with you again at all, after what you said to her last time you met."

The thin inventor stared at him, thoroughly unsorry. "It was prison. I'm a criminal. What more do you expect?"

"You were beyond rude. Please, could you not pull a stunt like that again? For me?"

Evelyn raised her hands in mock-surrender, one still clutching the stem of the wineglass. "Hey, I only speak the truth, little brother."

"Evelyn," said Winston with a hard voice, staring at her.

"All right, all right. I did wrong, and I know it. I'll play nice this time."

"You know she only wants to help you." Winston spoke more kindly now.

"And you're paying her good money to do it. And you don't want said money to go to waste." She smiled bitterly.

"I only want to help you, too. You know that, right? I'll spend every last cent I have if it means you can finally start to heal."

The bitterness left Evelyn's voice, and she didn't look at Winston now, or anyone else's in the room. "I know," she said, sounding quite tired.

Voyd couldn't help retaining some of her fear of the DevTech inventor, but most of it had long since drained away, replaced with a curious pity. This thin, unkempt woman, wearing baggy clothes, with bloodshot hollowed-out eyes bracketed with bruiselike circles, didn't seem like much of a threat. In fact, it seemed like most of the fight had left Evelyn, replaced with bone-deep exhaustion. As Voyd took a quick glance around the room, she noticed empty wineglasses—and, in some cases, wine bottles—strewn on almost every surface. Although it was possible some of them were months old, there were way too many wineglasses lying around for somebody who had only been out of prison for a few hours. It was almost enough to make Voyd wince. Just more evidence that the inventor carried a deep wound, one that couldn't be easily bandaged.

A nagging voice in the back of Voyd's head started to speak, and to her horror, she couldn't help but listen. With what Voyd had learned in the last few days—learned about superheroes, their nature, what they stood for, what they didn't stand for—was it possible that Evelyn had been right all along? The inventor's villainous goal had been to get super activity permanently banned, so that society would be forced to help itself rather than rely on the help of superpowered beings. And really… was that such an awful goal?

Help yourselves. The words came easily to Voyd's mind. Heartless's words, but they could just as easily be Evelyn's. Sixteen years ago, Mr. Incredible had told Noreen and John Bowman to help themselves. Maybe society in general should listen to his words.

A few days ago, Voyd would have angrily stopped herself from thinking such thoughts. Now, though, she simply allowed them to wash over her, not prohibiting their entry into her mind.

Evelyn glanced at Voyd. "I'm curious, though. How's life been for you? You know, now that supers are allowed to do their thing. You enjoying that life?" She knowingly smiled with haunting sadness. "You regretting you ever wanted it at all?"

"Um…" Voyd stuttered, shaken by the former DevTech whiz's perceptiveness. "It's okay. I m-mean, it's not everything I t-thought it would be, but it's okay."

"Not everything you thought it would be." Evelyn's repetition was a statement and a question in one.

"Y-Yeah. Sometimes it's a little more b-boring than I thought," Voyd admitted, wondering why she was spilling her guts to this evil woman who had nearly killed her. "B-But it's okay. I think we're doing good w-work as a team."

"Hmm." Evelyn tossed a glance at Winston. "You must be proud." The words didn't seem sarcastic—at least, as far as Voyd could tell.

Winston was frowning. "Come on, Evelyn, be nice. I didn't bring Voyd here so you could torment her."

"I'm not trying to torment her," Evelyn insisted, and Voyd thought she was telling the truth. "I'm curious. Seriously. No TV, hardly any visitors… I really don't know what's going on out there in the big wide world. And…" She hesitated, rolling her eyes, as though the words she was about to speak would burn her mouth on the way out. "If supers are doing good work, who am I to resent that?"

"So you don't want to destroy us all anymore?" The question burst forth unbidden from Voyd, and she clapped her hands over her mouth, turning red and wishing she could take them back.

Evelyn's expression didn't change as her eyes met Voyd's. "Not really," said the inventor. "Don't have the resources. Or the energy, to be honest with you. And I was…" She shrugged. "Not doing so well back then. Understatement of the century, huh? Anyway. No, I don't intend to destroy you all. I intend to wait out my prison sentence and then gather all my assets and flee to Fiji for the rest of my miserable life. I've learned my lesson."

"And I intend to prevent said move to Fiji, and reel you back into DevTech instead," said Winston cheerfully. "Where you belong."

Evelyn scoffed, but didn't answer—or object.

Artie cleared his throat; Voyd guessed the young inventor was eager to bypass all this emotional stuff and get straight to the point. "The technology we've brought, Ms. Deavor?"

"Yup." Evelyn made a tired beckoning gesture with her slender hand. "Bring it here, whatever it is."

Voyd had been carrying the "spotlight," but she'd almost forgotten all about it. The thing was so light, it was very easy to forget you were holding it at all. With ease, she lifted it up and handed it to Evelyn on the couch. "We found this in a villain's lair," she revealed.

Evelyn took the spotlight in her hands and turned it around in what little light there was from the window. Her expression didn't change.

"Huh," she said. "I'll be damned."

"What is it?" Winston asked, taking a step forward in eagerness. "You know it?"

"Yup, I know it. It's one of mine."

Voyd wasn't sure what she'd been expecting Evelyn to say, but she certainly hadn't been anticipating this revelation. Neither had Artie, apparently, as the young man exclaimed in surprise, "One of yours?"

"Mmm-hmm." Evelyn languidly turned the spotlight around and around, examining its grooves, its screws, its panels. "Never thought I'd see this baby again, to be honest with you." She looked at her brother. "Win, you remember the sunlight machine?"

Winston's eyes widened in recognition. "You don't mean to say—?"

"Uh-huh. It's a part of that." Evelyn looked up at Voyd, smiling slightly. "I bet you're the only one in this room who doesn't know what I'm talking about, huh?"

Voyd nodded; she didn't know.

"Well, let me clue you in." She held the spotlight up. "This thing is a small part of a prototype machine. In layman's terms, it was essentially an advanced method to draw power from the sun. The machine would have pulled in the sun's rays and concentrated them into a beam of energy that could power a city for millennia with just one day's preparation, never mind the rest of the world."

"So where is the machine now?" Voyd questioned.

Evelyn lifted her shoulders. "Saudi Arabia, far as I'm aware. It was a huge embarrassment for us, wasn't it, Win?"

Her brother nodded, lips pursed. "It sure was."

"I was so confident in the prototype that we scheduled meetings with six different foreign governments to possibly arrange a sale, before the stupid thing was even completed," Evelyn explained to Voyd, frowning as she recalled old disappointments. "Huge mistake. When we were doing our presentation, I couldn't get the damn thing to work properly. We were humiliated. But lucky for us, the Saudis still wanted a piece of the pie. They wanted to find out if their own scientists could improve the machine, so they offered to buy it at a reduced price. We agreed. Bada bing, bada boom, it was over. Haven't seen the sunlight machine since. That was… god, how many years ago now, Winston?"

"Three or four," Winston confirmed. "I haven't heard a thing about it since. I guess I just assumed the Saudi Arabians couldn't get it to work either and probably scrapped it. Haven't thought about it in years."

"Excuse me, Ms. Deavor," Artie said hesitantly, "but could the device potentially be used as a weapon?"

Evelyn shrugged, looking at the "spotlight" with what seemed like disdain. "Not this device, if that's what you're worried about. This piece is useless on its own. But the sunlight machine itself…" She considered the question for a moment.

"Yeah," Evelyn finally said. "It could. If someone got hold of my blueprints, or the device itself, they could make a few modifications and transform it into a large-scale WMD."

"To be perfectly honest," Winston butted in, "I was worried about that very possibility. I never told you this, Ev, but I only agreed to sell it to the Saudis after they signed a contract drafted by my attorneys that expressly prohibited them from using the prototype as a weapon."

Evelyn blinked slowly at him. "How very cautious of you, baby brother."

"Well, better safe than sorry," Winston replied with a shrug.

"Yeah. Better safe than sorry," Evelyn repeated, looking distracted as she held the "spotlight" into the light once again and turned it around in her hands. "But let me guess. You didn't prohibit the Saudis from selling the thing. To buyers who potentially hadn't signed such a contract."

Winston turned pale. "Uh," he said, struck speechless for once. "No."

"Hmm. Shoulda thought of that."

"Hang on a sec," Voyd objected, thinking out loud. "I know Noreen Bowman is a billionaire, but Winston, would she even be wealthy enough to afford to buy something like that?"

"We sold it for two hundred million," said Winston, still pale. "If the Saudi scientists couldn't get the prototype to work, I imagine they'd sell it off for a far reduced price. So… unfortunately, the answer is yes. She could. Easily."

"Huh," said Evelyn, offering a thin smile to everyone. "Sounds like you all have some big fish to fry."

A few minutes later, Voyd, Artie and Winston were ready to depart from 113 Acacia Crescent, having learned all they needed to know. As they trailed out the door—a slouching Evelyn following close behind—Winston paused to give his sister a bear hug, which she hesitantly returned, looking uncomfortable. Voyd watched the proceedings, feeling an odd mix of sympathy and distaste.

Winston released his sister, still holding onto her shoulders and smiling at her with unrestrained kindness. "Thanks a lot. You really helped us today."

"Anything I can do…" Evelyn muttered sarcastically, not meeting Winston's eyes, as though she'd been suddenly struck with guilt. Voyd could understand why. Evelyn had gone against everything Winston believed in, did her best to hurt her brother's cause in the most violent way imaginable, and still, Winston unconditionally loved her and believed in her. It was enough to make the most hardened criminal feel like a heel. Some part of Voyd hoped Evelyn felt dirty. It was the least the inventor could do to atone.

"Be nice to Susan, okay?" Winston asked of his sister. "For me?"

"Yeah. For you."

"Perfect. See you later. Be good."

Winston left, and Artie trailed behind him, leaving only Voyd hesitating in the front doorway. She was about to leave herself, but she heard Evelyn's raspy voice behind her, pausing her for a moment. The inventor was leaning against the open door, gazing at Voyd with a strange mix of amusement, guilt and… was that fear? She couldn't tell.

"I'm almost sorry you're leaving, y'know? It'll get awful dark here at night."

Voyd hesitated, wavering and unsure of how to respond. "Um, I'm sorry," she managed to say, internally ruminating on the irony of her apologizing to Evelyn. "Maybe Winston can ask the judge to let you have a few lightbulbs or something."

Evelyn scoffed. "Oh, I doubt it."

For the briefest of moments, the two women looked at each other, and Voyd almost suspected that Evelyn was about to offer an apology for her actions. For slapping hypnosis goggles over the face of a trusting, unsuspecting Voyd and her friends. For nearly ruining everything.

Winston's sister opened her mouth… and the moment broke. "Well, see ya," said Evelyn Deavor, and retreated back into her home, the door closing behind her. Voyd was forced to hop out of the way to avoid having her foot slammed in the door.

On the ride home in Winston's limo, Artie Fishel blabbered excitedly.

"The sunlight machine! I'd heard of it—from the other guys on my floor, you know—but I thought it was just a DevTech legend. But it's real. Wow. From what I've heard about it, it would've been so innovative, it would've changed all our lives. And to hear about it from the woman who designed it herself—Christ, I just wanna go back there and talk with her some more. I'd love to take a look at the blueprints, Mr. Deavor, if you still have them."

"Sure," replied Winston, though he still seemed slightly shaken from Evelyn's revelations. "They're in the main archive. You're welcome to them."

As for Voyd, she certainly couldn't muster the excitement that Artie seemed to feel about this whole situation. She stared out the window, watching the suburban scenery rush by. Visiting Evelyn hadn't quieted any of her worries, only amplified them. Badly.

"Winston," she said quietly, "I'm scared that Heartless wants to use your machine to hurt people."

Winston glanced at her, and in his eyes, she saw that the DevTech billionaire shared her fears. "I get it," he said, "but try to remain calm for the time being. I'll gather all the info I have about the sunlight machine, and I'll go back and speak with Evelyn again to learn more specific details, and DevTech will be happy to share everything we know with the NSA. We can try our best to stay one step ahead of this villain."

"We can try," Voyd whispered, heart pounding with fear from what she'd learned. "Who knows if we'll do more than that?"