"I quit."
The words were delivered through trembling lips, in a shaking but determined voice, as Karen stood before her boss, Jeanie. The middle-aged woman glanced up from her papers-strewn office desk, looking unconcerned. "No you don't. It's too early in the morning to quit. Go get your uniform on, and maybe we can talk about quitting at noon."
"I'm serious, Jeanie," Karen said, as firmly as she could manage. "This is my notice to you. I'm not going to work here anymore."
Jeanie finally seemed to take Karen seriously, looking up at her incredulously. "What? Why the hell would you quit? I thought you liked it here. I thought you liked the dogs, the hours, the customers—"
"I do, really I do." And Jeanie's words were very nearly making Karen reconsider, but she managed to stick staunchly to her plan. "But I'm just done, Jeanie. I've got to move on. I'm at a point in my life—"
The vulture-like Jeanie was disinterested again, turning back to her papers. "Save it, kid. Okay, you're quitting. Glad you told me before it was too late to call Lee in for overtime. Hang your apron up before you go. See you in another life."
Karen felt like an idiot, like she should throw herself down on her knees and beg for Jeanie's forgiveness or claim she'd just been joking. She did neither. "Okay. Bye, Jeanie."
And she left.
"You did what?"
It was before noon on a weekday, and the other Soaring Six weren't present at the SJP for a simple reason—they, unlike Voyd now (gulp), had jobs. Except for Reflux, who had bingo at the local seniors' centre.
Consequently, the only person to whom Voyd could spill her secret was Artie Fishel, who had been poring over the sunlight machine's blueprints in the SJP's common room when Voyd arrived. She'd blurted her secret the second she saw him—"IquitmyjobIwannabeafulltimehero!"—and the young inventor now gazed at her with a blend of worry and respect.
"Yeah," she admitted, sinking onto a couch with hands folded in her lap. "Just now. Won't be going back there. Yay me."
"But…" Artie cautiously warned her, "you do know the government hasn't agreed to employ supers full-time? I mean, at this point it's still just a pipe dream. So how will you subsist?"
She twisted her hands in her lap. "I was thinking, well… do you remember Universal Man? The super?"
Artie frowned. "Yeah, I think I do. Matter manipulation powers?"
"Yeah, but that's not important. He had no secret identity, Artie. No civilian name, no regular life, no career—he just helped people. All the time. And he was fine! So why couldn't I be fine?"
"How exactly did Universal Man survive, though? Like, we both know you need money to eat, right?"
"I think he survived on donations from his fans or something. I don't exactly remember." Voyd swallowed and nervously giggled. "I don't really have enough fans to keep me afloat, do I?"
"Well, I do know one thing: if this is what you really want, Mr. Deavor won't let you starve. But Voyd… why are you doing this? Why now?"
"I know it's stupid," Voyd admitted quietly, staring at the ground. "It's stupid and it's bad timing and… everything. But I feel myself slipping away from everything I've ever wanted. I just wanted to—I dunno, renew my commitment. And this was the best way I could think up, to help me stick to it."
Artie was silent a moment, considering. "Well," he finally said awkwardly, "I gotta admit, I'm not the best guy to get advice from. I've barely got my own life together, to be honest. But if you want my advice…" He hesitated. "Do what feels right. That's all I can say."
Though this wasn't very helpful, Voyd was grateful that Artie was at least trying to understand her choice. "Thanks. That means a lot. Really, it does. I'm sorry to dump all this stuff on you."
"Hey, it's no problem—I'm happy to listen."
Voyd excused herself and went to one of the bedrooms. There, she sat on the firm mattress, staring at the opposite wall, the slightly-open gap of a folding closet. If things went the way she intended, she'd return to her apartment soon and empty it out, moving her stuff over here. This would be her home. All vestiges of her civilian life, gone. Willingly thrown away.
She was murdering Karen.
Suddenly overtaken by the sheer stupidity of what she'd done, Voyd loudly groaned and covered her face with her hands. Oh, god. She'd barely given the choice two seconds of consideration before diving headfirst… only the pool was empty and she'd struck concrete.
It wasn't like she was leaving much behind. Karen wasn't really that great of an identity. She had few friends who'd miss her, and few who she'd miss. She didn't have any family to consider. Her job had been okay, but not anything to mourn over. Her coworkers would quickly move on; Jeanie would find a replacement within days. There was Daisy, but… well, Voyd had to be honest with herself: Daisy probably barely knew who Karen was.
In truth, Karen was pretty much the perfect candidate to drop off the face of the earth, unchaining Voyd and leaving her free to pursue hero work. And anyhow, Artie was right. Voyd's qualms about accepting handouts aside, Winston would fund her transition to full-time superhero life in a second, and she'd reluctantly put her doubts away and accept the offer. Everything would be okay. Probably.
So why did it feel like she'd just made the biggest screwup of her life?
Hours later, the other Soaring Six had come to the SJP, and Voyd was sitting among them in the common room, showing off an awkward grin—a nervous tic of hers—as she explained what she'd done.
There was silence for a few moments after Voyd finished. Finally, Krushauer said, "It's your life to throw away."
"Voyd," Brick burst out, looking highly concerned, "I think you must think about this more. It is not right choice."
"Yeah, I'm inclined to agree," commented He-Lectrix. "Emotions are running high right now. It's not the best time to be making major life decisions like this. And, Voyd… Krushauer is right. This is your life. Your entire life. And you're throwing it away."
"Not my entire life!" she argued. "Just my civilian life. Being a super, it's everything I am. To be honest, my regular life was just…" She struggled to find the words. "…a placeholder. A super is all I've ever wanted to be."
"That's not healthy," Krushauer said frankly. "We all need a civilian life. It balances us."
"I don't agree!" exclaimed Voyd. "I've always wanted to just, y'know… be a super. And nothing else. And then I realized, I'm the only one who can give myself that chance."
Reflux cleared his throat. "Er, Voyd, I think it's great what you're doin'. Really, I do," said the old super. "Real brave of you. But I gotta ask… how are you going to survive without a job?"
This was the million-dollar question—and the one for which Voyd had no good answer. Other than 'mooch off of Winston Deavor,' of course. Unfortunately, that was all she had.
"Um," she quavered, "I guess I just thought Winston would help me. Y'know, just until supers are made employees of the government. Not forever. Just for now."
She didn't know how her friends would react to that. Contempt? She wouldn't blame them. Voyd had spent the entire time she'd known Winston Deavor trying her best to avoid his charity as much as she could, because accepting handouts made her feel crummy, and now she was going to live off of the billionaire's generosity? It was quite the turnaround, and Voyd herself didn't feel right about it.
To their credit, the others didn't offer contempt. "That sounds like a reasonable solution," mused Screech.
He-Lectrix smiled knowingly as he said, "And we all know Winston would never say no."
"In the short term, certainly, that will work. But what if supers are never employed by the government?" Krushauer asked pointedly.
"Um. I haven't planned that far ahead," Voyd admitted.
"It sounds like you haven't done much planning at all." That was fair enough, though she winced to hear it. But what Krushauer said next surprised her. "Giving up your life is certainly foolish; I don't think anyone can deny that. But it's brave," opined the blue-suited superhero. "And frankly, I believe you're only doing what every single one of us wishes we could to do. Bravo on that count."
She hadn't expected any praise from him—or from any of her friends, honestly—and it made her feel a little better to hear it. "Thanks, Krushauer."
He-Lectrix spoke again. "Voyd. Look, honestly, I'm not trying to boss you around. Your life is your life. I just think you're being hasty about this decision. Are you sure you don't want to rethink it?"
Of course she did.
"No," she said with a firmness she absolutely didn't feel. "I really, honestly feel like the only way to fully commit to heroics is just by… being a hero. Full-time. No distractions."
He-Lectrix opened his mouth, but Voyd never found out what he planned to say. The door to the SJP opened, and Rick Dicker entered, wearing an impeccable suit as always, briefcase handle clutched in one hand. Voyd unconsciously tried to make herself smaller, hunching over and tucking her arms in—something she tended to do when she came across someone she didn't want to confront. Voyd definitely didn't feel like explaining her choice to Rick and hearing the blunt, no-nonsense agent list all the ways her decision could screw her. There was nothing she felt less like doing.
"I've got news," said the agent shortly as he headed into the room, wasting no time on hellos.
"Fantastic news that we'd all love to hear, I presume," said He-Lectrix more dryly than the desert.
Rick didn't respond, only sending a tired glance in the hero's direction as he headed to the front of the room. Sitting his briefcase down on a nearby wooden table, Rick opened it and briefly fumbled inside, producing a folded piece of paper. It took Rick a few moments to unfold the paper to its full size and flip it around until it was in the right position, but Voyd quickly realized it was a map.
Rick Dicker held the map up to show the team; it obscured his face. On one half of the paper, the Arctic Circle was portrayed, with one small island encased in a thick red loop; on the other half, that island was magnified a hundred times, showing its topography.
"This is Meighen Island," Rick informed the Soaring Six. "One of the Queen Elizabeth Islands of Canada. Uninhabited, barren, and surrounded by ice. Realistically, there should be no signs of human activity coming from this place. In the last few days, our NSA satellites have suggested otherwise. We've detected energy bursts and light formations emanating from Meighen Island, and we're unsure of their origins."
"So, you think a villain has set up shop there," He-Lectrix guessed, leaning forward in interest.
"That's one of our theories. An uninhabited Arctic island would make a perfect lair for an evildoer who doesn't want to be bothered. We've seen this kind of thing before. In any case, this activity is unusual and suspicious, and we've confirmed that whoever's on Meighen Island certainly doesn't have Ottawa's permission to be there. We'd like you heroes to head up and investigate, ASAP."
Rick stopped speaking, apparently waiting for one of the Soaring Six to determinatedly utter, "We won't let you down, Mr. Dicker," like they tended to do whenever the senior NSA agent offered them missions.
There was silence. The Soaring Six just stared at him; Rick stared back. "Well, don't fall all over yourselves to accept this mission," grumbled the agent. "What's got you tongue-tied?"
"Heartless is attacking here, in New Urbem," Voyd pointed out, incredulity growing in her voice at the idea that Rick would even consider sending them to the Arctic at a time like this. "But you think it's a good idea for us to go that far north? Rick, I'm sorry, I just don't think—"
"It's a terrible idea," Krushauer interrupted. "Let's not mince words. You're only requesting this of us because if we are in the Arctic Circle, we can't cause a public spectacle or do any property damage. This is about damage control—getting us as far out of the way as you can."
"I am inclined to agree with Krushauer," Screech commented, sounding displeased. "Mr. Dicker, with all due respect, and without questioning the legitimacy of your investigation into Meighen Island—because I am certain it is legitimate—I do believe this 'mission' is a wild goose chase. If not, its timing would seem especially convenient on the NSA's part, would you not agree?"
"You just wanna get rid of us," said Reflux bitterly, crossing his arms hard. "Ungrateful chump."
"Mr. Dicker," Brick gently ventured, "I think we are better here. We do better work here. If you send us away, we do not fight villains so easily. No?"
Having allowed all the Soaring Six to speak, Rick regarded each of them in turn, and sighed. "You're not wrong," he said. "There is unusual activity on Meighen Island—I didn't lie about that. But it would be more convenient for you guys to skip town for a couple days. With how everything's going."
"Speak plainly," said Krushauer, eyes narrowed. "With how what's going?"
The agent sighed again, shaking his head. "Better just to show you. You fellas been watching the news lately?"
"Gosh, no," Voyd said, picking at a fray in her costume in sudden nervousness. "I can just guess what's going on there." Super hatred: more of it, and stronger, and always-growing. That was all they'd find on television.
Rick grunted and reached for the remote, resting on the same table as his briefcase. One click of his finger, and Michael Maple's thin face filled the screen, scowling and bracketed by "Breaking News" banners.
"—can't trust them. That's just the bottom line," the senator was saying. "Even if we can put our faith in these superpowered beings that they won't turn upon us, nonetheless, it has been firmly established that we simply cannot trust them to avoid damage!" The camera pulled back slightly from Maple, who was dressed in a very sharp suit and counting off point with jabs of his fingers into his palm. "We can't trust them to preserve our houses and public buildings, we can't trust them to avoid killing people—even if accidentally, and we simply cannot trust them to adequately save civilian lives! And if we can't trust them to save civilian lives, well—" Maple gave an exaggerated shrug, eyes wide. "What good are they?"
The words were like a sword in Voyd, painful and sharp—but not, as had been the case earlier, because she so staunchly believed they weren't true. Now, the words hit her so hard because she half-believed they were true. Unconsciously, one of her hands pressed against her chest.
"That's not all," Rick Dicker said glumly. "Keep watching."
Footage of Maple walking in front of a courthouse, long coat blowing behind him in the wind, played as a female reporter's solemn voice intoned, "Maple's petition is gaining traction among the Senate. Republicans John Kornberg, Kevin Wright and Karen Nowak, as well as Democrats Kenneth MacLeod and Cynthia Brannon, have all publicly stated their support for the informal petition and added their signatures, with more sure to follow suit. We spoke briefly with Cynthia Brannon earlier in the day."
The camera cut to a concerned, hesitant-looking woman with a blonde bob, wearing a smart blue suit. "I was an advocate for super re-legalization in the early days," said Brannon, "but with the events that have occurred subsequent to legalization, I don't think I can support super activity while purporting to have the best interests of the people of Connecticut at heart. Hero work is a danger, a liability, and I think we all need to accept that fact and work around it as best we can. That's why I signed the petition."
The news woman appeared on screen, holding a microphone to her mouth. "Now Barry, as I mentioned, the petition is informal and holds no legal water. But nonetheless, as it gains support among politicians and the public alike, I think this informal petition could prove to be a major game-changer in the coming weeks. Back to you, Barry."
"Thank you, Angie. In other news—"
Rick clicked the TV off, plunging the room into silence.
Voyd's picking at the fray in her costume had become more intense. "Um, Rick… what's the petition?" she asked fearfully, unsure she wanted to know the answer.
"The petition calls for hero work's immediate re-criminalization," Rick explained. "And the resumption of the Superhero Relocation Program."
"They want to force us underground again, in other words," He-Lectrix said, an edge to his voice. "As if we didn't know this would happen."
Reflux was scowling. "We've come too far. The government won't take this baloney movement seriously, after how far we've come. Right, Rick?"
Rick didn't answer.
"Right?" Reflux demanded, eyes bulging.
"I won't lie to you," rasped the agent with a shake of his head. "These are uncertain times. The public needed… well, an adjustment period to the idea of supers being free to roam the streets again. And during that adjustment period, ideally, everything would have gone as smoothly as possible, to ensure the public's acceptance of supers. That didn't happen. So to answer your question, I don't know what will happen in the coming months. I can't even guarantee heroes will remain legal."
"Great. They want to legislate our existence again," said He-Lectrix bitterly. "Awesome."
"Our existence is already legislated," Krushauer pointed out with a wry, tight smile. "It always will be. They will always fear our power. This will always be how it is."
Voyd didn't have the strength to argue with him, didn't have the strength to be an optimist. He was probably right, anyhow. As much as she didn't want to believe it.
"Fellas, I didn't mean to get you down," Rick Dicker said quietly. "Things are shaky right now, but that doesn't necessarily mean dark times are ahead, so don't get depressed. If you don't want to take the Meighen Island mission, you're free to reject it. However, given the current political climate, myself and the NSA do believe it would be best if you all laid low for a little while."
The doors burst open, and everyone's heads whipped around as Winston Deavor strode into the room, wearing a wide smile. The billionaire clapped his hands together eagerly. "Guys, you wanna be on TV again?"
Rick stared daggers at him. "That's not the best idea right now."
Winston was undeterred. "No, listen, listen! Chad Brentley's opened up his schedule for you. He wants to do an uncensored, no-holds-barred, tell-all interview with you guys tonight. All six of you this time. They'll show exclusive footage from the Mode incident and you guys can tell your tale. Sound good?"
As he saw the team's tired and unimpressed faces, Winston didn't wait for an answer. "I know you're not feeling the greatest, but trust me—from a PR standpoint, this is a good idea. A godsend, actually. It'll humanize you guys, show the public your struggles. What do you say?"
Rick spoke for them. "No, Winston. Period."
"Come on, Rick, don't be a spoilsport, I just want two hours of their t—"
"Don't frame this as me being a spoilsport," Rick interrupted, a hand jutting into the air. "There are multiple ways this could backfire, Winston, and you know it."
"Yes," Winston said, frowning. "It could backfire. It could also be the best possible thing for their careers. Personally, I think the latter option is more likely at the moment."
"We can't take that chance. Things are too delicate."
"But it's exactly when things are delicate that an intervention is most needed," Winston insisted. "This is the intervention they need."
"Winston, no. This is not an argument. They are not going on television."
Winston stared at his former mentor, looking slightly hurt by Rick's resistance. "All due respect—isn't that their choice, not yours?"
Brick's halting, but firm, voice rang out through the room. "We do not go on television."
Winston gave her a pleading look. "That's your decision, of course, Brick, but I want to urge you to reconsider."
"We do not reconsider," said Brick clearly and staunchly. "No television." She looked at Rick. "And no Arctic. Best thing now is focus on the villains we fight, and stop them. Not focus on ourselves. Focus on Heartless."
"I totally agree," chimed in Voyd; Brick had voiced exactly what she'd been thinking. "Winston, I'm sorry. I know you only want to help us, and we're grateful, but… right now, I don't think a single one of us wants to go on television. For any reason. And Rick, we don't wanna go to the Arctic, either. Maybe when all this mess is over, we can look into Meighen Island, but for now, the best thing is for us to stay here. To protect the people of New Urbem as best we can."
The rest of the team nodded and grunted in agreement.
To Voyd's relief, Rick didn't look particularly fazed. "Thought you'd feel that way," he said, shrugging. "Well, it was worth a shot. You were my first choice, but the Protectors in Phoenix are itching for a mission, so I'll give them a ring." Rick packed up the map and his briefcase, heading for the door. He was gone without another word.
Winston looked apologetic. "Well, I didn't mean to bother you guys after you had such a rough few days. Guess I should've known you'd be in no state for an interview. I'll just call Chad up and tell him thanks, but no thanks. No hard feelings?"
"Of course not," Voyd told him, attempting a weak smile.
"Great. Anything else I can do to help?"
Voyd felt the rest of the team's expectant eyes upon her, waiting for her to tell Winston about her unfortunate lack of employment. She opened her mouth—closed it. She couldn't bring herself to do it, not right now. "No, actually, I think we're okay," she told the billionaire in as friendly a tone as she could muster.
"Perfect. Anything you need, give me a call." With a parting smile, the billionaire headed out the doors, too.
When Winston was gone, Krushauer said, "Voyd, what were you thinking?"
"I know, I know, I should've told him. I just chickened out. I'll tell him tomorrow. I swear I will."
"Voyd, you know that the moment you inform Winston about your situation, he will fall all over himself to shower money upon you," said Screech with one eyebrow raised. "So why the hesitation?"
"Oh, c'mon, Screech—you know why," she said, frustrated and embarrassed. "I feel cruddy about asking for more handouts from him. Wouldn't you?"
"I would indeed, but it seems to me that, at this moment, you have no choice," Screech reminded her.
She exhaled, rubbing the back of her neck. "Yeah… I know. Just give me some time. I'll tell him."
An hour later, the others had gone to practice in the gym, leaving Voyd alone in the common room. She itched to return to her apartment, but she knew that going back there would inevitably mean packing her things, and she didn't think she could handle that right now. She glanced around the common room, its various chairs and loveseats, the wide window on the wall overlooking New Urbem… this was now her home.
Oh, well. With the amount of time she'd been spending here, it was already practically her second home, anyhow.
For the first time—instead of fear and apprehension—she felt a surprising rush of joy, of giddiness, about what she'd done. She was going to be a super, and nothing else. This was all she'd wanted since she was a little kid. For a moment, Voyd allowed herself to shove aside doubts and insecurities, and simply relish the idea that she was living the life she'd always wanted, putting her dreams fully into action for the first time.
A slow, wide smile formed on her face, and in this brief moment, she was happy. She almost squealed about it.
And then the crummy thoughts came back. Oh, well. It wasn't going to last forever.
But there were far greater terrors out there than Voyd's petty personal issues. Images of Heartless invaded her mind, the crazed, manic, one-eyed villainess who would probably end up killing them all. Her lair's location? Unknown. Her master plan? Unknown. Her next move? Unknown. All Voyd knew was that, beyond the fear and confusion and even gut-deep hatred she felt for the murderous criminal, there was compassion there, too. More than Voyd cared to measure. Not just for Julie, who Voyd was convinced was an innocent chafing under her evil mother's control. But for Heartless, too. Heartless, especially.
Her thoughts flashed back to Mr. Incredible. The guilt and shame on the super's face, as he admitted it was possible that he'd stood by and watched and laughed while this woman's husband was stolen away by a killer's gun. Mr. Incredible could deflect bullets easily—with his bulletproof suit, with his body even. It would've taken one brief second of action from him—barely any effort—to save John Bowman's life. Yet he did nothing. Neither did the others who were with him. Supers all, yet they just laughed.
Nothing that had been done to Noreen Bowman would ever excuse her actions, of course, but… well, Voyd had to admit, it wasn't particularly hard to see things from Heartless's point of view.
She needed help, desperately. Counseling. Hospitalization, even. What she didn't need was for the Soaring Six to swoop down and end her life.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
Voyd hadn't even noticed He-Lectrix enter the room. An even more impressive feat, when you remembered that the superhero was walking on crutches due to his sprained ankles. "Hi. I was just thinking about… well, you know."
"Yeah, I know. Hard not to think about them, isn't it?"
"I just keep thinking—where will they strike next? And will we be too late? And even if we aren't too late, will people die anyway?"
With some effort, He-Lectrix sat down beside her, resting his crutches against the arm of the couch. "That's the question, isn't it."
"And…" Voyd didn't really want to bring up her misgivings about Heartless, but they were eating at her too badly to ignore. "I feel such… gosh, I don't want to say sympathy, because that would sound bad. But—"
"I think sympathy is the right word," He-Lectrix said wryly. "Don't worry. I get what you mean."
"Yeah, I just—I don't want to hurt her. Heartless, I mean. And not her daughter, either. Even though they're attacking and killing people." Voyd paused for a moment, struggling to put her feelings into words. "It's like—when an animal gets its leg caught in a trap, y'know? The animal will go crazy and gnaw its own leg off. Heartless is that animal. Do we blame the animal for gnawing its leg off? God, am I making any sense at all?"
"No, I get you. You're struggling with the idea that the only way to stop them might be to kill them. I get that." He looked towards the window thoughtfully. "I've been thinking, though."
"Thinking about…?"
"Thinking that there might just be another way."
Voyd blinked. "Another way?" she parroted.
"Just look at the way the two of them interact with each other. The mother and the daughter, I mean. Queen of Hearts never acts unless her mother orders her around, and she seems almost… sad about having to obey her mother's orders. You with me?"
"Yeah…"
"Well, we should separate them. Capture Queen of Hearts, somehow. You get me? Because if we get them apart from each other, it'll have two benefits." He counted them off on his fingers. "A—I think we can easily convince Queen of Hearts that her mother is evil, and get her on our side. B—without her daughter, Heartless'll have gadgets and gizmos, sure, but other than that? Powerless. No super behind her. And we'll be able to defeat her that much more easily."
He sat back, reading the look on Voyd's face. "I know, it's probably stupid—"
"No. No, it's not stupid." Voyd's inspired smile began to grow. "It's not stupid at all. It's brilliant. We should've thought of this weeks ago! I think you're really, really on to something! All this time we've been just blindly fighting them without a game plan, but this? This could be what wins the war!"
"You really think it's good?" He-Lectrix asked, looking oddly unconvinced. "I mean, it was just an idle thought."
"No, for real, I think it's great!" Her mind was suddenly running a million miles an hour, threads leading to new threads, plans forming and suddenly disappearing, as she considered the logistics of this plan. She abruptly stood up, heart battering against her chest as a glimmer of hope began sparking in her. "I'm gonna go get the others. They need to hear this, too."