Disjoint joined Velocity at the scene, going through the motions absentmindedly as she pondered his words. They were full of strength; he didn't seem to be saying them out of some token effort or rattling off a prepared script. The sincerity only served to fuel the anger and confusion that coursed through her. He had been so emphatic about the undeserving, about giving them a chance, and it wasn't until she had fully formed the sentence in her head that she realized why she was so fixated on it.
Velocity's lack of condemnation against the gang members that had infuriated her so badly was exactly what she had hoped for with regards to her own eventual reveal, so why was she so against it? Even now her mind hadn't changed – she still felt an utter absence of guilt in the wake of the gang member's fates. And yet her own hypocrisy had been dragged out by Velocity's words.
Why had she been so quick to condemn them to their fate inside that building when a decade's worth of horror and blood had built up beneath her fingernails? As transient as they felt, the echos were still there; she knew full well what her striped visage had inspired. She sought to convince the world, convince herself that she wasn't that figure of terror. Despite that, she hadn't hesitated to pass down her own personal, final judgement.
In the end, now that she had been brought face to face with it, she simply hadn't been acting the way the Protectorate hero was so emphatic to describe. It was a painful ache, the feeling of failure as she scrutinized her own beliefs. In the wake of the realization was a sort of emptiness, the soft notion that she had noticed something too late and could now only watch it pass by, unable to take a single step forward. At the conclusion of that thought lay the shadowed nightmare that plagued her – the fear of rejection. That when her true nature was revealed, terror and hatred would be the only response.
She was broken out of her reverie by Velocity's urging – the PRT van had arrived as the ambulances were departing. In the background the fire still raged, the rescue crews focused on preventing its spread more than any vain hope at dousing the prodigious flames. The report was given in a blur; she spent most of the time eyeing the other hero from the corner of her vision. It wasn't until after they were done that she caught up to him, pulling him aside as he began moving away back down the street.
"Velocity… About what you said earlier. When it comes to those who you know don't deserve it." Her voice was faint as she struggled to give voice to her thoughts. "How do you… How can you give them another chance, knowing they'll be back on the street, sooner or later, taking advantage of your trust?" The hero turned to her, pausing in his walk.
"The only thing I give them is an opportunity. Most of them ignore it, serving their time and learning nothing, or being packed away knowing they'll spend the rest of their lives behind bars. But every once a long while, one of them will realize. They'll come to recognize what they did, and emerge a better person. I wish there were more, that it wasn't such a bare fraction, but I will still give every one of them that opportunity."
"Even after seeing the victims?" she said, casting her mind back to the speech he had given minutes prior. She wanted to know more, know how he could hold his beliefs. "You spoke to them – you know what they went through probably even more than I do."
At her question Velocity's face twisted again, the same flash of sadness that had appeared earlier. This time when he spoke the calm surety was missing, quiet words flowing out slowly, painfully.
"It's easy for me to talk about what's right. Familiar, even. I've given some variation of that speech a dozen times, and heard it a dozen more. It's simple to fall back into the familiar rhythm.
"It's harder to follow through, to keep your word," the hero continued. By his side one hand flexed, picking at the tight fabric of his outfit. Compared to the composure he had demonstrated previously, it was practically a shout.
"Even after seeing what they've done, I have to believe in that tiny chance. The alternative – that there's no way back, that they'll never see the truth of the evil they've done – it's too terrible to consider." The depression was evident in his voice, as was the discomfort, and she could only nod in acquiescence.
"It was nice to meet you, Velocity." Disjoint broke away from the conversation stiffly, seeing the hint of relief as she moved past his words. "I'll… think about what you said."
She turned, picking up speed awkwardly to escape the scene as she departed for home. Behind her, the solitary hero stood alone in the middle of the quiet street.
Quickly entering her apartment Disjoint made her way through the front door, spinning to press it shut and lock it as she did so. The windows were obscured; she had closed the curtains before she left, leaving the room in muted darkness. The solitary couch in the living room beckoned, and she approached, tossing aside gloves and boots before stretching out and staring at the ceiling in silence.
The day had barely even started, and she already felt crushed. The weight was oppressive, and lying unmoving on the cushions she exhaled slowly, a useless but comforting repetition. Beneath her the soft furniture offered no comfort; her unfeeling skin stripped away even that small luxury. Motivation had drained away in a titanic whirlpool, leaving behind an empty expanse that sat unfulfilled. Instead, distractions cluttered her head. Velocity's words echoed, now a backdrop to the conflict between what she felt was right, and the glaring hypocrisy that sat in the center of her actions.
Around her the darkness coiled, choking and constricting as the walls vanished into its murky depths. She had never before been afraid of the dark, but the visceral unpleasantness that rippled through the room was enough to prompt a fumbling stretch behind her head for the nearby lamp. The soft click that followed suffused the room with a pale but comforting glow.
The problem that lurked in the depths was a paralysis of indecision. It was a new feeling; until now she had faced concerns over what to do, but never this level of doubt. Now that the realization had struck, she couldn't move forward without addressing it, one way or another. Intellectually and idealistically she needed to change how to act, without following the instincts that had led her this far. Unfortunately, it was far easier said than done. Habit and her own convictions raged opposite, deep-seated and encompassing. That kind of shift was a monumental task, and each and every time she tried to quantify it, to lay down rules, it slipped away. A hundred little details fought a thousand loopholes, exceptions, and excuses, and were overwhelmed.
Time slipped by as she lay there distracted, mind drifting into tangents and edging away from the concerns that she had pushed so hard to fix. Even her usual escape, disappearing into the city streets, was unavailable to her. She couldn't trust herself, afraid of running into another situation where she would make the wrong move. Instead she was trapped in a paper-thin prison, too scared to break free.
It wasn't until a softly-blinking light next to her discarded gear caught her eye that she broke out of the futile spiral. In the corner of the room sat the sturdy phone issued to her by the PRT. Within its silicon depths lay a small thread of hope – Battery's phone number sitting innocuously and in solitude within her list of contacts.
The hero had made the offer to talk when she had handed it over, perhaps in formality but seeming sincere at the time. Disjoint didn't know if she would have the answers she was looking for, but that wasn't much of a concern. At the very least, it offered a break from the incessant repetition she found herself mired in. She needed to get out, to move, and a patrol with the woman offered just that.
Excited fingers found the contact entry quickly, and she dialed eagerly. It rang once, twice, before she heard Battery's voice on the other end, warm tones carrying through even over the tinny connection.
"Hello? Disjoint? How are you doing?" the hero spoke happily, and Disjoint found herself already grateful for making the call. Even after a single meeting she had formed a positive impression of Battery; she was openly earnest without losing her professionalism, holding a level of confidence that Disjoint envied.
"Hey Battery," she replied, pausing as she tried to get her thoughts in order. "I was wondering if you had some time to meet and talk soon…"
The two heroes walked side by side down the street, picking their way carefully around piles of snow and ice. The plows had come through recently, leaving waist-high mounds dotting the edges of the road and spilling over onto the sidewalks. Luckily it didn't completely block the path, and the pair crunched over and around the stiff winter mix, adding a steady line of footsteps to the numerous marks around them.
Battery was quiet, eyes flicking to the ground as they strode over a particularly treacherous patch of ice but otherwise looking forwards. Beside her, Disjoint tried to dredge up the right words, unsure of how to start the conversation. Finally, she spoke.
"I met Velocity this morning…" she began, hesitating before forging onward. "He talked about some things while we waited for the PRT. About helping people. About helping everyone, I guess."
Disjoint wasn't sure exactly what she wanted to ask the other hero. Was there something wrong with her own morals, that she felt no grief over the deaths of those gang members? Was Velocity wrong in his assertion? What should she do, next time she was faced with a similar problem? Most of all, could she bring herself to help those she despised? Should she? The confusing tangle of questions were twisted together in a knot, unwilling to be eased apart.
"I heard about what happened from Velocity earlier today," the Protectorate hero replied. "Are you alright? The report says there were shots fired. I know you're tough, but please, let us know if you get hurt," she continued, concern evident in her voice.
Disjoint blinked in bemusement at the woman's tone. Her physical well-being was such a non-issue it didn't even cross her mind, but obviously nobody else knew exactly how strong she really was. It was comforting, not just to see her disguise working but to hear the sincerity in Battery's tone. Such a little thing, but it meant the world.
"Thank you. I'm okay," she reassured the hero. "Well, unhurt. That's kind of why I wanted to talk." The next sentence came out slower as she forced the words to fit together. "I assume you've gotten his speech, about how heroes are supposed to help everyone?" Battery nodded with a wry smile, and she continued.
"I… don't know how he does it. I don't know if I can do it, but I don't want to be the kind of person that can't," she finished quietly.
In the silence afterwards only the soft crunch of compacting snow could be heard, a quiet rhythm that had continued unabated through the length of their walk. Disjoint gazed down at her feet and let herself grow distracted by it as she waited for the other hero to speak.
"I think you've got the hardest part out of the way," Battery finally said, and Disjoint kept silent, listening to the words as they floated out. "If you can see that there's a way to improve – something you want to change – just being willing is already the first step. Nothing about it is easy, but getting started is the most important part.
"Velocity isn't wrong, but his views are… stronger than most. He came to the Protectorate from the army. Joined to help people, but he didn't find what he was looking for. Whatever it was though, it left him burnt out. I think this is his way of trying to balance the scales, for him to create whatever it was that he couldn't find.
"In the Protectorate, well, we don't want casualties. Heroes and civilians most of all, but villains too. We're supposed to be about culpability: fair trials and the rule of law. About keeping villains safely locked away. It's why I joined, after all," and Battery paused to flash her a smile of pride.
"In the end, though, sometimes there aren't any other options. You'd be hard pressed to find another hero around here with as strict a view as Velocity; the truth is that you get worn down. Dealing with villains so frequently – seeing the worst of the city day after day – it's exhausting. It makes people angry, disillusioned, bitter.
"Despite that, we all need to stay strong. Focus on the good, and keep working to be better. Don't feel like you've failed, for seeing something that could be improved. As long as you strive to surpass your old self, you're on the right track. Being a hero isn't just about what you're doing, it's about what you want to do. As long as you want to help, you're in the right place."
Battery finished speaking, trailing to a stop with a bit of an embarrassed look at her own impassioned speech. Disjoint joined her, moving idly to the side and out of the middle of the path.
The Protectorate hero's words had flowed over her in a wave, straightening her thoughts in its current. They unfurled easier now, and she could give voice to the notions that she had been unable to say before.
"What about the ones I don't want to help?" she admitted haltingly, watching and waiting for Battery to shy away in aversion. Instead the reaction never came, judgement abstained as the woman let her continue at her own pace. The admission left her unsteady, but she didn't stop.
"I see them, and all I want is for them to be punished," Disjoint professed. There was an additional clarity that came with her words, as if speaking them aloud had revealed the truth to both of them. On the heels of her revelation came Battery's response, the same encouraging tone that hadn't faltered in the wake of her disclosure.
"It's not wrong, to want them to face the consequences of their actions. But you can't do it yourself. Let them face the judges; we both know where they'll fall. I believe that when the time comes, you can step back and give them the ending they deserve, not just the one that feels right."
The vote of confidence was a warm thing, filling her with comfort when she hadn't been able to find any before. It was easier to see now in hindsight, how hard she had been on herself. She needed to look at her failure and see where it offered the chance to grow, past the sense of grasping futility that was so prevalent before. Now she had a place to begin, and like Battery had said, that was the most important part.