Part One: Things That Go Bump in the Night

She's surrounded by idiots. If she's to be completely honest, she doesn't hold much hope for the villains, especially if these are the best the profession has to offer. It's become an exercise of her underlings lately: argue in front of her and prove through raised voices that they're more powerful.

It's just like when Oliver was three and threw tantrums nearly every day.

It's a shame that they can put a toddler to shame.

The only light in this long, dark, arduous tunnel is Hector. He's watching Rampage, Cyanide, and Elegy argue with each other, as they do every night, and has been casting glances her way. He's the only one who's been able to read her adeptly lately. (Then again, that's how he was designed.)

Stalker is not too bad, although 90% of the time she doesn't know what he's thinking because all he does is watch. Like right now. He's never made any efforts to stop a fight, never made any efforts to point out that they're annoying her.

He just does what he does best: watch.

Too closely, if she can add. It makes the hairs on her arms stand up as she sees he's (it's?) just watching her. Why did I think it was a good idea to add him? It?

She sighs. She sits upright on her throne. "If the three of you can't agree on anything, you might as well go home," she tells them.

They don't hear it. They only continue yelling at each other, drawing closer, closer, closer to each other.

She rolls her eyes.

Reading that they've reached the peak of her patience, Hector yells, "Guys, please! Stop it!"

"Shut up, Hector!" Elegy snaps back at him. "This has nothing to do with you!"

She massages her temple as Hector looks at her, worried now for their safety. She gives them enough time to stop—five, four, three, two, one.

Of course, they don't shut up.

So she makes them. She raises her hands and with experienced fingers pulls on the invisible strings.

Undetectable straps covers their mouths like pieces of duct tape.

Peace, finally, follows.

"You're all ticking me off, mostly because you cut me off," she tells them. "You know I hate being interrupted. It was an important announcement too. You've ruined the mood."

Rampage replies, but it's muffled.

She sighs again. She releases his air gag.

"Thank you," he says. "What I was trying to say was, I'm sorry. I just think it's a much better idea to attack them head on rather than gathering more information. Stalker has gotten us everything we need. What else do we have to do?"

Elegy fires something, but it's comically inaudible.

Going against her better judgment, she releases her too.

"What I was saying was," Elegy repeats, "we're outnumbered. Yes, we have Mr. Terror on our side, but they also have those kids who were zapped by the Arcturion."

Rampage draws back, surprised. He looks at her cautiously.

Elegy realizes her mistake soon after. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make it sound as bad as it sounded."

Bridget thinks about it. Soon, she releases Cyanide who's only been glaring at her. "I don't want to attack them," Bridget tells them.

"What?!"

"We have nothing to defend. I have the Arcturion."

"But you know that they will track us down and try to get it back," Elegy points out. "They pretend that they're only keeping it for the safety of others, but we know they want it for its power as much as we do."

"And if they come here to get it, I'll happily toss it to any one of them," she says with a smile.

"But that would kill them," Rampage says.

She cocks her brows, smirking.

"Oh," he says, nodding. He smirks. "Use it against them. Smart."

"Skylar Storm will survive contact with it," Cyanide points out, arms crossed. "It'll drain her powers, but she can last long enough to run away with it."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry much about that little girl," Bridgette says. She smiles superciliously at Hector. "We can distract her sufficiently."

The three turns to the clone who only smiles back at them wearily. "Oh, that's right," Rampage says. "They still don't know we have Dr. Horace Diaz with us."

"I prefer you call me Hector," Hector says.

"Mm. And I, on the other hand, would prefer that all of you go home," Bridget tells Rampage, Cyanide, Elegy, and Stalker. "I'm tired, and you're all useless to me until you find out what this top secret plan of theirs is."

"But you told us that there's something important you were going to tell us, something other than that," Rampage says.

She only stares at them, patiently impatient.

Cyanide darts her one last glare. Then, in a green mist, she spirals into non-existence.

Though slightly miffed, Elegy understands the same message Cyanide got. She nods to Bridget then, she storms off.

Not long after the doors of the lair closes behind her, Stalker shuts off (or at least Bridgette hopes he (it?) did).

Rampage sticks around for a little while longer. However, he eventually caves under her enduring stare. He nods, a little brusquer than Elegy, and mutters, "Fine." Then, he stomps off.

Once they're all gone, Bridget releases a breath. "Remind me never to invite them again."

Hector smiles. "They're your team. You'll need to invite them."

"No, I don't." She alights her throne and walks across the room. "I don't need any of them."

"You just say that because they annoyed you."

"And they didn't you?" she asks, accessing the video feed for the Power Room. It takes but a second for the control panel to show it to her: the similar dark room bathed with the shy, purple glow of the Arcturion. She sighs, noting that she does a lot of it whenever her followers are or have been around her. "How can I choose any of them to succeed me? The only thing they're all good at is arguing."

"Stalker is not too bad."

She glances at the AI. "No. He creeps me out." She turns off the feed and accesses the Superhero Network news instead.

"What's all the rush for? You're still young. It's not like you'll die tomorrow."

"There's no guarantee. You know that," she says. "Plus, I'm in my 50s now. The Arcturion has given me many abilities, but being able to live forever isn't one of them."

"Fifty isn't even that old."

"You're too optimistic, Hector. It's annoying."

"Optimistic, yes, but that doesn't mean I'm wrong."

Bridget returns to her throne and looks at the news absentmindedly. Lately, she's becoming more and more aware of her mortality. She's also started missing her son a lot. "Why does he have to be a good guy?" she mutters.

Hector smiles sympathetically at her. "What else do you expect? You've raised him to have his own moral standards and his own convictions. Of course he'll choose a side."

"But it didn't have to be that side!" she says, distraught. She shakes her head. "Heroes. They're useless, selfish, pretentious. And yet everyone loves them. I never did get that."

"You know, I never did ask you why you chose the path you did," Hector says. "You could have been the most powerful superhero to exist in this planet—in this galaxy. Yet you chose to be someone other people hate and fear. Why?"

Why? A smirk pulls at her lips as the answer comes to her. "Because, Hector, good women never make history," she says.

Hector chuckles.

"Ugh, but I really do need to find someone," she says. "These good guys need someone to keep them in line. I only have eight years at most in me."

"You really should tell them," Hector advises worriedly. "It won't be long until they notice your powers are getting weaker. Rampage might be forgiving, but Elegy and Cyanide are hyenas. They'll eat you alive once you're weak enough."

She growls, her worries and frustration bubbling up once more. "At this rate, taking my son and forcing him to be the next Mr. Terror is sounding like the best idea."

"How? You know his friends will be keeping a strict watch over him. And even if you did get him, what are you going to do? Brainwash him? You know that doesn't work for us."

"You're too opinionated for your own good, Hector. Are you not scared of what I can do?"

"Mm, no." Hector grins cheekily at her. "I know you still need me. I'm the only doctor who can take care of you and your little band of misfits."

Bridgette glares at him. She hates it when he's right.

At that moment, someone pounds on the door.

They both look. "Are you not going to get that?" she asks Hector.

Hector's brows quirk, an amused smile teasing on the edge of his lips. "You had me created as a doctor, not a butler," he says.

Ugh, you're so annoying, she thinks.

Boom, boom! Boom! comes the pounding from the door.

Hector doesn't move, only smirks at her. Bridgette rolls her eyes then sets off to the door. "If it's any of those idiots, I promise you, I will vaporize them on the spot," she hisses under her breath.

She pulls the door open and is prepared to scream at the imposing guest but stops at the surprising sight.

A young man stands in front of her—at least, she thinks he is young. It's hard to tell his age because his face is so dark and purple and swollen. His eyes are nearly shut, reduced to slits. His lips are busted and bloodied.

Cuts and scrapes are all over, not just on his face and neck but also his body. His clothes are ripped in a way that she suspects resulted from being tossed around. He's gasping for breath and stands before them in a lopsided stance.

Is he even alive? she wonders.

"I…" he starts but drifts off. He labors for sufficient breath then says, "I didn't…know…where else…to go…" Then, he collapses towards her.

She catches him, her thoughts so active and dynamic. She knows for a fact that this is not Oliver. Then again, even if the situation is different and he was the one who came to her door, he wouldn't have known where her lair is. Right? They had made sure of it.

She looks at him, and it surprises her that the inclination to care for him is the first thing she feels. She should be angry. She should want for him to die right there for intruding a space that she didn't open for anyone.

But she doesn't. She doesn't feel these things.

Confused by the many conflicting thoughts she has, she looks back for Hector but finds he's already standing behind her. "Your call," he tells her, but she sees in his eyes that he fears for the boy's life, too.

One of two things can happen within the next ten minutes: he bleeds to death out her door or he potentially survives.

Going against her inclination, she growls, "He better survive."

"Okay," Hector says as she pulls the boy in. He closes the door and points to the Med Room. "That way…"