Part Three: What Lurks in the Shadows

It takes four more days before they discover that something else is wrong with the kid. Everything had been okay after he woke up that night. Bridget told him her story of how she was connected to him. The kid, though extremely wary of her and Hector, listened whenever they gave him instruction. He's been very good at eating his meals and taking his medicine as per their direction.

But then, in the middle of a routine check-up, he asks, "How do you know me?"

Bridget pauses. For a moment, she thinks he's started to regain his memory and is testing her to see how much she knows. But the look in his eyes—lost and afraid all over again like the first day—tells her that something is amiss.

She smiles amiably. "Sweetheart, I told you already: your mom and I are best friends. We've known each other since high school."

"I've never seen you before."

"That's because I moved to Philadelphia after I had my son."

"She's never mentioned you before."

"Oh, but she mentions you a lot to me," she replies skillfully. She tilts her head sympathetically. "What's the matter? Just yesterday you were asking me questions about my son and how things are like in Philadelphia. Why are you asking me again who I am?"

The kid's head hangs down, withdrawing from the conversation. He's quiet for a while before he whimpers, "Where's my mom? I want to go home."

"Oh, sweetie…" She moves the table of food away then places her hand on his forearm to comfort him. While the kid cries, she looks at Hector pointedly. "As soon as you're better, I'm going to take you to her. Your mom's at an assignment right now. You're safe here with Dr. Diaz and I."

"But I don't know you," Leo protests, shivering. "I want my family. Everything hurts, and I'm scared…"

Bridget pulls out a couple of tissue from the tissue box then carefully dabs his tears away, careful not to hit the cuts and bruises still deep in color on his face. "It's okay. It'll be okay," she consoles him. She leans to get into his line of vision then smiles sadly. "If you keep crying, your injuries will swell up and hurt even more. Do you want that?"

The kid sobs for a little while more. Then, it fades into hesitation. "Is that… is that true?" he asks her then Hector.

"Uh…yeah! Yeah." Hector cautiously glances at Bridget. "I mean, if you let yourself be upset like this for long periods of time, it will take forever for you to feel better physically."

The kid sniffles. "Really?"

Hector nods.

The kid sniffles one more time. Then, he looks cautiously at Bridget.

Bridget smiles. She takes the box of tissue then puts it beside him. As he pulls out a couple, she asks, "Hector, what's happening with him? It wasn't like this yesterday."

He frowns and eyes the kid.

"That's okay. You can talk about it in front of him," she says. "Leo, sweetheart, you don't mind knowing, right?"

Leo shakes his head, suddenly eager to listen.

Hector hesitates a moment but soon caves. "Of course I'll have to do another MRI of his brain, but a bit of anterograde amnesia is usually common in patients who have retrograde amnesia. This might improve over time, but this is not that uncommon. It's likely that he'll forget again in a couple of days."

"What? So we have to do this every day?"

"Until it gets better."

"Do you think it will?" the kid asks.

"I won't know until we do a test," Hector tells him with a kind smile.

"So, you really do know me. I just can't remember you," the kid concludes sadly.

"Hey, it's not going to be so bad. We'll just get to talk more," Bridget offers kindly.

"But won't you get in trouble at work?"

"No. I'm my own boss," she says, grinning. "Don't worry, though: Hector will be here with you should I have to leave. I trust him. He's a nice guy."

"Hector?" The kid looks up at the doctor. "Are you two close? You call him by his name instead of Doctor something."

"No," Hector says.

"Yes," Bridget says, taking much pleasure over her friend's annoyance at having been stuck on kid-duty for the weekend. "Hector and I are best friends. Aunt Bridget, of course, is the better friend."

"You're the worst friend ever," Hector says.

"I'm also the prettier one," Bridget teases.

The kid grins at their exchange but hisses in pain immediately as it pulled on the cut on his lip.

"Be careful," Bridget reminds him. Out of the corner of her eye she catches Hector looking at her worriedly, probably thinking that she's getting too attached too quickly to her hostage/mentee.

And maybe she is, to a degree. It's been a while since she's had another human being to care for. Destroying things can get boring—and it has gotten boring. She likes this change of pace. She's creating a bond and nurturing someone who has potential. There's no fighting involved, and her morals aren't questioned and analyzed in depth by some mystery person in leotards who feels the need to give an oddly long speech.

It's more inspiring, this peace.

It rekindles her desire of flipping the superhero world upside down even more.


"Aunt Bridget?"

"Hmm?"

"What do you do for work?"

The question comes the following night. So far he hasn't forgotten anything they've talked about, which Hector says might mean he's improving.

A smirk slowly pulls on her lips. "What do I do for a living?"

The kid nods.

Hm. No time like the present. "Would you believe me if I say I was a supervillain?"

"A supervillain?"

She nods.

He laughs, but yelps when the cut on his lip pulls a little.

"Leo. I already told you."

"You can't be a supervillain," he says. He feels the cut, makes sure it isn't bleeding. "That is not a job."

"Why not?"

"Superheroes aren't real."

"Well, we can agree that superheroes are fake, but I really am a supervillain. I'm the strongest of them all." She holds up a hand, palm up. "Wanna see?"

He narrows his eyes at her, smirking in disbelief. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"Oh, I do. I will show you."

At will, blue flames engulf her hand.

The kid draws back, surprised at first. Then, a grin of awe slowly pulls at his lips. "What?! That's so cool!"

She examines her work with satisfaction. "I suppose it is."

"Is it an illusion?"

"No. No illusions. Just special ability," she says, closing her hand to quench the flame.

"But superheroes—"

She quirks her brows.

"Supervillains aren't real," he says, correcting himself. "It's just in comic books. I haven't seen any in real life."

"That's because there aren't any active villains and heroes on your side of the world. A lot of them are on the east coast, some Midwest. California doesn't really have any. Well, besides bionic kids."

"Bionic?"

"Mm-hm."

"What are those?"

"Human kids with technology fused in them. They have abilities similar to the ones I have. They're not as strong, of course, but they're not bad."

"I haven't heard of them before…" Leo says contemplatively. "What do they look like?"

"They look just like you: ordinary teenagers."

"Are they nice?"

"I don't think so. I think they're annoying."

"But you said they were superheroes."

"Hm, yes, kind of, but you see – not all people who say they're good are actually good people. They can say they're good, but it's what they do hidden from the public's eye that reveals who they are."

"So, these bionic kids…they're bad?"

"A good number of them, yes. There are a few who are good."

"Do you fight the good ones?"

Does she? She thinks about that. "Sometimes, but only when they're in my way. I tend to stay away from really good people. I don't like to hurt them," she says. She grins at him, as if sharing a secret. "I'm a villain, Leo, but I'm not a monster."

He chuckles. "That's so cool. I wish I can meet more people like you once I get out of here."

"You'd want to meet supervillains?"

"Yeah! But only if they're as nice as you."

It's her turn to chuckle this time. "I don't know about that. Most supervillains are dumb and irritating. There's not really anyone like me out there, none that makes sense."

He frowns. "Superheroes are fake and annoying, and villains are dumb and irritating."

"That's correct."

"Why?"

"Because power doesn't make a person better or worse – it just brings out who they are on the inside," she says. "But don't generalize. There are a few anomalies in the fold. Like I said, there's no one like me, but there are a couple that's worth the time and effort to get to know."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He takes in all of these information like a sponge taking in water. "Man, that sounds so cool," he says, "but I don't know if I'll have the opportunity to do that. The cool kids at school won't even let me sit with them. I doubt people like you will even have the time to meet me."

That immediately catches her attention. Hector was right: opportunity upon opportunity just presented themselves ever since the kid stumbled into their lives. "I have a serious question for you, okay?" she says. "Would you like to have the same job that Aunt Bridget has?"

"Be…Be a villain?"

"Yeah."

He thinks about it. "I can't be a superhero?"

"You can," she says, "but you'll be a superhero no one recognizes, and your other superhero friends are kind of mean to you all the time."

"Well, that sounds terrible."

She shrugs. "That's the only hero life waiting for you on the other side."

"This is theoretical, right? If I join them, theoretically that's what I'll have?"

"No, not theoretical. That's really the spot you'll have."

He frowns, appalled. "That's gross. Who'd want to live like that?"

I was wondering the same thing. Why did you live like that? Bridget thinks.

"Well, what about being a villain? Do I get to be a good villain?"

"You know people will never look at it like that," she says. "They'll hate you, and heroes will try to capture you, but then if you work hard enough, you'll be so good that none of them can ever touch you."

Leo mulls over it. "It's probably bad that I find it a turn off that people won't ever know who I am as a hero, but I want to have the choice of being able to do good. Plus…" His brows wrinkle. "Will I have good friends if I choose to be a villain?"

"You won't have any that will call you names to your face, that's for sure."

"But I won't have any friends."

She mulls over that. Does she, as the strongest supervillain there is, have friends? She does have a good and reliable one in Hector, but then again he was made to be an assistant to her. Stalker is…tolerable. Sometimes. The creepy piece of machinery doesn't have the capacity to betray her, at least so far.

Rampage seems reliable. A little clingy, but he's devoted. Elegy's the same, only less clingy and less annoying since she doesn't like getting involved in arguments as much as Cyanide does.

But, she does have what she guesses other people will call friends.

She smiles. "The good thing about this side is that when you find them, they're real. So if you can find others with the same moral compass that you have, same goals that you have – " she shrugs, "you will be friends for a long time."

"Okay." He ponders over these things for a long moment. Then, he smiles. "Okay. I want to have the same job you have."

She draws back, a little surprised. "You mean it?"

"Yeah," he says. "I mean, I want to do good things, but if I'm being treated like a bad person, I might as well go to that side where I can still do good but without being treated like trash. Ever since fifth grade, kids have been mean to me. It's nice being a cool kid, but if sitting at their table means they get to be mean to me, I'll just sit with the kids who may not be as cool but are nice to me."

She smirks. "I won't worry much about what others think."

"Is this for real? Like, you're not just messing with me, right?"

"Why would I do that?"

"I don't know. 'Cause it would be funny?"

"Sweetheart, I never joke about my job. It's my favorite one out of the ones I've had."

"Okay."

"So, do you think you'll be interested in shadowing me in my job after you get better?"

"What, you mean I come and watch you?"

"If you want to."

"Well, I do, but…" He looks at his cast. "I don't have powers."

"Don't worry about that. Right now, just focus on learning about the job."

"Okay." He takes the camcorder that Hector gave him the night before and turns it on. He flips the screen open, presses record, but then pauses when a different question comes to his mind. "What's your name then?"

Bridget blinks.

Reading the wariness from her face, Leo laughs. "No, I meant what's your villain name."

"Oh! That."

"Yes," he says, raising up the camera to record her. He grins when she looks into it. "You've just asked me to be your henchman, and I said yes. But I don't know your name yet. Who are you?"

Bridget grins superciliously. With a wolfish twinkle in her eyes, she answers, "They call me Mr. Terror."

Leo frowns. "Mr. Terror?"

"Yes. Why? What's wrong with it?"

"But Mister is…"

"Oh, I inherited it from my boss. I saw no reason to change it." She smirks. "Why? Does it make you uncomfortable?"

"No, it's just – it's just different," the kid says. "Oh. By the way, do you think I can maybe ask my mom first if I can work with you? She told me I have four more years before I can try for a job, but maybe observing you in yours won't be too bad."

"Sweetheart, have you forgotten? You're 22, turning 23 in a couple of weeks. You can work whenever you want."

"Oh. Right. I forgot about that," he says, his eyes on the LCD screen.

If she hasn't been observant, she would have missed it. It was subtle, but it's there: he's starting to get suspicious again. She guesses he has every right to. He's been there for some time, and he hasn't gotten any phone calls or visits from anyone he knows.

She knew, after further research, that he's a smart kid. Not just book smart, but also street smart. From what she heard, he's got the strongest intuition among the Davenport kids – so strong that many on their side of the fence are aware and cautious of it.

She smiles. She guesses that slip is on her. That he's back to being 11 doesn't mean he's not as intuitive. "Do you want us to video call your mom soon?"

He looks up so fast that even she got whiplash. "She's back from her assignment?"

"She can't come here yet, but yeah. To my understanding she's available to video call."

"YES! Oh! I mean, okay. Cool, cool. I'm cool," he says, nodding as he feigns calmness. "I mean, not that she really has to see me every day or anything. I'm 22. I just, you know—"

"You don't have to explain anything to me," Bridget tells him, smiling. "I know you miss your mother. That doesn't make you less of a man."

"Oh, okay. I'm cool, though. I'm cool."

"Sure you are," she says, very pleased that his suspicions are gone.

She's so good at this game that sometimes she scares herself.


"Hey, bestie."

Tasha gasps so loudly that Bridget thought her lungs would explode. The reporter stares at her with wide eyes, searching her face for any form of familiarity. "Who are you?"

She grins wolfishly. "Your best friend," she says, looking through the picture frames littering the bookshelf.

"I don't have…" Tasha shakes her head. "I don't know you."

"Yeah, I know you don't. I need you to pretend that you do, though."

Tasha's fear slowly turns into defensiveness. Bridget doesn't see this (not that she cares to). "I'm calling the cops."

Bridget lifts her hand and shoots out a sharp cloud of black fog. It speeds past Tasha, stopping her. When the reporter turns to her, Bridget resumes her examination of the mini photo gallery. "You can try to, but there's no way you're getting out of here," she says, picking up a small silver frame. It looks expensive, genuine silver. "The only way out is through a portal that will drop you in the middle of Jupiter."

"What do you want?"

"No. What do you want? Because it's more likely that I have what you're looking for." Bored of the display, she finally faces Tasha.

This close and in real life, she can see why Davenport chose her. She's pretty, petite. She's not one of those flimsy little sticks that will break with just an ounce of pressure. She looks sturdy, built for living a rough life like the one Bridget herself had lived, and is a woman whose brain is quick to calculate her surroundings.

No wonder her son is bright.

"If you're here for money, I don't have any," Tasha says. "But if you're here to take things, just…take them. Just don't hurt my daughter and me."

"If your husband had continued hiding the Arcturion from me, then I would have taken you up on your offer," Bridget says. She claims the rocking chair as her new throne. "But seeing that I already have the only diamond that a girl could only really want, well, this game of bargaining is becoming a bit pointless, isn't it?"

The gears in the reporter's mind turn. Bridget allows her as much time as she needs to process everything as she rocks the chair gently.

Tasha's face clears. "You're Oliver's mom."

Bridget chuckles. "It's been years since someone called me that. It's good to hear it. I kinda missed it." She looks at the countless storybooks packed like sardines in the princess pink shelves. There are as many toys littering the room.

She catches sight of the feet imprint displayed like an award on the wall, the words Naomi Rose Davenport, August 4 2016 scrawled prettily underneath it. "When Oliver was born, I didn't have this much money. I just started my job at the bank, my life was a complete mess, and I had no family to rely on," she relates. "I wish he had something like this when I took him home. He's such a good boy. He deserved something like this."

"Why are you here?"

"Just catching up," Bridget tells her with a shrug. She nods, impressed, as she does another sweep of the room. "Nice. Must have been the work of an interior designer, probably the most expensive there is."

She clicks her tongue. "I feel bad for Leo, though. No one bothers with him anymore. I only had Oliver, so maybe I have no right to say this, but if I was to have a second kid, I'll make sure my first would have everything that he didn't get to have before we had money."

"What are you talking about? Do you know where Leo is? Do you have him?" Tasha asks, each of her questions coming out more frantic that the last.

"I didn't say that. I said I felt bad for him," Bridget teases, enjoying every bit of the reporter's agony. She turns and smiles at the pictures. "Can I make a callous, pretty hurtful comment? Woman to woman? This room shows who's your favorite. Parents like to say they don't have one, but they do. Kids know that."

"What did you do to him?" Tasha asks, panic gathering in her eyes.

"Maybe I'll change my mind if I had a daughter," she mutters contemplatively. "But then again, I've always wanted a son, so there's that."

"Please! Please answer me," Tasha begs. "Where's my son?"

Bridget smirks. "Safe. A little upset, probably, but safe." She gets up from the rocking chair and says, "If you value his life, you won't mention this conversation to your husband, your kids, my kid – anyone who can potentially get on my nerves. Okay?"

Tasha nods frantically, desperately. "Okay."

"Now you have to promise. Because I will find out."

"Okay. Okay, I promise."

"Good. I'm calling you tomorrow night. I want you to pretend we're best friends, because that's what you're saved in my phone as. See?" She takes out her phone from a left leg pocket and screen. "Tasha D., then this little glass of wine emoji and party smiley face emoji. Because I think you're fun."

"Why are you doing this?" Tasha asks. "You already have what you were looking for. Why take my son?"

"Take? Who said I took him?" She pockets her phone and says, "I'm not the kidnapping type. Unless I'm desperate, which I have no need to be. But I do like taking advantage of accidents that happen to happen. Intriguing things are more my speed."

She smiles at the reporter. "I know what they say about me: that I'm some ruthless murderer. But the truth is, Tasha, I'm human, too. Like you, I'm also a mother. I'm reasonable, as long as people don't get in my lane," she says. "I want you to be able to talk to your baby as much as possible. I even want you to be able to visit him.

"But, see, I'm worried that you'll mess it up. I'm worried you'll tell Leo that I took him from you and that I'm the bad guy. You'd tell him that he's being lied to and that his life is in danger." She playfully pouts. "Now that, I will have a very, very big problem with."

"I – I won't tell him those things," Tasha says.

"I was hoping you won't, because none of them would be true."

"What…What would you do if I did slip and tell him those things?"

She feigns a small pout. "Well, that's not reassuring at all."

"Please don't hurt him. Don't hurt my baby," Tasha pleads.

"Tasha, darling, I told you already: I have no plan to. But, if you so much ruin our deal by hinting at him that I'm not trustworthy…" Bridget shakes her head. "I have no use for spoiled things. Spoiled things, I throw away."

Tasha whimpers as she imagines the worse.

"Oh, there, there," Bridgette says, coming in close and giving her a warm embrace. She pats the reporter's shoulder comfortingly. "Come on, that's no way to thank your friend. Because that's what I really am, Tasha—I am your friend. I will treat him the same way you and your husband has treated my son all these years: like my own." She disengages from her and smiles. "Okay?"

"I promise I won't do anything. Just let me talk to my son."

"And you will. Just make sure to answer my call tomorrow night. You'll see him." Bridget turns away from her, smirking at the successful attachment of the microscopic audio device on the family's mother figure.

Now there's no more need to infiltrate the enemy base because she has found herself an unwitting spy.

She spins to face her then waves. "TTYL, Tasha," she says. Then she vanishes in a cold, purple mist.


A chill wakes Leo up in the middle of the night. With the hairs on his arms and back of the neck standing, he looks around his dark room cautiously. There's music coming from outside, but besides the faint noise he has no other companion.

He sits up, slowly. His gut tells him that someone is watching him. "He – hello?" he tries to call out, but it only comes as a squeak. "Hector? Are you there?" Please tell me you're there.

He can only see outlines of things in the dark: the x-ray machine that Hector rolled into the room days ago but never bothered to take back out; the old TV that doesn't even work; the chair by the closet that no one has ever sat in. He thinks of looking out the window to the hall but, no.

No. His heart is beating way too fast at the thought that he knows someone must be there.

"Aunt Bridget?" he tries to call confidently but fails.

The AC hums into life once more. The room is unusually much colder. In the distance, he hears a soft whisper of long draws of breath.

It's just the AC, it's just the AC, Leo convinces himself. It's probably just a figment of his imagination. He's tired, he's loaded with meds for his countless injuries, and his sleep cycle has been off. The thing he fears isn't real.

So he turns around and looks. The door is open, but there's no one there. The blinds to the window looking into the hall outside has been opened, too, and—

Eyes. Wide, silver eyes shining in the distance focused only on him. It has no face and no body. Just a floating cloud of black.

Leo freezes. "Hector," the word comes out as a whisper. "Hector…"

The fog comes closer to the window.

Leo retreats under the sheets and screams. He screams so loud and shut his eyes so tight out of the fear and dread that spread like the night within him.

He screams louder when he hears footsteps flood into the room. The sound of his voice and his hammering heart are so deafening that he doesn't hear his name called. When the sheets are pulled away from him, he flinches with his eyes closed.

"Leo! What's the matter?" Hector asks him as Bridget flips the light switch on. "Did you have a bad dream?"

Though still shaking, Leo slowly opens his eyes. Once he sees Hector, he hugs him tightly. "There's something outside! Please make it go away, I'm scared!"

Hector and Bridget both turn to look.

Seeing the object of his fear, Bridget rolls her eyes. "Stalker, where have you been?" she nags. "It's been over a week since I sent you out."

Her tone causes Leo to loosen his hold on Hector little by little. He looks up, unsure.

The good doctor smiles. "It's okay, buddy. He's just a coworker of your aunt."

With their assurance, Leo regains a bit of courage to let go and look out the window again. He gasps when he sees the silver-eyed fog and bumps into Hector.

Hector chuckles, patting him on the shoulder as Stalker whizzes something incoherent. "It's okay."

"I don't want excuses," Bridget tells the AI. Her hands come up to her waist, and she huffs. "Did you find what I wanted to know?"

Zzzt, zzt, zzzzt.

It only annoys the villainess more. "You know I don't understand your language," she tells Stalker. "Just nod if you do, shake your head if you don't."

Stalker stares at her awhile as if she had spoken an indiscernible language. His head tilts left then right (or at least his eyes tilted left and right), and then he stares at Bridget.

The lights of his eyes blink in and out in a pattern.

Bridget groans in frustration.

"He…he said yes, Aunt Bridget."

Both Bridget and the fog turn towards Leo. "I'm sorry?" Bridget says.

"He said yes."

Bridget's brows quirk. "You understand him?"

Leo nods. "Kind of. Just now, he answered you in Morse code—Y, E, S. Earlier he...Well, come to think about it, did he speak in dial tones?"

"Dial tones?" Hector repeats.

Leo looks at the adults, unsure. "Well, the tone and the length of the buzzes…sounded…like it."

Bridget stares blankly.

Hector laughs. He shakes his head and says, "If you're right, man, you'll be the very first person to translate his speech. None of us had figured out yet what he's saying."

"What did you mean by speaking in dial tones?" Bridget asks, still annoyed.

"My grandma still has one of those house phones manufactured in the 70's in her house. Every time you hit a number, it gives off this beeeeep," Leo explains, intonating the sound. "Each number has a different note. Mister, um, Stalker? I think he might talk in notes too. If I'm right, and basing on the Morse code answer, he probably spelled Y-E-S with the buzzes." Leo shrugs. "Yes."

Hector stares at him. His brows hitch, and he chuckles in shock and disbelief.

Bridget tries to process the information. However, being that it's too early in the morning still, she surrenders. She shakes her head and sighs.

Stalker only watches the kid for a long while. Eventually, his body turns towards him, and then he drifts. He disappears outside then reappears inside the room.

Terrified, Leo cowers back.

"Your pet is being creepier than usual," Hector tells Bridget.

"Stalker, back away from the kid. He's a friend," Bridget commands the AI. She crosses her arms then leans against the doorpost as she waits for Stalker to move back, but…nothing. "I'm sorry," she tells Leo. "You're the first little one we've had here. Right now, he's probably extremely fascinated by you."

"Can he be less fascinated?" Leo asks.

"It's Stalker we're talking about," Hector says. "He doesn't know how to not be fascinated."

Leo stares at the fog. The more he looks at the moons that are the machine's eyes, the less scared he felt—which is surprising considering it gave him the biggest scare of his life earlier.

And, oddly enough, Stalker kind of fascinates him too. He can't remember any information about him (it?) off the top of his head, but something's telling him that Stalker doesn't present any danger to him.

If anything, they're both probably as equally intimidated of the other.

Going against his better judgment, Leo attempts to hold out his hand. He moves in indecision, moving his fingers forward but then immediately drawing it back before trying to move ahead again. But then, after one strong kick of courage, he holds his less battered hand out.

Stalker stares at it. He does so for such a long time that Leo thinks he had made a mistake.

But then, the moons bend into upward crescents. The fog slinks out into a branch then wraps around his hand.

Stalker's 'hand' feels…cold. Damp. Probably how it would feel like to touch the evening clouds. "That's so cool," Leo mutters, grinning in excitement.

To Hector's and Bridget's surprise, the AI teeters in higher-pitched, incoherent codes that they've never heard him say before.

"Nice. I like you too," Leo tells the AI.

"What'd he say?" asks Hector.

Leo shrugs. "I don't know. I didn't get that one, but he sounded so happy, so…"

Eventually, a small smirk comes up Bridget's lips. "What do you know? Stalker's kid-friendly after all."

Stalker's head only tilts in a display of genuine joy as he watches the kid.

"That's at least one," Hector tells Bridget. "The others might not be as welcoming."

"Others?" Leo repeats.

"Yes. Stalker is not the only villain that comes here," Bridget answers him.

"But, I thought you said we're in a hospital?"

"No, we're in a clinic. You're the one that keeps on saying you're at a hospital."

"Clinic?"

"I'll explain more later. Right now, we should all probably get back to sleep. It's just three o'clock in the morning."

"Oh. That's right," Hector says. "Bud, you can't be staying up late like this. You need to rest more if you're to get better."

"It's a good thing that you've met Stalker, though. He's going to be…"

Bridget is still talking, but for some reason her voice slowly ebbs away. Leo suddenly feels weak, and before he knows it, the darkness that he was just holding in his hand swallows him whole.


"It's a good thing that you've met Stalker, though," Bridget tells the kid. "He's going to be instrumental in our training."

"Which really shouldn't happen for three more weeks," Hector chimes in pragmatically. When the villainess glares at him, he explains, "He still has to heal. You and Stalker still can't take him on a trip."

Buzzkill. Bridget looks at the kid to wish him goodnight—but the faraway gaze in his eyes strikes a chord of discomfort. "Leo?" she calls to him. "What's wrong?"

The kid continues to stare—but then his eyes roll up to the back of his head as he falls backwards.

The EKG machine screams danger as Hector catches him. The sound is so alarming that even Stalker backs away.

"Hector, what's happening?" she asks as the kid begins convulsing.

The doctor skillfully helps the kid to lie down on his side. He urgently tosses the pillows away to the chairs then moves the blanket off his patient. "I knew it was too good to be true," he mutters to himself. Then, to Bridget he says, "Seizure. The kid is having a seizure."