I walked through the halls half aware and half awake, letting the flow of the students around me guide me to the lunch room. I'd always liked that about school, how easy it was to fit in, how easy it was to become a face in the crowd. Another backpack, another pair of shoes, another face without a name attached to it.

My father had kept me awake long after I'd gotten home discussing my performance at the garage. To be honest, it was mostly just a laundry list of mistakes. What I should have done different, or should have done better. Use compliments sparingly, so that they pay attention to your every word. Funny, how he could teach me exactly what he was doing and still have me fall for every word of it.

The conversation did eventually move on to more familiar ground, though. Tinker talk. What things I could build to make things go better for me in the future. We talked about it for a bit, but the answer we eventually came to was armor. Sixer and Stray weren't particularly hard hitters, but they were still pretty strong compared to their competitors. At any point a lucky hit could have ruined me. If I could make something to protect me from their attacks, I would be effectively set to deal with anyone from the south end.

There was a complication to that, however: armor wasn't really something I'd tried working with before. I didn't think it would be out of my reach to copy Chariot's exoskeleton design and add plating to it, but it was hard to know for sure given I didn't even know my reach to begin with. It was a shame that all of the drafts I made during my morning classes weren't likely to be used. It almost made it seem worth it to pay attention to the teachers. Almost.

Eventually the flow of students drew me toward my goal. The lunch room. At Arcadia it was usually pretty empty. As it turned out, all of the school funding in the world wasn't enough for them to have a cafeteria worth a damn, so most kids just brought their own lunches or went off of the property to a fast-food place. As for myself, I brought my own lunch; eating healthy would be important from now on and I couldn't afford to slack. Getting enough calories to build muscle was also an issue, yet another thing my father was happy to lecture me about.

Food aside, like most students at Arcadia I tended to enjoy lunch more for the conversation than anything else. Not that I had a huge amount of options in that sphere. Just one, really. I'd known Lucas for years now. I met him when I was a little kid in a club I didn't really want to think about, then again in middle school. We'd been friends ever since, and shared most of our interests. Or we had, before I got my power. We didn't have any classes together this semester, and it was hard for us to hang out after school, so lunch was really the only time we talked these days.

Not that we had much to talk about. I didn't have the time to keep up with the newest episodes of Mechanical Soldier, and something told me that he didn't have much constructive input on the construction of a telepathically-controlled heated whip.

"Hey, Theo!"

I turned, a sinking feeling in my stomach that I thought couldn't have sunk any lower.

"Garrison," I said.

A slim, good-looking guy broke away from the trio of girls he was talking to and walked over to me. He was wearing pretty formal clothes, for high school anyway. A white button-up shirt and jeans, with a red leather belt and black belt buckle. His brown hair was medium length, sweeping across one side of his forehead in a style that I assumed was fashionable.

I'd seen him around a few times over the years, but these days I was more familiar with him in costume.

"Figured we could eat lunch together," he said, then leaned in with a crooked grin and put a hand across my shoulder. "Team building exercise, you know?"

I considered just telling him to go sit somewhere else. It would have been easy. Be polite, make excuses, don't let him think he was the reason. But no, it was too much risk for not enough payoff.

I might not have to like Garrison, but Turismo was important. An asset.

I made my way over to Lucas and took my seat, signalling for Garrison to follow.

The first thing most people noticed about Lucas when meeting him was his eyes, which due to glasses thicker than some watch faces gave the impression of taking up most of the real estate on his face. The next thing that people tended to notice was his size. Despite being a few inches shorter than me he was far wider, even before my training.

The first thing Garrison noticed was neither of these things.

Garrison, to both his credit and my relief, elected not to say anything, though a quick glance at Lucas' features told me that he got the whole story. He sat, face neutral, looking between us but not saying anything.

Damage control. Change the subject. "Hey Lucas, did you see the new-"

"Sorry Theo, I, uh, gotta go. I owe Ms. Roberts an assignment." And just like that he was off, faster than I think I'd ever seen him move before.

I couldn't be mad at Lucas for that, but it stung. It stung to know that he thought I betrayed his trust. It stung that he wasn't wrong.

In a lot of ways I was envious of Lucas. He had the ability to get up and walk away, to distance himself from the shitshow that was going on around him. It was petty, but I couldn't imagine him in my shoes.

"Right, well, whatever. So Theo where are-"

"Garrison just-" Deep breaths. Calm. "Hey, Garrison, you have a car right?"

"Uh, yeah, sure. What's up boss?" He was off his footing. Not what I intended, but it worked.

"Our new base is set up. I was hoping you could give me a ride to the Falmel,"

"The Falm- Donnie's place? He agreed to that?"

I nodded. "I told Layla and Cassie about it yesterday, after we dropped you off. E-mailed Trevor this morning."

"Right. Does Cass need a lift too?"

"No, her school is in the area anyway."

"Right. Got it."

The rest of school passed by mostly uneventfully, which may or may not have been a product of me not paying enough attention to know if any events had happened to begin with.

Finding Garrison's car was, for a lot of reasons, easier than I thought it would be. Arcadia may have been in one of the better areas in the city, but the few students who did drive still tended to drive something more on the tame side of things. Garrison clearly wasn't too concerned about blending in.

The car easily predated Scion. It was probably from the early 70's if I had to guess. The entire thing was done in a deep reflective purple, accented by gold-painted rims on the tires. The same color as his cape costume, I couldn't help noting. This was, of course, accompanied by a supercharger protruding from the hood. It reminded me a bit of my father, lots of money spent on glam but with the end result accomplishing nothing other than looking like a travesty.

The other reason it was easy to find is that he was using his speaker system to the fullest extent to inform the entire parking lot that Cletus Nephewson really, really liked his tractor, his wife, and his dog.

I got into his car and gestured at the sound control on the dash; I didn't think it worth while to even try talking over his music. Thankfully he complied and turned it down, before pulling out of the parking lot.

"What, you ain't much of a country guy?"

My father had warned against fraternizing too much with the men — the second they start seeing you as one of them is the second they stop respecting you as a leader — but I didn't put too much stock in that. Being a cape might be dangerous, but the Empire's turnover rate was too high for that to be everything.

"No," I admitted "I like rock, mostly. The older stuff. I saw Queen live this summer, actually, for my birthday."

"Ain't their lead singer a queer? Hell, are any of them even alive?" The bluntness of the question caught me a bit off guard. I'd expected that kind of thing from Cassie, but I was expecting Garrison to understand that all that stuff was just a way to control the masses. A performance gimmick.

I guess I wanted him to be a bit more like me.

"Sure, but what do I care?" I said. "My father has enough Hendrix albums to stack them up and use them as a chair. The music's good. And yeah, they're all still alive."

"Fair enough," he conceded. "Now that I think about it, Donnie's the same way"

"Donnie. Is that Panzermensch or Templar?"

"Panzermensch. Templar is Gerald."

Panzermensch was a cape I was only somewhat familiar with. He was a borderline invincible power nullifier from down south who, as it so happened, moved up here to run a restaurant with his family. I could respect that, though there was something I had wanted to ask.

"So what's up with your family's powers anyways?"

"Hm?" Garrison's brow scrunched up in confusion.

I elaborated "Well, families are supposed to all be thematic, right? You have your conductive powder, Donnie's invincible, Gerald drops hunks of fire from nowhere, your sister had that weird beam thing, and I'm not even sure what your other brother does. And that all came from, what, a Master power?"

Garrison just shrugged, though I could tell that my question annoyed him a little. Powers were always a bad topic, maybe I should have known better.

"Well, what about you and your parents?" he asked. "Your dad makes metal, and your mom was what, a giant?"

"Sure, but I had to use a lot of rare metals to make my mask. Same with my axe."

"And the giant thing?"

"Well... you got me there, I guess."

The conversation steered away from powers, and we just kind of kept on talking about whatever until Garrison pulled into the parking lot of the Falmel.

Beachfront property wasn't quite the commodity in Brockton Bay that it was in most cities. Not in the south end, anyway. With the Boardwalk stretching further north every year, that was where most of the money went, and the beaches to the south were generally neglected. Not that they were empty, of course. Far from it, they were the most popular place in the city to actually swim, for locals anyway. It was just that too many people had houses along the water, and too few were willing to sell, for it to be profitable to develop the area.

Some people used that, though, and while there weren't any big tourist attractions in the area, there were tons of smaller, family-owned businesses designed to make money from the people in the city, rather than vacuuming it up from tourists.

The Falmel was one of those. An old ship of some kind, moved halfway onto the beach and turned into a restaurant, run by Garrison's family. Not directly connected to the Empire, thankfully, but definitely associated for people who knew enough.

We walked over the sandy parking lot and up the metal gangplank to the deck. It was filled with tables, about half of which were occupied. A metal hatchway led to a space that had been made into an indoor dining area, complete with a bar, and that was where we headed.

Halfway there, though, we were intercepted by a man bigger than any I'd seen before in the flesh. Six foot ten at least, and more than muscular, he had greying hair and an enormous chin, with an equally enormous scar across it.

If he hadn't been dressed in a jolly green suit and sporting a friendly – if toothy – smile, I would have been tempted to turn and head the other direction.

"Gar!" the huge man boomed, stepping forward to engulf Garrison in a hug, lifting him off the ground and causing more than a few patrons to turn their way in curiosity.

Garrison, for his part, took it better than I would have. He just laughed and hugged back.

"Donnie! This is my buddy, Theo. That's for letting us set up shop here, yeah?"

"Not a problem, little man," the man – Donnie, clearly – said, gently lowering Garrison to the ground and stepping to the side, gesturing to a door beside the bar. We headed for it, and he following, turning sideways and bending nearly double to get through the confined space.

"So, you guys are below decks, near the back," Donnie said as soon as we were away from the dining area. A few employees in nautical-themed uniforms glanced at us as we passed, but Donnie paid them no mind, talking freely. "If you get hungry or anything just come out and ask for whatever. It's all on the house. Max paid well enough for that, at least, but there wasn't enough space for a kitchen."

"Thanks," I said. "And it's fine. I saw the plans for this a while ago, and it all looked great. Better than I was expecting."

"Yeah, well, still wish I could have done a bit more," Donnie said, ushering us into the kitchen. We drew more looks, but only for a moment before everyone went back to what they'd been doing. "Place isn't all that big for a five-man team. I should know, I was on one for years."

"It's fine," I said again. "I'm grateful for it."

It was true. What I'd asked for, it wouldn't have been possible in a normal restaurant. Hanging out or trying to tinker in the aisles between shelves of cutlery and boxes of produce wasn't anyone's idea of a good time, let alone anywhere close to stealthy. Thankfully, the Falmel was different. After all, any ship with a deck big enough to act as a patio wasn't going to be lacking in unused space below said deck.

"Well, if you're happy, I'm happy," Donnie said, stepping around us to unlock a metal door. It swung open to reveal a stairway down, and he dropped the key into my hand. "Here you go. If you want anything else, just ask."

"Thanks," I said, pocketing the key. "The others will probably be here soon. Can you show them in when they arrive, or have someone do it?"

"Not a problem," he said, and gave me a mock salute before heading off. I turned and headed through the door.

As we headed down the stairs, the big metal doorway – was there a name for it on a ship? I didn't know – swinging shut behind us, we emerged into a spacious area that had once probably been a hold of some kind. Somewhere to store supplies, or cargo, or whatever it was the tubby ship had been used for before its transformation.

A lot of work had been done since then, though. If nothing else the carpet gave it away.

"Damn, man," Garrison said, looking around. "Not bad. Donnie really outdid himself with this."

I found it pretty hard to disagree with him, though I figured that someone other than Donnie had done the actual work. I knew where the money for it had come from, and my father rarely wanted to do without the very best, whether it be in terms of cars, clothes, or interior design.

Still, it was hard to hold onto any sour feelings about the place when I was actually inside it. Wood-panelled walls – heavily insulated against both heat and sound – were combined with a deep carpet to give the room an inviting feeling. Recessed lighting in the ceiling complimented the decor and helped hide the fact that any windows – portholes? – that might have once lined the walls had been covered up for security. Shelves lined some of the walls, full of books, movies, and video games, interspaced with some tasteful paintings. There were a few chairs and tables scattered around as well, but the focus of the whole place was definitely the center of the room. Three leather couches arranged in a crescent, facing a free-standing entertainment center dominated by a flatscreen TV that had to be wider than I was tall.

One thing that struck me was that there wasn't anything like a planning table. Nowhere to sit to discuss strategy or lay out maps or anything. The meaning for that was obvious, of course. I wasn't meant to work with the team to determine our plans or tactics. That was my job, and theirs was just to follow orders.

Thanks, dad.

"So," Garrison said, hefting his gym bag. "Anywhere around here I can change?"

"Of course," I said, shaking off my unhappiness and lingering exhaustion. I walked across the room, over to the back wall, and pressed my hand against a specific section of the wood panelling. It sunk in a bit, then clicked and swung outward, revealing a similarly decorated hallway, lined with half a dozen doors, and another at the far end.

"There's a room for each of us," I said. "Plus a bathroom. Choose whichever you like. First come first serve."

"Oh man, this is great," Garrison said, grinning as he walked past me, looking at each door in turn. "So cool."

"It's not much," I warned him. "Just a place to store our gear and get changed and stuff. Maybe somewhere to crash if necessary. But that's all. We don't want people coming and going all the time, or someone's bound to notice eventually."

"Right, gotcha, only the most covert of Game Master games for our professional headquarters," he said.

"I'm serious, this isn't a game. You have your own apartment for that kind of stuff."

"Right." At least he had the good grace to look somewhat guilty. Garrison kept poking around until he got to the door at the end of the hall.

"That's the lab," I said. "For tinkering, for Chariot and I."

His hand stopped just before making contact with the handle, then slowly drew back. "Right. So it's a no-go zone, then?"

"More or less," I confirmed, without further explanation. "Let's get changed. It won't be long before the others arrive, and I'd like to get things started as soon as possible."

"Sure," he agreed, heading for the door directly across from the bathroom.

I took one of the rooms at the end of the hall, nearest the lab. As I'd said, it wasn't much. Just a small room – though not a tiny one – with a shelf, a desk, and a bed. No closet, although it did have a dresser. I tossed my backpack onto the bed, then stripped off my school clothes, changing into my regular clothes. A few months ago that would have meant a t-shirt plus jeans if I was going out, or sweatpants at home. Not anymore. Now I had a dress shirt – similar but not identical to the one I wore at school – with slacks, leather shoes, and a leather belt. It could have looked almost professional, if it weren't for the red sweater thrown on top, the words 'The Crimson Lighting in a jagged yellow font on the front.

Once I was dressed I gave my hair a careful brush – no mirror in the room, but I could do without – then rolled up my sleeves the appropriate amount to seem casual and headed out.

Back in the main room, I got a bit of a surprise. Garrison wasn't finished changing yet, but the room wasn't empty. One of the couches was occupied by a small, still form, wearing a yellow robe.

"Vasistha?" I asked. The form didn't move. "Layla? Are you alright?"

Her eyes opened, and she looked up at me. Without her hood up I could see that her eyes were a pale green, despite her dark skin, and without visible pupils: A clear enough mark of being a parahuman that she wouldn't be able to go out in public without sunglasses. Her black hair was parted in the middle and pulled back into two not-quite-buns at the back of her head.

"I'm alright," she said.

"Did you stay here last night?" I asked.

She nodded. "Was I not supposed to?"

"No, it's fine," I said. "Could you not get into your apartment?"

"I didn't go there."

I waited for her to elaborate, but she didn't. I floundered for a second, debating whether I should ask how she'd got in. I decided against it. "You know you could have used the TV if you wanted, right?"

"I could have," she said. It wasn't a question.

"Right," I said. "I guess with your power you didn't really need to, anyway."

She didn't respond, sitting up instead, still looking at me. Neither of us spoke as she arranged herself into a modest position, legs folded beneath her, hands in her lap.

"Okay," I said, eventually. "Well, the others are going to be here soon, and we'll hold a meeting. Okay?"

She nodded. "I understand."

That seemed to be all she was interested in saying, and I had no idea how to end the conversation, so I just left.

I browsed the shelves for a while. Despite the quantity of entertainment in the hideout, there wasn't much that was interesting to me. I had to wonder if that was just a coincidence, whoever had supplied the place choosing only what was current or popular, or if it was meant to be a message. A subtle way of saying that I shouldn't spend too much time here, or something like that. Thankfully Garrison emerged quickly enough, plopping down onto a couch and flipping on the TV.

The others arrived soon after. Rune was first – Cassie, rather, out of costume – dressed in a school uniform, a white shirt and green vest with a gray skirt. She just waved to me, then Garrison, then walked over to the hidden panel and disappeared, presumably to change.

Had she been here before? I wasn't sure— I hadn't heard anything, though it wouldn't have been surprising. She was related to Garrison and Donnie, if I was remembering family trees right, so it was possible someone in her family had been involved in setting the place up, or had told her about it.

I shook my head. It didn't matter, and I didn't have time to think about it.

The door opened again a few minutes later, and I just barely made out Donnie's enormous frame as he escorted Chariot into the room, both of them looking more than a little uncomfortable. No surprise there, on several levels. Out of costume, Chariot was clearly at least partly black, obvious in features beyond just his skin color. I was glad 'uncomfortable' was as far as it went.

Unfortunately, the discomfort didn't disappear after the door closed.

I looked a bit more closely at Chariot. He was taller than I was, but lanky rather than heavy. His hair was cut close to his scalp, and he had big ears. Enough that he looked maybe a little goofy. His clothes weren't the best, either. Ripped jeans and a t-shirt, despite the backpack slung over one shoulder. He'd clearly come from school like that.

He looked my way, and I forced a smile.

"Chariot," I said, stepping forward and holding out a hand to him. He took it, not returning the smile, and shook it once, hard. "Out of costume, call me Theo."

"Sure. I'm Trevor," he said, his voice as wary as the rest of him. "We going to be long here? I'd like to get home and do some work."

"If you mean tinkering, we've got a lab here," I told him. "Top of the line tools and equipment."

"Huh," he said. "Cool."

Again, that was all I got.

Not surprising, of course.

"Hey, lookin' good, girl!" Garrison said.

I turned around to see him with a hand raised in greeting to Cassie as she re-emerged from the hallway in street clothes with her ridiculously long blonde hair wrapped around her shoulders like a scarf.

"Piss of, perv," she said, shooting him the bird, but she didn't sound upset.

"Aw c'mon, you know it ain't like that," Garrison continued. "If it was, I'd be giving you a look like this."

I couldn't see the face he made from my position, but Cassie laughed, then sauntered over and dropped down onto a couch far away from both him and Layla.

"You're lucky we're teammates," she said. "Last guy that looked at me like that sings soprano these days."

"I'll be sure to keep your ball-busting tendencies in mind for the future," he said, and she laughed again.

I was a bit envious at the ease of the exchange. It also struck me that they were the only two who'd actually talked with each other. Neither had so much as acknowledged Trevor or Layla's presence.

A problem for another time, I told myself.

"Alright, we're all here now. Let's get started," I said, giving Trevor one last nod, then stepping toward the couch. I walked around them, coming to stand in front of the TV. Cassie and Garrison focused on me, while Trevor just walked over to a corner and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. Layla, for her part, stayed where she was, sitting on the couch and staring at nothing.

I paused for a moment once I had everyone's attention, minus possibly Layla's. What was the right level of authority to project? How to start? Did I invite comments from the others, or try to dominate the conversation? I had a number of points to raise, and I wanted them to come out right.

"Alright," I repeated. "We did pretty well last night against Sixer and Stray, especially considering it was our first night out as a team. I could say that we could do better, but I don't think that sort of thing is helpful. We're all smart, we've all got good powers, and we've all got our own reasons to want to do well. So improving is a given. It's inevitable, as long as we work at it. Instead, I want to see what everyone thought of Sixer and Stray themselves. What sort of stuff we all noticed, and how we can use that going forward."

I spent another moment looking around. Garrison and Cassie looked fairly pleased at what I'd said. They both probably thought I was mostly talking about them when I said we'd done well. Trevor and Layla... didn't look any different. Again, no surprise, but I'd been hoping.

"Well first off," Garrison said, "those dog things of Stray's. They helped untie him. I thought they were supposed to be out of his control, but I guess he's got some kind of choice about what they do."

"Or they work to help him without commands," Cassie added. "One of the two."

"Those are good points," I said, nodding to both of them in turn. "I'd also point out that he didn't seem to have any difficulty making them. No obvious effort needed, or a cost in terms of energy or stamina. Just a touch of the ground, and they crawl out."

"Kind of makes him dangerous, then," Garrison said. "If he's got no limits or anything, couldn't he just make a million dogs or whatever, then fuck off and let them kill us?"

"Can't be that easy." I turned to Trevor, and Garrison shot him an annoyed glance over his shoulder. "Can't be," he repeated, more firmly. "If he could command the dogs, and didn't have a limit on how many he could make, then why wasn't he already surrounded with dozens or hundreds of them when we broke in? Has to be more to it."

"I agree," I said, nodding to him. "That's another good point. My guess is that there's some kind of time limit on them. A lifespan, I guess. Or a limit on distance. Having to keep his pack close would make using them day-to-day pretty difficult. Plus they tore pretty big holes in the floor when they emerged, which would make either a time or distance limit even more difficult to work around."

Garrison frowned at that, clearly thinking, while Trevor just went back to leaning against the wall.

"There were no commands," Layla said, and I nearly jumped.

"Oh?" I said, for lack of a better response.

She nodded. "He felt nothing when creating them. Gave them no... targets."

"Ah," I said. "Good to know. Could you get anything from the dogs themselves?"

Her face screwed up for a moment, a kind of dismay. "No. I didn't think to try."

"That's fine," I said. "Something to think about for the future, though."

"Are we expecting to fight those two again?" Garrison asked.

"It's possible," I said. "We took their territory, so they obviously aren't going to be too happy with us. I think we have to consider retaliation a possibility."

"We kicked their asses, though," Cassie said. "They'd be retarded to think it would be different next time."

"Or just angry," Trevor said. "People can do some pretty dumb stuff if they're angry enough."

Cassie sneered at him and opened her mouth, but I spoke before she could. "Doesn't matter," I said. "It's a possibility we have to respect, no matter how likely or unlikely it is. Besides, discussing our opponents is a good habit to get into, regardless of whether we think we'll fight them again or not. Now, Sixer. Thoughts on him?"

There was a moment of silence as Cassie turned away from Trevor, arms crossed in a huff.

"Uh, not that much to say about him, I guess," Garrison said. "I kinda feel like we've already seen everything he can do. Some concrete spears and shields that he controls with his mind. Pretty simple stuff."

"Yeah, I agree," Trevor said. "He's no pushover, but if he had any other tricks to pull out I think he would have. He didn't seem like the type with much restraint."

"So we don't think he could make bigger creations, or maybe move them faster?" I asked. "Or maybe bigger ones that are slower, and smaller ones that are faster?"

"I doubt it," Trevor said. "If he coulda, he woulda. No reason to hold cards in reserve that I can see."

"Fair," I said, nodding to him again.

"So, we done?" he asked, pushing himself off the wall and heading for the door. "Can I get moving?"

"Just a few more things," I said, holding a hand up to stop him. He paused, frowning at me slightly, but settled back into place. "First, just so everyone knows, we can all come here any time, use any of the facilities. There's no fridge, but if you want any food just ask in the kitchen and they'll make something. There's no other way into the hideout itself than the door, but there's a few extra ways in and out of the Falmel. Just ask Donnie or Zoe if you want to know where they are. I'd like us all to avoid coming and going through the front door outside of work hours."

"Easy enough," Trevor said. "That all?"

I hesitated for a moment. Was now the right time? I wasn't sure what my father would say, but I felt like we had some momentum, with our first win. Keeping that up seemed like a good idea.

"One more thing, yeah," I said. "Our next operation will be tomorrow night, and I'd like everyone to be here by eight. Our targets are Crossbone and Bonebreaker."

Again, everyone was silent for a moment, though this time there was a hint of incredulity to it.

"Wait," Cassie said. "We're going after heroes?"