Step 5.2

The meeting started as I expected.

Copeland sat us down in the gaudy blue conference room. He stated upfront that he was a lawyer, and that he wanted to propose options to our parents about a lawsuit he thought had a very strong chance of succeeding. No one seemed surprised, except Copeland. That much both our parents already knew. He caught onto it, but he said nothing.

Maybe he put together the obvious. Mrs. Knott probably told us what she did. We told our parents.

He asked Charlotte and me directly if we'd been bullied extensively at Winslow. Yes, obviously. He asked if we reported the bullying to the administration and we both had. No, the administration did nothing. In fact, they enabled the bullying to continue and worsen. Staff refused to help us. He asked about my stay in the hospital, even brought out some vague newspaper clippings that followed the locker and asked if that was me.

Yes.

Charlotte's parents looked mortified. Well, her mother looked mortified. Her father looked suddenly like a tomato.

And then…Well…

"You weren't kidding," I whispered.

Charlotte sighed, her forehead pressed to the table. "I know."

"A WARD?!" Her father screamed. "PROVE IT! Don't just go making blind accusations like that, dragging us in here and talking about—"

The man looked like a tomato, with Olympic runner lungs or something 'cause he can shout.

"Please sit Mr. Berman. We sympathize with your anger, but it isn't the most progressive way forward at the moment."

He didn't sit down.

"Who?" he asked.

"Who?"

"Who! Which one was it?!"

"I can't tell you that, sir."

"Like hel—"

"Understand Mr. Berman." Copeland stabbed his index finger at the table surface. "There are serious legal consequences for talking about cape identities, even behind closed doors. My own team risks criminal charges just looking into the matter, and we cannot afford the PRT slapping criminal charges on all of you to silence this matter and discredit your daught—"

The door opened—god dammit why.

Dean entered, wearing a nice suit.

I say nice only because it wasn't blue…I don't know much about suits.

"Is everything okay?" he asked. "I hear—"

He stared at me. He glanced to Charlotte. He stared back at me.

Copeland rose from his seat. "Ah. Young master Stansfield. Apologies. I was talking to Mr. Berman here about a situation that the legal team has taken an interest in. It's rather upsetting as you c—"

"The school bullying thing?" Dean asked, his attention instantly switching away from me. "That wasn't on the weekly docket." Dean frowned. He looked angry. "I hope you haven't been taking any liberties, Joseph. You know how grandfather feels about that sort of thing."

"Of course not," Copeland said. "We didn't think meeting with the Bermans and Heberts would be an issue. We can't initiate anything without talking to the potential clients after all."

"Of course," Dean replied.

"Dean—"

"Mr. Stansfield to you." Dean closed the door and sat down. "Please continue."

It sounded less like permission and more like a warning.

The room fell silent. I saw the confusion on the Berman's faces, and Dad's. Charlotte seemed less baffled, but after a few months coming and going from the building she probably had some idea what all that might be about.

Copeland played it straight. No problem at all, ignore the elephant in the room. He sat back down, and simply kept on going.

"Now, where were w—Ah. Mr. Berman. Yes. Your anger is very understandable. It's not the first time the laws surrounding cape identities have been abused. Our organization lobbies against such measures, but in the meantime cases like this keep cropping up."

I glanced to Dean. He remained silent, eyes fixed on Copeland.

Internal struggle. Is that why it took so long for Blue Cosmos to finally do anything?

I expected this meeting a week ago. Speculation about who and what kept the story in the news, but it already felt like something from the past. Amazingly, no one wanted to talk about a bad egg in the Wards. Go figure. Most of the discussion remained confined to PHO, with rumors about who, what, how, and why.

Shadow Stalker obviously did something, but people can be dense. Every Ward got named by someone for some contrived reason. Even Dazzler. It only got more confusing with the incident at Winslow. Piggot's press release was vague. She never specified exactly what the Ward allegedly did. People wondered if the Ward in question caused the incident at the school, which I guess I should be grateful for.

It meant no one pointed a finger at Newtype and blamed her, even if that might be a more accurate accusation.

But why did Dean seem angry? What angle about this could anyone in Blue Cosmos not like?

"We became aware of the incident eight months ago," Copeland explained. "Gladys Knott, one of our members, brought the situation to our attention and we've been quietly researching ever since."

"For eight months?" Dad asked.

"Why didn't you call the police?!" Mr. Berman asked.

"I'm sure you tried that yourselves at some point and saw how it went. The local BBPD is rather anemic, the PRT gets most of the funding and all the glory in the city. Frankly, the police are of limited help."

"And it took you eight months?"

Others might not hear it, but I did.

Danny Hebert didn't like excuses.

Excuses made Danny Hebert angry.

Among other things. So, which was it? Angry about the bullying? About how it turned out? About how no one cared? Maybe he just didn't like that it all came to this, talking to some snake-in-the-grass lawyer in a tacky building that took itself far too seriously.

"Because it's dangerous to take this course," Dean injected. "Unlike some agencies, the PRT is never short on capable lawyers. The way the law is structured they have very broad powers when it comes to capes and cape identities. Not to mention it's combative. One side becomes the villain, and you can't always control how that turns out." He glanced at Copeland, his face calm but his eyes angry. "One doesn't simply sue the PRT."

"A bit exaggerated," Copeland said wearily. "But accurate all the same." He turned his attention back to Dad, explaining, "We haven't been idle. We've been building the case in secret, out of sight and mind. We feared approaching any of you too early might tip the PRT off. It's possible they already have been."

"But they announced the issue with a Ward two weeks ago," Dad said.

"We wanted to wait," Copeland explained. "See if they followed through. As of Wednesday evening, the Ward we suspect to be involved now finds herself employed at Mount Horeb," – might as well tell everyone who she was saying that much – "the base for one of the Protectorate teams watching the Madison quarantine zone. A body double is masquerading as her civilian identity in Providence to help obscure things."

Dad tilted his head to one side. "And?"

"And so, we now face not only a case of gross negligence on the part of the PRT and Protectorate, but a cover up. That's in addition to charges against the city and school district that could include negligence, facilitation, and conspiracy. Not to mention that the three girls behind the bullying could be charged with attempted murder and bio-terrorism, and in Charlotte's case, hate crimes given that the bullies targeted her faith."

"We're not that observant," Mrs. Berman admitted.

"But you are Jewish?" Copeland asked.

"Well, yes."

They did their research. I gave them that. Not enough to notice the Taylor-Newtype connection, I hoped.

So, they took so long because they wanted to wait for the PRT to move Sophia. Figures Blue Cosmos would wait to plausibly concoct a conspiracy to cover up the truth…which didn't take concocting because there was a conspiracy to cover up the truth. Not sure if it angered me more that I was part of it, or if I just hated Blue Cosmos being right, about anything.

"But that doesn't make sense," Mrs. Berman growled. "The Wards are heroes. They wouldn't…"

"The truth, Mrs. Berman, is that heroes are people too," Dean replied. "They make mistakes. They have their own troubles."

"And Blue Cosmos feels that far too often, the mistakes that hurt people are allowed to slip into the cracks," Copeland said. "Which is how we come to this moment. My legal team wants to take this case, your case, and get you the justice the PRT would rather deny in the name of their self-image."

The room fell silent. Copeland watched us carefully. Dean kept glaring at Copeland, but he'd occasionally glance at Charlotte or me like he wanted to say something. I started thinking he didn't have a clue we were involved in this. Until now, anyway. Charlotte's mother put a hand on her daughter's shoulder, while glancing at everyone else. Dad, and Mr. Berman, both looked furious.

"What do we do then?" Dad asked, breaking the silence.

Copeland smiled, all but jumping across the table and eagerly saying, "We—"

"That is up to you," Dean snapped. "I wasn't joking before. The PRT isn't someone you just sue, even when they're in the wrong."

The boy leaned forward, a quick glare silencing Copeland. Which I admit, wow.

"PRT records are like Fort Knox, especially when it comes to cape identities. If you can't even prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that a Ward was behind the bullying, the case could easily be dismissed."

Dad nodded. "And by that you mean?"

"I'm saying that there are three paths in front of you."

He glanced to me and Charlotte.

"You could do nothing. You're both in Arcadia now. The bullying has stopped. From what I hear the school district is frantically firing anyone they can pin even an ounce of misconduct on. It's being dealt with privately. It won't happen again. Not here. You can move on with your lives."

Dean didn't seem to like that idea, given the sigh that followed.

"Or you can sue, but there's two ways to do that. You can sue the city and the school district. They'll probably settle. Transferring Taylor and Charlotte to Arcadia is effectively an admission of guilt. Personally, I think the superintendent will probably feel like reparations are owed anyway. He's that kind of guy. He wouldn't fight you on it if you filed."

"But that would leave the PRT off the hook for their role," Copeland said. Dean frowned, but kept his mouth shut. The chubby man leaned in, laying on the charm as he said, "We're absolutely certain a Ward was involved. That Piggot admitted as much on national television is more than enough to get a closed hearing. Taylor and Charlotte will say what happened to them, and Mrs. Knott will tell what she knows. Most of the judges in this district are very critical of the PRT. We have enough to convince them to open the PRT's files and identify the name of any Wards attending Winslow."

"Awfully smart for your age," Dad mumbled.

He said it to Dean. Copeland started to speak, maybe to draw attention back to his pitch, but no.

"I've spent my entire life around lawyers," Dean said. "My grandfather helped found Blue Cosmos, and parts of this organization still exist to help people, rather than"–he glared at Copeland–"pursue political ambitions."

Copeland didn't seem phased by that insinuation, though it certainly piqued my curiosity.

"We can arrange criminal charges against the other girls," Copeland offered. "The evidence for the civil suit will mount. The police will be forced to act. Mr. Stansfield is correct in saying that the PRT is not a body one challenges in the courts lightly, but despite his experience I've actually argued before judges and juries. Your case is almost a slam dunk."

"Almost?" Mr. Berman asked.

Copeland's smile faltered. "It is difficult to fully predict what can happen in a case. We would need to interview Taylor and Charlotte extensively, as well as parents and family. I understand Charlotte has a brother?"

"I—Yes," Charlotte acknowledged. "Why?"

"He's been to rehabilitation? For drugs?"

Charlotte's pale face answered the question.

Mr. Berman started to rise again.

"I'm not judging you or your son sir," Copeland said.

Dean's hand went up. "That's the way it sometimes works Mr. Berman. It's not fair, but the job of a PRT lawyer is to defend the PRT. They'll drag it up if they think it can impugn Charlotte."

"These things come out in court," Copeland continued. "The PRT will zealously protect itself. Discrediting witnesses by insinuating unsavory things is very effective in court. We will need to prepare for it so that the PRT can't blindside us with things we don't know. You, Mr. Hebert. Have you ever been affiliated with any gangs or political groups?"

"No," Dad answered firmly. "I'm a union man. Have been my entire life." I didn't point out to Dad that some people might call a union a political group.

"You've never affiliated with the gangs in your position as hiring manager?"

"They've tried as far back as Marquis. None of them have succeeded."

"Good, good." Copeland nodded. "And your wife? Annette Rose Hebert, yes?"

Dad stiffened. "What about her?"

"She was an associate of Lustrum, was she not? A violent feminist radical in h—"

My chair hit the wall behind me.

Copeland flinched, but he kept on smiling.

"Don't talk about my m—"

"Taylor."

I stopped, Dad's hand squeezing mine.

The Bermans were all staring at me, and Dad too. Dean? Dean stared at Copeland, the anger in his eyes now all over his face.

"My apologies." Copeland smiled. "The point is that the PRT is going to drag this up." He straightened his little tie. He shifted his eyes away from me. "They use it to say you're biased, Ms. Hebert. To insinuate you, or your father, might lie."

My hands began to shake. Turns out Blackwell missed her calling. She'd have made an amazing lawyer.

Did he really think he fooled anyone? I didn't need to be Newtype, or in on any conspiracy, to see through him and what he wanted. He didn't fool anyone. I doubted even the Berman's didn't see right through him.

Dad pulled my chair toward the table so I could sit back down. He said absolutely nothing to acknowledge what the pathetic little toad said.

"Realistically," he continued. "If you look through city records almost every woman who went to Brockton Community College in the mid-90s associated a little with Lustrum and her group. It's something that we can diffuse."

He looked to me, and my anger only rose.

"They'll try and get that reaction from you," Copeland said. "They'll want you to take offense. It makes you look emotional. Emotional can backfire. Make you look prone to overreaction."

Yes, heaven forbid anyone feel anything and—

Fuck

I glanced away from Copeland, hair falling across the side of my face like a curtain. Dad kept looking straight ahead like he wanted to hit something, not that he would. Even if the slab of asshole deserved it.

But I might have overdone it there. Ramius said to sell myself as a reluctant participant, not a pissed off psycho who couldn't get over her dead…mom…

"—best strategy is to map out all vulnerabilities ahead of time. Prepare for the inevitable questions. Most court battles are won in the preparation stage, not the court room itsel—"

"That's enough for now."

"There's no need—"

"Stop, Joseph."

I turned my head slightly, peering through my hair. Dean watched me with a sympathetic frown.

"You've had your say," he warned. "Made your pitch. Shut up already."

Copeland followed Dean's eyes to me and coughed. "Um. Yes. Perhaps we best continue this later, after we've all had some time to digest."

Copeland got up and left, and Dean followed him. Think I heard some shouting from somewhere down the hall.

"Are you okay?" Charlotte asked.

"Fine."

"Fucking lawyers," Mr. Berman grumbled. "Thinks we're too dumb to see what he's playing at."

"Just wants to take a jab at the PRT," Dad agreed. "The boy seemed okay." He glanced to me and Charlotte. "He knows you?"

"He goes to Arcadia," Charlotte said.

"He got assigned to me as a senior advisor," I added. "We've both seen him around. He's popular. With anyone who doesn't like capes."

"Isn't Stansfield some big wig's name?" Mr. Berman asked. He listened, the voice in the distance raised but still too low to make out. "Sounds like chubby is getting a good ass chewing to me."

Dad nodded and glanced to the door. "Seemed like he might have gone over someone's head. I've seen it in the union. Done it a few times myself."

Well, it is nice to be right.

Dad's hand tightened around mine. "Are you okay, Taylor?"

"Fine," I repeated.

Dad glanced past me. "A car accident. A few years ago."

"I'm sorry," Mrs. Berman offered. "That must be hard. Did she, suffer?"

"No. It—She didn't feel anything. Instant."

I closed my eyes. Dammit. Every time I think I'm past the emotional shit.

"What are you going to do?" Mr. Berman asked.

"Probably sue," Dad said. "The district and the PRT."

Yeah, he knew the entire plan. We sue, and the PRT settles instantly to make it all go away. We needed to sue.

"Would you settle?" Mr. Berman asked.

"Why?" Dad asked back. Clever.

"Me," Charlotte said quickly. "Um. I don't—I mean, I've kind of known something was going to happen for a little while. But I don't want to go to court. But I still want something to happen. Anything, really."

Dad glanced to me. Bright side of my emotional overreaction? Sold his answer really well.

"Maybe," Dad mumbled. "Justice is one thing, but I don't know that dragging things out for as much as we could possibly get is worth it. Life isn't all about money."

"Should we tell them?" Mr. Berman asked.

"No. There's really three sides in court. The plaintiff. The defendant. And the lawyers. I think Copeland wants to draw this out as much as possible. Make some kind of PR game about it. That's his interest, not ours."

"Maybe he should," Mrs. Berman suggested. "This—A Ward shouldn't do these things!"

"We have means," Dad said. "For now, we'll make like we're thinking about what we want. Gives us an advantage next time we come in."

"Makes sense to me," Mr. Berman agreed. "Want to go eat?"

Dad and I both turned. Mr. Berman didn't seem so red anymore. He seemed, almost jovial.

"I could eat," Charlotte admitted.

So, we decided to eat. Apparently.

We made it to the hall.

"Hold on." Dean came down from an office at the end behind us. "Could I talk to Taylor and Charlotte for a moment? It's not related to the case or anything. School stuff."

He put on this earnest smile, and I honestly didn't know if he meant what he said or not.

Our parents went a little ways down the hall. Behind Dean Copeland skulked out of the office, looked at us, and beat a hasty exit to the left. His left.

"I'm really sorry," Dean said. "I honestly didn't know."

"Know what?" Charlotte asked.

"Legal only said they were looking at allegations of malfeasance at Winslow," he explained. "Bullying they said, maybe by a Ward. They never mentioned names, and I figured it would amount to another wild goose chase cooked up by someone on the internet who happened to be a little too angry."

"And when Piggot went on the news?" I asked.

"Trust me," Dean said. "You have no idea how many conspiracy theories spread around here. The PRT has spies in the ranks. The capes secretly run the military. Scion isn't really dead. Capes are cannibals. All kinds of kooky stuff."

Have to admit, that last one is pretty kooky. Also, who says kooky.

"Anyway, what I'm saying is when the two of you transferred into Arcadia so late, I just took it at face value. You said it was because of the accident at the school, so I didn't bother thinking any harder about it."

I watched his face carefully. I'd assumed he wanted to cozy up to me, but that never did quite happen. Despite half the school seemingly hating the guy, Dean didn't seem to hate anyone. He smiled and waved, asked how people were doing. He broke up a fight between two kids and sent them both to the office. And they went.

"It's okay." Charlotte smiled. "I'm not sure why you need to apologize about that."

"If I'd known, I'd have tried to be more supportive," he said.

Honestly, he'd been supportive as is.

Other than Victoria Dallon hounding me for "the scoop," Dean was really the only Arcadia student who sought me out. I said hi to Carlos once or twice. Nodded to some people who tried to engage me in class. To a degree, I didn't really know anyone at Arcadia and didn't try to. Dean still stood out though. That said something.

"Don't worry about it," I said. "It's not your problem."

"Maybe," he grumbled. "Well. That's all I wanted to say. I'll see you both on Monday." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a stack of cards. "If Copeland tries to pressure you to do something you don't want? Just tell me when you see me. I'll make sure he stops." He held two of the cards out to us. "And here. If you want to talk to people without using names or locations or anything."

Charlotte and I each took one.

Helping Hand? Cheesy name for a help line.

"Is this some replacement for Phantom Pain?" I asked.

Phantom Pain did come back, but they lost almost all their data after Veda deleted the site and its backups. I actually took a little perverse pride in dropping the website's Alexa ranking twenty places.

"No," Dean answered. "I mean, if you want you can go there too, but I find Phantom Pain is too much angry people making other angry people angrier. My sister runs this one. It's not really affiliated with Blue Cosmos and she just wants people dealing with loss and depression to have somewhere to go." Dean turned his eyes on me. "Sometimes the people we know aren't the best place to start with getting help."

Is that supposed to mean something?

Dean turned and left with a wave, and Charlotte and I rejoined our parents.

We picked an American Pub kind of place a few blocks over. Dad and Mr. Berman talked about work and guy stuff, I guess. Mostly work. Charlotte's father got around. Trucking. Warehouses. Maintenance. I'd say he sucked at holding down a job, but Charlotte's family didn't seem poor or anything.

"You're okay with this?" I asked in a low voice. Mrs. Berman kept glancing at us but sat far enough away that our voices fell into the background. I think. "You could still…"

"No. I really don't like the idea of someone asking me about Glen. He has problems, but he's not a bad person. Doesn't deserve to get dragged through the mud by someone hoping to make me look dirty."

"Merchants?" I asked.

Charlotte nodded.

I narrowed my gaze. "I'll be dealing with them soon."

I imagined watching some cheap suit rip into mom's corpse like a butcher. Yeah. Fuck that. I never considered what a real lawsuit might look like, or what it might cost me. I dedicated myself to avoiding anything approaching media coverage or testimony. The idea that any lawyer might do that to a person sounded like scare tactics. Did they? Didn't they? I didn't want to find out, and thankfully, wouldn't have to.

"What happens in a settlement," I asked, raising my head and glancing to Dad. "What's the procedure like?"

Dad set his soda down, glancing to Charlotte's parents. They seemed curious too. Dad did say he dealt with lawyers a lot.

"A settlement can happen at almost any time," he explained. "Even before a case gets filed. If they can't win, or the cost of winning is too high, it's better to settle. Minimizes the damage they take."

Isn't that the truth.

I'd gotten over the nagging sense of hypocrisy. Sophia tormented Charlotte and me. If anyone had a right to decide if she got crucified in private or on national television, why not us? And with my stake being Dad's general safety I had good reasons to want one rather than the other. At least I'd managed to find someone who wanted the PRT to face some consequences in Ramius.

"What'll happen to Emma and Madison?" Charlotte asked.

"Emma and Madison?" her parents asked.

"The two girls who bullied us who…" Charlotte's voice trailed off. Her face turned red, and she glanced around the restaurant.

"You know which one—" Her father, despite his face turning red again, apparently figured out not to say it out loud. Honestly, he probably could and get away with it, but why take chances?

"Well, um. I—" She glanced to me frantically.

Whoops.

"I told her," I said. "Don't ask about it. It really is against the law, and I already broke it by telling Charlotte."

"Why did you tell her?" Dad asked.

"Because she deserved to know. Before it got swept under the rug or pushed aside."

"Anyone involved who doesn't have any, you know, will probably have to deal with the police," Dad said. "Alan is going to lose it."

"Alan?" Mrs. Berman asked.

"One of the bullies used to be my best friend," I told him. "She's not anymore." I closed my eyes and grimaced. "And I'm not a good friend for Charlotte. The bullies turned on her because I walked out. Stopped going to school. It seemed so personal…I thought they'd stop if I wasn't around anymore."

"That's not your fault," Charlotte mumbled.

"I could have stopped them before," I admitted. "Instead of walking away."

Mr. Berman grunted. "Bullshit. Not your job to put little girls in line. The school should have done something. If not them the cops. And if not them then—" He stopped himself again and sat back down. Mrs. Berman squeezed his arm, and he took a drink of his water.

We didn't talk much after that. I don't think Charlotte's parents hated me.

That was nice.

We ate our food in, if not awkward, contemplative silence. At the end Dad and Mr. Berman exchanged phone numbers so they could talk about things in private.

When we finally got back in the truck, Dad didn't start it up immediately.

"Are you okay, kiddo?"

"I'm fine, dad."

"You didn't seem fine when he talked about her."

I frowned. "He's just a pathetic little man in a cheap suit. What does he know abou—"

"Taylor. You looked like you wanted to set him on fire with your eyes."

I frowned deeper. "Did not."

"You can build something that sets things on fire with your eyes, can't you?"

I glanced at the window. "All you need is a tiny lens and a power source."

"No heat vision," Dad noted.

"No fun," I answered.

That's what Dean meant, I realized. He might've been angry at Copeland, but he noticed how angry the topic of my mother made me. And he gave me a card for a help group. Did I really come off as that crazy?

Dad started the engine and pulled out.

I checked my phone, making sure the lab hadn't exploded.

sys.v/ roll for initiative

sys.l/ so what
sys.l/ I take this 10, add the 2, and then 5?

sys.v/ yes

sys.l/ is that good?

sys.v/ the goblin rolled 5

sys.l/ ha
sys.l/ suck it goblin
sys.l/ my number is bigger than yours

So much for minesweeper.

sys.t/ on my way back
sys.t/ twenty minutes

sys.v/ understood
sys.v/ loading O Gundam

sys.l/ but I want to beat up the imaginary goblin

sys.t/ there are some real goblins you can beat up

sys.l/ …
sys.l/ okay

"Plans?" Dad asked.

"Lafter and I are going to make sure her power doesn't interfere with my suit." I left out that I'd ignore any interference within a certain margin of error. Dad wouldn't like that, even if it was inconsequential. "It's just a gambling parlor. No capes. Maybe a few handguns."

"The moment your teenage daughter says 'a few handguns' and expects that to make you less worried."

I rolled my eyes.

"Do you need me to drop you off?" he asked.

"If you want to. I can have the van meet me."

Dad drove past home and onto one of the Dock's more well-off streets. Businesses with bright signs in the windows. Lines out the door. People walking up and down the street, looking content. The Docks boasted a fairly prosperous China-Japan-Vietnam town, if you ignored the constant presence of the ABB at the street corners and in some of the businesses.

I wondered how many people really liked living under their boot, even other Asians.

I glanced across the corner at the end. An apartment building on one side, and a boarded up old factory on the other.

Would they stand if given the chance?

"I'm going to build a factory," I said.

Dad blinked. "A factory."

"I'm going to build Haros, to help doctors in hospitals. Maybe ones for the police too. Construction. Museums. There's a lot of places that could use a little robot."

"What about people's jobs?"

"I don't know."

I'd thought about it.

The Haros being small couldn't do everything. Making them "assistants" helped too. But greedy CEOs being what they were, I didn't know if they'd fire people and just use Haros in their place. I hoped not. I'd try to keep it from happening…But the world marches on, doesn't it? Automation already sat on the horizon like a reaper for the jobs market. I couldn't stop that from happening.

"There." I nodded to the old factory. "I want to build it there."

"Here? In Brockton."

"People need jobs, even if I can only give them to a few hundred."

The car behind us honked, and Dad pressed the gas.

"Up here," I directed. "StarGazer and Lafter will meet me."

Huh. Maybe it's time to tell Dad he's a pseudo-grandpa?

The truck came to a stop, and I stepped out. "Go home. I'll be there soon."

I walked two blocks south and met the van in a lot. Lafter sat inside, already in costume.

"Hello," she greeted.

"Hey." I got inside, and problem one of my new partnership became readily apparent.

I never built the van for two passengers.

I tried changing into my costume, but with Lafter inside, there simply wasn't enough wiggle room to do it comfortably. I waited till we reached our destination, an empty alley, and changed once Lafter stepped out.

"That's the place?" she asked.

"Yeah."

I pulled my shirt over my head, and tossed it into a pile with my pants. Maybe I needed another van? One for moving O Gundam, and one for moving Lafter and me? The van barely worked for the two of us, and I planned to recruit more capes as opportunity arouse.

"Seems kind of dull."

"On purpose, I think."

We parked in an alley across the street. It didn't have good lighting, so the dark hid us while we waited. The parlor sat in an older brick building, one story, with a heavy metal door and a cliché sliding slot at eye level. Shouldn't be that many ABB inside. Them, and a few patrons.

Easy to handle.

I never had a partner before. Well, besides Veda, but Veda didn't have a body yet. The Haros of course surrounded the building from the sky, but they did everything I said…Most of what I said. The parts that mattered.

Lafter? Well, time to find out how it worked.

I pulled my mask down and zipped my costume up.

Lafter didn't look nervous. She seemed excited. That's good.

"Why?" I asked.

Lafter glanced back. "Why what?"

"Why did you say yes?" I asked. "You say you don't care about changing the world, but it's the whole reason I…It's why I'm here. It's why I want your help in the first place."

Lafter hummed to herself for a moment and scowled.

Her gaze became a bit unfocused, and she said, "Can't change the world without changing people. I've seen what people are in the dark. They don't change."

I didn't entirely disagree. No, if anything I knew how true those words might be. I'd been there. It didn't answer my question though.

"Then why join up with me?"

"I figure I'll tag along. See what happens." She shrugged, her smile returning. "I got nothing better to do! Could be fun!"

I stared at her. That's it? She was a…tourist? A bystander watching a spectator sport in it for the lightsaber and a good time? Not the most inspiring answer, but then, that's the mountain isn't it? People don't want to change, and they don't think anyone else can change either.

So fine.

She'd have her fun, if that's what she wanted. We didn't need to be friends in the end. We just needed to work together, like professionals.

Now, the plan—

"And it might be nice to be wrong," she whispered.

"What?" I asked.

I raised my head, seeing only Lafter's back as she ran across the street and right up to the door.

I stared for second.

Lafter knocked on the door.

What?!