Side-Step MM.2

Hannah waited, despite Sam's accusing eyes.

She'd need to deal with that. She liked to say she never hid from her past, but a lie of omission is still a lie.

Piggot and Calvert had complete access to her file, but any hero with a career as long as hers? Things needed to be summarized. Hero did her the favor twenty years ago of filling most of her background at the bottom. Made sure it got left out of the general summary of her life before coming to America.

She never pointed them toward those parts of her file. Armsmaster probably knew because of his meticulousness, and Neil of course. Hannah didn't think anyone else did.

She'd worry about that later. She'd likely face an inquiry. Piggot would yell. She'd wind up on a forced vacation. Something like that.

She watched the door and waited.

Ramius went down the hall with a taller man nearly forty minutes ago. Newtype's father, Hannah guessed. Probably terrified seeing his child rolled into a hospital.

Sam waited with her, a few troopers going back and forth helping nurses and doctors with the injured. Hannah didn't need any official numbers to know it was bad. The last time the PRT engaged any of the gangs with all their capes present?

Never in Brockton Bay's history. Maybe a few times in Chicago and Philadelphia, but the gangs in those cities were smaller and more numerous than those in Brockton Bay. Big fights didn't reach the size of engulfing entire districts.

That didn't happen. Not in America. Not unless the Nine were around, or an Endbringer.

The door opened, drawing Hannah out of her less pleasant memories.

"Militia?" Sam reached out to her, but Hannah crossed the room quickly.

Newtype's father carried a small costumed girl. Another cape on Newtype's team? That made four now.

Ramius turned as Hannah approached. "Miss Militia, is something—"

"No. I just"—Newtype stopped and turned to face her—"I wanted to have a word with you. Please."

They found an empty room off to the side. Prism followed them, as did Ramius and Newtype's father. They all waited outside, which left them alone. Again.

As soon as the door closed, Hannah felt that awkward feeling again. The same silence that came over them in the waiting room.

Hannah inhaled, ready to speak.

Newtype raised her voice first, saying, "I'm sorry."

Hannah flinched. "Sorry?"

"I…I've called you a coward. In my head mostly, but still. I'm sorry."

Coward?

"Why?" Hannah tended to let insults just wash past her, but being called a coward stung.

"Because I was angry," Newtype said. "About…" She shook her head. Her hands raised and lowered a few times, and then finally rose up and grasped her mask.

"You don't have to do that," Hannah offered.

"I've seen your face," Newtype replied. "And he said your name. It's fair."

She lifted the mask away, revealing a girl even younger than Hannah expected. Tall for her age, but still showing all her youth.

"Taylor," Newtype introduced herself.

Hannah peeled the domino mask away. "Hannah."

Newtype, Taylor, nodded. "I'm the reason Shadow Stalker isn't there anymore."

"I know. It was kind of obvious as things played out. I won't ask what she did."

"She murdered me. Or, she murdered who I was."

Hannah didn't like hearing that. It sounded wrong. Like a cry for help more than anything. But she wasn't in a position to be giving the girl good—She stopped that thought.

"No." She forced the words from her mouth, afraid that if she didn't say them she never would. "I lied before."

"About what?"

"You asked me if I wanted to say something the day you went to meet the Director. I lied when I answered."

Taylor tilted her head to one side.

"You said, you thought you could have changed what happened?"

"That's not what I thought," Hannah admitted. "I thought, that those words wouldn't upset you."

"And, what you really thought?"

"I thought—I think"—Hannah closed her eyes for a moment—"that you should join the Wards." Hannah opened her eyes again. "Hero recruited me personally. Did you know that? I wasn't much older than you when he came to the house that took me in."

"No, no?" Taylor repeated. "I don't—"

"He said he wanted me to be like him. That he thought, I could be better than him. The first Wards team was his pet project. A new generation of heroes, better than the first. It wasn't about PR then. Not as much, anyway."

"I—"

"You can be better than me."

Taylor flinched. She stammered out a few sounds, but none of them made words.

So Hannah kept going, before that part of her telling her to stop had a chance.

"You were nervous when you tried, but I saw it in your eyes. That determination to do something, bordering on desperation. You're not a hero because you chose to be one. You're a hero because it's all there is."

"And not just you. Vista would be good for you, and you'd be good for her. You're the same in this way. You've both turned to being heroes because there's nothing else. I'm right, aren't I? I saw it in your eyes. Nothing is going to stop you, and that's what Piggot doesn't understand. Or Armsmaster. They're professionals. It's a job to them, not a way of life."

"I want you to join the Wards. I want to help you." Hannah looked the girl in the eye, and repeated herself. "You can be better than me."

Hannah breathed. She didn't even notice she'd been holding it. Did Newtype notice that? All the times PR drilled into her the importance of breathing, and she forgot. People can pick up on desperation.

"Thank you," Taylor mumbled. Her cheeks started turning red, and the girl turned her eyes to the floor. "Sorry. I'm not used to praise. It's still surprising when people say good things about me."

Something Shadow Stalker did? Her father? Hannah doubted Ramius would let the girl stay with the man if she for a moment thought he abused his daughter. Murrue's reputation as the patron saint of child heroes preceded her. Heaven forbid she ever join the Youth Guard.

"But I can't join the Wards."

Not the words she wanted to hear, but she'd already said eno—No. "Please," she begged. "If this is about the team you're building, it's not all or nothing. They can all—"

"No, they can't. Forecast came to me because the Wards aren't an option for her, and Lafter isn't here legally. And StarGazer…Maybe that's more my hang up. I don't know what'll happen if she gets exposed too early."

"You're walking down a dangerous road, and you're taking them with you."

"I know, but I don't see anyone else taking it. And they can all go their own way if they want. I won't stop them. But, the world is falling apart. Someone has to hold it together." Taylor lifted her eyes from the floor. Hannah hadn't noticed, but they were almost the same height. "And someone has to put it back together."

"That's—"

"I've been told it's pretentious. That's fine. I've learned to live with failure. It's not even trying I can't stand."

Not even trying? Trying what? What did that—

Taylor pulled her mask back over her head and turned toward the door.

"Thank you for saving me, and I'm still sorry I called you a coward."

Hannah stood alone in the room, turning the word over in her mind. Not a coward? It's a compliment in its own way, but now…Maybe if she'd been a coward, everything would be different.

The explosion rattled her.

How many? Five? Six? She'd lost count. Some went off so close together. They might all be dead now. No. No, one or two might—

She flinched as another explosion echoed through the trees.

Her hand shook, the gun shaking right back. A Glock 19, she thought. She didn't know how she knew the name, but she felt certain of it. Glock 19. Just like the gun the man carried.

Hana pushed one foot forward, pushing aside the dirt and leaves with her toes. The soles of her feet hurt, but they hurt so much they'd kind of stopped hurting.

She set her foot down after clearing the area ahead and lifted her other foot to stand in place.

Another step without exploding.

She knew the very next might be the last. Part of her wanted to run. Just run and hope that God would protect her. Why give her power, just to kill her a moment later?

She kept clearing the ground ahead before each step. Above, the clouds rolled out from under the moon. The light shined into the mist covered wood, and Hana felt the eyes fall on her.

She raised her eyes to the top of the hill.

He didn't say anything. She'd seen him on the truck when the soldiers brought them out to the woods. Not someone from her village. He stood out.

Dark skin, but reddish brown hair and sharp features. A foreigner maybe? Or perhaps one of his parents came from somewhere else?

If he was still alive, how many? Seven? If seven then…

"Just us now," he said.

Hana wiped her arm across her eyes.

The boy pointed. "They're that way."

Hana followed his finger. A few hills in the distance, with sparse trees on top. With the moon out she barely made out the lines of black peaks in the distance. No fires tonight, but with her village gone there might not be anyone left to make one.

There used to be so many fires. Like their very own night sky cast along the mountain sides.

All gone now…

"What way?" she asked.

"I can see the fire."

Hana's hand tightened.

The air chilled her fingers the most.

A fire might warm them up.

"Are you okay?"

"Just fine," he answered.

His body leaned on his pilfered rifle. The wind ruffled his hair, and snow clung to his face.

Ali smiled, falling back against the cliff side and looking down the road.

"You do it," he grumbled. "I'm gonna nap."

"Okay."

Hana's power burst into mist and reformed. She coaxed it into the shape of the weapon she wanted. Nine millimeter. German. Glock. The same gun he used to murder her mother.

Her feet hurt again. Weeks of trekking through the mountains in winter, and getting stepped on by the soldiers took their toll. One leg dragged behind her, the knife still in her thigh. Her left arm hung limp. She swore she felt the bullet under her skin.

She ignored it.

She'd come too close.

She knew the smell of burnt flesh well. One truck hung halfway off the cliff to her left, the mountain road too narrow for the driver to avoid the RPG. Half the soldiers burned inside, and Ali gunned down the other half before being shot himself.

A little further ahead she passed the car. American make, Hana thought. Her brother used to buy the magazines at the market. He liked American cars.

One door hung open, the trail of blood marking the center of the trail.

The man dragged himself along with one arm.

Snow crunched under her as she approached. He stopped, and pushed himself onto his back. Blood trailed down one side of his face, eye closed tight.

Hana raised the pistol, but her hand shook. The tears made it hard to see.

The man pulled something from his pocket. A picture of a woman holding a child. His family?

Hana had a family.

The gunshot echoed around her.

Hana leaned over the cliff side, emptying her already empty stomach. Why? He was evil. He deserved to die. So why did it—

"You okay?" Ali leaned on his rifle behind her. Hana shook her head. "It gets easier."

Hana raised her head, eyes sweeping over the mountains she knew and, "What now?"

"Hmm?"

"I don't"—Hana looked back at him—"What do I do now?"

She wanted to kill him. It drove her for days. Through his camps, his butchers, and his guns. She finally killed him, punished him for what he did.

Ali grinned. "Is the fighting over?"

"Fighting?"

"Is it over?"

Hana tilted her head to one side. She couldn't remember a time there hadn't been fighting. Here or there, somewhere. The sound of gunfire echoed in the mountains.

"No?" she asked.

"Then why stop? There's more of them, aren't there?" He held his hand out and leaned forward. "So why stop?"

Ali pulled Bahoz around the corner, clearing Hana's line of fire. She pressed the trigger down. The recoil hit harder than she expected, and her shots went up and to the right.

It worked though.

Hana watched the blood roll down the steps. Ali patted her shoulder.

"Good job mine detector."

Hana flinched, averting her eyes from the body, and the feeling of bile in her throat.

"Stop calling me that."

"But it's your good luck name."

"How did you do that?" Bahoz stepped over, his eyes looking over the gun. "Is it magic?"

"No," Hana said.

She didn't say what she really thought. No one would believe she saw God, and somehow it felt wrong to talk about.

Holding the gun up in her hands, she felt all the little vibrations. The thump of the heartbeat that seemed to match her own.

"I just do it."

Bahoz rubbed the back of his head and kept staring. Ali turned the body over and fished out his phone. Hana stared at it, wondering why anyone found it useful to carry such a big thing around with them. Her village had one, but it didn't work most of the time. They let it sit in the elder's house and never used it.

If it worked, maybe…No. She pushed the good and the bad memories away. It hurt to think about. Easier to just do what Ali wanted.

He knew what to do.

The Dragunov SVD kicked back, bruising her shoulder. She frowned at her small stature. The ability with weapons her power imparted didn't make up for a lack of maturity.

She ignored the pain, as she'd ignored many others.

The soldiers in the street scurried, one shooting into a row of windows to Hana's right. She lined the cross hair up with his chest and pulled.

The soldiers rallied, one pointing her way before she could shoot him. She reformed the weapon, instantly reloading it. She felt embarrassed Ali figured that trick out before she did.

The soldiers moved methodically, not like the militias in the mountains and foothills. They covered each other, firing their weapons on her position. Others advanced and took up the task as those behind advanced.

Hana remained still, a few bullets striking remarkably close to the pile of rubble within the building she hid behind.

They reached the street corner across from her quickly.

She reached over to her right and grabbed the detonator.

A flurry of bullets shattered the stone around her, and half the soldiers began sprinting.

Hana pressed down on the detonator, and the street exploded. The bodies flew, and Hana shifted her weapon.

The MG42 ripped into the air like a saw, bullets spraying into some of the bodies that still moved. Hana suppressed the disgust.

The fighting needed to stop.

She couldn't stop. Stopping meant letting more villages die. More families. They needed to stop. The militias, and the soldiers who trained them. Only when they stopped…

So Hana kept her finger on the trigger, and when the belt ran out or the barrel overheated she reformed her power.

The trigger took shape over top her finger, instantly sliding back as it materialized. The bullets barely stopped, spewing into the street in an endless stream. The remaining soldiers huddled in their position, one screaming into a radio. Hana ignored him, despite having a good shot.

The rest of the garrison needed to come toward her.

If they came to her, Ali could reach the target.

Then, then the fighting would stop.

Hana shifted her weapon, bracing the tube against her shoulder. The tank rolled down the street, turret slowly twisting toward her. She fired first, and then again, and again. All three missiles hit the vehicle and the armor melted before blowing out in flames.

The soldiers tried to attack, but she took up the machine gun again and pinned them back down.

She only needed to keep them trapped a little longer.

More soldiers came, trying to flank her from the street to her right. She detonated the explosives there, and slipped back from her hiding spot.

Turning her weapon into a knife she tucked it under her robe and pulled the hijab around her head.

When the soldiers came down the back alley she screamed and raised her hands.

Their guns came up, and then just as quickly went back down. Why not? Just a small girl. Clearly not the "squad" of trained fighters undoubtedly responsible for killing so many. A little girl couldn't do that.

Two soldiers stayed with her, forcing her against the wall while the rest entered the building.

"I want to go home," Hana said, feeling the pain of those words in her chest.

"You'll wait here," the soldier ordered. "And be—"

Hana stabbed the knife into his neck and drove the blade up into his skull.

His compatriot turned. Hana pointed the Glock 19 at him and pushed the barrel into his mouth. The back of his head exploded against the wall, and the body collapsed.

She turned away.

Funny how dead bodies stop mattering after awhile. She stopped vomiting months ago.

She hated that.

Reshaping her weapon into the knife, Hana ran. She pulled the trick twice more, pointing soldiers in random directions and turning her clothing inside out so that she'd appear a different girl. The confusion spread, the soldiers chasing after a small army that didn't exist.

It was enough.

She made her way to the manhole cover and climbed down the ladder.

She made her way out of the city. She found the basket of food Sarya stashed in an abandoned building and took it herself. The soldiers at the checkpoint stopped her and searched the basket she carried. Her power sat at the bottom, under bread and fruit. A simple kitchen knife. Everyone had kitchen knives.

The guards let her go on her way. When she made it back to the farmhouse, she instantly went to the cellar.

"Ali?"

"Over here."

He sat atop some of the boxes of looted weapons in the corner. Afran sat beside him, Bahoz kneeling at his side and wrapping a cloth around his leg.

Hana closed the door behind her and descended the stairs.

"What happened?"

"More guards than we thought," Bahoz said.

"Did anyone else get hurt?"

"Zari, in Serkar's cell," Ali replied. "He didn't make it."

Hana's stomach sank. She talked to him a few times. He wanted to return to his family's farm. He never wanted to fight anyone.

"Did we at least—"

Ali smiled.

"Yeah."

He hopped off the boxes and crossed the basement to a ramshackle door. Hana followed him. She held her breath as the door swung open.

The girl inside twitched, turning her head toward the light. The burlap bag covered her face. Rope bound her wrists behind her back, and a chain connected her ankle to a stake in the hard ground.

"We got her," Ali said. "And dear old dad will have to deal if he wants her back."

Hana frowned.

If it stopped the fighting.

Hana tracked the line of vehicles. The curving mountain roads brought back an old feeling, but mostly she found it comforting. The soldiers wouldn't be able to turn around easily, or avoid any explosives.

She liked that part of the plan.

Not so much the part where Ali stood on the road with their prisoner.

A dozen others waiting in the rocks and crevices. A paltry number compared to the three trucks coming their way.

Hana altered her weapon. They needed to raid an armory to get her an example to copy, but once she saw it she knew how to get her power to take its shape.

She expected the PTRS-41 would hurt a lot, but the Dragunov couldn't reach out a whole mile.

Hana pulled the blankets covering her more tightly around her shoulders. The wind picked up the past few hours. At least the snow covered her position.

If they chose to fight, they'd never be able to escape so long as she remained on her perch.

The vehicles drew closer and Ali waved to those hiding in the rocks.

The light of the trucks illuminated him. The vehicle at the front of the convoy slowed. A black Ford Cortina. She only saw a single figure through the windows. When he stepped out, Hana looked over his features.

General Rashid Dogan.

Hana lifted the lantern from under her perch and flashed it three times. Ozan flashed his own from the top of the opposing mountain. He flashed it down at Ali next, and Hana saw him nod.

The General stepped forward. She imagined he said the things a good father might say. She hoped as much. Taina wasn't a bad person. She didn't deserve to be tied up and held for ransom.

Hana inhaled.

As long as it stopped the fighting.

Ali and Dogan exchanged words for a bit. Ali kept Taina close, a gun pressed into her side. Dogan waved to the trucks behind his car, and two soldiers came out of the front one. They pulled the tarp off the back, revealing crates. Hana turned her scope toward them.

She didn't read Turkish so well, but she'd memorized some of the words Ali told her to.

After looking the crates over, she flashed the light again.

Ali nodded and pushed Taina forward. Dogan remained still, but tense. The girl stumbled with the bag over her head, but she walked in a mostly straight line to her father.

He took a few steps once she came close and pulled her towards him. Ali kept one hand on Taina, and waved his gun toward the car. Dogan opened the passenger side door and pushed Taina inside. He waved to the soldiers. The men left their trucks, and the weapons inside.

Enough to arm the entire KLA.

Hana sighed and relaxed her grip. Ali stepped aside, and the car drove past him.

The militias had fewer guns, and they had more. It didn't end the fighting yet, but it brought them closer. Close eno—

An explosion echoed in the mountains. For a brief moment, Hana remembered counting the distant blasts that stole the last of her family.

She re-balanced her weapon and looked down the scope.

Her heart sank.

"WHY!?"

Hana threw him against the wall. Ali glared at her, and she glared back.

She still saw it, like the image burned itself into her eyes. The burning wreck sliding down the mountain side, the road torn apart by whatever explosive he set to kill them. Dogan, and Taina. Hana didn't care about Dogan. Dogan ordered the militias, and let them kill and rape.

But Taina? Taina didn't know any of that. She didn't do anything wrong.

"Why?"

"Why?" Ali asked. "To win."

"Win?"

"Win!" He threw his hands up. Hana lost her grip and he pushed her back. "Because it ends when someone wins! With Dogan dead it'll take weeks for the militias to reorganize. We can push them out of Krugis. Take it back!"

"By killing Taina?!"

"Like they killed your sisters?"

Hana shook her head. "We're not them!"

"Says the girl who guns down entire patrols in a heartbeat." Ali grabbed her by the neck and pushed her against the wall. "Wake up, Hana. It's over when someone wins!"

"You're smiling."

"What?"

Hana's voice shook. She didn't recognize it. Ali grinned. He smiled. He smiled a lot. But the fire in his eyes, the void behind them. How long had that been there?

"Why are you smiling?"

The fighting wouldn't end. More militias would come. They'd never make a deal again. They'd keep fighting.

"Why are you smiling, Ali?"

"I'm not—"

"Yes. You are."

Ali pushed her back and turned his back. He never answered the question.

Hana didn't think he knew. Not yet.

Hana ran.

The bullets threw up small geysers of dirt around her. She turned and fired. The soldiers were different now. They wore uniforms, and carried more guns. Better guns. She tried a few times to get her hands on one, make a copy. Something always got in the way. These soldiers didn't get distracted as easily, and they moved differently.

Hana ran.

Sarya was gone. Bahoz was gone, and she didn't know what happened to Afran. The artillery leveled the building around him, and Hana didn't have time to dig.

The wall exploded, and Hana fell to the ground. The holes punched through the stone in a line above her, and when she raised her head the turret on top the vehicle began turning back. She ducked again.

Debris peppered her, and when the cannon continued shooting down the line behind her she rose.

The RPG fired, and Hana started running. The canon swept back, the explosion rocking the vehicle but not stopping it.

Ali. Where's Ali?

Hana clambered down the ruined stairs and over the bodies. Running across the street she fired. The soldiers took cover, and one with a long rifle took aim. Hana stopped, the bullet striking the air in front of her.

She ran.

"Ali!"

She entered the house, but the fighters were gone.

Her eyes searched. The radios were gone. The guns were gone. The maps and the computers were gone. What? Where were—

The sound of distant thunder filled the air, followed by a quiet.

Hana ran out of the building and threw herself into one of the old craters in the street. She counted, and when she reached three the earth came alive. The ground shook and lifted into the air.

Hana pulled her knees to her chest and quieted her screams.

The explosions stopped, and the gunfire started again.

Hana sat up, searching for what buildings she remembered weren't there anymore. The old mosque to the north. She didn't see the spires anymore.

Her body shook. The pain didn't strike at first. Not until she looked down and saw the hole in her chest. Then hurt.

Hana collapsed, feeling the weight of pain in her chest.

Where did they go? Ali said the KLA would help, so why did they leave? Why…

The wind picked up, and Hana managed to turn her eyes toward the sky. She recognized a helicopter, but she didn't know the one above. It looked different from the ones she'd seen before. Thin and small, and without a place for passengers.

It drifted sideways, Hana's eyes drawn to the white star painted onto the side. She recognized the first three letters beside it from her brother's magazines. USA? America?

She didn't know what the 'M' or 'C' meant.

A small gun at the front swiveled. Three barrels sticking out the bottom spun, and then the sound vibrated in her ears. Not like any of her guns, but close to the MG42. An endless stream. Constant.

Rockets on the tiny wings ignited and streaked through the air. Hana followed them weakly, watching the tanks down the street explode. The soldiers started shooting back, one firing an RPG. The helicopter drifted to their flank and fired a volley of rockets.

The soldiers began to retreat, and the helicopter pursued. More filled the air.

The artillery didn't fire again, but Hana did hear thunder in the distance and the screams of jets.

The sounds of fighting grew ever more distant, save for the clatter of guns she didn't recognize.

And then people were talking.

"Hold your position W—"

"She's bleeding."

"I gave you an order Marine."

"She's got a gun."

She didn't know what the words meant.

"She's a kid."

"She's got a gun. I don't want to shoot a kid Andy, and if she shoots you I'm gonna have to shoot her, so just—"

"Get out of my way."

"I said—"

"Yeah, yeah. Orders. Shove it."

She heard the footsteps grow closer. Her power. She still felt it, but her hand was numb. Her entire body felt numb. The pain remained, but it seemed distant. She'd been shot before, cut, stabbed, beaten, and bruised. It never felt like this.

Is this what dying feels like? Maybe…Maybe dying wouldn't be so bad.

A weight leaned into the soft earth at her side, and a hand pressed against her back where it hurt the most.

She gasped, body tensing tight.

"She's still alive. Hey, get Giger over here! Corpsman!"

Hana didn't understand. The soldiers pulled her clothing away, and at first she thought they'd do to her what they'd done to others. They didn't.

One of them bore a white band with a red cross on his arm. They helped people who got hurt. She always avoided shooting them if she could, so long as they didn't try to shoot her.

They pressed a needle into her arm and the pain faded away. One of them held her hand. She didn't understand his words still, but his voice sounded soft. His smile looked warm and reassuring. Like everything would be alright.

"Happy now Waltfeld?"

"Get her to the triage unit. They'll take it from there."

Hannah woke up in a dead sweat. The clock at the bedside said midnight, but she didn't remember going to sleep. She laid down for the sake of it and her routines, but sleep?

She got off the bed and wandered into her bathroom. She rarely used her apartment. Because she didn't need to sleep, she usually just took on extra patrols to fill the time.

But, Piggot ordered her to take leave, so she took leave.

Like a good soldier…

Hannah flipped the light on and looked at herself in the mirror. One hand traced the faint scar on her chest. The bullet that went through her, miraculously, missed all her vitals. She bled a lot, but lived long enough for a platoon of Marines to find her.

And then one of them brought her here, to America. Far from her war-torn homeland. The fighting did stop eventually, and she told herself it was for the best she'd left when she did.

Parahumans ended up dictating the sides with time. The conflict grew worse. Surrounding nations got involved, turning the sectarian conflict into a series of bloody proxy wars.

Another parahuman being there wouldn't have helped anything.

So she told herself.

Not a coward.

A coward would have run away, not hunted a father down and murdered him. A monster perhaps, but a soldier too. Did he even want to do the things he did, or was he just following orders?

She'd asked that question once, not really knowing anything about Nazi Germany or how people felt about the subject. Big mistake. She never asked the question again, but it remained on her mind sometimes when she let her memories flow.

Who was right, and who was wrong? Maybe he deserved to die. Killing him might have spared other villages, but did that make Hana brave?

A coward wouldn't have killed Taina's uncle in a back alley, or helped Ali kidnap and murder her. A coward wouldn't have enabled him every step of the way without realizing the kind of person he was.

Hannah left the room and found her phone. She dialed the number and sat on her bed, listening to the ring and only realizing the time when he picked up.

"Hana?"

She flinched at the sound of her old name. Most people might not notice, but she did. She'd changed it in middle school, hoping a more American name might help her fit in better. She didn't miss the old one really.

Sometimes it felt like that girl died in that minefield with the last of her family.

He never stopped calling her by that name though, and she'd stopped asking.

"Andrew. I'm sorry, I forgot the time."

"Nothing new there," he said with a chipper tone. "Life never prepares you for a kid who doesn't sleep, but I got used to it."

Hannah smiled, remembering how often she'd stay awake through the night reading or practicing her English. After Hero recruited her, those nights became late patrols between her and Reed. Neither of them needed to sleep, so it worked.

"And what did I tell you?" he asked. "You can call me papa, I don't mind."

"I'm sorry," Hannah apologized with another smile.

She'd had a father, and he died. No one can replace the dead.

"I saw the news," Andrew said. "Are you alright?"

"Yes." Hannah hung her head. "It was him. Ali. He's alive."

"Well…That's complicated."

One way of putting it. Hannah said he didn't have any powers. No one believed her. Not until the MRI's came back, and even then. They just assumed someone without powers couldn't have pulled it off.

She tried not to blame them. America existed like a different world. People here didn't realize the lives people in other places lived. The brutality, and the desperation.

The lengths a human being can reach to stay alive.

"Are you okay with that?" Andrew asked.

Okay with it?

She assumed he died, if not in the city, then in one of the battles after. Barely any non-parhumans remained when the US military lost hope of containing them. They asked the Protectorate for help, and the UN as well. They'd been the only organized hero team in the world at the time.

Alexandria, Legend, Hero, and Eidolon. Just people with powers.

How did he survive all that?

"I don't know."

He was a monster. She'd realized that eventually. He killed Taina, and her father, to keep the fighting going. He never cared about ending it. He loved it.

And she still stood by him, even after seeing it. She didn't know what else to do…And she used rubber bullets? Why? She should have loaded armor piercing rounds with explosive tips and been done with it. Why didn't she?

Months, she thought. Weeks of having no one but him. A year of only having Ali as the closest thing to living family. She thought he died, and she grieved even knowing who he was.

That man, with the photo of his wife and child. Did it matter to them what he did? Did they stop loving him because they saw the kind of person he could be?

And then he was there, strangling Newtype, Taylor, and she just…

"I'm sorry. I'm not really sure what I—"

"It's fine," Andrew said. "If you want, I'll just sit here on the line. You don't have to say anything."

Hannah nodded and fell back onto the bed.

"Thank you."

"Don't. It's the right thing to do."

She asked him once, after she'd learned what the words meant. His sergeant ordered him to leave her. To let the little girl bleeding on the ground with a rifle in her hands die. Why did he disobey? Soldiers aren't suppose to disobey orders.

Because it was right, he said.