A Waken 11.G
"Thank you for coming."
Mayor Christner held out his hand in false friendship. Dean looked away. Not that he didn't like Mr. Christner. He did. The man was smart about politics, but principled. He stayed close to Blue Cosmos because he had to, not because he wanted to.
Brockton Bay had one of the highest cape populations per capita in the world. Likewise, it had a lot of Blue Cosmos members. He needed to at least play nice with them, lest the organization back an opposing candidate.
Dean's father of course, didn't seem to notice that.
"A pleasure, Roy. Where's Rory?"
"Classes I'm afraid. You know how it is. No football scholarship so he has to put the work in."
Dean assumed that was meant to be a joke, though he wasn't sure how it was funny.
"How is he doing? Injury still acting up?"
"Here and there."
"Well let him know we think of him."
Dean wandered on in, ignoring the line of people meeting and greeting near the front of the pavilion. It was a black-tie affair. A celebration. No more gang's in Brockton Bay. A crowning achievement.
Of course, only the people who hardly ever had to deal with the gangs would even be at the party. Dean didn't even see any of the people actually responsible for it. No Wards. No Protectorate. No…
Taylor.
Right.
No Taylor.
He did see New Wave—the Dallons specifically—and there were a few people in PRT uniforms. No Director Piggot or Deputy Director Calvert. Walking past Dean overheard the name Renick. He didn't know it.
Regardless, the whole exercise seemed preposterous.
But his parents expected him to seen, so seen he was.
"Ah, Mr. Stansfield!"
Dean paused at the punch line and turned.
"Joseph. I didn't expect to see you here."
The overweight man raised a glass and smiled.
"Judge Bartlet is here," he said. "The good work is never done."
Right. That.
"I don't see the problem."
Dean stared at her. He still struggled to wrap his head around it. She'd come alone for some reason, and in costume. Minus her mask.
Taylor looked Campbell in the eye.
"The only reason I have powers is because of what Shadow Stalker did to me."
Dean glanced to Talia. She was frowning, eyes locked on Joseph. Yes. He was the real problem. What would he do—
"Of course."
Dean started.
Joseph smiled.
"Rights are rights," he lied. He did it poorly. "We've already taken up the case. It wouldn't be right for us to drop it now. If anything this strengthens our position. You triggered. This was not a game, but a viciously cruel campaign that radically altered the course of your life."
"It's not a problem then?" Taylor asked with a cold look.
"It might take some convincing." Joseph smiled. "Blue Cosmos doesn't represent capes often, but the cause is right. I'll talk to Judge Bartlet about arrangements we may need to make."
"Rubbing elbows then?" Dean asked.
"That would be unethical," Joseph admitted. "I'm merely getting a feel for what kinds of arguments his honor might be most inclined to entertain."
"Right. Good luck."
"Enjoy the party, Mr. Stansfield."
His face said he didn't believe what he was saying.
He was such a phoney person.
He still didn't care about Taylor. He immediately had PI's go to investigate Charlotte and see if she was a cape too. StarGazer or Forecast. He'd obviously never seen a picture of Forecast, not that there were many. The precog was clearly in early adolescence, a girl far too young to be Charlotte Berman.
And what about Taylor?
She was Newtype. She'd been Newtype the entire time.
"I'm sorry," she said after the meeting. "I—It's not you."
"Secret identities," Dean said. "I get it."
"I'm still looking into that one matter," she said. "That hasn't changed. I'll find the truth."
But it had changed.
If she thought Teacher was behind Blue Cosmos, why was she suing the PRT with Blue Cosmos? To get close? To look behind the screen? Did she really want the PRT to pay for what Sophia Hess did to her and Charlotte?
He gave her enough breadcrumbs, didn't he? She had to know Blue Cosmos planned to bring the other bullies in and point everything at Sophia. Blame it all on her.
Maybe she deserved blame, but all of it? Dean sat in on the interviews. She didn't threaten all those girls. They went along with it all on their own. Joseph wasn't coaching them to testify, he was coaching them to perjure themselves.
Not that he'd ever prove it.
Perjury charges that stuck were practically unicorns.
"None of the Protectorate is here," Mrs. Alcott said. She stood with her husband and sister-in-law, her young daughter sipping tea quietly at a table beside her.
"I heard there were a lot of vehicles leaving the PRT building and rig this morning," Vivian Dale revealed. "Prisoner transport, so my nephew says. Larry is utterly obsessed with capes and their business."
"We'll see if they can keep them this time," Eric Hanson laughed. "Maybe Max will get his little band back, eh?"
A few heads turned his way.
"What? It's not exactly a secret anymore? He and his rabble outed Taylor Hebert and Taylor Hebert outed them."
"Let them clean each other up," someone said. "Maybe they'll kill each other off."
"You're not that lucky," Dinah Alcott mused.
A few people laughed.
"Getting sharp is she?" Vivian asked with a smile.
Mrs. Alcott looked a bit nervous. "She has a good influence."
Vivian leaned forward, and smiled at Dinah. "Never let anyone tell you what to think, dear. Make up your own mind."
Dinah looked right at her.
"So I should ignore your advice?"
Vivian laughed. She always did have a good sense of humor.
"Well don't let her slack off," Mr. Halevy warned. "Louise is so difficult now."
"She's still spending all her time with her boyfriend and that Arab girl?"
"Parian, yes."
"Amazing isn't it? At this point there are more capes in Brockton Bay without secret identities than with"—Dean wasn't sure what math Mr. Halevy was doing to reach that conclusion—"and not a single one has died. Almost makes you think the whole 'we have to protect our families' thing is a load."
"Don't let Carol Dallon hear you say that. They're still sore about Fleur."
"She lived."
"Newtype threatened anyone who broke the rules," Mrs. Alcott reminded.
"Just proved she could do it too," Dinah Alcott pointed out.
"After getting attacked herself, and really, what good is that threat going to do against a bullet to the head?"
"Pull the trigger yourself if you're so eager."
Dean blinked. Everyone was looking at him. And he said that out loud, didn't he?
What am I even doing anymore?
Dean turned away and walked the grounds quietly.
The Captain's West Country Club was a nice place. It might be near one of the more rundown parts of Brockton Bay, but it sat between Captain's Hill and some of the wealthiest suburbs around the city.
The club itself was at the base of a hill, and the pavilion atop it. Roman columns and arches. Hanging ivy instead of walls. Well maintained grass and bushes. It might be calming with no one else around.
He found his way to the far end. A small corner of the pavilion seemed fairly empty. It was suitably quiet and distant from the crowds. And the hypocrisy.
What would grandfather do?
He didn't know. His grandfather never dealt with anything like this. Secrets, and capes, and cape secrets and conspiracies all over. Talia knew something was wrong but Dean didn't want to drag her into it.
That left him…Where, exactly?
Trapped between Newtype and his grandfather on one side, his parents and Blue Cosmos on the other, and then a third he could hardly describe with Talia and the others who…
Dean sighed.
His head hurt from thinking and he'd been thinking too much lately.
At least over here he didn't have to listen to all the empty prattle coming out of half the mou—
"Ahem."
Shit.
Dean glanced to his right.
"Oh. Hi Vicky."
She sat atop one of the shorter columns that lined the pavilion, knees tucked up to her chest. One hand wrapped under her legs to hold the bottom of her blue dress up. Flying around gave her a good consciousness for not letting people see up her dresses and skirts.
"Can I help you?" she asked.
Dean blinked, but immediately thought better of that idea.
"No. Sorry. Was just looking for a place to be alone."
"Yeah, well this one is taken."
Why does she want to be alone? Vicky was usually such a social butterfly.
"Sorry."
Dean turned to leave.
Vicky sighed.
"Fuck you look pathetic. What is it? Fail to make it to the final round of the annual bigot talent festival?"
He tried to let that wash over him.
Vicky had been throwing those taunts at him for years and responding never helped. She didn't get it, and he couldn't blame her. Her family hardly had reason to like Blue Cosmos, especially not after his father made such a damn scene saying 'Fleur had it coming'.
Why anyone wanted his father in charge of anything Dean would never understand.
So, he tried to let the insult wash over him.
He failed.
"Have you ever thought about leaving New Wave?" Dean asked. "It's not like your family actually does anything anymore, and—" and fuck. "I'm sorry, Vicky. I didn—"
"Are you okay?" Dean turned to look up at her. Her normally hard face was gone entirely. "And I'm actually asking that question honestly this time." She frowned and reiterated, "Are you?"
Dean raised his brow.
"No," he admitted. "But I shouldn't have snapped at you about that."
"God why are you always nice?"
"Because…it's nice?"
"There is such a thing as too nice, you know? That's the first time you've ever actually shot back at me and I've gone pretty hard into you over the years."
She sat up slightly, and floated off the column to the ground. She crossed her arms under her chest and scowled.
"Seriously. What's up? I'm going to feel like a bitch if you don't tell me now."
"It's just family stuff."
"Everything less than peachy in hate-land."
Dean watched her for a moment, mostly out of curiosity.
"I'm trying here."
Dean glanced back toward the party, noting her mother, father, and sister in a small crowd.
"Why are you here?" he asked.
"Because I can't stand the bullshit."
She watched him for a moment, then looked toward her family and sighed.
"Like you don't know. We only get invited to these things for spectacle. Aunt Sarah stopped showing up years ago but mom insists it's good PR. Not sure why we need it."
She looked away from him.
"We don't do anything."
Dean pushed his hands into his pockets, asking, "Are you okay?"
"I'm hiding out of sight in the corner, what do you think?"
Why does everything always become a fight with us?
He figured he could blame his dad for it. He did say something stupid in front of cameras, and that was about when Vicky started making everything a fight.
"I—" Dean stopped himself, and then asked, "You know Taylor, don't you?"
Vicky flinched. "Taylor who?"
"She's not even wearing a mask anymore, Vicky."
Her eyes widened. "She's not?"
"No. She was in the office just yesterday. In costume."
"Wait"—Vicky floated off the ground and leaned toward him. Dean pointedly looked away as she leaned. Her dress was not immodest but definitely worn for show. "She was at your office? Why?"
"I can't really say," Dean said. "Legal stuff."
"What would she need you lot for?"
"Nothing."
"Doesn't seem like nothing. What does Taylor have to do with it?"
"More than you'd think," Dean admitted.
She stared. "You're serious?"
"It's complicated."
"And you're not going to tell me?"
"More that I can't. Your mom's a lawyer."
"Yeah—Wait, Taylor is hiring Blue Cosmos as"—Vicky stopped and her eyes went wide—"Taylor is suing the PRT."
"I didn't say it," Dean said.
Her mom was a lawyer too. She probably knew plenty about courts and legal proceedings. Vicky probably knew Shadow Stalker and she knew Taylor.
She would figure it out.
Maybe that was why Taylor wanted to sue? She'd asked about settling a curious number of times. She was afraid people would notice the dots and put them together. Figure out Taylor Hebert was Newtype?
Then why continue?
"Because of Shadow Stalker?" Vicky asked.
"I'm not saying that."
"And you're bummed out about that? Isn't that like, pure win for you guys?"
Dean looked away, turning his eyes toward the mountain.
"It's just politics. No one actually cares about Taylor." He wondered if Taylor cared about Taylor. "She's just the means to the end they want."
"But not you?"
"No. Not me, Vicky." Dean turned on her. "It's not supposed to be about politics! It's supposed to be about people! People who get hurt and have no one else to protect them!"
Vicky gave him an even gaze.
"You're actually upset about this."
"You said I was bummed out."
"Yeah, but you're like, actually upset. Bummed out is understating it."
Dean shrugged.
Vicky watched him a moment longer, then shrugged herself. She floated back up to the column and sat down.
"Misery loves company," she grumbled.
Dean would find the moment amusing in any other circumstance.
They were quiet for a time. More people showed up and the party naturally began filling out. The Mayor planned to give some speech and a few big donors would probably do the same. Dean kept checking his watch.
He could probably bail now if he wanted. No one would miss him. Certainly not his parents.
He glanced at Vicky, and after a moment sighed.
"My dad got chewed out for it, you know."
"What?"
"That thing he said, back when your aunt got shot?"
Vicky scowled. "He said it served her right."
"Yeah. Grandfather was furious. We don't revel in the suffering of others he said. That's not why we're here…I don't think Dad learned anything from that."
And grandfather is gone now.
That was the worst part. Grandfather always gave him something. Even if he didn't have the answer, he just had something. A direction. A principle. An idea. Something that made Dean feel more sure.
"Your dad's a prick," Vicky said.
"I'm not going to argue it." Dean couldn't remember the last time he got along with his father. They had once, he thought. Maybe. "Now he's in charge and—"
"You don't know how you fit?"
"Yeah. That."
"Join the club."
"You?"
"So hard to imagine? I triggered over a foul in a basketball game. In front of hundreds of people. You have any idea how much shit I get for that? At least once a week one of you yahoos mocks me for it."
Wait, how long had that been going on?
He'd never heard of anyone mocking Vicky over her trigger event.
Dean was there, though he wasn't sure Vicky remembered.
"I'm sure it wasn't that simple," he said.
The way he remembered it, Vicky just froze. She'd been passing the ball back and forth with another girl and then she just stopped. The ball went into her hand and she held it, staring off into the distance.
Thinking back, Dean was pretty sure she was watching her parents? They were in the stands…On the phone.
Oh.
"No," she replied. "But it still feels silly." Vicky looked ahead. "They care so much about New Wave, but New Wave doesn't matter anymore. Amy and me are the only ones who do anything and all I've done for weeks is grab muggers off the street."
She sighed, and added, "Taylor dismantled the gang's like a kid's Lego set. All I did was get shot."
Dean remembered that. He honestly never thought he'd hear on the News that Glory Girl got shot. Something about a gun with teleporting bullets.
He saw something in her face. A sense of aimlessness that seemed far too familiar. That seemed like a good word for it.
Aimlessness.
"Sorry," Dean offered.
"Me too," Vicky mumbled.
He didn't know what she felt sorry for. Maybe better not to ask.
And suddenly Dean wasn't sure if he should leave.
Would she think he didn't care? It's not that he didn't but it was heavy stuff. He felt awkward talking about it. Especially with a girl that normally insulted him. She'd probably jump back to that when school started back up next week. Kind of nice to just chat with her without raised voices.
"I'm sure it's not that bad," Grandfather said.
"She yells at me all the time. I think it's because of what Dad said, after Fleur was shot."
"Well…That was a dick move."
Dean smiled.
"Try talking to her," he said. "Understanding takes work, Dean."
"I've tried talking to her. It usually just makes her angrier."
"Talk anyway. Nothing is ever achieved if no one will talk."
"I know. You've told me before."
Dean started arranging files. He wasn't sure why Grandfather suddenly wanted to host Canary. It seemed like the last thing that would go over well with the membership, and there were already people who wanted him replaced. Being a Founder didn't amount to much anymore.
Not with the new stars like Azrael going on every news station in the country.
It was all politics now.
"Dean."
"Yes?"
"Could you promise me something?"
He turned.
They were in the office.
His grandfather sat in his favorite chair, opposite the one his grandmother used to sit in. She died a few years ago, but it remained in the room. No one ever sat in it. Grandfather was watching it then, leaning on his cane while Greta poured some tea in a cup beside him.
"If it becomes too much for you, you should leave."
"Leave?" Dean asked. "Leave what?"
"This. All of it. There's no need to limit yourself to this place. Especially once I'm gone."
Dean smiled. "Sorry. I'm not sure what you mean." He walked over and pulled up a chair. "You'll outlive us all grandfather."
His grandfather smiled. "If only. Promise me, won't you?"
"Promise you what?"
He didn't get it.
He thought his grandfather was just being a little lofty. He did that a lot.
"That you'll do what's right for you. Promise?"
Dean only found out about the cancer a few weeks later. Right before Canary's concert. Right before learning what his grandfather planned to do.
He wanted to fix it, Blue Cosmos' course. He wanted to return the organization he helped found to its roots. To turn it back from the politics and the…The hate baiting.
And then he died. Someone killed him, while trying to kill Dean.
He didn't understand that. Why kill him? What did that possibly achieve? Dean wasn't that important. He—
A loud crash echoed behind him, and Dean spun.
Vicky slipped from the column and peeked around the corner.
Shouts and screams followed, and men with guns rushed into the pavilion. They wore fatigues and body armor. Gas masks covered their faces.
"Patriots," Vicky mumbled.
"Who?" Dean asked.
Vicky raised a finger to her lips.
"Shhhh."
She pulled herself back around the corner. She glanced around and then threw herself up and over the fence. She flew down the hill, turned left. She kept low to the ground and flew south along a low area of ground.
Where was she going? Her family was—
"Well, then," a booming voice shouted. "Hello fine people. Enjoying the party?"
"Can we help you?"
Oh, that's why.
Carol Dallon stood cross-armed in front of her husband and daughter. All of them had guns pointed at their heads. Brandish could turn into a ball of light and Dean heard that was pretty durable.
Flashbang and Panacea not so much.
A tall tank of a man in riot gear roared.
"Yes! Stand nice and still there, and no one will get hurt." He waved his hand, and a half dozen men closed in on the Dallons, guns aimed.
The room was full of armed men. Patriots, Vicky called them. That was a parahuman militia, wasn't it? Bunch of guys with guns in the woods and a few capes among them. He'd heard something about a bunch of them setting up in the mountains.
Why were they here?
"Phalanx, right?" Carol Dallon asked.
"I didn't realize I was famous," the big man said. "You flatter me."
"Not particularly. I only know of you because of that lawsuit last year. The one where you crushed a school bus."
"Collateral damage."
The woman sneered.
Around the room, the men started forcing everyone into groups at gunpoint. A few on the fringes went ignored. Guards checked all the corners, but if the people there didn't have anything valuable a guard just set themselves up and waved a gun at them.
Dean noticed a few people with phones. They didn't seem to be getting anywhere. Jamming tech? There weren't really any guards at the pavilion. Just some police and Dean saw them by the entrance with their hands up.
Couldn't blame them. Revolvers and shotguns against assault rifles? That would be suicide.
"If you would all be so kind as to deposit your valuables?" Phalanx called, turning away from Brandish. "A well regulated militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, does not fund itself. Your donations will be appreciated."
Dean stared.
Seriously?
Dean noticed another cape. He wore a cowboy get-up with a bandanna over his face and a big hat. Looked like a sheriff. Old west kind. And sure enough he had 'Sheriff' printed on the back of his leather duster.
"You're robbing them in the name of freedom?" Brandish inquired. "How noble."
"The current government is an occupying force," Phalanx declared. Dean was fairly certain it didn't work that way. "It is not legitimate, not that I'd expect a lawyer to understand. All you do is profit from oppressive overregulation."
"Is he serious?" Amy Dallon asked.
"I see you're unfamiliar with McDonald," Phalanx said. "I'll recommend some reading so you can enlighten yourself."
Amy Dallon covered her mouth to hide a smile. "Is his first name Ronald?"
"Amy," Brandish warned.
"I'm just asking."
"Hey, hurry up."
Dean looked to his left, noticing a man with a hand gun and a bag jostling some kid. A teenager, about Dean's age. He was frozen, staring at the gun pointed in his face.
"I said put the watch in the bag. Are you listening to me?"
The boy didn't respond. Others were backing away, as far as the armed men surrounding them allowed.
Dean saw a few familiar faces in the group. Campbell for one. The Halevys too, minus the daughter they complained about that he'd never seen. He knew most of the group actually. The people who complained about capes for a living.
"You wanna fucking die?"
The boy's pants darkened as the gun was pressed to his forehead.
"Are you fucking pissing yourself?"
What am I doing?
Dean's legs were moving.
Why am I moving?
"Fucking rich pussies, I—"
Dean grabbed the boy's wrist and quickly undid the latch on his watch.
"Here." He dropping it into the bag. "You got the watch. Leave him alone."
The gunman stared at Dean from behind his gas mask, eyes just barely visibly.
"Feeling big, are you?" he asked.
Dean frowned and looked down at him.
"You're going to shoot a kid in the head for a watch. How big do you feel?"
The eyes in the mask narrowed, and the gun started to turn.
That was not smart.
"Do I have to remind you again, Parker?"
The gunman—Parker, Dean assumed—looked over his shoulder. Sheriff stood behind him, hand on the gun at his side.
"Get moving soldier. That bag isn't full."
Parker hesitated for a moment. Sheriff patted his gun. Finally, Parker moved on, pushing onto the rest of the group. The group that shied away from some kid so scared he couldn't move.
The group that raved against capes, but did nothing.
Aimless.
"Come on."
He took the kid by the arm and pulled him off to the side. Noone tried to stop him, though Sheriff watched until he'd sat the boy down.
"Sorry," the boy mumbled weakly, still shaking.
"Don't be."
Dean pushed his hands into his pockets and waited.
Not like he could do anything. Dozens of men with guns and at least two capes. Maybe more. Vicky was right to leave. Staying wouldn't have helped anyone, and if she left then she could get help and go after the Patriots once they left the crowd.
Though, if Dean had to guess…
"Thank you all for being so cooperative," Phalanx said. He raised his wrist and looked at it. "But our time is up. Your donations are appreciated. But we're going to have to keep some of you in our company, at least for a time."
"Take me," Brandish offered. "No need to drag anyone else in."
Dean didn't see anyone else speak up.
"I'm not that stupid," Phalanx looked past Brandish. "You will do."
Amy Dallon sighed. "First time being kidnapped. Kind of shocked it took this long."
"Really? I would think everyone would want the great Panacea." Sheriff pointed a gun into Amy Dallon's back. "Come on. We know your power works on skin contact, so don't try anything."
"Oh, I won't."
Amy Dallon raised her hands and let the man prod her forward.
Dean frowned, noting a bizarre passivity on Carol Dallon's face as her daughter was led away at gunpoint. The Patriots took more hostages obviously.
He saw Dinah Alcott getting prodded along with a bored expression.
"Let's go big man."
Me and my mouth.
"And hands out of your pockets."
Dean raised his hands and walked.
He looked back at the group with Campbell and the rest.
They looked appropriately horrified, but not much else.
Aimless.
They were aimless. They didn't have any idea what they wanted. Rave against capes. Then what? What do you do with groups like these guys? Dozens of armed goons and two capes. How do you deal with them?
There were three capes in the room and none of them could really act with guns pointed their way. Not unless they wanted everyone else to die. Though, given the bulk of the crowd were regulars at his parent's parties, Dean almost couldn't blame them if they did.
The world needed capes.
You can't just declare them all monsters and say they shouldn't exist.
It was pointless. It achieved nothing.
But it's all they did.
For money. For clout. For power. Maybe even just to feel better about their own powerlessness.
Do not give in to fear.
That's what Grandfather meant, wasn't it?
You'll do what's right for you. Promise?
Blue Cosmos was lost, because it gave in to fear. Fear was all it represented anymore. Understandable fear, maybe. Fear all the same. A destructive cycle that achieved nothing.
Okay, Grandfather. Dean raised his head. I promise.
"It's fine," Dinah Alcott said.
Dean looked down at her. The men moved out in two columns, Sheriff at the front with Amy Dallon. Phalanx followed in the rear. Dean walked beside Dinah Alcott with guards on either side.
"Probably," Dean gussed.
"Possibly," Dinah Alcott replied.
He stood close to her.
They descended the hill, where Dean spotted a line of camouflaged trucks parked at the bottoml. Men started boarding the vehicles quickly.
"Where's Grant?" Phalanx looked back and forth. "He's supposed to be watching the road."
"He moved on ahead, sir," someone said, holding up his phone.
"Initiative! Finally. Alright. Time to go."
He waved and the men guarding Dean and Dinah moved off.
"Protectorate is occupied," the cape declared. "So, farewell."
"How generous," Dean mumbled.
"We're freedom fighters lad, not monsters."
One man's freedom fighter is another man's terrorist. Dean leaned toward the latter at the moment. Robbing a rich party wasn't going to do much for anyone but them.
He looked around suspiciously, but the guards were moving off. He glanced back to the pavilion. Carol Dallon stood by the entrance but she was a good sixty feet away. Without any fliers, they probably could just drive off.
Phalanx climbed into the truck behind his men, and the engines started up. They pulled out in a group and only after they'd started moving toward the road over the formerly immaculate lawn did people up in the pavilion start moving.
"That was less dramatic than I expected," Amy Dallon said.
The trucks drove on toward the road a few hundred feet in the distance. It would take them right to the mountains and they were too far for anyone from the Protectorate to arrive. Maybe Taylor?
No.
If the Protectorate was moving the Empire capes, Taylor would be there.
So they'd probably get away with it.
Dinah Alcott said, "Wait for it."
"Wait for what?" Amy asked.
Dinah pointed up.
A big green and black truck fell out of the sky and smashed into the ground. Dirt and grass swirled. The trucks swerved, but one slammed right into the crashed vehicle and flipped onto its side.
"Look what I found!"
Vicky flew in the air over the pavilion, one fist grinding into an open hand as her dress fluttered.
She grinned broadly.
Her cousins were on either side of her. Laserdream wore a sweater and slacks, and Shielder a t-shirt and jeans. Immediately over them Lady Photon looked unamused in what looked like her work clothes.
Behind her, a black and pink machine fluttered with green light.
Two bright green eyes stared out from a cold face, a familiar V-shaped crest on the forehead. It looked like Taylor's suit, but it wasn't. It sported big wings and fins with shields on each arm. An angelic figure marked its chest and left knee, and the name of Celestial Being.
"Hello"—Laughter's voice came from the machine—"friends."
