TS.1 Kamil
Kamil lifted the glass and drank.
"A break may be in order," Senator Clyne suggested. "We've been here for hours."
"We'll be here as long as it takes," Seneca insisted. "We can't afford to walk out of here without a concrete alternative."
Kamil nodded in agreement despite the feeling he might topple over any moment. They'd been in the room since morning. Enduring hearings and press conferences for hours. Then meetings after that of a more private nature. It was well past midnight now.
It was exhausting, but they needed more than empty promises and their own words.
Azrael was dead and Djibril was becoming more and more politically isolated by the day—even his former allies realized rapidly what the Simurgh's death would mean for him. Blue Cosmos was coming apart. Scandals had continued to unfold around the organization. Its political lines were fracturing.
If any solace came in the demise of the PRT, it was that Blue Cosmos was finished too.
Except it wasn't much solace.
Even in death, Blue Cosmos' fear-mongering and opportunism endured.
"The Parahuman Affairs Committee is going to want specifics," Admiral Revil noted.
He sat off to the side, the only member of the Joint Chiefs present in the mostly empty chamber. The various seats and tables lay empty with the lights turned out over them. His table was off to the left. Senators Clyne and Darlian occupied a central table, where a hearing would be directed if they were having a hearing at the moment.
That event was two days away, but Kamil found his seat at the center of the room no less harrowing for the emptiness of the chamber.
"Specifics are a bit difficult right now," Kamil reminded everyone. "An Endbringer is dead. That's never happened before."
"Truthfully," Seneca admitted, "the PRT had become convinced they couldn't be killed."
"And never bothered to tell anyone in Congress," Darlian complained.
"We didn't want people to lose hope," Ramba defended. "If they couldn't be stopped, the best we could do was endure. Contain their damage. Rein them in. Those goals seemed somewhat possible, especially once we started getting better at predicting attacks."
"How did Newtype do it then?" Admiral Revil asked. "I don't believe it's that she's simply more intelligent than everyone who came before her."
Kamil glanced over his shoulder.
"It's not," Flint answered gruffly. He sat in the gallery, arms folded across his chest. "At least, it's not so simple. Her power does make her smarter. She's far more intelligent than a sixteen-year-old girl should be."
"Have you seen her eyes?" Katagiri asked.
"Yes," Ramba answered. "She's started wearing special lenses to hide it but from the right angle it's still possible to see."
Kamil looked at Katagiri more closely. He was certain the man knew more. There was just something about his face. Like he wanted to say something but couldn't. Or wouldn't.
Yet, he called out the eyes anyway.
Ah. "That golden particle field she started projecting."
Ramba nodded. "Witness reports say she used it directly before chasing the Simurgh."
"We have no meaningful information on it," Kamil noted. "Witness accounts are…"
There wasn't a word for it.
His first thought was some kind of master or stranger effect. People were already behaving differently. Yet…
Habitual cheaters had come clean to their spouses. Inattentive parents were putting in more effort. An office manager who'd harassed multiple employees had apologized and resigned his position of his own volition. The leaders of two separate charities had admitted to fraud and returned the money they stole. A few villains had even surrendered themselves or offered to switch sides.
There wasn't a word for it. Honesty. Remorse. Compassion. None of those words seem to fully cover what was happening in the wake of the 'Gold Morning.' People were purposefully recalling the war against Scion. Especially in New York and on PHO.
Despite that, fear or concern wasn't the reaction. People were empathetic. Forgiving. Understanding.
Entire threads online and multiple news shows were being dedicated to the phenomena. Despite panic and harsh reactions from the outside, the PRT hadn't found any explicit cause for the behavior.
When asked, the answers they got for why were always empathetic. As if the subject had walked a mile in someone's shoes and changed their own behavior accordingly.
It wasn't all positive either, but the negative incidents were themselves turning out for the better.
People were simply resolving their own problems.
"What about this curing of the Case-53s?" Darlian asked. "Our understanding was that everything had already been tried to reverse the mutations."
"I've spoken with Weld," Kamil admitted. "He was cagey, but the answer he gave when I asked was that Newtype had 'corrected' errors made when their powers were configuring and that reversed the mutations."
"Newtype gave an equally direct response," Noa added. "She seemed to be talking as though we already knew what she meant. It was purposeful."
"In what way?" Clyne asked.
"She seemed to be taking it as a given that powers are sentient and capable of communication."
"There's nothing but anecdotal evidence to support that theory," Flint retorted.
"And?" Katagiri shrugged. "The idea that there's any one explanation for parahuman powers at this point more absurd than the others is a bit ridiculous. Manton had started looking in that direction when he vanished."
"What does that mean though?" Revil asked. "That powers are aliens?"
"There's the second Scion to consider," Seneca mumbled.
"Zion," Kamil corrected. "So she calls herself."
That, the PRT had been briefed on. At least, the part about Scion being a threat to the world. There was always something more to it but the Triumvirate had to justify what happened in the wake of millions of deaths.
Which brought back to Kamil's mind, "And Eidolon has returned."
So much had changed so quickly. Literally overnight. A week later and they were still playing catch up.
The simple truth was they couldn't possibly know what would happen now.
"It's the worst possible time to disband the PRT," Noa claimed.
"He's not wrong," Ramba agreed.
"Unfortunately"—Senator Clyne frowned—"the smart move is rarely the one that gets through Congress."
"We can delay," Darlian suggested.
"Not for long. It's a general election next year." Clyne folded his hands together, and while his face was sympathetic his tone broached no pity. "Everyone is already staking out their positions, and all of them involve being tired of the PRT's failures and excuses."
Even in Madison, it was Newtype who resolved the crisis. Combined with her actions leading into the broken trigger events, the special zone, and the death of the Simurgh...
Kamil sat up. "Does the committee intend to try and call Newtype?"
Heads turned.
Clyne met Kamil's gaze and nodded. "It's been discussed."
"Now there is a terrible idea," Seneca said quickly.
"I agree." Kamil looked at Senator Darlian and saw an immediate need to explain. "Nobody wins if Newtype is called. Not the Senate. The People. The PRT. Newtype. There's no way a hearing involving her will end in any way but steepening our divides."
"The Protectorate might end but the capes are still alive," Noa concurred. "We still have heroes and we still need them. We can't afford for an argument between Newtype and Blue Cosmos' adjacent political rhetoric to define this moment."
"We have an opportunity here," Ramba elaborated. "An Endbringer is dead. As difficult as it is for us, let the PRT fall. We'll take the blame for the failures of the past decade with us and we'll leave a path open for whatever follows. This is a new opportunity to bring everyone together to start dealing with these problems."
"It may come to that regardless," Senator Darlian lamented. "Any politician who has built a career from being critical of caped heroes will see the value in being seen as standing up to her. I've seen the girl in action. She won't wilt, but that won't matter. The mere fact her eyes are glowing could be used against her without anything she says ever mattering."
"We can't let it come to that," Seneca pressed. "The world still needs capes. Villains aren't going away. Switching from the PRT to an even more draconian stance will set us backwards at the worst possible time."
To say nothing of what Eidolon might do. He'd been visible but relatively silent for a few days. Whether he was biding his time, wary, or what, Kamil didn't know. The secret of how he'd sabotaged the PRT wasn't that secret really. Unfortunately, it wasn't something anyone could really prove and he had more than enough deniability with the PRT's reputation shot anyway.
That was infuriating in itself.
"There's simply too much value in it," Clyne explained. "And the committee chairman has always been friendly toward Blue Cosmos. If anyone asks for her to be called, she'll be called."
"And then we're on the same road Djibril tried to set Europe on," Noa surmised.
For all the good it had done—
"If they want to call her let them call her."
Kamil sat up straight. The door to the room hadn't opened. It closed when the hearings ended for the day and had remained closed. How did sh—
Rebecca stepped out from a darkened section of the room, dressed in a simple pantsuit. It was unremarkable, as her suits often were, save for the sleeve hanging empty on one side.
Senator Clyne shot from his chair, and Admiral Revel was already calling for the Sergeant at Arms.
"How did you get in here?" Darlian asked.
"I've worked in this building longer than any of you," she replied. "I know my way around." Her attention turned to Revil. "Tell Leon the lock on the second-floor gallery is still easily jimmied. No super strength required."
She took a seat near the edge of the light and exhaled.
"Now then… Where was I?"
"You were not invited to these events," Seneca charged.
"Yet, here I am."
Revil had a radio in hand, seemingly whispering to the men on the other side. Kamil glanced to Ramba and Seneca, both of whom had their eyes fixed on the woman. Katagiri and Flint were watching silently from afar, and Noa seemed unsurprised.
It was an understatement to say Rebecca Costa-Brown had betrayed everything they thought to be true.
She'd been a leader in the PRT and the Protectorate. A direct violation of the notion that capes should be kept to some form of accountability. She'd been involved in conspiracies. No one even knew how many. She'd compromised them all morally and ethically. Made them all complicit in her crimes.
Years of getting them through crisis after crisis hadn't bought her that much goodwill.
All the same.
They knew her. "Why are you here, Rebecca?"
"To offer some final advice," she answered. "For whatever it may be worth."
"You'll find that there's little patience left for your antics here," Darlian accused. "If not for you, it's entirely possible we wouldn't be at this point right now."
Revil nodded. "The PRT's reputation wouldn't be nearly as low as it is if not for the accusation made by Façade."
"All the better then."
Kamil blinked and Seneca sat forward.
Rebecca had always been good at maintaining a mask. More than Kamil even knew, apparently. Yet, she was not the heartless official she often presented herself as. She'd kept an entire wall in the LA PRT building dedicated to every cape who died. Another for all the troopers. A third for staff and personnel, who never should have been in danger.
She carried every death like a weight that fell solely on her shoulders.
"Let it end," she said. "The PRT was created from desperation. Scion was going to destroy the world… Everything was excusable in the face of complete annihilation."
Kamil could see several voices ready to respond to that, but Rebecca always had a way of talking over an entire room with little effort.
"That time has passed. What's needed now isn't something created to fight a desperate last stand."
"You want us to throw our weight behind Newtype," Seneca declared.
"I want you to throw your weight behind Londo Bell." Rebecca's mask fell back over her face, passive and stony. "Let people choose their own heroes, and decide for themselves how to support them and let whatever follows in the PRT's footsteps be something different. Something that actually exists to protect humanity's soul instead of its existence."
Did she mean Scion?
Noa scoffed. "We're the government. No one wants us guarding their souls."
"No," Kamil agreed. "That doesn't mean we can't protect heroes from themselves, and people from heroes who shouldn't be."
It hadn't been the preferred option.
They'd hoped to recreate the PRT's essential mission functions and roles but purge it of the stink that had grown over the years. For her betrayals, there was one thing no one in the room would ever doubt. Rebecca Costa-Brown did not speak unless she meant it, and she was habitually—infuriatingly—correct.
Londo Bell was a grassroots movement. They'd opened chapters in nearly every major US city, and since the Simurgh's death that growth had exploded. Heroes, and rogues especially, were flocking to the organization. Once the Protectorate was disbanded, Kamil was sure many would stick with Chevalier. Others might join the Guild or corporate teams. Many would simply migrate to Londo Bell and go on being heroes.
Something administrative, rather than enforcing. Oversight instead of control, a public controlled check on the power of individuals. It wasn't an unfeasible approach, especially not with what Newtype had done with Londo Bell.
If any cape in the group became a threat or went too far, Kamil was certain the rest of the capes would turn on them. It wouldn't always be that simple, but it was a start.
"We'll need something more concrete than that," Noa warned.
"Then come up with something more concrete, Bright," Rebecca replied. She turned her gaze toward the Senators. "And when the time comes, I'll be ready to answer those questions."
Heads turned.
Rebecca had done everything possible to avoid being questioned publicly, up to and including disappearing for weeks on end.
Clyne rose up slightly, his face disbelieving. "You'll answer questions?"
"I will."
"Will they consist of more than pleas to the fifth?" Ramba asked.
"The PRT was my creation more than anyone else. If it falls, then I fall with it."
"You could be imprisoned," Kamil warned her.
She had to know that, just as much as she had to know the only prison anyone would put Alexandria in was the Birdcage.
Rebecca offered no response beyond the words, "So be it."
The room fell silent.
Kamil watched her, somehow both shocked and unsurprised. For a long time, Rebecca had struck him as someone who protected her position as much as fulfilled its duties. Knowing she was also Alexandria shined a different light on things.
She did what she thought was necessary.
She did it even if it cost her everything.
"What about the Wards?" Ramba asked.
"We haven't talked about the Wards yet," Seneca mumbled.
Ramba nodded.
Kamil glanced at Seneca.
The woman maintained her steely visage, but in her eyes, there was a pit.
Even Alexandria appeared resigned.
Yeah.
They didn't have a clue what would happen to the Wards.
TS.1 Murrue
Murrue stepped off the elevator and checked her phone. She was late, not for lack of trying.
She had another five messages already.
The Youth Guard was up in arms. While the rest of the world reeled from the most shocking day since the Gold Morning, the Youth Guard was outraged. Even if the Endbringer had actually died—something more than a few people were already weaving conspiracy theories over—that wasn't the Youth Guard's concern.
How had the Protectorate allowed this to happen?
Ninety-four Wards were dead or injured. Hundreds of Wards had, without telling anyone, run off to fight the Simurgh. What was even the point of the program?
Murrue was starting to suspect that question was a moot point.
If the Protectorate was on its last leg before, then absconding from the battle that killed an Endbringer had thrown its coffin into the ground. The House was already convening hearings and senators who'd defended the organization for years had gone silent.
With everything that had happened all at once—the death of Azrael and the broken trigger surge, the Madison quarantine breach, the appearance of a new golden parahuman, and the death of the Simurgh—no one cared what the Protectorate's fate was anymore.
The Protectorate was finished. The PRT too. Those had been things becoming increasingly obvious two days ago but fast forward forty-eight hours and it seemed like looking in the rearview mirror. It was no longer a discussion about when it would end but how quickly an alternative would be found so it could end.
And that left the Wards dangling.
Slipping the phone back into her pocket, Murrue exchanged it for the note she'd found on her desk.
She couldn't be sure, but she felt certain it was Flash's handwriting. She'd not dealt much with the boy. When Wards turned eighteen they were adults and the Youth Guard focused its efforts elsewhere. He was only still a Ward to fudge his birthday date in the eyes of the public.
Murrue had no idea what he could want from her or why he wanted to meet at the Youth Guard's local offices. Almost no one used them for anything but occasional meetings and picking up mail.
The door was locked when she reached it, which meant he'd probably teleported in.
Murrue unlocked the door and pushed it open. "Hathaway, I know it's not that big a deal but breaking and entering is—"
She stopped, staring with wide eyes.
"Yeah, yeah," Flash grumbled. "Breaking and entering is bad. Sue me."
He stood by the window, hands in his pockets. Beside him on the couch, Grace, Jouster, and another Ward Murrue didn't know had clearly been talking. Tecton was off to the side with Raymancer and K—Win. Vista was raiding the fridge with Judge and Murrue couldn't tell why Judge was even in the room with a swarm of Wards. Murrue couldn't even name most of them.
"What's going on?"
Several of them had their masks off so Murrue quickly closed the door behind her and locked it.
The office was barely such. It was a converted apartment. Kitchenette by the door, a dining room converted into a reception area, and the three bedrooms converted into offices and a conference room. The Wards packing in filled the space up and left little room.
And Murrue frowned. Wait, "Do your parents kn—"
"This isn't about them," Tecton interrupted.
"Not that we don't get it," Grace quickly added. "But… Things are kind of changing, you know?"
Murrue set her purse down and quickly took stock of who was present. She had no idea how to handle this. Flash must have teleported them all here, but why?
"Out with it then," she said sternly. "I hope you all realize how much trouble you're going to be in when I'm required to report this."
"I wouldn't bother."
Murrue blinked and stepped forward.
Glenn Chambers toasted a glass at her from the doorway of one of the offices, just out of sight. "Be real, lieutenant. Ah, former lieutenant. I doubt these kids care how much trouble they're in. They've got that teen spirit."
Vista scoffed and closed the fridge door. "Jesus we're not that young."
"Yes but I'm that old," Chambers replied.
"What are you doing here?" Murrue gawked. "What is going on?"
"The Wards are done for," Chris answered.
This. Damnit. "We don't know that yet," Murrue replied. "The Wards are a different part of the Federal budget than the Protectorate. It's possible the program will be maintained."
"And who would want to stay in it?" Tecton asked. His armor was cut down and missing the oversized gauntlets that were his hallmark. "When the Wards put us directly into the Protectorate it was one thing, but without that?"
"And most of us complained about the program as much as we praised it," Jouster agreed. "We get it. Kid superheroes shouldn't be allowed to run around without supervision, but the Wards were never the most successful at that."
"Cut out most of the benefits of Protectorate partnership and what's the benefit?" Flash grumbled. "Corporate teams and sponsorships pay more and have less rules to follow."
"If the Protectorate ends, whether or not anyone keeps the Wards on the budget won't matter," Grace concluded.
"They're all gonna quit anyway," Judge concluded as he dropped some sugar-free sodas onto the coffee table. "Way I hear it, Chevalier is already getting ready to just reform all the Protectorate teams he can and rebrand as a corporate team."
Murrue stared. The regulations said she should immediately call Seneca and tell her what was going on, but where Murrue differed from most of the rest of the Youth Guard was that she didn't let her bleeding heart drown her common sense. Kid superheroes were kids. Kids frequently ran off and did as they pleased even when they didn't have superpowers. Hand them teleportation and space warping and good luck stopping them if they really wanted to leave.
The thing most adults who worked with parahuman children just didn't get is that they were always a few steps from running away.
She knew runaways when she saw them and in one way or another, every Ward in front of her was prepared to run away from something.
So she glanced at Chambers. "And this interests you how exactly?"
"Because I'm not a complete ass," he answered. "I'm not about to send them"—he nodded toward the room of Wards—"off to do god knows what completely unsupervised, but if they can come up with their own proposal and it's not ludicrous, I might just engage in a little teen spirit myself."
Dear god. Murrue pinched the bridge of her nose and resisted the urge to groan. "Maybe you can explain that without the 80s pop music reference?"
Chambers rolled his eyes. "If they can get someone or something to actually look out for them, someone might just misplace a match and some kerosene in the same room as all the paperwork copyrighting and trademarking their names and images."
Murrue's jaw dropped.
"Which would still mean someone could fight them for it," Chambers admitted, "but honestly who wants to sue teen heroes for the pennies and dimes to their images? Even the PRT has never actually done that. Not since the whole Reed thing blew up in our faces."
He'd be fir—Oh. The PRT was probably about to get axed too. Not completely. If Murrue were to guess, most troopers and a lot of administrative staff would probably be kept around and rolled into a successor organization. It was the leadership and hierarchy that the government would toss out the door. People like Seneca, Armstrong, and Ral would probably survive if only because Rebecca Costa-Brown would take most of the blame for the upper leadership's failings. Any new organization would still want people with experience.
Chambers was likely soon to be out of a job anyway.
Doing the kids a favor on his way out the door was…
Murrue looked at them. They were all so young, even the ones who were already eighteen. "You're going to form your own team."
"Do things our way," Chris said. "And we want to take Heartbreaker's kids and some of the probationary Wards with us."
"Not fair to leave their fate up to some paper pusher," Flash grunted. "Valentine is a mess but she tries. Putting her in a cell when she hasn't fucked up is fucked up."
"Won't be able to protect them if we just transfer into some new government team," Missy added. "The older kids like Valiant will probably just be sent to prison."
They weren't wrong. The Youth Guard was already debating how to respond to that. Hero and Legend were a big part of why the Protectorate tried to rehabilitate so many kid villains. Without them or the organization they'd built, Murrue suspected politicians would be eager to show they took parahuman criminals seriously.
The easiest way to do that was to throw some easy targets in cells and proclaim justice served.
"There are Wards like Weaver and Orbit in Boston too," Jouster continued. "No probationary Wards option and they go straight to juvie or worse. They deserve something for what they did, but not to pad some prick's campaign for office."
"Fuck that," Flash agreed.
Murrue quietly noted Spectre wasn't in the room. Many of the Ward team leaders were, but not her. Phobos had died at Sanc, so she could guess why the girl was absent. More than a few Wards were quitting already, either to give up heroing all together or because they couldn't believe the Protectorate sat the battle out.
Not all running away involved literal running.
Looking over their faces, Murrue knew they'd already made up their minds. No one was going to talk them down.
"But we get it," Chris pressed, no doubt seeing her reaction. "We're not equipped to help some of the Wards without help."
"Optics has only gotten worse since Sanc," a cape Murrue didn't know said. "Don't get me wrong, if we hadn't put her and Vista together we wouldn't have been able to do anything but the way Optics is…"
"Lots of Heartbreaker's kids too," Jouster agreed. "I'm worried about putting too many of them together. We can't ditch them but we need to handle them."
"And then there's maintaining identities and money," Tecton continued. "Londo Bell has offered to help with that, but Londo Bell is pretty hands-off on more personal things and that won't work if we want to keep some of our teammates out of prison cells."
They'd thought all that through.
Well, Murrue had always tried to get people to understand child parahumans didn't get to stay children for long.
"And you wanted to talk to me because?" Murrue asked. They seemed dead set. Trying to talk them out of it would be like trying to talk Taylor out of doing anything. The best she could do was try and steer them from bad ideas.
"We're willing to work with the Youth Guard," Jouster said.
Murrue blinked.
"If the Youth Guard will work with us," Tecton added. "Most of us won't be kids much longer."
"If we ever were," Flash interrupted.
"But," Tecton continued with a glance, "we want to keep doing what the Wards did. We want to train young heroes. Build them up. Be the hammer that comes crashing down if anyone thinks they can get away with shit they couldn't while the Protectorate was watching us."
"Someone has to do it," Chris agreed. "We have the experience. We need help providing the things we can't. Counseling. Support for identities. Legal aid if someone's home environment is bad."
"We've already talked to Newtype," Vista added. "Taylor's on board with it."
Taylor. Ah, "She sent you to me."
They nodded.
"The patron saint of child heroes," Chambers mock toasted. "Your reputation precedes you, Murrue."
Of course it did.
Well, at least she wouldn't have to go looking for yet another career.
Lily
"Right in here."
Lafter pushed the door open and moved aside so Lily could enter.
The room was small but larger than Lily expected.
It was a bit weird moving into a tinker's workshop, but Lily had done weirder. After the weeks of the PRT and Youth Guard fighting over her exact legal status, she was thankful when Director Noa put an end to it. On paper, he and his wife—Mirai—were her guardians for the next four months until she turned eighteen. In truth, he'd told her to do what she needed to do and by the time anyone got through the court system, she'd be an adult, free to do as she pleased.
Her family had never really worked right, but she'd been lucky. Her foster families had never been too bad. It warmed her heart a bit knowing the last one wasn't any different.
"This gonna work for you?" Lafter asked as Lily dropped her bag on the unmade bed.
"It's fine," she answered. "I guess you're in the next room over?"
"Yeah. Then Riley." Right. She was living two doors down from Bonesaw. "Taylor's across the way."
Lafter blinked at the girl's name, and her face grew long and sad.
Lily frowned, still unsure what to make of what Taylor had told her.
She had to leave. Go 'somewhere' with her own power to save the aliens who were giving everyone else power?
Lily still wasn't even sure what to really think of Taylor.
She'd become this larger-than-life figure so quickly: defeating gang after gang, the Butcher, fighting Narwhal, and finally/most recently to killing the Simurgh. Some capes had been at it for twenty years and hadn't done nearly as much. It was incredible, and it was terrifying. Taylor had that air about her. The air of someone who pulled others in and made them believe in her. Lily wasn't immune to that.
She was just wary. A lot of people tended to overlook how Legend and Hero had turned out.
Behind Lafter the workshop was a flurry of activity as the Gundams were repaired. Dynames stood at the far end, its armor stripped while the Haros swapped parts out. It felt powerful when she threw herself into it. The weapons. The armor. Like she was an immovable object that could weather any storm.
It's easy to lose sight of who you are with that kind of power.
But Taylor was Lafter's friend. Her best friend, even. Lafter knew her better than Lily and Lily's reservations aside she knew the pain that Lafter tried to hide whenever she was around Taylor now.
It always struck her as dumb how people hid big secrets from those they loved. In books and movies. So stupid.
It didn't seem so dumb anymore.
This was why people hid the truth. To spare themselves and the people they loved the looming dread that tainted everything once it was out.
"You okay?" Lily asked.
"Fine," Lafter lied. "You need any help moving in?"
"I can handle it." She'd moved around so much in the past three years she'd learned to pack light… And it struck Lily this would be the first time she wouldn't be told she had to move away. The first time wherever she lived was truly her choice. "I'll be fine."
"'Kay. I'm right over in the game room if you need me. The Haros have been cruising for a super smashing for weeks!"
Lily nodded and started unpacking.
It was a strange sensation. A bit like closing a door and trying another one. When she'd first started as a Ward it had seemed clear. A path to a life she could respect. One of the few capes in the world who could hurt an Endbringer. As long as she didn't miss. She'd graduate the Wards. Action figures. Movie deals. She didn't care for those things but she didn't dislike them either.
It was good to be acknowledged. To feel wanted.
The little things tore it all down. The tiny compromises. Look the other way this one time. And this one. And the next. Fill a hole here. There. Everywhere. The revelations kept mounting. The cruel reality was that sometimes being a hero didn't feel very heroic.
And the more uncomfortable she became the more she craved what she didn't have.
Comfort.
The more she craved it, the more chained she felt and the more she wanted those chains to break. To make choices for herself rather than because it was expected of her. That might be easier if she were more comfortable going it alone but she wasn't.
She needed people and as far as people went… Celestial Being was good people. Rationalizing it, maybe she could help them stay that way. Make sure all the power they'd garnered wouldn't lead them astray like it had with the Protectorate and the PRT. That they'd never ask someone to look the other way because it was convenient rather than just.
Veda dropped by after a bit, asking if she needed any furniture. They could print basically anything in the lab and Lily didn't see it as much of a burden to get a dresser and a desk. Riley poked her head in while they spoke and Lily did her best to hide her reaction.
Taylor and Veda had insisted they were watching her closely and they'd explained about Jack Slash's real power. How he used it to twist Riley up and turn her into Bonesaw. Fair enough, but Lily had seen March descend into madness before… The look on her sister's filthy face as hands closed on her cheeks and forced her skull to the rail.
Some people were just twisted up inside.
Try as they might, the twistedness always caught up.
Maybe she was wrong. She wasn't arrogant enough to consider herself infallible. Maybe things really were taking a turn for the better and she was just bracing herself for disappointment.
There wasn't much to do once she finished unpacking and Lily considered going to see what 'super smashing' was. Presumably not something sexual. She thought Alec had a game named something like that.
Taylor slipped by the door, standing just outside with her glowing eyes and a small smile on her face. "Hey."
Lily tried not to think about the whole telepathy thing. That wasn't something Taylor could turn off anymore apparently, but still. Especially with what she'd learned of Jack Slash it w—
"Creepy," Taylor interrupted. "I know. Sorry. Not sure there's much point trying to hide from it."
Right. "Fair enough."
"I'm about to head out but I was coming down when I saw Parian lingering around."
Lily's heart jumped into her throat. "Sab—Parian is here?"
"Yeah." Taylor waved and walked off.
Lily glanced about, not entirely sure what to do with herself right up to the point Sabah came around the corner. Her attention was on the workshop and Lily actively struggled to keep her eyes up. Sabah wore fairly modest clothing as part of a whole mess of reasons—and Lily respected them—but no amount of modesty really hid how curvy Sabah really was.
Very curvy.
Say something. "Hi." Damnit.
Sabah turned and smiled. "Hey. Can I—"
"Oh yeah. Sure." Lily sat on her still unmade bed. "I just got here a bit ago so it's a bit bare."
"I'm sure you'll fill it out." Sabah entered the room and pulled the door shut behind her.
Lily glanced at the older girl and then the door. The girl. The door. Stupid to call her a girl. Sabah was definitely a woman. Which Lily found a bit difficult to think about because she was almost a woman but in a lot of ways she still felt like a girl. Eighteen was right around the corner and for the life of her she didn't feel like she was about to cross some milestone of maturity.
Lily distracted herself from those thoughts "What brings you by?"
"Curiosity," she answered. She motioned toward the bed and Lily nodded. Sabah took the space and exhaled. "I want to know if all of this is about me."
Lily blinked. "You?"
Sabah sighed and leaned back onto her hands. "And I'm doing a bad job being confident here. Told myself I'd be confident."
"You're confident," Lily encouraged, desperate to keep the conversation going even though she had no idea where to take it. "You don't have to act."
Sabah gave a short snorting laugh. "We do act too much, don't we? For me it was control. The lack of it, mostly. The sense that everyone and everything was trying to possess me somehow. Own me… I"—her face started turning red—"I have some hang-ups about that, honestly."
"That's okay," Lily said quickly. "We all have those places where it feels…dark, I guess."
"Is that why you kept stealing glances every chance you got?" Lily stammered and Sabah forced a smile. "For someone with enhanced timing, I'd have thought you would be better at it."
"Y—You noticed that?"
"Yeah." Sabah looked ahead at the wall. "And being honest, it's something that's always made things difficult. It's a long story but there was this guy. He thought being nice entitled him to things. You can probably fill in the blanks." True enough. "It's made intimacy a bit difficult."
And it dawned on Lily suddenly.
Her trigger event.
Shit. "I didn't mean t—"
"I know. It's okay… Did you like what you saw?"
Lily could feel her cheeks heating up and her heart racing. A familiar desperation. A need for something and the fear that the wrong words could mess it all up.
…No need to act, she guessed.
"Yeah. I—I did." Surely she could do better than that.
"Feel entitled to anything?"
Wha—"Never." It didn't work that way. To hell with anyone who thought it did.
"That's good. My hang-ups being what they are, I'm not sure normal relationships are something I can fall into easily."
Lily's heart almost sank, and then Sabah sat up and leaned toward her, smiling. She caught Lily's chin between her thumb and index finder, pulling their faces close. Just inches apart.
"I have…expectations. Only fair you know about them before things go any further."
Lily's eyes widened and she was glad for the closed door because, "Things can go further?"
"Why not?" Her eyes took on a sultry tilt and she said, "As long as we're both consenting. You know what I'm talking about, right?"
"Yes," Lily said eagerly. Maybe too eagerly but the proximity of Sabah's face was making things a little heady.
Honestly, Lily was surprised no one else ever seemed to pick up on it. Sabah dressed like a Victorian-era doll with a lacy dress and her power involved manipulating strings. She couldn't 'wear' her preferences more openly without outright stating them if she tried. The whole visage of Parian was repression and liberation in a single package…
Or so Lily's 19th-century literature class at Arcadia had led her to believe.
Lily had never had any doubt what a serious relationship with Sabah would entail. It was half the appeal… Not that she intended to share that with anyone just yet. Even Sabah.
"Why?" Sabah asked.
Sometimes giving up a mask was harder than it should be. Lily considered that was okay. Everyone wore the masks that let them feel comfortable. "Because I want to be comfortable, and the most comfortable I've felt in a long time was…with you."
Was that too forward? No, wait, "And that's still not just about you! It's about a lot of things. About how the world feels like it's spiraling apart and I can't tell where I'm supposed to land and the last thing I want is to be sent away again to some team that might not exist in three months."
Lily inhaled, watching Sabah's placid face and finding no clear indication of a reaction.
"So I'd rather stay here. Where there are people I know and trust and if that means I get to keep being around you—not that you have to be around me I'm not trying to sa—"
Sabah smiled and released Lily's chin. "Okay."
Lily blinked. "What?"
"Sorry. Just wanted to make sure we were on the same page before anything happened."
Oh, definitely on the same page.
"Want to go for a walk?" Sabah asked. "Get some fresh air?"
Hell yes. "Sure."
Lily fished a coat out of the bottom of her bag and threw it on. She checked on Lafter, long accustomed to telling other people where she was going at least vaguely.
The girl was laughing, pointing at a screen while Taylor said something presumably funny. The pain was gone. The sense of impending loss. It was just smiles and laughter. Perhaps the truth of love—not that she was jumping to conclusions—was the freedom to be completely comfortable without any masks. Without acting at all.
To just be with someone else and to hell with anyone else's opinions.
And maybe that was okay.
Maybe change was just change.
Not good. Not bad. Both, in some measure.
Things changed and everyone did the best they could.
David
Reluctantly, David pushed the case open.
Try as he might, the math wasn't going to work.
He didn't have enough vials left.
"Damnit Fortuna… Just couldn't step aside and let anything happen without it being on your path. Your way."
As if her way had ever worked.
So many of them were dead. He'd hoped to free them from the effect of his power when it was done. There was no need to kill them.
"Damnit Fortuna."
David closed the case and secured it.
Scion was back, or something else from inside the network that could call itself Scion. The plan had either failed or something they couldn't have seen happening had happened. All those people who died to kill the Warrior had died for nothing.
There was a deep cold in that. Bitter and sharp.
All that destruction. All that death. Everything they'd done and sacrificed.
For nothing.
Or maybe that was his pessimism kicking back in.
He was uncertain what it all meant. Contessa's cruel murders. The Simurgh's death. The return of Scion.
And he didn't know how any of it happened.
It wasn't supposed to happen. Was that Fortuna? Lalah Sune? Had he failed to fully understand what the Shards would do now that Scion was dead? So many of his thinkers were dead now.
He'd never been good at this part. Trying to fit all the pieces together and find the best way forward. He wasn't the smartest man. All the plans had come from the thinkers. They were the ones who'd slowly picked apart what Rebecca couldn't let go and laid the groundwork for a successor.
Now they were dead, and David found himself scrambling to try and find where the thrust was aimed.
There wasn't time for this kind of indecision.
The situation hadn't changed except in the severity of his opponents. Being able to kill the Simurgh. He'd planned to kill her himself before she went off and did whatever it was she was planning, but truthfully he'd been hoping to bring more force to bear in that battle. It never occurred to him that others could kill her.
It never occurred to him that Scion could be resurrected in some form.
And he didn't know how to deal with that, or that Newtype was seemingly working with it.
She didn't strike him as someone out to destroy the world or foolish enough to be tricked into helping that end along.
There was something else.
Something else he didn't have time to figure out.
David rose from his seat and started toward the door.
The PRT and the Protectorate would disband soon. The debate over how the world should deal with the existence of Parahumans would open anew. They had a window to achieve real progress.
David knew enough to know any good plan had more than one point to it.
He couldn't afford to be distracted now.
The hall was busy outside. Plenty of those he'd recruited into the Protectorate had survived the years. It hadn't been hard to recruit them again, especially when they agreed on why everything had so readily fallen apart. A lack of boldness. Unwillingness to make necessary choices lest they have to defend them before public scrutiny.
PR people and staff were a bit harder to pull together but those positions wouldn't be that important.
Contessa killed so many. It was shocking in a way who she'd missed.
"Accord left."
David entered the main room and turned his head.
Leet—Zero, so he seemed to want to be called now—sat on a box off to the side.
"Said he couldn't stand the mess," the boy explained. "Went somewhere to think." He pointed to a desk amid the clutter. "Left that for you."
The 'command center' as it were didn't look like much. It would have been more impressive if not for the dead. Computer banks. Communications. Movers and thinkers. He had far less of that now and it would take time to replace what had been lost. They had the equipment still, however. A few brutes and changers moved equipment about, directed by Damocles as she stood clutching at her missing forearm.
Hero had targeted her specifically.
Was Fortuna in league with this new Scion? Did she want to stop David from using the same plan twice?
David went to the desk and took the papers. He looked them over briefly. Accord was a good ally to gain. He'd been pivotal in keeping the PRT going as long as it had. He was hardly a replacement for everything that had been lost, but it was lucky that Fortuna either ran out of time or didn't know to go after him.
"Or maybe she didn't feel the need to."
"What?"
David looked back again. The boy had pulled this before. That new machine of his was very good at prediction, though not quite akin to a true precognitive.
Zero met his gaze, relaxed and at ease. "Accord's plans take time to come to fruition. That kind of time might not be available anymore."
"You're referring to Londo Bell."
"One way or another, Newtype has successfully disseminated information about your role in things. She's barely even started trying. You might be able to head her off or convince many not to listen, but many others will and they'll side with her. Especially when Londo Bell is such a good deal and has the death of the Simurgh behind it."
"She's a child being used," David mumbled. "She's not the real danger. Scion is."
"Try convincing everyone around her of that."
He already knew that, as much as he knew Leet already had something in mind. "Get to your point. What's the idea your machine is coming up with?"
"Instability defines the parahuman world," Zero proposed. "A constant unbalancing of power that goes back and forth until it inevitably explodes. Something Newtype seems dead set on detonating no matter how obviously a bad idea it is."
"Unity has consistently been one of mankind's greatest struggles," David mused. "Even when we recognize that working together is to our benefit, we fail. Self-interest dominates."
It was one respect where the network had something over humanity. They'd already advanced past internal conflict. Originally, at least.
The wail in the back of his mind had shifted since that night. Some aspects were calmer. Others louder. The conversation in the network had changed and he still wasn't sure what that meant or why. Was the cycle restarting? Had the Simurgh intended to get herself killed to achieve that end? It would explain how she died so suddenly.
"I think that if you sit back and wait," Zero pressed, "then she'll overtake you before you've even realized it. If not her, those who follow her. They're all equally naive."
"You fought her." David looked Zero in the eye. "How powerful is she, really?"
"Powerful enough. She didn't get where she is by luck, and a lot of what you did to prepare the way for your advancement has so conveniently aided hers."
Contessa.
She stood there as Contessa fell back into Doormaker's portal.
A light surrounded her. Power. Raw power and will.
"What are you?"
"What are you?" she asked back, eyes alight. "A blunt instrument, so focused on power he can see nothing more."
David flinched.
The same thoughts rushed through his mind.
The world was at stake. More than the world. Every Earth across a thousand universes. Countless lives and all the weight of not knowing if he was good enough to save them if it came down to him.
And it hadn't come down to him in the end.
In the end he stood back for most of the fight and watched as others died, just so he could use one power to cripple a distracted shell.
All the while, she had been there. In control. More in control than Fortuna had been. Watching with those patient green eyes that seemed to know and see far more than they should.
What was she?
What were they?
Not capes. They were too powerful. They didn't act like capes at all, costumes be damned. They knew too much. They'd come from nowhere and just known everything.
"How are you here?" David pressed. He readied himself. Had they traded one demon for another? "What are you—"
"Power against power destroys everything in its path," she charged. "It is not a way forward. You will not advance as long as you see the world in such simple terms."
Advance? "Are you human?"
She narrowed her eyes and shook her head before turning away. "You're not ready… I hoped you were ready."
David started to push himself in the air to follow. She walked back into that space. The place with the angry voices. The voices that knew exactly what they'd done and were furious. What was she doing? Why let Contessa go first when she so clearly didn't know what she was doing if—
"Be gone."
The world spiraled and David first heard the screaming. It drowned out everything. Like a lid had been ripped off something in his head and what came out was sheer unbridled uncertainty and fear.
David crashed into the ground and rolled. The screams were a storm in the wind, carried by the crashing of glass and the sundering of stone and steel. He pulled himself out of the water and up the shore. He looked back, his chest turning to a cold black pit as Manhattan burned into a shattered heap and sealing millions of pleading lives with it.
The fire was incandescent.
It rippled in the air rather than burned in it.
David stumbled to his feet, reaching for his power.
The screaming struck him. A constant wail from the well inside him. Pain. Agony. He tried to fight through it. So many had already died. For what? So that those voices could plot their own revenge against humanity for the death of the Warrior?
It wasn't enough.
It was never en—
A wave of light shone from above. The colors shifted. Reds, greens, and yellows.
David raised his head, seeing the man who'd called himself Ray hovering over the city with his hand held down.
As the light fell, the ripple in the air vanished. The screams quieted. The world fell silent.
David watched it all and he tried to understand.
The price of power against power.
The cycle in its purest brutality.
And it had to change.
"Power meeting power destroys everything in its path," David recalled. She was right. He hadn't understood then. And he hadn't been ready. "I don't think it's Newtype's intent to burn the world."
"It'll burn anyway," Zero pointed out. "Zero's zeen it. It has yet to be wrong."
"Then we'll stop her." David didn't know if this new Scion intended to follow the footsteps of the first or if she was something else. It didn't really matter. "The truth is coming out. The nature of powers. The truth about human insignificance in the grand scheme of the galaxy. If great care isn't taken, we'll lose this chance to advance." Just like the last one. "We need to build ourselves properly for when our time comes."
They had to face hard truths. To do what needed to be done so they could be ready.
The world needed heroes, even if it was so they could evolve to the point it no longer needed them.
TS.1 Zero
David walked away and the villain formerly known as Leet turned his back and smiled.
Who would have thought the man who ran circles around the PRT and Protectorate for ten years was so easy to fool.
Right again.
Zero was always right.