Taking Back the Crown

by JCMorrigan

Mozenrath. Archibald Snatcher. Roman Torchwick. Mad Madam Mim. Yzma. The Huntsman. Wuya. Ayam Aghoul. Their mission: take over the multiverse, or look fabulous trying. Rated M for swearing, steamy implications and VERY bloody battles. Contains slash and het shipping.

87. Divide and Conquer

As Snatcher slid through the door to his shared quarters with Roman, holding aloft the pages of notes Mozenrath had presented him with, he called out, "TORCHWICK! We have a call to action!"

Without waiting for a response, he walked through the apartment, shuffling the papers Mozenrath had neatly separated from the leather-bound book and giving them another survey. "It is to be a covert operation," he explained. "Apparently we've gained a new enemy in the form of a band of petty thieves who hold our missing items. We're to approach them without making a scene and enticing them to return those items to their rightful – well, their first thieves, anyhow. Though with what we had to go through to acquire them, I should think we would be considered the rightful owners in a sense. Am I not right – "

He entered the bedroom to find Roman stomach-down on the bed, burying his face in a pillow and more than likely smearing it with mascara stains in the process.

"Torchwick," Snatcher said sternly.

"Yeah," Roman replied without moving. "I heard you. Covert operation. Talking people into giving our stuff back. I'm in."

"You certainly don't look in any fit condition to persuade anyone of anything."

"You think?" Roman rolled over and sat up, a false and overblown grin plastered across his face. "But by all means, let me handle this one! That way, when it inevitably goes belly-up, everyone can point right back at me and say, 'That Roman sure did it again! Does he EVER not fuck up?'" He let himself fall back onto the pillow, now staring at the ceiling. "It. Was not. My fault."

"I'm well aware." Snatcher set the pages aside, taking a seat on the bed's edge. "I'm also aware you've taken the loss of Misters Lynns and Merkel rather hard – "

"I do not give a SHIT about them. They obviously didn't give a shit about ME. They…are both…dead to me. And you know what? I'm glad they left. If this is how they were going to treat me, I don't need fake friends like that. What I DO give a shit about? The fact that Four-Eyes, Meathead, Yzma Junior, and anyone else either of those two asswipes ever breathed on won't even walk by me without turning all frigid."

Snatcher had a few words to say to that, but the first ones that ended up coming out of his mouth were "I'm certain those weren't their original nicknames."

"Nicknames change with the times, Archie."

"And yet 'Archie' is eternal."

"It's SPECIAL."

"In any case," Snatcher went on, "it sounds as though a mediation session may be necessary when it comes to our associates. I'll be condemned to Hell before I let another schism occur in this alliance. However, it shall have to wait until the operation on the table has been completed. For the time being, might I suggest focusing on the task at hand and ignoring those who regard you with contempt? If you truly are so certain you've done no wrong, the opinions of the masses hardly matter."

"YOU. Telling ME the opinions of the masses don't matter."

"It seems you've been a better influence on me than either of us could have predicted," Snatcher stated contentedly.

He also knew that any claim Roman made that Garfield and Peter "didn't matter" was nothing short of a lie. He couldn't very well address that, however, unless Roman were willing to get the topic in the open. Snatcher could try and go mining for it in the depths of Roman's defensiveness, but it wouldn't be an easy task, and would potentially do more harm than good to Roman's state of mind. Better to let him come to the conclusion on his own. All the same, he needed to start looking to the future. "Back to the matter at hand," Snatcher went on. "Our targets are all adolescents. Volatile. Immature. Perfectly malleable. I do believe I've selected the one best suited for you to persuade. An arrogant little blowhard with a stubborn streak that rivals most mules. He's rather convinced he's a cut above his associates, and should you give him an opportunity to outshine them and taste the darker side – "

"Oh, yeah, totally in the mood to argue with some stubborn kid. I mean, I've had enough practice with everyone else being a shit to me, right?" This was followed by a long, drawn-out groan.

This was going to be more difficult than Snatcher had expected. He heaved a sigh before beginning anew: "Torchwick, putting your efforts toward something productive is the best way to overcome your current problems. You've got to forget about what's past for at least a moment. I know you disagree with this sentiment, but it bears repeating: when one door closes – "

Roman's eyes widened suddenly. "You open it back up again," he said softly. Rising slowly, he let his voice build in volume: "Because that's how DOORS FUCKING WORK! ARCHIE! THAT'S IT!"

"Actually, Torchwick, I – "

Roman shut up the flabbergasted Snatcher by pressing a hard kiss to his lips before flinging himself out of bed. "I'm going to fucking fix this!" he cried. "You're a GENIUS! I'll be back soon, got it?" He tore out of the bedroom.

Snatcher was left frozen in silence for a moment before Roman's head peered around the door frame. "Oh, and, uh…good luck with that other mission," Roman told him before vanishing again, bolting from the apartment and slamming the front door on his way out.

"I've no idea what I just encouraged him to do," Snatcher said to no one, "but I'm certain it was the opposite of what I intended." Shaking his head, he rose from the bed. "And yet, against my better judgment, I trust him."

Twenty minutes later, Scarlet Overkill, in the midst of a heated yet friendly no-magic-allowed spar with Wuya, leapt back against the wall and put up her hand to signal her opponent to halt. "I'm getting something." She retrieved her scroll, pulling up a text that she had just received and beginning to scan it.

"Who's it from?" Wuya asked.

Scarlet's attention was too focused on the scroll for her to register the question. She mumbled a few words out loud as her eyes traversed the textwall: "Intended to be a covert mission…advantage of wisdom over their adolescence…trust you to be able to tap into their newly exposed weaknesses…"

"Never mind," Wuya sighed. "I know EXACTLY who it's from."

Scarlet's head snapped up. "It's Snatcher. He wants to know where I am."

Wuya rolled her eyes.

Scarlet dashed off a quick reply, prompting Wuya to ask, "Did you have that kind of technology on your world?"

"No," Scarlet replied, "and it took a little bit to get used to, but it's easy now that I've figured it out."

"Imagine that."

When Snatcher finally strolled into the training arena, Wuya greeted him with "So you finally figured out how to send a text."

He pointed at her while looking at Scarlet; "You hush." Then to Scarlet: "Mrs. Overkill! I trust you received my briefing on our next task."

"This actually sounds super fun," Scarlet said excitedly. "Please tell me we're dealing with relatable social outcasts who suffered exactly what we did but either became bleeding-hearts about it or didn't end up as well-adjusted as we are."

"Well-adjusted," Wuya repeated skeptically.

"Actually, they likely all believe they've suffered more than we could have," Snatcher clarified.

"Oooooh," Scarlet replied. "That's even better."

"What's all this about?" Wuya asked.

Snatcher turned to face her. "The artifacts that Lord Mozenrath attempted to retrieve have fallen into the hands of five adolescent thieves," Snatcher explained. "Apparently, they all possess certain abilities that prevented Lord Mozenrath and Miss Yzma from taking them by brute force, and we would rather avoid a scene. Ergo, this mission has now been turned over to my charge, and I am selecting a team of highly skilled manipulators to corner each of these adolescent hooligans and utilize personal information to convince them to turn over the items to our possession. There is, however, somewhat of a snag in my plan. Originally, I had intended to recruit Mrs. Overkill and Miss Xayide, obviously. One of the subjects in particular is practically gift-wrapped for Mr. Vexen."

"You want VEXEN to attempt a manipulation gambit." Wuya was obviously still skeptical.

"Trust me, Miss Wuya," Snatcher responded, "there's no one but him can do it. As for the fifth, I had wished to bring Torchwick into the fold, but it seems he's got his own mission in mind. I still am none the wiser as to what it is, and I do hope I don't come to regret not asking before he made his exeunt. Whatever the case, he will NOT be joining us, and I am now left seeking a replacement who can attempt to convince a young egomaniac that he is superior to his companions in such a way that he must abandon them in favor of the WHAM ARMY."

"That really is a pity," Wuya replied. "If only there were someone else around who had experience with turning teenage boys to the dark side. It's just too bad you literally don't know anybody else who's ever managed to tap into a teenager's insecurity and turn him against all of his friends for an extended period of time. Oh, well. I guess you'll just be one person short."

"There's no need to be sarcastic, Miss Wuya," Snatcher grunted. "If you prefer to see this as your second go-around at Mr. Pedrosa, you're more than welcome. That brings us up to five on five. The perfect amount to divide and conquer."

"So that's the plan?" Scarlet asked.

"All will be revealed at our official strategy meeting," Snatcher informed her, removing his scroll from his pocket. "Allow me to contact Miss Xayide and Mr. Vexen and request their presence at the larger library – "

"Done." Wuya held up her scroll.

Snatcher shot her a venomous glare. She returned a proud smirk.

Soon, Snatcher, Wuya, Scarlet, Xayide, and Vexen were arranged around a table in the enormous library, Mozenrath's notes on the Brotherhood spread out over the tabletop between them.

" – so you see why that case, in particular, belongs to you," Snatcher told Vexen.

Vexen nodded. "Indeed. You've thought this through."

"So we know who Vexen gets," Wuya recapitulated, "and the speedster is mine. What about everyone else?"

"Well," Snatcher stated, "I personally would like to target…" He looked down at the notes once more, noting the five variant spellings of surname Mozenrath had jotted down. It was almost like Mozenrath was trying to get Snatcher's goat, really. "…The interesting one."

"Of course YOU get the interesting one," Scarlet groaned. "Can't you cut your little sister a break?"

"I had my own eye on the interesting one," Xayide added.

"You cannot deny that based on my history," Snatcher argued, "I would be best suited to attempt to reach that particular target."

"How?" Xayide asked. "There's nothing in common."

"Well, there obviously is," Scarlet contributed, "but I really think I have a better shot at that one."

"And yet I have encountered similar in the past," Xayide brought up.

"No you haven't," Scarlet said in confusion.

"If anything," Snatcher added, "your circumstances better suit you toward…" He paused. "Which do you each think I was referring to?"

Scarlet and Xayide each said a name, and neither was the name Snatcher had been considering.

"Well," Snatcher stated, adjusting his jacket proudly. "I suppose that settles it. We've all chosen."

"Your plan hinges on none of them knowing we are targeting the other four," Xayide pointed out. "What if more than one takes the bait?"

"Then we reunite them at base," Snatcher explained, "collect the fee from all involved, and inform them they each passed the test on their own."

"And after they arrive?" Vexen asked.

"Well, that truly depends," Snatcher replied. "We may each evaluate for potential. Should we see it, perhaps we can work them into our ranks after all. Powers such as theirs would make them valuable allies. If not, however, I'm certain Mozenrath would enjoy disposing of those who humiliated him, and perhaps he would let us each have a share in the torment."

"And say they spill the beans before biting down on the hook," Wuya suggested.

"We mustn't mix metaphors, Miss Wuya," Snatcher chided teasingly. "And believe you me, the likes of them won't breathe a word to each other, no matter what niceties they may exchange in the dead of night. They've already proven to be opportunists, and we are about to provide them with opportunity. Their promises to each other will quite easily dissolve once we provide both carrot and stick."

"Then I will set out at once," Vexen stated, casting a Corridor. "After all, my part will require substantially more preparation than any of your roles." Without a further word, he was gone, the Corridor fizzling out behind.

"I am SO excited for this," Scarlet gushed. "Are you excited? Tell me you're all excited."

As Scarlet tried to rouse enthusiasm, Snatcher looked down at the notes he'd pulled aside one more time. He sighed once again as he observed where Mozenrath had written the word "Tolenski," crossed it out, replaced it with "Tolensky," crossed that out as well, finally filled in "Tolansky (Tolanski?)," and then, two paragraphs later, added a parenthetical in an unrelated paragraph stating, "(Could be 'Tolinski')." The first order of business, obviously, was figuring out how that particular last name was pronounced and spelled. Once that was through, however, Snatcher planned to aim directly for the heart. Much like a literal toad, this one would be all too easy to crush beneath his heel.

...

Wanda did not end up getting any sleep that night. It wasn't uncommon for the thirst for her lost memories to keep her awake, but now it was compounded with unsatisfied curiosity about where she was, really. This place sold magic on the street, housed magic in its government facilities, and simply felt magic just by the act of being there. There was more to this than any of Wanda's housemates was willing to investigate, and so she realized she had to take it upon herself to get answers.

A pink-covered notebook was discovered in a kitchen drawer, a pink pen lying next to it. Black ink, thankfully. Wanda quickly flipped to the center of the notebook, where the pages were blank, and wrote in large letters, "I went out. I'll be back. Don't worry about me." The notebook was left on the dining room table, where the boys would more than likely find it.

Reminding herself to breathe, Wanda stepped into the night.

She had loved to read fantasy stories for as long as she could remember – though, of course, much of that was falsehood. Everything over the past year, however, she could be sure of, and she still had a fondness for whimsical, improbable tales then: the type of story where the main character would find themselves with powers similar to her own, and either that character or their world would hail it as a blessing, not a curse. Wanda remembered longing to be part of a world like that, and that desire felt true, left over from years of yearning. Somewhere she would be lauded; somewhere she didn't run the risk of accidentally destroying everything she touched. Perhaps, she thought, she had found herself in one of those stories now. Maybe she had found her way to a whole new world. After all, the one who'd come to retrieve the stolen goods had powers similar to hers. Was it the X-gene? Or was it a different source of power? Maybe it was a world where sorcery was commonplace.

But that would be ridiculous, wouldn't it?

Streetlamps kept the winding street in a dim glow, shadows clawing at their light. Wanda supposed this is where many a girl her age would feel scared, and for good reason: there was much to fear. She, however, had little reason to be concerned. What could attack her that she couldn't incapacitate? It wasn't as though Apocalypse was going to be waiting around the corner.

Her steps were guided by instinct; when she felt it sensible to turn left, she turned left, and when her gut drove her to the right, she made her way to the right. This roundabout path finally led her to an overlook of most of the city: a part of the street on an upper tier, with a stone guard wall standing against pedestrians falling off the sharp drop to the roads and rooftops below. This offered a clear view of the castle in the distance: once a medieval fortress, now bolstered by exposed pipes, metal plates, angular architecture, and a strange insignia – an elongated heart with an "X" at its center – that was in the process of being defaced. Wanda stood as close as she could to the low wall, looking over it and pondering this castle.

"You must believe you have nothing to fear."

Upon hearing the voice, Wanda immediately spun, bracing to summon a surge of power if needed. Bathed in the glow from a single streetlamp, the stranger stood tall, at least six feet, with a mane of golden hair; his eyes seemed to pierce, even from so far away.

"Do relax, Wanda," Vexen commanded. "I am not here to harm you."

"How do you know my name?" she growled.

"You arrived in an unknown location due to a simple construct of metal and wiring," Vexen reminded her, "you observed a host of different magics gathered in one place, and yet you question how I might have come by information? If you are to proceed, you truly must learn to abandon your preconceived notions of what is possible."

She didn't like him. His very aura was unpleasant. "Who are you and what do you want from me?" she asked, practically snarling.

"I see how you may be led to the conclusion that I am here to harm you or take advantage of you in some way," Vexen told her. "After all, I have found you in the dead of night, cornered you alone, and revealed that I know things that by all your ideas of logic, I most certainly should not. However, illogical as it may seem, I am here to help you, not harm you."

She glared silently.

"You don't believe me," Vexen went on. "Wanda Maximoff, if I know your name, and I know where you come from, surely I know what it is you seek. You yearn for your lost memories. They are of tragic times that most would wish to erase, but you have come to realize the error in that logic. Living in a lie can in no way make up the difference for a tragedy. Our memories, our tragedies, are what form who we are. When your sorrows were stolen from you, so was the true heart of Wanda Maximoff. What you wouldn't give to know who you really are; to be yourself once more."

"STOP!" Wanda cried, pressing her hands to either side of her head; the lamppost bent slightly with an ominous metal creak, and two benches placed along the street for recreational relaxation jiggled their way toward Vexen. It seemed Mozenrath hadn't talked up her power just to make it seem as though he had lost to a more formidable foe, Vexen mused. "YOU DON'T KNOW ME! YOU DON'T KNOW WHO I AM!"

"And neither do you," Vexen stated calmly, though his heart did flutter slightly at the revelation of just what he was dealing with. "Do you wish to?"

"Don't act like you can give my memories back to me," Wanda pleaded. "It's impossible. It's a trick. You're just trying to trick me! GO AWAY!"

The park benches edged closer, and the lamppost was now bent at a visible angle, casting Vexen in slightly more shadow. "I can see I will have to provide proof of my claim," Vexen stated, his tone keeping cool. "After all, I did not expect you to believe me. Why would I have reason to?" He flicked a small piece of paper from within his coat, holding it up between two fingers. "I merely ask you to do one thing, and then I shall grant you a reprieve. I will, as you have demanded, depart. That should be incentive enough for you to comply. And do not think you need to defend yourself; I am not asking the sort of debauchery that men often coerce from girls of your age at this time of night, nor for any act of violence. I merely ask that you take this card and then immediately return it to me."

Wanda distrusted that all he really wanted was for her to pick up a piece of paper. All the same, when she weighed her options, she found several reasons to play along for the moment. If he did try something on her, she could incapacitate him. If he was being honest, she could easily send him on his way. If she refused, he would likely goad her further, perhaps aggressively, and she would end up having to fend him off either way. "I take the card," she repeated, "and you leave me alone."

"For the time being."

She didn't like the sounds of that. All the same, it was better that she try this than cut straight to violence. She edged closer to him.

Vexen was already striding confidently toward Wanda, extending the card in her direction. He halted at a good enough distance from her, holding the card as far from his body as possible. Wanda could now see that it was square at the bottom, but cut into a jagged triangular pattern at the top. Gingerly plucking the card from Vexen's hand, Wanda examined it more closely. It seemed to be a soft blue color (if the light could still be believed, given the angle of the lamppost) save for a large black square in the card's center.

"Before you return it," Vexen commanded, "think of a memory you know to be a falsehood. Any memory at all."

She wanted to rebel from his demand, but being prompted caused her subconscious to automatically fill in the blank. Unbidden, several memories that fit the bill flowed into her mind, and as they did, the black square on the card became an image. Wanda raised it to her face with curiosity, attempting to make out the details.

"My card," Vexen demanded, turning his hand palm-up.

Wanda hastily placed the card down into the waiting hand, backing up two steps once she had done so.

Vexen gripped the card with his fingers once more, turning it over. He moved closer to the light, taking stock of the image Wanda had filled it with: an older, white-haired man smiling jovially against a background of a garishly green park beneath a frustratingly sunny sky. "Do not seek me," he told her. "I will be the one to find you. Perhaps then you will no longer question my intentions."

He turned to walk away, which should have relieved Wanda, but instead, she found herself calling after him: "WAIT!"

Vexen paused, more curious than anything else.

"Why would you want to help me?" Wanda asked plaintively.

"My dear child," he responded, tilting his head over his shoulder just enough to place her in his field of vision. "I have seen what happens to those deprived of their true identity in their youth. I wish to spare you from what became of them."

As he cast the Corridor, he ruminated on the conversation. He had expected her to be difficult to work with. That was precisely why he had agreed with Snatcher that he was the one most suited to target her.

Wanda watched as Vexen summoned a tall portal of flowing black energy, disappeared into it, and let the portal dissolve in his wake. Behind her, the sun was beginning to crest the horizon, but she took no notice, her mind instead buzzing with questions as she stared at the place where Vexen had been but moments before.

After some time watching that now empty spot, she heard the new voice from behind her: "Hey, are you okay? You look lost."

...

Sora had escaped Yen Sid's request that he turn up at the tower at eight. However, he had no such luck escaping Papyrus shortly before six in the morning.

Sora had answered a very insistent knock on his door to find the skeleton bedecked in a T-shirt, athletic shorts, squeaky sneakers, and a sweatband. It was too early for Sora's mind to even begin to ask what the point of a sweatband was on a pure bone skull.

"Whassgoingon?" Sora mumbled.

"HURRY!" Papyrus insisted, reaching out to seize Sora's shoulders. "YOUR TRAINING BEGINS AT NINE! IF WE WANT TO GET IN A GOOD WORKOUT, THERE IS VERY LITTLE TIME REMAINING!"

"A workout?" Sora was gradually becoming more conscious. "I'm gonna be training, Papyrus. I don't need another workout."

"NONSENSE!" Papyrus folded his arms. "I WON'T HEAR OF IT! NOW THAT YOUR TRAINING IS BECOMING FITTINGLY INTENSE, YOU HAVE TO BE ABLE TO GO INTO EACH SESSION SUFFICIENTLY WARMED UP!"

"What do you even want me to do?" Sora asked, sure he wasn't about to like the answer.

"WELL, WE HAVE AN HOUR AND A HALF BEFORE YOU NEED TO REUNITE WITH THE OTHER KEYBEARERS AT THE TRAIN STATION," Papyrus figured. "THAT GIVES US JUST ENOUGH TIME TO MAKE A LAP AROUND THE ENTIRE CITY."

"Papyrus, I don't wanna run around the entire city!" Sora groaned. "I just wanna get some sleep!"

Papyrus let out a curt sigh. "VERY WELL. I WILL SIMPLY CARRY OUT THE TASK ON MY OWN. I CAN'T AFFORD TO GET RUSTY, AFTER ALL! BESIDES, EXERCISING ALONE WILL BE MUCH MORE CONVENIENT THAN DOING SO WITH A FRIEND. I WILL BE ABLE TO SET MY OWN PACE AND NOT WORRY ABOUT ANYONE ELSE!"

Sora was beginning to make the connection. "Hey…are Stork and Kazuichi awake yet?"

"NO," Papyrus answered. "THEY BOTH FELL ASLEEP IN THE ODD HOURS OF THE MORNING, AS IS OUR USUAL STANDARD, BUT NEITHER WILL WAKE FOR ANYTHING. AND I TRIED QUITE A FEW THINGS. NOT THAT I WANTED THEM AWAKE FOR ANY PARTICULAR REASON, BUT THEY CAN'T JUST SLEEP THE WHOLE DAY AWAY!"

Now Sora understood. "You don't really wanna do your morning run alone, do you?"

"RIDICULOUS!" Papyrus protested, though his voice betrayed a bit of shakiness. "I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE GOOD FOR YOU IF I INVITED YOU ALONG. I CAN SEE, HOWEVER, THAT I WAS MISTAKEN, AND SO I WILL LEAVE YOU TO YOUR SLEEP." He turned to walk away. "SWEET DREAMS!"

Sora let him get three paces away before saying, "Y'know, actually, it probably wouldn't be a bad idea for me to get a good warmup before training. Give me five minutes and I'll be ready to go."

Papyrus internally squealed with joy.

Thus the break of dawn found the pair careening around Radiant Garden's perimeter, ducking into the city occasionally to pass a noteworthy sight. It was Sora's idea to make a detour to the overlook so he and Papyrus could pass the best view of the castle on their route.

That was where they found the black-haired girl dressed all in red, staring seemingly into space.

Sora halted in his tracks, sensing that something was off. Papyrus followed suit, his own concern growing. They both looked to each other before approaching the girl from behind. "Hey, are you okay?" Sora asked. "You look lost."

Wanda spun on a heel to regard the pair, her heart thumping at the presence of yet more strangers who had taken an interest in her. Hopefully neither of them would be as much of a problem as the blond man and his card. She knew the sensible thing to say would be "I'm fine." However, the current circumstances piled themselves upon her concern, and what ended up coming out of her mouth was "I think I am lost."

"WHERE ARE YOU TRYING TO GO?" Papyrus inquired. "PERHAPS WE CAN HELP YOU!"

"I don't know," Wanda admitted. "I'm new around here, and I'm trying to figure out…" She'd never even thought to ask the blond man. Probably for the best. "…Where I am."

"Well, this is the overlook," Sora explained. "If you wanted to get a really good look at Radiant Garden, this is the place to be!"

"Radiant Garden?" Wanda repeated in confusion.

That was when it dawned on Sora and Papyrus, who each let out an "OHHHHHH."

"YOU'RE REALLY NOT FROM AROUND HERE!" Papyrus declared.

"Did you come from another world?" Sora asked.

Wanda's heart nearly stopped. So it was possible. And these people knew. Traveling from one realm to another was probably commonplace to them; perhaps it was just Earth that was trapped in its solitary confinement, unaware that it wasn't alone. "I think I did," Wanda answered. "What country is Radiant Garden in?"

"It's kind of its own country," Sora replied.

"IT MAY ACTUALLY BE MORE OF A PRINCIPALITY," Papyrus mused.

"It isn't on Earth, is it?" Wanda continued.

"Nnnnope," Sora answered. "I know people who come from plenty of different Earths, but this isn't one."

"MAYBE YOU'RE FROM MY EARTH!" Papyrus declared happily. "IN WHICH CASE, WELCOME, FORMER NEIGHBOR!"

Wanda had a hard time envisioning someone who looked like Papyrus living anywhere on her world that was aboveground. "Are you a mutant?"

"NO," Papyrus told her. "I'M SURE THAT IS A COMMON MISCONCEPTION. I AM ACTUALLY A MONSTER!"

No self-respecting mutant would describe themselves as a "monster" with such candor where Wanda came from. "You're not from my Earth," she stated.

"What about you?" Sora asked. "Are you a mutant?"

She should've known the question would turn onto her. Her "yes" was said with some reluctance.

"Cool!" Sora cried. "It's nice to meet you." He put out his right hand. "I'm Sora."

"AND I AM PAPYRUS!" Papyrus added, extending his own hand.

Wanda paused a moment, regarding the hands with surprise before gently shaking each in turn. "My name is Wanda."

"So you've never been to Radiant Garden before?" Sora reiterated. "We should give you a tour!"

"THINK OF US AS…THE RADIANT GARDEN WELCOMING COMMITTEE!" Papyrus decided. "AN ORGANIZATION FOUNDED JUST NOW AND LASTING UNTIL THE PRESENT DAY!"

"I couldn't make you go out of your way," Wanda replied.

"It wouldn't be out of our way!" Sora assured her. "It's what friends do, right?"

"How can you say we're friends?" Wanda asked, baffled. "We just met."

"Yeah," Sora argued, "but I can already tell you're gonna be a good friend."

"AND I SEE NO EVIDENCE TO THE CONTRARY!" Papyrus cried.

Wanda doubted that. She did, however, feel a much better sense of trust about this pair than she had about the blond man.

"C'mon!" Sora was already walking briskly away, beckoning Wanda to follow. "We only have until eight-thirty, and we have a lot of ground to cover!"

A soft smile found its way to Wanda's face. "All right," she relented, walking after Sora.

Papyrus brought up the rear, taking a moment to notice the bent lamppost. "I WONDER WHAT HAPPENED HERE," he mused.

That was a subject Wanda was determined to avoid, so she stayed silent.

Papyrus shrugged. "IT MUST HAVE BEEN BENT BY SOMEONE WHO NEEDED THE LIGHT AT A DIFFERENT ANGLE."

In fact, there were many subjects Wanda felt it best to avoid, such as details about her past, her missing memories, and probably her housemates as well. This "Sora" and this "Papyrus" both seemed like big talkers. So she would let them talk. She would listen, and she would learn.

It was nice to see welcoming faces. But she wasn't convinced that these two could or would be her friends. She had too much to hide.

...

Lance, Pietro, Fred, and Todd did in fact find Wanda's note – about halfway through breakfast, when Todd actually decided to look at the notebook he was using as a cereal bowl coaster.

"I TOLD her to go to SLEEP!" Pietro groaned. "Whatever. She'll just have to miss out on the plan."

"What plan?" Fred asked.

"Divide and conquer," Pietro stated. "I wanna know just how big this city is. So I figure if we split up, we can cover everything. Maybe figure out for sure if we're in Doomwhatever. Four cardinal directions, four of us."

"Dibs on East," Todd piped up.

"…Why East?" Lance asked, perplexed.

Todd shrugged. "Dunno. Just felt like a good direction."

"Fine," Pietro resolved. "Todd gets East. Point is, go wherever you want. Stay out as long as you want. Just meet back here at the house sometime tonight. We'll talk about what we found over dinner."

"Speakin' of dinner," Fred brought up, "I'm hopin' to find a good pizza place."

"I'm on board with that!" Lance agreed.

After breakfast was finished, the quartet exited the house and hustled off in different directions, leaving the dishes spread out on the table with no mind as to how much they'd get in the way later.

...

The first training session with Yen Sid had gone quite smoothly. He'd taken the time to assess the current skills of his disciples, noting the strengths and weaknesses of each and complimenting what they did right while making reference to what they yet had to work on. Learning new techniques would begin the following day.

Upon returning to the castle, Sora had barricaded himself in his room for an extended nap. Lea was called to Committee business, Kairi and Jaune met up to spend more time together, and Mickey, Donald, and Goofy ended up in a water balloon fight in the courtyard versus Ren and Nora, who seemingly had not learned that providing Donald Duck with any avenue to be competitive was a terrible idea. Riku had been extended an invitation, but had no desire to get soaked to the bone, and so ended up taking a walk through town alone instead of socializing.

Simply getting outside to see the sights and breathe fresh air was invigorating. As Riku wandered, his mind drifted to the anecdote Sora had related to him on the train ride to Yen Sid's tower. Apparently, after Papyrus had roped Sora into an early-morning run, the pair had come across a newcomer to the kingdom (and the world, in fact). They had then used their remaining time to show this girl, Wanda, around the kingdom and point out all the most important landmarks. Sora had found it rather odd that she hadn't said much during the whole escapade, and he realized while recapitulating the scenario that he knew precious little about her. Her name was Wanda, she was some sort of mutant, and her homeworld was one of the many Earths, though it didn't seem to be one that Sora had come into contact with any denizens of yet. That was the extent of it. At the journey's end, Sora and Papyrus had asked if she would be all right from there on out, and she had insisted that she would, quite confidently. They all parted ways, with Papyrus heading back to the castle, Sora catching the train, and Wanda most likely returning to whatever home she had in town. She did have a home; Sora had been sure to ask, and she'd affirmed it, though she hadn't elaborated.

The question was whether Sora and Wanda would cross paths again, and to Riku, the answer was "most certainly." Whenever Sora made a new acquaintance, it was only a matter of time before that person became wrapped up in Sora's escapades. It was a blessing and a curse: once you met Sora, you were bound to him.

For himself, Riku would have it no other way.

His thoughts shifted; where did he actually want to go? There had to be a point to his meandering. He wasn't in the mood to spend a lot of munny, but there was always window-shopping. And window-shopping meant one could look at something one potentially had no means of ever using, but featured prominently in fantasies.

Riku had never been musical. He wasn't all that fond of singing, and there wasn't a single instrument he could play besides the simplest of percussion. However, there were times when his daydreams turned to stardom, visualizing a stage upon which he stood bathed in limelight as he urged a guitar to produce a siren-song of rock that shook the hearts of those watching.

That was why he walked into the music store.

Not only guitars awaited him but also an array of musical instruments of all types that he had no idea how to play. He gave a polite nod toward the flutes and the saxophones before proceeding to the wall where guitars both acoustic and electric were mounted in columns. They were painted in palettes ranging from dark and edgy to bright and bouncy; Riku eyed up a black-and-purple number with interest.

Taking a step to the left to get a better look, he collided with the other spectator of the guitars, who had been taking a step to the right. Both parties immediately backed off from each other, looking at each other and firing off a hurried "Sorry!"

"Don't worry about it," Riku followed up with a soft smile.

Lance Alvers shrugged. "Okay, then. I won't." He looked up to the guitar array, then back down to Riku. "You play?"

"No," Riku said with a shake of his head. "Kinda wish I could sometimes. But I have enough on my plate to worry about learning how to play an instrument. What about you?"

"I play," Lance replied cockily. "I'm a bit of a rock star."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Well, the biggest time I've ever hit was the living room, but I think that counts."

Riku gave a nod of agreement. "So you're looking for a new guitar."

"Yeah," Lance confirmed. "Sorta. I just moved here, and I left my old one back home. Problem is I can't actually afford any of these." Which had led him to his plan of observing every inch of the shop to develop a strategy to break in during the dead of night and swipe the instrument of his dreams.

Riku hadn't wanted to spend much munny, but truth be told, he did have enough to cover the expense of one of the electric models. When the thought first struck him, he nearly dismissed it, only to remember that it was what Sora would do. "If you want, I can spot you one."

"No!" Lance said hurriedly. "Seriously, don't. That's really nice, but I ain't takin' your money." If he was going to be able to pick it up for free later, why should he let some bleeding heart waste the cash on him? Thievery, he could live with. Letting a kind stranger empty their wallet for him, he could not.

"You sure? Final offer."

"Seriously, don't. I'll get mad."

Riku shrugged, dropping the offer.

"So which one were you looking at?" Lance asked. There was something about Riku he simply liked. Maybe it was his attitude. Maybe it was the fact that he'd been about to drop a ton of cash on him to help him get back one of his lost prized possessions. Maybe it was just the way he dressed.

Riku pointed to indicate the black-and-purple guitar. "That."

"Solid choice," Lance complimented. "Very 'black-like-my-soul.' I like it." He drew Riku's attention to a bright red instrument. "Now, THAT one's more my speed."

"It sure makes a statement," Riku observed.

"Was that a compliment?" Lance said with suspicion.

Riku realized how his declaration might have sounded. "A good statement. It says you're not ordinary."

"That's 'cause I'm NOT!" Lance replied jovially.

Riku decided he liked Lance as well. "Hey. What's your name?"

"Lance. Yours?"

"I'm Riku."

Lance had never heard such a name before. He supposed it must be a native name to wherever he'd ended up, though it sounded vaguely Japanese, which was completely different from the Eastern European theory he'd had at the outset. No one he'd run into seemed to speak Japanese, for that matter, but didn't Japan have a booming American tourist industry anyway? Possibly they were all bilingual. Though Lance hadn't noticed an overwhelming abundance of Asian physical features on the people he'd run into, either – this city seemed to be a blend of many ethnicities from what he'd seemed. This pondering almost led Lance to ask Riku where exactly they were, but he supposed a shopper in a music store happening to ask what the name of the city was that he was in, let alone the country, would look far too conspicuous for his liking.

Then there was the matter of the impending heist. Lance could either plan his strategy or chat with Riku. He couldn't manage both. Weighing his options, he very nearly chose to spend more time with the charming stranger, but then realized he was exactly that: a stranger. He needed to ditch Riku as soon as possible.

"It's nice to meet you, Riku," he said, trying not to sound too hurried, "but I have a thing I gotta get to, so – "

"Maybe see you around?" Riku asked.

"Uh…yeah," Lance replied. "See you 'round."

He exited the shop, turning his attention to the exterior and seeking out security cameras. Would he actually see Riku again? In a city this big, he doubted it. He was just some stranger anyway.

Riku laughed to himself once he realized what he'd asked of Lance. "Looks like you're rubbing off on me, Sora," he muttered. "I'm trying to make friends with people I just met. I thought that was your thing."

He could only stare at his dream guitar for so long before just admitting he wasn't going to become a rock star anytime soon and departing.

...

Kairi and Jaune's goal was twofold. For one, their leisurely walk around the city would serve as the perfect setting for a date. For another, it gave them a chance to survey the damage that had been done over the course of Maleficent's ravaging, which Kairi felt was her duty as princess to discover and attempt to fix.

"Can we take some of the back streets here?" she asked as she and Jaune walked into a district Kairi was sure she recognized from the living nightmare – and not for good reasons. "I wanna check it out."

"Sure," Jaune agreed, hoping the wreckage wouldn't be too bad here.

They made their way through narrow alleys, and Kairi encouraged, "Finish what you were saying about Saphron!"

"Oh, yeah," Jaune recalled. "All that was left for me to say was that she and Terra actually have a really cute kid. Adrian. Sure, he can be loud, and pretty messy, but I dunno, I kinda like getting to help look after him when we all get together. Everyone always says I'd make a great dad when they see me babysitting him, but I am NOT ready to think about stuff like that yet."

"I'd love to meet them someday," Kairi stated happily.

"I'd love FOR you to meet them," Jaune agreed. "They would LOVE you. Heck, bring Ienzo and we could make it a big family reunion."

"I bet Terra and Ienzo could spend hours talking about their jobs," Kairi laughed. "I wonder how Ienzo is with kids. I'm the last kid I know who he spent time with, and I'm definitely not a kid anymore."

"He seems like the kind of guy who wouldn't know what to do with a baby at first and would probably freeze up," Jaune theorized, "but then, a couple hours later, would be making baby talk and reading him picture books."

"That is actually EXACTLY how Ienzo would react."

They turned the corner onto a street where a house had been ripped apart; an entire section of wall was neatly trapped at an angle between the facades on either side, reaching from the ground to up above Jaune and Kairi's heads. Kairi gave a dismayed sigh. "It is as bad as I thought here."

"I'm sorry," Jaune said sympathetically.

"It'll be okay," Kairi insisted. "All we can do now is focus on fixing it."

But they were both worried about whoever had occupied that house, wondering if they'd managed to escape with the refugees to the safety of the castle or if they'd perished in whichever one of the disasters had ripped the wall apart.

"Well, there's no going this way," Jaune sighed at last. "We should backtrack."

It was then that another teenager exploring that sector of town turned down that same street, visually assessing the roadblock. As Kairi and Jaune turned, they both caught sight of him, and though it seemed obvious, Jaune still thought it pertinent to warn, "Sorry. Road's kinda closed this way."

So it was a challenge. Fred Dukes gave the wall segment a cocky smile. "Not to me!" he declared.

Kairi and Jaune watched him in utter perplexion as he strode right up to the wall, bending enough to get both his hands under the lower edge. With minimal effort, he then managed to lift the entire wall high up enough off the ground to admit passage for all three of them. "After you!" Fred encouraged, if only to see the strangers awed by his strength.

Which they were. "Whoa," Jaune said softly.

"That's AMAZING!" Kairi cried. Then, tugging at Jaune's sleeve; "Don't make him hold that up forever!"

Kairi and Jaune quickly dashed beneath the raised wall; Fred shifted to its other side before letting it fall back into place.

"Thanks for that," Jaune said earnestly.

"Ain't nothin'," Fred replied. Though, of course, he knew he'd wowed both of his spectators, and that was incredibly satisfying.

On this street, the houses were built to connect with one another, the walls intersecting to turn it into a hallway of sorts until it let out at the intersection up ahead; all three had to travel together for a short while at least. Knowing this, Kairi decided to strike up a little conversation with the stranger while they walked; "I don't think I've ever seen you around here."

"I would remember a guy who could pick up a wall like that," Jaune added.

"Yeah, well, I'm kinda new around here," Fred admitted.

"Where'd you come from?" Kairi asked.

Somehow Fred had the feeling he shouldn't give too much away. "Y'know, just…a couple towns over."

"Well, welcome to Radiant Garden," Kairi told him. "How do you like it so far? I know it's a bigger city than anything else in the area."

"It ain't bad," Fred replied. "Still gettin' used to the place."

"Any questions?"

Fred really wanted to look like he knew what he was doing. "Nah. I mostly got it figured out anyway." Though there was one item he hadn't managed to cross off his to-do list. "Actually, either of you know where to get a good pizza?"

"Hmm." Kairi thought it over. "I don't really eat a lot of pizza, but Lea has ordered from Golden Tomato Saucer on Luster Lane a few times. That's pretty good."

"Gotta check that out," Fred decided.

"So what's your name?" Kairi asked.

"Name's Fred," Fred responded, "but most people just call me the Blob."

"That…doesn't sound flattering," Jaune observed. "Sorry – "

"No, no, it's cool!" Fred insisted. "It's like my stage name or somethin', y'know? It lets people know I'm the world's strongest teenager!"

"I don't doubt that," Jaune replied, thinking back to the wall. Personally, he would have hated to be called "Blob" by everyone, but then again, he never would have thought he'd actually become accustomed to the nickname "Vomit Boy," and he still got a chuckle out of being listed under that name in Ruby's scroll.

The trio passed the intersection; instead of parting ways, they continued to walk together a little longer. Unfortunately, there was still more wreckage in this part of town; a patch lay ahead with scattered lumber and broken pieces of both wall and window. "Careful here," Kairi warned as they set to carefully aiming their shoes to land in the clear spaces of the road.

"Anyway, I'm Jaune," Jaune introduced.

"And I'm Kairi," Kairi added. "It's really nice to meet you!"

"So you guys – " Fred began.

He was cut off when he missed a step, his foot catching over one of the loose boards. Suddenly he was spilling to the ground, landing hard on his stomach.

As soon as Fred realized what had just happened, his teeth gritted tightly. Any minute now, Jaune and Kairi would start giggling at the sight of him, finding it way too amusing how he'd messed up, and it would all begin again –

"Oh my gosh! Are you okay?"

That was Kairi, bent down over Fred and offering her hand to him, a look of nearly fear crossing her face. Laughing seemed the farthest thing from her mind.

Jaune was at her side in an instant, similarly concerned. "That looked like it HURT," he said sympathetically.

This wasn't what Fred had expected at all. It took him a moment to process, in fact. He set about standing, ignoring Kairi's offered hand (what did a girl with arms as skinny as hers think she could do to support his weight anyway?), then dusted off the front of his clothing. "I'm fine," he stated, still rather taken aback at the turn of events.

"Are you sure?" Kairi urged, obviously worried. "There's all sorts of splinters and broken glass and nails around here – "

"None…of which…affected you?" Jaune realized as he got a better look at Fred, seeing no cuts, no punctures, no blood, only a few snags in the fabric of his overalls.

Fred couldn't help but give them another proud smile. "I ain't just strong, y'know? I can also take a beating!"

"THAT'S gotta come in handy," Jaune sighed.

"Well, I'm glad you aren't hurt," Kairi said in relief. She gave the area a visual sweep. "I really have to remember this place when I go back. It needs a lot more attention."

"Whaddaya think you're gonna do about it?" Fred asked, rather confused.

"Put in a priority request to have it fixed up," Kairi answered. "Maybe a team of us could come out here and clean up the mess!"

"I'm down!" Jaune volunteered.

"How're you gonna request anyone to fix this?" Fred still didn't get it. "You're just a teenage girl."

"Actually, I'm kind of the princess of this kingdom," Kairi admitted.

Fred certainly hadn't been expecting that. "You're WHAT?"

"Please don't get formal," Kairi requested. "I don't want you to bow to me or anything. I still am a normal teenage girl. I just…happen to have some big responsibilities."

It was a good thing, then, that Fred had never had any intention of being formal with her. "That's awesome, dude! …Dudette?"

"That's actually part of the reason we came out here," Jaune explained. "We wanted to see where in town needed work."

"What's the other part?" Fred asked.

Kairi and Jaune looked to each other, then back to Fred. "Well…" Jaune explained, "we were also kinda…on a date…but don't worry about that."

"We were glad to take some time to talk to you," Kairi asserted.

"After all," Jaune added, recalling what Ruby had said to him when he'd first met her, "a stranger is just a friend you haven't met yet."

It was nice that they hadn't laughed at him, but Fred didn't think he could call either of these two friends. Besides, the more he thought about it, the more he realized chatting with a princess probably wasn't the best idea. Princesses were all about upholding the law and acting proper and polite. That was exactly the opposite of Fred's mode of operation. If they got to know each other, she probably wouldn't like him, and he knew he wasn't going to like her. The same went for her boyfriend, who Fred figured was some sort of knight based on the way he was dressed. They were near another street intersection anyway, so Fred said hurriedly, "I ain't gonna tie you two up no more on your date."

"It's really no problem!" Kairi insisted.

"We have plenty of time to spend for just the two of us anyway," Jaune added.

"Nuh-uh," Fred insisted as he backed away. "How're you two gonna get a chance to make out with me standin' around?"

That put a blush across both Jaune and Kairi's faces.

"Luster Lane," Fred recalled as he turned to depart. "I'll remember that!"

"Thanks again for moving the wall!" Kairi called after him.

The others would be interested to know that Fred had met the actual princess of the country and one of her knights, Fred mused. Though didn't Doom-what-was-it have a sovereign ruler with no children? Now Fred was wishing he'd paid more attention in geography class instead of figuring out how to make rubber band slings to launch spitballs at the back of Rogue's head.

But it didn't matter, because, Fred realized, he had stumbled upon exactly the person the Brotherhood needed to know. Technically, it was her stuff they'd taken from the castle, and as a princess, she had to be wealthy. Maybe the powerful mutant with the single glove hadn't been able to foot the bill for the ransom, but Kairi was a different story.

...

Stork and Kazuichi had ended up sleeping into the early afternoon, trudging down to the kitchen together to round up some food. Stork, still in a half-conscious daze, had done his best to put together omelettes. He had burned them. As it turned out, Kazuichi actually liked his omelettes burned.

"Soooooo…" Kazuichi began once both were seated across from each other, digging into their charred brunches.

"What is it?" Stork replied with suspicion, raising the brow that wasn't covered by his raven-dark hair.

"Kiiiiinda wanted to go somewhere today," Kazuichi brought up. "I hoped maybe you'd wanna come along with me."

They both knew what he really meant. Kazuichi was still not encouraged to go anywhere without a companion. If he couldn't find anyone to accompany him on his errand, he was castle-bound. Truth be told, Kazuichi couldn't blame anyone for upholding this. Given the stray thoughts that made their way into his head, it was really for the best. Having a rousing conversation with friends was the best way to keep him from tallying up all the murders he'd committed, which would eventually lead into a ponder of how efficient it would be to make a running leap off one of the upper balconies.

Stork, having measured up the height of many a jumping-off point in his day, knew the importance. "What were you thinking?"

"Well…the thing is, I don't know if you're really gonna…like it…I could find someone else…"

"Are we going Heartless-hunting on the edge of town?"

"Uh, no?"

"Invading Villain's Vale?"
"Oh, God, no!"

"Mapping the sewers for the spots most likely for cave-ins and inevitably running into an enormous fanged predator previously believed to be only urban legend?"

"Fuck no!" Kazuichi insisted. "There's no dangerous stuff involved, okay?"

Stork nodded. "I think I've ruled out everything objectionable. Count me in."

"Great!" Kazuichi replied. "We can just get dressed and go!"

"Where ARE we going, anyway?"

"Well…"

...

Stork had to admit he hadn't taken this possibility into account. However, it was too late for him to renege now.

"And you're planning to get this bouquet to her…how?" he asked as he led the way into the courtyard of the outdoor florist's shop: a regular paradise of rosebushes and rows of neat tulips, with customers sitting at small tables of intricate metalworking and glass tops, waiting for their orders to be completed.

"If there are no more Mozenrath problems," Kazuichi insisted, "then we can fly back to my homeworld and drop them off! And maybe she'll be so impressed by them, she'll realize she wants to come on our adventures with m – with us! Can you imagine Miss Sonia fighting the Darkness? She'll probably kick all kinds of ass! But not TOO well. If I know her, she'll get in trouble at least once so badly, she needs me to come save her, and I'll sweep her right off her feet!"

"Listen," Stork sighed. "I'm all for bringing more people we can trust on board. But I'm gonna be honest with you: if she hasn't been interested in you by now, flowers aren't going to change her mind. Also, if you tell her that part about her needing to be saved by you, she's probably going to get even LESS interested."

"You're right," Kazuichi sighed. "I should really give her more credit."

"Why do I get the feeling you're JUST agreeing with me on that LAST part – "

"But I at least have to try!" Kazuichi insisted. "I'm becoming better for her! I'm gonna figure out how to treat her right! Thinking about her keeps me going! Maybe she will turn me down, but I won't know until I try!"

Stork sighed. "Okay. I can't argue with that last part anyway. Let's do this."

Kazuichi strode up proudly to the front counter, Stork in tow with his usual hunched-over and cautious gait. Leaning his arm on the counter, Kazuichi told the florist, "I'm here looking for a bouquet for an incredibly special woman."

"All right," the florist replied. "Are you picking based on the flowers she likes, or did you want the arrangement to have a meaning?"

"Arrangements can have MEANINGS?" Kazuichi was gobsmacked.

"Flower language," Stork piped up. "Every flower has a different significance. Back home on Atmos, for example, sky lilies mean 'eternal love,' cloud daisies mean 'friendship,' and fanged swamp gnat-traps mean 'I hope you drown agonizingly.'"

"Okay," Kazuichi told the florist, "can you make me one that says 'I know you're kind of distracted by that guy who's in a coma, but I've always loved you, and I'm not gonna be a perv to you anymore, so maybe we can both escape the depths of despair together'?"

The florist gave Kazuichi a bewildered look; they received, in return, one that indicated that Kazuichi was dead serious. "I'll…see what I can do," they said gingerly. "Why don't you have a seat while I put your order together?"

With that, the florist disappeared into the rear of the shop, searching the coolers.

Kazuichi's attention was caught by a voice directed at him, coming from the nearest table: "Man, you got it bad, yo."

He and Stork both turned to see the source of the voice and were greeted with a most odd sight: a teenage boy with skin of an odd pallor, hair dirty-blonde as well as just dirty, squatting on one of the chairs of the wiry tables so both his hands and feet touched the seat. His large, round eyes were fixed on Kazuichi and Stork; his mouth was twisted into a knowing smirk.

"Well, yeah," Kazuichi told the stranger, "but can you blame me? She's PERFECT. Maybe she doesn't love me, but I love her, and I'm gonna show her!"

"Oh, man, have I been there!" the stranger cried.

"Really?" In no time, Kazuichi was suddenly sitting at the chair across from the boy. "What happened? Did you end up with her? TELL ME HOW!"

Stork didn't like this one bit, but he already knew trying to talk Kazuichi into not engaging with those he couldn't yet label as friend or foe would go over like a lead balloon. True, it would be easier than trying to do the same thing with Sora, but Stork knew ultimately, the best he could do was fetch a third chair and pull up a seat next to Kazuichi, and that's exactly what he ended up doing.

"Boy, you are not gonna like the answer to that question," Todd Tolansky informed Kazuichi.

Kazuichi's face fell. "She didn't like you?"

"Nah," Todd replied, "but I found somebody better, yo."

"Well, I'm not gonna find better than Miss Sonia," Kazuichi asserted. "It's just not happening! I don't know who could even BE better than her!"

"So what's she like?" Todd asked.

"You wouldn't even believe it if you saw her," Kazuichi sighed, setting his elbows on the table and his head in the palm of both hands. "She's tall and graceful. She has this gorgeous long blonde hair that shines in the sun, and silver-blue eyes that are like the ocean, and her – " He stopped himself, straightening up and putting out both hands. "No. Nope. Not telling you that one. Not FOCUSING on that one. But her smile, though! It just lights up the damn room!" The smile that crossed his face was star-struck, showing off all his pointed teeth. "And she's just exactly what you'd think a princess would be like, too. She's elegant, she's graceful, she's polite, she's kind…she admittedly does have this weird thing about serial killers and slasher movies, but we all got somethin', right?"

"Man, she sounds like a regular ten, yo!" Todd commented.

"More like a fifteen," Kazuichi said dreamily. "So what was your girl like?"

"What, the one I used to have a thing for?"
"Yeah! Tell me about her first, and the one you have now after that!"

Todd shrugged. He did rather enjoy this sort of talk. And this pink-haired man was already proving fun to be around. His green companion? Not so much. "Okay, so the first girl, she wasn't like your Sonia at all. Think more…edgy goth chic. Black hair cut real short, short as it goes. Wore these real fancy red outfits. Always red with her. Kinda the angry type, though can't say I blame her. She had it real rough growin' up. Bad dad who left her to grow up in an institution and everythin'. She's been a lot happier lately, an' I like that. Still rough around the edges, but hey, that's what was attractive about her."

"You still talk to her!" Kazuichi squealed.

"Yeah, we're tight," Todd confirmed. "She's a good friend, yo. Actually got me to read a book for fun, but only 'cause I made a trade with her that she had to try out video games. Gave her one of those RPGs with the real complicated story, an' she ended up lovin' it. So then she ended up throwin' more books at me, an' we got a system."

"But you two didn't…"

"Nah. The whole time, I had this other friend who'd been there from the beginnin'. We was pretty close. Turns out I always kinda had somethin' for him, just less of a lightnin'-strike thing an' more of a comfortable thing."

Him. Kazuichi hadn't expected that, but he could roll with it. "Okay, I gotcha. So you're with him now."

"Yup."

"And what's he like?"

"Big guy," Todd described, "the kinda guy you feel safe with. Not that I need protectin' or anythin', but, y'know, it's still nice. Kinda got this mohawk thing goin' on with his hair, and it's pretty punk. Eyes? Don' even get me started. You look him right in the eye and you get stuck there. Y'know what I mean? Pretty fun-lovin' guy, too. The kinda guy who's gonna be right beside you when you wanna stir up some real stupid trouble. That don't mean he ain't got edge, though. You laugh at him, you get your face bashed in. Them's the rules."

"So how did it happen?" Kazuichi asked.

"Like I said," Todd reiterated, "we was friends."

"Yeah, but how'd you go from friends to MORE than friends?" Kazuichi begged. "I gotta know!"

"Okay." Todd pointed directly at Kazuichi. "You want my advice? You got my advice."

"And this all goes wrong in three…" Stork muttered. "Two…"

"You want this girl to pay attention to ya?" Todd went on. "First, ya set up the perfect date. Then ya blindfold her when she ain't lookin, tie her to the chair, and take the blindfold off when ya got her in place. Really surprise her."

There was a moment of silence. Then Kazuichi said, "Even I think that's a bad idea."

"Well, it worked for me."

"You tied your boyfriend to a chair?"

"Actually, I was the one in the chair," Todd said casually.

"Don't…" Stork choked out. "Don't tie Sonia to a chair."

"Well, you untie her EVENTUALLY!" Todd argued, as though that made it any better.

"I…think I'll just stick with the flowers," Kazuichi resolved. "Soooooo…are you here getting flowers for your boyfriend?" He fired off a wink.

"Nah, he ain't the flowers type," Todd replied. "I'm just here 'cause this is the best place I found to get fresh bees."

"Bees?" Stork and Kazuichi said in unison.

"All these flowers just bring 'em in." Todd's gaze wandered over to the adjacent rose bushes, where a fat, fuzzy bee was in the midst of scoping for pollen. The bee's resolve was quickly quashed when Todd's elongated green tongue snapped out to reel him into a waiting, hungry mouth.

Both Kazuichi and Stork visibly flinched after seeing Todd snap up the bee. Then Kazuichi burst out, "You know what? No. I have seen weirder. That is nothing."

Todd rewarded this with a sharp-edged glare. "Woulda thought you two of all people would be used to mutants." He addressed Stork directly for the first time since they'd convened: "Kinda surprised you're above ground."

"Ummm…why?" Stork replied, perplexed.

"Y'know, you gotta be one of them Morlocks," Todd said as though it were obvious. "Guys like us who don't look human, they get chased down into the sewers. I barely pass on the average day." He never did like thinking just how close he was to being considered fit for the sewers back home. Whenever that little bug burrowed into his brain, he smashed it immediately.

"I, uhhhh…" Stork cocked his head. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Todd did a double take. "They let ya walk around aboveground up here?"

"Yeeeaaaahhhh…"

"Man, this really ain't Bayville, is it?" Todd said in awe to himself. "So mutants here…they get treated with respect?"

"I…think you're confused," Stork told him. "I'm not a mutant. I'm a Merb."

"What the heck's a Merb?"

"Well, not a race you can find here in Radiant Garden," Stork explained, "but back home, there are more of us. Those that…you know…survived the genocide…"

"Man, that sounds rough," Todd commented.

"Just a little," Stork said sarcastically.

"An' what about you?" Todd asked Kazuichi. "I figured you were some kinda shark mutant."

"Why?" Kazuichi asked.

"'Cause of the chompers."

"Oh, these!" Kazuichi reached a single finger into his mouth to prod one of his pointy teeth. "I actually filed them myself. I thought it'd make me look more like a punk."

"That's pretty cool," Todd complimented, admittedly impressed. "You did the hair yourself too?"

"Yeah," Kazuichi confirmed, "and the contacts!"

"That's commitment, yo. I really dig the look. It's workin' for ya."

"But the, uh, the bees," Stork brought up. "Don't those sting your mouth?"

"Not if ya crunch 'em fast enough," Todd said casually.

"I get it!" Kazuichi cried. "You're some kind of frog mutant!"

"TOAD mutant," Todd corrected. "T-O-A-D, Toad. That's what everyone calls me. You might as well."

"You…" Stork was stunned. "You want us to actually call you T…that." He knew culture shock was coming into play here, but he recoiled at the sound of the word; back on Atmos, Merbs, due to their amphibiousness, were often referred to by the names of nonsentient amphibians as derogatory terms, with "toad" being the most common. It had been worse in his parents' day – his father had told horror stories of being pelted with garbage by humans, Wallops, and Blizzarians, yelling "toad, toad, toad" over and over. Thankfully, most Atmosians of Stork's generation were kinder and more politically correct – but Repton and his Raptors had missed that memo, and Stork had found the offending term directed at him during attempts of brutal murder. Why anyone would actually want to be called "Toad" of their own free will escape him. "Is that your actual name, or…?"

"Nah," Todd replied. "That's just what everyone who used to pick on me called me, and it kinda stuck, so I made it my own. Kinda like my codename now."

Being given that name by bullies made a lot more sense. "What IS your real name?" Stork asked, hoping to have to avoid using the T-word. No, it didn't mean the same thing anywhere else that it did on Atmos, and even on Atmos, it was used in scientific terms to describe the literal animal, but that didn't mean Stork had to be comfortable with it.

"'S Todd," Todd answered. "Todd Tolansky. What about you guys?"

"I'm Stork," Stork answered. "And for clarification, yes, that is my real name."

"And I'm Kazuichi Soda!" Kazuichi said proudly.

"Can I call ya Kaz?" Todd asked. Then, without waiting for a reply, "I'm callin' ya Kaz. Y'know, I think I like you guys. 'Specially you, Kaz." It was no lie. Todd felt a strange sort of kinship with the sharp-toothed boy. "You seem like a guy with taste. The kinda guy who knows he don't hafta wash his underwear every day."

"Right?" Kazuichi said excitedly. "You get it! I'm actually on my second day."

Stork blinked at him. "You what?"
"Fifth over here," Todd answered.

Stork turned to him. "You WHAT?"

"Now THAT'S dedication," Kazuichi observed. "Though if you wanna get to the details, it's my seventh day on the jumpsuit."

"IT'S WHAT?" Stork cried, knowing full well he wasn't going to get an answer.

The florist approached their table with a bouquet stuffed with flowers of all colors. "I did my best," they said as they offered it to Kazuichi.

"This…looks…GORGEOUS!" Kazuichi's tinted eyes sparkled. "It's EXACTLY her! Ohhhh, she's gonna love it! ENGINES REVVING!"

"That'll be fifty munny," the florist informed him.

Kazuichi flinched. "There wouldn't happen to be any kind of true love discount – "

"Fifty. Munny."

Kazuichi forked over the cost. As the florist returned to the counter, Kazuichi rose from his seat. "We gotta get this back to put it in water!" he urged. "It needs to stay alive until I can see Miss Sonia again!"

"Good luck with that, yo," Todd said with an honest smile. "I'm rootin' for ya, Kaz."

Kazuichi had to admit the strange boy had captured his interest. They certainly seemed to have a bit in common. "Thanks, man," he replied. "Hey, you think maybe I'll see you around again? Maybe we could hang out!"

"How we gonna do that?" Todd replied. "I don't got a phone yet, an' I'm not real sure what street my house is on – "

"Don't worry about it!" Kazuichi told him. "I'm easy to find. Just knock on the door of the huge castle in the middle of town and ask about me. Seriously, though, gotta go!" He hustled away from the table, Stork following after.

"Okay," Todd said without getting up. Then it hit: "Wait, he lives WHERE – "

"Y'know, I liked that guy," Kazuichi told Stork as they left the flower shop's premises.

"He did seem like you," Stork observed. "Minus the bee-eating thing, of course."

"You don't like him?"
"I don't TRUST him. But when do I trust anyone?"

"Good point," Kazuichi replied.

"By the way," Stork told him, "if I can give you my own personal piece of dating advice."

"Oh yeah? What?"

"Wash the suit."

...

It was the perfect day for strawberry ice cream. Then again, when wasn't the perfect day for strawberry ice cream?

That was Ruby Rose's rationale as she walked away from Scrooge's ice cream shop with a cone heaped with strawberry in hand. She took a bite, letting it melt in her mouth and chewing on the little fruit fragments thoughtfully as her gaze turned back to the castle.

That was when the boy came hurtling down the street, smacking Ruby's arm at just the right angle to send the ice cream cone plunging into her chest, staining her clothing with bright pink.

"HEY!" Ruby yelled after the speedster, wrenching the cone away from her corset front. The rest of the cream dropped to the ground, unable to be salvaged.

It's just ice cream, Ruby told herself. There is no reason to cry over spilled ice cream. Nor is there a reason to cry over a stained shirt. However, there is plenty of reason to be angry at a person who caused both of those things by being utterly careless.

The boy had screeched to a halt at Scrooge's shop, leaning over the counter and propping himself up with an elbow while he placed his order. Ruby gave as menacing of a growl as she could manage before charging after him.

" – double scoop of triple chocolate," Pietro Maximoff was telling Scrooge, who was all too happy to fulfill the request.

"HEY YOU!"

The high-pitched voice was definitely directed at Pietro. He turned casually to see Ruby storming toward him, her clothing splattered with bright pink. "What?" he snapped at her.

"YOU SEE THIS?" Ruby gestured up and down her front at the pink stain.

"Yeah," Pietro replied. "Learn to clean up after yourself."

"YOU DID THIS!" Ruby screamed. "YOU HIT MY ICE CREAM CONE INTO MY SHIRT!"

"I did?" Now Pietro was fully turned to face her. "Thanks for letting me know."

Disarmed by his smile, Ruby let her guard down and exhaled a long, gentle sigh. "It's fine. Because now that I know you're sorry – "

"Oh, I'm not sorry," Pietro replied, a snort escaping. "I'm just glad you pointed out how funny that was." That was followed by a legitimate chuckle. "I wasn't even TRYING!"

Ruby's anger flared up even more violently than before. "YooooouuuUUUUUUU – "

"Hang on." Pietro put up a hand and turned back to the counter. "I'm in the middle of something."

"YOU RUINED MY SHIRT AND YOU RUINED MY ICE CREAM – "

"Here ye go, lad," Scrooge said as he handed the cone over to Pietro. "That'll be five munny. Also, ye may want ta smooth things over with the young lass there – "

"Five bucks?" Pietro repeated, cone in hand. "No thanks!"

He spun and bolted.

"YOU!" Scrooge yelled, leaning over the counter to shake his fist angrily. "STOP! THIEF!"

"I GOT HIM!" Ruby cried, giving chase after Pietro.

She was certain she would be able to overtake him. After all, he couldn't have been counting on her speed Semblance. She closed the distance surely, reaching out to grab him –

Then Pietro accelerated.

He became a literal blur, moving almost too fast to see as he pealed out of sight. Ruby barely had time to react, becoming a streak of bright red that surged after him; however, even that wasn't enough to keep up with his pace. She'd lost track of him completely, and so she ground to a halt, utterly mystified. Even when she'd gone at full tilt, the thief had managed to outrun her. That should not have been able to happen.

"WHO ARE YOU?" Ruby screamed at empty air, getting no response.

At last, she trudged back toward Scrooge's shop to procure a second strawberry cone and inform Scrooge that she'd lost track of the thief. This boy had just made Ruby's list, and if she ever saw him again, she was going to make him pay for his crimes.

...

Stealing a Gummi ship was quite a bit of fun, in fact. What wasn't fun was realizing you had no idea how to pilot a Gummi ship, panicking for several straight hours on the voyage to Remnant, finally getting the hang of the controls, feeling just a bit too cocky about the whole affair, and instead of landing gracefully in Higanbana, promptly crashing in the northern wastelands of Solitas the moment the ship entered the atmosphere.

Shell-shocked in the front seats of the Gummi ship, Peter and Garfield stared out at the whipping winds and snow flurries that battered the ship's exterior. They could already feel the cold seeping into the vessel; the heating had given out the moment the engine had been smashed beyond repair.

Peter finally broke the silence with a casual "Well, that could've gone better."

Garfield tried in vain to put some life back into the hijacked ship, but the rough landing had done a number. "Engine's fried," he observed. "I guess better it than us, right?"

"Agreed. Though this does beg the question of how we're going to get from Point A to Point B." Peter twisted the crystal pendant in his hand, feeling the vibes that called from halfway around the world.

"Now that one's easy," Garfield answered. "All we gotta do is take the Firefly Express." He shuffled back into the ship's rear, maneuvering among severely bent walls. "I'll have us out of here and on the way to Harley in…oh."

Garfield may have come out of the crash with nary a scratch, but his jetpack and fuel tank weren't so lucky. The equipment was shattered beyond repair.

Peter caught up with him, peering over his shoulder at the damage. "I don't suppose it could get any – "

"DON'T. SAY IT."

"Silly me. Shouldn't tempt fate! After all, a blizzard could start up."

The punchline being that they were already in the middle of one.

"Okay," Garfield reiterated. "We're in the middle of nowhere, it's freezing outside, our ship is dead, and I can't fly. This leaves us with…?"

"I suppose we're walking, in that case."

Garfield shot a glance at Peter to confirm that the expression on his face was exactly what he thought it was. "And you're still smiling about this."

"Tell me you're not going to give up this early in the game."

"I think giving up means literally dying. So I'll pass." His gaze passed over the exit door. "Of course, going out there might also mean literally dying, but…"

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained," Peter insisted.

Garfield fished the rest of his battlesuit out of its hiding place, giving it a once-over. "I dunno about you, but I'm wearing as many layers as possible."

As he slipped the suit on over his civilian clothing, Peter set about stripping down to don his Ragdoll costume, mask and all, beneath his casual attire. As the latter tugged his shirt into place, his attention was caught by Garfield saying, "That might be the tackiest thing I've ever seen."

"Really?" Peter replied with a grin. "I'm honored."

"You look like a literal mannequin. So do you have any of those pants in black in backstock, or do I have to order online?"

"Would you like me to start you a fitting room?" Peter joked back.

The warping of the ship's structural integrity jammed the exit door in the frame momentarily; Garfield forced it open with a strong kick. Immediately, cold wind bit into the unlucky pair.

Garfield found himself reminded yet again of the lingering effects Phosphorus had left. His body temperature had been raised a little above normal, and with no detrimental effects to his health that he could yet identify. In fact, in this circumstance, he found himself actually grateful for the side effect. He'd expected the feeling of the chill to be a lot worse, but it was quite tolerable despite the intensity of the wind.

Tolerable for him, anyway. It sank in that Peter had no such augmented warmth. Garfield gave him a look of concern – masked by his helmet – to see Peter already shivering, arms crossed in a self-embrace, his smile suddenly whipped away with the wind.

"You gonna be okay?" Garfield asked.

The smile was forced back into position. "Since when did a little cold ever hurt anyone?"

Garfield's expression shifted from concerned to unamused, and even Peter could tell, helmet notwithstanding. "Seriously?"

"Ah, yes," Peter recalled. "Freeze. I'd forgotten."

"He'd sure love this if he knew about it," Garfield sighed. "Here I am about to freeze to death. He wishes he could watch."

"Well, all the more reason to come out of this alive, isn't it?"

They stepped out in synchrony, feet plunging into the thick layer of snow that blanketed the ground. Together, they forged ahead against the whipping winds that threatened to hold them back, painstakingly making slow progress, though before either of them knew it, the wrecked Gummi ship had vanished from view behind, indicating they had made it a long way. Amazingly, Garfield still found the cold tolerable, his core keeping reasonably warm. Peter, however, felt like he was continuously on the receiving end of the business side of a porcupine to the face.

Garfield noticed the instant Peter started to lag behind. Whipping about, he was greeted once more with the sight of Peter hunched over, hugging himself tightly, his signature grin gone as his steps got slower. "Hey!" Garfield snapped. "Don't you die on me!"

Another forced smile. "Of c-course not," Peter replied. "I've gotten out of…of t-tighter scrapes than this."

"Hang on." Garfield backtracked, placing himself right at Peter's side and throwing an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. Perhaps he could share some of his excess body heat. "That any better?"

It was rather like being pressed up to a radiator, with less of the burn risk. "You really do know how to warm my heart, Garfield."

Hearing the stammer lift from Peter's voice put Garfield in a slightly more reassured mood. "Yeah, yeah, and you tie my heart in knots. Come on."

It proved to be but a temporary solution. Indeterminable time had passed. There was no landmark in sight: only the snow, giving the sense of being trapped by invisible walls and a fragmented white void. Garfield was beginning to think perhaps all human civilization had simply vanished; there certainly wasn't any sign of getting close to it. And Peter was back to shivering despite his proximity to Garfield, his movements slowing even more.

"Top ten best things you ever stole," Garfield prompted.

The response was a weak "…Hm?"

"I want you to tell me the top ten best things you ever stole," Garfield repeated calmly. "I'm curious. I wanna know." He didn't want Peter to lose consciousness. Because if that happened, it was all over.

"W…well, obv…viously the C-C-C-Cat's Eye emeralds. N-no, I didn't get to k…keep them, b-but it s…sometimes is the thrill of the chase…"

Onward they trudged, Garfield coming up with more and more questions to keep Peter talking. Peter had caught onto his game, but he wasn't in any state to call Garfield out. Then, midsentence of explaining the time he and Catwoman had put aside their differences to trade heists (which Garfield remembered; he'd planted a little bomb to assist in this scheme by blowing Arkham Asylum wide open), Peter realized he wasn't in any state to actually finish said sentence. His next step fumbled; he dropped out of Garfield's grip and to one knee.

"NO!" Garfield immediately hit the ground in a kneeling position beside him. "No, no, NO. Peter, I told you NOT to die on me."

"Not…dying…" was the feeble response he received. "Just…tired." From there, Peter lowered further, on hands and knees, barely resisting the temptation to just drop into the snow.

"Oh, come on!" Garfield moaned, his instinct telling him to turn it into some twisted joke as though it were a minor annoyance. "First the scorpion, and now THIS? I'm gettin' pretty sick of you almost dropping dead on me. This isn't gonna be a THING, is it?"

No response.

"Peter."

Still no response.

"PETER."

Silence.

"Nonononono – " Garfield seized him, drawing Peter close to his chest, wrapping both arms tightly around him. "Don't do this. PLEASE don't do this. Don't leave me here alone. I've said this a million times, but Peter Merkel, you are a JERK, and if you die on me, that will be the most jerk thing you ever did. I LOVE you."

The sensation of Peter's fingers feebly grasping Garfield's arm, giving a sign that he hadn't given up the ghost yet. Garfield knew even he couldn't be warm enough. The only way he saw this day ending was in him carrying Peter's lifeless body across these plains of endless snow – because even then, he couldn't think of leaving the last remnant of him behind.

It wasn't so much that Garfield believed a miracle was possible, but rather that he knew nothing short of a miracle would save Peter. It seemed at first that the sound of humming was a figment of Garfield's imagination, one of his nightmares encroaching on his daily consciousness because he had thought about the possibility of an interloping circumstance. When the noise became loud enough, however, Garfield actually gave it his attention, glancing up to see the enormous ship lowering itself over the wintry plain like a godsend. When it landed, its door opened, and a holy light spilled forth, illuminating the pilot from behind as he stormed out into the snow. But the one who'd arrived was absolutely no angel.

"GET ON THE DAMN SHIP, YOU FUCKING DUMBASSES!" Roman Torchwick screamed as he hurried toward the forlorn pair.

Garfield was in no mood to argue. He rose as quickly as he could, taking Peter up with him. When it became clear Peter was not going to be supporting his own weight, Garfield began to shift positions only for Roman to arrive first, taking the initiative of pulling Peter into his own grip, holding him aloft, one arm behind his shoulders and the other beneath his knees. "I got him," Roman grunted. "Now get on the ship before you fucking die."

He then turned and barreled toward the warmth of the functioning Gummi ship, Garfield in close pursuit.

Inside, there was finally color. The heaters were running at full blast; compared to outside, it was practically a sauna. Roman unceremoniously dumped Peter in one of the passenger seats; Garfield immediately took his place in the adjacent one, pulling Peter over to lean against him for all the warmth he could get. A soft vocalization alerted Garfield to the fact that Peter was in fact still alive, and if he stayed in a space this warm, he would likely be all right.

As far as not dying of hypothermia, anyway. Roman Torchwick was another matter.

The ship lifted off the ground haphazardly, zooming off Remnant at a crooked angle that Roman eventually figured out to straighten. As he observed the view outside the windows go from blinding snow to the colorful miasma of interspace, Garfield asked, "So where do you think you're taking us?"

"Back home to the WHAM ARMY," Roman insisted, "where you belong."

"I get it," Garfield replied. "So we can be punished for turning traitor. You spared us freezing to death so Mozenrath would get to torture us to death instead."

"No one is getting tortured to death!" Roman asserted, keeping his eyes out the dashboard window. "Just let me do the talking when we get back. I'll smooth things over with Righty, and everything can go back to normal. He isn't even mad at either of you. He was too busy being pissy over his brother stealing his stuff."

"So you think things can just go back to the way they were," Garfield countered.

"Um…yeah?" Roman replied. "I just saved both your asses! You owe me!" He paused. "Though is it just me, or did one of your asses need a lot more saving than the other?"

"Shut up," Garfield hissed through gritted teeth.

"Look, I know you're mad about Jester," Roman went on. "But come on, guys, you have NOT been doing a good job of being runaways. You've been gone…how long? And I find you marooned in fucking SOLITAS of all places, in the middle of a gods-damned BLIZZARD, LITERALLY hundreds of miles from civilization. The only reason you weren't swarmed with Grimm is because they all froze to death up here first!"

"How'd you even find us?" Garfield asked, growing ever more miffed with his savior (no, Peter's savior) by the moment.

Roman plucked a balled-up mass of red fabric off the dashboard; it took Garfield a minute to recognize it as one of his shirts. "I had Mim run a locator spell on this," he explained. "Stuffed it in the ship and followed wherever it pointed. Just a tip: if you're going to run away, at least pack up your shit."

"Well, good to know," Garfield responded, "because as soon as you get us back to base, we're gone."

"Yeah, nice try. Not happenin'. Not on my watch."

"Peter has an undefeated streak of breaking out of Arkham twenty consecutive times exactly when he wanted to and no later. You really think you can hold us?"

"Need I remind you that the WHAM ARMY has fucking magic?" Roman reiterated. "Why would you even WANT to leave? Is it seriously just about the girl? Is that it? You gave up a home in the lap of luxury, an extended criminal network that spans WORLDS, and a shot at ruling the gods-damned universe just so you could go find some girl who in all honesty is probably dead by now."

"Not…dead," Peter broke in, gradually coming to his senses and testing out his motor functions, such as speech. "We…found her…with a little magic…of our own."

"She's on Remnant," Garfield insisted, his heart having skipped a few beats when he heard Peter actually speaking. "She's ALIVE. No thanks to me. She doesn't have any of that stuff you mentioned. She quit Maleficent. She's on her own now, and we're not just gonna let her face the flames."

"So she quit Maleficent," Roman repeated. "Where's your proof?"

"With you, actually," Garfield pointed out. "You were the one who told us how she snapped Righty out of kill mode."

"Look, it doesn't matter, okay?" Roman whined. "We've already talked in circles about the girl. I need you guys back at base to save my reputation. Ever since you walked out, everyone suddenly hates me. I did nothing wrong, and yet I'm the WHAM ARMY pariah. When I bring you back and put you where you belong, this will all finally blow over. I won't be the village idiot anymore, you guys will be living large, and everyone's happy."

"So you're pulling us away from our best friend to save your own rep," Garfield reiterated. "Shoulda seen THAT comin'."

"I…may be a doll," Peter forced out, "but I am not…a trophy."

Roman tensed. "I am not in the mood to argue. You're coming home. End of discussion."

"No," Garfield insisted. "NOT end of discussion. Harley actually MEANS something to us. We let her down, and we need to make sure she's okay. I thought I KILLED her. And thanks to you, I almost did. And you wanna bring us back home for your own street cred? That ain't gonna fly. Helping save your face means NOTHING after we almost lost Harley. And I know you've never had to lose anyone that important in your life, but can you at least pretend you know what it's like?"

Garfield was ready for Roman to make his next retort. Fully expecting a dismissal of his concerns, particularly a sharp-edged one, he was prepared to make a statement right back for as long as it took for Roman to get the point – which, if Garfield were being honest with himself, he expected to be "never." Surprisingly, however, he was met with silence. Roman stood stone-still, keeping the ship on course as he refused to reply to Garfield.

"What," Garfield grunted, "giving us the silent treatment? That's mature."

Roman's eyes fixed upon the void before the ship as he pondered Garfield's words. In actuality, he had lost more than Garfield had suspected, and if Roman had his way, more than Garfield would ever know. Roman found himself briefly reliving moments he'd forced himself to close the door on. It wasn't a silent treatment. It was a reflection.

When he spoke at last, it was only just loud enough to be heard, devoid of the attitude Roman's speech usually dripped with. "You wanna know the real reason I'm bringing you back?"

"Because of our infectious charm?" Peter teased, his voice now ringing with full clarity.

"Real funny joke," Roman replied, "but not really wrong." He sighed. "It's because you were my friends too, damn it." Now his tone became louder, a little more boisterous: "You think I really give a shit that everyone thinks I broke the team? They'll get over it. We'll LIVE. But you guys…we've been through some SHIT. You're my crime pals. We owned Gotham. We looted Sei'an. Mister Twister, you were there for the whole World of Twelve shitstorm, and you actually fought Fuckface, which I know you didn't do for me in particular, but that still MEANT something. As for Gar…maybe you and I haven't spent as many missions together as I would've liked, but Archie told me all about the Bridgit thing, and I was SO impressed. And you and me, we have the whole pyro thing going on! You actually GET it! You're our other resident arsonist! Back to Mister Twister, look, I can send Neo all the memes in the world, but we've ALWAYS done that. You laugh at my shitposts with that fucking smile of yours, and you send me even better shitposts right back. Ever since Gotham, we've been a team! I actually LIKED you guys! But you KNOW J…you know Harley always had it out for me. You weren't THERE for Blackmoor. Glad you weren't, because that place was a fucking sadistic maze of puzzles, but she had it out for me. And she joined up with our MORTAL ENEMY. I thought you'd get it that she wasn't on your side anymore. But whatever, let's just put that aside for now. Because maybe, MAYBE I'm starting to actually get that I fucked up. Oh, man, do I hate saying those words. But when you guys left, it…it HURT, okay? It was like you didn't even care about me anymore. Or Archie. Or Mimsie. Or anyone else. I get it, Harley meant something to you. But I thought I meant something, too."

"Of course you did," Peter said without missing a beat. "We still look back quite fondly on all of our little adventures. Which is all the more part of the problem."

"We didn't WANT to have to leave," Garfield insisted. "It hurt us to leave you too. But not as much as it hurt to think about what we all did to Harley."

"You delivered us the ultimatum," Peter went on. "You or her."

"And you had a history with her," Roman concluded. "So she was the one you picked. She was like family to you, wasn't she?"

"Are…you being sarcastic?" Garfield said in confusion. "Because I actually can't tell right now."

In response, Roman cranked the steering mechanism suddenly; the Gummi ship jolted a complete 180 degrees around without warning, nearly throwing Garfield and Peter out of their seats.

"What was THAT for?" Garfield asked once the ship had stabilized.

"I'm taking you back to Remnant," Roman said flatly.

"Seriously?" Garfield said in surprise.

"Where is she?" Roman asked. "Remnant's a big world, after all."

"The word 'Higanbana' seems to mean something," Peter informed him.

"Anima, huh?" Roman remarked. "Now that's a crime circuit. That's almost bordering on Little Miss's territory. Word to the wise: you see someone with a spider tattoo, you think twice before giving any of their questions an honest answer. But you're not gonna have me to hold your hand while you're down there, so you two better be able to take care of yourselves better than you were doing fifteen minutes ago."

"You're really going to let us go that easily after that heartwarming speech?" Peter asked. "No strings attached?"

"Well…there might be ONE string," Roman mentioned. "I mean, hey, I know it's great and all when you've got no strings to hold you down, but I'm starting to get a little…idea. Before we get there, though, I need a favor out of you two."

"Do we wanna know?" Garfield said tentatively.

"Tell me about her," Roman stated firmly. "Everything I never bothered to ask about since we met. Everything that made her important."

Peter and Garfield gave each other confused looks, then acquiesced, tripping over each other at once:

"Well, for starters – "

"You see, it's rather like – "

As the ship re-entered the Remnant atmosphere, Roman listened to what he now realized he should have known a long time ago.

...

Over Radiant Garden, the sun touched down on the horizon, painting the sky first a brilliant orange, then a dull blue festooned with the occasional bright pink cirrus cloud. Then darkness ruled over the town, its civilians changing guard from the day people to the night life.

Those who dwelled in the castle returned to it for a night of relaxation. However, the absence of heroes paved the way for something more sinister to take over.

As night blanketed the kingdom, the WHAM ARMY's squad of manipulators took to the streets, each pursuing their own target.

...

As the sun disappeared from the sky, the lights went on in full force in the main shopping centers, and Pietro actually walked at a normal pace in order to get a good look. All sorts of goodies were on display: jewelry here, an assortment of decadent pastries there. Nothing that seemed to resemble an electronics shop, however; where was a person supposed to loot a decent television in this city?

His snooping was interrupted by a definite oddity: the groaning sound of shifting rocks followed by the screams of the other pedestrians who had found reason to be out past sunset. Whipping around quickly, Pietro observed the stones of the very street rising up, forging into humanoid shapes and shambling toward the nearest living beings menacingly.

It didn't take a genius to see that this was bad news.

Maybe some superpowered, costumed crusader would have used this opportunity to descend upon the horde of rock creatures and smash them to bits, thereby protecting the innocent civilians. As far as Pietro was concerned, however, if you were getting attacked by an eight-foot person made of street, that was your problem, not his.

The moment it became his problem was when he started getting attacked by eight-foot people made of street. Which soon became the case, as the road surrounding him tore itself up to forge into a ring of hulking monsters that advanced inward to accost him.

Thinking quickly – how else did Pietro ever think but quickly? – the speedster hurtled to the narrow space between two of them, dropping to his knees to avoid a flailing stone arm and rising on the other side. From there, it was a quick blast down the street and around the corner in a mad dash for escape.

They kept rising up alongside Pietro's barreling, attempting to lumber toward him but none being quick enough to catch him as he zigzagged around them. He wasn't concerned with their ability to get ahold of him, but rather the fact that they kept spawning no matter where he ran; was the city overrun?

Wuya floated high above the city, hands weaving through the air as though she were conducting a symphony; where she gestured, more rock creatures rose up. It was actually becoming a bit of a challenge to keep up with Pietro's dash, and given that all she had to do was flick a wrist to make a creature appear, that was saying something. He'd been given a chance to prove himself, however, and if the files were right, he was probably on a bit of a high from his ability to easily evade so many of the obviously dangerous creatures. It was time for the grand finale.

Pietro was headed for a particular circular clearing that was fortunately emptied out of pedestrians. Wuya piled on the rock creatures there, then teleported herself into the thick of them.

When Pietro skidded into the horde of rock creatures, his first instinct was to do an about-face; there were far too many to avoid. However, it caught his attention that none was focused on him. All seemed to be converging on something else at the center of the circle, and from what Pietro could see, that something was causing the rock entities to literally explode into shards.

The crowd thinned, providing a better view. It was a woman, clad all in black, her long red hair flowing behind her head like a streamer as she flipped and twirled. Her limbs glowed as they were aimed toward the rock creatures; with a hard kick or a solid punch, each entity was dispatched, becoming a shower of dust and debris. Soon, only ten remained, then nine, then she managed to break two at once and bring it down to seven. Hypnotized, Pietro watched her dance of destruction until the final rock creature was no more than a fine layer of grain.

Wuya made a show of dusting her hands off against each other, her back to Pietro. She then turned to him, flashing him a smirk. "Don't worry. I took care of it."

"I wasn't worried," Pietro replied, just as cockily.

"I know," Wuya said as she strode toward him. Out of habit, she put an extra bit of swing in her hips, though given what was known of Pietro so far, that probably had zero effect on him. "It was more of a formality to say. Not a bruise on you, I see. You can hold your own."

Not as well as she could, but Pietro wasn't about to say that out loud. "Yeah, I'm the real deal."

"Funnily enough," Wuya told him, now only a few inches away, "I happen to be looking for a certain 'real deal.' But I don't suppose you would know anything about the person I'm trying to find."

"Look, lady," Pietro huffed, "I'm really not interested in your personal problems."

Wuya shrugged. "Fair enough. Looks like I'll just have to ask someone else for information about…the thief who stole everything from the castle."

She saw the switch flick behind his eyes.

"What EXACTLY do you wanna know about him?" Pietro asked, now smirking.

"I thought you weren't interested in my personal problems," Wuya countered.

"Let's just say I have a special interest in this one," Pietro replied, voice dripping with smugness. "What's the deal? You lookin' to throw him in the slammer?"

"No," Wuya replied.

"Then you want to try and bargain for the stuff," Pietro guessed.

"Hardly," Wuya told him. "I'm actually impressed by his work."

The smirk grew broader. "I guess I should say thank you."

"You?" Wuya pretended to be surprised. "But you're just a teenage boy. But wait…no. You're no ORDINARY teenage boy. You managed to outrun those monsters without a scratch. Maybe you ARE the person I'm looking for."

"So you're some kind of mob boss?" Pietro guessed. "Scoping out the competition?"

"In a sense," Wuya told him. "Though I'm not looking for competition. I'm on recruitment duty."

"RECRUITMENT," Pietro repeated. Was she implying what he thought?

"Anyone who managed to get that many valuables out of THAT castle has already passed entrance exams," Wuya informed him. "We want you on our side."

"Who's 'we'?" Pietro asked, his mouth suddenly wrenching into a scowl.

"I'm glad you asked." Wuya's smirk showed off the point of a fang. "I am Wuya, leader of the Heylin. We are an elite organization (now there was a laugh, Wuya thought) composed of the best of the best (even more of a laugh) devoted to schemes of pure evil."

Pietro knew he was a terrible person, but he didn't know if he'd go so far as to say he was pure evil. He wanted to hear what Wuya had to say, however, partly out of curiosity and partly because he was simply flattered.

"Furthermore," Wuya went on, "the Heylin are currently a subdivision of a much larger…let's just call it a criminal organization for now. We do everything from petty thievery to attempting world domination."

"Ruling the world WOULD be pretty nice," Pietro admitted.

"I'm glad you think so," Wuya told him, "because you're exactly the person we would want to add to our ranks. A talented thief AND a cocky attitude. That's two for two."

"It sounds lovely," Pietro snarked, "but I'm gonna have to pass. I already have a good thing going. I should probably warn you that if you're going to try and run this city, you'll have to fight the Brotherhood of Mutants for it."

"I see," Wuya replied, seeing her opening. "Well, I suppose I can't argue with that. I suppose you've already got a lineup of dangerously intelligent and highly competent allies to counter us."

"You know it," Pietro told her smugly. "Scarlet Witch could wipe the floor with you, Avalanche could make you cry, Blob would break every bone in your body, and Toad – " He cut himself off. "Okay, Toad really couldn't do much."

"I see," Wuya said derisively. "Well, three dangerously intelligent and highly competent allies is better than none."

"I wouldn't exactly call Blob 'dangerously intelligent,'" Pietro admitted. "I'm actually willing to put a lot of money on him being hopelessly lost in the back alleys right now."

She had to at least try: "…Would that be literal money? Could I talk you into betting valuables on it?"

"No way!"

It was worth a shot. Wuya shrugged. "Anyway, two dangerously intelligent and highly competent allies is better than none. I'm assuming, of course, that they're the sort of blackhearted villains who are willing to do the dirty work."

"That's not Lance," Pietro realized. "He has a bit of a conscience problem. It does make him cuter, though."

"Oh, well," Wuya went on. "At least you have ONE person you can count on to leave completely intentional destruction in their wake and be happy about it."

A long pause. Then: "She's never happy about it."

"Well, I guess…" Wuya pulled up short. "Oh. You just ran out of allies, didn't you?"

"I wouldn't underestimate them if I were you," Pietro told Wuya threateningly.

"Don't tell me you're the same," Wuya sighed. "You LOOK like a master criminal on the OUTSIDE, but inside, you're soft, stupid, and a complete klutz."

"Me? No way!" Pietro said indignantly. "I told you I'm the real deal, and I meant it! I'm not just fast. I'm smart, I'm powerful, and I don't let my conscience hold me back from what needs to be done."

"Interesting," Wuya remarked. "You're more than competent, and yet you associate with idiots, bleeding hearts, and whatever's wrong with that last one you mentioned. You don't feel like they're holding you back in any way?"

"No," Pietro said quickly.

"None of them has ever tripped you up in the middle of a heist?" Wuya prodded. "By, oh, I don't know, setting off an alarm that woke up literally everyone at the last minute?"

"I don't think that's any of your business."

"You're SO much better than the rest of your little gang, and you know it," Wuya insisted. "They at least better respect you as the superior man."

"I wish they would," Pietro blurted without thinking.

"Now, if you DID come with me," Wuya told him, "I'd make sure you got the respect you deserved. You'd have your own legions to command. You'd even have your own right-hand man to boss around. Don't go easy on him." The mental image of handing Jack Spicer off to Pietro to cater to his whims admittedly was an amusing one.

"Well, I'm NOT coming with you," Pietro insisted, "because there's one thing you don't know: those guys are my FRIENDS."

"Is friendship really so important?" Wuya asked coyly. "What can they really give you at the end of the day? Because what I can give you looks a little more like this."

She spread out her arms, and the circle was suddenly no longer an empty part of town but a massive chamber filled with all sorts of diversions and amusements. Pietro immediately flitted from attraction to attraction, fawning over what Wuya had conjured up.

An advanced video game console was hooked up to an immense flat-screen television; Pietro took one look at the game depicted onscreen and gushed, "I didn't even know that was out yet!" He plucked a single candy off an absolute pyramid of sweets and popped it into his mouth on his way to an entire area marked off as a basketball court. Plucking a ball from the rack, Pietro dribbled it a few times before launching it – a little covert help from Wuya allowed him to sink it from half-court. A sleek silver sports car caught Pietro's attention; "Are you saying I could DRIVE this? How'd you even DO this?"

"This isn't even the half of it," Wuya informed him. "Take my offer, and you get to keep all of this, plus SO much more." Teenage boys really were so predictable. They only had about the same five interests in common. Very little of this cavalcade had been tailored to suit Pietro; its base was copied and pasted from the temptation of Raimundo.

Pietro forced himself to stop drooling over the host of amusements. "The answer's still no way," he insisted. "This is great, but I got someone back home who actually needs me. He said so himself. I'm not running out on him after that."

"Does he really need you?" Wuya asked. "You're tough. You're wicked. You'll do what it takes to be number one. Is he really willing to accept that? Or are you just making the most of it before he wakes up and realizes his bleeding heart doesn't have room for someone as evil as you?"

"I'm not evil," Pietro insisted.

"That's funny," Wuya went on, "because you strike me as the kind of person who would skip town after finding out a train full of explosives was about to turn the city into a crater, even if he was the one who caused it. And just now, you focused more on saving your own skin than stopping to give anybody else a hand. What MUST the others think of THAT?"

It didn't even occur to Pietro to ask how she knew about that. And it was something to be worried about. Lance was no villain. He was full of conscience and compassion. Pietro had observed this about him from the very beginning. And when he'd made it clear to Lance during a moment of soul-searching that such was the definition of Lance, Lance had replied by teasing that Pietro was "a jerk with jerk filling." He'd said he wanted that, but for how much longer before it became irreconcilable?

The others…Pietro liked to think Wanda, his own flesh and blood, would side with him, and Fred and Todd had little problem with morality. Then again, since they'd all arrived, those three had been lauding Lance as team leader, not Pietro. If it ever came down to a schism between them…

Pietro didn't notice Wuya sneaking up behind him, close as she could get, stroking his face with a finger and scooping up all of his most prominent thoughts on its tip.

If there were ever a rift between Pietro and Lance…

"Whose side would they REALLY be on?" Wuya whispered into Pietro's ear.

"So say I did wanna think about joining you," Pietro said at last. "No promises. Just hypothetically."

"Of course," Wuya replied. "I'll give you, oh, let's say twenty-four hours to think on it. I'll be waiting right here."

The tantalizing attractions vanished as quickly as they had been built, leaving the empty city streets in their place.

"Though I will need a little collateral," Wuya went on. "Call it a mark of good faith. More importantly, proof that you actually ARE the thief I was looking for, and not some opportunist who managed to work his way into a convenient lie."

"Name it."

"The things you stole," Wuya demanded. "Bring them along. You won't have to turn them over to me. In fact, I'll show you how to put them to use. They're worth far more than your asking price."

"If I take you up," Pietro told her, "you have a deal."

"And if you don't, oh well," Wuya said, backing away from Pietro. "Maybe we will meet in a turf war. Maybe you can prove to me that you don't work with the bunch of losers I'm picturing."

She'd done her work well; that statement hadn't even gotten a rise out of Pietro.

"One last thing," Wuya concluded. "I never did get your name."

"It's Quicksilver," Pietro insisted.

No, Wuya thought, it isn't. "Think about it, Quicksilver."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

With that, he took off, blazing down the street again.

"I really should've put money on which one of us would get their target first," Wuya remarked to herself. "Oh well. There's always next time."

...

True to his vow, Lance walked out of the music shop with red guitar in hand, a smile on his face. There had been no alarm, no security camera in sight. It was really a wonder the place hadn't already been looted.

Ready to stroll back to base, Lance set out only for a desperate cry to reach his ears:

"Help me! Oh, please, someone help!"

It sounded as if it had come from a few blocks away, around the corner. Lance fixed his gaze upon the direction from which the sound had come, waiting a moment to see if anyone would answer the call.

"Someone!" the voice called out plaintively. "Anyone!"

And yet there was no one. No one but Lance.

The guitar was unceremoniously dropped, clattering on the street as Lance's feet flew over the cobblestone. "HANG ON!" Lance yelled, hoping he would be heard.

Around the corner, the sight awaited him: a veritable pile of fallen stone, wood, and debris, seemingly having collapsed off the side of a nearby building and leaving its interior exposed to the elements. From beneath the pile, the upper half of an elderly woman lay splayed on the stone, the rest of her pinned down by the detritus. Lance could already see, as he came to a fumbling halt, that her breathing was labored.

"Please help me," she croaked, her voice hoarse from the screaming. "I was taking a walk, and everything suddenly fell, and I can't move…"

"Okay," Lance told her. "It'll be okay. Just hang on."

He took a moment to assess the situation. It looked to be an easy fix. A little quake should move the pile, he thought. Of course, he'd have to place it just perfectly so in order to avoid simply dumping more on top of the hapless victim. But was he Avalanche or was he not Avalanche? Perfectly placed earthquakes were his specialty.

Out went his hands; upward went his eyes. The ground began to vibrate. Surely and steadily, the fallen stone shifted, spilling neatly to the right and taking much of the weight off the woman. Soon she was able to struggle out, standing shakily.

Once the woman was freed, Lance called off the quake, approaching her rapidly. "Hey," he asked, "you okay? You need to get to a hospital or – "

She straightened up, suddenly more secure in her posture than she had been. When she said "I will be just fine," it was in a completely different voice: younger-sounding, clear, confident.

Lance watched in awe as her gray hair deepened to red and the wrinkles disappeared from the taut skin of her face. Her drab clothing took on a deep shade of violet and gained considerably more ruffle. Most striking of all, while one of her brown eyes flared a loud crimson, the other lightened into a piercing green.

Instinctively, Lance took a step back. "What the – "

"Avalanche," Xayide greeted. "Lance Alvers. I had heard tell of you, but I doubted the tales were true. Now I know you truly are as good of heart as they say."

Nothing about this made sense anymore. "I – " Lance sputtered. "You – WHAT?"

"I see you have questions," Xayide prompted. "I do not blame you."

"Yeah, I got questions!" Lance insisted angrily. "How do you know my name? How do you know ANYTHING about me? What the heck WAS that just now? Was that some kinda test?"

"A test you passed," Xayide informed him. "My name is Xayide."

"What kinda mutant name is 'Xayide'?"

"You do not understand yet," Xayide told him. "I am a proclaimer and counselor of heroes. Heroes like you."

"I ain't no hero," Lance insisted.

"What, then, do you call one who answers the cry of the helpless and rescues those in need?" Xayide challenged.

"A decent person?" Lance shot back.

"The line that divides decent people from true heroes is not so defined as you believe," Xayide stated. "Bastian Balthazar Bux learned that lesson under my supervision, and I intend to teach you as well."

"Who? WHAT? WHY do I care?"

"Indulge me," Xayide bade him. "I wish for you to hear my tale. Then you may decide what to do with it."

"O…kay," Lance agreed. All he could think was that this woman wasn't right in the head. He might as well humor her, though. Maybe if she thought she'd gotten some kind of point across to him, she would be on her merry way.

Xayide strode toward Lance, and in her hands, a leather-bound book edged in gold suddenly appeared. "First, the tale of Bastian Balthazar Bux." She opened the book's cover, its pages turned so Lance could read them. He didn't have time to bother with the text on the verso, but that didn't matter, as the full-color illustration on the recto gave him all he needed to know: a depiction of a young boy, younger than Lance himself was, on the background of a rustic bookshop. He didn't look like much: short, a little heavyset, dressed in a casual long-sleeved shirt over jeans.

"He was such an ordinary boy at first," Xayide explained. "Then, all of a sudden, his destiny changed."

She flipped the page, and now Lance was faced with an illustration of a young boy, slender and muscular, clothed in a prince's raiments with a sword buckled at his side. It took him a moment to realize the face of this boy was the same as that of the one on the previous page. "How is that the same guy?" Lance asked in disbelief.

"Why, magic, of course," Xayide informed him. "You do know of magic. Perhaps it is not common where you come from, but certainly you know of a witch."

Lance had never been clear on if Wanda's mutation allowed her to wield true magic or not. She had, however, studied with at least one true witch. "Okay, yeah, magic."

The page turned again; the boy was in the lead of a procession made up of all sorts of fantastical creatures, with a familiar figure at his side: Xayide herself. "Bastian did many wonderful deeds to better the world where he became known as a hero. He presented a library to the silver city of Amarganth. He helped the warrior Hynreck win the hand of his love, the princess Oglamar. He brought happiness to the ever-weeping Acharis, the ugliest beings in the world. To many, he was a beacon of hope. And I was there every step of the way, molding his path and leading him to greatness." Never mind that none of those deeds had turned out well, nor that he'd accomplished half of it before ever agreeing to adopt Xayide as his right-hand.

"This all sounds made-up," Lance complained.

"Oh, but it is true," Xayide insisted. "Turn the page and see what lies ahead."

Lance rolled his eyes before taking the next page between two fingers and flipping it over. To his surprise, the next illustration was of Lance himself, as he'd been but moments before, ferreting a guitar out of the closed music shop.

"Heroes come in ordinary guises," Xayide went on. "See for yourself what you have done."

Curious now, Lance kept turning pages, met with revisitations of many occasions from his recent life: carrying an impaired person out of the subway station before it exploded thanks to a mishap the Brotherhood had caused, chasing a pack of teenagers on their way to hijack a plane they had no idea how to pilot, burying the residue of an even bigger explosion caused by a Brotherhood-related incident that was decidedly less of a mishap.

"Are these not the deeds of a hero?" Xayide posed.

"I guess?" Lance replied. "I still wanna know how you even KNOW – "

He could feel her mismatched eyes giving him a look that indicated he should really know better by now. "Right. Magic. We'll go with that."

"If given the right encouragement," Xayide informed Lance, "then Avalanche could become a true hero."

Lance nearly burst out laughing when he turned the page to see himself decked out in medieval armor, a broadsword in hand. "No. That REALLY ain't me. That looks like the kinda guy who plays by the rules."

"Oh, it isn't you, is it?" Xayide said in mock surprise. "No, you are more fitting as the vigilante. He who does as he pleases, when it pleases him." The image changed, new ink overtaking the old until the illustrated Lance was clothed in striking black leather. "He who obeys no rules but his own, traveling the world to help those in need but only on his own terms."

"That…doesn't sound half bad," Lance realized. "You're sayin' you could teach me how to be that?"

"Oh, most certainly," Xayide asserted. "And you would reap all the rewards that come with it. The fame, the renown. They will praise the name of Avalanche."

Perhaps it wasn't so unbelievable. Wanda had her own magic mentor, hadn't she? Who was to say Lance couldn't get one?

"You would finally be not reviled," Xayide reiterated, "but RECOGNIZED for your good deeds. And if you saw fit to do a little harm here and there, it would be outweighed by far and only fair. But be warned: there is a darkness that surrounds you and threatens to devour your chance at glory."

She turned the page again, and Lance was confronted with an image of himself being torn at by four shadows, their eyes pinpricks of light against their silhouettes. They raked at his clothing, tugging his limbs and scratching his exposed skin raw.

"They will drag you into the depths of darkness along with them," Xayide said somberly. "Allow them to dominate your heart, and they will taint it black, unable to be purified. You will become a blight, able to do little more than spread misery wherever you go."

"What kinda darkness is gonna – " Lance began.

But then he saw it. A closer look revealed the shapes of the silhouettes: one thin and wiry, one with feminine curves, one great and hulking, one diminutive and bent.

The book was slammed shut. "No way," Lance grunted. "Those're my FRIENDS you're talking about."

"Friends?" Xayide repeated. "What have they done to aid you? In what way have they bestowed their friendship? You give and you give to them, yet they take you for granted. They lie, they steal, they cheat." Had she just borrowed that turn of phrase from Roman Torchwick? Such was the effect of befriending the man. "Every day, their hearts grow blacker, particularly that of your lover. They are falling to villainy, and there will be no escape. When there is danger, do they run toward it to stop it, or do they run away from it to save their own skin? And which do YOU do?"

Lance knew the answers to those questions, and they were exactly the answers Xayide was looking for. "I ain't gonna turn my back on my friends! ESPECIALLY Pietro!"

"And when they bring this world to ruin," Xayide asked, "will you then continue to stand with them?"

She pried the book open again, this time to the middle. The view was that of the city of Radiant Garden, ruined by some unknown ravaging force – though Lance knew exactly what she was implying would bring about this destruction. "You really think Toad and Blob are smart enough to do that?" he almost laughed.

"Under the guidance of the Maximoffs," Xayide replied, "certainly. Wanda's power and Pietro's mind are a deadly combination. The other two will become their willing servants as a matter of course. And what will you do?"

Lance really wanted to argue that his friends weren't that evil, that destructive. The seeds of doubt, however, were now planted. He had a certain level of trust in Pietro that he wouldn't sink below some undefined but definitely existent standard of morality. But when Pietro wanted something, did he ever pull out the stops to get it. It had been a point of contention between the two of them in the past. How long before Pietro did something Lance couldn't let sit with his conscience?

He shook his head, recalling his oath: "I promised I wouldn't leave him to play hero."

"Then you have played into his hands."

"Pietro wouldn't TRICK me – "

"Has he not done so before? To his own flesh and blood?"

He had, and Lance knew it. Pietro had manipulated Wanda by playing upon her grief over Magneto, causing her to fall in line with his plans. That was over, he had thought. Pietro was trying to be better. Yet there was room for doubt; what if that, too, was a manipulation? Could Lance ever really trust him? That thought was the bottom dropping out, leaving a queasy Lance floating in an uncertain void.

"Without him," Xayide reiterated, "you could be truly great."

Lance had rejected heroism on the grounds that it came with too many rules. If he were the one making the rules, things just might be different.

"Come with me," Xayide said sweetly. "Let me bring you to your destiny. Free yourself of the darknesses that hold you back."

"I'm not just gonna go with you!" Lance yelled indignantly.

"Then take some time," Xayide encouraged him. "A day. Meet me here tomorrow night, at this time, if you wish to take my offer. And we will begin by righting a wrong you were accomplice to."

"By righting a…what?"

"There is something in your home that does not belong to you," Xayide reminded him, "and is invaluable to those who have lost it. Your lover was coldhearted enough to take it. You must be the one to return it. Bring it to me and I shall assist you in your first quest."

But Lance had wanted to collect the ransom from those valuables all the same. If Pietro hadn't taken them, he would've done something of an equivalent.

"The longer you let your lover keep it all," Xayide urged, "the heavier it will weigh on your soul."

Her asymmetrical eyes were judging Lance, and he found himself driven to prove himself worthy in them.

"And perhaps," she went on, "once you have returned it, you will be blessed with a reward that makes up for the loss."

"…I'll think on it," Lance said at last. "But no promises!"

The book vanished from Xayide's hands, and now she was holding out the guitar to him. "You left this behind."

Lance's hand shot out for it – then recoiled. "Maybe I shouldn't." After all this talk of heroism and returning what was stolen, it hardly seemed appropriate.

Xayide's smile grew wider. "You have passed the next test."

"I…I'm gonna go." Lance backed away, then turned to bolt for home.

Xayide ran her hands over the guitar. Surely someone back at the WHAM ARMY base would like this. Did anyone know how to play? So many of them were musical, at least someone would either already possess the knowledge or be willing to learn.

If Lance entered the trap Xayide had laid, he would likely be the most difficult of the Brotherhood to reconcile, as Xayide had told him outright lies as opposed to the half-truths the others had planned to offer. But she knew it was the weakness he would best respond to. If he balked upon learning the truth of the WHAM ARMY, perhaps this one was best off disposed of when all was said and done.

...

Restoring a damaged memory was no easy process. There was a reason it had taken Naminé a year to undo a day's worth of damage to Sora, and she was a witch with power over memory. Vexen was working on science alone. That had necessitated his early start. He'd spent the day scraping the corrupted data from Wanda's card, sorting it out piece by piece and unraveling the threads of the scene. It seemed on the surface to be a sterile scene of a father bringing his daughter to the park and letting her play outside. It was laced with artificial happiness, meant to elevate the brain's serotonin. Like a narcotic converted into a brainwave. It was almost a commendable construction, but a true expert could see easily that it was a fake.

Ravess checked in for a moment; Vexen explained his project, and she was fascinated by the concept. After obtaining permission for a brief kiss and then delivering it, she left Vexen to focus on his work.

The underlying secret of the memory was beginning to reveal itself. Darkness, cold, and misery permeated the air around Vexen's workspace; he could now see the bleak walls, the cramped rooms, the locked doors. Now this was real. It had substance.

A small byproduct was forming of the separation of fact from fiction. When a person had a prominent subconscious worry in the present, it would oftentimes attach itself to even unrelated incidents from the past. It rolled off like dew, and Vexen examined it smugly. Wanda Maximoff had given him slightly more than just one false memory.

After a good number of hours, which Vexen had calculated out to past sunset in Radiant Garden, he finally finished his work, transferring the restored memory onto the card from which it had come. Not a trace of the father – Magneto, or Erik, or Magnus; he seemed to bear three names – remained. What was revealed was far harsher.

He found Wanda standing by the fountains, regarding them with fascination. He had half a mind to contemplate why she had chosen the fountains of all places. (It was one of the first places Sora and Papyrus had brought her to, and their construction impressed her so, she wanted a better look before heading home.) But ultimately, he didn't care.

"You've been awake over two and a half days," he said to get her attention; she turned with a start, fright briefly crossing her face as she beheld him. "Aren't you tired?"

Perhaps now was the time to fight, if he were going to keep returning. "Leave me alone," she growled, "or I'll make you leave me alone."

"Don't you want to see the results of what you bequeathed to me earlier?" Vexen asked. He raised his right hand, the card pinned between two fingers. "Now you can see why I am TRULY here. It is for your benefit, after all."

He flicked the card toward Wanda, and she instinctively caught it. Turning it over in her hand, she noted it was similar to the one he had presented to her before, but the image displayed on it was now of a small, dark room with a metal door –

It filled her mind. She had been in that room. She had lay on the flat bed within, waiting for an orderly to bring her food. Praying that this time, she wouldn't send the tray piercing into its holder's chest. They'd already had to reinforce the welding of the bed to the floor to keep it in place, and she was permitted nothing else by way of entertainment, lest it become a weapon in her vicinity. It wasn't even anywhere near mealtime, but she had slept for as long as she could, and her body would not become unconscious again. All that was left to do was wait for a break in the monotony. And she had been so much younger than she was now.

"It's real," she said softly. "This is what really happened."

It was so brief; she replayed what she knew again and again, though it was hardly anything of substance. It did, however, finally give her a sense of the sights, the smells, the loneliness that she could only imagine before.

"Now do you see?" Vexen prompted.

Wanda gave him a vulnerable look. "How did you do it?" she asked softly. "I've never heard of magic like this – "

"It was more accurately SCIENCE," Vexen corrected. "Perhaps a difficult task for your primitive world, but child's play to me."

"This is what he was hiding from me." Wanda still reeled. She had known it was terrible, but actually reliving her solitude and her misery, even for a recollection of what must have been less than an hour, was like being plunged into ice water. Piercing, uncomfortable, suffocating, and yet forcing her to be so much more awake.

"Which brings me to my purpose," Vexen went on. "I assumed you would not take my offer at face value unless I could prove the truth of my words. But this is merely a taste. Would you like to recover the rest?"

It was a miracle offer. Wanda had been under the impression that no one, nothing could erase the fallacies that Magneto had forced Mastermind to plant in her brain. Now someone had demonstrated that it was, in fact, possible. "I would," she said, knowing there would be a price to pay, wanting to delay knowing the extent of that price for as long as she could.

"You would only feel more horrors," Vexen reminded her. "I can tell there is nothing pleasant to unearth in your mind."

Wanda shook her head. "I know. But knowing the truth is worth it. I need to know what my father left me to suffer."

"Very well," Vexen replied, his mouth curving into a wicked smile. "It will take time. You observed how long I spent recovering that memory alone. You will need to come with me, to be under my supervision. Do not worry, however. I will provide you with much more pleasant accommodations than the asylum you now recall."

Wanda bristled. "I'm not going to give up my freedom."

"Then the answers you seek will remain locked within you."

She took a moment to ponder.

Vexen sweetened the deal: "You will hardly be a prisoner. You will be free to roam the headquarters of my organization."

"What organization is that?"

"An organization that deals in both magic and science from across the worlds," Vexen informed her. "You are by now aware that you are no longer on your homeworld."

Wanda nodded slowly.

"You will meet the professionals I call friends," Vexen went on. "They are serious in their study of the worlds' magic." All in the name of taking it for themselves, of course.

"I can't." Wanda's voice cracked. "I won't leave my brother. I won't leave my friends – "

"Dear child," Vexen interrupted, thinking of the thought residue he had picked up from the converstion: the byproduct. "Do you truly belong with the likes of them? They waste their time on trivialities that they consider fun. You are hardly entertained by their diversions. They are slothful and slovenly. They have no regard for decency; why, they are a crop of miscreants, and you an accessory to crimes you would hardly think to commit on your own. You, on the other hand, have higher standards. You are a respectable being. Which is exactly why they resent you. They consider you a poor substitute for their former friend and her…explosive personality. Were it not for your brother's blood tie and the amphibian's short-lived lust for you, they would have cast you out. They have no need or want of you. Do you have need or want of them?"

Yes, Wanda thought. She knew she was the odd one out, but she still loved Pietro; she loved Lance, Todd, and Fred as well. It was all too easy to believe, however, that they didn't love her. About that, this mysterious man could be correct.

"I will give you a day's time to think," Vexen told her. "Should you decide to pursue the recovery of your memories, meet me on the overlook where I first located you. Of course, you will be asking me to do a substantial amount of work. I am afraid that does not come for free."

"What do you want?" Wanda asked.

"Something of monetary value," Vexen replied, trying to downplay the importance of what he sought in order to not raise suspicion. "It has come to my attention that your brother has in his possession several items worth quite a sum. Bring to me as much of it as you can. And do not tell your rambunctious housemates of our transaction. You know how they will react. Though, really, their opinion should hardly matter to you anymore."

Oddly enough, it wasn't the thought of squirreling away Pietro's loot and giving it up in exchange for memories rather than money that gave Wanda pause. It was the thought of leaving the Brotherhood without a word. But would she even be missed? If she gave away what she was doing, they would try to stop her. But why? She wasn't the one they really wanted around.

"Consider it," Vexen told her as he summoned another Corridor and turned his back on her.

"Wait – " she attempted to call after him.

He had already vanished, the Corridor sealed.

Wanda felt the chill of the night air become that much harsher.

...

Fred had repeated the words "Luster Lane" to himself under his breath from the moment he'd departed from Kairi and Jaune, determined not to forget them. He managed to get through asking a few pedestrians for directions to the right place.

And then, unfortunately but inevitably, he forgot the name of the street he was looking for entirely.

Determined not to give up (and very determined not to admit he didn't know the way back to the house), he somewhat blundered his way through downtown, making note of such landmarks as the food market and the dressphere emporium, which meant he was getting somewhere, or perhaps that he'd just gone in an enormous circle.

Then the smell hit him. It was unmistakably pizza, and it made for a better compass than any verbal approximation.

By the time Fred reached the small parlor known as Golden Tomato Saucer, its "OPEN" sign had been turned to "CLOSED," its lights dimmed and not an employee in sight. "Darn it!" Fred growled as he glowered through the spacious front window. Not only had he been deprived of a chance to try out what smelled like an absolutely heavenly pizza, but he had entertained a fantasy of showing back up at the house with dinner to spare for everyone and actually being the heroic provider of food for once.

The fact that he had no way to pay for anything didn't occur to him even once during this dream scenario.

What did occur to him was that the smell of freshly baked mozzarella mingled with hot tomato sauce was still potent, and for that matter, it actually seemed to be coming from behind him, now that he took the time to think about it. He turned to seek out the source, his curiosity piqued by the scent of the delectable dish.

Which was exactly what his pursuer had been counting on. The others would be using magic, scrying, even the compass to track down their targets, but Scarlet Overkill knew Fred would come directly to her if she used the right bait.

She relaxed on a bench halfway down the block, lit by a streetlamp, a square cardboard box resting on her lap. A large pizza, loaded with as many toppings as she'd dared to order without the whole masterpiece losing its ability to stay together, lay within the box's confines. A slice had been poised in her gloved hand for a few minutes; the instant Fred's gaze fell upon her, she took her first bite, making sure to make it look like she relished it immensely (which, to be fair, she did; Golden Tomato Saucer's work was quality).

Then she pretended she noticed Fred for the first time, giving him a wave. "Hey!" she said jovially around a full mouth. Then, loud enough for him to hear, "OH, this is good."

So this woman had gotten the last pizza. Fred had no business with her, and was about to outright ignore her greeting when she followed it up with "C'mere!"

Might as well see what she wanted.

As Fred approached, Scarlet told him, "You just missed closing time. Too bad. This is REALLY good. Tell you what. You look like a good kid. I'll let you have half of mine."

"I ain't takin' no handouts!" Fred told her angrily, as much as he coveted that pizza.

Scarlet shrugged. "Fine. More for me." Now this was going to make it all the more fun. She exaggerated her expressions as she took the next bite, almost sensual in her declaration that "OH, that is good, mmm, YES." After swallowing, she declared, "I would HATE to have missed out on this. SO good." Another slow, deliberate bite, and she could tell Fred was internally squirming. It was often the pettiest acts that made villainy pay off so much; as Snatcher might say, it's the little moments.

"Look, lady," Fred groaned, "did you just call me over here to watch you eat a pizza?"

"I called you over because I wanted to share," Scarlet insisted. "But you (for this next bit, she feigned a deep voice) 'ain't takin' no handouts.' So now this pizza is mine. All of it." And she would have no problem polishing off the entire thing, which was a part of the story she was sure Snatcher wouldn't believe later. But now it was time to introduce the first of the brass tacks: "What're you doing out here so late anyway? You're kinda young to be all on your own. It's dangerous to be out here at this time of night. This town is crawling with criminals. Bank robbers, jewel thieves…"

"Bring 'em on," Fred replied. "I ain't scared. You think a guy like me can't knock the bad guys out in one punch?"

"Well, you do look pretty strong," Scarlet agreed. "Still…I don't know. People out here can get pretty mean."

"Yeah, well, so can I!" Fred retorted. "I'm one of the bad guys too!"

"Oh, please," Scarlet scoffed. "I know your type. Looks like they could kill you…wouldn't hurt a fly."

"That ain't me!" Fred argued. "I steal stuff all the time! An' I won fights against real superheroes!"

He'd said it without thinking. It didn't occur to him until far too late that admitting he was a criminal, borderline supervillain, to a perfect stranger was the surest way to earn a ticket to the nearest sheriff station. Pietro wouldn't have let him live it down, but in the moment, all he cared about was letting this woman know he was the real deal.

"Oh." Scarlet slowly set down her half-eaten pizza slice. "I see." Her smile suddenly became knowing. "Wanna know a secret?"

"Uh…" Fred wasn't sure how to respond. "I guess?"

"I'm a villain too," Scarlet stated clearly. "How do I know bank robbers and jewel thieves come out at night? Because I am one. I have pulled off SO many heists. And I've only ever been caught once."

"What?" Fred was taken aback. "Dude, that's AWESOME! Are you gonna go steal somethin' tonight?"

"Who knows?" Scarlet responded. "The night is young! But right now, I'm just enjoying my pizza. Which is still SO good. It might actually be the best pizza I've ever had. It's in the top ten at least." Another bite. "Mmmmm."

Fred's stomach was putting up a cacophony at the sight of Scarlet wolfing down the particularly decadent pizza, but he wasn't going to lower his standards enough to take her up on her offer, which, for all he knew, had rescinded.

"What about you?" Scarlet asked. "Were you on your way to the crime of the century?"

"Nah," Fred replied. "I'm just tryin' to find my way around…which I'm doin' just fine!"

"Find your way around?" Scarlet pretended to be shocked. Setting the pizza down again, she gave a feigned gasp. "Are you new in town? And you're all alone?"

"I ain't all alone!" Fred insisted. "I got the whole Brotherhood with me!"

"Oh, your family!" Scarlet said in mock relief. "And here I was actually worried about you."

"Stop WORRYIN' about – "

"So is crime a family business?" Scarlet asked. "Learned the biz from your parents? Ooh, do you have a sibling rivalry for who can bring home the most stuff from a heist night?"

"It ain't like that," Fred explained. "Ain't got no parents. And the others ain't related."

"So…more like friends than a family," Scarlet concluded, as though she hadn't already known that.

"That ain't right either!" Fred protested; certainly the Brotherhood was his family at this point. "Just shut up!"

"Look," Scarlet told him, "I've been in this business way longer than you have, and I know it can get TOUGH. Don't you ever wish you did have a family with you? Parents? You…really have no one to teach you the ropes? Or even kiss you goodnight?"

"SHUT UP!" Fred roared at Scarlet; he really didn't like where she was going. After all, he did think, sometimes, that having honest-to-good parents would be nice. He'd sworn never to miss his family, but that didn't mean it didn't happen on occasion. That kind of thought made him feel hollow, and Scarlet was bringing that out, meaning the void had to be filled with anger and it had to be done fast.

"Sorry," Scarlet sighed. "I probably shouldn't get you riled up. You could break all my bones in one shot, couldn't you?" She'd like to see him try to so much as catch her. Sure, he was durable, but she could dance rings around him. Moreover, she could tell she'd touched a nerve.

"You get off easy," Fred told her. "I ain't in the mood to throw you around." He wouldn't have called himself noble, but there did seem something a little unfair in just taking a swing at this defenseless-looking woman who'd just come out to have a pizza, especially when she hadn't done the thing that really provoked him.

"I'm just a little curious," Scarlet went on, casting her fishing line. "What would get you to pick a fight with someone?"

Without missing a beat, Fred answered, "If they laughed at me. NOBODY laughs at me and gets away with it."

"Oh, sweetie…" Scarlet said in faux sympathy. "Nobody should laugh at you. That's just mean."

"You're one of the bad guys," Fred reminded her. "What do you care about mean?"

"Well, I have STANDARDS," Scarlet insisted. "And from where I'm sitting, I can tell you're NOTHING to laugh at."

"Darn right!"

Now to move in for the kill. "I'm glad you have your Brotherhood at least. Every villain deserves at least one good partner in crime. I know I'd be lost without mine. And so long as they've never laughed at you, you've got a true friendship."

"Well, they don't laugh at me now, anyway," Fred corrected.

There it was. Though Scarlet's expression read of concern, she was grinning madly on the inside. "They USED to laugh at you?"

"Yeah, but no more!"

"Oh, honey…" Scarlet said morosely. "You know what they say about people who used to laugh at you."

"Whadda they say?" Fred asked, feeling a distinct sense of unease at where this was going.

Scarlet looked him dead in the eye as she said, "If someone laughs at you once, they'll laugh at you again."

"No way!" Fred argued. "He w – they would never!"

"Oh, boy, have I been there," Scarlet sighed. "I used to get picked on all the time when I was your age." That part of the story was true, at least. "Eventually, the bullying stopped happening to my face, and I made a lot of friends. Or, at least, I THOUGHT they were friends. But then I found out they were making fun of me behind my back for YEARS without telling me. The worst part is when I found out they were only keeping me around because I was good at fighting. That's kinda the downside of being strong, isn't it? You never know if people really like you or if they just like that you can fight their battles for them." She shrugged. "But if the person you're closest to can protect themselves, then you can be pretty sure it's for real."

"He can…" The words died in Fred's mouth. Suddenly it seemed all too obvious. Who was closest to him? Who had always been more drawn to him than any of the others? Todd, who could barely hold his own in a brawl, who managed to accidentally hurt himself on a daily basis, who was the smallest and the slightest of the entire group. Having Fred as a guard dog would be a distinct advantage, wouldn't it? "…Shut up."

She knew what he was thinking, and it was so easy to put into words: "He needs you to do his dirty work for him, doesn't he?"

"You don't know him."

"I knew a lot of people like that," Scarlet smoothly continued. "It's always the clumsy ones who pretend to be self-aware of how much of a 'loser' they are. They'll stick to an actual competent person like flypaper. Then, the MINUTE your back is turned, they're off talking to the rest of the clique about how your braces make you look like a dork and pigtails are for little kids – " Now she was getting far too personal by complete accident and had to steer this argument back on track. "My point is, if you want to know who your real friends are, you find people who see how valuable you are RIGHT AWAY, and you make sure they can't lean on you for anything."

Fred was silent for a moment, and Scarlet could practically hear the tumult cycling around his mind. He wanted to say no, she had to be wrong – but what if she wasn't? What he said at last was "How'd you get 'em to stop laughin' at you?"

"Well, you know," Scarlet answered. "Probably the same way you do. Cut ties by giving them a farewell shiner."

Now, even if Todd were using Fred as a meat shield, Fred's stomach turned at the thought of doing what Scarlet had just suggested. There was no way he could bring himself to.

"But I know what you're really asking," Scarlet went on. "You're wondering how I found friends who DIDN'T laugh at me."

"Yeah," Fred realized. "How'd you do that?"

"I got REALLY lucky," Scarlet answered. "You kinda just find good friends through luck. And I have the BEST friends. They help me with my crimes, they like a good party, and they NEVER make fun of me." She pretended to consider. "You know…I think they'd like you."

"Really?" Fred asked, taken aback.

"If you're really as hardcore as you say you are…"

"I am!"

"That's kind of the crowd I run with," Scarlet told him. "I can see you joining them in a brawl. Not against each other! I mean against some annoying do-gooders. Put your skills together with theirs and all of you together could probably steal some AMAZING things. Plus, you know, we kind of have this huge headquarters with all kinds of luxuries."

"How, uh…" Fred glanced just off center of Scarlet's gaze. "How strong's the furniture?"

So he was circling the hook. "We've got a couple big guys," she answered, thinking of Snipe and Grany. "Everything's built to work for them. It'll work for you. You weren't…thinking of joining us, were you? Because, okay, I won't lie, we'd LOVE to have you, but you already have your Brotherhood."

"Yeah, I do," Fred confirmed, though now he wasn't feeling so sure.

"Sure, they might laugh at you behind your back and pretend to be your friends just so they can hide behind you," Scarlet continued, "but…oh, no, wait. That's actually bad. That's REALLY bad. Oh, I feel SO bad for you, honey. Tell you what. If you want to talk to my people…I'll see what we can do about getting you somewhere better. Somewhere you can have a REAL family."

Here was the part where Fred would yell at her that he absolutely wasn't going to do that. And yet it didn't come.

"Just one little thing," Scarlet went on. "I get that you're serious, but everyone else is gonna want proof that you're in the crime circuit. So if you could bring us something…I dunno, maybe something stolen…something really VALUABLE…"

"I got somethin'," Fred said gruffly. "I got lots of stuff, actually." Those things Pietro had looted from the castle were just lying around. And if the others were truly laughing at Fred and using him, then losing their precious loot would be just desserts.

"Great!" Scarlet chirped. "How about you meet me back here tomorrow night, around sunset? Bring whatever you have, and I'll introduce you to my friends. This is gonna be amazing. I can already tell you're gonna be a GREAT addition to the team. I never got your name, by the way."

"Call me Blob," Fred answered.

"Blob?" Scarlet repeated. "No, sweetie, your REAL name."

"'S Fred," Fred muttered.

"And I'm Scarlet," Scarlet answered cheerily. "I'm looking forward to working with you, Fred. Now you should probably go home and get some sleep. Oh, by the way, be careful. I think there's some kind of superpowered villain on the loose, and he might not be as nice as I am. This really speedy guy with white hair. I kinda got the sense he was going about, oh, approximately…two blocks down the street, take a left, three blocks up, right, then another right. But that's just a guesstimation." She hadn't really seen Pietro. After all, if Fred was going to bring the haul from the castle, he had to know the way back home first.

"All right," Fred said firmly. "I'll think about it. I don't know if I'm gonna do it. I prob'ly WON'T do it. But IF I'm gonna do it…I'll be right back here with all the stuff."

It seemed far too hasty to make the decision to simply abandon his longtime cohorts in favor of a vague new offer. But now he couldn't stop wondering if they were actually his friends, and if they actually even wanted him around or if they were just laughing at him when his back was turned. Something about Scarlet seemed genuine, like an overprotective aunt, maybe even a mother. This wasn't an easy decision, and Fred knew it would require thought. That, however, would have to wait, as all his focus had to be on remembering the directions back to the district where the Brotherhood's new home was located. He took off at an average pace, muttering, "Two blocks down the road, take a left, three blocks up…"

Satisfied, Scarlet wolfed down the remainder of the pizza slice only to find that the sauce had stained her gloves. She peeled them off with mild disgust and frustration, laying them down next to her on the bench before picking up the next slice.

...

Archibald Snatcher had neither magic nor pizza, so he had to rely on the compass to bring him to his target. Wandering the low-lit streets, he flicked his gaze between the needle of the device in his hands and the view ahead, in case the target came into view.

It took him a double take to realize when he'd found the boy – no, the creature, as Snatcher would have it. It (Snatcher realized as he took in the sight that he couldn't think of the target as a "he" but an "it") was perched atop the gable of the house the compass indicated, silhouetted by the dying sunlight. Squatting on hands and feet like some sort of animal. Snatcher could practically feel the uncouth aura radiating from it, even from this distance – but that was why he'd taken this job, wasn't it?

It began with Snatcher donning a pleasant smile, approaching the back door of the house – not the front; it would see him coming from that direction, and this gambit relied on the wretched thing not knowing who Snatcher was. He raised his ringed hand, rapping smartly on that rear door and hearing a shuffle from within indicating that the residents were on their way to answer.

A middle-aged woman pried the door open, regarding Snatcher with confusion as to why he had knocked on that door and not the front one. "Can I help you?" she asked.

"Why, no," Snatcher replied sweetly. "It is I who thought you in need of help, for you see, I felt it pertinent that you know there is some form of foul creature taking advantage of your roof. Could be a Heartless. You WILL want to remove it from the premises."

"What?" The woman slipped out the door to verify what Snatcher had said; he backed away gracefully to allow her room. Once she spotted Todd on the roof, she let out an "Oh my g – " before storming back into the house.

Snatcher estimated it would be about thirty seconds.

Todd's foray into Radiant Garden hadn't turned up a lot. The city was bizarre, that was for sure. Half of it looked perfectly polished while half of it looked like a bomb had been dropped on it. Ever since leaving the flower shop and conversing with the enigmatic "Kaz" and his morose companion, Todd had found the time simply melted away until the sun went down. And while he didn't consider himself the sort of person to stare wistfully into the sunset, he had to admit this particular onset of twilight was nothing short of stunning, and so had scaled a nearby wall to find a good vantage point. Idly he wondered what the others had managed to discover. Hopefully some decent food.

A high, shrill voice shrieked from below: "GET OFF!"

Todd peered over the ridge to ask exactly what the yeller's problem was only to have a shoe thrown directly into his face. "'Kay, that smarts," he muttered to himself as he let the shoe drop over the edge.

The woman Snatcher had talked to was quickly joined by her family, all of whom hoisted objects of various sizes that they proceeded to chuck at Todd to chase him off the roof. "Eurgh!" a teenage girl cried. "LOOK at it! Actually, no, don't look at it."

"Hey!" Todd snapped back at her, standing in order to dodge the barrage of makeshift weapons. "I got a name, ya kn – "

A particularly heavy paperweight struck him directly in the chest, throwing him off balance and off the roof. He plunged off the side of the house, hitting the street below hard. Quickly, in somewhat of a panic, he assessed: no broken bones. That was good.

The woman had retrieved her shoe. "GET AWAY FROM MY HOUSE!" she screamed, the dim lighting preventing her from truly seeing that her target was more human than she'd been led to believe.

"Gimme a break already!" Todd moaned as he turned to spring away at full speed.

They chased him down a couple blocks just to make sure he was good and dissuaded from returning to their home again; there, around the corner, Snatcher was waiting. He leaned out of the alley, fixing his gaze on the incoming Todd and waving a beckoning hand. "This way!" he hissed. "Quickly!"

Todd wasn't going to ask questions. He bounded into the alley, sticking to the wall opposite from the one Snatcher was near and crawling a ways in; his pursuers scurried right past the entry to the narrow alley, having lost track of Todd entirely.

"Man, that was close!" Todd panted. "I owe ya one, dawg."

He was even more repulsive up close, Snatcher thought. Snatcher himself might have been taunted for his appearance, but at least he had the grace and dignity not to stick to walls. He withdrew a small flashlight, flicking it on and shining it over Todd, hoping the gesture came across as benign. On the way, Todd's eyes caught the light and reflected it right back, which Snatcher was well aware no human eye was ever supposed to be able to do.

The presence of the flashlight also allowed Todd to get a good look at Snatcher, taking in the long red coat, the tall crimson hat, the old-fashioned manner of dress. Must've been Latverian fashion, though it seemed a couple centuries out of date.

"Think nothing of it," Snatcher said in a kind tone. "I merely look out for those less fortunate." He let his face twist into a mask of pity. "Oh, dear, I do pity you."

"What?" Todd dropped off the wall, standing crookedly on the street in an attempt to talk to Snatcher more on his level. Which, given the man's height, was probably less effective than just staying on the wall. "That s'posed to mean somethin'?"

"What brought you here?" Snatcher asked. "This is no place for one such as you."

"Still not makin' no sense, yo."

And then there was that dreadful slang of his, Snatcher observed. He'd been warned, but he found himself unprepared for how it grated. "This city isn't kind to the different," Snatcher lied softly. "Those who don't fit the mold are reviled. Cast out. I've learned that myself over the years. At least I can force my way through it. But you…you're something else entirely. I can go unnoticed, but you…" He shook his head. "You'd best leave at your earliest opportunity."

"Why?" Todd cocked his head in curiosity. "What's so bad about this place."

"For starters…" Snatcher shook his head. "No, no, I won't make this about me."

"Yeah, but I gotta know, man. Spill it."

"If you insist." A falsified beleaguered sigh. "No doubt you've noticed that I am not the picture of loveliness."

Todd shrugged. Sure, the man had a bit of meat on his bones, and a unique face, but who was Todd to judge at that point.

"The mere beginning of my troubles, that was," Snatcher went on. "I came from a poor family, you see, and I was harassed relentlessly for it. Even those who put on a polite face in public would whisper about me in private. 'Don't bother with the tailor's son,' they would say. 'Twas bad enough before I reached adolescence and discovered my other…irregularity. You see, around here, there are quite strict societal codes. Men pursue women, and women, men. I do not adhere."

That struck Todd as odd. "Kaz an' Stork weren't fazed."

"That is a relief to hear," Snatcher sighed. "After all, I do speak of circumstances from my upbringing, in my generation. Perhaps your generation is more open-minded. That will be…oh, dear. I've just realized. That means YOU also…"

"Technically, I'm into both," Todd explained.

"In my day," Snatcher told him, "one such as yourself would be best served by focusing on women or paying the price. Though at least they can't tell that from looking at you. They will be able to see, however…something about you. I can see you're different from even me. Please assure my heart by telling me you're well-established in this city."

"I'm kinda new," Todd responded, starting to feel a sense of dread at whatever Snatcher was hinting at.

"Pardon my rudeness," Snatcher asked, "but are you human?"

"Well, uh, not in the technical sense," Todd answered. "I mean, yeah, but I'm a mutant. I got that X-gene, y'know?"

"Non-humans are given a very particular treatment around these parts," Snatcher stated. He hadn't planned on making up this part of the lore of his fabricated Radiant Garden, but he'd heard the word "Stork," and if he was right about who that was, he had to make a quick amendment. "Certain of them have become well-known in town. They've had to fight for any sort of status, and only keep it by elevating themselves above those they consider lesser. Anyone new to the area is that lesser. You can't even trust anyone who seems as mutated as yourself. They gain an inflated sense of self, you know. They'll forget they used to be just as you are."

Todd remembered how both Stork and Kazuichi had flinched when he'd eaten the bee. Now he was even more on edge. "This place sounds like it tanks, yo."

"Most unfortunately."

"Why don't ya just beat it, then?"

"I've come very little upward in the world since youth," Snatcher told him. "I've no funds with which to secure a future elsewhere. Otherwise I'd've left in a heartbeat."

"So your whole life's just been trash?"

"Well…" Snatcher looked dramatically off to the side, out at the horizon. "It wasn't all so terrible. There was hope, once."

Of course, there was a stinging truth in what he said. And what he was about to say would contain even more of it. Now, truly, the reason he had chosen Todd.

"As I informed you," Snatcher went on, "as a child and an adolescent, I was mocked ruthlessly. I was called names. Given that you're new to these parts, I assume you had a better upbringing. No bullies…no derogatory nicknames…"

"Geez, I wish," Todd groaned. "Back home, the tough guys were always beatin' me up. That's how I started goin' by 'Toad.' They called me that 'cause, well, I'm basically a toad."

"I am deeply sorry," Snatcher said with a quick glance back to Todd. "What a horrible name." What a fitting one, more like.

"Nah, it's cool. I kinda made it my thing. It's who I am now. I'm the Toad. And the Toad is one cool guy." This was punctuated with a cocky set of finger-guns.

"All the same," Snatcher emphasized, "I refuse to call you by such a moniker. What is your REAL name?"

"Call me Todd, yo."

"I would prefer to use your surname. It's rather a habit of mine. To display respect and all."

"…Surwhatnow?"

"Your LAST name."

"What, ya wanna go around callin' me Mr. Tolansky? Fine. That's your business, yo."

Now to check a box on Snatcher's to-do list: "Tolansky? Is that with a – "

"It's with an A," Todd sighed, obviously a veteran at explaining this, "an' it ends in a Y. You're only like the hundredth guy to ask that."

"I see." Snatcher nodded. Now he had his curiosity sated, at least. "Now then, Mr. Tolansky, to return to the point." He once more looked dramatically off into where there had just been a sunset. "I lived a difficult life, but there was one thing that lightened the burden considerably. A friend I made in my youth. The only friend I had for years. He accepted me for who I was, every part of me. I opened my heart to him, told him everything I now know I should've kept secret. When I was with him, the rest of the world hardly mattered. I knew he and I could be above the rest who sneered and judged. One day, we would rule them all."

"Heh." Todd relaxed a bit, leaning against the wall. "Sounds like me an' the Brotherhood."

"The Brotherhood?" Snatcher repeated, looking back to Todd. "Companions of yours?"

"Us against the world," Todd confirmed with a nod.

"I do wish you hadn't made that comparison," Snatcher said solemnly.

"What?" Todd asked. "Things not go well?"

"Hardly," Snatcher sighed, looking to the ground.

Todd wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to the question he next asked apprehensively. "What happened, yo?"

Snatcher lifted his gaze to fix somber eyes upon Todd's own. "He swore he would never leave me behind," he said mournfully. "But at his first chance, he did exactly that."

Todd in no way liked the chill that ran down his spine upon hearing that exact turn of phrase. "Good thing the Brotherhood ain't like that," he said defensively. "We're tight."

"So were my former friend and I," Snatcher affirmed. "One could say we were thick as thieves. What's more…I never told him this, but I did love him. And I loved him in the romantic sense. I thought he'd know far better than to shatter my heart, but after all we'd been through, he abandoned me to further his own agenda. Ultimately, he considered me…worthless."

He let that sit for a while; Todd didn't have an immediate response, which was good. That was how Snatcher knew his words had an effect. "But I suppose it is different for you," he continued. "After all, I doubt one such as you would be considered worthless. Surely your unique genetics make you an asset."

"You know it," Todd said proudly.

"And your Brotherhood knows this, and respects you."

"'Course they – " Todd faltered suddenly. "Well…actually…I am kinda the team loser. Pietro's always on my case about screwin' up. B-but that don't mean nothin'!"

"Of course," Snatcher affirmed. "Words speak nowhere near as loud as actions, after all. Simply knowing that they've been there for you, through thick and thin, and never, ever abandoned you in an hour of need is all the assurance you should require."

This was met with dead silence. It was all Snatcher could do to keep from smiling. "Oh, Mr. Tolansky…you poor child. They haven't…?"

"It was just the one time, okay?" Todd said hurriedly, defensively. "They didn' mean it. An' it was a long time ago. We was all lookin' out for ourselves, an'…an' Freddie, he promised…"

"He is your team leader?" Snatcher inquired. "Or perhaps your closest friend?"

"We're, uh…we're goin' steady."

"You love him," Snatcher accused.

"Hey, I ain't about to drop the L-word on it," Todd said defensively. "That's a big commitment, yo."

"Indeed it is," Snatcher confirmed. "And if it is less than love you feel, it will be much easier to take when he inevitably betrays you."

"No." Todd shook his head frantically, his dirty-blond hair falling into his face from both sides. "No, no, no, it ain't gonna happen. He wouldn'. He PROMISED."

Snatcher's thoughts turned to Scarlet, who by now had certainly planted the seed of leaving the Brotherhood in Fred's head. If only Todd knew. "I wish I had reassurance for you, Mr. Tolansky, but all I have to offer is concern. Fear, in fact. The evidence is strikingly familiar."

"Look, it's all just a big coinc-i-dink – "

"Your friends, they think of you as a weakling."

"It ain't – "

"They've cast you aside before to serve their own ends."

"I already TOLD ya – "

"Your lover placates you with sweet words to prevent you from discovering the truth."

"WHAT TRUTH?"

Snatcher relished this. Todd was putting up his best angry front, but the mutant was perceptibly trembling, and not from an overload of rage. "That even now," Snatcher said somberly, "he plans to move onward and upward without you, and bring all of his cohorts with him. You'll be left to rot in a city that has already proven its disdain for you. And you can't even fend for yourself."

Now Todd couldn't even force himself to look angry at all. What if it was true? He always was the weakest, the one blamed for everything gone wrong – and often rightfully so. Fred might have promised never to abandon him, but how did that stack up against the fact that it had already happened once? What if Todd found himself all alone, with no Brotherhood to be found, in a city full of people that hated him and threw paperweights at him? Pietro, Lance, Wanda – would they even miss him, or just be glad he wasn't around to set off any more alarms? And Fred…would Fred speak up for him? Or would Fred be glad to wash his hands of him? No, Fred liked him too much. Fred was the one who had come to him about feelings of romance, not the other way around. "Your…your guy. Did he…love ya back?"

"I have reason to believe he did, once," Snatcher outright lied.

"An' he…he left ya behind."

"Most coldly."

Now Todd was caught in a loop of muttering "No, no, no, no, no," and Snatcher knew he had won.

"There's only one hope for you," Snatcher said firmly. "You must escape on your own before your friends leave you to rot in this cesspool where you will undoubtedly be punished for the crime of being mutated. The next mob will come armed with more than just shoes and knickknacks. But surely you know the lay of the land. If you left, you'd have an idea of where you're going."

"I ain't got none!" Todd said in an utter panic. "I got zapped here from this weird teleporter thing! Ain't got no cash, either! I dunno what it's like out there! I got no idea what I'm doin'!"

"Then I regret…" Finally, Snatcher allowed himself to smile. "Actually…there may yet be another option for you. It carries a bit of a risk, of course."

"Give it to me, yo!" Todd begged. "I gotta get a backup plan for when the guys – no, IF the guys leave me behind again!"

"As I informed you," Snatcher said, "the one I loved was the only friend I had in years. But he is not the only friend I EVER had. I am fortunate enough now to have several friends, in fact."

"W…what's that gotta do with me?"
"Perhaps everything," Snatcher answered. "They do, after all, accept me, just as my former friend once did. They give me my well-deserved respect. We stand against the judgmental elites of this city in a rather underground organization. There is a chance, perhaps, they would take you in to their refuge – " He stopped himself, shaking his head. "No. No, no, no. It's far too inconceivable."

"What's wrong with it?" Todd asked desperately. "They wouldn' want me either?"

"Not on the grounds of incompetence," Snatcher answered. "It's moreso that…well. I introduced myself by saying I look out for those less fortunate, and that is a goal of mine, but there is more to me than you might think. My allies and I are…now, you mustn't judge."

"I ain't judgin', man!"

"You could call us organized crime," Snatcher stated. "INCREDIBLY organized crime, at that. We are no selfless band of do-gooders. We are con artists, thieves, cheats. Survivors." Would that Roman were here to observe the legacy he'd left. Though Snatcher thought it best to amend the word "liars" so as not to tip off the victim…though Todd hadn't exactly displayed the most intelligence to this point. "In short…we are villains. We are always open to new membership, and were you to come aboard, no doubt the others would look after you as though you were their own…but only if you were a miscreant yourself. Trying to act as the moral compass would not go over well at all. No, best a pure, innocent soul such as yourself find a better solution, a safer one – "

"Hey, I ain't no moral compass!" Todd insisted. "I'm a misc – a mis – a bad guy! I've caused all kinds of disasters, yo! An' I steal stuff! Everythin'!"

"I do hope you're being honest and not padding your credentials in order to gain access to our cabal."

"…Okay, dunno what half of that meant," Todd admitted, "but I'm bein' honest! I mean it!"

Snatcher pretended to think it over. "Then I may extend you an offer. For your own safety. I will give you twenty-four hours to consider. You will remember where this very alley is, will you not?"

"Yeah, yeah…"

"If you wish to accept my offer of an escape and a refuge," Snatcher insisted, "return here in exactly one day. Save yourself before your Brotherhood can do irreparable damage. To make good on your claim, however, I will ask for an entry fee. Something you've taken from its owner. Something of value."

"So all I gotta do is steal somethin' real big," Todd reiterated. It dawned on him exactly what he could bring; sure, the hard part had been done for him, but Pietro would never expect someone to swipe the loot right out from beneath his nose. "I can do that."

"I do hope you'll make the right choice, Mr. Tolansky," Snatcher asserted. "I fear for you. I truly do. After all, I remember quite well what it felt like to be ostrac – " No. He wouldn't understand that word. "To be outcast for being different. But I couldn't begin to IMAGINE how much more difficult it would've been were I mutated, especially in such a visible way as you are. Anything I can offer you to spare you the pain, I will."

He sounded so sincere; Todd for once wasn't concerned with avoiding the appearance of vulnerability. "Guess I owe ya more than one now," he said softly. "Hey…never did catch your name."

"But of course. My name is Archibald Snatcher."

Silence. Then a snort. That snort escalated into a giggle. Snatcher really should've seen this coming.

"Okay, good one," Todd managed through his vocal convulsions. "No, man, what's your REAL name?"

"My real name…IS…Archibald Snatcher."

"Your last name is – "

"Really?" Snatcher sighed. "You would mock my surname while knowing full well how people mangle yours?" That was the problem: it may have been a toadlike creature, but it was still an adolescent male, and that made it all the more insufferable.

"Okay, okay," Todd wheezed, "I got it outta my system. We're good."

"Good to hear."

"Look, I'm gonna bounce," Todd told Snatcher. "I gotta at least get a roof over my head tonight. I'll think it over, 'kay? Maybe you'll see me back here tomorrow." He made his way to the alley's entry. "Would be nice to fit in for once."

"And you will," Snatcher promised.

"Catch ya on the flipside, Archie."

Snatcher bristled; "You do NOT get to call – "

Todd was already gone.

What an absolutely frustrating creature, Snatcher thought. He had, however, been correct. It was all too easy to break. It did have, loath as Snatcher was to admit it, traces of Snatcher himself in it; he reviled seeing himself in something so inhuman. He remembered, though, burying his feelings of worthlessness in order to progress to glory. It was a simple reversal. Find that buried feeling, then unearth it.

Exactly as planned, Todd, constructing a parkour shortcut across the rooftops to get back to home base, was fighting to keep from being consumed by that very feeling of worthlessness.

...

Wanda was the first one home. It surprised her to find the house empty. She supposed, correctly, that the boys had been out exploring their new surroundings. Perhaps one of them had hit upon the same truth she now knew: that they were as far from home as they could possibly get. If Pietro wanted a fresh start, he sure had it.

Thinking of him, of any of them, now stung. They sat on a balance, the opposite plate counterweighted by Wanda's locked memories. She held the center of the scale, and the four were turned away from her, looking out toward the horizon where they probably believed Tabitha was in the distance. Things had never been simple for her here, not like it was for any of them, but now it had become all the more complicated.

Suddenly she thought of the loot, lying around the kitchen. If she were going to take Vexen up on his offer, she would need to secure it. Perhaps she could hide it. At least one piece. Blame it on someone else. Fake obliviousness.

Before she knew it, she was standing by the counter, hand tentatively reaching out to grasp the Cornerstone of Light –

"What are you doing?"

Pietro had managed to enter without making any noise, leaning against the door frame. Wanda spun, heart pounding; she had expected to see him giving his usual cocky smile, but confidence was lacking from his stance, instead replaced by tension. His face read of anger. Could he have known what Wanda was about to do?

"Just looking," she answered in a tone far calmer than her inner turmoil. "I'm still curious about what exactly you brought home."

"Who cares?" Pietro sniffed. "It's valuable and that's all that matters." But she wouldn't take his word for it, he thought. She didn't respect him. She didn't care. "I'm gonna start making dinner."

He zipped from cabinet to cabinet, collecting cans and popping them open with a small tool. Wanda wondered why he was so upset. If he had suspected she was about to steal his treasures and run, surely he would have called her out on it by now. She opened her mouth to ask – then closed it. Perhaps it didn't pay to get too close. Not with so much on the line.

When Lance returned, he didn't say a word. He flopped down on one of the couches, staring into space while Wanda lingered against the wall and Pietro rapidly stirred the pot of soup he had going. Fred eventually made it back to the house as well, taking the other couch immediately, silent as the grave. An aura of anger festered throughout the house's lower level, though no one dared comment. Finally, Todd showed up, furtive and jumpy as he shut the door rapidly behind him and scampered halfway up the stairs, obviously making way toward his room.

Of course, before he could get there, Pietro zipped into the living room to yell that "DINNER'S READY" before dashing into the dining room.

He had wanted to hide his treasures himself: scurry them away to somewhere only he knew. It had been his plan from the moment he'd parted ways with Wuya, but Wanda arriving home first had thrown a wrench into it. Now that everyone else was here, he couldn't think of it. It would take him multiple trips to displace all the items, and while he might be able to get away with blasting from one end of the house to the other once, doing it several times in succession would net some questions about what, exactly, he was doing.

Wanda took her seat at the head of the table; after dishing out the bowls of hastily-cobbled soup roughly, Pietro sat a good distance away from her. Lance usually took his place either across from or beside Pietro, but tonight, he sullenly relaxed into the chair diagonal from him. It was Fred who filled the seat next to Pietro, sitting across from Lance but refusing to make eye contact with him. Finally, Todd ended up in the remaining seat, beside Lance and across from Pietro, casting a wary glance around the table before averting his own eyes. Everyone set to eating silently, somberly.

At first, each was too embroiled in their own mental conundrums to take stock of the situation. Wanda was tantalized by her missing memories, sure that none of the boys would think twice about swapping her for someone more like Tabby if given the chance. Pietro, no longer sure the others wouldn't throw him out for seeming too sinister, was reconsidering fantasies of silver sports cars, video games, and respect. Now that Lance wasn't utterly convinced he wasn't a pawn in another of Pietro's machinations, a leather jacket and a vigilante title didn't sound too bad. Fred thought he could hear the laughter at him in the others' heads, and now that he believed he was little more than Todd's riot shield, he was in no mood to even speak to him. Todd trusted no one, Fred least of all, and felt a sensation akin to being fenced in by tall walls even he couldn't scale, isolating him from everyone else. And all five schemed their own ways of getting to the stolen goods without any of the others noticing.

It soon became clear, however, that something was very wrong. Pietro was the first to speak up about it: "Why are you all so quiet? Usually I can't get any of you to shut up."

That was odd, they all thought. Each knew why they were independently quiet, but the fact that all five had suddenly gone silent was outside the norm.

"Wanda I get," Pietro went on, "but isn't this usually where Toad calls Blob some creepy pet name – "

"Like I'm gonna say that kinda thing to a traitor," Todd muttered.

"WHAT did you say?" Fred snapped, staring at Todd from his diagonal position.

"I SAID," Todd reiterated, his voice escalating, "I ain't gonna be all cutesy with a TRAITOR."

Fred's heart nearly stopped; how did Todd know about that? "You should know why I'm doin' it!" he growled. "I ain't gonna be your meat shield anymore! I'm sick of protectin' you just so you can pretend to like me, then turn around and laugh at me when I'm not lookin'!"

The words pierced like a spear. "I knew it," Todd replied. "I stinkin' knew it. Pretendin' to like ya? Nice excuse. You just want me off your back 'cause I'm the worthless one. ALL a you do. You just want things the way they were back on Asteroid M! No Toad around to screw up! Pretty sweet, right?"

Fred slammed a fist on the table almost hard enough to break its wooden surface. "DON'T ACT LIKE THAT JUST TO GET ME TO FEEL BAD FOR YOU!"

"'Cause feelin' anythin' for me would be SO terrible!" Todd shot back, slamming his own fist on the table almost hard enough to break his own fingers. "Can't have any emotional strings holdin' ya back when ya all up an' LEAVE!"

"What got INTO you?" Lance broke in. "Look, NOBODY here's the trustworthy type. Just get used to it."

"Nobody?" Pietro repeated. "NOBODY?"

"Yeah, nobody," Lance confirmed with a pointed look at Pietro. "Least of all YOU. I'm not getting caught up in another one of your schemes. You don't get to use me!"

"And YOU don't get to JUDGE me!" Pietro snapped. "I get it, okay? I'm a rotten egg. Put me in a bowl of water and I sink. Just get it over with and kick me out so you can be the good guy."

"Oh, like I'm falling for that," Lance growled. "Just like how I fell for it when you said you didn't care if I had a conscience. You're the one planning on kicking me out so you can be leader! And if you're gonna be the bad guys, then maybe being the hero isn't such a bad plan after all!"

"You KNOW who they're gonna side with when it gets to the wire!" Pietro yelled, his words picking up speed. "And if you wannaplayhero, maybeIshouldbethevillainforyou!"

Wanda's eyes darted back and forth between all four of them. This wasn't right. They would tease and prank and pick at each other. They would roughhouse and insult each other. But it had never been like this.

"YOU'RE JUST WAITING FOR ME TO MESS UP!"

"NO, YOU'RE THE ONE WAITIN' ON ME TO MESS UP!"

"I'M NOT YOUR PAWN!"

"I'MNOTTHEBADGUY!"

It all became stunningly clear to Wanda in an instant. In an act of desperation, she raised the table a few inches off the floor, then let it fall with an immense THUD, the bowls slopping their contents everywhere within a short radius. When the table hit ground, Wanda screamed, "STOP!"

That was enough to get all four of them to fall silent and stare at her in wonder.

"Who talked to you?" Wanda asked coldly.

There was no response.

"Who. Talked. To you?" Wanda repeated. "Someone put these ideas in your heads. I want to know who."

After a long pause, Lance, Pietro, Todd, and Fred all asked, timing differing slightly, "How'd you know?" This caused them to shoot surprised looks at each other.

"Someone approached me tonight," Wanda insisted. "He promised me that he could return all of my lost memories. When I showed hesitation, he tried to convince me that none of you wanted me around. And I almost believed him. What did they tell you?"

Pietro was the first to speak up: "Some lady saw me outrun a pack of monsters. She tried to get me to join her villain club, and she offered me a lot of stuff. Then I brought you up, and she just said I was better than all of you, that you wouldn't listen to me, and that you would all side with Lance over me and throw me out."

"I got some lady trying to get me to go full HERO," Lance said in surprise. "She made it sound all fun, and she brought up all this stuff I did. I tried to tell her that wasn't me, but then she said I was too much of a good guy to be with you, that you were dragging me down, and that Pietro was gonna manipulate me."

"You thought I was gonna MANIPULATE you?" Pietro repeated in shock. "Are you SERIOUS? Don't you TRUST me anymore? I'm done doing that!"

"Yeah, well, you were mad about me being too good JUST NOW!" Lance reminded him. "I didn't want to be your enemy!"

"You sure acted like I was yours!" Pietro responded.

"I got a lady, too," Fred broke in. "She told me that if you guys laughed at me once, you'd laugh at me again. She told me all about these fake friends she had and said you were just like them. She said you kept me around 'cause I was strong and then made fun of me behind my back. So she said I could go with her to make some real friends."

"Freddie," Todd said rather meekly, "ya promised. Just last night, ya promised ya…wouldn' leave me behind again."

"I thought you didn't really like me!" Fred insisted. "I thought you were usin' me!"

"My guy said you were the one who didn' like me," Todd admitted. "He said you thought of me as a loser. The team doofus. An' he brought up his own friend, an' how that guy promised he wouldn' leave him, an' then did. An' this city ain't a place for no mutants to fit in. He was sure you were gonna leave…an' now I know you was thinkin' it."

"But I thought – "

Todd held up a hand, and Fred fell silent. "So he offered me a way out," Todd continued. "He said I should get out first while I got the chance. I was gonna go join up with his crew. Some kinda organized crime. Said I'd actually get some respect there."

"Todd," Fred said angrily, now feeling all the more hurt, "you made the SAME PROMISE! And you were gonna break it too!"

"But you never had to worry 'bout that before!" Todd reminded him. "You ain't never been hurt over bein' left behind! That's my thing!"

"Listen," Wanda said stonily. "They made us fight. They made us break promises and stop trusting each other. But think about it. We're the Brotherhood. They don't know us. They can't possibly know us as well as WE KNOW EACH OTHER. Do you really think ANY of what they said was right? Yes, we were all ready to walk out on each other, but because we thought we had a reason to. Forget about any of us wanting to leave and think about WHY we wanted to leave. Do you REALLY believe it? Or was that just cheap lies?"

It took a moment for that question to settle. Pietro was the first to break it, instinctively leaping in as ever: "Lance, do you really think I'd trick you anymore?"

Lance looked Pietro dead in the eye and realized he knew the answer. "No," he said. "I don't. It sure SOUNDED right when she said it, but now…I trust you." He quickly flicked his gaze to the table. "So, uh…about what I said…"

"Look, I don't wanna draw this out," Pietro insisted. "You fell for some stupid lie and so did I. We both got played. You should've known I wouldn't lie to you, and I should've known you wouldn't drop me."

"I'm sorry," Lance muttered.

"So am I," Pietro sighed. "But you know who REALLY needs to apologize? The jerks who played us. This wasn't even any of our fault. The only people we need to blame are Wuya and whoever you got."

"Xayide," Lance replied. "Pretty freaky names, huh?"

"Yeah," Pietro agreed. Then, in a flash, he had made rounds of the table, standing beside Lance and leaning on him with one arm. "And for the last time, you having a good streak just makes you cuter."

"Yeah, well, I'm into bad boys," Lance laughed.

He made a rough grab for Pietro's arm; as his fingers clutched around forearm, he and Pietro were both aware that had Pietro not wanted Lance to be able to seize him, he would've dodged it easily. As it were, when Lance pulled Pietro up close to deliver him a kiss, it was exactly what Pietro wanted.

That left Fred and Todd to try and figure out how to look each other in the eye. "I'm sorry, man," Fred mumbled. "You wouldn't laugh at me."

"Or use ya," Todd insisted. "I like feelin' safe with you an' all, but I can take care of myself. I want you around 'cause I LIKE ya. I just thought…maybe you'd stop likin' me."

"No!" Fred insisted. "That ain't gonna happen! I ain't gonna stop likin' you! You're awesome! And you ain't the team doofus, either!"

"Interrupting," Pietro broke in. "Toad, you are, in fact, the team idiot. But you're OUR idiot. And no one messes with our idiot."

"You'd think I'd'a figured that out by now," Todd sighed. "I ain't never had anythin' to worry about, did I?"

"No," Fred told him, "and neither did I. We both just got messed up by those people!"

"So, uh…" Todd ventured to finally look at Fred at the same time that Fred finally looked at him. "'Bout that promise…took us all of one day to break it." He forced a laugh.

"Well, I mean it this time," Fred insisted, "and now I know to watch out for people tryin' to split us up on purpose. I ain't never – "

"Hang on," Todd stopped him, raising both hands. "You wanna make this serious? You know what we gotta do."

Fred knew exactly what he was referring to. "Spit-shake?"

"Spit-shake."

Todd hopped up onto the table, crouching there on all fours to get somewhat closer to Fred's height. Once they were positioned across from each other, Fred spat a substantial glob of saliva into his right hand, and Todd hocked up a chunk of green mucus from the back of his throat to apply to the palm of his own. They'd done this ritual before, and it was as sacred as they could get.

"I promise I ain't never gonna leave you behind," Fred stated. "For real this time."

"And I swear I ain't never gonna leave you neither," Todd replied. "Toad's honor."

Their sticky right hands slapped together, to which Lance, Pietro, and Wanda all made noises of disgust. Fred then gave Todd's hand a slight tug, guiding him forward to allow Fred to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. Todd responded by immediately straightening just enough to put his mouth at the same level as Fred's and attack it with a voracious kiss.

One would think that watching the other four at the table engage in their romantic partnerships would make Wanda feel left out or lonely, but in truth, it was a comfort. She didn't yet need to have a partner (though it would be nice eventually, she would admit). What she needed was for her friends to be happy and for order to be restored, and that was what she was contentedly witnessing.

She was somewhat surprised when Pietro asked, "What'd your guy say to you?"

"Huh?" she responded.

"You had a guy," Pietro reminded her. "He told you we didn't want you. What'd he say about us?"

"It wasn't important," Wanda muttered.

"Yes it was," Pietro said flatly. "I wanna know what he said."

"He said…" Wanda heaved a sigh. "That I didn't fit in with you. That you were all so busy having fun and being…you that you couldn't want someone like me, someone who didn't goof off and make messes. He said you really just wanted Tabitha back."

This brought up a chorus of "Nooooo!" in varying pitches and lengths.

"You're the actual sane person around here," Pietro insisted. "We need you to maintain the balance."

"We don't care that you don't goof around!" Lance added. "You're just…you're WANDA. I like that!"

"You're our friend!" Fred chimed in.

"What, ya think I got all heart-eyed over ya just 'cause you were pretty?" Todd posed.

She looked him dead in the eye and stated, "Yes. Yes, I do."

"…Okay, that one ain't wrong," Todd admitted, "but you're still tops, yo."

"Look, Tabby was a great friend," Lance affirmed. "But she ended up being better off with the X-losers. You ain't her, she ain't you, and you're one of US. You're not just Pietro's sister. You're OUR sister."

"I…" Wanda's voice became hushed. "Thank you."

"What did these guys even want, anyway?" Lance asked angrily. "What were they tryin'a break us up for?"

"I dunno," Fred replied. "You think they knew about us and wanted to knock out the competition?"

"That could be it," Wanda mused. "I also know the one who targeted me asked for payment for my memories. I was considering taking the things Pietro stole from the castle and using them for it."

"Hey, that's weird," Todd commented. "My guy said he needed some kinda entry fee for me to prove I could run with his crowd. So I was thinkin' a doin' the same thing."

"Wait a minute!" Fred realized. "The lady who talked to me said almost the same thing! So I was thinkin' of takin' the stuff too!"

"Mine asked for that stuff specifically," Lance recalled. "She said our first good deed was going to be helpin' me put it all back."

Pietro's brow was knit tightly. "Mine wanted me to bring the stuff I stole too," he growled. "She said it was to prove my worth. But I get it now. They invited us to step into their candy store because they just wanted our stuff for free! And we almost let them HAVE IT!"

"Okay, we ain't fallin' for THAT again!" Lance added.

"They either pay up or ship out," Pietro insisted.

"I say we make 'em pay anyway," Todd suggested. "They ain't gettin' away with almost breakin' up the Brotherhood a Mutants!"

"I sure ain't lettin' 'em get off easy!" Fred agreed.

"This is a problem," Wanda realized. "Having all this stuff around paints a target on us."

"So we get it over with," Pietro declared. "Tomorrow, we head up to the castle itself, let 'em know what we have, and make our demand. No more tricks. We go first thing in the morning."

That was met with three soft groans and a slight look of disdain from the now sleep-deprived Wanda.

"Okay, fine, we head out at the crack of noon."

An air of disapproval still lingered.

"After lunch?" Pietro sighed.

Now the others nodded affirmation.

"And if the people who tried to split us up are the ones who run this country," Pietro went on, "we'll have a nasty surprise waiting for 'em."

"I don't think they are," Fred pointed out. "I actually met the princess today! She wasn't the one who tried to trick me. She was actually pretty nice. Which means she'll prob'ly pay up without a fight to get her stuff back!"

"Lookit my Honey Buns!" Todd teased, nudging Fred's forearm with his elbow. "Gettin' in with real Latveria royalty!"

"You didn't figure it out yet?" Wanda asked in astonishment.

"Figure what out, yo?" Todd replied.

"Where we are," Wanda stated.

"Uh…not really?" Fred admitted.

"I did wonder today if maybe we ain't actually in Latveria," Lance confessed.

"Well, where else in the world would have a giant castle?" Pietro asked in frustration.

"That's the part you're not going to believe," Wanda began.

The four leaned toward her, curious.

"When that teleporter went off," Wanda stated, "it brought us to a completely different world."

...

Watching the scene in the dining room unfold transmitted from the beetle on the wall, Mozenrath and Yzma, the former seated at the great strategy-planning desk and the latter standing at his side, gaped in awe.

Then Mozenrath pounded the desk with his fist: "How…how…HOW? HOW DID THEY GET PAST ALL THE WORK WE DID TO BREAK THEM?"

What Yzma said next was without a trace of irony: "THEY'RE VILLAINS! How were WE supposed to know they would somehow manage to harness the power of friendship and use it to overcome external threats?"

Mozenrath's response was to slam his head down onto the desk and leave it there for a solid minute.

When he straightened back up, trying to regain his composure, he stated, "Well, it looks like we've just been relegated to plan beh."

"The most difficult part will be corralling the zebras," Yzma mused. "However, if we use the proper bait, they should give us minimal trouble."

Mozenrath stared at her in disbelief before announcing, "I…guess we're actually on plan TEH."

"Is teh the third…?"

"Yes."

"We did start out by trying to take the objects by force from them, and that didn't work, so technically, this is the fourth – "

"DON'T REMIND ME." Mozenrath quickly smoothed back his short burst of ire. "So we're on plan theh. If they're going to bring everything out to ransom, we'll just have to intercept the transaction. It will be a little messier than we wanted, and we can't really avoid involving the Keyblade contingent, but then again, this could be our chance to prove that the WHAM ARMY is nothing to be taken lightly."

"How?" Yzma asked. "They've got wards on top of wards on that castle to keep us from teleporting in!"

"Simple, my dear Yzma," Mozenrath assured her. "Like I was about to tell you back in Radiant Garden. If nothing else, we can just walk right in the front door."