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.

127. All in the Family

A/N: There are a couple songs you want to know! The most important is "Who We Are" from the Steven Universe movie. The lesser in importance is "Now/It's Just the Gas" from Little Shop of Horrors.

...

Once upon a time, many millennia ago, the sun and the moon over a certain world went to war.

Though they both survived the clash, they weren't left without scars. From the moon, a trickle of dust rained down onto the earth, the gravity forging it into a deep blue stone, and where that stone landed, Darkness began to spread in the form of jagged black spikes of stone. The kingdom unfortunate enough to discover the stone recruited a "brotherhood" of volunteers to contain the spread of the Dark: a title that would pass down through generations.

From the sun fell a drop of molten light that seeped into the ground and sprouted a flower. From that flower, pollen spread, and more gleaming golden flowers imbued with pure Light began to grow all over the world. But just as the Moonstone had fallen into the land of the Light and turned it Dark, the Sundrop was claimed by the domain of the Dark and hidden in shadow.

The Dead Wood covered miles and miles of the continent, in those days. Now, it is much smaller, but it does exist, at a fraction of its former size. The Dead Wood was always ruled by a single witch, the Queen of the Dead, who would scavenge corpses from the kingdoms at the forest's edge and bring them into her domain to animate them. The Queen had a special hereditary talent: the ability to take a piece of her soul from herself and use it to spawn a new, younger lifeform. In this way, the Queens continued to have heirs without the need of another to procreate.

One of the Queens first discovered the flower while planting a vegetable garden. She confused it at first for one of her bushels of rapunzel lettuce. But it soon became clear it was not a vegetable, but something far more powerful. The name "Rapunzel flower" stuck, even after her heir burned down the vegetable garden to prevent anything green from growing in the wood.

The Rapunzel flowers were hoarded by the Queens of the Dead, and fewer heirs were made, for the Queens discovered their healing powers. Now the shambling undead were ruled by women who also had lived past their planned expiration dates, with some Queens living as long as a thousand years before tiring of life.

And every last flower was uprooted and replanted within the Dead Wood, the gift of the Light removed from the common people – in the time when they most needed something to guard them from the slow spread of the Moonstone's influence.

...

Queen Manea of the Dead Wood had gone a little further than simply creating an heir. She knew she wanted to pass the mantle soon. And so she created a younger double, a girl who shared her thick raven-black hair. She called this girl "Gothel."

But in her earliest years, Gothel was fussy, and required constant attention. Attention that Manea did not want to give. After all, though she required an heir, she did not truly want to be a mother.

And so she reached within to pull out two more fragments of her soul. For this, she had to discard aspects of her own personality completely, but they were aspects she no longer cared to have. She saw no need for fun, and so stripped her sense of fun right out, creating a second little girl around Gothel's age, with short, curly red hair. And kindness was only a hindrance to Manea, so she removed it with surgical precision, forming a slender girl with long silver hair out of it. The red-haired girl, the one made of fun, was named "Primrose." The silver-haired manifestation of kindness was "Hazel."

Primrose and Hazel were enough to keep Gothel occupied and out from underfoot. After all, kindness and fun are the best of companions. So Manea did not pay Gothel much attention until it was time to pass down her magic through a blood ritual.

...

Gothel had no idea that she was a fragment of Manea, nor that Primrose and Hazel were created from the same witch. All she knew was that they were sisters, and she thought they would one day grow up to be witches.

They played in the wood every day in their youth, exploring the thick, black brambles and wondering what lay outside.

"They say there's a realm where it's always twilight," Gothel said wistfully as she watched the sun begin to set between the trees.

"Who says that?" Primrose asked, hanging a red paper heart on a clawlike branch. She carried so many of them, loving to make all manner of crafts back in the immense castle they called home.

"It's in one of Mother's books," Hazel said as she walked ahead calmly, silver hair fluttering in the breeze. "I saw it when I was looking up the latest stone I found. Oh, there's another one!" She took off excitedly, hair billowing behind her like a comet-tail. She'd spotted a headstone – not an uncommon sight in the Dead Wood. They hailed from all eras of Queens; this one seemed to be much, much older than the ones Hazel had found before. She laid a parchment over the name, rubbing charcoal lightly over it to get an etching. "This is the most ancient one I've ever seen! I wonder what I can learn about the person inside!"

"They all act the same," Prim pointed out, hanging more hearts on the trees to bring color to the wood. "What's the point?"

"They had histories," Hazel told her. "Stories. Learning about them is like getting to step outside the wood, if only for a moment."

"You know what else is like getting to step outside the wood?" Prim laughed. "Stepping outside the wood. When are we going to take down that barrier, huh?"

"When we get our magic!" Gothel revealed. "When I'm Queen, I'll break the barrier down, and we can see the world, and all the other worlds out there! Even the world where it's always twilight! I wonder who lives there and if they've built a kingdom. We could meet real, living people!"

"All right," Prim resolved, "I'm in. I'll go with you to your 'twilight town.' Some other places, too. Hazel! What else did you read about? Where would be really fun to go?"

"The old legends say our world is a fragment of one that was destroyed a long time ago," Hazel suggested. "The first fragment to come back was made of the love in the hearts of children. It sounds like a wonderful place! There's also a realm where twin gods of Light and Darkness have staked a domain, and everyone in that world has magic! Oh, and the world of crystals! There's just so much!" She stood up, careful not to smudge her etching. "There! Done!"

"Well, let's make a list," Prim suggested. "Everywhere we want to go."

"And make new friends!" Hazel chirped. "Though I will miss the ones I've read about in the records here…even if they did stay mostly underground."

"Now, don't forget!" Gothel laughed. "I'm going to be a Queen then, and you two will be princesses! So they'll have to treat us with respect! I'll make sure of it!"

"Please don't be mean," Hazel pleaded.

"Unless they deserve it," Prim added.

"PRIM!" Hazel chided.

"And when I'm Queen," Gothel resolved, "then we'll live happily ever after, for as long as the Rapunzel flowers keep us alive. I swear it."

...

But it didn't go that way.

...

Manea urged the three to come to the conservatory under the blood moon. It was the ceremony during which she would transfer her blood to the three of them, bestowing her power upon them.

The red moon shone ominously into the glass enclosure filled with gleaming-gold Rapunzel flowers, giving the effect of flame. Manea had intertwined several of the flowers into her hair and piled it up elegantly.

She had known, from the start. Gothel had been made as a true heir. The other two were one-dimensional fragments. They couldn't handle the strength of her blood. It was her intent to let them both die there, and once Gothel saw how she was superior to both, then she would ascend to her destined position alone.

As the pair of fragments began to writhe, death throes beginning, Gothel screamed, "HOW COULD YOU?"

"THEY ARE NOT REAL!" Manea screamed back. "YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE I MADE IN MY IMAGE! THEY ARE ASPECTS OF MY HEART THAT I FOUND UTTERLY USELESS! I GAVE THEM BOTH TO YOU AS A DIVERSION! NOW THAT YOU ARE OLD ENOUGH TO RECEIVE MY BLOOD, YOU NO LONGER NEED THEM!"

She, as so many people would, had underestimated the strength of Gothel's love – and how many she was willing to damage in its name.

Gothel clutched one flower and one alone, for herself and her sisters to use. A lantern was held over the thickest patch of the Rapunzel flowers.

"GOTHEL, DO NOT – "

Glass smashed, and now there truly were flames filling the conservatory, burning all of the Rapunzel flowers save the one Gothel escaped with.

She pocketed it so she could take Prim's hand in one and Hazel's in the other, running with them as fast as she could from the burning conservatory as Manea screamed.

The Queen of the Dead shriveled as her life forces were burned, becoming a decrepit remnant before finally dissolving into dust that mingled indistinguishably with the ashes.

...

Though Gothel had not taken the blood, she still considered herself Queen, and so summoned the hordes of the dead to serve her and her two sisters.

"I don't care what Mother had to say," she insisted. "You aren't fragments to me! You're real! And you will rule the Dead Wood alongside me!"

"I thought we were going to escape this place when you became queen," Prim said with a scowl.

"Should we not take advantage of what we have first?" Gothel asked.

"I suppose…" Hazel muttered. "After all, once we leave, we won't be able to see any of them again…"

Most of them did not speak. They simply shuffled about, rotting and moaning, unless given clear direction. But Manea had left clear direction for Gothel in case of an untimely demise – one she never dreamed would come at Gothel's hand. Go to the mausoleum. Awaken Jacob.

Jacob was a tall, mostly skeletal corpse, dressed in a crisp suit and top hat. "How may I serve my Queen?" he greeted.

The sisters would ask for things. Jacob would disperse orders, and within a day or less, the girls had whatever they wanted. Statues to decorate the wood and bring more color. Beautiful papers for Prim to make more crafts. Books for Hazel to read. And all types of fabulous exotic food, especially sweets.

"Where does it all come from?" Gothel asked.

"There is a man on the outside," Jacob explained. "He is of a bloodline that has served ours for generations. He acts as our eyes and ears outside the Wood, and helps us procure whatever it is we ask for."

"Please thank him for us," Hazel urged.

"I shall," Jacob vowed.

...

The problem, of course, was that as Primrose and Hazel were lesser offshoots of Manea compared to Gothel's stable magical makeup, they began to wilt without her. They were soon ill more days than not, and spent much of playtime nestled in the silken sheets of what had once been Manea's master bed.

"Oh, stop moaning and get up," Gothel urged. "It's too beautiful of a day to waste being sick."

She always said that because it was easier than facing the truth.

One day, however, they did. And on their walk through the wood, they came upon a strange sight. For the first time since they could remember, another human, one who wasn't Manea.

"Oh! Hello!" Hazel greeted, smiling brightly. "Who are you?"

She was a strange-looking little girl from the start. Too pale. Dressed in robes far too fine for any peasant, with her hair done up in twin buns, one on either side of her head.

"My name is rather difficult to pronounce," she said slyly. "I don't think you'll have an easy time with it. Why don't we just forget it?"

"Are you lost?" Prim asked.

"As a matter of fact, I am," the little girl said in a quite proper British accent. "Could you perhaps provide me with a place to stay for the night?"

"How did you break past the barrier?" Gothel asked.

The girl looked incredibly shocked; "What barrier? I simply walked into the wood, and now I can't find my way out. Is that so hard to believe?"

"We've never had a real friend before!" Hazel gasped.

"As Queen of the Dead Wood," Gothel declared, "I decree you may visit our home and stay there as long as need be. I can provide you with all the luxuries you can ask for."

"I couldn't possibly ask for that much," the girl declared in a tone that suggested that in fact, she could.

"Don't worry about it!" Prim laughed. "We're in charge, so what we say goes!"

"Very well." The mysterious girl nodded. "Lead me to your dwelling."

She followed behind Gothel, Hazel, and Prim, all of whom were unaware that she was not in fact a young girl but a sorceress skilled at shapeshifting. Upon hearing that Manea had fallen and a child now ruled the Dead Wood, Zhan Tiri finally felt safe to make her move and investigate whether there was any value in this realm for herself.

...

"I do not like your friend," Jacob warned Gothel. "Something about her does not ring true."

"Don't be a dummy," Gothel told him. "She's only a lost girl who wants friends to play with. Aren't we all, around here? Present company excluded, of course."

"You are growing older and wiser," Jacob told her. "This means you must also grow to recognize trickery."

"There's no trickery here," Gothel assured. "And at the first sign of it…I'll make her regret it. Until then, don't you even think about doing anything bad to her!"

Jacob sighed; he had to obey the Queen's demands. "Very well."

...

Prim and Hazel's fevers were incredibly high. Prim was drenched in sweat, looking for all the world like she'd just surfaced from the ocean. Hazel babbled nonsense in delirium.

Gothel panicked as she observed them. "There's got to be a way to save them," she babbled. "Mother wouldn't have left us with nothing!"

"Gothel," Zhan Tiri said sternly. "Listen to me. The Queen of the Dead Wood is rumored by legend to always keep a vial of her blood in the deepest cellar. Run and imbibe it to gain your true power. Then and only then can you save them!"

So Gothel took off running, never questioning how Zhan Tiri had known Gothel had failed to intake Manea's blood.

Once Zhan Tiri was alone with the sick girls, she smirked at them. "I wonder what it is you're made of," she said slyly.

Then reached out both hands toward them, pulling their life forces to her like a vortex.

Prim stopped sweating. Hazel stopped babbling. Both stopped moving.

"Hm," Zhan Tiri muttered. "Kindness and fun. How useless. And yet it can be converted into increased magical energy. Now all I'll need is for the third sister to gain her true powers, and then – "

She silenced herself as Gothel's footsteps were heard hurrying into the room. "I have the blood!" Gothel panted, holding up a glass vial.

"DRINK IT!" Zhan Tiri urged. "DRINK IT NOW!"

But Gothel's eyes were on the bed. "Hazel…?" Said eyes widened. "P…Prim?"

"IGNORE THEM!" Zhan Tiri screamed.

It was quite obvious both were deceased. "No," Gothel gasped, eyes welling up with tears. "No, no, NO!"

She let the vial slip from her hands. It shattered upon impact with the stone floor. The last of Manea's blood was now useless.

...

Zhan Tiri took her leave not soon after. There was no point if the Queen of the Dead Wood didn't have magic.

She never said goodbye. And yet Gothel never suspected her hand in the final fates of Hazel and Primrose.

...

The bodies were kept preserved in the bed; Gothel had found some alchemic salts that would hold their flesh together a little longer, prevent them from decay.

She held the last Rapunzel flower in her hand. "I will bring you back," she vowed. "I am the Queen of the Dead. And you will live once more."

Yet for her talk, it seemed the only option was to turn them both into unspeaking zombies – and that was only feasible if you had magic.

"The only power left in you is that inherent to your kind," Jacob informed her. "As an heir to Manea, you can fragment your own soul, create another heir. But only one. And that is the extent of your power."

"Can I not put my soul into my sisters and make them live again?" Gothel growled, losing patience.

"They were of Manea's attributes," Jacob reminded her. "Not yours. If you attempted to revive them that way, they would not be the same…and would also be equally vulnerable as they were under your mother's enchantments."

"That's not GOOD ENOUGH!" Gothel shrieked, storming around the mausoleum. "Contact your man on the outside! Tell him to bring me alchemical materials! Necromantic ritual items! Anything! EVERYTHING!"

Deliveries increased. And nothing worked.

...

An enchanted scythe cut down the barrier to the Dead Wood, and four intrepid explorers took their first steps inside.

"Is this safe?" the girl with the brown pigtails asked nervously.

"It never is, mon amie," the boy with the long, flowing dark hair responded. "But that is the nature of our travels, non?"

"You will be safe with me," the oldest man present stated. "I can overpower anything we find in here."

"But what if the rumors are true?" the girl with the pigtails squealed. "The Queen of the Dead Wood?"

The last of their party, a boy in his late teenage years, smirked. "Then I suppose we'll have to offer you up as a sacrifice so we can get away."

"You are not humorous," the younger boy sniffed.

"The Queen of the Dead Wood is only a legend," the oldest man stated. "We are here to find out what truly lives in this fabled forest."

After some time walking, they came upon the immense castle that Manea had once owned, towering up to touch the sky with its turrets.

"This does not look like a legend," the younger boy pointed out.

Gothel heard the loud, hollow knocks on the door all the way from the library. She gave a start; who could possibly be knocking so solidly? Not even Jacob had a fist solid enough to make that sort of noise. She thought about hiding; nothing that came into her domain so easily could possibly be good. An enemy for certain.

But by now, she was so lonely that she abandoned her better judgment, rushing to pry the doors open.

"It's a girl!" the pigtailed girl cried. Gothel watched her adjust her oversized spectacles to make sure she wasn't seeing smudges that were relatively human-shaped.

The adult of the group spoke. "What is your name, young one?"

She instantly felt more at ease in his presence. He was tall, well-built, clothed in a billowing cloak. One of his eyes was replaced with a metal plate, indicating a loss. The other sparkled with warmth. Gothel had only known of the thing called a "father" by concept; this seemed to her to be what one should look like.

"Gothel," she said nervously. "My name is Gothel."

"Are you the Queen of the Dead Wood?" the younger boy asked.

"How did you get in here?" Gothel asked instead. "These woods are sealed off from outsiders."

"And yet your barrier was bested by the simplest of enchantments." This from the teenage boy who held such a scythe aloft. Though Gothel had trouble recognizing it as a scythe at first; it had a curved pink handle (to match the color of the boy's shaggy hair), a centerpoint that bloomed outward from a red pattern into golden spikes, and a hooked golden blade at the top that looked like a fisherman's instrument for catching the lip of tuna.

"I see you staring, you know," the boy went on smugly. "She's what allowed us to break in. She's quite powerful. I call her 'Hallowed Lotus.'"

"He names all of his scythes stupid things!" the pigtailed girl insisted.

"I find his names beautiful," the younger boy argued.

"Who are you?" Gothel asked.

The adult man bowed his head; "My name is Demanitus. I am a wandering scholar, seeking knowledge about the world in the realms of magic and science alike. With me, you see my three children."

"Except none of us are his blood kids," the pigtailed girl said excitedly, "because our parents are all dead and his wife ran away before he could – "

The younger boy elbowed her. "Do not be so RUDE!"

Demanitus gave a heavy sigh. "Indeed…all of my children, I have taken under my wing because they have nowhere else to go."

"My name's Sugracha!" the pigtailed girl said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "My old name was Sugracha Sugarby! My dad was a painter and my mom was an art teacher!" She pouted. "Before the accident…"

"And I am Tromus Matthews." The younger boy reached out, unbidden, to take Gothel's hand in his own and kiss the back of it; Gothel flinched. "Enchanté, mon amie."

Gothel scowled up at the teenager who'd broken her barrier. "And you?"

The boy chuckled. "Lauriam. Lauriam Diener."

That surname sounded suspiciously familiar to Gothel. Yet she couldn't place it. Perhaps one of his ancestors had been buried in the Wood, and Hazel had etched their headstone.

Hazel…

"I'm alone, too," Gothel said, the words spilling out of her. "My mother – my sisters – and I never had a father – please, please take me somewhere else! I can't stand to be in this awful castle any longer! Not all by myself!"

She'd finally given up on her sisters. No trick she tried could possibly revive them. The Rapunzel flower only seemed to heal her minor cuts and bruises, not bring back the dead. And with this resignation, she burst into tears.

Demanitus swept her into a close hug, his cloak billowing around her. "It is all right, my darling. You may travel with us for as long as you like."

"YAY!" Sugracha cried. "I FINALLY GET A SISTER!"

"This wood is quite dismal," Tromus remarked. "How have you gotten on here for so long?"

Gothel's eyes scanned the tree line. Behind the hapless explorers, the bodies of the dead scuttled, sliding into hiding behind the trunks. Evading sight.

"It's been so difficult," Gothel told them.

"Did we come here to explore, or did we not come here to explore?" Lauriam reminded his family. "Obviously there is more to see in this wood. Let us at least give it a thorough searching before we leave it behind."

"A good idea, Lauriam," Demanitus said. "Gothel. You are a native of this wood. Should we be warned of anything?"

The dead all scurred away as quickly and quietly as they could at their Queen's desperate expression.

"Just that…you won't find much," Gothel said tentatively.

"Pack anything you need," Demanitus told her as he turned his attention to the tree line. "We shall investigate the rest of this forest, then return for you."

The dead wouldn't harm them. Not when Gothel wanted so badly to leave. She rushed into the castle as the family of explorers went the other way, hurtling into her room.

Paper hearts hung from the bedposts, the words "Sisters Forever" scrawled upon them. Gothel very nearly made them the first priority, but knew they would only take up space.

"Are you really giving up on her so soon? After she made all those beautiful hearts for you."

Gothel whirled, gasping, her heart stuttering. Lauriam was in her bedroom door frame. She backed away, clearly horrified.

"I'm not out to hurt you," Lauriam said as he casually stepped inside the room, fingers running over the paper hearts. "I am, however, going to suggest you keep their bodies preserved a little longer. We may yet find a way. After all, Demanitus is very wise…while also being foolish enough to toy with forces he does not understand."

"How do you know all this?" Gothel gasped.

"Oh?" Lauriam turned to smirk at her. "You haven't figured it out? I'm still awaiting a thank-you for all the materials I had smuggled in to you, you know. The resurrection candles were difficult to find. But still, they were nothing compared to having to pass orichalcum by Demanitus, Sugracha, and Tromus without their noticing."

It sank in. "You're the man on the outside…"

The name "Diener." It meant "Servant."

"My family has aided yours for as long as they both have existed," Lauriam confirmed, turning his attention back to Prim's creations. "Of course, in the real world, we come under fire. My parents' demise was an assassination by a rival force. Much as I suspect Hazel and Primrose's were, if Jacob's information is correct. Would that I had thought to direct the old man to this wood before that girl showed up. I have my suspicions about who she is…but of course, this is all hush-hush from the others. As far as they know, I'm just an ordinary boy. Tragically orphaned. Strangely gifted with certain magics."

"You know magic?" Gothel asked.

"Not as much as you," Lauriam replied. "Oh. Wait. You never imbibed the blood of Manea. So that means I do have more power than you, after all." He faced her, giving her a smug smile.

"Well, you don't have to rub it in!" Gothel cried, stamping her foot. She took a few breaths to calm down; "Did you come because of the girl?"

"I did."

"She was my friend. Prim and Hazel died because they were sick."

"Keep telling yourself that story if it helps you sleep at night. But more accurately, I arrived once I was aware that you were alone. Nothing good would've come of it. I simply slipped a hint into the old man's ear about the legendary Dead Wood, and off we went on an expedition into the mysterious." He still had the scythe shouldered on his back; he reached up to stroke the blade. "I have a talent for synthesis. I create enchanted blades for my own use. Of course, I prefer scythes, as the other Dieners have before me. It matches the aesthetic, of course."

"What aesthetic?" Gothel asked.

"We were the only other clan allowed these," Lauriam stated as he rummaged in a pocket. "And only one, at that. Now it is mine. You have a match, do you not?"

In his open palm, a sight Gothel never thought she would see again: a Rapunzel flower that wasn't her own.

"…I do," Gothel said in awe.

"I know you've been told there is no way to revive the other two," Lauriam told her. "But I know you are not a quitter, and neither am I. My talents can surely be of use in finding a way to resurrect them without the use of Manea's blood magic. Leave them to rest here, long enough for us to get to an inn without suspicion. Then you and I shall return, and Jacob shall help us to store them somewhere they will be safe and remain whole for as many years as it takes to find the solution."

"Why are you helping me?" Gothel found herself sobbing. "Why are you being so kind to me?"
Lauriam stepped close enough to whisper in her ear: "Because you are the Queen, and I, your second-in-command. We are a sort the rest of the world cannot match. We must stand together to overcome the common people and their obstacles. When you rise, I rise with you. Call it opportunist if you must, but are you really about to turn it down?"

"No," Gothel whispered back. "I won't."

He stepped back. "Pack your necessities. Bring the Rapunzel flower; leave the paper crafts. Then play the part of the grieving adopted daughter. Do not let on that you or I am more than Demanitus suspects. I will see you in the foyer."

And he strode out, casual as could be.

Gothel hurried to gather her most important possessions. Hope had come to her, but not in the way Demanitus had ever intended.

...

They kept Hazel and Prim a secret from Demanitus, Sugracha, and Tromus. Otherwise, one could have mistaken them for an ordinary family, one that enjoyed exploring the world.

But there were more secrets afoot than Gothel and Lauriam's.

"You never talk about your wife," Gothel brought up to him one day. "And whenever you do, you change the subject or refuse to tell us her name."

"She betrayed me," Demanitus said coldly. "She led me to believe that she loved me. But she used me to fulfill her own dark ends."

"Who was she?" Gothel asked.

"A name you have no doubt heard," Demanitus told her, "but are better off not knowing."

He ended the conversation there.

It was Tromus who put it all together. "He wed the immortal sorceress Zhan Tiri!" the young man realized one night. "The stories all say she corrupted one of the light and stole his discoveries to increase her power."

"Zhan Tiri," Lauriam repeated.

"Who's Zhan Tiri?" Gothel asked. "Did I miss something?"

"You don't know about Zhan Tiri?" Sugracha asked, jaw dropping. "She's the most powerful sorceress proven to have ever lived."

Gothel was about to argue, but Lauriam shot her a glare of silence, and she remembered that to complete her ruse, the Queen of the Dead Wood had to remain a myth to her new siblings.

"There are those who say she is a bit of a buffoon," Tromus chuckled.

"I'll draw a picture." Sugracha began to sketch on her pad. The image she turned to show Gothel was nothing like what Gothel had expected when she'd heard the words "powerful sorceress." She'd thought of a woman in ornate robes, perhaps with a staff.

Not a broad-chested monster with ram horns and octopus tentacles.

"Not exactly a looker," Gothel remarked.

"She chose this form to show off her immense power," Tromus stated. "A little bit showy, if you ask me. But she is rumored to be able to shift shape and take the form of who and what she needs to be in order to get her way."

"Like the woman Demanius married," Sugracha said with a nod.

"There are those who say she has so much power only because she steals it," Lauriam mumbled. "That she has never created anything of her own. Only taken from others. But what could a mortal like me know about that?"

"I would love to have magic like Zhan Tiri's one day," Sugracha admitted. "Wouldn't you, Gothel?"

"I don't know," Gothel admitted. "Having magic seems to be a cursed thing. Every time a person gets close, something dreadful happens. …That's from hearsay, of course."

"At least Zhan Tiri knows how to take what she wants," Tromus muttered. "Not like Demanitus, who makes us break our backs on these fruitless expeditions. Were he more like his divorcee, perhaps we could have saved time with the wave of a hand."

"Tromus," Sugracha asked tentatively, "are you suggesting…betrayal?"

"It is only a thought!" Tromus said flippantly. "I would not go against our dear adopted père after all he has given us."

"What if it meant you could bring your family back, though?" Gothel asked.

She was met with three incredulous stares.

"Oh, silly me!" she chuckled. "Listen to me babbling about things I don't understand. Blah, blah, blah, evil sorcery."

The discussion moved on.

Later, behind a closed door, she whispered to Lauriam, "I wonder if Zhan Tiri could bring back my sisters. If she has all that magic, surely she could share."

"I don't think that's wise," Lauriam told her. "Zhan Tiri is a known enemy of the Dead Wood. Your mother intimidated her. Our goal is to reinstate the legacy of the Dead Wood, not to hand it off to a copycat. But furthermore, I begin to wonder if she is the very same little girl who murdered your sisters in the first place."

"My sisters died because I was slow to take my mother's blood!" Gothel hissed. "They were already waning! What good would killing them have done? That girl was my friend, not some enemy!"

"Very well," Lauriam sighed. "You are the Queen, so I shall defer to you. Are you really wanting to go through with this? Mutiny?"

"Demanitus steers us away from all things Dark," Gothel reminded him. "He won't even approach within a hundred-mile radius of the Moonstone – not that we'll need that. But we will need something Dark in order to tap into true necromancy. I say desperate times call for desperate measures. And you heard the other two; they're flirting with the Darkness. They want power. I say we give it to them…in exchange for their assistance in claiming what we want."

Lauriam sighed. "The snag of being a Diener."

"It's in your name," Gothel grunted. "Now live up to it and help me turn the other two."

...

The scythe that crippled Demanitus, allowing his apprentices, his children, to part ways from him, was called "Faithless Digitalis."

...

In welcoming her new disciples to the seashell-shaped House of Yesterday's Tomorrow, Zhan Tiri took the form of a human woman, slender and pale with purple locks.

"I'm glad you saw it my way," she greeted them all.

And so she let them play among her garden of magic. Here, Gothel sought any way possible to revive Hazel and Prim. Discovering all there was to see in the House of Yesterday's Tomorrow took years, and in fact, by the end of things, Sugracha, Tromus, Gothel, and Lauriam were all bordering on elderly – though the former two were uncertain why it showed on them so much more than the latter two. Knowing nothing about the Rapunzel flowers the pair used to rejuvenate themselves.

There were spells to make dark doubles, to revert someone to child form, and to trap someone in a haven of dreams inside this fortress. But no necromancy. Gothel wondered if Zhan Tiri had hidden it well or was merely incapable.

One day, she found the glowing door. No sooner had she placed a hand on it than Zhan Tiri was there, appearing from nowhere, to swat it away.

"This door is FORBIDDEN!" the sorceress screeched.

"Well, pardon me," Gothel said with a smirk. "I got a little lost, is all."

She tricked Zhan Tiri later with a mirror double to take her place at dinner, making her think all four apprentices were accounted for. Then she finally slipped through the door to memories past.

It was an utter shock to find herself in the halls of her mother's palace. It was even more of a shock to see a much younger version of herself come barreling out of the master bedroom and right through the current her, as though she were a ghost.

"Is this that night…?" Gothel asked herself.

She stepped into the bedroom and immediately screamed upon the sight of the childlike Zhan Tiri draining Hazel and Prim of their last life force.

"It was true," she sobbed into Lauriam's vest later that evening. "You were right; she killed them both…"

"I told you so," Lauriam chided. "Why didn't you listen to me?"

"What happens now?"

He sighed. "Must you make me come up with every plan? I will begin to synthesize a new scythe. One that will cut Zhan Tiri down."

"She's too powerful!" Gothel wept. "The only person who was ever able to stop her before was…"

She sat up with a sly smirk, her tears drying. "I know where we need to lead her."

...

"NOOOOOOO!" Zhan Tiri cried, stretching out a full-sized hand to try and claw out of the portal to the Netherworld that had been activated by the Demanitus Device in the bowels of the mountain where she'd been led. "TRAITOR! TRAIIITOOOOOOR!"

She was far more fearsome in her ultimate form than Sugracha's drawing had made her look. Artistic depictions had rendered her dark and shadowy. Gothel supposed if anyone had translated the full extent of the detail to art form, it would be too revolting to look at for long.

"GOTHEL!" Sugracha screamed, struggling against the same vortex. "I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN AND MAKE YOU PAY!"

As she lost her grip and fell back, into the dimension of the dead, Gothel cried, "Good luck doing that from in there!"

"LAURIAM!" Tromus screamed. "I HAD CONSIDERED YOU MON FRERE!"

"Your error," Lauriam told him. "No fault of mine."

And Tromus, too, was swallowed by the Netherworld.

Zhan Tiri inched forward, nearly out of the pull of the vortex. "YOU…CANNOT…DEFEAT ME…SO EASILY – "

And one swipe of Vindictive Thistle sent her reeling back until the Netherworld devoured her whole. The vortex closed, trapping Zhan Tiri, Tromus, and Sugracha in the realm of departed souls.

"It's no great loss anyway," Gothel scoffed. "She didn't even know how to bring people back from the dead. What kind of sorceress doesn't know that and can claim to be all-powerful?"

...

Gothel and Lauriam built a small cottage on the edge of the wood. It looked normal aboveground, but featured a subterranean network of passageways that led to synthesis material mines, culminating in a laboratory. Hazel and Prim were moved there, laid in beautiful glass coffins that kept their bodies whole, even after all these years.

Gothel recorded the progress of each day in one of many enchanted mirrors that served as a journal. She filled many, with all the years she and Lauriam spent there. And it was entering the room where Gothel's mirrors hung that Lauriam realized he was beginning to resent her, for now he could physically see how much time had passed since they'd come here, and still they were no closer to their goal. Hazel and Prim lay dead still, and now even the Dead Wood was, unfathomably, dying, with settlements by the living cutting down the gnarled trunks to make room for new civilizations. Manea's castle was falling to ruin, and Gothel was so focused on her dead sisters that she hadn't given any thought to restoring the monarchy in quite a while.

Not to mention, she was vain. Lauriam began to think she liked talking to the mirrors for the sake of looking at her own face. He listened to a few journal entries, once, and scowled to hear Gothel discussing the merchant in the nearest town who'd called her pretty.

It seemed she'd lost all ambition of anything greater than her sisters and her youth. In order for a servant to have any status, his master must have status first.

Unless, of course, he broke free of the master, became the master himself.

But he had come to see Gothel as a sister, even if a hindrance of one. No. He couldn't betray her…not yet, anyway. What he had to pour his energy into was making sure the dead fragments of Manea woke up no later than now. Yesterday's tomorrow, one could say.

And if that didn't work, if their presence still kept Gothel as lazy as she was, then he would consider betrayal.

...

As it turned out, there was a way. Potentially. It was a "do or die" scenario. But Lauriam was about at his wit's end. "Do or die" would do for now.

He proposed the experiment: to sacrifice his Rapunzel flower into synthesis, make an elixir. He would first test it on himself. If he'd gotten this formula right, it would make him impervious to death. Gothel could kill him, and he could rise again. Then the rest would be injected into Hazel and Prim.

If he was wrong, well, he just might die. But maybe that was better than waiting for the do-nothing Queen to act like royalty.

(Though he didn't tell her that last part.)

She watched him swirl the flask of golden elixir, her heart sinking at the thought that he'd given up his Rapunzel flower for it. What if it was simply snake oil in a bottle? Then he would grow old, and Gothel would lose her most beloved servant. She couldn't imagine giving up her flower.

He used a needle system to implant the golden liquid into his veins. They waited a moment.

"Gothel," Lauriam said, "kindly take Fickle Erica from the shelf and – "

Before he could ask to be assassinated, his mad synthesis that broke the laws of magic and nature alike took its toll. He doubled over, screaming.

"LAURIAM!" Gothel shrieked.

Before her very eyes, he collapsed into an amorphous shadow, leaking across the floor in the light, and then was all of a sudden nothing. Nothing at all, where once there had been her most steadfast companion. In the matter of a minute.

She kept the elixir hidden in the laboratory, figuring it would have some use as a weapon. But she refused to attempt to use it to revive either sister. After all, she couldn't lose them that way. They were all she had left.

...

He woke up in the swamp several miles away, lying on his back in the shallow sludge.

With a sharp intake of breath, Lauriam realized that he wasn't dead. He sat up, wondering what in the world could have happened to him. The last thing he'd remembered was the crushing Darkness overtaking him all at once, punishing him for his pride.

He needed to get back to Gothel –

But did he?

He thought about it. Really thought about it. And it seemed that with Gothel believing him dead, he now had no strings to prevent him from continuing to walk on, to forge his own path. To forget the legacy of the Dead Wood and promote the legacy of Lauriam.

He should've felt guilt, or some sort of connection. But now, all he could "feel" was logic. Pros and cons. Ambitions and the lack thereof.

Though, oddly, he didn't feel any resentment, either, and that was what tipped him off. He checked his pulse to find it still.

"Ah," he realized. "So my heart died, but my body lived on."

He stood, shaking off the dirt and moisture. "This may be advantageous to me," he realized. "No heart to keep me tied down to sentimentality, or to cause me fear or distress…"

He began to walk, in the opposite direction from Gothel's cottage, thinking about what he could do with his newfound freedom.

At one point, he didn't look where he stepped, and plunged both shoes into a sucking mud puddle that swallowed them. He simply pried his feet loose and continued to walk. But as it turned out, there was more than one effect of the Rapunzel flower he had yet to learn about.

For one, this body wasn't immortal, but it was ageless. Halfway what he'd planned.

For another, he'd imbued himself with the essence of something used to growing in earth, feeding off water and soil. And did not see, as he strolled through the swamp, that wherever his bare feet touched down and lifted back up, small pink flowers grew in his wake.

...

Dead girls don't make good company, so Gothel made a new friend.

Literally.

She had one power she could use: that of creating an heir. She didn't really like the idea of children that weren't the pair of girls she had been trying to revive, but all the same, she needed someone to talk to. Something to distract her.

So she turned a small piece of her soul into new life. A child with a thick head of raven hair, like the Queens that had come before her. A loud little thing. Was Gothel this loud as a baby? She resented the thought that she might have been. But it was better than nothing.

She called the girl "Cassandra."

It might have seemed, to an outsider, that Gothel hated Cassandra. For once the child was old enough to comprehend, she made her do the housework, assist her in the laboratory, everything but what normal children should be allowed to do. And she never, ever allowed her outside of the house, warning her of all sorts of dangers, from ruffians and thugs to –

"The Plague."

"NO!"

"YES!"

But as much as Cassandra annoyed her, Gothel did love her. She loved simply having another presence around. She just had no inclination to put the girl's needs before her own. And though the warnings were embellished, there was a grain of truth to them. Cassandra couldn't play outside because if she left the controlled area that Gothel watched like a hawk, she might meet the same fate as Hazel, Prim, or Lauriam. Or Sugracha and Tromus, come to think of it – Gothel hadn't thought she would ever miss them, but here she was.

She distracted Cassandra with a little music box and taught her a song to go with it. Sometimes, the two of them lay awake at night, Gothel's arm curled around the little girl as the girl talked about all the adventures she wanted to go on. And Gothel felt a pang in her heart. How had her heir turned out so much like Prim?

...

Her flower had remained planted on a hillside some distance away from the cottage to throw off suspicion. She visited it whenever her body began to wane.

One night, it was gone.

There are few fears that surpass knowing your lifeline is missing, and you suddenly may be facing death when before, death was a stranger to your body.

But some investigation told Gothel the truth. The kingdom that had sprouted up near her little cottage had an ailing queen with a difficult pregnancy, and, knowing of the legend of the golden healing flower of ancient times, the people had hunted it down and plucked it, all for their unhealthy wisp of a woman.

Gothel had to get it back. Of course, it was probably already consumed. But there had to be other ways. Perhaps the power lingered on in the queen's flesh, and something could be worked out in that regard.

As it turned out, it was even easier. Gothel only needed one look at the cradle nestled in the king and queen's chambers to see that the baby princess was affected by the power of the Sundrop. Her hair was a stunning bright gold that was possible but very rare to come of the genetics of the two brunette royals.

Maybe if Gothel just took the hair –

But snipping a lock made the cut hair turn brown, lifeless, powerless. So it seemed Gothel would need to take the whole girl.

So be it.

Her greatest regret was getting caught in the act. Once she realized the guards were after her, she knew she had to take care and work quickly.

She took enough detours to lose them in the wood for a while, buy herself some time. Then she made for the cottage, knowing there wasn't much time.

They'd had to process the flower somehow to give it to the queen. It was being channeled by a human host. That made it different than it had been before. Thinking on that, and some of the syntheses she'd made lately –

Perhaps the girl was the key.

"Mommy?" Cassandra asked as Gothel breezed into the cottage. "Who's that?"

"Your new sister!" Gothel said in a syrupy voice without even thinking.

She raced to the laboratory. Concocted a bowl of potions. Set the infant in it to soak. Then began to sing the ages-old Healing Incantation of the Sun.

And for the first time in centuries, something finally worked.

The baby's hair stood on end, glowing gold. She giggled, thinking this all some sort of game. Gothel unlatched the coffins, removed the lids; the corpses were stirring!

"Oh, Hazel…oh, Prim…"

They sat up slowly, laboriously, and had they really been that young when they were taken? Gothel had somehow remembered them being almost adults; these girls seemed almost as small as Cassandra.

Hazel forced her jaw open, almost creaking. Her voice came out in a low croak: "Goth…el…"

"MOMMY!" Cassandra screamed.

"NOT NOW, CASSANDRA!" Gothel roared at the youngest.

"Why…?" Prim asked hoarsely. "Why did you…"

"Take so long?" Gothel replied. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but I – "

"No," Prim groaned. "Why…not…let us…rest?"

"Please," Hazel begged. "Let us…rest."

Gothel froze in place. "No," she gasped. "No, no, NOT when I've spent CENTURIES trying to bring you back! You should be GRATEFUL to me!"

"You shouldn't have…" Hazel said hoarsely.

"MOMMY!" Cassandra shrieked. "THERE ARE MEN IN THE HOUSE!"

The royal guard. They'd found her. Their boot steps were loudly, rapidly approaching, and Gothel needed to escape or else face dire consequences.

Her tunnel vision had been broken. All those centuries, wasted. All that time spent on her sisters when it should've been spent on herself.

The only one she took with her was the baby, because she needed her Rapunzel flower. She thought about Cassandra, but she could already hear a man speaking to her, asking her, "Where is she?"

And the little traitor sobbed, "She's in the basement! I'm sorry!"

Gothel looked to Hazel, who told her, "Go."

"Leave us…" Prim added.

And so, without another thought, Gothel carried her Rapunzel through the hidden entrance to the depths of the caverns.

The last thing she heard was the guards finding the laboratory and the revived sisters. The men screamed, "THE UNDEAD! SHE'S RAISING THE UNDEAD! DESTROY THEM!" There was the sound of several swords being drawn.

And Gothel knew this time, her sisters were dead for good.

...

There was an old sentry tower from a kingdom long fallen. Gothel had found it on her explorations with Demanitus back in those days. Or perhaps more accurately, Demanitus had found it and Gothel had been tagging along. Still, it was good to know its location.

She paced around the barrack, thinking of how she could refurbish it into something more livable. Not for her. She would find a new place to bide her time. This was for the baby she now called "Rapunzel."

The baby who gurgled and smiled at her with a grin that looked too much like Hazel's.

Though a few adjustments would need to be made besides mere décor. Gothel knew there couldn't be a single door, a single window left unblocked. No escape routes for little Rapunzel to wander away. Because Gothel had to figure out her next step, build a new legacy from scratch, and survive long enough to do it. She needed Rapunzel for that, else she would wither away.

But still, it crossed her mind that if Rapunzel couldn't get out, couldn't get away, then Gothel couldn't lose the last person she truly had left.

...

"Ah," Lauriam said as he and Gothel stood on one of the many jagged balconies of the Forbidden Mountain in the present time. "So that's what became of the girls."

"Indeed," Gothel grumbled. "Though you could've told me you were alive."

"In a sense, I wasn't."

"You know what I mean."

Lauriam smirked, extending a hand. "It seems even after returning to real life, heart and all," he said, "the Rapunzel flower effects me still." A sakura blossom sprang to life in his palm, unfurling delicately.

"How wonderful for you," Gothel said sardonically. "Any chance a sense of guilt returned with it, too?"

"No. But to my credit, I don't think you deserved feeling my guilt until…" He thought it over. "Well, I was going to say 'now,' but truly, it remains to be seen."

"Do you even still want to rebuild the legacy of the Dead Wood?" Gothel asked. "Between this and your story about Xemnas, it seems like you don't want to play the role of servant anymore."

"I don't," Lauriam affirmed, crushing the sakura bloom in his hand. "But so long as you and I work with Maleficent, we will be approaching a far more appealing goal."

"Don't betray me again," Gothel growled.

"Don't give me a reason to," Lauriam said smoothly.

They looked out to the horizon for a while. Something about this might have been close to nice.

"You realize what we have to do now," Gothel told him.

"I want to hear you say it. Prove to me you don't have myopia anymore."

"The Moonstone," Gothel stated. "It was always the key. The Sundrop failed us because we were never of the Light. But the Moonstone has the power. For Maleficent's ends and for our own."

"Good girl," Lauriam teased. "Now. How are we going to gather that Moonstone?"

"I still have an heir, do I not?" Gothel responded. "She must be missing her mother by now."

"You can't just show up out of the blue and expect her to remember."

"True," Gothel admitted. "So maybe we play a long game. But not nearly as long as the last one, I can assure you. After all, I want to stake my place in the heavens once Maleficent has them under her heel."

"As do I," Lauriam agreed. "I can play a long game. But perhaps this time, you'd better let me do the planning, and then actually listen to me. Remember what happened when you didn't."

Gothel's lip curled. "Very well, then, O Lord of the Castle. What is it you would have us do?"

...

It was a rather strange crew that walked the afternoon streets of Twilight Town. Yzma, having finally relabeled all her potions properly, had to make an inventory drop at Liquid Assets, and Mim wanted to check in on the shop as well. She'd already sent the Fearsome Four ahead to work on upkeep; they'd been rotating shifts in her absence, and teaming up with the cashier to do so.

Now, Yzma could have put her inventory in an enchanted bag and been done with it. But Tony Dracon had wanted to assess the city life in Twilight Town, seeing it as a land of opportunity: a metropolis free of gargoyles. And that prompted Montana to want to scope the city out, too. And that brought along Dmitri Smerdyakov, Alex O'Hirn, Glasses, and Pal Joey. They'd tried to talk Otto into coming along, but he refused to leave his new laboratory. Quentin Beck, however, caught wind of the expedition and simply refused to be left out.

So Yzma conveniently "forgot" to mention the enchanted bag for the purpose of loading all the bottles up into an extremely heavy cart and making the boys lug it through town.

"Sometimes I forget how sadistic you are," Mim whispered to her.

"It would be more fun if the Rhino weren't so easily able to carry it on his own," Yzma muttered back. "And if he would use the wheels like he was supposed to instead of carrying it on his back, I might not have to worry so much about the vials shattering upon delivery."

One of the Sinisters trailing along matched pace with the two out front. "So tell me more about this little store of yours," Tony bade Yzma.

"Well, it's your standard villain outpost," Yzma told him. "We sell things that don't work to the common people, and are now going to integrate that as a front for selling things that DO work to the WRONG people."

"You know," Tony chuckled, "people usually tend to go one way or the other. Gotta say I'm impressed that you went for broke."

"Oh, but it's not broke at all," Yzma told him. "Though depending on the Rhino's level of care, the inventory may be. But business is booming!"

"Back home," Tony reminded her, "I wasn't a one-base kind of guy. I thought I'd have to wait until you built your empire to be able to work the people again. But you know what? Even that seems too…open. Too upfront. A place like this, I could deal in the shadows."

"Ooh, that would be just lovely!" Mim chirped. "I'm sure this town could use some spicing up in its organized crime circuit!"

"Ah, and here's the place!" Yzma gestured toward the modest storefront. "We can have more of a chat in the break room. I know I'll need some coffee after walking all this way."

"It's only been a few blocks," Tony informed her.

"You're not wearing heels," she told him.

"Now wait just a second!" Mim skidded out in front of the whole company, throwing out her arms to halt them. "Before you go in there, there's a little hitch you've got to know about."

"I smell a dramatic plot twist!" Quentin said happily.

"We had to hire a local to run the cash register," Mim explained. "Gives the Fearsomes time to actually do what they do best. But she's not one of US per se. So keep the villain talk hush-hush. Good help is so hard to find these days, and I wouldn't want to have to destroy her so soon."

"Hard worker?" Montana asked.

"Of course," Mim replied. "Once you set her on a task, you can be certain she won't rest until she's done it, and she gets her tasks done in record time!"

"I can respect that." Montana nodded. "All right. We'll keep it quiet 'till we hit that break room."

"Onward!" Mim declared, traipsing into the shop and leading the others behind her. Yzma, of course, had to instruct Alex to put the inventory wagon down before attempting to walk through the door with it on his back.

Montana flinched. From Mim's description of the cashier, he certainly hadn't expected to see Rachel Inlustris, not behind the register but out on the sales floor, with Megavolt and Quackerjack to one side of her and Bushroot and Liquidator lined up on the other. With the music turned up so loud, it seemed to hit you with sonic force the moment the door was opened. And the five of them doing some sort of dance that involved shaking their flat-palmed hands one over the other before throwing thumbs-up signs over their shoulders.

"ASEREJE!" Rachel belted. "JA! DEJE! TEJEBE TUDE JEBERE SEBUINOUBA MAJABI AN DE BUGUI AN DE BUIDIDIPI! ASEREJE, JA – "

Then the five noticed the boss was back and gave a unified scream, falling over each other as they tried to run back to the counter and look like they were working.

"Thought ya said she was a hard worker," Montana grunted.

"I did," Mim told him. "She gets her tasks done in record time. Then I let her do what she wants. Look around."

Montana cast his gaze about. It sure seemed to be a well-organized store, all right, with a recently-swept floor and products faced label-out on the shelves.

"MIM!" Rachel squeaked. "Okay, so I got the reports from last week printed and filed – they're right here – and I color-coded the schedule roster for next week so we know who has what shift this time and I don't have to come in on my day off again because SOMEBODY forgot to show up."

"I keep saying I'm sorry!" Megavolt protested.

Rachel ticked off items; "Staplers are filled, flyers got hung around town…what else…swept the floor, made sure all the glass shards got picked up, dusted the Potent cabinet out…"

"Good job," Mim told her. "And the rude ones?"

"I did what you said." Rachel gave a legitimate smirk. "That's why there were glass shards in the first place. It has been TOO long since I've just been able to YELL at a fucker."

"And what are we listening to now?" Mim asked.

"Rachel's Party Mix 38: The Party Strikes Back," Rachel answered.

"I didn't know she knew Spanish," Yzma brought up.

"It's actually not Spanish!" Rachel broke in. "Funny story, it's gibberish designed to sound like Spanish because the song's about – "

"No one cares," Quentin said loudly, sensing an infodump coming on.

"Oooooh, new people!" Quackerjack observed, leaping up to sit on the counter and kick his feet. "Who'dja bring, huuuuuuh?"
"Just some…friends," Yzma replied, "from you-know-where."

"Where?" Megavolt replied. "Because I don't. Know, that is. Where, that is. Where is that?"

Quackerjack whispered into his ear.

Megavolt's eyes widened; "OH! THEY'RE FROM THE WARSH – "

Bushroot elbowed him hard in the side, causing him to fall over with a pained cry.

"Well, the more, the merrier!" the Liquidator cried, putting out his arms. "It's a nine-for-two deal!"

"And we. Um." Yzma inclined her head to a door in the back. "Need to have a business meeting. Employees only. Now."

"Okay!" Rachel headed for the door.

"NOT YOU!" Yzma groaned.

"…You said employees," Rachel told her. "I'm an employee. …I'm still an employee, right? Or is this your way of telling me you're firing me?" Her brow knit anxiously.

"Don't worry about it, Cupcake," Tony told her. "She just meant upper management. You're doing just fine."

Now Rachel's anxiety was replaced with coldness. "Don't call me that." Though, now that she was looking, really looking at this man, over six foot tall, well-built, long dark hair that seemed to shimmer, and was that a white streak?

They didn't usually come that pretty in Twilight Town, Rachel thought. She felt a shiver run through her.

"Upper managers!" Mim crowed. "To the break room!"

So now everyone but Rachel, Alex, and Megavolt made a run for the door.

"EH-AHEM." Yzma's throat-clear was loud and harsh.

"But you said upper management," Alex told her. "I ain't gotten promoted yet."

"Me either," Megavolt added.

"NOT THAT KIND OF UPPER MANAGEMENT," Yzma seethed. "WILL YOU TWO JUST GET IN HERE?"

Now all of the WHAM ARMY members were inside of the break room, and it clicked.

"Oh!" Megavolt realized. "It's all of the WHAM ARMY members inside of the break room!"

"NOW HE GETS IT!" Yzma sighed.

"Do I sense a business proposal?" the Liquidator asked.

Yzma gestured to him and his friends; "Fearsome Four." Back to the newcomers. "Meet Sinister Six."

"There are seven of them," Quackerjack pointed out.

"Those two don't count," Yzma said with a gesture to Glasses and Pal Joey.

"RUDE, lady!" Pal Joey snapped while Glasses made a "Tch" of annoyance.

"But that only makes five," Bushroot calculated.

"There's a mad scientist one who didn't want to leave his room!" Yzma snapped.

"Oh, yeah!" Bushroot realized. "The octopus guy! I was there when he showed up!"

"…I'm starting to lose track of my timelines," Yzma sighed.

"You want me to go get the wagon and bring it in here?" Rhino asked.

"No," Yzma told him, "because YOU barely fit through the break room door! The WAGON needs to come through the loading area OUT BACK! THAT'S HOW WE DESIGNED THIS PLACE!"

Dmitri nudged Quentin and drew his attention to Tony, who was looking back at the recently-shut door. "Ohhhh?" Quentin realized. "Is someone a little bit starstruck?"

"I'll admit she's cute," Tony replied with a shrug. "That's about it." He nodded to a burgundy messenger bag hanging on the back wall. "That hers?"

"Yeah!" Quackerjack told him. He fished his hand into the bag; "Sometimes she keeps gum in here, and she hasn't figured out I've been skimming!" He retrieved two sticks. "Spearmint?"
"It seems your little crush may not be straight," Quentin pointed out. "There's a pride button."

And so there was. But Tony didn't recognize the colors. "Never seen that flag before. Does that mean women only, or…?"

"Oh, that's the asexual flag!" Megavolt explained. "I know because it's mine, too. She does dig guys, though. There's this one robot she won't shut up about."

"You won't be getting any out of her," Dmitri told Tony.

"Hey, all I said was that she was cute," Tony replied, not really seeming put off. "Doesn't have to go anywhere."

"When you're all DONE EVALUATING THE PERSONAL LIFE OF OUR CASHIER," Yzma seethed, "CAN WE BEGIN TALKING BUSINESS?"

"Coffee's hot!" the Liquidator assured, gesturing to the pot. "We make sure it's always piping, because a satisfied staff means satisfied customers!"

They divided up the coffee and sat around the break room table, which was large enough to admit all of them, because, being the WHAM ARMY, they'd built it nearly bigger than the sales floor, with couches included.

"So you wanna set up a crime empire here," Glasses said to Tony. "Gotta say, it looks like the place."

"Just to make sure," Tony brought up, "there are no…flying protectors of the city that roam at night, are there?"

"Mostly heroes just pass through on their way to somewhere else," Mim assured him. "Though there is a sizeable Black Mage population, and some of those fly. But they're not interested in law and order."

"Remind me again the nature of yer little order back in NYC?" Montana prompted.

"Mostly a black-market outpost," Tony stated. "Which is what makes this little enterprise so perfect. We're already going to be advertising magic weaponry underground. Why not expand the catalog? Auto parts, semi-automatics, narcotics…"

"Nobody drives around here," Megavolt groaned. "They all take the tram or the train. Which are some BEAUTIFUL machines, let me tell you! But there's no car market."

"And, ahhhhh, guns aren't a th-th-thing here either," Bushroot added. "P-p-people use more old-fashioned stuff! Like, ahhhh, b-bows and arrows, or swords!"

"And cannabis is one hundred percent legal in this town!" the Liquidator added. "If still stigmatized! Any other addictive substance should roll in high profits, however!"

"I see how it is," Tony realized. "New city, new approach. We're gonna have to get creative. Either way, this is the hub for it all, starting now."

"EXCUSE ME?" Quentin yelled. "Who said YOU get to decide where the hub of crime is? Maybe I don't WANT it to be here!"

"Go ahead," Tony urged. "Tell me what property we can easily get under WHAM ARMY control and use to house all our illegal operations while hiding in plain sight."

"…This one," Quentin muttered.

"Is this gonna turn into a thing?" Joey groaned.

"Guess I shoulda warned ya what to expect with Beck," Montana grunted.

"I do like these ideas for new avenues to revenue," Yzma complimented slyly.

"Of course," Tony told her, "before anything starts, we're gonna have to get a lay of the land and figure out what the underground looks like."

"I've been in some of the tunnels, actually," Megavolt piped up. "I can tell you – "

"Megs, no," Quackerjack sighed. "Not that kind."

"As I was saying – " Tony attempted.

"Why'd you interrupt him?" Rhino broke in. "He was about to give us a map of the underground."

Yzma was sure a vein was going to pop.

"Later," Tony said to smooth it all over. "We'll take that map later. First, we need a game plan." He idly drew a pocket knife, flipping it open to turn the blade over in the fluorescent light. "After all, I don't do things halfway. We're not just going to be another mob front in this town. We've gotta be the BEST mob front in this town."

A sudden crash of glass and a yell of "FUCK!"

All eyes on the doorway, where Rachel Inlustris had just dropped a bunch of Yzma's placebo potions. "I was trying to unload the inventory cart," the blonde said with wide eyes, "and I had a question, and…"

"HOW MUCH DID YOU HEAR?" Yzma cried.

"The part about us being the best mob front in this town," Rachel said, paling. "Is that true? Are we a mob front?"

Tony sighed. "Yeah, Cupcake. You're workin' for the worst."

After a pause, Rachel yelled, "I FUCKING knew it!"

"Wha – HOW?" Yzma yelled.

Rachel gave her a look of dry chastising. "My four co-workers have superpowers and are named 'Megavolt,' 'Quackerjack,' 'Liquidator,' and 'Bushroot.' I admittedly didn't guess organized crime, but I got as far as supervillains."

"Oh, drat!" Mim snapped her fingers. "Now we have to kill her!"

As Rachel tensed, trying to figure out how to escape certain doom, Tony broke in; "Whoa, whoa. Let's not jump the gun here." He stood, approaching Rachel. "You say you've suspected something off for a while now. And you haven't ratted. Why's that?"

"Well…I need the money," Rachel admitted. "And…this is the first place I've worked where I feel like I can be myself more. Like I'm actually a human being. My other job is printing the Gazette, and they treat me like shit over there. Coming here is a godsend."

"How did you mess up this badly?" Yzma asked Mim. "I thought you were supposed to be a sadist! And you ended up VALIDATING A PEASANT?"

"I can be loud here," Rachel went on. "I can be mean here! You guys let me play my music and swear! You don't get pissed when I finish my to-do list early and have nothing to do but kick around!"

"Maybe she is one of us," Dmitri said with a pointed look at Yzma.

"Liquidator actually trained me how to DO things the right way," Rachel continued, "which is something Brahne would NEVER think to do over at the Gazette, just throw me at things and go 'Good luck,' and – "

"So you're willing to overlook a few things," Tony summed, "so long as you like it here."

"The guys are my friends, too," Rachel said quietly. "I think."

"Of course we are!" Quackerjack affirmed.

"What would you be willing to do for even more pay?" Tony asked. "Take part?"

"I don't hurt people who don't have it coming," Rachel told him. "But I mean that as in…personally. I could live with it if people I didn't care about or hated had to get hurt."

"You ever had to hurt someone before?"

"No. Unless throwing a bottle of the pink stuff and missing on purpose counts."

"You want to?"

She swallowed hard. "Depends on the circumstances."

"How about stealing?" Tony asked. "Ruining this town's economy?"

"Please." She smiled. "You can't do worse than Scrooge McDuck already is. He's a great guy, don't get me wrong, but holy FUCK he is everything wrong with capitalism."

"And if this town got more villains because of us being here?"

Rachel shrugged. "You know what I'm finding out the more I go on? People are assholes. With a few standout exceptions. Either you're waiting for an excuse to become the bad guy or you're trying to act like you're on the high road."

Tony looked back to the others; "I think we can trust her. Let her on board. We'll talk consequences if she turns traitor on us."

"And you know those consequences'll be big," Glasses asserted.

"Now, now, Glasses!" Tony said smugly. "Don't frighten the little lady. We're all part of the family here. We wouldn't want Cupcake to stop feeling like she fits in just because there might be a death threat over her head, would we, now?"

Well, this really wasn't helping Rachel's perception that this guy was the handsomest she'd ever met. Or at least in the top ten.

"What's your real name, Cupcake?" Tony asked.

"Rachel Inlustris," she replied. "You?"

"Anthony Dracon. But most people call me 'Tony.'"

Her blush was obvious. She put out her right hand; "Nice to meet you."

He shook it, and Rachel was put in a slight stupor by the strength of the grip of his hand.

"Well, we don't have to hide the operation back here anymore," Yzma sighed. "So long as no customers walk in, we can talk on the sales floor. Which might prevent any more walk-ins."

"A question!" Quentin broke in. "You control the music around here, do you not?"

"Yeah," Rachel replied.

"Do you have anything more…" He smirked. "Theatrical?"

As the others gathered to actually talk business, Quentin got suited up as Mysterio (he'd brought the suit along in the inventory cart because of course he had, and he needed to wear the helmet at least to perform this song because of that part of his spiel Yzma had stopped listening to), and he and Rachel stood on the open sales floor, singing along with the song of choice on the PA.

"Nowwwww!" Rachel belted, miming a finger-gun at Quentin. "Do it nowwww! While he's gassing himself to a palpable stupor; the timing's ideal and the moment is super to ready and fire and blow the sick bastard awaaaaaay!"

While this was going on in the background, Yzma hissed, "Thank you, Tony, for putting a LIABILITY on our payroll."

"I gave you a resource," Tony argued. "She's lived here her whole life, right?"

"Yeah!" Bushroot affirmed. "Well, she grew up on an apple farm outside town, but she's always b-b-been c-close to the city!"

"She's a local," Tony went on. "She knows this town better than any of us do. And as we've established, she can be bought." He flinched. "Though I almost hate to say that…she's willing to do so much in exchange for validation and a little respect."

"She has other friends here, though!" Quackerjack hissed. "She's gonna put them on the no-kill list!"

"Worry about that if and when it becomes a problem," Tony encouraged. "Right now, I'm seeing a road map to the earlier conundrum. She can – "

The entire meeting was interrupted by Quentin dramatically yelling "I COULD ASPHYXIATE IN HERE!" before collapsing to the floor with a hard thud and breaking into maniacal laughter.

"PART OF THE SONG!" Rachel yelled, putting up her hands and waving them, and so everyone decided not to pay attention to him begging for her to save him from suffocation. Or pretending to, hopefully.

"…As I was saying," Tony went on, "our little Cupcake can get us the ins and outs of this town. Maybe provide a few tips for where to start. This operation needs fellow criminals to buy what we're selling. We don't know where they are. But SHE might."

"B-b-but her shift ends in twenty minutes!" Bushroot protested. "We can't keep her after hours!"

"REALLY?" Yzma cried. She turned to Mim; "What kind of operation are you running here?"

"A horrible one," Mim replied. "Exactly like I want."

"…You know, that checks out," Yzma sighed.

"So we work with her schedule," Tony suggested. "After all, we have to wait for the nightlife to come out anyway. Maybe she'll wanna pull an all-nighter. Soon as we have the date set, we follow every lead we can to get this under way."

"And you're sure this isn't your excuse to walk around town with her?" Glasses raised a brow.

"Like I keep saying," Tony replied. "She's cute. I won't lie about that. But that's as far as it goes. On that note, let's arrange our party. I'll go. She'll go. And I'm guessing she's the nervous type around strange men, so she gets to pick a friend from the Fearsomes."

"One hitch," Dmitri said.

"And that is?" Tony replied.

Dmitri gestured to behind Tony, and he turned and looked at the scene playing out.

"True, the gun never fired!" Rachel sang. "But the way events transpired, I could finish him with simple laissez-faire!"

"Don't…" Quentin gasped, obviously making it sound like he was struggling to breathe. "Be…foooooled, if I should chuckle like hyenas in a zoo! It's just the gas!" He clutched at her shoes in faux death throes. "It turns me oooooon!"

"Right," Tony realized. "He'll want in, or he'll throw a tantrum."

"You're getting used to this," Dmitri congratulated.

"Then no more," Tony declared. "If I'm right about her stranger danger sense, she won't want her faction outnumbered."

"ARE YOU SATISFIED?" Quentin rolled onto his back like an upended beetle, reaching for the sky. "I LAUGHED! MY! SELF! TO!"

"Death," Rachel growled, lightly kicking him in the side, and he fell still.

The playlist rolled to the next song, and Quentin stayed down just long enough to get everyone nervous before leaping to his feet; "BRAVO! BRAVISSIMO! Yes, I do declare you are more than adequate co-star material! …Even if you're quite obviously an ALTO."

"Yeah, well, wait until the next time we do that song and switch places," Rachel told him. "Then you'll hear how I really shine: doing the villains."

"Switch places?" Quentin chuckled. "YOU, sing the part of Orin? Don't make me laugh myself to death AGAIN."

"Heyyyyy!" Rachel stamped a foot. "You can't hog the best part every time we do the duet!"

"It's not even the best part," Dmitri sighed. "But I just let these things go with him."

"You're lucky I don't relegate you to one of the diva chorus," Quentin huffed.

"THEY'RE NOT EVEN IN THAT SONG!" Rachel yelled.

"Maybe this is going to work out after all," Yzma realized. "They're definitely cut from the same cloth."

Tony approached Rachel; "Nice job, Cupcake. I could feel the tension. Though I gotta tell ya…you'd make a better dentist than Beck any day of the week."

"You're just trying to flatter me," she growled. "The answer's no."

"You didn't even know what I was about to ask."

"To get in my pants?"

"Not even close."

"Oh." Rachel flushed. "Then what?"

"I think you could help our little business get started," Tony told her. "Here's what I'm thinking. You go enjoy the rest of your day, but around sundown – or whatever kicks off nightfall around here – you come back, and a few of us will go on a little walk around town. You can show us all the dives and dirty underbellies that we can network with."

"I have no idea where to even find anything like that," Rachel admitted, the panic evident in her voice.

"Can you figure it out?" Tony asked.

"I – " Rachel suddenly lit up. "Actually, I know EXACTLY who to ask, and I was planning on meeting up with him anyway! Okay, so then I come back here, and what happens?"

"You lead us to water," Tony told her, "and we drink. You, me, your duet partner here, and a friend of your choice. I'm guessing you don't go places after dark with strange men. Good philosophy."

"Megavolt," Rachel said without thinking. Then fired a guilty glance to the one she'd named; "Is that okay?"

"Yeah, sure!" Megavolt responded. "It'll be loads of fun! And if either of these guys try anything funny, I'll fry 'em alive!"

"It'd be what we deserve," Tony told him.

"Speak for yourself," Quentin grunted, not quite grasping the concept of diplomacy.

"You'd better not forget to show up for your night shift!" the Liquidator told him.

"I'm on it!" Quackerjack wrote the time and place on a sticky note, then slammed it to Megavolt's forehead so it covered half his goggles. "NOW he won't forget!"

"How long is this gonna take?" Rachel asked. "I have to clock in at the Gazette tomorrow, so…"

"Call in sick," Tony urged her. "You hate that place anyway."

"I do," Rachel realized. "I just don't fake sick. It's…"

"Dishonest? Like running a mob enterprise behind a snake-oil shop?"

"That is a very excellent point," Rachel realized. "All right. I can stay out as late as you want." She brightened; "I'm more of a night owl anyway."

"So we'll see you, Cupcake?" Tony asked.

She scowled. "I told you not to call me that."

"I'm not trying to get you to bed, Cupcake. Saw your pin in the break room. And if I'm lying, may the electric enforcer strike me down where I stand," Tony replied.

"Who's the electric enforcer?" Megavolt asked.

"YOU, YOU IDIOT!" Yzma shrieked.

"Fine," Rachel relented. "So long as this stays professional." Not that she'd mind a romantic outing with someone who not only looked this good but was also oh-so-very suave and especially confident, but he'd correctly assessed how much she feared the hidden sides of strangers.

"Then we have a game plan," Tony declared. "Now, let's get that inventory loaded."

"Where's the loading area, again?" Alex muttered.

"I'll show ya," Montana said as he led Alex out of the building.

Quentin glared after him. "That was my most melodramatic Scrivello yet," he grumbled, "and he has NOTHING to say about it?"

"Maybe he's not a musical guy," Joey suggested. "I'm not a musical guy, and Tony here made my nickname out of a stinkin' musical I never even saw."

"We're changing that someday," Tony urged him. "There's more than one reason we love Sinatra in the crime circuit, you know. It's quality cinema."

"Why do you care about what Montana thinks, anyway?" Dmitri asked. "You have a thing for him?"

"NO!" Quentin bellowed. "HE'S SIMPLY THE ONLY ONE HERE WHO REFUSES TO RECOGNIZE MY BREADTH OF TALENT!"

"Right," Yzma said with a roll of her eyes. "Definitely the only one."

"Just let him believe," Dmitri hissed in her ear. "Things go better if you don't roughhouse his fragile ego."

"I'm gonna go switch on some mood music," Rachel suggested. "Makes unloading go faster." She disappeared to swap out the song for a rock ballad about a faerie kingdom.

"I can already tell this is all about to flop horribly!" Mim cackled. "I love it!"

...

They started by sending Hayner, Pence, and Olette out to scout. The trio moved up to the path to Sunset Hill, where two sentries were posted. A heavyset man who preferred greens and yellows in his wardrobe; Hayner realized he had been the Struggle announcer that past summer. And a woman with dark hair piled atop her head, wearing a white button-down shirt over a striking skirt of yellow and brown stripes.

"Uhhh…hi?" Hayner began.

"We're supposed to meet somebody here," Olette added, "and we were wondering if it was you."

The man and the woman nodded to each other. "We have a friend who said someone might be coming," the man stated. "Did she tell you to say anything about it?"

"What was it again?" Hayner mused. "I'll think about the sunset?"

"At dusk, I will think of you," Pence stated confidently.

"You can tell them to come on out," the woman said. "It's all right."

"HEY, GUYS!" Hayner yelled back down the street. "COAST IS CLEAR!"

Roxas, Mal, Naminé, and XR trotted out of hiding. "Phew," Roxas sighed.

"Sorry about all the mess, kiddo," the man sighed. "You don't look like bad kids to me. But the people around here can get…"

"Really bigoted sometimes," the woman stated.

"I was gonna say 'touchy,'" the man said, "but that works, too."

"So Rachel told you to look out for us?" Mal reiterated.

"We'll make sure no one bothers you," the woman promised.

"That sounds a little boring," Naminé observed.

"Not necessarily!" The woman held up a small cardboard box. "I brought playing cards!"

"Oh!" the man beamed. "Great idea!" He produced a cardboard cylinder; "I brought dice, myself!"

"Speaking of the motormouth blonde with bad eyes and a big ego," XR brought up, "she'd said she was supposed to meet us here. I want it clear that I'm not worried. I just think she shouldn't falsely advertise."

"She's probably caught up in work," the woman sighed. "Again."

"Huh?" Roxas tilted his head, curious.

"Rachel isn't exactly a social butterfly," the man clarified. "She'll come to public events like the Struggle tournament, of course, but she tends to get shy about making new friends."

"And a little boisterous," the woman added. "Not to mention she's into that book series that none of us can make any sense of. I told her to ask around and try and start a reading club for it, but she said her schedule was too tight."

"So you aren't friends?" Naminé asked.

"Not close friends," the woman went on. "We care about her. We just don't really…connect, sometimes."

"And she always puts her work before anything else," the man added. "That's actually part of the reason we were glad she was setting this up. She hardly ever leaves the house unless it's for work."

"Maybe you can connect better with her," the woman suggested.

"We'll try," Roxas said, "but if she doesn't want to be friends, then there's not much I can do about that."

"Sometimes, it's really hard to believe you and Sora came from the same person," Olette commented. "You know that?"

"Guys, let's head." Mal nodded to the hill. "Before someone sees the dragon girl and reports me to the cops."

The seven began to move onward and upward, but then Naminé turned back. "Excuse me. What are your names?"

"Oh, me?" the woman in the striped skirt replied. "My name is Omoikane."

"Grant van Warner!" the man stated.

"Thank you, Omoikane, Grant," Naminé replied. "This is so kind of you."

"Hey, anytime!" Grant told her. "You kids needed help, and I hate to see people sad, you know? Especially kids."

"I'm a mother, myself," Omoikane added. "My son is a bit younger than you…but he'll be your age soon enough. I would hate for anyone to treat him the way the people treated you without any support. If you need us, send word and we'll be here."

Naminé nodded before rushing to catch up with her friends.

"So," Mal asked XR, "how's it feel that the only reason you showed up might not even be coming?"
"She is NOT the reason I came on this trip," XR argued. "I came to follow up on my chaperoning you from last time. I know all the context about why you have to hide away, after all!"

"You know," Olette realized, "Naminé doesn't."

"Oh?" Naminé replied.

"You weren't there for the incident," Olette reminded her. "Nobody hates you. You can go wherever you want."

They'd reached the crest of the hill. "I think I'd like that," Naminé mused. "If it's all right with you, Roxas, Mal."

"No skin off my nose," Mal told her.

"Lemme guess." Roxas smiled. "Now that you can go outside, you wanna explore more."

"I've only ever seen the simulation of this town," Naminé reminded him, "and that was only confined to one district because of Ansem's programming abilities. I'd love to be able to explore it for real."

"Hey, I can hook you up with the hotspots to visit!" Pence said excitedly. "Where've you been in the simulation?"

"While you nerds talk about holograms," Hayner said, "the cool people here are gonna Grandstand!"

Roxas, being the Keybearer of the group, was the one to retrieve the overlarge white beach ball from his inventory dimension. "Heads up!"

He launched the ball, and then Olette, Hayner, and Mal scrambled alongside him to keep hitting it so it would remain airborne for as long as possible.

XR scooted around to sit next to Naminé and Pence on the nearby bench. "Ah, kids having fun." He smiled. "That's another big reason I came along, you know."

"I'm not arguing with you." Naminé laughed slightly.

"Though I find myself a bit too mature for such games," XR went on. "As a matter of fact – "

The ball went astray and came toward him; without even thinking, he telescoped his arm out, smacking it very high into the air. "Beat THAT height!" he challenged.

"Riiiiight," Pence chuckled. "Mature."

"HEY!" The voice indicated another coming up the hill. A certain bespectacled blonde bearing a messenger bag.

"Oh, LOOK who decided to finally show up!" XR said snidely as Rachel arrived. "Work was more important, huh?"

"I had to close an important deal," Rachel told him. "I also failed some negotiations, but whatever."

(Negotiations to sing Orin's part when she and Quentin did the song one more time. She'd just had to watch him go through the same death throes all over again without getting to do her own.)

"Sorry I'm late, though," Rachel went on. "Though it seems SOMEONE would rather I not even be here."

"Well, I guess I can tolerate your motormouth," XR said with folded arms. "The kiddos like you, so there's that."

There was just enough room on the bench for one more, so Rachel sat beside XR. Then he noticed: "Well, well! I told you glasses wouldn't take anything away from that face. How's it feel to be able to see for once?"

"Good," Rachel replied. "Really good. I hate that you were right." She peered around him to Pence and Naminé; "Did I meet you last time? I don't think I did."

"I'm Naminé," Naminé replied. "I'm a good friend of Roxas', and I wanted to come visit this town. I haven't seen much of it…though this does remind me I sat here, on this bench, once. It…wasn't a very happy memory."

"Well, let's help you make some better ones," Pence suggested. "So what do you know about already?"

"This side of town," Naminé listed off. "The trains and the station. Tram Common. The sandlot. The streets that connect the two. Roxas' apartment building – or at least the one we gave him in the simulation."

"I wonder who lives there now," Pence mused. "I'm gonna find out!"

"The old mansion," Naminé continued. "The wood. The tunnels underground. The clock tower. The Usual Spot. And…I think that's it."

"So you've probably seen Town Hall from the outside," Pence realized, "but it's not that interesting if you're not into politics. The field trip we took there was pretty cool, though. Anyway, it also sounds like you never went down Midnight Alley. It's a really upscale fashion district. I sure can't afford anything there, but it's fun to window-shop."

"There's also a karaoke bar with reasonably-priced drinks and appetizers there," Rachel pointed out. "I'm just saying. You'd have to be a bit older to get in, though."

"Then there's the Industrial District," Pence went on, "where they make the Sunstones that go into the accessories in the shops. It's also where they fix up parts for the trams, and there's a whole lot of other factories. Not a good place for entertainment, though. Some of the suburbs on the train line between here, the Main District, and the Industrial District can be fun to walk around, if you've got the time. Then there's the beach, which is always a good time, especially if you get snacks. Watermelon's pricey, though. I'd go for pretzels if I were you. The harbor where imports and exports are exchanged is down there, too. Then I guess the other big thing is the countryside outside the city limits. People go for walks there sometimes, if they're tired of all the man-made stuff. There are also legends of unicorns roaming the wild, and everyone wants to catch a glimpse of one of those."

"It all sounds wonderful!" Naminé cried. "I'm going to remember those places."

"I'll even go along with you and explore, if you want," Pence told her. "I always love sniffing out new things to notice about the town. Maybe we'll discover something new together!"

Now was the time to edge the conversation toward where Rachel wanted it. "You do know everything there is to know about Twilight Town," she complimented. "Sooooo. I have a little trivia challenge for you, just because I'm curious and you're the one person I count on to know these things."

"Fire away!" Pence beamed.

"Just out of curiosity," Rachel reiterated, "what do you know about underground crime here in town?"

"Oh, boy, there've been a lot of new rumors," Pence answered straightaway. "Especially with some new faces showing up in town. The stories are pretty out there, but maybe there's some truth to them! You wanna hear?"

"Hit me!" Rachel replied eagerly.

As Pence began to tell the suspicious stories, the other four continued to hit the white beach ball. "I remember when we taught you this game!" Hayner laughed. "Still can't beat the master!"

"Only because we're not playing competition style," Roxas told him. "If we were doing this in turns, I'd wipe the floor with you. Keyblade, remember?"

"I wouldn't bet against him," Mal said with a grin. "Though I'm not sure I'm even allowed to."

"Why not?" Olette asked. "Are you gonna say what I think you are?"

"We're together," Roxas answered. "As in…you know…together."

"CONGRATULATIONS!" Olette squealed. "Oh my gosh, you two work so well together! I'm so happy for you!"

"It's been a pretty good time so far," Mal replied.

"Aw, man!" Hayner groaned. "I gotta up my game if I wanna be next! Hey, Roxas! You have a girlfriend now. How do you get a girl to notice you if she's, like, way out of your league?"

"Haynerrrrr…" Olette groaned. Then she explained: "He's been drooling over a waitress at Le Grand Bistrot for a while now. She doesn't know he exists. Classic crush story, right?"

"You like somebody?" Roxas asked. "Tell me more!"

"Oh, man, she's the most beautiful girl ever!" Hayner insisted. "…No offense."

"None taken," Mal replied.

"She came here from another world, too," Hayner went on. "Apparently her family's big into science, and they just hopped on the whole world-exploration bandwagon. I dunno where the others all went, but SHE stayed here." He almost went into a daze, nearly missing the next hit of the ball. "She's tall and has this bouncy orange hair, and she goes everywhere on roller skates, and she's always got this beautiful smile on…"

"Probably because she works in food service," Olette sighed, "and has to smile at people for her job."

"What's her name?" Roxas asked.

"Tallulah," Hayner replied dreamily. "Tallulah Robinson."

"He's leaving out the part where he blew his entire salary from Scrooge on going back to his restaurant so he could try and get her to stop and chat," Olette related. "I mean…at least he's not a creep about it. A big creep, anyway."

"I would never creep on Tallulah!" Hayner insisted. "No way! We gotta fall in love the old-fashioned way! We're gonna have an honest conversation, and I'm gonna ask all about her family's science, 'cause I wanna know that stuff anyway! And I wanna hear about her waitress stuff, too! What that's like!"

"No love potions," Mal told him. "If you listen to one piece of my advice, NO love potions."

"NEVER!" Hayner recoiled. "Who would even do that?"

"You don't even wanna know," Mal replied.

"But the thing is," Hayner groaned, "as much as I want us to fall in love…deep down, I know there's no way she'd look at me like that. She's so beautiful. And I'm…just an ordinary guy. She came from this big science family that's exploring all the worlds! What did I ever do, huh?"

"You believed in me when I was lost," Roxas reminded him. "That's kinda big. I think that faith helped me to be able to find my way back, even with the help of Sora's magic ring. It's looking like pretty weird odds that I was the first person to leave his heart, and I think maybe…maybe you all helped with that by thinking about me. Even though you never really knew me."

"I mean, we did meet you a couple times for real," Olette told him. "We liked you then. It just makes sense we'd like you in any world, digital or not!"

"So put that on your résumé," Roxas said with a smile. "You helped save a lost Nobody!"

"Even if Tallulah never notices me," Hayner told him, "that's always gonna be a bright spot for me. You and me, we were destined to be friends!"

Pence had wrapped up his infodump, and Rachel had taken mental notes of several points of interest for Tony. She almost felt bad using Pence like this…but was it really so bad after all? This information wasn't going to end up impacting him directly. Maybe indirectly, but butterfly effects are a rabbit hole. And Rachel wanted her villainous friends.

"Thanks," she said. "Honestly, I'm always impressed by how much you know."

"It's kinda my special interest," Pence admitted. "I, uh…"

"I get it," Rachel said before he could go on. "I'm…the same way."

"What now?" XR asked. "Did I just completely miss something?"

"I just kinda hinted that I'm…slightly autistic," Pence told him.

"And I hinted that about myself right back," Rachel confirmed.

"Huh." XR mulled this over. "Y'know, your friends back there who're keeping the jerks from finding Bonnie and Clyde over there said they more or less weren't exactly your friends. I'm guessing that has something to do with it."

"Why are you asking?" Rachel grumbled. "To rub it in?"

"I mean, you're obviously sitting next to me even though I can't stand your ego and you can't stand my radiant beauty," XR told her. "Just wondering what ranked me above those two who you've known your whole life. Is it a love-hate thing, or…?"

"I haven't known Omoikane and Grant my whole life," Rachel admitted. "We went to college together. They have their lives together. I don't. We just…don't click, and I'm not sure if we did or if I just took what I could get. They're great, don't get me wrong, and purely hypothetically speaking, if I had to make a list of who in this town I would never want assassinated, they'd be on it."

"Do I want to know why that was worded so ominously?" XR asked.

"I feel like I'm always trying to make friends," Rachel went on, "and none of them ever stick."

"So I'm your next stab in the dark?" XR asked.

"I dunno." Rachel shifted. "You all seem pretty cool. I think we get along. Maybe this is one of the few places I do actually belong socially."

"You just called me cool," XR pointed out with a grin.

Rachel flinched; "YOU KNOW WHAT I MEANT. It was a group thing!"

"No, it's because I am, inherently, cool," XR argued. "I'll take it, at any rate. Anyway, you and I are certainly not FRIENDS, but I will admit our banter is stimulating to a degree. I'll see where this goes."

"I like you so far," Naminé said. "And I know Sora would already think of you as a best friend by now if he were in my place."

"You can come hang with us anytime!" Pence told her with a smile. "I'll save my best Twilight Town stories for you. So what do you fixate on?"

"Um." Rachel blushed red. "Any of you guys read Bulletproof Hearts?"

"Wait," Pence realized. "Isn't that that one book series that goes on for like forever and has way too many plot twists? And people actually got in a brawl in the street that one time – "

"Over whether Red shipped with Snow or Victory, yeah," Rachel confirmed. "It's kinda my drug."

"What," XR guessed, "you write erotic fanfictions for it?"

Under her breath, Rachel muttered, "They're not erotic."

"You are ACTUALLY a fanfiction writer!" XR chuckled. "Oh, this is just TOO good. All right, how do I find you on the Internet?"

"The what?" Rachel asked.

"We don't do Internet here," Pence explained, having a fairly good understanding of the term. "Not unless you're in the old mansion, where Ansem set up a signal. Our computers are self-contained here. So if you write something for fun, you have to print it off and share it manually."

"And I haven't shared mine with ANYONE," Rachel said proudly, "so you can NEVER FIND THEM."

"Challenge accepted," XR told her.

"What," Rachel retorted, "you're gonna break into my house and ransack the place looking for it?"

"No," XR replied, "I'm gonna talk you into showing it to me."

"Why?" Rachel asked. "You wouldn't even get the context. You'd literally just be doing it to make fun of me."

"Be nice, XR," Naminé chided. "Though now I'm interested in these books…"

"Olette likes them," Pence brought up. "Rachel, you should talk to her. And Naminé, she might lend you the first couple, so long as you return them in good condition."

"I'm still convinced I'll be able to see your stash someday," XR bragged. "I just want to tally up how much less of a laughingstock I am than – "

"HEADS UP!" Roxas cried.

And the beach ball bounced right off XR's helmet, throwing him off the back of the bench in the impact.

Rachel let out a loud, rude laugh, and Pence and Naminé giggled along.

Maybe there was more than one place Rachel could belong. Even if those places seemed like polar opposites. At any rate, she stayed there until the sky changed to dark enough that she had to return to Liquid Assets.

...

Tony, Mysterio, and Megavolt all waited there, as promised. Rachel slid through the door, looked at Megavolt, and asked, "Why is that still on your face?"

He pointed to the sticky note. "So I don't forget to show up tonight."

"You're already here."

"Oh! I am!" Megavolt ripped off the note. "Then it worked! Quacky's always got my back about stuff like that."

"So," Tony asked, "you find anything out?"
"Yeah," Rachel replied. "Mostly rumors, but if even one is true, then they're JUICY."

"Then let this town know the wrath of MYSTERIO," Mysterio boomed dramatically, "in…pause for dramatic effect…wait for it…"

A button on his suit was pressed. He'd given it a purely cosmetic upgrade: several panels were studded with multicolored LEDs.

"NIGHT MODE!" he declared.

...

Not two blocks later and Mysterio was screaming, "WHAT IS THE POINT OF NIGHT MODE IF THIS WORLD DOESN'T HAVE A NIGHT?"

"It's dark enough to count!" Rachel argued. "We all notice the lights!"

Tony cast his gaze upward. The sky was indeed dark – but not enough to show stars. A heavy blue color blanketed the world; in the distance, streaks of light that blushed up from the horizon in pink and soft orange.

"Why is that?" Tony asked. "Something to do with magic?"

"This world is between the Light and the Darkness," Rachel explained. "It can't ever be one or the other completely. It always has to have some dark during the day and some light during the night."

"Not completely sure I understand," Tony told her, "but if I understand things right, that means you can't have gargoyles here, not with a sun always out."

"Gargoyles?" Rachel repeated. Then, incredulously, "ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT ACTUAL ALIVE GARGOYLES?"

Tony smirked. "Looks like that's a story for the next walk. But first…our first stop."

The shop on the edge of Tram Common was five minutes from closing, so the group had to hit it first. Pence had explained that it was new, and tongues wagged about the owner. No one could figure out what his deal was. Some suspected he'd been involved with foul play in the past, though there was nothing yet to back this up.

"Admittedly, this is our least promising lead," Tony said as he looked up to the hand-painted sign that declared this shop to be called "Artez & Craftz." "But that means we save the best for last."

"Uggghhhh," Rachel groaned. "I get wanting to do the quirky Z thing, but did he have to misspell 'arts' that bad? On THE FUCKING STOREFRONT SIGN?"

"Perhaps it is a reference to the arcane artes!" Mysterio supplied. "After all, we are in a town of magic, mayhem, and MYSTERIO!"

"Can we just go inside already?" Megavolt whined. "Even if the guy's legit, I wanna buy some magnets to mount the LEDs that wanna sit on the break room fridge!"

Tony was about to lead the way, but thought better of it at the last minute and let the glowing Mysterio go first. "TREMBLE, MERCHANT!" he boomed. "FOR YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN BY THE GREAT MYSTEEEEERIO FOR A DESTINY MOST UNIQUE!"

"Ah, welcomez, welcomez!" The man who served as cashier and proprietor beamed. "I waz just about ta close this place up, but I ain't never gonna say no to some last-minute salez!"

He certainly wasn't what anyone had expected. He was a little shorter than your average human; you would've expected him to be younger than he was. He seemed to have a humanoid body structure and long brown hair framing a baby face, and it was all shrouded in a heavy deep-purple robe with a hood, but over the back of that robe was a turtle shell, jet-black, and despite sitting over top of the robe, it looked more like a part of the man's body than anything.

"And what manner of creature might YOU be?" Mysterio scoffed.

"The name's Turtlez!" the man introduced happily, though his thick accent made it sound like he was saying "Toitlez." (And no one questioned how they all knew without having to ask that he was ending his words with Z's in place of S's.) "Dark Turtlez! Well, it used ta be White Turtlez, but then, well, I, eheheheh…I ran into some troublez with my debt…" He scratched the back of his hood with a hand completely shrouded by an amorphous glove, making the visitors wonder if he actually had human hands beneath. "Then they tried ta cook me into a stew, see, an' the soy sauce never quite came out."

"So you're on the run from debtors," Tony realized, already seeing the opportunity.

"Nah, they dropped that grudge about five hundred yearz ago," Dark Turtlez waved off. "Now I'm back on the up-an'-up, and the best part is, those roguez who would never pay full pricez for their stuff an' sell me more than they bought are all long dead! That's the perkz of bein' Turtlez!"

"And you've been selling craft supplies for a little over a millennium." Tony teased a strand of yarn out of its spool, winding it around his finger.

For such a small shop, it really had an impressive array of materials: fabric, paint, sketchpads, clay, beads, and more. Rachel found herself making a mental list of dream projects that probably would never get mad.

"Aw, no," Dark Turtlez replied. "I used to be in the weaponz businezz. Kinda miss that line a' work, but it just wasn't profitable after some time, so I've been jumpin' around, try'n'a figure out what'll rake in the best profitz. And on that note, don't touch the merchandize unlezz you're willin' to buy!"

"Boy, this stuff is expensive!" Megavolt was already by the magnets. "You're really asking 300 munny apiece? That's highway robbery!"

"Nah," Dark Turtlez affirmed. "It'z Tram Common robbery!"

"So you're admitting to my face you artificially inflate your prices?" Tony asked, dropping the yarn.

"Aw, now you'z got yer fingerprintz all over it!" Dark Turtlez groaned.

"Tell me…Turtlez." Tony advanced. "Is business here…good?"

"Well, it'z a slow start," Dark Turtlez admitted, "but the first week'z all about spreadin' the influence, y'know? Gettin' the peoplez interested!"

"There are some people who say you're mixed up in things you shouldn't be," Tony brought up. "That you make unsavory dealings."

"What? N-no!" Dark Turtlez was sweating now. "You gotz me all wrong! That ain't – it'z just a rumor, y'know?"

"Okay," Megavolt chimed in, "are you saying that because you're trying to play innocent, or because you haven't found any crime buddies around here?"

"LOOK!" Dark Turtlez was crying now, full streams of water running down his face like wellsprings. "Once all these inter-world travelz opened up, I've been lookin' for a fresh start, okay? They practically ran me outta Glenwood! I don't got none of my old contactz, none of my old inventoriez…I don't even know what half this stuff iz I'm sellin'! But my rep'z ruined back home!"

"I think he's trying to clean up his act," Rachel noticed.

"I ain't never said THAT!" Dark Turtlez bawled. "I'm just lookin' for suckerz who ain't onto my game to buy at my pricez! And geez, I wish it was still weaponz. That way, youz could play all sidez! But that Wallace fella, he'z cornered the market!"

"So the way I see it, we have some options here." Tony smirked at the Turtlez. "I can assure you, we come in peace. After all, we're not exactly on the…up-and-up, either."

"You think you've seen rogues before?" Mysterio let out a dramatic laugh. "You have not yet seen rogues the likes of MYSTERIO!"

"That light-up armor iz pretty flashy," Dark Turtlez admitted.

"There's a way we can all get what we want here," Tony told the merchant. "You sign onto a partnership with our…enterprise, and we can drive business to your door. We'll even help you build up your old repertoire again. You want to outsell Wallace? Consider it done."

"What'z the catch?" Dark Turtlez asked.

"A percentage of the profit," Tony stated. "Which, since you inflate your prices, and we'll be sending you guaranteed buyers, shouldn't be a problem."

"WHAT? NO!" Dark Turtlez yelled. "Youz ain't gettin' none a' my preciouz munny!"

"Suit yourself," Tony told him. "In that case…I really can't guarantee your business will stay open much longer. After all…"

A metallic click. He was holding a lit cigarette lighter.

"Art supplies are pretty flammable," Tony stated.

"WHAT THE – " Dark Turtlez' eyes widened.

The lighter clicked off. "You need twenty-four hours to think about it?"

"N-N-N-NO, SIR!" Dark Turtlez cried. "I TRUST YOUZ! I DO!"

"It is a nice store," Rachel pointed out. "I could buy some things here. It'd be putting munny right back into the system, but hey, you'd get a cut."

"Actually," Tony decided, "that's a pretty generous offer from our little Cupcake. Don't you think? Since she's so nice as to put some of the munny we give her into your pockets – whatever is left after our cut comes back to the source – I think you should reward her a little. Maybe with a discount on some of your hotter items." He glanced to Rachel. "What do you like?"

This was highly unethical, Rachel thought. By all laws of etiquette, she shouldn't be running a racket in order to get a discount on a few bottles of –

"Acrylic paint," she resolved. "I like to paint boxes, sometimes. Wooden boxes. Weird shapes. I also do a cosplay every now and again, and the materials depend on which Bulletproof Hearts character I pick."

"She gets the Cupcake Discount," Tony told Dark Turtlez. "On anything related to acrylics, boxes, or costuming." Then it hit him. He turned back to her and smirked playfully; "Cosplay, huh?"

"Shut up," Rachel grumbled, folding her arms.

"Geez, you're a nerd," Megavolt teased, nudging her in the forearm with his elbow; his arms overflowed with magnets.

"Then you shall become a subsidiary of those who work for MYSTERIO," Mysterio declared, "or face consequences most vile!"

"And one other thing," Tony told Dark Turtlez. "If you cooperate…I'm sure I know some people who could get that shell of yours washed to pristine condition. You would like your old name back, wouldn't you?"

Now Dark Turtlez' eyes were sparkling. "WOULD I!"

They drew up the papers. Artez & Craftz became a subsidiary of Liquid Assets, Inc., which itself was a division of Yz-mart, LLC, as the contract turned out to inform them.

"Yeah, she wanted that name trademarked so we can open up chains to pretend to rival each other but it all goes back to one umbrella corporation," Megavolt explained.

"How foul and fiendish!" Mysterio cackled.

Of course, the contract made it clear that Dark Turtlez was not a full member of the WHAM ARMY, nor was he to get anywhere near WHAM ARMY territory without express permission, but he agreed to those terms, citing that "I ain't lookin' to relocate outta thiz town anytime soon anyway."

Dark Turtlez signed the new contract, though using his birth title of "White Turtlez" so as not to be able to escape via loophole when his shell was cleaned. Megavolt also paid upfront for his magnets as a courtesy.

When all was said and done, Rachel chirped, "It was nice to meet you!"

"Yeah, yeah," Dark Turtlez grumbled.

"I think we're just about done here," Tony declared.

"MYSTERIOUS FOUR!" Mysterio declared. "ONWARD!" He strode out the door, cape billowing.

"I just wanna know one thing before we go," Megavolt asked, scratching his head. "So are you, like, a person in a turtle costume, or a turtle who kinda looks like a person, or what?"

"Turtlez is Turtlez!" Dark Turtlez insisted, miffed. "I oughta box your earz for bein' so rude! Our contract ain't forbiddin' me from doin' that!"

"Of course not," Tony assured. "Mim would never want us to stand in the way of mindless violence, even against her own. Now let's keep moving. We have more ground to cover."

Outside, it became clear that Le Grand Bistrot was still open for business and very packed, its lights gleaming from across Tram Common. "Not an ideal time to strike," Tony noted. "We'll have to circle back. Now. Where'd you say the Disciplinary Committee can usually be found at night?"

...

Four figures walked one direction down Midnight Alley. Four figures walked the other up it. The two met in the center, blocking each other's way.

"Hey, buzz off!" Seifer Almasy swept out an arm. "You better move it, or else!"

"Or else what?" Tony asked.

"We're the former Disciplinary Committee of Twilight Town!" Seifer replied. "We'll kick your butt if we have to!"

"Yeah, they might even let us throw their sorry butts in jail, y'know?" Raijin pointed out. "Get some of our old street cred back!"

"You DARE to threaten Mysterio?" Mysterio stepped forward, raising his arms, and a rush of fog emitted from pockets built into his suit, projecting the faces of hellish beasts upon the green smoke. And all four staggered back, clutching each other in fear.

"Wait." Tony put up a hand. "Call off the legions from below."

"Awww, but the legions from below are the perfect touch of intimidatiooooon!" Mysterio whined.

"I'm hearing the words 'former' and 'get our street cred back,'" Tony pointed out. "You were the Disciplinary Committee, once. Is that no longer the case?"

"We didn't wanna work for the MAN anymore!" Seifer argued. "We wanted to take justice into our own hands! And not just justice, either! We wanted to take what we want, law or no law! Because we're above the rest of the jerks in this town, and we decided to show the mayor who – "

"Fired," Fuujin stated coldly.

"FUU!" Seifer snapped. "WHY'D YOU HAVE TO GO AND TELL 'EM THAT, HUH? IT SOUNDS SO MUCH COOLER IF WE SAY WE DECIDED THIS ON OUR OWN!"

"Not sorry," Fuu added.

"So now that makes you…what?" Tony asked.

"Look." Seifer glared daggers. "We're gonna come out back on top. Just on the OPPOSITE side of the law."

"So you don't care if you're working for or against the law," Rachel surmised, "so long as you get something out of it."

"Yeah!" Rai cried. "She gets it!"

"So what now?" Megavolt asked. "Robbery? Arson? Vandalism? Robbery? Rube-Goldberg-esque schemes involving a giant magnet, a two-mile-long chain of paper clips, and a reprogrammed VCR?"

"Ooh, ooh!" The fourth member of the group bounced on his heels. "Can I tell 'em? Please?"
"Fiiiiine," Seifer groaned. "Geez, you almost make me want that kid back. What was his name?"

"Vivi," Fuu volunteered.

"Pretty sure that wasn't it, y'know?" Rai commented.

"What happened to the kid?" Rachel asked.

"Grew a conscience," Seifer muttered. "He ratted on us for 'unnecessary violence' to the mayor. He's the one who got us fired."

"Smart kid!" Megavolt commented. "But I mean, now you get to do whatever you want, right?"

"Totally!" The fourth member was a good bit taller than his teenage companions, indicating he was fully mature. But no one could be sure, because his face was covered with red fabric, eyes and mouth crudely carved out. "That's what the Red Hood Gang is all about!"

"For the LAST TIME, Gus!" Seifer groaned. "We're not using that stupid name!"

Gus sighed. "Well, at least these guys aren't gonna shoot me for the hood. I had to make it myself from scratch AGAIN. I think I did better on it this time, though! It helped that the new craft place in the Common had this really vibrant crimson. I think it invokes the visual of bloodshed. You guys been down there yet? Run by a weirdo in a turtleshell – "

"We have MET," Mysterio huffed.

"Remind me what your informant said about this one?" Tony asked Rachel.

"That a weird dude in a red hood started tagging along with them," Rachel replied, "and literally no one has seen that hood around before. Face? Not sure."

"That's 'cause I'm not from here!" Gus said proudly. "It's so weird! I used to be DEAD! Apparently I was out for a couple years before the guy with the pink glasses decided to bring me back! And then he just turned me loose on this whole new city to do whatever I wanted, but he only had one condition! …Wait. What did he want me to say again?"

"This sound familiar?" Tony asked Rachel.

"No," Rachel replied. "Either we've got somebody new in town or he's from off-world."

"He's off-world," Seifer clarified. "His last one didn't deserve him, anyway. Not sure we do, either, but he turned us around to see the light…or maybe I should say the darkness."

"He was lookin' for a new gang," Rai explained, "and this was right after Vivi got us fired, y'know? So we teamed up with him and we started stealin' stuff! It's super rad! And the best part is his hood is lucky!"

"Superstition," Fuu sighed.

"There's something important I'm supposed to say," Gus muttered. "It's my term for being alive again. Can you guys wait until I figure it out? This is really important."

"I can't stand actors who don't memorize their lines," Mysterio sighed.

"For now, let's talk business," Tony stated. "It's the law of gangs that the large eat the small. Kind of like fish in the sea. And a barracuda just started swimming in these waters."

"Who, you?" Seifer asked.

"This is only a small representation of what I have at my back," Tony told him.

"And it should be representation enough!" Mysterio raised his arms again.

Only for Megavolt to yank them back down; "WILL YOU QUIT IT WITH THE SUMMONING IMAGINARY DEMONS?"

"But it's fun," Mysterio protested.

"Why don't you go back to Artez & Craftz?" Tony suggested. "Ask Dark Turtlez who he works for now. We mean business. And business makes profit."

"So you're telling us to step off your turf," Seifer grumbled.

"Maybe," Tony responded. "Maybe not. See, we have a long reach, but even we can't be everywhere at once. It'd be nice to have some enforcers on our payroll. Locals who could give the shakedown to anyone who owes us. They get to have the fun as well as enjoy some of our funding. In return, we get a crew who takes care of the dirty work we don't have time for."

"You want us to murder for you?" Seifer guessed.

"I can do that part if you don't want to!" Gus volunteered.

"Let's not resort to murder unless we've exhausted our other options," Tony said slyly. "After all…a person with enough incentive not to cross us again is another card in our deck."

"So you mean beat 'em until they can't stand no more!" Rai realized. "Then they stop botherin' ya!"

"Suitable," Fuu assessed.

"This means I get to be a capo!" Gus cried.

"No," Seifer corrected, "it means I get to be a capo." He paused, thinking it over.

"That means the boss of a branch," Gus whispered.

Seifer nodded. "I knew that," he lied. Then, to Tony: "What figures are you proposing come our way?"

Tony gave him the offer. Seifer was gobsmacked.

"You'd have to be an IDIOT to turn that down!" Gus urged.

"Fine," Seifer relented. "We'll be your enforcers. Now, are you going to tell us what we're enforcing?"

"Does it matter?" Tony asked. "You're lower-level. All you need to worry about is the targets we give you. All your work will connect back to our retail establishment. If I were you, I wouldn't ask how high the chain of command goes."

"Deal," Seifer said, because it really didn't matter, so long as he got to rough people up for cash.

"Oh, I remember now!" Gus cried suddenly. "I'm supposed to tell you…the Queen of Gotham is returning."

Tony, Mysterio, Megavolt, and Rachel exchanged looks.

"Well, that was some ominous foreshadowing," Mysterio remarked.

"Anybody know what the heck that's supposed to mean?" Megavolt asked.

"I sure don't," Tony admitted. "Cupcake? This a Twilight thing?"

"Um…no," Rachel stated. "I have no fucking clue what he's talking about."

"Gotham was my old city," Gus explained. "The one where I got shot dead. Not quite sure what 'Queen' he meant, though. But I said the thing, so I get to keep working here without any problem!"

"We'll figure it out later," Tony muttered. "For now, it's not our problem."

"Hopefully we don't figure it out when the grand reveal hits us hard and changes the entire game," Mysterio mused.

"I hate complicated plots," Megavolt groaned.

"Well, don't try reading Bulletproof Hearts," Rachel muttered.

"You read those NERD BOOKS?" Rai broke into laughter.

"Okay, DONE HERE," Rachel declared, turning on a heel. "Le Grand Bistrot should be closed by now. I'm not gonna wait around here to get mocked by what is technically my capo."

"The lady says we move out," Tony told Mysterio and Megavolt. "That means we move."

"She certainly has you wrapped around her little finger, doesn't she?" Mysterio teased.

"Our goals line up," Tony replied. "That's it."

"You're sure you're not in denial over liking her?" Mysterio asked.

"Are you seriously asking," Megavolt replied, "or is this some weird way to segue into you talking about some weird personal issue you're having?"

...

" – AND THE FACT REMAINS THAT NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES I SHOW OFF WHAT I'M MADE OF," Mysterio was ranting as they moved back to Tram Common, "STILL HE CHOOSES TO IGNORE ME! I'm going to have to resort to desperate tactics soon!" He gasped; "Wait. It's just hit me! He's an Enforcer, in more than one sense of the word. Well, the same sense, but it's both a title and an adjective. This sort of work will certainly impress him! All right, gather around!" He fished a phone out of his suit. "I want a group shot to prove we were definitely out working the town!"

"We don't need to – " Tony began.

Megavolt and Rachel were already lined up to either side of Mysterio, grinning widely.

"Fine." Tony moved himself slightly into frame, and Mysterio snapped the shot.

"Now to send it with an envy-inducing caption." He selected Montana from his contacts, passing along the photo; "A successful night gathering subsidiaries for the Yz-mart label. We now have a secondary profit center and a capo with his own crew in our name! Sincerely, the great and enigmatic Mysterio. I bet you wish you were here!" A tap. "Aaaand send."

"Have you tried just actually talking to him?" Rachel suggested. "Telling him what you honestly feel?"

"What good is that going to do?" Mysterio scoffed. "It's got no flair, no dramatic resolution. Moreover, what an anticlimactic end to the chase. He's got to confess to me with dancing lights and a serenade, or the game is lost!"

"I wish I couldn't relate to that," Rachel muttered.

"You know, I might have a romance issue too," Megavolt brought up.

"It can wait," Tony told him, watching the last patrons leave Le Grand Bistrot. "For now…we have a law to lay down."

"Wait, what?" Rachel flinched. "That's not why we're here."

Tony looked to her in confusion. "You said the new chef was infamous for bribing farmers to deliver her fresh produce. Aren't we here to threaten her into following the rules?"

"NO!" Rachel and Megavolt yelled as one. "WE LOVE THIS RESTAURANT!"

"And if you do anything to get it closed," Megavolt seethed, "you'll be fried like an egg on a griddle!"

"I…don't understand what you're asking," Tony admitted. "We're not here for the food."

"Though we could and should pick up a doggy bag while we're here," Mysterio suggested.

"The point is the chef HASN'T made the connection with those bribes yet," Rachel spelled out. "We're going to be the conduit to take her money and bully the FARMERS into getting this restaurant the good stuff! Which would put a little bit of WHAM ARMY into the McDuck umbrella!"

"And make the veggie dishes taste better," Megavolt added.

"And believe me," Rachel insisted, "bribing is the ONLY way you can get a Dumbapple that's actually ripe. Those things are fucking fickle. The farm I grew up on, we used to catch shit all the time for selling merch that arrived either too early or too late."

"You know, I like the way you think," Tony realized. "So we do have a network of our own after all. The protected without needing to pay protection."

"We really, REALLY like this restaurant!" Rachel growled.

"Then I'll have to treat you to a business dinner here once we've got the paperwork signed," Tony told her with a wink.

Rachel lost all capability of responding with coherent words.

Inside the restaurant, two of the staff set to cleaning up the seating area. One was a mature woman with a short bob of red-brown hair, bearing a pointed face and a thick French accent. She was clothed in the white of a chef. The other was a teenage girl, slender and button-nosed, with equally short red-orange hair that was coiffed and slightly curled for volume. She'd specially modified new clothing for this venture: a minidress in hues of tan and earthy brown to match the colors of the town outside, a pair of roller skates shaped like exact miniatures of the trams, and a tall headpiece the shape of the clock tower, complete with four little bells that jingled softly.

They both scrubbed down tables, each having started from one end to work together toward the center. "You know," the girl, Tallulah, brought up, "nothing against cleaning the old-fashioned way, but Uncle Cornelius has a machine that blasts soapy water for instant cleaning. Kinda like Lazlo's paint system, except more of a help than a hindrance. It'd speed things up. You should look into it!"

"I do not trust such innovations," the woman, Colette, grunted. "How can a machine possibly match the care that is put in by hand? It is the same way when it comes to food. I cannot stand anything manufactured on an assembly line. Only the skilled hand of a cook can bring out what it is supposed to taste like."

"Just thought I'd offer," Tallulah stated.

"Besides." Colette smirked. "The more time you spend on the clock washing tables, the more you get paid."

"That is true!" Tallulah chuckled. "And there are some pieces down in Midnight Alley I've been looking at for alterations."

"You want something from there?" Colette asked. "Then wash with care and mindfulness."

Then the door opened, which surprised both of them. "I thought you locked that," Tallulah said softly.

Colette muttered "I did" before vanishing briefly into the kitchen. When she returned, she had one hand behind her back. "We are closed," she told Tony Dracon as she approached him.

"I know," Tony told her. "I wanted to talk to you about something that can really only work after hours."

"Also, MUST you lock your door immediately after closing down?" Mysterio sighed. "You completely ruined my dramatic entrance!"

Megavolt broke into giggles; "He ran into the door like a bird into a glass window! He looked like such a MORON!" This was followed by him accidentally stepping on the edge of one of the tablecloths that was still up, pulling a whole load of dishes down onto him as he screeched.

"I suppose it takes one to know one," Mysterio jeered.

"Yeah, you burned yourself in that sentence," Rachel pointed out. She then hurried to Megavolt; "You okay?"

"No," Megavolt grumbled, "but I've survived way, way worse."

As she helped the rat back to his feet, Tony went on. "Word on the street is you're having a hard time getting fresh produce into the restaurant, especially when it comes to…what's their official name, again?"

"Banora Whites," Rachel supplied.

"Banora White apples," Tony stated. "Word continues that you're willing to resort to underhanded tactics to fill out your inventory."

"I KNEW it!" Colette barked. She withdrew her hand, which clutched an overlarge cutting knife. "Tallulah, stay back! This man means us harm!"

"Whoa, whoa!" Tony put up both his hands, palms out, in a gesture of peace. "I think you got us all backward. See, other enterprising criminal scum might use this for blackmail, or take a fee to keep you in line. But I'm nothing if not generous. …Some days. I just wanted to know…how would you feel about a one hundred percent guarantee that your produce would come in fresh, first thing in the morning? For a fee, of course."

"Wait, how?" Tallulah asked. "Are you guys gonna hurt people to get us our vegetables?"

"You don't need to know the how," Tony told her. "All you need to know is you'll be getting what you want for a reasonable price."

Colette stabbed the knife down into the tabletop. "Tallulah," she commanded, "seat these four and take their order. Give them anything they want off the menu, on the house. I want to talk business."

"Are you SERIOUSLY gonna get involved with the mob to get fresh apples?" Tallulah cried.

"Do you or do you not wish to work for the highest-quality restaurant in Twilight Town?" Colette growled. "Better ratings mean more pay, and more pay for you means those clothes you'd been drooling over."

Tallulah thought this over. "But Mr. McDuck – "

"Never has to know," Colette said slyly.

"I'm only doing this because I trust you, you know," Tallulah said as she skated over to one of the tables she'd cleaned to throw a new cloth onto it.

"Tallulah," Rachel realized. "Hey! You're one of the off-worlders who's new here, right?"

"Sure am!" Tallulah responded with a smile – before remembering she was talking to the criminal underworld. "Why do you want to know?"

"I'm just making conversation," Rachel said. "Sometimes, the cool part about moving locations is the new people you meet. Made any new friends yet? Or…got your eyes on any cuties?"

She knew better than to mention Hayner's name. No sense in making Tallulah think he was wrapped up in criminal activity when he just happened to unwittingly be the friend of someone who was. She needed to see him as the good heart he was if that was going anywhere. But Rachel could still drop a few matchmaker-flavored hints.

"Well…" Tallulah brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "No real new friends yet, but I only did just move in. And there are some cute boys in this town. I don't wanna count any chickens that haven't hatched, though…and I'm pretty sure none of them would look at me like that anyway…" She shrugged. "We'll see."

Rachel wasn't entirely sure why Tallulah would say something like that. After all, while Rachel was no connoisseur of the looks of women, especially teenagers, she could see that objectively, Tallulah was very pretty. Though she had rather a guess about what the hangup might be, but it wasn't a polite thing to bring up out loud, whether it was correct or not, so she stayed silent.

The food was fantastic. Colette agreed to pay bribe money in exchange for Tony "persuading" farmers on the outskirts to deliver properly ripe produce, so long as she remained unaware of anything underhanded he might do to achieve that. Rachel stealthily found out Tallulah liked athletic boys, which was a good start. Mysterio begrudgingly put aside the fishbowl to be able to eat properly. Megavolt, of course, spilled water on himself at one point and shorted out in a pyrotechnic display, but was still fine, more or less.

"I'll work the farms once the sun comes up," Tony declared. "That's too far out of our way for right now."

"Do you ever sleep?" Rachel asked him.

"It's all about scheduling," he replied with a wink.

"Yes, yes, we got our revenue from the restaurant bribery," Mysterio groaned. "Can we get back to my Montana problem?"

"I already gave you an answer," Rachel told him.

"It wasn't the RIGHT answer!" Mysterio argued.

"I have problems, too," Megavolt chimed in.

"If Quentin isn't going to take the sensible route," Rachel decided, "Megs should get a turn talking about his love life. So what's up? Is it anyone I know?"

When he realized it was, and that he wasn't necessarily ready for his co-worker to go as hard matchmaking him and the one he was looking at as she did on Tallulah and whoever she was obviously trying to set her up with, so he opted out with "Uhhhhh, you know what? I just remembered there isn't anybody. So how about that French food, huh? That hit the spot!"

"All right," Rachel sighed. "Look, I know you guys were skeptical about Artez & Craftz, but the one I find hardest to believe is fucking Dark Struggle."

...

A small band of observers dressed in dark clothing were gathered around the Sandlot. Said lot was occupied by four people: two in one corner, two in another. The audience murmured as the fourth, a woman with a gravity-defying blonde mohawk and clothed in a high-collared gown that might put one in mind of a redder Yzma ensemble, walked out into the center. She threw both hands up into the air, and the audience cheered.

"WELCOME ALL!" the woman yelled triumphantly. "TO THE NEW CONTEST THAT WILL FOREVER SETTLE CONFLICT IN THIS FUCKING TOWN! A DUEL TO THE DEATH, USING WHATEVER IMPLEMENTS THE COMBATANTS CHOOSE! I GIVE YOU! DARK! STRUGGLLLLLLLLE!"

The cheering grew louder.

"IN THIS CORNER!" She gestured to the lone competitor: a winged man whose face was obscured by a wide-brimmed hat and high-collared robes of blue – though his bright yellow eyes were quite visible. "THE ABOMINABLE! THE MAGICIAN OF MAYHEM! BLACK! WALTZ! THREEEEEEEEE!"

Black Waltz #3 slammed the end of his magic staff into the ground. "This ends here and now," he seethed.

"AND OPPOSING HIM ON THIS DARK MIDNIGHT!" the woman cried, indicating the duo. "YOU KNOW THEM! YOU HATE THEM! YOU WANNA SEE THEM EITHER GET WRECKED OR SPILL SOME BLOOD! THE MASTERMIND MOLTOC AND HIS MUSCLEHEAD, LUUUUUUUNK!"

It wasn't hard to see who was the brains of that team (the skinny and pale Moltoc, wearing his own wide-brimmed hat and trenchcoat) and who was the brawn (immense Lunk, with bulging muscles in a navy-blue tone). Each held a baseball bat with several nails driven through it.

"You blew up my entire shipment!" Moltoc accused. "Do you know how much I paid for those illegally-gained Sunstones?"

"That ship was in my way," Black Waltz #3 hissed. "My pursuit was far more valuable than your petty Sunstones."

"Magic man dies to make up for lost profits," Lunk grunted.

The woman raised her arms to the sky once more; "OUR DEATH MATCH BEGINS IN THREE!"

Lunk snarled as Moltoc scowled.

"TWO!"

Black Waltz #3's staff began to charge up.

And before the woman could signify the beginning of the duel, someone yelled, "COPS COMING! SCATTER!"

"NO!" the woman screamed as she saw the flashing lights approach. Already, her audience was flitting away – and so were the competitors.

"THIS IS NOT OVER, NUMBER THREE!" Moltoc yelled as he and Lunk fled in one direction.

"YOUR DEATH WILL COME WHEN YOU LEAST EXPECT IT!" Black Waltz #3 retorted, flying the other way.

But as it turned out, it wasn't cops. It was only Mysterio's flashing LEDs. "YES, THAT'S RIGHT!" he bellowed. "COWER BEFORE THE MIGHT OF THE GREAT MYSTEEEEEERIO! FOR HE IS THE HARBINGER OF YOUR DOOM!"

"Well, that's a lot of potential networking down the drain," Tony groaned.

"Yeah, good going, fishbowl-head!" Megavolt whacked Mysterio on the back of the helmet. "We coulda rubbed elbows with more criminals here!"

"I…can't fucking believe it," Rachel breathed. "It's fucking Dark Struggle. It's real."

The woman gave a dramatic shrug; "Happy now? The victor pays the other half upon the slaughter. And both those guys were loaded."

"Seems to me you've got bigger problems than that," Tony informed her. "After all, what if it was the heat? What then? Or a civilian? How do you even know I'm not plainclothes, or someone who's gonna rat you out?"

"What are you even implying?" the woman groaned, rolling her eyes dramatically.

"This operation's fairly new, from what I hear," Tony stated. "You haven't been running it that long."

"No fucking duh," the woman replied. "I'm fresh blood from offworld. Going back to the Narrows would've been a second death sentence, so I decided to see if I could make a killing here. Pun intended."

"Second death sentence?" Megavolt repeated.

"Yeah." She smirked. "Got all the way to the flaming gates when some yutz with rose-colored glasses dragged me back out of Hell. Not that I'm complaining."

"But the point is," Tony reiterated, "you are hosting a duel to the death on a children's playground. A place of wholesome family entertainment, where a wholesome family could walk in on you and spoil your fun at any old time."

"Your point?" She raised a brow.

"I'd say 'move to the tunnels,'" Tony went on, "but that's no guarantee, either. Patrols could show up if the noise was loud enough. But what if I told you for a small weekly fee, I could reserve a chamber of the tunnels for you and post guards, as well as an electric fence to cordon it off from any unwanted intruders?"

"Who're you gonna get to set up a whole electric fence?" Megavolt asked.

"Why, quite obviously Liquidator," Mysterio said sardonically.

"Wait," Megavolt realized. "I think I might be able to rig something like that!"

"Ugh…" Mysterio's shoulders slumped. "Amateurs."

"You talk a big game." The woman shifted her weight to one hip. "I like that. All right. I'll sign up. Your first job is rebooking Moltoc versus Waltz. I want that payout."

"And the winner gets my business card," Tony told her. "It all works out." He extended his right hand. "Now, I don't believe we've exchanged names. The name's Dracon. Tony Dracon."

She took his hand to shake it; "Cherry."

"Cherry?" Mysterio let out a cough of a laugh. "CHERRY? What sort of a half-baked supervillain moniker is THAT? If you're going to be hosting grudge matches to the death, you should have a name that strikes fear into the hearts of your viewing audience! Not makes them thirsty for a cocktail."

"All right, Judgy McJudgerson," Cherry snorted. "What would YOU call me? I'm not gonna use it; I just wanna hear the pretentious shit you'd come up with."

"Well, this isn't something you can make a snap decision about," Mysterio informed her. "Tell me a little more about your aesthetic, or some of your philosophy."

"My philosophy?" Cherry let out a barking laugh. "Okay, you wanna know what I really think? You know how everyone says duels are tests of strength and skill? That's fucking bullshit. A fight is a gamble. This takes off, I'm gonna start opening a betting pool for the audience, 'cause it's a fifty-fifty shot. You have any idea how rich I'm gonna get off everyone thinking the big guy'll win until the underdog pulls through? Only exception I ever saw was Grundy, and even he had his limits. It's all about who's got the bullet in their chamber and gets that lucky shot."

"So you think grudge matches are a gamble?" Mysterio repeated. "Almost comparable to a certain game of spinning numbers? Moreover, to the idea of putting a bullet in the chamber of a revolver and spinning it to see what fires? In other words, two versions of…ROULETTE?" He gestured toward her. "Of course, if you DON'T want to advertise under such a catchy brand name, feel free to stick with 'Cherry.'"

"Roulette," Cherry repeated. "Okay, that ain't half bad. I'll give it a test run and see how it goes."

"So you're in?" Tony asked.

"Hell yeah." Cherry – Roulette – grinned toothily. "Let's talk terms."

After the meeting was held, Tony, Mysterio, Megavolt, and Rachel turned to make tracks – but Roulette called out after them, "HEY! I almost forgot the other end of my deal!"

"You already gave us the initial fee," Tony called back.

"No," Roulette clarified. "I mean my deal with Rose-Colored Glasses. He said I was free to do my own thing on one condition. I just had to tell people something. So I'm gonna tell you: the Queen of Gotham is returning."

All four froze.

"The foreshadowing continues," Mysterio said dramatically.

"Okay, this is DEFINITELY gonna come back to bite us later," Megavolt theorized.

"What does that MEAN?" Rachel yelled.

"How should I fuckin' know?" Roulette called back. "I thought I was Queen of the Narrows until a bitch shot me!"

"Someone's trying to sow fear," Tony said with a smirk. "There's an obvious way to fight that: we don't get scared."

"Easy for you to say," Rachel said with a shiver. "This is gonna keep me up at night wondering if an assassin got into my house."

"Don't worry, Cupcake," Tony told her. "Stick with me and you're safe. I can post someone at your house tonight, if it'd make you feel better."

"Or you can sleep at the store!" Megavolt volunteered. "The couches look pretty plush."

"I have to be an adult and face my own fears," Rachel decided. "Besides, the dawn'll be breaking soon, and I'll have to call in with a fake stomachache, then go crash at home to make up for the lost sleep. And when it's actually day-twilight out, things are less scary."

"Well, I owe you my gratitude for your expertise," Tony told her. "And I'm looking forward to doing business with you again."

She couldn't hide her blush. "This was the least nervous I've ever been doing adult business meetings. I don't wanna know what that says about me. So you'll be coming back?"

"Of course," Tony assured her. "This is my turf now. Any loose ends you'd like to take care of before we call it a night?"

"Hmm." Rachel thought it over. "I mean, we have some time to kill before the Gazette phone line opens up. If you just wanna…hang…" She then realized she was talking to seasoned supervillains. "Or if you don't, and that's dumb, that's fine too – "

"Actually, there's something I'd like to see back at the shop, if you don't mind," Tony told her. "But it'll require some cooperation from Mysterio."

"Yes?" Mysterio replied. "You summoned me?"

"I want you to cue up that song you two were doing earlier," Tony told him, "and let her be the dying bad guy this time."

As Rachel's eyes lit up, Mysterio protested; "BUT I'M ALREADY WEARING A HELMET THAT LOOKS CAPABLE OF ASPHYXIATION, AND SHE HAS A MORAL BACKBONE!"

"Switch," Tony said in his most threatening tone possible.

Which led to them back on the Liquid Assets sales floor, with Quentin Beck taking the "Now. Do it now. While she's gassing herself to a palpable stupor." in the most flat, venomous tone he could muster.

All the while, Rachel gave raucous cackles that sounded downright deranged, and Tony was almost caught off guard. When you asked her to play the part, as it turned out, she could be very WHAM ARMY.

...

It was the first time Peter and Garfield had approached The Liminal Space. Though neither would say it out loud, they both appreciated the aesthetic – it was cute, architecturally speaking.

Garfield kicked open the door first, calling out, "Yo, Har-LEY – "

And was greeted by the sound of a horribly screeching electric guitar playing cacophonous notes of disarray, punctuated by an aggressive tambourine. It didn't take the pair long to find the source: the tall, raven-haired man playing the guitar like his life depended on it, and the auburn-headed person who was banging on a tambourine right next to his ear.

"GUYS!" Harley rushed to clutch at her friends' shirtfronts. "It ain't goin' well at all. I can't do this! They're impossible! I thought I could get 'em to connect over music, since they're both performin'-arts people, but then Oncey just decided to try an' annoy Ainsley as much as he could, so Ainsley's tryin'a get him back for it, an' it's – it's – "

"A living pandemonium," Terminus supplied from behind the counter, pressing an ice pack to his forehead.

"Would you happen to be Doc Terminus?" Peter asked. "It seems we owe you a thank-you for rescuing our wayward blonde."

"If you're who I think you are…" Terminus scowled. "I won't take any thank-yous from YOU."

"It's cool, Doc," Harley sighed. "They made up for it an' more."

"Our purpose today, in fact, is twofold," Peter revealed. "First and foremost, we have a gift for you!"

He held out the shards of Spinel's core in his long-fingered hand.

"OOH!" Harley shrieked. "PRETTY! An' it's all broken, too – you guys KNEW I'd wanna do an art project with it! This is exactly my aesthetic!" She collected the shards in her hands. "Where'd ya get it?"

"The guy we fought on the last mission dropped it," Garfield revealed. "Made us think of you. And on that note, we were hoping that if you were free, we could ditch the WHAM ARMY for a run and have a good old-fashioned heist."

"I'd love to," Harley sighed. "I'd really love to. But…" She sighed in the direction of her clients and their musical war. "Y'know, maybe I should just give up. They ain't gettin' anywhere good. I've already tried every trick I learned studyin' psychology, an' it ain't done no good."

"Important distinctive question," Peter said suddenly, holding up an index finger. "The tricks you learned BEFORE or AFTER your fall to Darkness?"

"…What're you sayin'?" Harley asked.

"I think he's asking if you're coming at this like a therapist," Garfield clarified, "or like a therapist who also happens to be a VILLAIN."

"…Huh," Harley realized. "Y'know…I think I almost completely reverted back in time to before I could really cut loose. An' there's probably a ton of reasons I could dig into about why I did that. But you guys're right! I'm in a house a' wolves and I've been actin' like I'm workin' with sheep!" She clutched Spinel's shards tighter. "I think I know what I gotta do!"

She stormed over to Once-ler and Ainsley, and in an ear-piercing shriek that cut through the jam session of spite, commanded them: "YOU TWO! SHUT UP AN' SIT DOWN!"

The music ceased. Both looked to her with an expression of shock. And, she realized, legitimate fear. She knew there had been times, however brief, she'd been able to push back past the Joker (the first one) and frighten him ever so slightly. And these two were nowhere near the level of the Joker.

Harley then pointed to the chairs where they'd had their sessions; "I said SIT!"

A scurrying, and both were suddenly planted in their unofficially assigned seats. Harley sat down in hers almost violently. "Y'know, I've had just about enough a' you two!" she screeched. "I been tryin' an' tryin', and neither of ya wants ta change! You're both just sooooooo hung up on who's right! Well, I got an answer for ya: YA BOTH SUCK!"

Once-ler gasped dramatically. Ainsley cast their gaze to the floor.

"YOU HEARD ME!" Harley insisted. "We're s'posed ta be a team, but look what you're doin'! Oncey, you ain't taken a single thing Ainsley said seriously! And that's just RUDE!"

"Counterpoint," Once-ler said, "I took it seriously when they said…uhhhhh…" He hung his head. "No. No, I didn't. Not once."

"An' Ainsley!" Harley scolded. "Look, I get it, there's bigotry everywhere ya look, but ya can't police somebody to the point of purity! 'Specially not in THIS biz! Ya gotta let him have a life!"

"That's…not completely untrue," Ainsley muttered.

"All this fightin' is just tirin' me out," Harley snapped, "and now ya just wasted a ton of my time! Ya want the doctor's professional opinion? GET OVER IT, BOTH OF YA!"

They were both looking down at the planks of the floor now.

"Am…I…CLEAR?" Harley stood up, thrusting a threatening fist into Once-ler's face.

It was, however, the fist that contained the remains of Spinel. Once-ler, still holding his guitar, could feel a strange energy emitting from the stones in Harley's hand. A melancholy. A hopelessness. Without thinking, he began to strum chords.

"Whatever." Harley rolled her eyes as she turned to Ainsley. "You hear me? HUH?"

She shook the same fist in their face, and they stared, gobsmacked. They could feel it, too. The same song Once-ler was playing. "I don't know what it is," they admitted, "but I'm feeling this kind of energy that…I think matches what he's playing. Like…a song." They swallowed hard. "So…there might be something I need to get out?"

"Oh, NOW you wanna do musical therapy!" Harley fell back down into her chair. "Well, this better impress me, or I'm walkin'!"

"This…was supposed to be my next step," Ainsley began. "My future. And…well…"

They started out singing softly to the notes Once-ler was still plucking; "Here we are in the future. Here we are in the future, and it's wrong. Just a moment ago, we were just singing songs. Now the kids are gone, because of the Count. Happily ever after, count it out."

"Wha – " Harley interrupted. "What's that s'posed ta mean?"

"The troupe and I started out together because we wanted to be performers, and also didn't subscribe to the philosophy of absolute morality," Ainsley explained. "We didn't know just how far Count Olaf was going to take it. And he totally ruined the lives of three children who are undoubtedly still experiencing a series of unfortunate events. They might even be dead? I'm not sure on that part. It was just a big slippery slope, not unlike the Mortmain Mountains where I left Olaf behind. Disguises and schemes were fun until they started getting so…deadly and traumatic to minors."

"But what's that got ta do with – "

"This was supposed to be my chance to make things better, I guess," Ainsley sighed. "I really do believe in all the social justice principles I've been touting, but also…I feel like it's the only thing I can do to make up for ruining the lives of the Baudelaire orphans, if only indirectly. I don't have the power to fix all the bad in the world, so I'm trying to clean up the little things where I can. And that turned into trying to police Once-ler's life because I can't do that to Olaf and I honestly never could've gotten away with trying to do that with Olaf." They shuddered. "I guess I'm still kinda shaken up from him."

Now Harley could feel it. The energy radiating from the stones in her hand. "Oh," she realized – not just because of the breakthrough, but because she understood the song. She then looked Ainsley dead in the eye, singing the words she didn't realize were being supplied to her by the ghost of a Gem:

"When has it ever been easy? Hasn't it always been hard to be us? When you go against the grain…there's always somebody around you can't trust." She extended her arms. "That's why we gotta have each other while we figure this out; we must!"

Moved by the song in her heart, Harley stood; "BECAUSE WE! ARE PARTNERS IN CRIME! AND WE NEVER GIVE UP, WE NEVER GIVE UP ON OUR FRIENDS! The Count is gone and you can stand out and shine like a star! You'll find a way to save the day; that's who you are!"

"Here we are in the future," Once-ler continued, instinct alone driving his song. "Here we are in the future and it's wrong. No more forest creatures to sing along. If I had some self-control, we'd be…totally fine. Totally rad! Totally ME!"

"What's this now?" Harley interrupted, putting off the next verse to get clarification.

"You know what I did!" Once-ler cried. "I WRECKED an ecosystem! I broke a promise to my best friend, and now he's never gonna talk to me again! And for what? A few bucks? The respect of a family that never really loved me in the first place and would be gone as soon as the money ran out? How could I be so STUPID? I'm a stupid, stupid DUMMY, okay? I'm just trying to put it all behind me as quickly as possible. I'm running, Harley! I'm trying to run away from the biggest mistake I ever made, and I don't wanna even think about the other mistakes I'm making, and THAT'S WHY I CAN'T STAND BEING TOLD WHAT'S PROBLEMATIC ABOUT ME! BECAUSE I ALREADY KNOW, OKAY? AND I DON'T WANNA THINK ABOUT IT ANYMORE!"

He fired Ainsley a guilty look; "I wasn't trying to make you my token nonbinary friend. But you were right; that's something I WOULD do. Because I used my last best friend as a marketing vehicle for everything he didn't stand for." He choked on tears; "You've been right this whole time! I'm just TERRIBLE!"

"Hey, hey, HEY!" Harley broke in. Obviously, it was time for her next verse. "Even if it takes a thousand years for trees to grow back, they will! You may not know how hope works, but I do! Believe me, Oncey, I've held guilt longer! I'm sure I've been through worse and came back stronger!" Her voice mounted; "That's why I believe in me!" She pointed directly to him; "AND I BELIEVE IN YOU! BECAUSE WE! ARE PARTNERS IN CRIME! AND WE NEVER GIVE UP, NO, WE NEVER GIVE UP ON OUR FRIENDS! You got a whole new brand-new chance to shine like a star. You'll find a way to save the day; that's who you are!"

"So, like, all this time," Ainsley realized, "you thought I had good points, but you were afraid to be self-critical?"

Once-ler burst into full tears then. "YE-E-EEESSSS! You were right about EVERYTHING! I just didn't wanna shoulder any blame anymoooooore! And I'm sorry I kept offending you; it was on purpose so I didn't have to think about how I'm a TREE-KILLER! Tree-killer, tree-killer, tree-killer!"

"I mean…I'm an orphan-kidnapper," Ainsley reminded him. "That's not much better. I'm also not sure why you think I was right about everything when I know for a fact I was making some of it up to try and ease my own guilty conscience. …Actually, while I do find a lot of your music flawed in how it subscribes to gender roles and certain other problematic elements, it's also…really catchy? And sometimes that matters a little bit more?"

"Don't you two get it?" Harley gasped. "You're both runnin' from practically the same thing, in two different ways! Ainsley's try'n'a make up for it by cleanin' up every little wrong, and Oncey's try'n'a pretend nothin' ever was wrong an' he didn't have no lessons to learn!"

"I'm sorry I took out my obvious resentment toward Count Olaf on you," Ainsley told Once-ler.

"I'm sorry I didn't respect your boundaries!" Once-ler wailed.

"So you know what you gotta do," Harley told them. "Right?"

"Work on fixing our own internal consciences by making a change for the better that actually impacts others positively?" Ainsley guessed.

"Plant more trees?" Once-ler added.

"Wha – NO!" Harley stamped her foot. "You guys're really still that oblivious, huh? This is happenin' 'cause ya let yourselves feel guilty about doin' bad things! An' if ya keep listenin' to those inner voices, you're not gonna wanna do anythin' even a little bit bad anymore, an' you'll keep pickin' at yourselves an' each other for so much as leavin' the light on in a room y'a'in't usin'!" She turned to Ainsley. "In your heart a' hearts, Ainsley, don't'cha wanna be a performer who gets all the applause an' roses thrown at 'em, no matter the cost – so long as no orphans got hurt?"

"Well…yeah," Ainsley admitted. "Pretty much. Even the petty crime didn't really feel as bad as it could've. I think that's because it was my way of sticking it to a corrupt system."

"An' Oncey!" Harley turned to him. "You're an entrepreneur at heart! Are you really gonna tell me ya DON'T want more money for all yer hard work? Just this time, ya won't hafta break parta the world ta get it!"

"I mean…I really should say no, but in all honesty, yeah," Once-ler admitted. "And that 'corrupt system' enabled the problem, so now I'm kinda just mad and maybe wanna lash out in some flamboyant way."

"There ya go!" Harley spread her arms out wide. "It ain't about cleanin' up your acts! It's about realizin' you're the bad guys…an' that ain't bad!" She flinched. "Oops! Sorry. The bad PEOPLE."

"No, I understood your gender-neutral usage of the term," Ainsley said, "and I recognize you had good intentions."

"GREAT START!" Harley told them.

"Huh." Once-ler thought this over. "How bad CAN I possibly be? I mean, this obviously proved I have limits, but…I mean, it's not like I'm completely over WANTING things." He looked to Ainsley. "This time, though, let me know when I'm overstepping, because now I feel REALLY bad about all that. I know, uh, I'm kinda part of the system, and the system is your enemy – "

"No, you were right when you said the capitalist regime forced you into a position of compromising yourself for the bare minimum financial gain required to survive in this society," Ainsley stated, "and also that the accumulation of all that profit would've blinded you to the plight of those below you. It's a well-known adage that power corrupts. If you wanted to do some underhanded illegal acts to get revenge for the way society forced you to prioritize greed, I'd totally be down."

"Yeah." Once-ler beamed. "Yeah! Let's do some crime!"

"WHEN YOUR SHIFT IS OVER!" Terminus barked, finally lowering the ice pack.

"Yeah!" Once-ler nodded. "First, we gotta help ruin THIS economy!"

"Which is way more acceptable than torturing orphans with the intent to kill them," Ainsley agreed, "or sell them into child marriages."

Once-ler and Ainsley stood up beside Harley, and all three sang together; "WE'LL FIND A WAY TO SAVE THE DAY! THAT'S WHO WE ARE!"

A triple high-five was smacked, and Once-ler and Ainsley set to work stocking the shelves together, with Once-ler asking, "So what was that you said about child marriages? It sounds like you've been through a WRINGER. And don't worry; I won't judge. I just realized I know, like, nothing about you except I thought you were annoying."

"I'll tell you," Ainsley said, "but if I'm getting too long-winded, you should politely let me know, because I also wanna get to learn things about you besides the persona you put on when you're trying to avoid your guilt complex."

"GUYS!" Harley rushed back to Peter and Garfield, bouncing up and down. "I dunno what's so special about this rock – " She opened her hand, revealing the shards. "But it just saved our therapy session! I was just gonna get scary an' leave 'em with an ultimatum, but then we all started singin' this song, an' I SWEAR it was the rock!"

"You're welcome!" Peter beamed.

"Nice job turning them to the dark side," Garfield commented. "Looks like you just got yourself a couple of new pals."

"Yeah," Harley said wistfully. "Makes me think, y'know? Gotta admit, I…I been jealous of the WHAM ARMY. I know it ain't the place for me…but you guys all get to hang out together an' have this huge evil family who has shenanigans, an' I want somethin' like that for me. Too bad I ain't got a way to find other folks who draw the line where I do. Those two, I guess, but me, havin' my own WHAM ARMY? Too good to be true."

But then she flinched. "Or…is it? Hey, wait a minute! I just made those two take control of their own lives! Why can't I take control a' mine? It ain't too good ta be true! I gotta remember what I just said! Eh…sang!" She balled up her fists. "I can get out there an' make my own dreams come true! Get together my own group! Just like Oncey an' Ainsley! I just gotta put in some hard work, that's all!"

"Why, that's the spirit!" Peter's smile practically glittered. "I think this is a stupendous idea! After all, it really isn't fair that we should get all the fun of a villainous community while you have the mere staff of a small department store."

"Actually," Garfield realized, "there…may not be as much work involved as you think."

"Whatcha mean?" Harley tilted her head.

"I mean," Garfield informed her, "Mozenrath kept a file of everyone we shut down because they had the panache but not the guts to pull a trigger. In other words…we've got a list of your people."