Chunks of Worm

by VigoGrimborne

A collection of Worm-related one-shots. Some will be AUs, some will be alt-power AUs, some will be both, and some neither. All will have a self-contained story, and I'll be hitting all sorts of different genres and themes. T-rated, though individual chapters may have additional warnings on them, as necessary. This IS Worm, after all.

19. The Games They Play

Alt-Power AU: The Games They Play

The recording began with a bouncing, unsteady view of sand, a boardwalk, pedestrians, and tightly-packed storefronts in various states of disrepair.

"Triumph, we're getting reports of a Cape disturbance up ahead, just now," a young man said, his voice crackling with minor electronic interference. "Single unknown, robbing a jewelry store."

"How do they know it's a cape?" Triumph asked. The bouncing of the camera sped up, and flashes of gold costume showed at the bottom of the camera's field of view as he ran.

"Wearing a mask, reportedly seen making trick shots with a baseball. She's hanging around in front of the store."

Pedestrians moved out of the way as Triumph ran down the boardwalk. In the distance, a figure was standing in front of one of the many recently-repaired storefronts, waiting.

"Cape sighted," Triumph reported. "Or a baseball player fallen on hard times, but probably not."

The woman wore a traditional baseball uniform, from the cleats up. Her socks were black and knee-high, her pants white, and her jersey dark gray, sporting the number one and 'Athlete' written where a name would go. Black hair fell from under a plain gray baseball cap, and a wire Umpire's mask covered her face, which was further obscured by a sheer black cloth behind the wire frame, not even showing her eyes. She held a baseball loosely with one hand and a baseball bat lay on the ground behind her next to a nondescript duffel bag.

"Boardwalk enforcers called her in, they don't want to mess with a cape," the young man on the other end of the connection added. "Good luck."

"Don't need luck." The woman had seen him, but she made no move to leave. He slowed to a stop, his camera's bouncing ceasing to provide a steadier view of the woman and the building behind her. "Miss! Stand down!"

"Triumph," the woman yelled back. "Hello!"

"Hello?" He waved to her. "You know stealing is illegal, even if the glass hasn't been replaced yet." Many of the stores along the boardwalk had been quick in getting new glass fronts or more expensive hardened plastic to replace the ones ruined, but this particular jewelers had yet to do so, leaving the front open to anyone willing to shimmy between the boards blocking the gaping hole.

"I know," the cape said. "I am Athlete. I challenge you to a game! Win, and I'll give back what I've taken. Lose, and you can try your hardest to make me give it back, but you will fail."

"How about you surrender now?" Triumph suggested. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You could just play my game," Athlete suggested. "It's baseball today. Pitching."

"Sorry, not going to do that." He stepped forward–

Athlete threw the baseball at him. He stepped to the side but it struck him anyway, glancing right off the underside of his elbow in a distractingly painful way. He recovered and broke into a run, but Athlete had already stooped to pick up the bag and the bat and was running away.

"Stop!" he yelled, his voice amplified a dozen times louder than any normal human could manage. Athlete staggered as the wave of sound struck her ears, but she kept running. She turned into an alleyway.

He ran after her, swept around the corner, and then the camera's viewpoint went from looking ahead at the alley to looking up at the sky as he hit the ground, his feet kicking out in front of him.

By the time he regained his feet and shook off the painfully sudden fall, Athlete was gone. He checked the other end of the alley and asked a few of the closest bystanders, but none had seen her leave it.

"Did you get her?" the young man asked.

"No, Aegis," Triumph groaned. "She's gone. Backup?"

"Velocity could search for her but he's busy," Aegis suggested. "Other than that… Sorry, man. Sounds like she got away."

"Looks like there's a new villain in town," Triumph grumbled. "Like it hasn't been bad enough around here lately."

"What did she call herself?" Aegis asked. "For the report."

"Athlete." Triumph returned to the alley and picked up the thing he had tripped on. Another baseball, one that had rolled underfoot at exactly the wrong moment.

---

"Hey, everybody! Stage Fright here. Ready for another night of helping me kick ass in Brockton Bay?"

The camera's viewpoint was impossible, floating above a woman standing in the middle of an empty roof. It was dark, but a spotlight lit the woman as she stared up at the camera. Red hair framed a smirking face adorned with a matching red domino mask. She wore a track suit, a form-fitting red one with black stripes, and her hands sported red gloves. She posed for the camera, her hands behind her back, then set off along the rooftop.

The camera kept pace with her, gliding along smoothly to keep its vantage point.

Stage Fright talked as she set into an easy jog, her voice coming clearly through an unseen microphone. "For those who are just now tuning in to the live broadcast, here's how this works. I, the beautiful and powerful superheroine that I am, become even more powerful depending on how many people are watching me at the moment. Through a screen counts, so you are making me better just by sitting there in your chair, wherever you are."

She broke into a sprint as the end of the roof came into sight, then leaped up, springing out over the gap between roofs with ease. The flat concrete top of the roof cracked when she landed, but she continued running like nothing had happened.

"So you just watch me, enjoy the show," she said, her voice low and sultry, "whatever part of the show you might like most. My heroics, seeing capes live on camera, me, all of the above, whatever. No racy comments about me, I'm not eighteen yet and my moderators are vicious little beasts, but other than that anything goes in the chat. Just don't take your eyes off me for too long–"

She leaped out into the open, intentionally falling short of the next rooftop, and slammed into the side of the wall, dragging her hands into the bricks to slow herself as she slid down to the ground. A miniature waterfall of debris rained down behind her as she stepped away from the wall and out into the city.

"You never know what you might miss," she concluded.

---

The video was shot vertically, and the person holding the phone did not have a steady hand, but the picture was clear. Athlete, in her baseball outfit, watching a cashier stuffing cash from a register into a duffel bag.

"Don't worry, your employers have cape insurance, just tell them I threatened you with my bat and they won't care that much," Athlete said to the cashier as he worked to empty his register. "Not your fault you came to work today."

"Are you threatening me?" the cashier, a weedy young man with stubble on his chin, asked nervously.

"With this baseball bat?" Athlete asked, propping it up on the counter. "For the purposes of today's robbery, yes. Don't do anything stupid. No hard feelings?"

"None," the cashier readily agreed, his eyes on the bat. "And the other stick?"

"That's for tee-ball in case the heroes want to try and get the money back without a fight," Athlete assured him. "Nothing to do with you."

"Oh… You know the register only has two hundred dollars in it, right?" the man asked.

"Yeah, the duffel bag is overkill, but I needed something to lug around my baseballs and the stand," Athlete freely admitted. "I'm more here for the game, you know? The money is just to get the heroes to show up."

"Sure, whatever floats your boat." He pulled the drawer out of the register and tipped it over the bag, dumping out a collection of loose coins. "There you go, two hundred dollars. Please don't hit me."

Athlete took the bag, propped up her bat on her shoulder, and left the convenience store. The camera followed, dodging from aisle to aisle in an attempt to not be seen.

"Hey, camera guy, next time call the cops, don't film the robbery," the cashier objected. "This city, I swear. Fucking desensitized to hell and back."

The individual behind the camera paid no heed to the cashier's grumbling, sneaking out the door to get a clear shot of Athlete. She was in the parking lot now, placing down her tee ball stand.

She stood there for a few minutes, waiting patiently. The camera waited too, slowly edging to the side to get a better angle of the whole parking lot. Eventually, a hero arrived on the scene. Aegis floated in, clearly apprehensive. "Athlete, you need to stop robbing random places to get our attention," he said. "There are better ways."

"Oh, I don't know, getting someone in authority to pay attention to me when I'm not in the wrong has always been much harder than it should be," Athlete remarked. "Here to play my game? I figured pitching was too hard for Triumph, so today it's batting with a tee ball stand and everything. Hit it further than me, I'll give the money back."

Aegis looked from her to the tee ball stand and back again. "Is this a joke?"

"It wasn't a joke the first time and it isn't this time either," Athlete replied. "Really. Win, I give my loot back and then escape. Lose, well, I'd love it if you let me get away without trying to stop me, but I know I can't expect that so I'll settle for a satisfying victory and then a frantic escape with my winnings."

"I don't believe you," Aegis said.

"I can go first?" Athlete offered. She dropped her bag–

Aegis shot down out of the sky, arms outstretched in a flying tackle. Athlete yelped and swung her bat, letting go of it so that it shot out of her hands and bounced off his shoulder. He swerved to the side and missed her, plowing into the pavement. His costume took most of the impact, but his face was marred with a whole collection of scrapes and stuck gravel when he got up.

"Ooh, sorry," Athlete winced. She stuck her hand out and her tumbling bat thumped down into it, landing perfectly. "Wouldn't have done that if you couldn't take it. Sure you don't want to just hit a baseball instead?"

Aegis growled wordlessly at her and lunged forward again. Athlete pivoted and kicked a pebble up into his face, where it struck his nose and to his complete shock lodged in his nostril. He totally missed her as he snorted wildly, trying to get the rock out of his nose, and she took advantage of his confusion to leg it around the side of the convenience store.

Aegis made to follow, then apparently thought better of it and flew over the building, out of the camera's line of sight. The camera operator jogged after them, running around the building as Athlete had.

There was a thump, a muffled 'no, don't throw that' from Aegis, and then the cameraman turned the corner just in time to see Aegis recoiling from a fire extinguisher going off in his face. Athlete was running, her long legs pumping wildly and duffel bag swinging, down the street. The camera turned to Aegis, then back around to watch as Athlete disappeared around a corner.

"Man," the cameraman exclaimed, "this is going to look so cool on PHO! Sorry Aegis."

"Please don't," Aegis grumbled as he swiped at his face. "That was so embarrassing…"

---

The camera floated silently in the air above a parking lot. There were few cars around, almost all inoperable broken husks. Two men loitered near one of the few working cars, talking quietly.

One man popped the trunk of the car and took out a baggy. He handed it to the other.

In the corner of the camera's field of vision, Stage Fright was doing something to a broken-down car. She crouched beside it, her hands on the chassis.

Then she lifted. The car tiled ponderously. She dropped it back down.

The crash startled both of the shady figures. The one who had paid for the baggy stuffed it in his coat and walked away, while the dealer quickly closed the trunk.

Stage Fright turned to look up at the camera. She waved and hiked a thumb at the running guy, hefting a broken tailpipe in her other hand. She stood, pulled back, and threw.

The pipe knocked off a side mirror to the left of the runner. He dove to the ground, crawling behind the bulk of another car. Meanwhile, the dealer's car peeled out of the parking lot.

"Hands up!" Stage Fright yelled, strolling out into the open. "Surrender now!"

"I surrender!" he yelled, still hiding under the car. "I surrender! Don't throw anything else!"

"Scared of the consequences of your actions?" Stage Fright yelled. She kicked a car, and the door dented, the glass cracking. "Get out here where I can see you, hands in the air!" She turned and shot the camera an exaggerated wink. "I promise I won't throw anything at you."

"Okay, I'm coming out, hands up like you said, just don't hurt me!" He crawled out from under the car, his jacket snagging on the low bottom, and hesitantly stood up, his hands as high as they could go.

Stage Fright smiled at him. "Good choice. Probably the only one you've made tonight."

"That could have been my head," he said. "I don't wanna die."

"I'm a hero, I wouldn't kill you," she retorted.

"What if you missed?" he demanded.

"What if I did?" Stage Fright retorted, stalking closer to him. "You're a criminal, I'm a hero. You maybe getting hurt is the cost of going up against me. Nobody would care. Now turn around and put your hands behind your back."

The man complied, hastily doing as told. Stage Fright inexpertly bound his hands together with a zip tie she took from the pocket of her tracksuit, then forced him to kneel next to the car. "Somebody is probably going to call the police, if you try to run before they get here I'll track you down and use you for target practice."

"Somebody?" he asked. "But there's nobody here…"

"Tell it to someone who cares." Stage Fright vaulted over the car, her hands leaving dents in the metal exterior, and jogged out of the parking lot. The camera zoomed in on her, coming to a stop just above and in front of her.

"One of you lucky viewers can call the police on him," she said. "He'll probably sit there all night if they don't show up, but as funny as that would be, we're out here arresting criminals, not letting them sit around."

She turned onto a sidewalk and continued jogging.

"He was pathetic, anyway," she continued. "Barely a warmup. It's been slow tonight, hasn't it? But I'm sure we'll find something more interesting than an idiot buying drugs in an abandoned parking lot. I've got a good feeling about tonight."

She slowed to a walk to pass a young couple, then turned down a side-street. "While we're waiting for something interesting to happen, let's take a few questions," she suggested, looking up at the unseen camera.

"Where did I get my costume?" she repeated after a moment, reading off of something offscreen. "It's homemade. Before you ask, my special camera drone was a gift from a friend."

A gunshot cracked in the distance. Stage Fright stopped to look around, then shrugged and kept walking. "No idea what that was. Love your username, MadMaddy. No, my powers don't include superspeed. Not yet, anyway. You all keep pushing those viewer numbers up and they might."

"Why didn't I go after the drug dealer, not the buyer?" Stage Fright frowned at the camera. "Obviously because the buyer was on foot. I'd have to break the dealer's car to stop him, and I'm durable but my costume isn't. I might get oil or something on me! Also, leaving the dealers for later lets me catch more pathetic people buying from them, so I bring in more criminals this way."

Two rough-looking men walked into view of the camera, coming up behind Stage Fright. "Oi, clear off," one of them told her. "This is new-Merchant territory."

Stage Fright leisurely turned around, arms akimbo. "Wow, you really have the guts and the empty skulls to call yourselves that?" she taunted. One of the men was carrying a broken pipe and the other a baseball bat, but she didn't seem to care. "Come on. Hit me. See where it gets you."

The one with the bat swung high. It bounced off Stage Fright's unimpressed face, rocking her back on her heels but otherwise doing absolutely nothing.

"Weak," she declared. "You won't last any longer than the real Merchants did."

Somewhere nearby, a shrill alarm kicked off. Stage Fright smiled. "Now, I'm going to go stop some real crime. You two keep scrabbling in the dirt until I've crushed all of the more important problems."

The two thugs disappeared from the camera's view as Stage Fright set off at a run.

The building with blaring alarms was an electronics store, one with new plexiglass windows and a wide-open front door. Athlete was there, decked out in a tennis outfit and the same black head covering, a cardboard box under one hand and a badminton racket clutched in the other.

A slow, wicked smile creeped across Stage Fright's face as she approached. "Looks like tonight is a night for idiots who should have just stayed home," she crowed. "So pathetic you can't even turn off an alarm?"

"Who are you?" Athlete asked. "You're not with the Protectorate."

"I'm Stage Fright, the best independent hero in Brockton Bay." She moved forward, menacingly slowly. "Surrender now and I might just leave you with a few bruises."

"How about we play a friendly game of badminton instead?" Athlete offered. "Win and I'll give the expensive laptop back…" She carefully set the box down.

"You're going to get your ass kicked and then arrested for a single laptop?" Stage Fright sneered. "How poor are you?"

"Maybe I'm protesting capitalism but am actually filthy rich," Athlete said. "You don't know."

"Oh, I think I do know." Stage Fright cracked her knuckles, one at a time.

"Badminton?" Athlete offered again, seemingly unfazed. "We don't have a net, but–"

Stage Fright ran forward, her steps cracking the pavement, and Athlete threw the racket at her. She caught it, snapped it in half, and kept going. Athlete retreated inside the electronics store, shutting the door behind her.

Stage Fright rushed the door, knocking it off its hinges with a loud crack. The camera descended to follow behind her as she entered the building.

The camera's angle was just low enough to catch sight of a whole shelf of electronics toppling toward Stage Fright. "Hey!" Stage Fright punched the falling shelf but it just broke around her, fragments and deformed boxes and all sorts of debris flying everywhere. She pushed forward, stomping her way through the mess, but Athlete was gone.

"I know you didn't leave," Stage Fright called out, her voice low and threatening. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!" She shoved a shelf over, sending it crashing down. "Stupid bitch. You can't run. You have to fight me… I doubt this place has any back doors."

"Was that a pun?" Athlete strode out from behind the counter, her hands behind her back. "I can't believe you would stoop to such low forms of humor."

Stage Fright ran toward her, trying again to close the distance. Athlete whipped one of her hands out from behind her back, hurling a whole handful of spark plugs at her. Stage Fright bulled through them, and Athlete had to step out of her way, narrowly avoiding being tackled into a wall.

"Hold still!" Stage Fright yelled, smashing her hands down on the counter.

"Watch the rebound," Athlete said cryptically, stepping back again and kicking something. A rubber band ball shot past Stage Fright's legs as she strode forward–

The ball smacked into something on the wall, and that something popped, sending a spray of electrical sparks everywhere, including all over Stage Fright's back and hair.

"You useless bitch," Stage Fright growled, grabbing Athlete's collar and shoving her against the wall. "Come quietly–"

"You're on fire," Athlete remarked.

"Damn right I am, you useless insect." Stage Fright shoved Athlete up, pushing her feet off the ground. "So pathetic."

One of the sparks caught on the back of Stage Fright's tracksuit, glowing brighter as new flames licked out from the spot.

"You're literally on fire," Athlete clarified, her voice strained. "Can you even feel it?"

"I get more durable with more people watching," Stage Fright bragged. "Better, stronger, harder to hurt, and that's just the beginning. You, though… what even is your worthless excuse for a power?"

"Apparently not warning people," Athlete said dryly. Her hands were on Stage Fright's wrists, and her feet dangled helplessly. Then, one of her feet lashed out to the side, kicking a stapler off the counter. The loud clatter made Stage Fright look, and as she turned the corner of her eye caught the steadily growing flames engulfing her back.

"Shit!" Stage Fright dropped Athlete and tried to slap at her own back. "You won't get away with this!"

"I'm not the kind of villain that line fits," Athlete quipped as she disappeared among the still-standing shelves. "And this place does have a back door, just so you know!"

Stage Fright resorted to knocking her back against a wall to crush the flames, leaving a body-shaped print in the plaster. That done, she searched the store, but it wasn't a very large store and there was no sign of Athlete, not even out in the narrow passage behind the store by the dumpsters.

Eventually, police sirens sounded in the distance. "Time to go," Stage Fright grumbled to the camera as she fled the scene. "We'll get her next time. And there will be a next time." She smiled up at the camera, her frustration disappearing. "I think we'll be seeing more of that pathetic criminal soon enough."

---

"It's quiet around here," Assault muttered. "Too quiet." His body camera jiggled as he walked, showing a street with broken streetlights.

"Tempt fate on purpose one more time and you're sleeping on the couch tonight," his partner retorted. "Charge?"

"Yeah, if you could." A dark, armor arm lashed out and a dull thump could be heard. "Seriously. Where is everybody?"

"Assault, this was Merchant territory," Battery said. "They're all dead. You know this."

"It doesn't feel right," Assault continued. "Really. Like we're walking into an ambush."

"Lingering paranoia. You said you were fine to go back out on patrol."

"I am fine. Mostly. Little winded."

"That's it, we're heading back. Cut the patrol short. If you're not up to it–"

"Hey, miss new Protectorate leader, I never said I wasn't up to it. That was all you."

"Battery, Assault," a young girl interrupted, her voice tinny and oddly resonant over the comms. "Possible crime in progress two blocks to the North, silent alarm tripped, breaking and entering. Pawn shop. I suggest taking a look if Assault is up for it."

"I'm fine," Assault repeated. "Thanks, Vista."

"Warp," the girl retorted.

"Warp." Assault reached up past his chest and something clicked off. "That name doesn't sit right with me." He burst into movement, bounding forward. Battery flashed beside him, keeping to a similar stop and start pace.

"After what happened the shrink says she's going to remake herself whether or not we let her, we're supposed to be supportive," Battery admonished.

"I'm all for that, and," Assault panted, "all for our branch finally getting back into the therapist rotation. God knows we all need it. But Warp? Really? Villainous. Not a name that sounds good."

"Says Assault," Battery retorted.

"Well… got me there, I guess," he huffed. "This the place?" They stopped in front of a boarded-up store set between two different, competing quick loan enterprises.

"Warp says yes, and to turn your comm back on," Battery said shortly. "You cover the front, I've got the back. Wait for them to come out."

Assault stopped on the sidewalk across the street from the front door, his body camera pointed at the front of the shop. "I'm too fat to hide behind a lamppost," he complained as he reached up across the camera again.

"Too bad there aren't any jumbo jets parked on the street, one of those might be big enough," Warp snarked.

"Felt the burn from that one," Assault muttered. "Everybody's taking pieces out of old Assault tonight. What did I ever do?"

"What goes around, comes around," Battery said over the radio. "I'm behind the building. There's… Archery targets set up back here."

"Pawn shop has an archery range?" Assault asked.

"No, they're new. Athlete. This fits her modus operandi." Battery heaved a big, unhappy sigh. "What are the odds?"

"That it's you?" Assault asked gleefully. "No clue, but they must be low. Make me proud!" He jogged across the street and around the building. "I gotta see this," he whispered.

"Take he-er seriously," Warp said, her voice cracking on 'her' but flattening out by the end of the statement. "She's a villain."

"There's villains and then there's villains, and compared to the last ones we had come through here Athlete barely even registers," Assault retorted. "Ooh, bird's eye view." He bounded up a fire escape on the edge of the building, then leaned around the corner, hanging his torso out in the open.

Battery stood awkwardly in front of three bright red and white archery targets, lined up across an otherwise dark and dingy alleyway.

The back door to the pawn shop flew open, and a figure dressed on white stepped out, a bulging bag slung over her shoulder and a compound bow grasped in either hand. "Hey! You guys got here really fast this time. What kind of security system does this pawn shop have to get such a good response?"

"... Athlete." Battery squinted at the oddly-dressed cape. "You're under arrest, obviously. But why do you have a black sock over your head?"

Athlete shrugged. "Works as a mask. I can see through it, you can't. Most sports outfits don't cover the face." She gestured to her knee-high skirt and white jersey. "I'm already pushing it with stuff like this."

"You could at least give yourself eyeholes," Assault muttered. "The black void head is so last-year."

"I'm the only one who can hear you and I'm not laughing," Warp told him.

"Okay." Battery held a hand out. "Hand over what you stole."

"No. Win it from me." Athlete held out one of her two compound bows. "Please? It was a pain lugging these around with me."

Battery hesitated…

"Come on, you made the policy yourself," Assault stage-whispered, his voice clearly audible to everyone in the alleyway. "Lead by example!"

"Fine." She took the proffered bow.

"Yes!" Assault cheered. Athlete turned her featureless head toward him and gave him a thumbs up.

"Battery is going to hit you for that," Warp remarked.

"Worth it." He poked at the camera. "This thing is working, right?"

"Those are for safety, not for your amusement," Warp sighed.

"Come on kid, live a little. We'll watch Battery have some fun, then I'll jump down there and bring Athlete in so she stops humiliating every hero she runs into."

Down in the alleyway, Battery was picking up a handful of blunt metal-tipped arrows from behind one of the targets, and Athlete was doing the same. "Fifty paces, your best three shots against my best three. Winner gets all of the gold stuff I stole from the pawn shop."

"Okay, that's four times now," Assault muttered to Warp. "She can't possibly be that uninformed. She's not stealing much at all, and the real money in pawn shops is in the safe, not the stuff out for sale."

Battery and Athlete counted off fifty paces in the gloomy alleyway, putting themselves nearly at the far end.

"Two compound bows and arrows and targets probably cost her just as much as she stole here," Assault continued. "She's going to have to leave most of that behind. Even if Battery loses we can compensate the pawn shop with the stuff."

"You can go first," Athlete suggested.

Battery shrugged and raised her compound bow. The intricate pulleys on either end whirred as she drew it, and she only paused for a moment before letting loose. Her arrow sank into the bottom of the outer ring of one of the targets.

"Nice," Athlete said.

"I do know how to use a bow," Battery huffed. She quickly went through her five shots, sinking four into the targets and skipping one across the wall of the alleyway.

"My turn," Athlete remarked. She raised her bow and fired.

The arrow plunged into the red center of the target.

"Ooh, Battery just got scammed," Assault laughed. "Should have had her put money on it, kid. As it is, you're winning your own stuff back."

But the next shot missed entirely. And the three after that all missed too, skimming by the targets to clatter on the ground beyond.

Athlete, for her part, seemed unconcerned. "That's disappointing, but I guess beginner's luck doesn't hold out forever," she remarked. "You win."

"I do?" Battery asked suspiciously.

"Four good but not perfect hits beats one fluke and three misses in my book," Athlete assured her. "You can keep the gold."

"Well… good." Battery set her bow down on the ground. "Why, though?"

"You won," Athlete responded. "That's why."

"Why be a villain?" Battery pressed. "The Wards would take you in a heartbeat. We pay more than you must be getting from these crimes, and you'd have people willing to play your games. Clockblocker, Aegis, Glory Girl, Warp, Oracle, they'd all probably love to have you as a teammate, and nothing you've done so far stops that from happening if you stop now. We won't even press charges."

Athlete shrugged her shoulders. "Sorry, it's just not possible right now," she admitted. "Can't explain. I appreciate the offer, though."

"You know you're not getting away this time," Battery said carefully. "It would be better to come willingly."

"I know I'm thankful I set this place up before I went inside, with how fast you responded," Athlete remarked. "Because I can't do that and you're a lot trickier to escape than Triumph or Aegis."

Assault, and by extension the camera, vaulted out over the fire escape, dropping down to land in the alley, but Athlete was already moving, ducking Battery's attempt at grabbing her and tossing an extra arrow up, out of sight. She hopped back again as Battery reached for her once more, then darted for the uncovered exit to the alleyway.

An ominous rattling sound came from above, and Assault instinctively looked up. "What the hell–"

A white cloud flumped down over the camera, instantly blinding it.

"Don't breathe too much in, it's bad for you!" Athlete yelled from somewhere nearby. "Good game!"

"Flour!" Assault sputtered. "She dumped flour on us!"

"Chase her!" Warp urged. "Come on!"

"Kid, we're blind as bats here," Assault coughed. A gloved hand wiped over the camera's lens, clearing some of the flour off and revealing that Assault was stumbling out of the alleyway. Battery was already there, coated white.

"She's gone, isn't she?" Warp asked.

"We're going to check the area, but yeah, probably. Girl is either a mover or really good at planning escapes," Assault said hoarsely. "Triumph lost her in five seconds, Aegis didn't get half a block. Think she's some sort of precog?" he asked.

"Wouldn't explain the aim," Battery said grimly. "She threw the game after that first shot, and this is a message. Everything so far has been."

"What is it?" Warp asked.

"She's telling us to play along." Battery burst forward in a flash of quickly-expended speed. "Gave her take up tonight to show she's serious. We treat her nice, play her games, and she'll do the same. Some villains do things like that."

"None I've ever heard of," Warp said crossly.

"Brockton Bay hasn't had one before," Assault explained as he joined the search, his camera displaying his methodical search of every possible way off the street. "It is… was.. way too dangerous for that."

"Still is," Warp muttered.

"Not arguing, but maybe it's a good thing." He coughed, and then hacked up a slurry of white spittle. "Better an easy villain than a hard and violent one."

They continued searching, but there was no trace of Athlete.

---

A gaudily-dressed figure sat at a desk, his back to the hidden security camera documenting everything that went on in his office. He was looking at a monitor, the contents of which were clearly visible. A video player, with a short list of videos queued up.

The figure hit play, and the first video started up.

"Today's game is dodgeball!" Athlete announced, holding up two white volleyballs. "Hit me, you win. I hit you, I win. Catch my throw, you win, and vice versa. No aiming for the head, we're not trying to hurt each other here." She was set up in a grassy median, and though the site of her latest crime couldn't be seen, a wad of cash peaked out of her signature duffel bag.

"And if I capture you instead?" Warp demanded, striding into view. She was tall, taller than Athlete by several feet, and her shadow was strangely stretched behind her.

"Oh, Vista, you have to know you look like Mike Teavee at the end of the movie when you stretch yourself like that," the badly-dressed man complained to the unhearing computer monitor. "And you need a better costume. And a better name. You want to be treated like an adult, fine, adults get naming rights, but surely we can do better than Warp." He scratched out a note on a paper pad as the video continued.

"You can try," Athlete offered, tossing a ball to Warp, who caught it with her elongated hands. Space immediately twisted around them, folding and expanding in around Athlete, who ran forward.

Warp threw her ball, and it swirled in the air, funneled by invisible forces down toward Athlete, but Athlete threw hers and knocked it off-course. Both balls arced back toward Warp, who caught one in either hand and grinned at Athlete, who was still running toward her, but making barely any progress.

"Come on, you can't just hold them!" Athlete yelled, her voice strangely distant. Warp threw one of her two volleyballs in response, and it shot toward Athlete like a cannonball. Athlete artfully bent out of the way, and the ball hit the edge of the median, where it popped like a balloon.

"Excessive force, come on Warp, you're not fighting a killer here, you're playing a game, and how did you even make it move that fast?" the man at the computer complained. Another note was made.

"Try not to do that to the other ball," Athlete suggested. "I don't have any more right now."

"Hold still!" Warp walked forward, the subjective distance between them shortening dramatically until the median was only a few feet long. Athlete was within arm's reach, and Warp wound up a dramatic, unblockable throw. Athlete tried to dodge out of the way, but the ball clipped her shoulder, sending her sprawling flat on her back and the ball arcing up, out of sight.

"I win," Warp proclaimed. "You really thought you could–"

The ball fell back into view, plummeting down from above to glance off Warp's helmet and right into Athlete's outstretched arms where she still lay on her back in the grass.

"Caught it," Athlete announced, unnecessarily. Warp shrank three inches.

"Try to get ahold of your self-stretching," the man muttered. "It gives away your surprise, and while that might actually be endearing, I doubt you want to be endearing so it's counterproductive."

"And I've caught you," Warp retorted, "so it doesn't matter. Dodgeball isn't going to get you away from me. Not when you gave me time to set the entire area up."

Athlete stood, the dodgeball in her hands, and made a show of looking around. "Looks clear to me," she remarked. The ominous twisting of sunlight and shadow all around the median begged to differ.

"Try and get away," Warp suggested. "See how well that goes."

"Will do!" Athlete threw her dodgeball away, into a patch of seemingly empty air where it started flying around in circles. "I've got to say, your power is cool. But… wasn't it different, before?"

"Shut up." Warp stretched until she was eight feet tall. "You don't get to talk about that."

"If it's off-limits it's off limits." Athlete backed up, then tilted her head and jumped, diving headfirst toward the pavement, only to fall up in a truly mindbending arc.

"Hey, no–" Warp gestured with her hands and Athlete was falling back toward her.

The volleyball, its self-contained arc also disturbed, shot out and smacked Warp in the back of the head, and she staggered. "How did you–?"

Athlete landed on her feet in the road, swayed dizzily, and sprinted away, bag in hand. "Better luck next time!"

"How?" Warp demanded. Space folded between them, and she caught up to Athlete in a single step, but Athlete kicked her in the back of the knee and dove beneath a broken-down car, out of sight. Warp stormed around the car, looming tall over it.

"How?" Warp repeated, angrily kicking a popped tire. Athlete was nowhere to be seen. "You were right here! I know it!"

"Don't throw tantrums, and maybe be glad you proved Athlete has a Mover ability," the badly-dressed man commented as the video ended. "That's more progress than Triumph, Aegis, or Battery made." The next video cued up automatically.

"Volleyball!" Athlete announced. "And be careful, I don't have any spares." She was in an actual volleyball court, complete with sand and a net, and her bag was set up in the sand just outside the area of play. Her costume had changed again, to baggy white shorts and a short, along with a visor over her extremely clashing black head-sock.

"I just don't get the head sock thing," the man complained, addressing the figure on his screen. "It ruins every single outfit, and sure it keeps you anonymous, but there are better ways to do that."

"Wow, I guess your devotion to the theme only goes so far." Stage Fright stood at the other end of the net. "Don't volleyball players wear bikinis?"

"It's up to the player," Athlete explained. "Do you plan on changing?"

"No, just thankful you stuck to hiding your figure," Stage Fright quipped. "You're probably got nothing under there."

"Glad you're not one of mine," the man at the computer sighed. "Attacking a villain's figure, really? How juvenile can you get?"

"Let's get to the game," Athlete said stiffly. "You know how to play?"

"Sure, sure, whatever," Stage Fright drawled. "Just serve the stupid thing, I'm only playing because my audience demands it."

Athlete stepped back to the rear of her side of the court and tossed the ball into the air, swinging her forearms up in what looked like a textbook serve. The ball arced over to Stage Fright's side of the court, where she immediately spiked it through the net and halfway to burying itself in the sand.

"Point to me," Athlete declared, ignoring the gaping hole that had been torn in the net. "You hit the net. Your serve." She tossed the ball back to Stage Fright, who immediately ran up to the net and spiked it right at Athlete, who dove out of the way.

"Just terrible," the man bemoaned as the 'game' continued. Stage Fright continually ignored the rules in favor of aiming the ball at Athlete, who barely avoided getting hit every single time. The game was over quickly, with Stage Fright having lost by a fair margin, but Stage Fright didn't seem to care.

"Now that's done, let's put you in the sand," she growled, coming right through the ragged remains of the net at Athlete, who kicked sand at her. "You can't run!"

"I totally can," Athlete shot back. "You're not a very good sport, are you?" She kicked more sand, right into Stage Fright's eyes. The heroine growled and swiped a punch at empty air, then another that hit the support pole of the net and bent it in two around her fist.

"That girl is going to kill someone by accident," the man noted.

Athlete made her escape while Stage Fright was busy wiping sand out of her eyes and removing her fist from the mangled pole.

A phone rang. The man paused his playlist long enough to answer it. "Glenn Chambers, head of PR," he answered. "My four-o-clock? Push them back. I'm busy." After he hung up the phone, he sighed. "Busy watching a mess. Does anyone in Brockton Bay remember how to handle minor villains? That city is one big emotional callus by this point, I swear."

The next few videos followed in much the same vein. Athlete set up games, local heroes played along. Sometimes they won, sometimes they lost. The government heroes all at least tried to win, while Stage Fright, who was a recurring opponent, threw around truly caustic comments and only played insofar as it suited her.

Every time, win or loss, Athlete disappeared the moment no eyes were on her, and every time she came out of the encounter looking as good or better than the hero trying to stop her.

At the end of the playlist, Glenn slumped back in his chair. "My question," he said to nobody, "is why the hell Athlete is a villain at all."

After a few minutes of silent contemplation, he sat up straight and switched his computer to displaying email, typing restlessly as he composed a message.

"Director Iwu, thank you for your courtesy in contacting me to ask for advice," he said aloud as he typed, the words on the screen not always matching what he said. "Really, thank you. Piggot, rest her ornery soul, made a habit of only contacting me after things had gone to shit, and I find I prefer giving preemptive advice. That said, here's my assessment of your current situation."

"Athlete is clever with her image," he continued. "Clever, but inexperienced. She's not a joke villain, and I don't know if that's personal preference or because she doesn't think she's funny enough for it, but her 'games' are a masterstroke as far as softening her image. It helps that she's in Brockton Bay… The people still there must love that the newest villain is more interested in games than mass murder. Her motivations for being a villain are incredibly unclear, and it's irrational because as far as we know she could just as easily be doing all of this without stealing first. Her thefts are… Minor?" He clicked off his email and skimmed through a few official-looking report, before returning to the email. "Yes, minor. It's ridiculous. They're cost-recouping efforts at best, token gestures at worst."

"I suggest," he concluded, "that every effort be made to recruit her. Some symbolic time in jail to atone for her crimes, a few months at most and with regular visits from heroes and Wards to keep her spirits up, and she can be outright turned into a hero as Athlete, no rebranding or relocation necessary. She could be a poster child for misguided youths, there is absolutely no reason to leave her on the street committing petty crimes and occasionally distracting our heroes. Her power, assuming that disappearing act is her power, makes her impossible to hard-sell until we know more, so keep it up with being sociable, kind, and soft-selling whenever humanly possible."

"And for god's sake step up the pace," he added. "Now, on to your other problem children. Warp needs a serious PR consultation. Have you gotten the poor girl a therapist yet? I assume so. My team will get her a new costume if you can convince her to pick a height and stick with it for a while, so we know how much space-stretching to design for. The physical aspects of what she does to make herself look taller might be handled by her power, but the aesthetic needs to account for it. A name consultation is a must, though. Good on you for not publicly announcing 'Warp' as her new name yet, that gives us room to change it. Also, I'm willing to assist with the Glory Girl costume revamp if your local costume designers need the help. Oracle too. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, and a lot of eyes are on Brockton Bay. We'll take pressure off your local Image team, at least."

"As for Stage Fright…" He frowned. "She's trouble. Undisciplined, violent, and with the verbal sparring skills of a high school mean girl who never grew up. Also, according to analysis of her streams, she's actually still underage, so it's possible she is a high school mean girl with powers that feed into being popular. Hard sell her now, before she does something we can't excuse. Her powerset makes it extremely problematic to rebrand her, and if she does fuck up it's almost guaranteed to be a public event. Pull her under our aegis and stick her in some serious retraining the moment you get the chance. Send her to LA, maybe. We could put her with Shadow Stalker once Alexandria gets her up to standard. Maybe even team them up, get cameras on Shadow Stalker to capitalize on what she did. Both Brockton Bay natives, there's a storyline there. I'd say Athlete too, make a trio, but Athlete might be better on her own."

---

"Notes," a young woman says. The sound of traffic drowns out her next few words. "Groceries. I need cheese, milk, some sort of lunch meat… Ground beef for dinner. Pasta, probably."

A horn honks close by, and the sounds of a city are all that can be heard for a while. Eventually something fumbles near the microphone, an overly loud scratching sound drowning everything out.

"Really hope this thing is still on," the woman mutters. "Sucks to have to pop the batteries out and in again every time I lose track of what it's doing. Anyway… Future Taylor who might still be listening, go get those groceries. And stuff for the next game… I've done soccer, archery, dodgeball and volleyball. Badminton and baseball could both do with a redo, but I'm saving those for an emergency because I already own the equipment. That leaves… me looking up sports like an idiot, I guess. Or asking someone else to look it up, anyway. Fencing, maybe? Curling? Olympics stuff. Track, but that's guaranteed to be a loss. Is bowling a sport? Can I get away with lugging two bowling balls around without anyone noticing? Could I even do pole-vaulting?"

The sound of construction can be heard in the distance, gradually growing closer.

"Something I can work with. I have some money but it goes surprisingly fast when I have to keep buying sports equipment. The safe middlemen aren't cheap. Can't buy it in town, someone would notice the connection. Shouldn't get cheap stuff, either. No matter how tempting it is. Really, Future Taylor, don't succumb to the urge. Buy good stuff."

"Hey, miss!" a man calls out. "You need help crossing the road?"

"No!" Taylor calls back. "I'll manage!" The sound of cars grows louder, and another horn honks close by. "Wish you wouldn't offer," she mutters.

The noises of the city continue uninterrupted for a long time. The construction fades away, and then the constant cars, and finally the underlying hum of voices on busy sidewalks.

A wooden plank creaks, and metal scrapes on metal before catching. Something heavy and hard taps the ground in time with a single pair of footsteps. A door creaks open, then closes.

"I hate how quiet it is here," Taylor says loudly.

A phone rings, a sliding scale of beeps playing over and over again.

"Hate that ringtone too," Taylor mutters. "Hello?"

"Corner of Fifth and Broad Street, there's a warehouse. Tonight, midnight." The voice is mechanical, unfeeling.

"Oh…" Taylor sighs. "Understood. Which one is this?"

"Eight of twelve," the mechanical voice replies. The phone clicks.

"There goes a quiet night," Taylor complains. "I can't wait to be done with this."

Something clatters on wood, and silence reigns for a while, intercut only by noises in the distance. Doors opening and closing, wood hitting wood, footsteps over a creaky floorboard. Water from a faucet, a microwave beeping.

Eventually more cloth rustles once more, and the sounds of the outside world approach. Traveling again, with all the noises of busy streets. Then the activity dies away, and in its place distant gunshots sound, two isolated pops.

"Hate this part of town," Taylor grumbled. "Why would she want something to happen here? Didn't give me time to scope it out… Hope she likes hackysack. Hope she doesn't, actually. Bitch."

A piece of metal rattles as it is drawn upward. Wood groans as weight is placed on it. The sounds are muffled but audible.

"There's nothing here," Taylor mutters. "Just an empty warehouse…"

Cleats crack against bare concrete.

"Athlete." The voice is quiet, contemplative.

"Stage Fright. Here to play my game?" Taylor asks.

"No." A long pause. "No camera tonight."

"I don't believe you."

"You can't exactly check, can you Taylor?" Stage Fright says confidently. "No, I just wanted you here. To talk."

"You wasted an event on this?"

"I don't need many more. Next time I'll show everyone just how pathetic you really are. It's a wonder I need to show everyone, it's obvious… I don't need four more. Just one."

"We'll see."

"Such a spineless worm. Playing games, begging the real heroes to go easy on your scrawny ass. You know where we are? What happened here?"

"It's a decrepit warehouse in the middle of old Merchant territory. A lot of terrible things have probably happened here."

"This is where Mannequin died."

An uneasy silence reigns for a few moments.

"This," Stage Fright continues reverently, "is where Shadow Stalker ran into him… it. Right here. She put a crossbow bolt into its chest, used her power to get past the shell. Then another, and another when it tried to fight back. A member of the fucking Slaughterhouse Nine, and she filled it so full of arrowheads and shafts that it finally just stopped moving."

"Is that what happened?" Taylor asks, her voice strained. "Doesn't sound right. Too easy."

"It's never too easy for a real predator," Stage Fright hisses. "Never. She was smart, she struck hard, fast… It died. She's a hero. I'm a hero now. I'll prove myself worthy of joining her. You're the maggot I'm going to step on to do it."

"I'm no Mannequin." Footsteps echoed loudly. "You paid for this insanity. Your mistake. I'm not going to lose, and when it's over–"

"When it's over I'll be a hero and you'll still be a worm," Stage Fright hissed. "An orphan, crippled worm with no friends and no right to breathe the same air as me. I'm just going to show the whole world what you are. She wants me to. She set this up. She's testing me."

"She is a random superhero who is on the other side of the country and doesn't know you exist," Taylor objects.

"No, this is her doing, I know it!"

"You're deluded, Emma."

"You're a crippled freak, Taylor."

"Fuck you. You can't get to me anymore."

"I'll break you when there are people watching. Enjoy your last few days of freedom, maggot."

The metal from before creaks again, and the muffled sounds of the distant busy streets are less muffled.

"She really is crazy," Taylor mutters as she walks. "Really, really crazy… Why the hell would Shadow Stalker have anything to do with this? With us? But if it really wasn't her… Who paid for all of this? It wasn't cheap."

"Is this still on?" Fabric brushes by the microphone. "I guess the salesman wasn't lying about the battery life… Good thing, too. Might be important to have that on record. If she keeps going like this I won't need it, but better safe than sorry. She's changed… A lot. Ever since this started. I don't want anything to do with her anymore, screw the plan. But I can't stop, I don't have a choice. At least she can't do anything to me without hundreds of people seeing it. She won't go too far. Not when we're being watched, and with her we're never not being watched."

A little piece of plastic pops, and a small burst of static is the last sound recorded.

---

"Leet, tonight we've got something special for all our fans."

The camera flew high over the city, offering a breathtaking panoramic view. Neither Uber nor Leet could be seen.

"What is it, Uber?" Leet asked dramatically. "What are we doing tonight?"

"Why are you asking me?" Uber retorted. "You signed us up for this."

"True. Okay, loyal fans, here's what's up." A little picture-in-picture popped up in the bottom left corner of the screen. On it, a figure in a red tracksuit was stretching dramatically in a nondescript locker room. "This is Stage Fright, a novice vigilante who lives and dies on attention. I'd joke about how she gets that attention, but I'm not that much of a creep."

Another picture-in-picture came up in the bottom right of the screen. On it, a figure in a basketball jersey was busy hauling an empty duffel bag up a fire escape.

"This," Uber continued, "is the gentlelady thief who goes by Athlete. She's been taking Brockton Bay by storm lately, offering to play any hero she encounters. She loses the game of her choice, they get her haul and she skedaddles. She wins… and she skedaddles with her ill-gotten gains. She's good enough at running away that the heroes are actually playing her games on the off chance they get the loot back."

"Both of these fine young women are nudging in on our gaming and streaming turf here in Brockton Bay," Leet narrated, "and at least one of them has a hateful lady-boner for the other, but don't tell Stage Fright I said that because I fear her stalker-fueled powers."

"We were going to do something fun with or to the both of them," Uber took up. Stage Fright was still limbering up, and Athlete had made it to the rooftop. "But then, well… we got hired! Turns out Stage Fright wanted the numbers only we can provide. Had the cash to make it happen, too. I think this is the first time we've been hired by somebody who claims to be a legitimate hero. Am I remembering that right, Leet?"

"There was Wig Woman a few years ago, Uber," Leet said thoughtfully. "She was still a hero at that point. Then again, we were just getting started, so it doesn't really count. She didn't know the amazing video-game-worthy villains we would become. And I think we should cut to the point, because the show is about to begin!"

"Today's game is NBA 2K!" Uber announced. "And for all those NBA fans who want to know exactly which one… Does it actually matter? They're all the same."

"Dude, you're going to lose us the sports videogame crowd who also watch cape videogame live streams!" Leet complained. "There's dozens of them!"

"If they love the game they won't want to miss this," Uber scoffed. "And… Stage Fright, time to go on standby for your entrance."

Stage Fright looked up, waved at the camera, and left the locker room, her picture-in-picture blinking out of existence as the door closed behind her. The birds-eye-view of the city that had filled most of the screen began zooming in. Down, towards the city, focusing on a small, somewhat broken down part of town, an old basketball court and the office buildings lining the road opposite it.

Athlete was on the rooftop, in the middle of crossing over to the next building. She was obviously headed for a rooftop access door, but she froze as the camera zoomed closer. She turned to stare up at it, her black, featureless masked face pointed directly at it.

"That's kind of creepy," Leet commented. "The Snitch is perfectly silent and it was way above her, how'd she know it was there?"

"Who cares?" Uber asked. A spotlight flashed into existence, focused on Athlete. "Athlete!" he called out, and his voice echoed. "We challenge you to a game!"

"That's my schtick!" Athlete yelled back at the Snitch. "But fine! What is it?"

"Head over to the basketball court down there across the street to find out!" Uber broadcast. "You can leave or take your loot. Did we catch you before or after the crime?"

"Before, actually," Athlete remarked as she turned back to the fire escape. "That a problem?"

"That a problem for you?" Uber retorted. "We're in it for the game."

"Also the money," Leet added, though his voice wasn't broadcast from the Snitch. "Stage Fright paid us to make this a big event. Obviously, Athlete has no idea… For that matter, I don't know how Stage Fright knew she would be here at this time."

"Stalker-powered cape turns out to be a stalker, no big surprise," Uber offered while they waited for Athlete to descend. "Seriously guys and the rare gal who watches us, we have to repeat that we're being sponsored by Stage Fright here. If you're here for unbiased commentary, repping your girl Athlete, go find another stream."

"But Uber, we're the only ones streaming this tonight!" Leet retorted, his voice dripping with false concern. "Even Stage Fright's normal stream is redirecting to us. We're exclusive coverage!"

"Well then, suck it Athlete fans," Uber decided. "Okay, lights, music, action!"

The Snitch flew up to give an overview of the basketball court, settling into place just in time to catch the dramatic transformation that unfolded.

The cracked pavement with washed-out court lines was rejuvenated, turned into a freshly-waxed hardwood floor with bright professional lines. The hoops regrew their nets and flattened out their baseboards, standing tall in the sudden bright lighting illuminating the court. Dramatic music more fitting for a pro wrestling entrance cued up as Athlete bemusedly walked out onto the suddenly quite expensive and new-looking basketball court.

"And tonight we thank our other sponsors," Uber intoned, "the ever-clever Leet Restoration Company! Buy one hardlight projector, get a ten-hour limited warranty free!"

"Caution," Leet said quickly, "all projections disappear after eleven hours. Does not actually renovate anything. Also not actually for sale because I only have the one."

"Tonight," Uber boomed, audible to the court, "we pit Athlete, the titular athlete of Brockton Bay fame, against a challenger in a one on one basketball game!"

"Lucky she came in a basketball outfit tonight," Leet added suspiciously. "Seriously, guys, we're pretty sure she had no idea this was coming."

"She didn't bring a ball, if she knew we were going to do this she would have brought a ball," Uber agreed. "It's just one of her default sports costumes for doing actual sneaky robberies. And really, what is with that black head sock thing? She always wears it. Jersey, sneakers, socks, shorts… head sock."

"You forgot to mute your mics!" Athlete called out.

"We'll be your announcers for tonight, so get used to color commentary!" Leet riposted. "Aren't you curious to know who you'll be facing?"

"Uber," Athlete guessed.

"Nope!" Uber retorted. "Though that would be fun, it would be totally unfair. I only crush noobs on our Saturday streams. This is Tuesday, and on this Tuesday you are facing…"

The music changed from dramatic entrance music to even more dramatic entrance music, the same song but pumped up to greater heights of noise. Little fireworks went up in the corners of the stream, gaudy animations.

"The one, the only," Leet intoned. "Stage Fright!"

Nothing happened.

"Stage Fright?" Leet called out.

Athlete dodged back a half-second before something slammed into the court right at the centerline. Stage Fright slowly stood from a three-point landing, a wide grin on display. "This," she announced, lifting off the ground to float in the air a foot above the surface of the court, "is going to be fun."

"Uber," Leet whispered, "since when can she fly?"

"Since she's in the mid five figures for viewers, I guess," Uber replied in a low tone. "Stupid broken power, flying should be a million-views reward. Just roll with it."

"Stage Fright, everyone!" Uber continued. "Here to challenge Athlete in a one-on-one game of basketball."

"Here to crush Athlete," Stage Fright called out.

Athlete, for her part, said nothing.

"Right!" Leet interjected when it became clear there would be no return banter, "Let's get this show on the road! My attention-deflector is going to burn out in an hour, and then the game will be busted by the fuzz, so the clock starts now!"

A digital clock counter set at fifty minutes appeared at the bottom of the screen and began to count down. Out on the court, a glowing orange basketball materialized in the air between Athlete and Stage Fright.

"Play ball!" Uber announced as the ball dropped.

"Dude, that's baseball," Leet hissed.

The ball hit the ground, and Stage Fright was on it, grasping it in both hands. Her feet hit the ground as she transitioned from flying to running, haphazardly dribbling as she pounded straight toward Athlete.

Athlete dove out of the way, one hand smacking the basketball out to the side. Stage Fright trampled past her, the ball sailed out of bounds–

And was deflected by a forcefield that flashed into being right before it would have gone out of bounds, knocking it right back into Athlete's waiting hands.

"How? She didn't even know that was there!" Uber shouted as Athlete ran, dribbling all the way, toward the opposite hoop. Stage Fright spun around, catching herself with a blatantly impossible turn aided by flight, and soared after Athlete, catching her halfway to the basket.

Athlete threw the basketball with one hand, bouncing it off Stage Fright's flying body, another forcefield protecting the out of bounds areas, and finally off the backboard to swish through the net without touching the hoop.

"Two points for Athlete!" Leet called out.

"With a spectacular rebound, too," Uber added as the ball disappeared. "Back to the centerline, you two!"

"I don't need to fly to crush you like a bug," Stage Fright growled. She swooped back to the centerline and touched down, both of her feet firmly planted on the hardlight floor.

"Go!" Uber shouted as a new basketball materialized. "Is that what they say?"

"Dude, look it up," Leet huffed.

Athlete reached out for the ball. Stage Fright grabbed for it at the same time, and they knocked it away. The ball bounced twice, and Athlete ran for it. Stage Fright hip checked her out of the way, sending her skidding across the court.

"I looked it up and the first hit I got was 'I love you'," Uber commented. "That doesn't seem right."

"Let me see that," Leet demanded as Stage Fright took the ball and flew it over to slam-dunk it in the basket. "What the hell? It does… because this is a psychology article on raising child athletes. Your search-fu needs work. Did you even play any 2K to prepare for this?"

"Assholes, I scored!" Stage Fright yelled. Athlete was busy shakily picking herself up off the court.

"Shit. Commentate now, do your research later. That's right, Stage Fright! The score is all tied up."

The game continued, with Uber and Leet commentating as they saw fit. A pattern quickly emerged, where Athlete would perform miraculous rebounds and trick shots, while Stage Fright used her strength, flight, and complete disregard for her opponent's well-being to dominate the ball whenever she could get her hands on it. The fouls–

" –Ooh, another 'accidental' knockdown by Stage Fright–"

–Came hard and often. The score stayed roughly equal at first, but as the game wore on Athlete moved slower and slower, and Stage Fright started showing off.

"Another backwards flying slam dunk, Uber," Leet remarked. "That puts us at fifty-five to forty-three."

"Yes, and Athlete is really showing just how much she can take," Uber replied as the two capes faced off once more in the centerline. "Down she goes again. Man, good thing we don't care about fouls, this game would drag on forever if we did."

Athlete picked herself up off the ground once more. Bruises were starting to show on her limbs, but she continued to try to play.

"Bet she's really regretting the 'good sport' persona right about now," Uber commented after yet another blatant foul.

"Hey, it keeps her nice and nice gets the kiddy gloves around here," Leet retorted. "Usually. Stage Fright, on the other hand? She seems to be going for beautiful and brutal, like Glory Girl."

"Yeah, she's dishing out the punishment. And that's another goal–"

"Basket, numbnuts."

"Another basket for Stage Fright, bringing us up to a grand total of seventy to fifty-three. There are just over five minutes remaining in this game, and it's looking like a runaway for Stage Fright."

"Just quit," Stage Fright growled as they faced off again. She smacked the ball away from Athlete's slow, hesitant grab and then kneed her in the side as she twirled away to throw an easy two-pointer. "You're a fucking loser and you should give up now."

"Can't quit," Athlete panted. "The game isn't over."

"That's the sports spirit I assume exists," Uber commented. "Leet, help me out. Are sports fans known for being persistent?"

"You can't possibly be this ignorant, you can play any sport you want like a professional!" Leet exclaimed. "Don't tell me you didn't at least experiment with the dark side."

"I'm an electronic jedi through and through, don't go putting your outside darkness on me," Uber shot back. "Dark lord Rugby."

"Rugby? Really?" Leet scoffed. "Oh, and there goes Athlete, down again."

"Rugby's the violent one, right? It sprang to mind, watching this massacre. One minute remaining, girls!"

"You're pathetic," Stage Fright sneered, straight-out yanking the ball from Athlete's hands. Athlete cradled her left hand, but she still reached to try and take it back, futile as that was. She got knocked on her backside again for her effort.

Stage Fright flew up into the air, the hardlight basketball balanced on one palm, and turned in the air, waving to unseen fans. Then she flew the ball over to the basket and dunked it one last time.

An electronic buzzer sounded as the clock hit zero. "Game!" Uber yelled. "Winner, at eighty even, is Stage Fright! Loser, but still having put up a good fight, is Athlete at fifty-three. Shake hands, girls!"

Stage Fright descended to the ground. Athlete picked herself up one last time, moving slowly and carefully. Her expression couldn't be seen under her black head covering, but her chest was heaving as she panted for air.

"That was a great game," Stage Fright said smugly, sticking her right hand out to shake.

Athlete took her hand. She tried to shake.

Stage Fright's arm didn't move. Her smile turned ugly. "But the game is over now," she told Athlete.

"Let go," Athlete said shakily, trying and failing to pull out of Stage Fright's grip.

"You should have quit," Stage Fright said.

Then she squeezed.

"Shit!" Uber yelled as Athlete's knees buckled and she screamed. Stage Fright sneered and let go, revealing Athlete's grossly misshapen hand, and kicked the kneeling girl in the chest, sending her skidding across the court.

"You lose," Stage Fright yelled as she flew over, catching Athlete just as she rolled to a stop. She grabbed Athlete her by the pulped hand, drawing more agonized screams out of her.. "You're pathetic, how many times do I have to tell you!"

"Dude, not cool!" Uber broadcast. "Stage Fright, I mean. Let her go! That's fucked up, you mangled her hand."

"Shut up, idiot," Stage Fright said dismissively. She had Athlete by the arms, holding her up facing the camera. "You all laugh and watch her, but she's not worth watching," she ranted to the camera.

"Should have set up closer to the action, I'm on my way there now," Uber could be heard saying, his voice distant but still picked up by the microphone. "Fuck, Leet, talk her down, that shit's going to get us in real trouble."

"Look at her, a mewling worm at the first sign of pain," Stage Fright yelled, shaking Athlete with barely constrained anger. Athlete moaned and tried to do something with her good hand, flailing at Stage Fright.

Stage Fright let go of her long enough to grab and wrench Athlete's arm just above the elbow. Bone snapped loudly enough that it could be clearly heard, and Athlete screamed again.

"Everyone should have seen you for what you were weeks ago," Stage Fright snarled. She put her hands on Athlete's shoulders and forced her to her knees, though that wasn't hard to do. Then she grabbed the top of the black head covering and ripped it off, a chunk of long hair coming with it. "Fucking Taylor Hebert, blind girl who just won't lay down and die."

"Fuck!" Uber yelled. "Leet, cut the fucking feed!"

"It's too late, we're live!" Leet yelled back.

Taylor's head lolled back, unsupported. Her empty eye sockets could be clearly seen. She had stopped screaming, and she slumped over as far as Stage Fright's grip would allow, unconscious.

"She gets her power from it!" Uber retorted. "At least throw in a fucking delay so it isn't live anymore!"

"Can't even stay conscious," Stage Fright ranted. She stepped back, let Taylor fall on her side, and stepped on her leg. "Worthless."

She pushed down, and Taylor returned to consciousness with a shriek as her leg snapped like a twig. Her good leg kicked at Stage Fright, doing absolutely nothing beyond enraging her even further.

"You're nothing!" Stage Fright drew back her leg, pivoted so she was aiming for Taylor's chest, and lashed out full-force–

---

The stream hiccuped. It froze for three seconds, left on that split-second frame.

---

Motion resumed, and Stage Fright's shoe connected with Taylor's chest. Her body rocked back a bit, then slumped forward again, barely moved by the impact.

Stage Fright tripped and fell back on her hands and butt. She made an aborted hopping motion with her arms, and when that didn't do anything, she screamed. "You nerd fuckers turned my stream off!" she yelled, clumsily standing back up. "Turn it back on!"

"Come make me!" Leet broadcast through the Snitch. "Uber, hurry," he muttered, "she's not dead but that wasn't a love tap, come on man."

"I'm not done!" Stage Fright yelled at the Snitch, turning her back on Taylor's broken body. "I paid you to broadcast this, do your fucking job!"

"You didn't say we'd be broadcasting a murder!" Leet retorted. "We like Athlete, why the hell would we agree to that?"

"I'll kill you too!" Stage Fright screamed. "Once I'm done with her, I'll find you and beat you bloody before I drop you off a building!"

"How about right now, bitch!" Uber bounded onto the court. He wasn't wearing a costume, instead sporting a totally normal pair of jeans, a Pac-man T-shirt, and a domino mask.

"I'll break you," Stage Fright snarled as she wound up for a punch.

Uber ran into range, deftly dodged her strike, and jabbed her shoulder with a little gray cylinder he had been hiding in his clenched fist. "Yeah, no, you're not in a position to do anything," he said hurriedly as she collapsed. "Go dream murderous psychopathic dreams. Leet, cut the stream and get your ass over here, we need to get her to the base. Viewers… Go watch something else, she'll be fine, please don't report us for murder, this wasn't the plan!"

The stream went black, then flickered to a new image. A black and white two-part picture, Athlete on one side and Stage Fright on the other, divided by a slanted line of fire. "Stream starting soon," words at the bottom proclaimed, along with a countdown timer that was more than an hour into negative numbers.

---

The video began with a quick flash of color that resolved to a tilted image of Leet's blank blue mask. "Hey, viewers… and probably everybody else," he said soberly. "Leet here, morning after the basketball incident. Wanted to give an update before the Protectorate gets its collective ass properly in gear and drops a bucketload of major, no-fun criminal charges on us. Not live, but we're putting this video up the moment we're done stripping it of anything that'll point to our base's location."

The view panned out to show a large room filled with blurred objects that had clearly been covered over in editing. There was a high stucco ceiling and the floor was bare concrete, but those were the only discernible details.

"First off, let me say again that we were hired by Stage Fright to, and I quote her emails, 'show all your fans a friendly basketball game where I'm going to dominate the competition.' At no point was there any hint that she was going to go psycho, and I'll provide the paper trail confirming that to everyone and anyone official who wants to see them." He shook his head as he backed up, deeper into the room, easily moving around many blurred shapes. "No way. Not our deal. Worst thing we ever did was beat some people up, and that was really shitty of us in retrospect, but they all went home with nothing more serious than bruises."

"Don't forget the theft," Uber called out from somewhere off-screen.

"Dude, I'm not going to admit to that on video," Leet retorted, before addressing the camera once more. "We had no idea what Stage Fright really had planned, and I think that's pretty obvious from the stream. We're not going to turn ourselves in or anything, the Protectorate already have the real attempted murderer in custody, we just don't want 'assistants to the attempted murderer' on our rap sheets. Honest mistake. I didn't see anybody else figure out she was psychotic before we did. Crazy lady was basically a hero."

"Don't deflect, it makes you look manipulative," Uber advised.

"Shut up," Leet sighed. "Me and Uber took her down as soon as we realized what was going on, and I think you'd all do well to note we only had like ten seconds of warning before Stage Fright pulped Athlete's hand, and we weren't on-site, so our response time was about as fast as could be expected."

He backed around something that was beeping ominously, through a doorway, and down a narrow hall. "So that's our defense. We got hired for a legitimate job, our employer turned crazy on us, we moved to fix the situation ASAP. Now, on to the person most of you probably care more about. Athlete."

He backed into a door, felt around for the doorknob, and then backed into the room once he had it. "We rushed her back to our base and dropped her in the Lego bacta tank we kept from the Lego Star Wars thing. Got a full medical scan of her pre-treatment too, which we're going to send to the appropriate authorities as evidence. There's identifying personal information there, but, well… Yeah."

Leet sighed, his mask tilting forward. "No putting that cat back in the bag. I checked this morning, the news is out. So, in the interest of full disclosure…"

The camera swung around and focused on a small white cot set next to a towering, blocky approximation of a clear glass cylinder.

Taylor lay on the bed, on top of the sheets, still in her basketball costume minus the head covering. Her limbs were straight and unbandaged, and all the bruises from the night before were gone. The only signs of her previous injuries were the bald patch on her scalp, healed but not regrown, and the unsightly depressions where her eyes were supposed to be. She looked to be asleep.

"She's okay," Leet said quietly. "Seriously, this isn't a trick or anything, the bacta tank and a few other healing things we were saving for a rainy day mostly fixed her. The other stuff was one-use so it's gone now, but it worked. I didn't have anything to regrow hair, and, well…"

He hesitated.

"Well, her eyes were already long gone before the fight last night," he continued. "None of my healing items worked on those, and I don't really know why. I don't do proper regeneration, most of the healing stuff I tried was reversion-based in various ways and not meant for old injuries… That might be why. Or it might not. It's not something Stage Fright did… that I know of. Damn, actually, I can't be sure. No idea who Stage Fright is under the mask or what shit she might have done in the past."

"Rambling," Uber remarked from off-screen.

"Yeah, sorry." Leet rubbed the back of his head. "I'd fix that if I could, but I don't know why my stuff didn't work to start with and shots in the dark aren't safe. Panacea could probably sort her out, but nobody knows where she is. So I've done all I can. We'll keep her until she wakes up, make sure she's properly healed of the stuff I can fix, and maybe give her the pick of the stockpile to apologize. After that… It's up to her."

The camera shook slightly, as if the one holding it was gesturing.

"In summary," Leet said, "we're really fucking sorry this happened, though we don't admit to responsibility for the things Stage Fright did, because that was all her. Athlete is going to be… at least as okay as she was before this happened. Please don't crucify us, hunt us down, or boycott our future work. Except for anybody who is still a Stage Fright fan after last night, and I know some of you sick fucks are. You aren't welcome on our channel."

The camera turned around to show Uber's face. "Same for me," he said simply. "I'd have given the talk, but you all know I can do professional-level anything that's a skill, so we figured it was more genuine if Leet did it. Uber and Leet, signing off."

---

A phone rang. Three rings in it clicked as the person on the other end picked up.

"Hello?"

"Darci."

"Oh. You. You don't have to use a code name, everyone knows who I am now."

"Athlete, then."

"Taylor."

"Taylor. I'm calling to personally inform you that the contract has been breached."

"Of course. Because life can never pull its punches. Just like Emma, apparently. What did I do?"

"You misunderstand. She broke the contract, not you. She specifically agreed not to attempt to kill you. That last kick was going to be excessively lethal at her level of power, and only outside action stopped it from killing you."

"I didn't expect you to honor that. Shadowy secret organizations like to tie up loose ends, not punish people for doing that for them."

"Taylor, when in your dealings with us have we ever treated you unfairly? When did we give you the impression we would only enforce our contracts sometimes, not always?"

"It's one of the side effects of being above the law. I can't exactly take you to court if you don't honor your deals. What happens now?"

"The contract is null as of now. No more required crimes or fights for you. A few administrative things we can go through right now, and then you'll never hear from us again unless you seek us out. No strings, no follow-ups."

"I'll believe it when I see it, not before. What do you want to go over?"

"First, the aftermath of the contract being broken. The sponsor had to put down a small security deposit on the behalf of both of you. This money is directly payable to you, but we offer several services you will likely want to take advantage of, the most relevant being arranging an ironclad false identity."

"One good enough to get past my face and my known handicap being distinctive?"

"... No. Not without plastic surgery, and that is outside of the budget provided by the defaulted payment."

"Yeah. Thought as much. How big is the gap?"

"Five figures."

"Definitely not happening. It would be too complicated, anyway. The one good thing about being outed is I won't have to pretend to be blind in the normal way anymore."

"Perhaps there are more upsides than just that, but I digress. We can function as intermediaries and acquire effective legal services for you, if you wish to turn yourself in and aim for a light ruling in the courts. Between the low severity of your crimes, the lack of physical violence, and the brutal beating you've just suffered, you could easily 'turn over a new leaf' with minimal consequences."

"If I want to do that, I'll hire my own lawyer. I want to be done with your organization, not beholden to you until the legal dust settles."

"Not a bad decision. The rest of the services we offer are not likely to interest you, but I can forward a full list if you want time to go over them."

"I want to be done with this. Can anything on your list improve my life right now?"

"Likely not, with your budget."

"Then don't bother. Just give the money to me. How much is it?"

"Two thousand dollars for the contract being broken by the other party, plus an additional three thousand for your identity being forcibly revealed to the public."

"That's it?"

"They are meant as nominal fees to ensure the sponsor has 'skin in the game', not full compensation. That they are going to you at all is a consequence of the unique nature of this arrangement even by our standards, not normal operating practice."

"Right. I guess it's enough to live off of for a few months."

"You do have options as to what you do next. Off the record, would you like to hear my advice?"

"Sure, why not. Can't make things any worse."

"You can continue on as you are, but that will not pay the bills unless you make it a full-time job, and eventually you will be apprehended. You could throw yourself on the mercy of the courts, but that will end in a forced Wards enrollment that you will not be able to exit until you are eighteen. You could attempt to lay low and live a normal life, and as a favor to you I will provide instant transportation to anywhere in the world if you choose this option, but your identity will be a major sticking point."

"I don't want your favors."

"Not a favor that needs to be repaid or even officially remembered by my organization. A favor to you, personally, from me, as an apology for my part in all of this. Alternatively, you could work for us."

"Work for you."

"Yes. We do occasionally hire from those who receive our services, and while your power is limited you would be useful in many capacities. I have been repeatedly impressed by your handling of this entire situation, unasked-for and mostly unwanted as it was. You would be my assistant."

"Respectfully, Doctor, I'm going to say no right now and I'm not going to change my mind."

"Would you tell me why? I will respect your decision and not attempt to persuade you."

"I can't stomach the thought of being a part of what you do. I hate that your organization has so much power and uses it to facilitate twisted games like this. I don't want to be a part of any of it. I would sooner go to jail and sit in a cell than I would work for you, so no. I refuse."

"If it is any consolation, this experiment will not be repeated."

"No. You'll just go back to wherever it is you usually get your stooges for the Nemesis program. I don't want to know where that is. How it works. I can't fight you but I can refuse to be a part of you."

"Acceptable, so long as you remember that you cannot fight or reveal us. I really would not want you to suffer the consequences of doing so."

"Nice threat. Very subtle."

"I mean it, Taylor. You impressed me. This entire scenario offends me, and it was not entirely my decision to allow it in the first place. I would be genuinely unhappy if you forced my organization to silence you."

"You would still let it happen."

"Yes."

"So don't expect me to appreciate you or the things you say. What else did we need to do here?"

"There are questions we need you to answer to the best of your abilities. Think of this as an exit survey. The answers will not be held against you, and they will be taken into consideration when appropriate. Specific to this scenario, when the results of this hybrid arrangement are discussed, and whether we continue to facilitate this type of arrangement."

"A survey. Fine. Lay it on me."

"Please explain in your own words what the contract you signed with us entailed, and how it affected you."

"The contract said that I would get powers from you. I would get power testing from you. Also, in the event that my power didn't lend itself to effective escapes, which it turned out it didn't, you would provide an effective escape mechanism for the duration of the contract. I wouldn't pay, some anonymous sponsor would do that, but to get all this I had to agree to commit crimes and stick around for fights as you dictated for a certain number of events. How it affected me… I'm a criminal. I don't have a secret identity. I'm a couple thousand dollars richer, but if it wasn't for Uber and Leet not wanting the heat of being accomplices to murder I would be dead right now, so if my luck was a little bit worse you wouldn't be able to ask this question at all."

"Knowing this, and knowing that you did have a choice, why did you choose to agree to and abide by the contract?"

"When Shatterbird sang in Brockton Bay, my glasses exploded. I was instantly blinded and my eyes were beyond saving. It's a miracle I didn't die then. By the time the Nine left Brockton, my father was dead and Panacea, the only person who might have been able and willing to give me my sight back for free, was missing and nobody knew when she would be back, if she would be back at all. My life was in shambles. You told me the odds were good the power you gave me would either heal me or adapt to compensate for my blindness, and I didn't know what else I could do. I took the deal because I hoped it would fix me."

"Were you satisfied with your power when you received it? Are you satisfied with it as of now?

"Yes, and still yes. I can't see color, the sky, or read or watch television, and it raises questions if anyone sees my empty eye sockets while I'm not acting like I'm blind, but I can learn Braille and the rest are small complaints. As far as fixing my vision goes, my power was more than good enough."

"Please explain your power in your own words."

"That's not easy. I see… lines, I guess. If I'm touching something, or if I can touch it, I can see every possible path I could make that thing take, and it's more future-sight than calculation because it compensates for things I don't know about. These lines fill up the world around me, like coloring in a piece of paper, and it's similar to sonar. I can see through them, and the only limit to how far I can see is how far I can make the thing I'm touching move, so my sight is pretty good for most things. When I do actually want to throw something, or make something move, or the like, I can choose any of the possible lines and make it happen, so perfect aim too. I think that's it."

"That was a very good summary for someone without any of the specific vocabulary experts tend to use."

"I can feel your condescension from here."

"My apologies. Did the absence of a known sponsor impact your decision to accept the deal?"

"Yes. Obviously. The question is, did it make me more or less likely than knowing would have? I think you're phrasing it wrong. Would me knowing who it was have affected my decision? Answer me that."

"I cannot tell you who your sponsor was. Even now."

"Was it Shadow Stalker?"

"I can neither confirm nor deny that."

"I deserve to know who paid to have my life improved and then fucked in new and exciting ways."

"Given how this turned out I'm inclined to agree with you, but as per our policy I cannot directly confirm or deny the identity of your sponsor."

"The way you say that…"

"I said it exactly as I meant it."

"Was it Eidolon?"

"No."

"Was it Mouse Protector?"

"No."

"Was it Madison Clements?"

"No."

"Was it Emma?"

"Certainly not, she was funded by the same sponsor as you."

"Was it Shadow Stalker?"

"I can neither confirm nor deny the identity of our sponsor. Please stop asking."

"Right. Thank you for… being consistent. Do you have any more questions?"

"One more. Knowing what you do now, would you counsel your past self for or against taking the deal Cauldron offered?"

"All in all? For. But that's not an endorsement of what you do. It sucked and the ending really fucking sucked and I'm still sore even though Leet swore he fixed all damage sustained in the last twenty-four hours. I don't know what I'm going to do now. I'm a known criminal in and out of costume. It's just that where I think I would be now without powers sucks even more. Go, past me. Take that damn vial and all the strings attached to it. At least this way you have a fighting chance."

"Cauldron does offer that."

"Cauldron offers deals with the devil, where they could just as easily be guardian angels if they wanted. Don't deceive yourself."

"I'm sorry you feel that way."

"Stay out of my life. We're even. As far as I'm concerned, your organization no longer exists after today."

"Understood. This concludes our business with you, Taylor Hebert. Good luck."

---

Shadow Stalker had been within sight of the hidden security camera for an hour. She spent that hour pacing around the rooftop, looking over the sides at the world below every so often, only to pull back with a muttered curse or guttural snarl. Her costume was shiny and new, a glossy black that made it impossible to hide in the darkness. She had no weapon.

Another dark and much more imposing figure eventually flew up to land on the rooftop, her face below the opaque visor that obscured her eyes grim and unsmiling. "Shadow Stalker."

"Alexandria," Shadow Stalker spat.

"You know you aren't allowed to leave the building," Alexandria told her.

"I'm still on the building." Shadow Stalker crossed her arms. "Not a crime."

"It doesn't need to be a crime for me to punish you for it," Alexandria warned. "You get one mistake. Only one. And you've already made it. You are only still here because I allowed you to make it."

"I didn't do anything," Shadow Stalker objected. "I've played along with your stupid games, sat on my butt in this boring city, not that I had a choice with you snapping my whole family up the morning after I did this shitty world a favor–"

Alexandria floated closer to her, and Shadow Stalker took a step back, forced to look up to see Alexandria's face.

"I didn't do anything," Shadow Stalker repeated.

"So much money," Alexandria said quietly. "How much do you have left from the bounties for Mannequin? It should be quite a lot."

Shadow Stalker flinched.

"I always knew," Alexandria said softly, dangerously. She put a hand on Shadow Stalker's shoulder. Not squeezing, not holding her, just there. Immovable, untouchable. "There is nothing I do not know about. I allowed it to happen."

"No way," Shadow Stalker breathed.

"You already burned your one allowed mistake with that," Alexandria continued. "So do not test me. Do not push me. You are here because you got lucky and famous and I will use that. Your power can be useful. You need to shape up to match it. Or you'll find your luck has run out."

"Nobody knows what you're really like, do they?" Shadow Stalker asked.

"Some do. The ones who need to." Alexandria's grip tightened, just a little. "This is a… teaching moment. You paid for your former best friend and the girl you tormented to get powers. You set them against each other. You withheld the safeguards that your friend could have used to assure victory. What were you hoping to accomplish?"

"Emma… She was supposed to prove herself. Taylor was a… tutorial." Shadow Stalker paused. She tried to shrug out of Alexandria's grip, but Alexandria didn't let her go. "I wasn't going to let Emma cheat. You're not a predator if your food is kneecapped and left for you."

"And what happened?" Alexandria asked. Her grip tightened further.

"Emma went crazy. Taylor got the shit kicked out of her. It was all for nothing."

"Be more specific," Alexandria growled. Her grip tightened further, enough that Shadow Stalker tried again to pull away from her. "What are the consequences?"

"Emma is in jail, and she's not going to get out. Taylor got healed by Leet. I wasted my money. What do you want from me? I'm not sorry."

"No, you're not." Alexandria's mouth quirked into a small, unpleasant smile. "You're a predator, Sophia."

"Yes," Sophia agreed.

"Predators are animals, and some people say that animals only learn in two ways," Alexandria continued. "Success… Or pain."

Alexandria squeezed harder, and something popped in Sophia's shoulder. Sophia muffled a yell, flickering to shadow for an instant. Only an instant. Something buzzed, and she returned to solid form with another yell.

"So, a teaching moment," Alexandria concluded. She released Sophia's shoulder and floated backward. "You used your bounty to create two supervillains. You ruined your best friend's life because of your simplistic, reductive view of life. If that does not teach you that your methods, your ideals, are flawed, then maybe the pain of failure will. As far as anyone in this building knows, you hurt your shoulder lifting weights tonight."

"You broke something," Sophia groaned, gingerly feeling at her shoulder.

"Heavy weights," Alexandria clarified. "And the next time you step out of line, I'll continue down the list of injuries. We'll start with the things your friend did to the girl you liked to torment, one at a time, each time your philosophy fails. Your hand, your arms, your shins, your hair. For as long as you insist on being a predator, I will make sure that your failures always end like they would in the wild, with pain. When you step into the real world, that can stop and I will treat you like a civilized person. Not before."

---

"And now for our final story tonight," a man in a navy blue suit announced from a circular desk. "Five years ago today, live footage of a parahuman sports event turned abruptly to violence in front of a virtual audience of tens of thousands, sparking public outrage. It happened here in Brockton Bay, and Brockton Bay's own Channel Seven reporter Christie Melanov is on the scene tonight to give us an update, five years later."

The scene switched to a woman in a blue coat and scarf holding a microphone. "Thanks, Dave," she said breathlessly. "We're here at Wilson park in downtown Brockton Bay, where the event took place, though those of you who have seen the video know that it looks almost nothing like it did that night."

The camera swept out to take in the old basketball court behind her, before refocusing on her face.

"It was here that the teenage superhero Stage Fright, known for a few weeks by her livestreamed heroic endeavors, enlisted two minor supervillains to bring in the supervillain Athlete, also a teenager and also relatively new to the cape scene, for a basketball game. The game itself was not friendly, with numerous fouls against Athlete, but the real shift in tone came at the end, where Stage Fright won and then proceeded to publicly attack, seriously injure, and unmask Athlete, all unprovoked. The attack culminated in what has been ruled to be attempted murder, and only the efforts of the Supervillains she enlisted to film the event stopped it from being a successful attempt."

The wind whipped the reporter's scarf up into her face, and she pushed it down with a forced smile. "Immediately following this, Athlete was identified online as one Taylor Hebert, a Brockton Bay native recently orphaned and blinded by the Slaughterhouse Nine attack on the city. Stage Fright was subdued and taken into custody by the Brockton Bay Protectorate, and charged with attempted murder, but Athlete wasn't seen for several weeks after the incident, save for a video produced by the minor supervillains assuring the world that she would live and had been healed of her injuries."

The screen flicked over to an image of Taylor, laying in bed with her mask off, taken from the aforementioned video, before returning to the reporter.

"When Athlete was next seen in public, she was voluntarily turning herself in to the Protectorate. She was arrested for multiple counts of theft and resisting arrest, among other things. Athlete pleaded guilty on all counts, but Stage Fright pleaded innocent, leading to a long and dramatic court case that ended in her being convicted and sentenced to fifteen years in prison, where she remains to this day. Athlete, on the other hand, served three months, immediately followed by mandatory enrollment in the Wards where she was rarely seen on patrol but took to heroics with no obvious difficulty."

Cars began to roll up in the background, parking along the street.

"When she turned eighteen, she declined to join the Protectorate. Taylor Hebert took the mantle of Athlete up once more, but this time as a Rogue specializing in arranging and participating in sports events for parahumans."

A group of men and women in referee outfits filed onto the basketball court, sweeping it off and checking the hoops.

"She and later the organization she built from the ground up were wildly successful, single-handedly bringing parahuman sports into the spotlight as a legitimate, organized enterprise. Her cheerful, polite persona even as a villain paid off as the new Rogue had no trouble procuring sponsorships and funding by legal means, and her time in the Wards provided her with many friends willing to participate as her first parahuman athletes. Today, there are three multi-sport leagues specifically designed for parahumans, and she organizes all of the events. She doesn't participate in the ranked tournaments after complaints of unfair treatment, but every so often she'll come out for a charity game."

"And that," Dave cut in, "is why you're there tonight."

"Yes Dave, I'm here because it seems Athlete remembers the date just as well as we do, and has scheduled a charity basketball game here, set to begin two hours from now. All revenue from the game will be going to the national S-class disaster fund, and let me tell you, that's a lot of money these days. Parahuman sports have yet to match the pre-parahuman heights of football or baseball here in America, but they've already edged into the top ten most commonly watched sports as of last year, an incredible accomplishment in so short a time."

"Exciting," Dave commented. "Any idea what matchup we're going to see tonight?"

"Yes, it's a Brockton Bay match," the reporter explained. "Five on five, playing by the modified parahuman rule set as last updated this January. The red team will be Warp, previously Vista of the Wards, leading other former Brockton Bay Wards. We expect to see Weld tonight, though he was only in Brockton Bay for five months as a Ward, and Glory will almost certainly be here, but the other two haven't been announced. On the blue team, Athlete herself will be playing alongside Battery and Assault of the Protectorate and two of Parian's creations."

Behind her, a life-sized stuffed gorilla wandered into view, carrying two buckets of white paint.

"Tonight is the five-year anniversary of possibly Athlete's worst night ever in costume," the reporter concluded, "but she's definitely bounced back since then. Back to you in the studio, Dave."

Author's Note: I want it known art imitates life. Specifically, when I quickly searched 'what do you say to start a basketball match' while writing that scene, my first result suggested the answer was 'give them a big hug and say, "I love you!"'. That was just too good to not use in the actual story as a bit of banter.

Funny real-life inspirations aside, a lot is going on in this story. The most obvious thing is probably the format, with the AU elements coming in a close second. This story lent itself thematically to being viewed 'from a screen', as it were, with the two main powers on display both facilitating performance and drawing attention. On the meta side of things, I wanted to push myself. Almost all of my writing is third-person flawed, which is to say, inside the head of a character. Here there is none of that, though I cheated a bit with transcripts in certain places where it was thematically appropriate. We never get into anyone's head, everything is experienced from a distance, seen through a screen or heard through a speaker. Livestreams, videos, security camera footage, recorded audio from phones and other sources.

This, along with the 'In Media Res' start to the story, made the AU elements opaque for most of the story. I think the broad strokes are pretty clear by the end, though. I might do a little series of vignettes set in this world to cover some of the side-details I referenced but didn't really cover (Vista's second trigger, the fate of the Dallon family, Glory Girl, Oracle, Piggot and her replacement, Coil / Calvert, Armsmaster, Assault and Battery, what Alexandria is doing with all of this, just to name a few), but if I do that'll be later. Feel free to ask for more details on this AU if you're interested, I'm up for giving detailed summaries of all the stuff that had to be here for the setting to work, but wasn't in the spotlight.