Maggie swallowed as quietly as she could, hoping with everything in her that the person would walk away soon, to give her an opportunity to slip out. Right now, it was hopeless. She was completely cornered. There was no way out of the room she was in without walking directly by whoever was out there.
I should've brought a weapon, she lamented. She'd been so ill-prepared. What on earth had possessed her to think this was a good idea?
She must have made some kind of noise, because all of the sudden, the figure's head snapped around to face her. By the faint light coming in through the building's windows, Maggie could see that it was young woman, perhaps in her twenties, with a pointy nose and narrowed eyes. She was wearing regular street clothes, not a Renegade uniform, and in her hands she clasped what could have been a gun, but Maggie guessed was probably one of the stun guns that all vigilantes were supposed to carry with them if they wanted to tote a weapon. Maggie had seen the TV ads that encouraged vigilantes to "Stun them, subdue them, but don't do any permanent damage. Remember, everyone is entitled to a fair trial."
Fair trial or not, she couldn't afford to be caught at all. Gathering up a few of the silver pieces, she prepared to use her powers to throw them at the woman's face, disorienting her for enough time for Maggie to run by.
She hesitated when her own words from earlier that night came back to her: I'm not dumb enough to flash my powers around for everyone to see. Powers were an identifying characteristic. If Maggie demonstrated that she was telekinetic, it would greatly narrow down the search for the mysterious watch factory intruder.
She placed the silver pieces back in the box where they'd come from, and eased herself down into a crouch on the floor. The vigilante's head cocked to the side, as if listening. "Who's there?"
Maggie pressed her lips together, still glancing around for a way out, or a way to get rid of the vigilante. This woman was the only one here, right? She hadn't brought a whole team of friends along?
The woman took a step closer. Maggie eyed the stun gun. It was much larger than most of the items she could move, but it did have value, so there was a chance she'd be able to at least push it out of the way if the woman turned it directly on her.
Which was exactly what the woman did. Maggie concentrated hard on the stun gun and forced her powers into it, shoving it to the side at the same time as she dove forward, colliding with the vigilante's knees and dropping her to the ground. The woman cried out in surprise, and Maggie heard the zing of the stun gun being discharged somewhere close to her left ear.
"I found the intruder!" the woman shouted as Maggie scrambled to get away from her. She felt the woman's hand lock around her ankle. "I've got her! Quick!"
In one fluid motion, Maggie unbuckled the fanny pack and whacked the vigilante's hand with it. The moment the woman's grip loosened, Maggie sprung away, bolting toward the nearest exit door. She could hear the clattering of metal behind her as several of the pieces she'd stolen fell out of the still-open fanny pack, and then the pounding of more than one set of footsteps. She wrenched open the door, sweatshirt sleeve covering her hand, and threw herself into the stairwell, half-running, half-falling down the steps.
They were gaining on her. She could hear the footsteps coming closer and closer as she barreled down the twelve flights of stairs, heart pounding in her throat. She didn't dare look back to see how close they had gotten. After what seemed like an eternity, she reached the bottom of the stairwell, and thrust herself out through the door she'd come in, immediately darting around the corner of the building. A Dumpster stood a few paces away, and before she had the chance to consider whether it was a good idea, she ran toward it with all her might and flung herself inside.
Two years of living with Duncan hadn't quite prepared her for the vicious odors that assaulted her nose as she burrowed herself into the very back of the receptacle, seeking refuge under the closed part of the cover. She plugged her nose and bit the inside of her cheeks to keep from gagging. This better be worth it, she thought savagely. If they find me in here anyway… if this was all for nothing…
She tensed when she heard voices, muffled by the metal walls of the Dumpster. "Which way do you think she went?" asked the woman who'd been pointing the stun gun at her.
"Don't know." The other voice was male and unfamiliar. "You go that way; I'll go this way?"
"I don't know, if I were a crook I think I'd go down the alley," said the woman, and Maggie grimaced. Please no. Don't come down the alley.
"Go down the alley, then! Whatever you do, do it quickly; every minute we stand around talking she's getting farther away."
The woman huffed, and a moment later her footsteps were drawing closer as she crept down the alley where Maggie was hiding.
Maggie started feeling around the Dumpster for anything metal or remotely valuable. Dead batteries, broken picture frames, or anything that could have been thrown away by accident. If she needed to, she would use her telekinesis to throw all of the objects into the woman's face. It would blow her cover, but it would at least allow her to make another quick getaway, and it would be better to be logged into the system as an unknown telekinetic than as Maggie White.
She pressed a fist against her nose and mouth, partially to block out the nauseating stench, and partially to ensure the vigilante wouldn't hear her ragged breaths. She waited in tense silence for several minutes as the slow, creeping footsteps made their way down the alley, her heart pounding in anticipation for the lid to whip off the Dumpster and the woman's face to leer down at her. To her great surprise, however, after a few minutes the footsteps were all the way on the other side of the alley, and then they were gone entirely.
She remained in her hiding spot for a few more minutes, thinking it had to be a trap. Perhaps the vigilante knew where she was, and was just trying to make her feel comfortable enough to leave the safety of the foul-smelling receptacle and expose herself in the alley. After several more tense moments, though, feeling like she was going to die from the smell, Maggie ever so cautiously poked her head above the opening and looked down the alley.
It was empty, except for a stray cat that was sniffing around, no doubt looking for something to eat. She glanced down in the other direction, and once again, saw nothing.
She pulled herself out of the Dumpster, simply standing and enjoying being out in the fresh air again for a moment before remembering that she needed to get as far away from this place as she could, in case the vigilantes came back or called friends or Renegades. Cautiously peeking around the next building and seeing no one, she began strolling down the sidewalk, trying to appear as unsuspicious as possible. Those vigilantes wouldn't expect me to just be walking along like a normal person, would they? She thought. They'd expect me to be sneaking and creeping, like a criminal. I'm camouflaged in plain sight.
A car drove by, catching her in its headlights, and she forced herself not to react, because an ordinary pedestrian wouldn't think twice about being caught in a beam of light as they walked down the road at night. The first chance she got, though, she turned onto one of the side streets.
As long as those vigilantes aren't creeping around through here, she thought with a twinge of apprehension. It had been several minutes since the woman had left the alleyway next to the watch factory building; she and her partner could be anywhere by now.
A sound from behind startled her, and she whipped her head around, eyes scanning the street as she continued to walk forward. A bird of some kind, possibly an owl, had just landed on the overhang of a nearby building. Hopefully that's all it was. Hopefully she could—
"Can I ask why you smell like garbage?"
Maggie jumped and whirled back around to see a figure in front of her, a figure she must have completely overlooked, a figure who she'd nearly just walked right into. She turned, preparing to run away in the direction she'd come from, but the man placed a hand on her shoulder. "Nova, it's just me."
Nova? Maggie stopped in her tracks, too surprised to move for a moment. This man who'd caught her thought she was Nova? What, Nova Artino, or some other Nova?
She turned around to sneer at the man, but the moment she saw his face, she was hit by another, bigger wave of shock.
She recognized him.
She had only seen him once before, but his face was unforgettable. Even in the meager light from the streetlights several paces away, she recognized the lopsided mouth, the mottled skin, the missing eyebrows, and the thick scars. She'd noticed him at the parade nearly four years ago—the first parade after the Supernova, back when it had still taken place on the Day of Triumph rather than Supernova Day. She'd been making her rounds, pickpocketing and lifting small trinkets and valuables from various members of the crowd, when she'd caught him staring at her. She'd expected him to maybe give her a disapproving look or beckon her over, to chastise her for stealing and make her give everything back, the way the Renegades had always done. Instead, he'd smiled at her. Smiled in a way that suggested he knew her, although Maggie had been dead certain that she'd never seen him before in her life.
"Who are you?" she blurted out, even as he removed his hand from her shoulder and stared at her, equally surprised.
"My apologies," he replied, in an even, polite voice that didn't match his ugly, blotchy face at all. "I thought you were someone else."
"Nova Artino?"
Another flicker of surprise flashed in the man's eyes, but he simply nodded. "Yes. You know her?"
She couldn't help scowling. "We've met."
"Ah." The right side of the man's mouth turned up in what could have been a small smile. "Then you may know that the uniform she wears as Nightmare looks similar to what you are wearing right now."
Maggie mentally recalled Nova's black jacket with the hood that totally obscured the top part of her face. She'd been close to Nightmare only once, just that day at the arena, but she could still remember in vivid detail what it had looked like as the villain approached her in the stands, and she remembered being completely unafraid, because she didn't have any room to be afraid, because all that was in her was anger and sadness and guilt and regret, so much regret, because she shouldn't have given that helmet to Callum, she shouldn't have even taken it in the first place, and now he was dead and it was all her fault…
"Who are you?" she asked again, pushing away the unwanted thoughts.
"My name is Leroy Flinn," he responded. "Though you might know me as Cyanide."
Cyanide! The one remaining Anarchist, aside from Nova, who'd survived the Second Battle for Gatlon. Until now, Maggie hadn't been sure what had happened to him, only that he hadn't died, which she knew because he wasn't honored every year in the Memorial Floats.
She eyed him suspiciously. Why would Cyanide, of all people, be watching her during the Hero Parade? Why would he seem as if he knew her?
She opened her mouth to ask, but changed her question before it came out. "Are you a Renegade now?"
He chuckled darkly. "Definitely not, nor will I ever be. Although I do appreciate many of the changes they've made these last few years."
"So you're still a villain?"
"Must the world be split into Renegades and villains?"
She didn't answer. She knew it wasn't as clear-cut as that, especially now, with all the vigilantism and everyone having superpowers. Even before all that, there had never been as clear of a divide as everyone had liked to pretend. Plenty of Renegades had demonstrated villainous characteristics—herself included—and plenty of non-Renegades had done heroic things.
After a few moments of silence, Cyanide spoke up again. "I did many things during my time fighting alongside Ace Anarchy that I am no longer proud of. And I did many things that I still believe were the right course of action, though others may disagree. We Anarchists were always fighting to create the world we saw as better—and as I have come to realize now, the Renegades were doing the same thing. I am not sure either side could be classified as the 'heroes' or the 'villains.' We were simply two sides with opposing convictions and values."
Maggie raised her eyebrows. "Ace Anarchy tried to destroy Gatlon City and kill thousands of people. You're seriously saying he wasn't a villain?"
"Ace Anarchy certainly had a flair for taking things to the extreme," said Cyanide, a shadow crossing his face. "I do not condone everything he did. However, he was acting out of a deep conviction that personal freedom should rule out over all else. That people should be allowed to make their own choices, without interference from a governing body." He shrugged. "The Renegades created a substance designed to strip prodigies of their powers without giving them any say in the matter. Are you quite sure they couldn't be considered villains?"
Maggie bit back a surprised laugh. The Renegades, villains? The idea was preposterous. But… he did have a point. She knew she'd have been beyond upset if Agent N had ever stripped her of her powers.
"So you agree with the general narrative of today's society, then? That nobody's a villain, and we're all heroes and equal and all that?"
Cyanide considered the question. "I do not believe that standing up for what one believes in makes a person a villain," he finally responded. "Nor do I believe that having superpowers makes one a hero."
Maggie thought about her own villainous plans: stealing Ace Anarchy's helmet and becoming the most powerful person in all of Gatlon City, maybe in the whole world. She wasn't defending some deep-seated belief or conviction. She wasn't fighting for freedom or justice or to make the world a better place. She was just trying to—
What was she trying to accomplish?
She glanced down the alleyway, realizing that she'd almost forgotten she was on the run from vigilantes who'd caught her stealing from the watch factory. She was pretty sure Cyanide wouldn't rat her out if they came by, not if he still adhered at all to his Anarchist beliefs. But that didn't mean she wanted to take the chance.
"I have to go," she said abruptly. She started to walk away, but hesitated, the question burning in her mind. Why had he been watching her? Why had he seemed to know her? It wasn't like she was likely to ever have another chance to talk to Cyanide and ask him. "Why…" she trailed off, not sure how to ask the question.
In the meager light from the nearest streetlight, she saw him smile pleasantly. "Why am I standing outside in the cold at 4am? Just experimenting with a new formula. The chemicals work best at low temperatures." He gestured to a small still she hadn't noticed before, set up against the storefront he was standing by.
She opened her mouth to tell him that that wasn't what she'd been about to ask, but chickened out once again. He hadn't seemed to recognize her this time, except for at the beginning when he'd thought she was Nightmare. Maybe he'd mistaken her for someone else that day at the parade too. Maybe she'd just imagined the look of recognition.
She bade Cyanide goodnight and stalked off in the direction of the theater.