“Where’s Prowler?”

Erich shouldn’t have been surprised that those were the first words out of Zig-Zag’s mouth the moment he stepped into the venue for their meeting.

Fortunately, said venue was owned by the Dome so the venom that accompanied that question was only mildly concerning rather than outright terrifying.

“She’s around,” he said casually as he stepped over to take a seat.

“The loss of Zig-Zag’s purple cunt aside, why are we here?” Bronte asked from her position lounging in her chair. A reasonably spectacular feat considering their choice of meeting place was one of the Dome’s stadiums, and thus the cheap plastic chairs that made up the place’s seating was not exactly designed with lounging in mind.

No, that was reserved for the private boxes, and even though the arena was currently empty, the Saints didn’t have the kind of political capital required to secure a meeting there.

No, they were relegated to talking in the bleachers like a bunch of irate fans.

Not that Erich particularly cared. It was the Dome’s reputation he needed. He was just happy that he could talk with his fellow leaders without fear of one of them trying to perforate him.

Not that he really expected such from Bronte. As far as she was concerned, she had him by the balls.

“We’re here because we all have a mutual problem; each other.”

Bronte frowned at that, but Zig-Zag nodded vehemently.

“You can fucking say that again,” the man-woman spat. “I brought on you people to help my group survive the Kings and I’ve fucking regretted it ever since.”

Bronte just shrugged. “You survived didn’t you? Because of me.”

I’d like to think that me being sent on a suicide mission and accidentally killing Manacle was the defining factor, but whatever.

Zig-Zag glared at the lightning user. “I might have survived, but now my gang is split into three pieces. If I’d wanted that to happen, I would have just joined up with the King’s rather than try to fight them.”

“Well perhaps if your leadership wasn’t so inept, your people might not be so eager to jump ship.” Bronte grinned, her scarred features creasing garishly.

“So, you’re finally ready to admit that you’re trying to take over,” Zig-Zag shit back.

“Trying to?

“Right, as fascinating as who wronged who might be,” Erich interrupted before the meeting could devolve into name calling. Again. “I didn’t call you here to discuss the state of our ongoing… disagreement.”

Zig-Zag’s enraged eyes swung back to him. “No, you called this meeting to explain why you apparently had an army of drones hidden under your factory, and what the fuck you’ve done with my lieutenant.”

Erich coughed, taken a little off guard by the fact that the shapeshifter already knew about his little secret project.

He really shouldn’t have been. His drones had not been subtle when they’d deployed to take down Myra. Sarah had known within minutes after all, and he doubted a shapeshifter’s information network was in anyway inferior.

Hell, they might have been in the building when it went down.

“Right, as I was saying, we all have a mutual problem in each other,” he continued. “None of us want to work under the others, but unfortunately none of us are strong enough to take our chunk of forces and leave.”

Or kill the others, went unsaid.

The other gangs would be all over them. Just like what was happening with the Kings.

A house divided cannot stand, and all that bullshit, Erich thought.

Zig-Zag nodded reluctantly, but now Bronte was glaring suspiciously at him. Understandable, given that she was currently set to win their little showdown.

“Which is why I’ve come to an arrangement with the dome,” he said, passing each of them an Omni-Pad.

Zig-Zag almost eagerly grabbed hers, but Bronte continued to glare suspiciously before accepting the proffered device.

Silence fell over the trio as the pair of villains mulled over the contents of the pads.

In the end, Zig-Zag was the first to speak.

“This is insane.” The shapeshifter laughed. “Sure, it might give us enough firepower to let us split from each other without getting dogpiled by the other gangs, but it can’t be done. Hell, how the fuck did you even get the Dome to agree to this?”

Erich frowned, but answered. “I revealed to them certain details of my origins that convinced them that I had the skillset required to pull such a plan off.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Bronte stiffen slightly.

Which I suppose confirms that Hard-Light shared my origins with her, he thought. Or that she was the one to uncover them in the first place.

“Skillset?” Zig-Zag cackled, drawing his attention back to them. “Now, I get that you’re a talented engineer, even if I think the whole ‘non-meta’ thing is horseshit. But this? Do you have any idea how many times people have attempted to perform a breakout since the ‘ball and chain’ came out?”

“Fourteen.” Erich responded from memory. “Each a total failure that resulted in the death of any prisoner that attempted to leave the premises.”

Totalling one hundred and twelve dead prisoners over a ten-year period.

Still, the system worked. The days of villains treating the prison system as a revolving door were a thing of the past.

“Exactly,” Zig-Zag said, taken a little off guard. They likely hadn’t known the exact number themselves. Either way, they rallied quickly. “Fourteen failed attempts. So how the fuck did you – a nobody – manage to convince the motherfucking Dome to lend out their precious teleporter for this little breakout plan of yours?”

Erich shrugged.

“As I said, I revealed certain details of my origins. Origins that meant I have some… peripheral experience with the ball and chain system.”

“What did you offer them, Erich?” Bronte spoke up for the first time since he’d unveiled the deal he’d cut with the Dome.

“Forty three Metas for the games. Which according to publicly available statistics, should be the amount that remains after we have taken three individuals each for ourselves,” Erich grunted. “Assuming everything goes to plan.”

“Fat fucking chance of that,” Zig-Zag snorted. “Hellbound Prison? It ain’t exactly Fort Knox, but it ain’t far off either.”

Erich shook his head. “I think you will find Hellbound to be less of a challenge than you might expect. As you said earlier, the ball and chain system has made staging a breakout almost unthinkable to the modern villain. As a result, federal authorities have reduced the number on site security personnel with each passing year. Most of the onsite security is automated now.”

“How would you know that?” Bronte chimed in as she continued to read over the proposed plan.

“A peripheral web search.” Erich shrugged. “In the last attempted breakout, the only casualties reported came from prisoners attempting to leave the prison. None of the attackers were captured, having escaped once it became clear that they could not effectively circumvent the ball and chain before local hero teams arrived. No casualties amongst prison staff either, but the report mentioned extensive damage.”

Which meant drones rather than flesh and blood defenders.

Zig-Zag hummed, no doubt coming to the same conclusion.

“What did you offer them, Erich?”

Bronte’s question brought a frown to his face.

“I already told you. The bulk of whatever prisoners we manage to free?”

The villainess was undeterred.

“That’s what you offered if we succeed,” Bronte said. “That’s a gamble. I know the Dome. They don’t gamble. The number of gladiators who’ve actually managed to win their freedom from this dump could tell you that much. So tell me? What did you offer them?”

Erich hissed through gritted teeth as Zig-Zag’s interest in the offer gave way to curiosity about the price.

“Myra,” he said finally.

“You what-”

Erich cut in before Zig-Zag could get a full head of steam going. “I gave them Myra to get them to agree to send us. The prisoners are the cost of bringing us back.”

“And in the event that your ‘spectacular inside knowledge’ of the ball and chain doesn’t work out?” The blond prompted.

“Then they get me as well,” Erich finally admitted. “I’ll be in debt to the Dome to the price of ten million; to be paid off in the arena.”