The Hercule is fast for a vehicle of its class, but the flight is still about an hour and a half. I’m in the pilot’s seat, but auto-nav is engaged for the time being. Vindicator could make the trip in a fraction of that time, but neither Adamant nor I can fly unaided, and the trip provides an opportunity for us to review the plan of attack.

Once we’re underway, I rotate the pilot’s seat around to face the others, who are sitting in the back. Clay is bouncing a rubber round back and forth between his hands using his power, while Haley is motionless. Her uniform consists of a form-fitting silver-and-black jumpsuit with a utility belt. She doesn’t carry quite as much gear as I do, but there are still some essentials that no hero should let themselves be caught without. The suit was designed to be as durable as possible, with a focus on resistance to fire and tearing. Adamant doesn’t need it for protection, but she regularly takes hits powerful enough to shred a spandex costume, and ending every fight half-naked would be less than ideal. There’s a patch on her right sleeve, featuring the Front Line’s black shield emblem. Vindicator has the same symbol in the center of the x-shaped ammo belt on his chest, while I attach one via magnet to the left breast of my armor whenever I’m on a mission with the team. They aren’t strictly necessary for the purposes of identification- we’re internationally recognizable, for better or for worse -but having a unifying element on all of our otherwise distinct uniforms does make this feel like a proper team.

“What’s the game plan?”

Haley tents her fingers and looks my way.

“We’re going loud. Less risk of collateral. Vindicator and I will deploy at the ambush point and derail the train when it passes through. I want you on the train before that happens, to verify we have the right target. My source is solid, but I don’t want to open fire until we’re completely certain there are no civilians aboard.”

She’s only specifying that for my sake, but it’s not necessary. I may be the least experienced member of this team, but I was trained by the best. I don’t make amateur mistakes like that. Instead of insisting upon that fact, I just indicate my understanding with a nod. There isn’t usually much pre-battle chatter among this group. Adamant isn’t much fun when she’s in metal mode, and Vindicator handles even routine missions like this with extreme seriousness. I’m more used to working with younger heroes, with whom I can exchange some friendly banter. This is the big leagues, where professionalism is expected while you’re on a mission.

Still, compared to the atmosphere at the Council’s facility, this is downright jocular. I can trust these two, even if I can’t crack jokes with them. Now isn’t a great time to be thinking about the Council, though. Instead, I rotate the pilot’s seat back around and face front.

As the VTOL hums along towards our destination, I settle into a sort of calm. It’s only when I’m working alone that I get distracted by self-doubt. With the team, there’s no time for that kind of thinking. Jason worked best alone, or with people he knew he could rely on. It took a while before he saw me as one of those people, and longer for his teammates. In my case, I work best as part of a group. Being able to delegate when necessary, and trust that the people I’m working with will handle whatever they need to, makes my job a lot easier. If circumstances were different, the prospect of working with the Council might have even been exciting. Whatever my reservations about some members are, they’re clearly all highly competent, and I have little doubt that they’ll impress me when I get a chance to see them in action. But there’s too much I still don’t know about them, and until those questions have been answered, I can’t let myself extend them too much good faith.

It feels like every third thought I have brings me back to the Council. It’s not exactly hard to guess why- to describe the revelation of their existence as earthshaking would be an understatement. I’m more equipped than most to deal with that kind of thing, but you can’t avoid grappling with it forever, just put it off for a while. Considering the trip is going to be a while longer, this is as good a chance as any to unpack it- so long as I can clear my head before the shooting starts.

What bothers me isn’t the secrecy. I understand the necessity of operating from the shadows better than almost anyone. If the public knew that the Council existed, even if they didn’t know all the details, it would severely limit their ability to operate. Nor does the somewhat dubious origins of their members truly concern me. Jason’s files confirmed what I’d been told about Grendel- as far as he could tell, it really was a distinct personality, separate from the mild-mannered geneticist Andrew Donovan. He never found any evidence that Pallas or Network had used their abilities- which are inherently lethal -on anyone who didn’t deserve it, to one degree or another. And even if the body-snatcher hasn’t used his influence on society in exactly the same ways I would have, he’s undeniably done a great deal of good- certainly more than any of the people he’s replaced. It’s hard to have much sympathy for the various war criminals, CEOs, and assorted other monsters whose bodies he’s hijacked. To say nothing of the superpowered serial killers and would-be dictators whose powers Pallas has been secretly stealing.

No, what bothers me is how much power they wield. Individually, they’d all be highly influential, but together, there’s just about nothing they couldn’t make happen if they wanted to. There’s a reason I keep being reminded of their existence, even by seemingly unrelated things. Obviously, as a member of the ‘cape community,’ I see more of their influence at work than the average person, but even when I look at the world from the perspective of a civilian, there’s so much that they have a hand in. Most of their impact on the world is positive- anonymously disseminating useful technology and information, quelling potential conflicts before they result in violence, and quietly eliminating major metahuman or extraterrestrial threats the moment they’re identified. I can hardly fault them for operating outside the law, but they’re unaccountable in a way even the Front Line isn’t. We don’t answer to governments, but in a sense, we do answer to the people, as we rely heavily on their willingness to continue funding our mission. That doesn’t mean we’d stop just because the donations stopped coming in, but it would limit our effectiveness significantly, and that would force us to reassess the way we operate. It hasn’t been a problem thus far, but it’s not inconceivable that it might be one day. The Council can operate with total impunity, and it’s easy to imagine what would happen if the group decided on a course of action that one member found irreconcilably objectionable. They’d be restrained, have their implant removed, and their mind wiped. Or, if it proved impossible to erase that much of a person’s memory, they’d simply be killed. Perhaps Network would replace them in order to maintain the facade, or Pallas would take their powers before they died, so they didn’t go to waste.

That rubs me the wrong way as well- the way they seem to perceive people as resources. The ethical questionability of recruiting someone like Donovan, considering the lives his alter-ego took, and the danger he poses, doesn’t seem to have been a consideration for them. All that matters is the value that he provides. If they hadn’t needed someone to investigate the disappearance of one of their members, I doubt they would have bothered recruiting me, whether or not Jason had asked that they do so in the event of his death.

Jason could be like that at times too- coldly pragmatic, assessing the people around him based on their usefulness. But at his core, he was always motivated by a drive to protect people. It’s hard to see the same impulse among the members of the Council. Blake, the deep-space explorer, returned to Earth to deliver a warning about the Andromedan invasion, but he also left the planet behind entirely for two decades. If the Council hadn’t recruited him, it’s easy to imagine him heading off-world immediately after he’d delivered his message. He’s got no real connection to this world, other than the fact that he was born here. Pallas is motivated by a more tribal instinct, to protect her kingdom and her people. By all accounts, she’s a fairly benevolent dictator, but that’s an easier act to pull off when you live in an ethnostate. Or a genostate, as the case may be. Arcadia is united by the unspoken idea that they’re superior to the rest of humanity, and my guess is that Pallas only cares about protecting the world because Arcadia happens to be located on it. As for Gilgamesh, I have no doubt that someone who’s lived through thousands of lifetimes doesn’t quite see people as people anymore.

I’m no stranger to the logic of the ends justifying the means. Taking one life to save two others isn’t pleasant, but it’s the ethical thing to do. But when you’ve gotten so used to thinking that way, it’s easy to start applying it to every situation. You’ll inevitably begin using it to justify increasingly questionable things, convinced that everything you do is morally justified simply because you’re the one doing it. It’s not a problem unique to the Council, either. When people call you ‘hero’ day in and day out, you’ll start thinking of yourself as one, and being a hero for some people means you can do no wrong. In some ways, being smeared by the media all over the world is a good thing for us- it keeps us from developing that kind of mentality. The Front Line’s funding relies largely on how we’re perceived, and if we start acting in a way that gives credence to the baseless accusations leveled against us, it’ll have real consequences.

The VTOL’s nav system sends up an alert. I push aside my idle musings, and look over my shoulder to inform Vindicator and Adamant.

“Hot drop in five.”

Clay sits upright at that. Haley doesn’t appear to have moved since last I looked, which was about an hour ago. Now, though, she stands, one hand grabbing onto the railing to keep herself steady, the other reaching for her weapon, which she rests on her shoulder. On an ordinary team, her lack of long-range offensive capabilities would simply be taken as a limitation of her power, but that isn’t how the Front Line operates. While our optics are relevant in terms of keeping the money flowing, we don’t spend any time thinking about marketability, or even ‘public relations.’ We just do what we think is right, and trust that enough people will agree that we’ll be able to keep doing what we do. That doesn’t just mean operating in defiance of laws and borders, it means doing whatever’s necessary to save lives- including carrying guns, something almost all state-sanctioned heroes shy away from. Something about the way brightly-colored costumes clash with drab metal weapons doesn’t test well with the 18-35 demographic, I guess.

After a second, Vindicator gets on his feet as well. Unlike Adamant and I, he’s got no need to carry a weapon, packing the most raw power of anyone on the team. At the same time, he’s probably the least comfortable of any of us with this kind of operation. As his uniform indicates, he fits the classic hero archetype best of any of us. Clay’s in his element taking cats out of trees, or pulling people from burning buildings. The kind of thing where the good you’re doing is right in front of your face. No adorable child is going to run up and give him a hug after this- there’s just going to be a bunch of wreckage, some burning boxes full of black tar heroin, and probably more than a few corpses. But Clay was also the one who brought this team together, because he realized that the way he was operating simply wasn’t effective enough. Jason and Haley both had reputations as being brutal, uncompromising, and highly efficient. Vindicator approached them both, and asked them to help him do more good in the world. From what Jason said to me, he was pretty sure Clay would get cold feet the first time he had to take down a cop. To his credit, he hasn’t backed down yet. I know there’s something in his past that motivated his change in tactics, but if Jason knew the details, he never shared them with me, and I haven't asked.

Back then, Clay went by Valiant. A more traditional hero name, with a more traditional costume. No bullets, just some ball bearings coated in rubber. It’s essentially taboo for a hero to carry a gun or use anything resembling real weapons. That seems strange, until you consider the fact that most traditional costumed heroes are essentially pro wrestlers who don’t know they’re part of a performance. They stop bank robberies and bust drug dealers, but never tackle the institutional forces behind the real problems of the world. And they have to look photogenic in the process, or they won’t sell any merchandise. An M16 is a lot of things, but when contrasted with a spandex costume in bright primary colors, photogenic it is not. Clay’s name-change was symbolic, using both the meaning of the word Vindicator as a synonym for champion, and implicitly asserting that history would vindicate him for his future actions. Joining up with Hawkshaw and Adamant didn’t do much for his perception in the eyes of the media, but his real evolution was going from caring about that to caring about actually saving lives.

As we’re about to pass over the area Adamant chose for our ambush site, the Hercule’s back opens, and Vindicator steps out. The moment he’s beyond the confines of the vehicle, he vanishes, instantly accelerating to a speed faster than I can properly perceive. He’ll be scouring the area for any hidden traps or other surprises. After another moment, Haley leaps out, and I hear her make landfall a second later. We’re up high enough that an ordinary person would probably have died, or at least permanently paralyzed themselves, but all she has to do is bend her knees. There are times where it makes me jealous, I’ll admit.

With both of them on the ground, I flick a switch to close the VTOL up, and assume manual control. Keeping one hand on the controls, I tap a button on my suit’s neck, connecting to the ‘main line.’ My communicator is built into the helmet, while the others wear theirs as earpieces. Being able to communicate at a distance is invaluable in our line of work. Obviously, we all keep our mics muted unless we need to communicate something of actual importance, since the background noise would be a distraction otherwise.

“Train will be at your position in twenty. I’m headed up-track to get you that verification.”

“Copy, Hawkshaw. Twenty minutes on the clock.”

Hearing Adamant call me by that name is still enough to make me smile- even if she’s just maintaining standard comms protocol. She and Vindicator will be getting set up at the ambush site, while I engage the VTOL’s active camouflage and follow the track up towards the train. It’s enough of a drain on the battery that I can’t keep it active for too long, but there won’t be any problems keeping it cloaked until Haley and Clay formally announce our presence.

Since the Silver Serpent train is headed south and I’m headed north, it doesn’t take very long until it’s in sight. It’s a bog-standard freight train, seventy-six cars long. Based on the cartel’s standard operating procedure, two thirds of the cargo will be contraband, the rest legitimate. Inspectors are happy to take ‘suggestions’ as to which crates they should open up, so long as they come along with a little compensation for their trouble. Thanks to the VTOL’s sensor suite, I can get a sense of how many people we’re dealing with. Most of the cars are unoccupied- there are two people up front, and one guard in every tenth car or so. I’ll need to have a chat with one of them, to make sure we don’t have any civilians to worry about.

Switching the Hercule to follow mode, I wait until I see an occupied car coming up, and make my own jump out the back. Freefall is an old friend- Jason took me skydiving dozens of times for the purpose of acclimation. Obviously parachutes aren’t a viable option for jumps like this, which is exactly why the suit has a slow-fall module. That gadget, at the very least, wasn’t the brainchild of a Council member. The device activates a few seconds before impact, and I float the rest of the way down, before landing on the train. I lurch forward violently, but thanks to the magnetic soles of my boots, I’m not immediately thrown off. After a second, I adjust to the sudden shift in speed, and make my way towards the gap between the car I’m on and the next closest one.

Hopping down to the space between cars, I activate the thermal camera in my helmet, and scan the one I’ve chosen to investigate. The crates are arranged along either side of the car, creating a narrow aisle in between. Only one guard, who’s leaning against the crates towards the far end of the car. He’s armed, and even if my suit should be more than capable of protecting me from small-arms fire, I’m not going to take any chances.

Once I’ve cracked the door lock, which takes about thirty seconds, I push the door open, and advance into the car with my hard-light shield up. The guard immediately draws and opens fire, giving me a good look at his piece. A 1911 is reliable under most circumstances, but not enough to give him an edge against me. Rather than emptying his seven-round mag all at once, he starts walking backwards away from me, taking his time between each shot. After the first bullet bounced right off my shield, it had to have been obvious he wasn’t going to be able to kill me, but if he can sustain fire long enough to get behind cover and call for help, he won’t have to. Once he’s gotten far enough away, the guard stops shooting and darts into the space between two crates. Unfortunately for him, it won’t be of much help.

Dropping the shield, I unsling my rifle from my shoulder, and take aim, thermals still active. With an ordinary gun, I’d have to penetrate whatever’s inside the crate he’s hiding behind if I wanted to hit him, but this isn't an ordinary gun. It’s an Icarus Arms XOF17, with a ‘smart’ targeting system linked to my helmet’s optics. It doesn’t fire ordinary bullets either. Instead, it uses homing rounds, which use microthrusters and miniature fins akin to the ones you might find on a torpedo to alter their flight path in midair. Only the richest nations’ most elite Special Forces groups have access to these at the moment, but Jason had his methods of getting his hands on them as well.

The targeting system locks onto exactly what I’m looking at, and a precise twitch of my eye confirms the target. I squeeze the trigger, and the bullet travels forward on a linear path for a moment, before suddenly curving around the corner to strike the guard directly in the stomach. I hear his gun clatter to the ground, and a second later, when the pain properly registers, he starts screaming.

Rather than deal with the guard immediately, I sling the rifle back over my shoulder and pull a collapsible prybar from my belt. Getting Haley her verification comes first. Jamming the bar into a nearby crate, I apply force and crack the flimsy wood open. Several hundred plastic baggies full of black tar heroin spill out, falling to my feet and rolling towards the door, which I left open. There was easily $15,000 worth in this crate alone, and I clocked at least fifty identical crates just in this car. A bit of quick multiplication gives me an idea of how much we’re about to cost the cartel, and that alone is enough to put a smile on my face.

“Intel was on the money, Adamant.”

It isn’t Haley who answers me, but Clay.

“And the civilians?”

“Working on it.”

“Seven minutes,” Adamant interjects tersely. Rather than waste more time talking, I switch my mic back off and stride towards the guard. He’s given up on screaming, and instead started crawling towards the door, leaving a great deal of blood behind. As he hears me approach, he pushes himself onto his back, looking up at me with undisguised terror. Judging by his tattoos, he’s been a member of Silver Serpent for some years. There’s a whole complex meaning behind all of the different art, which I don’t have committed to memory, but I’ve already spotted the only one that matters- the stylized snake’s mouth on his throat, fangs dripping with venom, that indicates he’s taken his first blood.

If I’d wanted to kill him clean, I would have just put the bullet in his head. Instead, I shot him in the stomach, ensuring he would be alive enough to answer my questions, but in enough pain that he wouldn’t fight back. As I loom over him, the guard doesn’t say a word. It’s clearly taking a great deal of willpower just to keep himself from screaming. I can’t be sure he speaks English, so I address him in Spanish instead. Thanks to my rapid learning, I’m a polyglot, fluent in the ten most commonly spoken languages on the planet, of which Spanish is number two.

“Stomach wounds are among the most painful a human being can sustain. They also tend to take a very, very long time to kill you. You have one chance to cooperate. If you do, I’ll keep you from bleeding out. If you don’t, I’m going to leave you here to die. Understand?”

The guard nods rapidly, clutching the hole in his stomach tighter. Cartels pay well enough to have plenty of recruits, especially in impoverished areas, but they don’t tend to inspire the kind of fanatical loyalty that would make someone choose death rather than betray them.

“Good. Tell me- is there anyone on this train who isn’t a member of Silver Serpent?”

A shake of the head. Lucky for him, that’s all I need to know. Bending down, I wait for him to pull his hands away from the wound, and pull a tube of RegeneraGel from my belt. It’s suffused with the same radiation as the Solberg-Normand Machine, though it’s far less effective. The injured area will be flooded with energy, accelerating the natural healing process. By itself, the gel won’t save him, but it’ll buy him a few hours, and numb the pain. Even so, his odds of surviving the derailment aren’t great. At best, he’ll be cushioned by the crates and their contents, at worst he’ll split his skull on the inside of the train, or be impaled by shrapnel, depending on how violently this car is thrown from the tracks. It’ll be worse towards the front of the train, but I still wouldn’t want to be in his position. If he were a small-time dealer on a street corner in Pax, I would have treated him a lot more gently, but this man’s killed before, and he works for an international cartel that’s responsible for taking thousands of lives and destroying tens of thousands more with the product they’re transporting on this very train. My sympathy for him is nil.

Stepping over him, I open the line to the team once more.

“You’re clear. No civilians.”

There’s an audible sigh of relief from Vindicator, before Adamant responds.

“Copy. Four minutes.”

That’s all I need to hear. Exiting the car through the far door, I don’t bother getting back on top of the train. Instead, I issue the Hercule two commands. It’s been tracking my position this whole time, high above the train.

“Decloak and pickup.”

Obediently, the vehicle deactivates its active camouflage and descends, keeping pace with the train directly above my position. I wait until the ramp swings open, and fire my grapnel gun, which latches onto a powerful magnet just above the ramp, installed for exactly this purpose. The grapnel gun reels me in, and I pull myself into the aircraft quickly. Not a moment after I’ve settled back into the pilot’s seat does the attack commence.

Three explosions in rapid succession tell me Vindicator is doing his part. He’ll have fired three of his explosive rounds into the portion of the track immediately ahead of the train, sending it off the rails. The first several cars twist off the track and tumble to the side, end over end, before the connection to the rest of the train, still on-rails but rapidly decelerating, keeps it from going any further. That is, until Adamant opens fire. As I bring the VTOL towards her position, I can see her standing on a rocky outcrop, calmly loading another round into her weapon. It’s a Grizzly-class shoulder-mounted surface-to-surface missile launcher, rejected by the manufacturer because it was far too heavy for an ordinary soldier to carry. Jason got his hands on the blueprints, and had one made specifically for Adamant.

The rocket hits a car partway down the train, shredding it completely, and knocking the ones surrounding it off the track. From my vantage point, I can see the crew crawling out of the first car, and let them get some distance from the wreckage before I fire on them. Rather than bullets, I use magnesium carbonate foam capsules, which coat the target on impact with a rapid-hardening foam that will restrain them until they can be picked up by law enforcement. In a situation like this, casualties are acceptable, especially since the odds of any Silver Serpent members being convicted here are low. But gunning down injured enemy combatants who pose no immediate threat would be crossing a line. After the rocket strike, even the guards at the very end of the train have gotten the message that they’re under attack, and scrambled to get off the train. With the firepower we’re bringing to bear, they can tell that their handguns aren’t going to be of much use, so they simply start running. While Adamant takes aim and fires again, I see Vindicator fly by and unleash a number of capsules containing the same foam, bringing down the runners before they can get very far.

All I’d accomplish by trying to help Clay with that would be getting in his way, so I decide to give Haley some help instead, switching to live rounds and hitting the cars she’s passed over. However, before I can get more than two shots off, the real threat rears its head. Baselines with pistols pose no real threat to us, but Silver Serpent is a more sophisticated organization than the average drug ring. One of the cars bursts open without being hit by Adamant or I, and about a dozen combat enhanciles emerge through the hole they just made. Not metas- just ordinary humans, augmented with cybernetics and pumped full of next-generation steroids to make them capable of going toe-to-toe with supers.

Some of them are more visibly enhanced than others. I spy a fully mechanical arm, and heavy dermal plating on more than a few, body armor permanently grafted to the skin. But the rest are just as deadly, simply hiding their shiny chrome underneath the skin. And thanks to the combat drugs they’re doubtlessly all dosed on, they won’t feel pain or fear. All of them are armed, too- mostly with rifles or SMGs, but I spy an RPG-7 as well. The bullets break against the VTOL’s armored exterior, but even an antiquated weapon like that will do some serious damage if I let it make impact. As the enhancile fires, I jerk the controls to the left, narrowly avoiding the rocket, which detonates a few feet behind me in the air. Switching modes again, I return fire, launching a salvo of flechette rounds. The Hercule deploys three oversized shells, which burst open before impact, revealing half a hundred metal darts inside each, capable of perforating skin and steel. The barrage is like steel rain, each successful hit marked by a spurt of blood. Some of the cyborgs are hit in the neck or eyes, which is lethal, but their bones are dense enough that even headshots won’t put them down. Luckily for me, I don’t have to do all the work myself.

Putting the Grizzly launcher down, Adamant wastes no time leaping directly into the fray, launching herself into the air, and landing with enough force to crack solid stone. That isn’t all that breaks, either. One of the enhanciles was unlucky enough to be right beneath her when she landed. Adamant’s feet go through his chest like it’s not even there, tearing the man in half, and covering her in his blood. That alone would usually be enough to make the others scatter in fear, but enhanciles are programmed to be different. They drop their guns, aware that bullets won’t work on her, and swarm.

Haley is tough, but that doesn’t grant her immunity to physics. A piston-punch from a combat enhancile won’t shatter her skull like it would a normal person, but it’ll stagger her. Multiply that by ten, and things get tough. Some focus on her legs, trying to make her buckle and fall to the ground, where they could pile on and use their combined weight to keep her down. They knock her around for a few seconds, before she grabs one fist and tears off the entire arm, her expression never changing. Swinging the metal limb in a circle, she clears herself some space, before taking a piece of jagged shrapnel from the train’s wreckage and hurling at one of the cyborgs, hard enough to split his skull in half. There’s no sadism in it, just pure efficiency. Adamant moves like a machine, wasting no time or energy in any of her actions. Undeterred, the servants of Silver Serpent attack as one, still counting on their numbers to win them the day. One of them is bisected when Adamant swings her arm through his chest, snapping his reinforced steel spine in the process. Trying to take these things down nonlethally is pointless- they aren’t capable of surrender.

It’s hard to watch Haley work, but even harder to look away. Despite the blood and viscera on display, it’s undeniably impressive how she fights. But I quickly find I have bigger concerns. The enhanciles aren’t the only ones on security detail for this train. In the shell of one of the cars that took a direct hit from one of Adamant’s rockets, someone stirs. Surviving that kind of impact would have been impossible for an ordinary human, but Silver Serpent’s rise to power has largely been attributed to its aggressive recruitment of metahuman personnel. Evidently, one such individual was assigned to defend this transport. And now that he’s recovered, he’ll be out for blood.

Whatever the cape was wearing before the blast, it’s now ash, leaving him wearing little more than rags. Of course, metas who work in organized crime rarely bother with costumes, which makes them harder to identify. That’s really what makes them dangerous. The variance in what you can expect from a baseline with a gun, or even a combat enhancile, is fairly low. But with a metahuman, the only real way to find out what they’re capable of is to test it for yourself. Before he can even make a move, I open fire on the meta, driving him to his knees just as he’d gotten back on his feet. But aside from the force of the impact, sustained gunfire doesn’t seem to have much of an effect on him.

Naturally, the unpredictability factor doesn’t apply to people like Adamant or Vindicator, who’ve been in the game long enough for people to recognize them on sight. As a general rule, it’s only heroes that live long enough to gain that kind of fame or notoriety, though. For the most part, heroes don’t fight other heroes, but there’s no such agreement among our opposite numbers. With the exception of a few truly deranged or sick individuals, no ‘super-villains’ are simply evil for the sake of being evil. Most of them just want to use their abilities to make as much money as they can- which means anyone with powers who isn’t an ally is an enemy. If they aren’t captured by a hero, most super-criminals will end up being killed by other super-criminals. Or, as the case may be, one of us.

I’m getting ahead of myself with that line of thinking, though. Wasting any more bullets on this guy is just running up the bill for when the time comes to restock the VTOL’s ammo reserves, so I switch back to foam capsules. Taking no chances, I launch two at him, coating his entire body in the stuff. From within the lump of foam, I see a faint glow, before a pulse of energy shatters it, and sends debris flying in every direction. A little late, I put together what his powers are. He can absorb energy, and by shooting him, I wasn’t doing anything except amping him up. Fortunately, he can’t seem to fly, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I’m safe- not when he can use all that juice to jump up towards me, fists full of enough power to punch right through the reinforced glass and hit me.

Pulling the controls back, I brace for impact, but it never comes- a hypervelocity round knocks the nameless super out of the sky, and into a boulder, which breaks on impact. I’d thank Clay for the save, except for the fact that he’s just feeding the guy even more power.

“Vindicator, he’s an energy vampire. No kinetics.”

Without verbally acknowledging, Vindicator flies down, hovering a few feet above the Silver Serpent cape, and selects another round from one of his belts. Holding it just above the back of his hand, he hesitates for a fraction of a second before firing. The moment it strikes, I realize which one he chose. Chlorine trifluoride, one of the most dangerous chemicals on the planet. It’s so flammable that there’s no need to include a reactive agent in the projectile. The force of impact alone is enough to ignite it, sparking flames hot enough to burn through solid concrete. This guy can absorb kinetic impacts, but that doesn’t mean he’ll be able to survive being burned alive, inside and out.

Clay watches just long enough to be sure it’s working, before he zips off to do something else. I don’t blame him- watching someone burn to death isn’t exactly pleasant. I doubt he ever had to see anything of the sort when he was an ordinary cape. That’s the upside of being ineffectual- you never have to confront harsh realities like this. I’ve seen immolation before- one of Pax’s more notorious crime bosses had a habit of burning anyone who crossed her alive. But there’s a difference between how someone doused in gasoline burns and how someone covered in chlorine trifluoride burns. Skin sloughs off his body, and underneath, I can see that his bones are beginning to liquefy as well. Fortunately, I’m high enough in the air that I can’t hear his screams. Vindicator only carries small amounts of the stuff, because anything more would be far too dangerous to ever use, lest it spread uncontrollably. It’s also notoriously hard to put out- it’ll even ignite fire retardant foam, and simply burn through any amount of sand you try to pour on it. The only reliable method is one that’s not without its own dangers- coating the entire area in liquid nitrogen or argon. Fortunately, an industrial container of nitrogen is one of the many things the Hercule is equipped with. After a few more moments, I descend slowly, and blast the super’s body with pressurized nitrogen, until I’m sure that every last ember has been extinguished. The fire wasn’t burning for more than a minute, but it didn’t just kill the cape, it melted a hole in the ground around him, which is now filled with nitrogen and liquefied flesh.

Seeing that, I start to understand a little better why Vindicator and Adamant don’t joke around much on missions like this. I bring the VTOL down in a clear spot about two hundred yards from the train wreck, and step out, surveying the scene from a distance. The entire front portion of the freight train has been destroyed, and a steady series of more distant explosions tells me that Clay is handling the rest of it by himself. He’s usually too cautious about the destructive potential of his power to derive much enjoyment from the process of blowing things up, but after torching the Silver Serpent cape, he’s probably taking it as an opportunity to vent his frustrations. Just as I start to wonder how Haley’s faring, I hear her voice in my ear, cold as ever.

“Enhanciles are down.”

At a glance, it would be almost impossible to tell that the woman standing amidst the dismembered cybernetic corpses is the hero called Adamant. Her silver skin is obscured almost entirely by blood, which paints much of the ground around her as well. Most people would assume she’d used excessive force in dispatching them, but Haley has more experience than me when it comes to dealing with combat-enhanced individuals. And in her metal form, she isn’t really capable of ‘excessive’ anything. She uses exactly as much force as is necessary- no more, no less.

“Nice work. Vindicator’s dealing with the rest of the cargo. You want me to get the hose?”

I see Adamant cock her head, considering. Being hosed down in the field is a little awkward, but it’s better than spending the ninety minute flight back to Skywatch Station dripping blood all over the inside of the VTOL. By the time we got back, most of it would have crusted over, making the process of getting clean even harder. A second later, she starts walking towards me. Even knowing she’s on my side, the sight of her approach, drenched in crimson, is more than a little intimidating. I busy myself opening a panel on the side of the aircraft’s hull and unspooling the hose, so it’s ready to go by the time she gets to me.

Without a word, Adamant comes to a halt, standing stock-still while I point the hose at her. When I hesitate, she gives me a nod, and I turn the water on. It takes a few minutes before she’s all clean, though her uniform is going to need a thorough washing after this. In that time, Vindicator finishes what he was doing, and flies over, displacing a great deal of sand and dust in his wake. Part of what makes him so powerful is that, unlike other fliers or speedsters, he can accelerate instantly, rather than requiring time to pick up speed. It used to make me flinch, but by now I’m more or less used to it.

“The survivors are all restrained, and I made sure all the contraband was destroyed. Hawkshaw, have you made the call yet?”

I shake my head.

“Gonna do it on the way back.”

Clay nods once, and boards the Hercule. He’s referring to the call to the local authorities, informing them of what happened here. Nobody’s around to call emergency services, so we have to do it ourselves, to ensure that the ones we left alive receive whatever medical treatment they need, and ideally, face some sort of justice. I roll the hose back up and close the panel while Adamant follows Vindicator back into the aircraft. Entering last, I smack the button to close up the ramp, and sink into the pilot’s seat.

This mission was necessary. It’ll have a positive impact on the world, even. We killed far fewer people than would have overdosed on what this train was carrying, had it reached its destination. And the people who died would have gone on to kill if we hadn’t stopped them. That doesn’t mean any of us feel particularly good about it.

Back at Skywatch Station, I realize why Clay really ribbed me about not picking up something stronger than soda when I was grocery shopping. It’s only two in the afternoon, but I’m about ready to start drinking. Underneath the nausea, I recognize that it’s ultimately for the best that we feel this way. The alternative, that we didn’t feel anything about it at all, would be far worse.

Not every mission with the team necessitates so much bloodshed. But it’s more frequent than any of us would like. That’s an unpleasant reality of this team’s mission. We handle the hard problems that other heroes won’t. That means making tough choices, and taking on opponents who you can’t simply send to a minimum-security prison. Clay takes it harder than any of us, of course, but he’s been doing this long enough that he can keep himself together. Back in human form, Haley is actually more talkative than she was before, though it would be a stretch to describe her as cheerful. For my part, I think I deal with this kind of thing the best out of anyone here. I may be younger than Vindicator or Adamant, but I also started earlier than either of them, meaning my ability to absorb and process the trauma is more developed. My power probably has something to do with it as well- learning to deal with witnessing horrific violence is still learning, after all.

By unspoken consensus, we don’t discuss ‘business’ after a mission like that. But the silence doesn’t last long after we arrive back at headquarters. Haley hits the showers, and puts her suit in the wash. I settle in for a power nap to clear my head- short ‘microsleeps’ throughout the day help me function better during late-night patrols. Another of Jason’s techniques I’ve adopted since picking up his mantle. Clay flies off to the nearest town to have a drink.

My sleep is dreamless, as it has been almost every night since I started working with Jason. This line of work rarely leaves you with enough energy to dream. However, instead of being awoken by my alarm, as per usual, I’m roused from my rest by a chirping in my ear. Still somewhat drowsy, it takes a second for me to figure out where it’s coming from. Glancing around to make sure I’m alone, I press my left thumb to my right wrist, and listen.

“Hawkshaw.”

Hearing Machina’s voice is enough to make me frown. A quick glance at the clock tells me I only got through half of my power nap before the Council alert came in. Annoying, but I managed to get through most of the adrenaline crash. Hopefully Robards isn’t about to summon me to help deal with some world-ending crisis in this state.

“A meeting of the Council has been called. Please come at your earliest convenience.”

Not as bad as I’d feared, but still frustrating. Normally, I’d take some time to decompress, talk with Haley and Clay, maybe even make plans to meet up out of our uniforms later. Instead, I have to go handle the Smug Squad. Obviously, I can’t just activate the translocator beacon from here, without making the rest of the team suspicious. Instead, I push myself out of bed and walk down the hall to the armory, where my suit is waiting. It’s comfortable, but not quite comfortable enough to sleep in.

Wearing the armor helps me shake off the sleepiness. Knowing about all the built-in weapons that I might accidentally activate if I’m careless puts me into a state of alertness, just like you’d immediately get serious if someone put a loaded gun in your hands. Holding the helmet under one arm, I stick my head into the common room, where Haley and Clay are watching something on the monitor.

“Kellan? We didn’t wake you up, did we?”

I shake my head at Haley.

“Nah. Something came up at home- I’ve gotta run. Buzz me if anything comes up.”

Looking a little worried, Haley nods. Clay tilts his head in my general direction.

“Later, Kell.”

“Later.”

Having to leave like this makes me angry. It feels like I’m being forced to emulate Jason in one of the few things I never approved of him doing. Even before he was sneaking off to Council meetings, he always had somewhere else to be. When Haley and Clay realized I wasn’t going to just disappear after every mission was over, they’d been genuinely happy. While it’s not like anyone will be taking attendance, I know I can’t afford to miss my first proper Council meeting. But I don’t intend to let them dictate my schedule, either.

I still don’t know where the Council facility actually is- I’m starting to suspect not every member knows, either. But I get in the Hercule anyway, and set a course back to Pax. Once it’s a couple miles away from Skywatch Station, I activate the translocator beacon, leaving the vehicle to make the return trip without any passengers.

Less than a second later, I’m back at the Council’s base. They’ve got a special room just for arrivals via translocation, with ten small glass boxes that are thoroughly sanitized after each use. Presumably to prevent anyone from translocating inside of something by mistake, or getting an insect stuck inside of their aorta. The door slides open after a moment, and I step out, back onto the polished black stone floor. My boots make a satisfying sound on these floors, which is one of the few good things I have to say about this place.

If we’ve all been called here for a meeting, it stands to reason I’ll find everyone in the meeting room- that same room where I woke up when they first took me here. Then, I would have had a hard time finding my way around, but armed with a three-dimensional blueprint of the facility and an implant that will open almost any door, I have a much easier time. It still takes a few minutes, simply because the place is so damn large, but I manage to avoid taking any serious wrong turns.

Instantaneous travel takes a little getting used to. There’s the immediate physical disorientation of being in one place and then being in another- especially when things like air pressure, temperature, and elevation are suddenly different. But there’s also a certain psychological aspect. It takes the brain a little while to catch up, after you’ve spent your entire life knowing roughly how long it will take you to get from point A to point B based on how you’re traveling. By the time I walk into the meeting room, I’ve mostly shaken that feeling off.

Geas greets me with the same warm, patrician smile he always employs, in person or on television.

“Good to see you, Mister Graves.”

He’s in the same spot as before, alongside Machina, Blake, Zero, and Professor Superior. Occupying Network’s seat is a heavyset middle-aged woman, presumably another one of his bodies. Nobody I recognize. Grendel, Pallas and Gilgamesh are unaccounted for.

As I take my seat at the end of the table, Beringer gives me a wave.

“Excellent work with that train business,” the former super-villain says, nodding his head slightly. “Those cartel cretins give crime a bad name.”

Nobody else reacts much to that, save for a few eye rolls, but I give him a chuckle. He worked for the mob back in the day, which I suppose explains his distaste for criminals without the same ‘honor.’ Of course, they were more than willing to leave him rotting in jail for decades after he outlived his usefulness, which you’d expect would have soured his affection for them, but apparently not.

After last time, I did my reading on Beringer. As Professor Superior, he’d worn a black lab coat over a generic spandex costume, and used a variety of advanced weapons and tools to commit crimes. Now, Beringer just wears an ordinary white lab coat over a green turtleneck. Based on the files in Jason’s database, it seems like he was never especially interested in the money, so much the opportunity his escapes provided to test out his new designs. He’d been pushed into crime by the mob, who had no compunctions about exploiting an unstable super-genius for their own profit. Beringer’s attorney had suggested that his bipolar disorder had made it easy for them to manipulate him, but the courts hadn’t been interested, and his ‘friends’ hung him out to dry. Knowing that, I gained some sympathy for him. Professor Superior wasn’t the sort of criminal that Hawkshaw had been created to combat. However, nothing in the file indicated why he of all people would merit a place on the Council, considering he was a wholly unremarkable supercriminal prior to his incarceration.

Without moving my head, I glance at Network, trying to gauge his reaction. The face he’s wearing has frown lines, but his expression is neutral, expressing neither approval nor disapproval. Torching the shipment probably cost him a lot of money, but if the story about him subverting the government in order to curb its criminal activities was true, it’s possible he can’t bring himself to be upset, even if he knows he should be. Among all these people, Thorn might be the best example of the slippery slope problem I was thinking about before. Even with all the good he does, and the bad that he prevents, he still finds himself having to make compromises and accept necessary evils.

“I do apologize for calling you here on such short notice,” the telepath says. “We do our best to schedule these meetings in advance, but not everything can wait until it’s most convenient for all of us.”

His ‘apology’ is specific enough to my unstated annoyance that I wonder for a moment if he read my mind, but if he was capable of doing that in spite of the implant and the jammer in my helmet, there’s no reason he would tip his hand over something so minor. More likely, he’s simply aware that I was on a mission only a few hours ago, and correctly deduced that I would be annoyed about having to drop everything and come here. In any case, I simply give him a silent nod.

The room remains silent for a while, as we wait for the rest of the group to arrive. This time, Machina’s armor is in attendance, though not on his person. Instead, it’s standing behind his seat, like a mechanical bodyguard. Originally blue and white, it underwent a redesign after the Andromedan invasion, shifting to darker tones of cobalt and slate grey. As with everything Robards designs, it’s sleek and modern, with as few hard edges as possible. The chest and shoulders are emblazoned with his stylized gear symbol.

One of the other doors slides open, and Andrew Donovan enters, walking at a brisk pace. He’s got a lab coat on over his buttoned-up blue shirt, and hangs it on the back of his chair before sitting down. His glasses are slightly askew, and he adjusts them before opening his mouth.

“Sorry I’m late, everyone. Just finishing something up in the lab.”

O’Connor gives him the same smile- it’s almost completely identical. The man doesn’t even need his psychic powers to take command of the group. All it takes is a willingness to be the first person to speak into silence.

“Now that we’re all here, the meeting can begin. I’m afraid Lady Gladwin won’t be joining us today. Urgent matters of state, or so I’m told.”

I gesture towards the other empty seat, at the head of the table.

“What about the big guy?”

Zero keeps her voice neutral as she gives me my answer.

“Old Gil didn’t feel that his presence was necessary in this meeting.”

My detective skills aren’t necessary to deduce exactly what emotion she’s suppressing behind those words. For the man who’s seen it all to decide you aren’t worth his time is a significant insult. Especially if you’re the one who called this meeting. Geas confirms it a moment later.

“Gilgamesh trusts us to handle matters without him. Now, Miss Lai, you had something to bring to the Council’s collective attention?”

The digital wunderkind looks at O’Connor with barely-disguised contempt before turning back to the rest of the group. She places a flat disc with a glowing circle in the center on the table, and it projects a holographic image for everyone to see. The projection displays a series of server banks, a rotating corporate logo that seems vaguely familiar, and a scrolling screen filled with code I can’t comprehend. Only Machina has an immediate reaction, leaning forward and furrowing his brow.

“Early this morning, my early warning system picked up internal communications from the Korean company XS Technologies relating to their artificial intelligence project. It’s running on a closed system, but based on what I extracted from their archives, there’s a sixty percent chance it achieves sentience within five years. That represents a Class One existential risk to humanity. I propose a three-pronged approach. I’ll access XS Tech’s facility, eliminate the project, and wipe all the relevant files. Nick will erase certain key information from the research team’s memories, to prevent them from starting over. And Axel can—”

“Hold on.”

Blake interrupts, speaking for the first time. He looks about fifty, in good shape for his age, and his voice is commanding in the way I associate with the male leads of old movies. Fitting, since he was born in the forties.

“You’re talking about erasing an AI- a living thing -just because it might become a threat after it develops.”

Based on what Superior told me about him, he’s bonded to some sort of alien weapon with a mind of its own, which explains his problems with the destruction of an artificial intelligence. I haven't gotten a good look at the weapon yet- whatever form the ‘bond’ takes, it isn’t visible underneath his bomber jacket. Machina, not Zero, is the one who responds to him.

“It isn’t alive, Samuel. We’re talking about erasing a program, one that might become sentient at some point in the future. This isn’t even an abortion, it’s birth control.”

The room is silent for a moment after that charming metaphor, before Lai continues talking.

“Right. When I say sentient, that doesn’t mean it’s going to be a person. We’re talking about an intelligence that’s completely ali- er, foreign, to us. No emotions we would recognize, a completely different way of perceiving the world. And it would be vastly more intelligent than all of us put together. Any attempt at communication would be on its terms, not ours. If it wanted, it would be able to talk any one of us into killing ourselves within five minutes.”

Zero’s description of what the AI would be capable of doesn’t completely square with my experiences in dealing with sentient machines. But based on the way the Council’s methods were described to me, they probably deal with any machine intelligences that would be a legitimate threat preemptively, just like we’re talking about doing right now. The Robo-Raiders don’t exactly qualify.

Though he falls silent, I can tell Blake isn’t entirely satisfied by that answer. Assuming it’s intelligent enough to communicate, his ‘living weapon’ is probably talking to him right now. I’ve seen enough people listening to a voice only they can hear to be able to recognize it at a glance.

“I, for one, am convinced,” Geas says, stepping in to take control of the conversation once more. More and more, I’m beginning to suspect that he’s taken on the role of de facto leader in the absence of Gilgamesh, simply because he’s the least antisocial member of this group. “All in favor of intervention?”

As soon as O’Connor’s hand goes up, Donovan and Beringer follow suit. Lai raises hers halfway, elbow resting on the table. Robards holds his up high, and Thorn does the same a moment later. Blake lifts his half-heartedly, and I’m the only one left. Slowly, all heads turn my way.

“I’m in favor, but I want to assist with the erasure.”

The programmer’s gaze, already cold and analytical, becomes even more so. However, it’s O’Connor who speaks first.

“Are you certain, Mister Graves? You must be exhausted, after your deployment earlier today.”

“My team did most of the heavy lifting. I could use a chance to stretch my legs, and I want to get to know the people I’m working with.”

Raising an eyebrow, Geas watches me silently for a moment, before turning to look at Zero.

“Is that amenable to you, Miss Lai?”

Something about his insistence on addressing us formally reeks of condescension. As if he’s trying to rub his sophistication and refinement in our faces. The rest of the group controls their reactions well, but Zero either has less practice doing so, or simply doesn’t wish to disguise her distaste for him. She doesn’t even look his way, keeping her cold stare fixed on me.

“Sounds good.”

Geas claps his hands together.

“Excellent. I’ll handle my share once yours is complete. Mister Thorn, are you in a position to do the same?”

There’s a slight rasp to the voice of Network’s current body.

“I don’t have anyone inside that company at the moment, but I can use my people at the NIS to identify a suitable target for replacement. The data loss will be classified as an unfortunate accident, and that division’s resources will be diverted to other projects.”

He’s probably initiating the process as he speaks. Jason’s files indicate that there’s no appreciable lag time between one body taking in information and the others receiving it. He operates more like a hive mind than a collective, with one intelligence operating all of his bodies at once. That he’s replaced members of the Korean National Intelligence Service is no surprise. I doubt there’s a single major intelligence agency he hasn’t infiltrated to one degree or another.

“Very good. If there’s no urgent business remaining, I propose we adjourn this meeting, and leave Miss Lai and Mister Graves to their preparations.”

Taking the silence as confirmation, O’Connor stands and presses a finger to his wrist, activating his implant. Without a sound, he’s gone. Machina follows suit, taking his armor along with him. Then goes Blake, adding further credence to my theory that he doesn’t live on the premises of this facility. Beringer and Donovan simply walk out, and Thorn follows, leaving Zero and I alone. The completely impersonal formality of these meetings is a tad unnerving to me. Considering how long these people have been working together, and how much influence they wield, it seems concerning that they don’t even seem to like each other. I suppose there could be relationships between individual members that I’m simply not witnessing, but as a whole, they’re little more than coworkers. If Gilgamesh hadn’t brought them together, there’s no chance any of these people would have naturally become allies. He, and his mission, is what holds this all together- and he can’t even be bothered to show up for meetings.

“C’mon, Graves,” Lai says, getting out of her chair. “Let’s go abort some code.”