Moonlight gleamed off the silver surface of the Needle as it hovered over Central City. The Clothiers coat of arms looked more purple than crimson in the darkness. People whispered about the airship to one another as they walked down the streets, as they cooked in their homes, as they sat in their restaurant booths.

It had appeared, without warning or explanation, high above the skyways where the flying cars soared over the city. The sight of the Clothiers airship looming above, titanic, pristine, struck awe in many of those commuting home from work that evening.

The Needle’s presence seemed ominous, but worse was the complete lack of acknowledgement of the airship by Aleph Corporation. None of the company-controlled news outlets said a word about the airship. The android heralds dismissed any questions about the Needle with polite indifference.

“This inquiry is invalid. Aleph Corporation reserves the right to privacy in matters of company business,” the androids said.

“Company business,” Rudy spat, turning the phrase into a curse.

The burly man sat against the wall of a closed ice cream parlor. His tie, the blue tie with white speckles, lay wrinkled against his chest. His shirt and trousers were just as disheveled. His eyes were bleary and ringed with sleepy dark streaks.

He looked like he hadn’t slept a wink in two days. This was because he hadn’t slept a wink in two days.

Rudy’s stubble scraped like sandpaper against his palm as he scratched his scalp. Unbidden, the neatly-typed words that had terminated his employment with Aleph Corporation crawled through his mind.

When challenged, we expect our employees to maintain their rankings by virtue of the qualities we value most as a company. Unfortunately, you have failed to demonstrate those qualities...

“Failed to demonstrate those qualities,” Rudy muttered.

He sighed. The sound was sharp and loud in the growing dark, more the snort of a bull than the sigh of a man.

In the days since Nico - that arrogant little shit - had stolen his job, Rudy had taken to wandering the streets. He could go home, he knew that. He could go home any time. His apartment would be there waiting for him, arranged just as he’d left it. His dirty dishes, left piled high in the sink, were surely stinking up the place by now. There was nobody there waiting for him to come back. No pet to take care of. No kid to feed.

He could go home. He could go home any time. He knew that.

But to go home would be to face the remainder of the 230-day probation head-on. To go home would be to embrace the reality that he had to bring in money somehow. Fortunately, he’d been smart with his finances. He’d saved. He’d lived frugally. He’d even paid his rent a few months ahead. But soon enough, the dismal reality of his situation would come knocking at the door in the form of his landlord. The thought of that was just too much to bear now. So, here he was, sitting on the street.

“You alright, friend?”

The sound of the stranger’s voice snapped Rudy out of his sleep. He was so tired that he hadn’t even realized he was nodding off. Rudy looked up at the owner of the voice. It was a tall, slender man dressed in dark clothing, a hood shadowing his face.

The stranger extended a hand. Rudy eyed it suspiciously. After a moment, the man withdrew it.

“Are you alright, friend?” The stranger repeated.

Rudy just stared.

The stranger nodded. “Of course not. Absurd of me to suggest it, really. No one is alright in this city. In fact, no one is alright in this broken world.”

“What do you want?” Rudy asked roughly.

The stranger pushed back his hood, revealing his face. He was around Rudy’s age, early 30’s, dark hair already receding in an aggressive widow’s peak. There was something about him that struck Rudy as immediately likeable, despite the man’s obtrusiveness.

“It’s not about what I want, really, Mr. Berkin,” said the stranger. “It’s about what you want.”

“How do you know my name?”

Without saying a word, the stranger reached into one of his pockets and produced a crisp paper. He handed it to Rudy. The big man stared at the paper incredulously. He recognized this paper. He had memorized this paper. He had read the contents of this paper thousands of times in the last few days.

It was his termination notice.

“Where did you get this? Who the hell are you?” Rudy demanded, crumpling the paper in his fist.

The stranger looked Rudy in the eyes. His expression was compassionate. “I’m called Welch. I work with someone you might have heard of. Someone truly great. Sigma.”

“Sigma,” Rudy mused. He had, indeed, heard of Sigma. “You got me wrong, Welch. I’m a company man. I don’t take up with rabble-rousers. Now get lost.”

Welch nodded curtly, but didn’t move an inch. “I used to be a company man, too,” he said. “I thought that was the way to get ahead in this world. But then I made a mistake. Just one little mistake, and I was terminated with prejudice. You know what that means, don’t you, Mr. Berkin? I didn’t even have the probationary period you’ve been graced with.”

Rudy winced in sympathy, despite himself. Terminated with prejudice… it was like being declared dead. There was no way back from that.

Welch looked up at the Needle with a wistful expression. “I thought my life was over. I thought there was no hope left for me, none at all. But then… Sigma found me.”

The slender man’s eyes flashed with passion as he looked back at Rudy. His voice was thick with emotion. “Sigma gave me a new life, Mr. Berkin. Sigma showed me that a better world is possible. And Sigma gave me a role in creating that better world. Now, Sigma offers that same opportunity to you. You have a choice, Mr. Berkin, a simple choice, but one which will change your life forever. Will you join with us? Will you join with Sigma? Will you help us to make a better world?”

Rudy’s back thudded softly against the wall of the ice cream parlor. He hadn’t realized that he was backing slowly away from Welch. This… this was insane. Was this really happening? A man he’d never met, finding him out on the street, calling him by name, asking him to join forces with an urban legend?

“Why?” Rudy asked, his voice quieter than he’d expected it to be.

Welch didn’t answer for a long time. He looked up at the Needle, his expression inscrutable. When he looked back at Rudy, his eyes twinkled.

“Because you matter,” Welch said simply.

When challenged, we expect our employees to maintain their rankings by virtue of the qualities we value most as a company. Unfortunately, you have failed to demonstrate those qualities.

Because you matter.

You have failed to demonstrate those qualities.

You matter.

Rudy’s blood was running hot through his body. He almost felt like an observer, watching himself as he extended a hand to Welch in a moment of pure impulse, listening to himself as he spoke two words that just this morning would have been unthinkable. He would spend many of the coming nights staring at the ceiling, unsure of why, exactly, he had said those two words. But right now, in this moment, some force in the depths of his soul was waking up. And as it woke, it roared.

“I’m in,” Rudy said, his voice resolute.

Welch grinned. “Welcome to the revolution, Rudy Berkin.”

***

“Three hundred grand?!” Nico exclaimed.

Piper’s jaw had dropped. They were both sitting on the floor, staring at Gramps. Tux looked put out by having been tossed from Piper’s hat in such an undignified manner, but neither of them noticed. The tabby cat began grooming herself haughtily, pointedly ignoring them all.

“Three hundred grand,” Gramps nodded.

“I… I don’t… I can’t…” Nico started, but the old man put up a dismissive hand.

“Oh, yes, you can. It’s just money, kid. And believe it or not, I’ve got plenty of that stashed away. Black market business pays well enough to risk my neck for, anyway.”

“But… Gramps- Mr. Wyatt…”

Piper broke in, having finally found her voice. “Gramps… are you sure?”

“The hell do you mean, am I sure? ‘Course I am!”

Nico stood. “I know, but—”

“But nothing,” growled the old man.

Gramps looked at Piper. “I don’t think you should come.”

Piper shook her head determinedly. “I’m going.”

“You don’t understa—”

“Yes I do,” she snapped. The force of her voice cracked like a whip through the silence. Both Gramps and Nico flinched involuntarily.

“Quit coddling me, both of you,” Piper said, softer now. “I know, okay? I know Moxie might be there, and I’m ready for that. But I’m a part of this team, and I’m not going to stay behind.”

Tux meowed in support, springing onto Piper’s hat. “I would like to come as well,” the tabby cat said.

“Alright then,” said Nico slowly. “What’s the plan, Gramps?”

Gramps cleared his throat. “Right. Uh, okay. We’re meeting Toothpick at eight. That gives us, uh, two hours. The meeting place is across the city, so we’ll need to leave early to get there on time. I’ll give Toothpick the money, he’ll give me the license tracer, and that should be that. If things don’t go south, that is.”

“Toothpick,” Piper whispered, her face thoughtful.

Nico crossed his arms. He looked from Gramps, to Piper, to Tux, and then down at each of the pinstripes running down his sleeves.

Dammit, he thought.

Piper’s voice echoed in his mind. You have a fire that burns so bright, Nico. It’s so strong. And when it sparks up, it’s hot enough to set fires in everyone around you… Even… Even in people whose fires burned out a long time ago.

Wasn’t that what was happening right now? Piper, trying to reconnect with her long-lost big sister. Gramps, throwing much more money into this plan than Nico had seen in his life. Even Tux, mysterious as she was, was determined to go along. And for what? For him?

It’s hot enough to set fires in everyone around you…

But how? What did that even mean?

A memory swam through his mind. The first time that he and Piper left this very workshop. It had only been days ago, but it felt like so much longer now.

I know I can become the Business King. I just don’t always feel that… that fire you’re talking about. I’m not sure why.

Now was one of those times. He felt thankful for the support of his friends. He felt confident in the plan. But…

I’m worthless. I don’t know how the hell to spark that fire that they’re all counting on now! What am I doing?!

Somewhere far away, Piper and Gramps were talking about tonight’s meeting with Toothpick. Tux’s intelligent eyes were fixed on Nico, but even the cat’s attention felt disconnected from the darkness he now tumbled through.

And he was tumbling – falling – faster and faster, plunging into an empty place deep inside his chest where shadow consumed every trace of thought. A terrible ache throbbed through his body in slow waves. There was no Nico here, there was only the void. And while Nico had no voice here, the void whispered words that he knew must be true.

“Impostor. Failure. Pathetic. Weak,” the void said. And its voice held such authority, such self-satisfied sincerity, that Nico knew its words must be true.

The words clawed at him, tearing ragged strips of himself away like whirling debris in a tornado. But the words were just, Nico knew. They were truth. The voice of the void was only pronouncing judgement for the crime Nico had committed – the crime of lying to himself, of deceiving his friends, of playing pretend that these words – Impostor, Failure, Pathetic, Weak, – were not his true identity.

The ache flowed through him once more, sliding with agonizing slowness through his heart, down his arms, into his stomach. This ache was just, Nico knew. It was truth. He had committed a crime. A crime against the very Nature of Things, a crime against Truth and Reality.

He fell farther into the void, his eyes closing, pieces of his being fluttering away in the whirlwind of judgement. He welcomed the ache. He welcomed the fall. He welcomed the void. He felt the peace of a condemned man who stands atop the gallows, afraid of the noose but resigned to his fate, even thankful for it, because of his terrible guilt.

This was just. This was truth.

“Tell me a story, Nico! Tell me about the Business King!”

“Nico?” Piper said.

“What? Sorry, what did you say?” Nico said.

Gramps sniffed. “I was asking if you could open that drawer for me. The one next to you.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry,” Nico said. He turned toward the desk Gramps had pointed to. As he moved, he felt the ache receding into some secret lair deep within his chest, where it would lie in wait for a little while.

The drawer contained at least a dozen plastic organizer boxes, each full to bursting with spools of thread, strips of fabric, lengths of lace, and other miscellaneous materials. Nico hesitated. Was he supposed to fetch something specific? He looked over at Piper, bewildered and a little guilty. She just shrugged.

“Now, reach up inside there and you’ll feel a switch near the right corner,” Gramps said. He wasn’t looking at Nico anymore. His attention was focused on a binder of documents that he was flipping through.

Nico’s fingers explored for the switch, finding it just where Gramps had said. Without waiting for confirmation, he clicked the switch. A soft ka-thud sound issued from behind the desk. Intrigued, Nico peered around to see what had happened.

A hidden compartment had opened in the back of the desk. Taped to the inside of the compartment door was a plain silver key. Nico retrieved it and held it up to show Piper. Her eyebrows raised in interest.

“You have a spy compartment, Gramps?” she teased.

The old man chuckled. “What about black market do you kids not understand, huh? Gotta keep shit secret somehow or other. Bring that key over here.”

Nico handed the key to Gramps, who turned and walked toward the picture on the wall that Nico had noticed the first time he came here. Bruce Coller and his father, Wyatt. 2055. To both Nico and Piper’s surprise, Gramps grabbed the picture and took it off the wall without even looking at it. Concealed behind was a safe.

Piper whistled. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t ya?”

Gramps winked at her. “Best way to stay young.”

Nico and Piper watched as Gramps turned the safe dial back and forth, entering the combination. A small green light on the front of the safe flicked on as he finished, and he pulled the safe door open. Inside was a small, black box with a silver lock. Using the key that Nico had retrieved, Gramps unlocked and opened the box, revealing a stack of crisp, flat bills. Without a word, the old man counted out thirty bills, set them on the table, then returned the box to the safe.

Tux prowled across the table and sniffed at the money. Her tail flicked back and forth. Nico and Piper just stared at the cash in awe. Each bill was festooned with Aleph Corporation iconography and bore the legend “10,000” across its center.

When Gramps turned back toward them after replacing the picture on the wall, his face was hard. Nico thought he knew why. Bruce Coller and his father, Wyatt. 2055. He struggled for a long moment, wondering if he should say something. But it was Piper who spoke first.

“I’m sorry about your son, Gramps,” she said softly.

The old man smiled sadly at her. “Wasn’t your fault, kid. But thanks.”

They all stood there for a long time, not really knowing what to say, but feeling that they ought to say something.

At last, Nico said, “Gramps… You’re really sure?” And this time, the question meant something entirely different than it had the first time. It was not born of the void within him. It came from somewhere else. Somewhere warmer, somewhere kinder.

Gramps seemed to sense the difference, and his eyes were sharp with that clarity. He hesitated, then said, “You know, Nico, I think Bruce would be happy to know you were wearing that shirt.”

Nico felt a tear run down his cheek. Piper’s eyes were shining, and her smile trembled just a bit.

Gramps held out a fist. “The Business King,” he growled.

Tux mewed approvingly. Piper wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, then touched her own fist against Gramps’.

“The Business King,” she said.

Nico felt the pinstripe shirt against his body more consciously than he ever had before. The line down each arm, where the pinstripes were, one on the left that he understood, and one on the right whose secret he had yet to uncover, felt warm, almost like the pinstripes were tingling against his skin.

The voice of the void was trying to speak once more, the ache was trying to spread through his body, the dark tornado was trying to spin up anew, but…

But…

Nico looked at Gramps, his fist extended, his expression proud. He looked at Piper, her smile determined, her orange hair flaming. And he looked at Tux, sitting atop the pile of money now, her black bowtie contrasting sharply against her fur.

Tell me a story, Nico! Tell me a story about…

Nico extended his own fist, touching it against Gramps’ and Piper’s. His heart was pounding now, a warmth igniting his veins like fire, a confidence, a destiny, a dream. He felt his mind clear. The voice of the void was cut off as suddenly and completely as if it had been shut behind a heavy slamming door. There was nothing but Nico, now, nothing but Nico and Gramps and Piper and Tux, nothing but their team, their crew, their shared ambition.

As she looked at him, Piper could see what Nico felt. She smiled. There you are.

Nico smiled back as he spoke.

“The Business King.”

***

Toothpick was thoughtful as he returned his phone to his pocket. “Patchwork’s gonna pay us 300 grand for a license tracer.”

“Good news,” Monroe replied absently. Then, noticing Toothpick’s expression, she frowned. “What, what’s the problem?”

“I dunno. Just something off about this.”

“What do you mean?”

Toothpick pursed his lips, the toothpick in his mouth tilting at a high angle as he did so. “Just a feeling.”

Monroe cocked an eyebrow. “Want me to come with?”

“Yeah, maybe. Think I’ll tell Spats about it too, see what he thinks.”

A strangled cry, muffled by the hallway’s thick walls and heavy doors, rang out. Sounded like Spats was just about done with the schmuck he’d been working on for the last two hours. Monroe’s jaw tightened at the sound.

She took her cigarette out of her mouth and gestured at Toothpick with it. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

Toothpick just grunted in reply. He stood there, deep in thought, until a final scream rent the silence and was suddenly cut off. Without saying a word, he began to walk down the hallway toward the boss’ office. Monroe followed close behind.

***

Moxie stood in the shower, letting the water run over her.

She had gotten out of Spats’ office as soon as he started punishing Leroy, feeling a wild sense of disquiet that buffeted her heart like wind on a cabin window. She was cool-headed. She was strong. She was cold.

She was running.

Her body and her mind were at odds with one another. Don’t be an idiot, she told herself, don’t panic like some dumb broad. You know that’s what Spats will say. He’ll say, “Babydoll, why do you gotta be such a bitch sometimes, huh?”

Blue’s face flashed through her mind. That arrogant little shit. Nobody had the right to call Babydoll a bitch. Nobody.

Nobody but Spats.

So why the hell was she running?

Her mind might be calm, her thoughts might be neat and orderly, but her body was screaming at her to escape. So she was running, not because she wanted to, but because her body was forcing her to. How could she fight her own legs, her own lungs? She felt ashamed of herself, but dammit, she was running. She didn’t stop until she had slammed the bathroom door behind her, panting and furious.

There it was again. That feeling of familiarity. Almost déjà vu, but not quite the same. This disconnect, this war between her body and her mind, she’d experienced it before. She’d experienced it every time Spats raised his hand and she flinched. She’d experienced it every time Spats raised his voice and she recoiled. She’d experienced it every time Spats gave her that certain look, and she stepped toward him, more out of instinctive obedience than romantic desire.

In all these times, her body took command over her mind. But now…

Now, memories she worked so hard to lock away were trying to escape. Memories of that day. That day when her body had submitted to her mind, and she hadn’t flinched, she hadn’t recoiled, she hadn’t run.

“Go, dammit! Leave me alone! GET OUT OF HERE!”

Now, standing in the shower, she pressed her forehead against the tile, eyes shut tight. Her shoulders shook as hot tears mingled with hot shower water, all of it falling to her feet and swirling lazily away into the drains.

Why now? Why, when she’d lasted so long without thinking of that day, was the memory of it so clear in her mind? Why was it so vivid that, despite the hot shower, all she felt was the cold pinpricks of misty sleet that had stung her cheeks?

“That’s the special power big sisters are given…”

Moxie’s heart raced as she shook her head. The thin pain that sang in her fist as she punched the tile blotted out the memories. She was still Moxie Bravo as she turned off the shower. She was Babydoll, Spats’ girl, First Lady of the Colombo Mafia, as she stepped out of it and wrapped a plush robe around herself.

There was only one thing to do.

She strode across the huge bedroom, pulled open the smooth-gliding heavy drawer that held her lingerie, and retrieved a small object from a hiding place in the back of the dresser. She hadn’t touched it in years, but the feel of it against her palm was so familiar and fraught with painful memory that she very nearly dropped it.

“Damn it,” she spat, and hurled the object across the room.

It bounced off the bathroom doorframe and skittered across the tile before smacking into the wall.

Babydoll’s heart was racing now. She moved slowly back toward the bathroom, her bare feet sinking into the luxuriously thick rug, her cold eyes fixed on the object she had thrown like it was a venomous creature. A chill gripped her stomach when she saw that something had changed about that small object. Maybe it had happened when it struck the doorframe, or when it hit the floor. Maybe it didn’t matter how it had happened.

The cell phone was open now.

It lay on its side, the dark screen facing her head-on.

She stepped closer.

The phone hadn’t been turned on in years. She had hidden it in that dresser the day she first came here, and she had never thought it important enough to – no, that was a lie, wasn’t it? – she had never worked up the courage enough to look at it.

Now, standing over the phone, Babydoll felt her body take command once again. She was reaching down, picking the phone up, inspecting its battered form, its dented corner. She was holding down the red power button. And what did it matter, really? What did it matter? Surely, after all this time, the battery was dead.

But the battery wasn’t dead. The phone’s small screen glowed to life. And as Moxie stared, transfixed, the phone began to vibrate, again and again, as alerts began to appear. Every time an alert popped up, another one pushed it down, over and over again, dozens of times, scores of times, hundreds of times. Moxie’s hands began to tremble and her eyes swam with tears.

Every notification, every single one, said the same thing.

(( MISSED CALL: PIPER BRAVO. [08:23 – 11/05/2054] ))

(( MISSED CALL: PIPER BRAVO. [08:24 – 11/05/2054] ))

(( MISSED CALL: PIPER BRAVO. [08:25 – 11/05/2054] ))

Moxie collapsed to the bathroom floor, bending over the phone as more and more alerts appeared. She couldn’t look away. At first, the missed calls were only minutes apart. Then, as more time passed, they were hours apart. Then days. Then months. There had been one day in 2056 when the calls had been only minutes apart, but that had only lasted a short while. The final call had come at [15:09 – 06/20/2057]. Then the alerts stopped.

Babydoll leaned against the bathroom wall, folding her legs under her robe. She set the phone down beside her and stared at the ceiling.

Moxie put her hands on Piper’s shoulders and pulled her in for a tight hug. The sisters held each other for a long time.

“I promise, Piper. No matter what happens, if you call me, I’ll come to help you. Even if the phone breaks, it can’t stop me from hearing you call for me.”

Piper sniffled loudly. “Really?”

“Really,” Moxie said. “That’s the special power big sisters are given, Piper. No matter where you are, if you call me, I’ll hear you. Because I’m your big sis, and you’re my little sis. Whenever you need me, I’ll be there.”

Babydoll picked up the phone and stood to her feet. Her mind was clear now. Her heart was settled. Somehow, seeing that final alert had closed a door within her that had long been cracked open. It had been three years since Piper’s last call. Hopefully she was doing just fine, but she wasn’t Babydoll’s responsibility anymore. That day had changed everything for both of them, and it was finally time, six years later, to move on.

Babydoll walked to the bedroom window and swung open the shutters. She looked out over Central City and sighed resolutely.

“So long, sis,” she whispered.

She pitched the phone. It flew far, far away, and when Babydoll closed the window once again, she felt liberated. A weight that she hadn’t even realized she’d been carrying was now lifted off her.

She was Babydoll. She was Spats’ girl. She was the First Lady of the Colombo Mafia.

And everything was going to be okay now.

***

The phone bounced off a rooftop ledge and ricocheted against a brick wall before clattering its way down to the pavement of a dingy alley. As it finally came to rest, its screen was badly cracked and there was a large gouge in one corner. The screen flickered dimly.

Then the phone vibrated one more time. It was a weak vibration. The tiny motor was heavily damaged, and this was its last gasp. An alert popped up on the ruined screen.

(( MISS

Then the phone turned off. And it never turned on again.