Renee whistled when the oil rig finally came in sight. “Bloody hell,” she muttered, “you Bayers really know how to treat your heroes, don’t you?”

The PRT officer driving in the front chuckled and joked, “We prefer ‘Brocktonites,’ you tourist.”

She smiled weakly. “Tourist, huh? Not for long.” The officer riding shotgun turned and gave her a look she couldn’t quite parse with their visor down and obscuring their eyes. Their lips were pressed together into a thin line though, so she could hazard a guess. Get in line, mate. I’m not chuffed with being here either.

The driver brought the vehicle to a stop then grabbed the mic from the console and brought it to his face. “This is transport B-05. Requesting bridge connection.”

The feeling of discomfort already lodged firmly in her gut swelled at the sight. When Renee had been little, she had frequently joined her mother at the British embassy after school. One day there had been a bomb threat, and after a local independent hero had defused the bomb, the two of them had been escorted in squad cars home by the police. The radio had been similar, albeit more crackly sounding, and the sight of that handheld mic pulled those memories to the surface. The uncertainty. The fear.

The betrayal.

A few seconds passed, then a voice replied over the speakers of the vehicle. “Acknowledged, B-05. Bridge engaging.”

Renee physically bit her lip to contain the urge to ooh and aah over the sparkling bridge of light that rapidly extended from the rig, arcing towards them until it touched the ground around nine or ten meters in front of the idling vehicle. The driver gently but firmly accelerated forward, and in moments, the vehicle was on the bridge instead of terra firma. In spite of herself, a small thrill wormed its way through her. She didn’t really want to be here, but she had been earnest in her awe of the Brockton Bay Protectorate headquarters.

Said structure was looming ever higher over her as they crossed out and over the water, and despite intellectually knowing nothing would go wrong, she instinctively started planning what to do if the bridge vanished. They were high enough over the water that even with seatbelts, impact with the water might knock the three of them out. Survive impact by punching them to bolster defenses, then break out of vehicle by using one of their weapons to shoot out the glass, she internally rehearsed. If it’s bulletproof, then shoot yourself in the foot to boost offense before making the glass break. Her planning proved unnecessary when the vehicle eventually slipped onto the rig proper, safe and sound. She would still plan for the worst case scenario next time though. She always did. After all, the difference between a living cape and a dead cape often came down to who had prepared better.

A woman in a clean cut suit stepped forward as Renee opened the door and stepped out. “Boudicca?”

“That’s me.” Were you expecting some other cape in a costume just like mine? Honestly.

“My name is Rebecca White, and I’m with Legal. I’ll be helping you go over and sign your paperwork today. I know it’s been discussed with you ad nauseam by now, but it’s important you understand your rights and responsibilities as a member of the Protectorate.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to sign up for anything without knowing what will be required of me,” she replied, forcing herself to smile. If it came out as more of a grimace, then Ms. White didn’t comment on it.

“That’s a commendable attitude. If you’ll follow me, then we’ll get you checked in at the front desk and make our way to the fun.”

The fun? I hope that was sarcasm. She gave the officers who had driven her there a quick wave farewell, which the driver amicably returned. The other officer simply gave a perfunctory nod, but at least that was an improvement over their behavior on the drive over.

She had known the paperwork would be tedious, but Renee had already needed to consume a couple cups of coffee to avoid crashing from sheer boredom. This isn’t what being a hero’s about, she griped to herself as the lawyer—whose name she had already forgotten—finished reviewing obligatory PR events and moved on to merchandising rights. Yes, she understood PR was important, and yes it was nice she would get a salary out of this and no longer need to work a civilian job to support her basic human needs. That didn’t change how she felt.

Just thinking about this phony, ‘on-brand’ heroism made her want to puke. Perhaps it was because the radio in the PRT vehicle earlier had stirred up memories of that night, but she found her thoughts drifting back to the bomb threat. She had been fourteen at the time and frightened out of her mind when her mother’s staff had gotten the call. Who wouldn’t be? Maybe someone else wouldn’t have been as aware of their own mortality as she had been at that age, but then, most people weren’t cancer survivors at fourteen either. She had thought the blood, sweat, tears, and sheer will to live she had put into beating her illness was about to be erased—gone in a flash and rendered pointless. But then the hero had arrived and saved the day.

The hero. The man who had likewise planted the bomb in the first place. Apparently being a bomb Tinker who required rare resources didn’t afford many opportunities for being an indie hero—who would have thought. Still, the potential was there, and it could even be argued the rarity of the necessity made it all the more special. But no, he hadn’t been satisfied with being a hero those few times it actually mattered, so he had given himself a leg up. A ‘victimless crime,’ his lawyer had argued at trial, and even though Renee and her mother—living proof the crime was not victimless—had attended some of the trial and had been present for the reading of the verdict: a hung jury. It had been an important lesson for her: The only justice, the only hero she could count on was herself.

She felt the urge to scratch at the scar above her left breast. She no longer had the port for her chemo, but its memory lived on, carved into her flesh.

“This next section,” the lawyer woman began to say as she flipped the page, revealing a section titled ‘Branding,’ “ties into your merchandising rights. You’ll be meeting with our PR department later today to discuss possible changes to your image and name to—”

“No,” Renee interjected with vehemence.

The lawyer jolted at the sudden interruption, which Renee supposed was understandable. A glance at the clock on the wall showed it had been two hours since they’d begun, and Renee had not spoken a single word since then. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m sure you heard me quite well,” she said, crossing her arms and fixing the lawyer with a steady, unyielding look.

“Ms. Boudicca, this is a standard agree—”

“Please do not think me some uneducated simpleton you can bamboozle into signing away my rights, Ms. Black.”

“White,” the lawyer corrected before pouring another creamer into her coffee and taking a sip.

Why is she talking about her coffee? Renee thought in confusion before pressing on. “I am Boudicca, and the only person who can tell me how to dress is myself. You will remove this section, or I will leave.” That was a lie, but the lawyer didn’t know that. Renee wasn’t a lawyer—wasn’t a diplomat like her mother—but she knew how to bluff. She was being forced to join the Protectorate, but that didn’t mean she had to bow to their every whim.

The lawyer considered her for a moment, her coffee cup raised to her lips, then she took another gulp of the caffeinated beverage before setting it aside. “Very well. You’ll probably need to agree to some extra PR events, but I’ll call PR after we’re done with the last of your paperwork and hash that out with them. Shall we proceed?”

Given how unique Renee’s power was, especially the marks it left, she sincerely doubted they could have succeeded in rebranding her, but she still felt better eliminating the chance altogether.

Renee raised objections over a few other points before they were finally, blessedly done. Most notable among them was getting a stipend to cover the initial costs of getting an apartment in the area, since she had precisely zero interest in living on the oil rig. She valued her privacy far too much to stomach living under the constant, watchful eye of the PRT. Calls were made to PR—it seemed they were willing to ‘allow’ her to remain Boudicca, the imperious wankers—then she was promptly whisked away to a boardroom entrance, where she left in the care of a PRT officer stationed outside. Apparently only a small contingency of PRT officers and the Protectorate heroes were housed here. The majority of the PRT and—strangely enough—the Wards were based out of the PRT building in downtown Brockton Bay. The setup baffled her. Her gut instinct would be to house all the heroes on the mainland where they could be more easily deployed and to keep the holding cells for criminals along with the necessary staff and guard to match on the oil rig. But she was willing to withhold judgment until she could figure out why the split had fallen along the lines it had. Regardless of why, it meant her first meeting with Emily Piggot, the director of the PRT East-North-East, would be by conference call.

Five minutes later, she was only just barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes at the delay. Of course she would resort to this tactic, Renee thought, ruthlessly suppressing the yawn threatening to escape her. It was a classic manipulation technique: Make them wait to send the message your time is more valuable than theirs while making them anxious and putting them on the back foot.

The PRT officer abruptly reached up to tap her ear. “Roger that. Escorting her in now.” She turned her full attention to Renee then stated, rather unnecessarily, “Director Piggot will see you now, Ms. Boudicca.”

“‘Boudicca’ will suffice, thank you,” Renee remarked as she pushed herself to her feet from where she had been leaning against the wall and entered the room as the officer opened the door.

“Boudicca,” Piggot intoned once Renee had closed the door and taken a seat. Renee’s first impression of the woman on the other end of the video feed was unfavorable. She was overweight to the point Renee suspected she had never heard of a crunch much less done one, and her blond hair was styled into what could at best be described as an unflattering bowl cut. “We could bother with the formalities, but I would frankly prefer to cut straight to the point.”

“That’s fine,” Renee allowed.

“Why are you here?”

Renee blinked. “I’m… here to join the Protectorate? Perhaps I’m not understanding the question.”

“Three years,” Piggot intoned, the non-sequitur confusing Boudicca even more. “You’ve been an independent hero for three years. Mildly successful, if one judges by popularity alone. Being one of three heroes in your home city undoubtedly accounts for most of that, but it’s besides the point. You’ve been content in Providence for this long, so why are you here?”

Well isn’t she just a gem?, Renee thought to herself. Ah, well, this was bound to come up. Just hadn’t expected it quite this soon. She released a sigh that was only partly affectation. “You’re… aware of what happened this week. Even if one of your heroes hadn’t been involved, you surely would have heard about it.”

“I am.”

“You mentioned popularity as a means of measuring success.” Feed them their own words, especially their own metrics. She could almost hear her mother saying the words, see her slowly pacing around the room like a tiger about to descend upon its prey. You’re not making them agree with you. You’re making them see they already do. “Despite what your people seem to have told you, my reputation in Providence varies from person to person, and the backlash after this debacle has made it clear it isn’t as… bankable as I’d like.”

“‘Bankable.’” Renee was almost impressed in spite of herself at how much distaste Piggot managed to infuse that one word with. “It hasn’t escaped our notice that your patrolling, though it occasionally fluctuates, is relatively stable.”

“Yes?” String them along a bit. All fish like live bait. Especially dumb bait. “That’s true, but I’m not sure I see the relevance?”

Piggot’s eyes narrowed, and Renee made a note to dial the perceived intelligence level up a hair. “This is indicative of an independent hero with a day job.”

“I…” She hesitated and crossed her arms. Classic defensive posture. Set the lure. I have something to hide, see? It’s right there. “Well, yes, I know there are some independent heroes out there who can pull it off full-time, but I’ve never been ab—” Brief pause for effect. “I suppose that was telling.” Another sigh. Mostly affectation this time. “I… Ah fucking hell, you’ll just figure it out anyway. Can’t exactly keep it secret when I’ve gotta tell you who I am, right?”

“I hardly see how unmasking is an answer to my question,” Piggot said with obvious irritation as Renee undid the buckles on the twin leather straps wrapping under her chin to secure her helmet in place. “What point are you trying to make, Boudicca?” Renee lifted the helmet away, and her opinion of Piggot rose when the director’s only reaction was to clinically note, “I see. Cancer, I presume? Your interest is in the medical benefits?”

“Not quite, but I could see why you would think that,” Renee corrected as she set aside the helmet, careful to lay it on its side in order to not cause a bend in the wig hair built into it. “Brain cancer, yes, but when I was younger. Most people’s hair grows back after chemo. I was just… unlucky. But you said you prefer to cut the fat, so I’ll… be blunt for you.” Show her you have similarities—that you can play ball. Then let them take the bait. Give up the information you’re ‘protecting,’ that you always planned to concede. “What I care about is my legacy. I don’t… I don’t want to be forgotten. I don’t want to be here. I would much rather handle things myself, but I’ve seen the signs, and what happened with that Meteor kid—well, that was just the straw that broke the camel’s back. I’m not making progress. Worse, I’m regressing. I need the visibility being in the Protectorate provides, the assistance from the PR team in getting my name out there… That is why I am here.” After that, you’re done—they’ll never look deeper. After all…

They’ve ‘won.’

Renee mastered the urge to smirk when Piggot sat back from where she had been leaning forward onto her desk. Everybody’s tells were different, but she had shifted out of an actively confrontational posture. Odds were, she had convinced the director. For now, at least. “I see. I really have no interest in the hassle of bringing in a known cape like you while negative PR is still clinging to you, but I regrettably need all the capes on our side we can get. The Empire alone outnumbers us, even if we count the Wards, and god knows I get enough shit on my plate from the Youth Guard as it is without actively sending an eleven-year-old girl out to fight a villain whose power is turning into a mass of twisting blades and hooks.”

“You won’t regret it, Director.”

“See that I don’t.”

The meeting finished up shortly after, and after securing her helmet in place once more, she followed the guard outside the room deeper into the oil rig. They reached a sealed door, and the guard tapped his ID badge against the plate next to the handle before leaning forward to let his eye be scanned. An alarm sounded beyond the door, and the guard remarked, “Gives everyone a chance to mask up. Someone from IT will be by later to get you set up for entry.”

Renee nodded, but her focus was on the door as it slid open—more specifically, the capes beyond. She easily recognized Assault from personal experience, and Battery, Miss Militia, and Dauntless were readily identified by costume and reputation. The other gentleman present took her a second longer to place. He was dressed in a red bodysuit featuring racing stripes and a ‘V’ on his chest, and though the outfit clearly broadcast ‘speedster,’ it took her a moment to place his name—Velocity, if she wasn’t mistaken. That meant the Protectorate’s leader, Armsmaster, wasn’t present. All of them were facing the door expectantly, and Renee detected a hint of annoyance in the set of Battery’s jaw. If the rumors were true that she and Assault were an item, then Renee could imagine a couple of reasons why the woman might not be thrilled to see her.

“You must be Boudicca,” Miss Militia greeted as she approached and shook Renee’s hand. Her grip was firm but clearly not an ill advised attempt at showboating. She directed a nod towards the officer. “I’ll take her off your hands.” The officer saluted and departed, and once the door slid closed, Militia’s eyes crinkled slightly, suggesting she was smiling. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. How was the trip up?”

“It was fine. Just to get us past the rest of the awkward ‘just met banter’: I have no opinion regarding the weather, I do in fact like long walks on the beach, and how ‘bout them Yankees?”

Militia and Assault both laughed, and Battery’s expression pinched somewhat, but it was Velocity who spoke up first—fitting, given his powers. “Huh, I hadn’t realized you weren’t American. I can’t quite place the accent. Where are you from?”

“Britain, but I’m a naturalized citizen, much to my mother’s chagrin,” Renee confirmed. She tossed a nod at Assault. “Got you all fixed up then? You were looking a bit worse for wear when we parted ways. Never seen a man get beaten so badly.”

He laughed and replied with a grin, “Your eyes weren’t much better, as I recall. Must be nice to be able to actually have the power to punch things until you feel better.”

“Bloody amazing is what it is,” she confirmed with a matching grin. It was nice to see he was seemingly still quite agreeable to be around. Perhaps this won’t all be such a bag of shite. Still, better head off this Battery problem ASAP. Renee stepped forward and held out her hand to Battery. “And you must be Battery. Assault wouldn’t stop yapping about you and how great you are. If even half of what he said is based on fact, then you must be the second coming of Jesus.”

Battery tossed her partner a look that quite clearly expressed disbelief despite her visor obscuring half of her face. “I can’t turn my back on you for a second, can I?”

“Never,” Assault agreed with a very emphatic nod. He glanced at the rest of the team, shrugged, then deftly removed his visor after a few seconds’ fiddling with it. “You escaped that hell they call ‘paperwork,’ yeah? I don’t see any sense in waiting. Name’s Ethan.”

He glanced at Battery, who through simple movement of her head and stance once again easily conveyed the action of rolling her eyes despite her visor. She reached up and detached her own visor. “Blair.”

The pair’s reveal prompted the Militia, Dauntless, and Velocity to unmask and respectively declare themselves to be Hannah, Shawn, and Robin. Eventually, only Renee was left, and despite her cavalier attitude towards revealing herself to Piggot, she found herself somewhat anxious regarding how the assembled capes would react. Her life had all gone to cock the moment she opened the letter sealing her fate, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to do her damnedest to make lemonade out of lemons. She carefully undid the straps of her helmet and pulled it free, and to the group’s credit, only Velocity visibly reacted by leaning closer as if he didn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

Forcing her voice to be steady, she said, “Renee. I’ll just head off the question: Cancer when I was a kid, and yes I’m all better.”

The group’s attention was diverted a moment later by the door sliding open to reveal Armsmaster, though he was only wearing the helmet of his midnight-blue tinkertech armor, which left his well trimmed beard visible, and a matching gauntlet. He paused momentarily on seeing Renee then nodded, seemingly to himself, before stepping fully inside. The door slid shut behind him, and he reached up and removed his helmet, revealing closely cropped brown hair that matched the shade of his beard. “Colin. Good to have you aboard, Boudicca.”

“Renee,” she said, so he wouldn’t be the only person in the room who didn’t know her name.

“Noted,” he said, already in motion towards the conference room adjoining the heroes’ lounge.

Renee raised an eyebrow at his behavior, and Assault—Ethan, Renee reminded herself—whispered, “Don’t take it personally. If he could participate in these meetings from his lab, he probably would. He only emerges from his lair for mandatory meetings and patrols.”

“Ethan,” Blair hissed at him.

“Too right, puppy,” he said, nodding sagely. Renee could only assume ‘puppy’ was some sort of in-joke or pet name. “I forgot to mention he also leaves to howl at the full moon. It’s so easy to forget that one.”

Renee chuckled as they all moved to follow Colin into the conference room. She hadn’t noticed the time, but sure enough, there was only a minute left before the minute hand would strike four. Blair somewhat indiscreetly pushed Ethan towards a chair that would allow her to sit between Renee and Ethan, but Renee sagely ignored it. She was content to let the other hero mark her territory if it would make for smooth sailing. Before long, the scowling visage of Emily Piggot was projected on the screen, and the irritable director wasted no time with pleasantries.

“As you all know, the purpose of this meeting is to discuss the actions of Faultline and her crew this past Sunday as well as to compile all details we have about their newest capes. This has been some time in coming, as we have been waiting on our newest recruit’s enrollment. We’re hoping you can provide us some valuable insight, Boudicca, as you and Assault were present for the confrontation.”

Putting me on the spot right out of the gate, Renee thought as she suppressed a smirk. It’s in keeping with my read on you, at least. “Where would you like me to begin?”

“The goal behind their attack.”

Renee nodded. “Based on where their attention was focused during the encounter and how unprepared they were for Loki’s presence, I think it’s safe to surmise they weren’t there for her. All communications between their team that I heard were either about the fight or otherwise about Canary. If it’s true that Faultline’s crew is based out of Brockton Bay, then I’m sure you’re all more familiar with them than I am, but if I had to guess, I would speculate they were trying to free Canary on the basis of being a ‘monster’ cape.”

“We considered that, but based on subsequent communications with one of their newer members, Meteor, on Sunday, we have tentatively ruled that reasoning out,” Armsmaster commented.

“The hospital thing, yeah?” Renee had skimmed the PHO thread about Faultline’s crew paying a hospital a visit, but she hadn’t had a chance to watch the recorded confrontation between Meteor and Militia. She had been surprised to find public opinion seemingly divided about the encounter, with some people still siding with the mercenaries despite the PRT denouncing them for the alleged attack on a hospital. Others had pointed out it was perfectly reasonable for Meteor to seek medical attention for her injuries, and many people had decried the PRT officers opening fire with live weapons in the emergency room when civilians were present.

“Correct. I’ve been working on a lie detector, and though it’s still in preliminary stages, its analysis of Meteor’s admission they were hired is that the statement is true, which lines up with Miss Militia’s observations from debrief.”

A lie detector? Fucking hell, Renee thought, only just barely taking note that Colin had called Hannah ‘Miss Militia’ instead of ‘Hannah.’ Everyone on the call knew who was who, and they were all unmasked. Professional distance, perhaps? She couldn’t begin to speculate, distracted as she was by what a disaster her conversation with Piggot would become if—when, really—Piggot asked him to examine it with his technology. Hoping his technology wouldn’t pass muster was a fool’s errand. It was better to plan for the likely fallout and to avoid all further lies. Everything needed to be the truth as much as possible, omissions only where strictly necessary.

She had already burned the letter, so at least there was that.

“—further information,” Colin was saying as Renee returned her attention to the meeting in full, “we can only speculate on who hired Faultline, much less their intent in doing so. Our attempts to trace the van Faultline’s crew used for transportation didn’t yield any fruit despite Dragon dedicating some of her resources to monitoring traffic cameras. We’re slowly branching out to nearby cities, but again, so far no results.”

“I want an update as soon as you have anything,” Piggot said, quite unnecessarily in Renee’s opinion. “Moving on to analysis of the new capes, beginning with the one identifying as ‘Meteor.’ Boudicca?”

Renee carefully suppressed the urge to tell the woman where she could shove her attempts at intimidation. “The popular speculation online is she is a Tinker—”

“I’m not asking for what the public thinks, Boudicca,” Piggot interrupted.

“I was getting there, director,” Renee rejoined, silently berating herself for letting her control over her ire slip even that much. “Based on my personal observations, however, I would argue she is not a Tinker.”

That got interest out of the director as well as the rest of the table. “Explain,” Piggot curtly demanded.

“I had the opportunity to discuss what happened with Rubicon yesterday after running into him on patrol, and we both agreed that although Meteor made frequent use of gestures throughout the fight, we both noticed moments where she seemed to be controlling her ‘equipment’—” Renee curled her fingers in the timeless gesture known as air quotes “—without any visible gestures.”

Colin frowned. “There could be other justifications for that. Failsafes put in place to ensure set actions occur under certain circumstances. Micro gestures or subvocal commands. Some of my own gear uses those. It’s also true that many capes hold back on what they can do in most situations in order to keep an ace up their sleeve.”

“Perhaps,” Renee allowed, “but my gut tells me the kid’s not a Tinker.”

“Your gut, hm?” Piggot drawled.

“You can scoff at it if you want,” Renee replied, “but you asked for my opinion, and my opinion is Meteor is a Shaker, not a Tinker. I don’t know the PRT’s system well enough to speculate about power levels or any of that rot, so I’ll leave that to you lot.”

“Hey, that rhymed,” Ethan stage whispered with a grin, earning him an elbow in the ribs from Blair. He feigned as if he was hurt, but Renee didn’t doubt for a second that he had just dispersed the kinetic energy.

“Setting aside for the moment the method of control, Meteor’s MO seems to be using metal balls the size of ball bearings,” Hannah said, picking up the analysis torch. “She also clearly demonstrated the ability to control metal in her vicinity. Minimum range is fifteen yards based on the distance between her and the furthest PRT officers in the ER when she commandeered their containment foam dispensers.”

“Range is definitely further than that,” Ethan supplied. “I saw her lift Canary from easily double that distance in Providence. She also controlled a ton of those balls when she was fighting in Providence, but she seemed to mostly direct them all at once. She might not be able to do lots of little, different things at the same time.

Hannah spoke up again with a frown, her eyes quite expressive even with her mask gone, “Her control includes manipulation of the metal in relation to its environment and also manipulation of the metal’s shape. She melted bullets fired by the three PRT officers after I was incapacitated by Newter. That she can stop a bullet also means she can assert control very quickly.”

Shawn jumped in next. “She used metal as a shield when we fought in the garage. She formed it on the spot and was able to completely deflect my strike. It was like I was striking a solid wall instead of something being held.” He sighed before adding. “And she seemed to be able to manipulate my gear, though after watching video of her earlier fights, it didn’t seem like she had very good control over them. Just enough to throw me off, not to actively seize control.”

They should already know this, but I suppose it doesn’t hurt to bring up. “She escaped because I made the mistake of thinking she only uses the ball bearings,” Renee said, rejoining the analysis. “She flung a ball containing a form of pepper spray at me and released the spray when I tried to knock it aside.”

“Sounds like tinkertech,” Colin noted. There wasn’t any condescension in his voice, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Renee didn’t know him nearly well enough to judge. “Faultline is known to use similar items. Perhaps she gave Meteor the idea?”

“Or perhaps she gave Meteor the idea of obscuring she’s a shaker,” Renee countered. “Like you said, some capes hold back on what they can really do.”

Colin nodded, a considering look in his eyes. “Fair. Gallant and I have a meeting with Faultline and Meteor tomorrow at Fugly Bob’s. I could try bringing up some topics that only Tinkers would really be able to follow and have Gallant watch her emotions.”

“Fugly Bob’s? Gallant?”

“Gallant is one of our Wards,” Hannah explained when it became apparent Colin was distracted—perhaps busy thinking through what tests he might administer. “He uses tinker power armor as a costume, but his power is in fact emotion sensing and energy blasts that can impose a preset emotion and impact with minor kinetic force. As for Fugly Bob’s, it’s a popular local fast food place known for American cuisine.”

Her response answered some of Renee’s questions, but she was still confused by one matter in particular. “And why is this meeting happening?”

Hannah looked to Shawn, whose face was twisting slightly with repressed anger or frustration. It was Piggot, however, who responded. “They stole Dauntless’ empowered boots and bargained their return in exchange for us allowing them to leave Bayside. Your colleagues can fill you in on the details later. For now, does anyone have anything else to add regarding our assessment of Meteor?” When nobody said anything further, she resumed speaking. “Then I am tentatively assigning Meteor a Tinker 4 rating pending Armsmaster and Gallant’s assessment of her tomorrow. I’m further adding Mover 3, Blaster 3, and Shaker 4 ratings, based on the demonstrated abilities, tinkertech-based or no.

“Now, moving on to Shade. What information do we have?”

“Copies powers and appearances, but she seems to have limitations,” Renee replied. “Perhaps more importantly, they seem to get skills and maybe even knowledge as well.”

The air in the room palpably shifted with that declaration. “Explain,” Piggot once more demanded of her.

“They copied me while we were fighting, and I saw a lot of my style in the way they fought. It wasn’t a perfect match, so I’d guess it was a mix with their own fighting style.”

“Stranger 6,” Piggot declared immediately. “Miss Militia, it’s possible you encountered Shade in the ER, so report to IT after this meeting for assistance with your clearances being reset. Until we can ascertain whether Shade gets and keeps knowledge from those they copy, all interaction with them is to be strictly limited. Is this understood?”

A chorus of assents echoed around the table. “As for the limitations,” Renee resumed, “Shade swapped at several points between copying myself, Ethan, and… Gregor the Snail, I believe he’s called? Anyway, they took all of those forms and used copied powers, but they never stayed in one form for long. There were several points when Shade became someone for just long enough to use a power before moving on to a different form. Even when they did use a power more, they never used it for longer than, say, half a minute.

“They also fought as Faultline,” Ethan commented, joining in. “In fact, they were probably Faultline the most, but they never used her power that I noticed.”

“Agreed. It’s also worth noting their change isn’t instant or non-obvious. It takes them a second or two to change, and their body takes on a shadowy appearance during that change.”

“You’re both avoiding saying ‘he’ or ‘she,’” Blair remarked. “Do we know what the real Shade looks like? Did either of you see Shade as anybody but someone else at the fight? If so, we may know what their base form’s appearance is. If not… this is just speculation based on Shade being a member of Faultline’s crew, but perhaps Shade is a case-53 who can only be other people?”

Colin frowned as he typed away on a pad on his tinkertech gauntlet. “Possible, but I would avoid speculation. Although the presence of Newter and Gregor the Snail in Faultline’s crew does indicate a possible predisposition to recruiting case-53, neither Faultline nor Labyrinth are case-53 capes, and by all appearances, Meteor is not either.”

He paused momentarily before asking, “Does anyone have further information to add?” When nobody else said anything, he continued, “To summarize then: Shade can copy appearances and powers, we have reason to suspect they can copy skills or possibly knowledge, we do not know what Shade’s primary form is or whether there is one, copying someone takes up to two seconds and is a visible process involving shadows, and Shade’s use of powers may have limitations such as number of uses, length of usage, etc. Stranger 6, as Director Piggot indicated, and based on our information, I would suggest Trump and Breaker ratings as well.”

“You wouldn’t give her ratings in everything?” Renee asked, somewhat confused. “She could in theory copy any power.”

“The Trump rating would cover that. The suggestion of a Breaker rating is because she changes into shadows that reform as someone else, and the Changer rating is because her Breaker form changes her into someone else.”

Renee nodded but secretly was a bit thrown. I hadn’t realized this much thought went into ratings…

“I agree with those suggestions,” Piggot acknowledged. “I’m assigning her a Breaker/Changer 2 rating with subratings of Stranger 6 and a tentative Trump 5, pending confirmations of what limits, if any, Shade has. Miss Militia, report to IT. Battery, show Boudicca the ropes while Miss Militia is indisposed. Dismissed.”

The call ended, and Blair only just barely concealed her irritation when she turned to face Renee. “Right, c’mon then, lots to do.”

Renee swallowed the sigh that threatened to escape her as Ethan began to badger Blair about letting him help too, which seemed to be worsening her mood. Well at least the Sword of Damocles isn’t hanging over me anymore.

I hope the ‘favor’ is worth it.

Paige startled somewhat at the sound of the van’s side door opening and managed to open her sleepy eyes just in time to catch Faultline slipping out. She couldn’t quite believe that she had fallen asleep, but she was very tired. The prison guards who had prepared her for transport that morning had woken her up far, far earlier than necessary, taking sadistic glee in leaving her drained and weary for her intended transfer to Boston. The backseat of her latest accommodations was actually quite comfortable, and though her bindings made her posture awkward at best, she had nevertheless found herself slumping into the chair and resting her head on the top of the seat.

“What took you all so long?” Faultline demanded, her voice somewhat muffled by the van but still audible. “You were evasive on the phone.”

“Things didn’t quite go according to plan,” someone replied. Paige vaguely recalled her voice from earlier when they had first arrived at the hospital. The others had referred to her as Meteor’s cousin, if she remembered correctly. Did they avoid saying her name, or did I just forget it?

“Meteor’s arm is repaired, so at least the main thrust of the plan was accomplished. What went awry?”

“Unexpected guest,” another voice jumped in. This one Paige more readily identified as Shade, the shapeshifter. “You might have heard of her. Calls herself Panacea?”

“Please tell me you didn’t harm Panacea,” was Faultline’s immediate response.

“Nothing like that,” Meteor’s cousin was quick to reassure. “She actually… Well the short explanation is she wanted Shade to do her a favor. In exchange she healed Meteor and… um…”

“She gave me what I wanted.”

Paige blinked. Was that Meteor? Before she had landed her first record deal, Paige had recorded and mixed all of her own music, so her ears were accustomed to catching subtle differences in timbre and resonance. The team’s Tinker sounded like someone had equalized her on a mixing board. It wasn’t really a good or bad difference. Her voice was just… different.

Faultline was seemingly shocked into silence, if her lack of response was any indication, but in the van, Newter turned to Gregor with obvious confusion. “Uh. She wanted long hair?”

“It is her story to tell,” the large man quietly replied, leaving the orange boy even more confused.

Labyrinth, meanwhile, tilted her head as if perplexed but said nothing. Paige still didn’t know what to make of her. Initially she had suspected the girl was mute, since her teammates had spoken to her once or twice on the drive up from Providence with no vocal response in kind, but she also had not responded with simple body gestures like nodding or shaking her head. Her outfit clearly marked her as a cape, but how could anybody properly interact with her if she was completely unresponsive?

“I see,” Faultline eventually responded, breaking the silence that had descended over everyone. “And what was this… favor she asked of Shade?”

The cousin laughed somewhat nervously. “She asked us not to tell any—”

“She wanted to bone her sister,” interrupted Shade, eliciting an indignant cry from the cousin, “but she also didn’t want to bone her sister, so she was like, ‘Help me Obi-Wan Shade-obi, you’re my only hope of cockblocking myself!’ Wait, is there a girl version of cockblock?”

“Pretty sure it’s ‘clamjam,’” replied the voice Paige was tentatively labeling as Meteor. “The fuck is ‘Obi-Wan Shade-obi’?”

“Clamjam? I fucking love it!” she responded with a cackle. “And it’s a Star Wars reference. You’ll get it after movie night, which is happening ASAP ‘cause it’s a goddamn crime you haven’t seen Star Wars. A goddamn crime.”

“Don’t get distracted,” Faultline said. “We need to get moving, but before we do, I need you to clarify about this favor Panacea wanted. You said she felt an… attraction for her sister and wanted Shade to remove it, but that does not line up with public understanding of Panacea’s power. How does she expect this favor to be carried out?”

“Don’t say it in front of your p-prisoner,” the cousin hastily said. “She threatened to leak our names if word got out, remember? But don’t worry. The favor’s already done.”

“I see. Then say nothing,” Faultline ordered. “We will discuss that on the ride back after we drop off Mcabee. You and Shade should put on these masks for now, and Meteor, you should pull yourself back up. Once everyone’s ready, let’s move.”

Faultline and the cousin, who was now wearing a pale blue surgical mask that hooked around her ears, climbed in and took the row closest to the front. Paige did a double take when Meteor climbed in and the van’s overhead light illuminated her. As Newter’s earlier comment had indicated, her dark brown hair was much longer now and probably reached all the way down to past her shoulder blades, but there was definitely more to the changes than just that. Her healed arm was no surprise, since that was the entire point of going to the hospital. Paige was actually grateful it was repaired, since it had been nauseating to see the bone jutting out of her arm. But beyond that, her proportions were different. If someone had pressed Paige to describe how they were different, then she wouldn’t have quite known how to describe it other than ‘abrupt puberty.’ Before she had left the van, she had the fledgling beginnings of curves, and while ‘curvy’ certainly still wasn’t a descriptor Paige would use in reference to her, she definitely had more defined feminine features now.

Paige wasn’t the only one who noticed. Meteor had steered herself to the row where Labyrinth was, Shade hot on her heels with her own surgical mask after sliding the door shut, and Labyrinth immediately reached out and began to card her fingers through some of Meteor’s hair, drawing a nervous giggle from the girl. “Yeah, Labyrinth, I got an upgrade. You like?”

Labyrinth didn’t respond vocally—Paige was frankly shocked she had even done as much as she had—but she kept bringing her hand back up to run through the other girl’s hair, and that was apparently answer enough. Newter, meanwhile, whistled as he craned his neck to look past Faultline and Meteor’s cousin. “Wow, I hadn’t really considered whether Panacea could do that, but I suppose that makes sense.”

For some reason his words made Meteor tense up. “Right. I… I should tell you and Labyrinth.”

“Tell me what?”

“Not yet,” Faultline cut in. “We need to get moving, Meteor, so please wait until we’re back on the road outside the city. Gregor will drive then, and it will no longer matter if you get… distracted.”

“Sure sure,” Meteor replied, sounding almost relieved. The overhead light had turned off when the side door had been closed, which made it somewhat difficult to see in the dark interior of the van, but Meteor was close enough to Paige that she could make out the girl raising her hand to her mouth. The girl then made a ‘pssh’ sound and intoned, “Gregor Control, this is the S. S. Meteor’s Awesome requesting permission for takeoff, over?”

The driver chuckled. “I believe ‘S. S.’ is for ships, not planes, no?”

Another ‘pssh.’ “Gregor Control, I can name my aircraft whatever I please. Also, this is not a plane, so your argument is invalid anyway, over.”

“Meteor.”

Another ‘pssh,’ this time from Newter up in the front, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Sounds like trouble, S. S. Meteor’s Awesome. Go go go! Take to the skies before a fault line opens up and swallows your craft, over!”

Faultline was turning around in her seat at this point, and Paige was certain there was a look of ire on her face underneath that welder’s mask. Meteor took the hint, if the van lifting into the air and soaring forward was any indication, and Paige pointedly kept her eyes firmly on the back of the seat in front of her. When they had lifted off from the garage earlier in the evening, she had made the mistake of glancing over her shoulder out the back window. Thankfully, she had managed to suppress the nausea that had welled up in her. She had no desire to find out what would happen if she hurled while her mouth was still bound up.

The van was silent initially, but Newter and Shade quickly took up the mantle of filling the silence with a mixture of jokes, pop culture references, and the occasional comment laden with vague, or in Shade’s case not so vague, innuendo. One such comment from the shapeshifter—“She told me I needed to stop saying such disgusting things, and I told her, ‘I’ve tried, but it’s hard—so hard!’”—caused Meteor to burst into laughter, which was accompanied by the van jostling ominously for a half second after a brief loss of control. Faultline ordered immediate silence for the remaining couple minutes it took the Tinker to finish flying them out of the city and set them down on a country road. The exit onto the freeway going north laid just a bit further down the road.

Meteor brought her hand back to her mouth and made a ‘pssh’ sound yet again because apparently she was not going to be so easily deterred. “Gregor Control, the S. S. Meteor’s Awesome has landed. Yielding control now, over.”

“Twenty laps when we get back home,” Faultline flatly declared as the van began to roll forward under Gregor’s direction.

“Wha— Come on! Why?!”

“Because ‘she said so,’ duh,” Newter remarked from the front, grinning over his shoulder at her.

“You’ll be joining her.”

“Worth it,” he easily replied, his grin never wavering. “So Meteor, now that the S. S. Meteor’s Awesome has landed, what’s the deets with what Panacea did to you?”

“Right,” she replied, nervousness leaking into her voice. “That.”

“Hang on a sec,” Shade cut in before twisting around to look at Paige. She began to change, and despite the darkness of the van, Paige had no trouble recognizing the bold colors of her own yellow hair and its yellow and green feathers. Paige’s eyes widened in expectation, and she shrank away.

“Shade.”

Shade huffed and reverted to her own form once again. “We’ve only known each other for a day, boss, but I can tell you’re gonna do your damnedest to suck the fun outta everything.”

“Stopping you from causing a disaster is not sucking the fun out of everything,” the older woman easily retorted. “I know I told you this morning that her power works on groups. Did it not occur to you that you might master everyone else in the van while you set about casually mastering Mcabee?”

Shade grunted before jabbing a finger at Paige, who flinched away. “Don’t go spreading what you’re about to hear around, or I will find a suitable power to copy and make you regret it.”

Paige nodded as frantically as she could in her bindings. Shade stared her down a few seconds longer before finally turning away from her and nudging Meteor.

The other girl anxiously cleared her throat. “So, um, Newter? Labyrinth? I… Um, see, I wanted to tell you, but I was waiting for the… right moment, I guess? Like, Gregor only knows because I got outed at— Oh hell, what do I call you, since we’re being all covert? You’re not a cape, so it’s not like you have a cape name.”

“Just call me ‘M’ for now, I guess?” the cousin supplied, sounding unsure herself.

“Whatever. Sure. Anyway, the only reason Gregor knows is because I got outed at M’s place, and Faultline only knows because Gregor told her, and Shade—”

“Dude, Meteor,” Newter said, interrupting her nervous rambling. “Other people heard it first because reasons—I get it, and I’m sure Labyrinth does too. Please just get to the actual reveal before you leave us more confused.”

“Fuck, you’re right, sorry, I just… Ugh, okay, I’m transgender. Or I was? Huh… Panacea happened, so it’s kinda confusing now. Um… Yeah.”

Oh, Paige thought, caught off guard by the cape’s admission. Really? And Panacea…?

"Woah, really?" Newter remarked with a hint of awe in his voice. "Jesus, that sounds like a lot of work."

“Yeah.” A pregnant pause hung in the air for a moment. “So, you’re… You’re okay? We’re cool?”

Labyrinth, who best as Paige could tell had yet to stop playing with Meteor’s hair, laid her head down on the other girl’s shoulder. The message was clear.

Up front, Newter replied, “Well sure? You certainly aren’t going to hear any complaints from me about changing your body to be more comfortable.”

And that was that, apparently. Shade resumed making lewd jokes, which elicited somewhat watery laughter from Meteor, who must have been crying too quietly for Paige to hear. Labyrinth’s head stayed firmly planted on Meteor’s shoulder, and the rest of the van began quietly talking about this or that topic. And sitting there, alone in the back, Paige found herself feeling jealous. Not of the other girl’s struggles—not that. Paige didn’t know any trans people personally, but she had watched a queer friend wade through a mountain of shit when he came out to his family. She could only imagine what Meteor might have gone through. No, it was the easy acceptance she was jealous of. One explanation, and just like that, the rest of the team was all smiles and friendly touches.

Paige could still remember her father’s reaction when she had first visited him after getting her powers. He’d had a tinge of sadness ever since her mother had died, and Paige had excitedly sung for him, showing him how she could affect him, make him feel good again. Then she asked him a question. One simple question. “So, what do you think of the new me?” Still high on the sweet feelings her song had put in him, her father had replied with a smile on his face, “You’re like the Simurgh.”

In an instant, all her happiness and excitement about her newly acquired power vanished. Even though she had been a little kid at the time, she still remembered the horror filled news reports when the experts figured out exactly what her scream did. One little nudge guided by perfect precognition to put the wrong person in the wrong place at the wrong time, triggering appalling chains of events that seemed to just ripple and go on and on. The only thing that could be done was wall in all of the affected. Never in her wildest dreams had she considered her own family might compare her to that monster. It had taken her over a year and her father’s repeated reassurances to stop plucking her feathers. The world had already had seven walled off cities, seven gravestones for the dead hopes and dreams of the affected people trapped within—it hadn’t needed another reminder of the first slain Endbringer.

I could sing, she thought as she simmered in her jealousy and listened to the casual chatter in the van. Make them reveal what they really feel beneath all of their smiles, laughs, and kind words… Oh god, what am I thinking? I can’t believe that thought even occurred to me! Horrified by the ugly direction her thoughts had taken, she twisted back and down until she could rest her head on the top of the seat again. Rest. She needed rest.

Unfortunately, Paige didn’t manage to fall asleep again despite the weariness that suffused her. They stopped for gas once along the way, and some time after that, Meteor lifted the van again and flew them on a detour over the Northern end of Lake Champlain, enabling them to cross the Canadian border without an inspection. By that point it was very, very late, and Labyrinth had fallen asleep on Meteor’s shoulder, prompting the Tinker to follow suit not long after gently laying her head atop the other girl’s platinum hair. After about an hour’s drive further, Gregor finally pulled off of the highway again. They had reached Montreal. Neither of the sleeping teens stirred, and Shade appeared to be not far off from joining them if her yawns were any indication.

A few minutes later, Faultline quietly announced, “That alley there, Gregor, the one with the mural at the end.” He carefully slowed down and turned the van into the indicated alleyway, traveling perhaps ten to fifteen yards in before gradually coming to a stop. Faultline stood and slipped past ‘M’ to open the side door, which prompted the overhead light to turn on and most of the occupants of the van to groan at the abrupt shift in lighting. “Meteor, help me get Mcabee out of the van.”

“Sure, sure,” the teen drowsily replied as she stifled a yawn. Paige instinctively flinched away from the tiny metal pellets that swarmed out of the backpack on the seat next to her, but in short order, she was cocooned in large swaths of them and being floated horizontally out of the van with surprising effectiveness despite the other girl’s sleepy demeanor.

“This is where we leave you, Ms. Mcabee,” Faultline quietly announced once Meteor had deposited Paige on her feet outside the van. “For what it’s worth, I do apologize for the significant delays in getting here and removing your bonds.”

Paige’s eyes widened. Wait. They’re—?

“Yes, you heard me correctly,” Faultline continued, clearly having correctly interpreted Paige’s unspoken question. “My original plan had been to remove all of your bonds except for those over your mouth before leaving. With your hands unshackled, I’m confident you would be able to free yourself the rest of the way in short order. However, with Shade’s… recent addition to our lineup, we have an additional option at our disposal. If you consent to it, Shade could master you to allow us to leave safely before removing the last of your restraints herself. I leave the decision in your hands. Blink once for the original plan, twice for the latter.”

Paige carefully and pointedly blinked once. Twice in her life she had seen the awful things her power could do if used carelessly, and she had seen more than enough of the other girl to know she did not want her own power turned on her by Shade.

Faultline nodded. “Yes, I had expected as much.” She paused for a moment before adding, “I confess I don’t know why our employer wanted you brought here, Ms. Mcabee. I will say we have our standards, and I would not have accepted bringing you so far from your home had I any suspicion the location was chosen with ill intent. Please accept my assurances that I have never known him to be a malicious man.”

“You never did say who hired us,” Meteor sleepily grumbled as she tried—and this time failed—to stifle another yawn.

“I’ll tell you on the ride back,” Faultline assured, a hint of a smile in her words. “I’ve said all I can on the matter in front of Ms. Mcabee. Now, please remove her hand restraints, and we’ll be on our way.”

If Paige hadn’t been inside of a flying van twice already, then she might have been shocked by the bulky, conjoined arm bands holding her hands behind her back unlocking themselves. Even still, the heavy clunk of them hitting the ground behind her made her instinctively jump, prompting an embarrassed Meteor to apologize, “My bad, it’s been a long day. Like Faultline said, sorry we had to leave those on the whole way. I’ve been handcuffed before, but never for that long. It had to have sucked.”

Paige rubbed at her sore wrists, her skin having chaffed in several spots from the metal rubbing abrasively against her. She didn’t know how to respond to Meteor’s admission, but fortunately for her, she couldn’t say anything right then anyway, so it didn’t really matter.

“Goodbye, Paige Mcabee,” Faultline said with a nod. “Best of luck to you.” The two of them climbed back into the van, and she watched the vehicle pull away as she fumbled blindly with the latches holding her leather, reinforced mask in place.

It took her several, long minutes to finally undo everything and pull the mask free. Thank god I never made it to Boston, she thought, remembering the guards’ gleeful descriptions of the mask the PRT had designed in anticipation of her transfer. Apparently it would have extended into her mouth in order to forcefully hold her jaw open and her tongue down, the intent being to prevent her from singing or even talking. She tugged out the wad of cotton that Providence PD had kept in her mouth for weeks while feeding her by a tube in her stomach. Immediately she coughed, and it took her body a minute before it began to adjust and settle down from what had become the norm.

“I can talk?” she whispered, her voice croaky and cracking over the words. It was quite possibly the most beautiful thing she had ever heard. Tears began to well in her eyes, and by instinct she started to quash them before remembering she didn’t have to anymore. There were no more guards to taunt and torment her, to remind her over and over of the second big mistake she had made with her power. All of her emotions, bottled up and buried deep within her—all of it broke free, and she sobbed. It wasn’t so much tears as rivers that carved their way down her face as she basked in it all. She could talk again. She could feel again. She could live again.

Paige wasn’t sure how long she sat there crying, but nobody came along to interrupt her, and eventually she stumbled her way down the alleyway towards the mural the van had passed earlier. Glancing up at it curiously and wiping at her watery eyes, she froze when she properly saw what it was for the first time. A sad, muzzled canary with the word ‘bad’ in block letters emblazoned across its chest. The poor bird seemed to be looking at her with its expertly painted eyes that seemed to stare right through her soul. The door to its cage hung open, a key still slotted into it and painted onto the building at the perfect height to be at eye level. In elegant script painted onto the key’s handle was a message: “Only you can stop him. Be a hero.”

Paige felt a chill run down her spine as she read those last three words. Faultline had said a man hired them to free her, but Paige now knew either the mercenary had lied to her or been hired by proxy.

They had been hired by Eve.