"They say we're prone to violence! They use this as an excuse to force us to be ashamed of what we are! They say all we do is kill each other when the police kill more and more of us each year! Sellouts like Lady Steel sing and dance to get love from the man while the rest of us rot. When they forced us to register ourselves, where was she? Where were our so-called allies? I doubt Captain Steel would make us register! Now they want to literally put chips in our brains so we can be tracked at all times; they want to put these in our babies! I have to ask: when will enough be enough?!"

-Activist John Kirby, speaker, OverHuman rights rally 3125.

Corina Kyle stood in front of the view window with her arms folded. The opacity was set about halfway so that she could still see the world outside her window despite what she has been watching. She half paid attention regardless since it was all the same. It has been six months since the Black Contagion, as it was being called, and all the talking heads on TV could talk about was speculation over the true nature of the emergency.

The ICG had been mostly transparent about it, how a space-born pathogen had infected a portion of the population around the world before being stopped thanks to the heroic sacrifice of the alien known as Solar Flare. It was close enough to the truth as Corina understood it, she didn't pretend to get all the talk about a "balance" or whatever else Azonne had told her in between panicked breaths. Reluctantly, Corina agreed with Central One and the Board of Directors: the fact that Azonne had brought the madness with her didn't need to be public knowledge.

She had saved the world and deserved to be honored for it.

Central One had made sure to provide all footage of Azonne during the battle itself, the campus cameras had survived the onslaught and had captured amazing footage. A 2-minute clip loop of her final sacrifice had been viewed by over 100 billion people, and that was just counting human beings living on Izanami and her various colonies; other alien civilizations had their own tracking metrics that didn't get shared.

Six months later and Corina still couldn't wrap her head around the selfless act. She understood feeling that cornered, of course; there were times when she considered sacrificing herself for the greater good but she always found another way. Perhaps she had grown too optimistic over the years; too much buying into her own hype and drinking her own Kool-Aid, so to speak.

Due to the many battles both she and her brother had to fight within city limits, Saint Century had invested trillions of credits into a new debris clean-up system called Post-Fight Beautification and Tidy System, or PE-BATS for short. It was a tandem system involving insectile-like robots that released millions of tiny little nano-drones to aid them in the sifting and cleaning of all debris.

They got to work quickly once Azonne had sacrificed herself. Those corrupted still alive had immediately grown docile and recovered fully, complete with full memory of everything they did with all the good and bad that entailed. All told, about a million people had died during the incident, which was a stat that kept Corina up at night. For all the fights she'd had, none had turned out as poor as this one did, and she had barely participated. That galled her too.

PE-BATS had come across the rings while a small crowd had gathered around them, some adventurous fool attempted to try them on only to suffer from 3rd-degree burns just from touching them. The bots cleared the crowd away and scooped up the rings to give to Central One later. Corina recalled she felt heartbroken when she had them in her palms; what to do next also eluded her. Was she supposed to give these to someone? Azonne had spoken of her being someone's successor but the mechanics of such were not known to her.

Corina slid both rings on each of her fingers and braced for something to happen but nothing did. She felt foolish. In the end, she decided the best thing to do for now was to honor her somehow with the rings as a display of honor. The Captain Steel Museum was built in the wake of her brother's death, it was the perfect spot.

It housed all sorts of memorabilia from his many adventures and had even expanded to include a wing dedicated to herself. With everything that had happened, Corina had the idea to rebrand it as the Saint Century Hall of Heroes, as others over the decades had made their contributions and others would still. It was the perfect time for a rebrand and Azonne would be the main attraction. It was a superficial gesture at best but it was the least she could do.

The two rings sat behind her in her study, encased in steelglass and suspended in a stasis field. This was a prototype for how they’ll be housed at the museum. Corina lived in a penthouse high-rise of the 3rd tallest building in Saint Century, it used to be her brother’s base of operations. His entire enterprise occupied the top 5 floors of the building as the marketing, PR, and merchandise teams worked below her. She was more like a CEO of a corporation than a hero most days, a fact that had increasingly bothered her, especially since the Contagion.

Was the fact that she'd grown complacent the reason for most of her inaction 6 months ago? It was a question she had found harder and harder to answer one way or another. There has always been a contingent of people who viewed her as a corporate sell-out and it only took a bit of cognitive dissonance to let it wash off her back, now it was something constantly on her mind. There was a buzz on her AUG and she tapped it. Her agent slash personal assistant, also inherited from her brother, was at the door.

"Come on in, Alex," she said. Her study door slid open silently, and he walked in beaming as he usually did. Alex was a tall man who worked out every chance he got. He was nearly as tall as Corina was, a rarity in her life she quite enjoyed as not many people could look her in the eyes. He was dressed casually, well for him anyway: a black dress coat and slacks, with a white dress shirt that was unbuttoned at the collar and not tucked in. His white and black wingtips were immaculate as always, however. He had brown hair that was buzzed short around the sides, while at the top it came to sort of a plateau near the front.

"Casual Friday?" She asked, smiling.

"Trying something new," he replied with a smirk.

"6/10," she smirked back. "What's up?"

"The team would like to go over the plan with you for today's relaunch."

Corina sighed, "Again?"

He shrugged. "You know how they are."

"Tell them I trust them," she offered. "I'll shake the mayor's hand, sign some autographs, blah-blah." He grinned and nodded. "Anything else?" She asked as she sat down on the leather loveseat just adjacent to the window.

He thought for a moment before answering, "Oh right, I came to grab the-ah-main event for the opening." He motioned to the two rings. She waved him off, he didn’t need to ask. Before he walked out with them, she stopped him with a question: "Am I a sell-out, Alex?"

He paused, weighing his options. He wasn't sure what she was angling for but he shot his shot anyway, "You are, but there's nothing wrong with that." He replied before stepping out.

Isn't there? She found herself wondering.

***

The nightmare was the same every night. It wasn't very scary, mostly, but Roxanne hesitated to call it just a dream. It starts the same way, back in that classroom alone. No Wes, not even the alien woman who had saved her, just that black oozing mass slowly, steadily, pouring into the room. Whatever they were, dreams or nightmares, they didn't always end the same.

Sometimes the black fluid would fill the whole room until she suffocated in it, others she'd find it bonding with her and corrupting her like all the others. Either way, it always ended badly; her death or subsumption. Yet she had no fear, ever. Roxanne felt like a passive observer, making calm notes as she documented the myriad of ways the sludge ripped her apart. Stranger still, throughout the nightmare was this faint calling of her name.

Roxanne...

It was constant and she shuddered just thinking about it. Sometimes it felt like she could hear it even while she was awake but that was just crazy. Roxanne held out her arm in front of her and flexed her fingers happily, it had healed quite nicely. The best part was that the break was clean, which meant she didn't need any cyber-organic implants to make up for any lost bones which just about halved the cost. They had health insurance, kind of, but almost-extinction level events were considered "acts of god" and you had to pay extra if you wanted that covered.

She recalled standing next to Lady Steel, an event monumental in and of itself that barely registered. She was too busy staring at the alien woman, Azonne (like everyone else she didn’t find out their name until well after the fact). Then her focus shifted to Azonne hitting the stratosphere like a comet. Once the brilliant flash subsided Roxanne knew instantly that she was dead and it really hurt her heart. Sometimes, when she was alone, Roxanne would remember Azonne’s eyes when she had pleaded with her not to kill Wes. It felt like she knew her.

"Time?" She asked out loud to Alice.

07:30 LM replied the AI. Roxanne planned to skip school today but wanted to give her grandparents the impression she was going. In the aftermath Wes had not coped well, the look on his face as he was carted out of the school said it all. Days would later pass and he would refuse to see her when she had gone to the hospital to visit. It scared her how unlike him this was, nothing ever phased that kid; the only thing that scared Wes Gibson was his father.

A month would pass before she got to see him in person and even then he struggled with looking at her. Roxanne desperately wanted him to understand that she didn't blame him for what had happened; grandmother had told her that people have their own timetables when it came to healing and she needed the give the boy his space. But Roxanne was convinced that she could fix it, she just needed to try harder is all.

Wes had been pulled from school in the wake of the incident and his parents hired a private tutor. The school itself was back in business about a week later but Roxanne was able to stay away for another month due to her injury, which she milked for a bit. This was just fine to Millie, she enjoyed having her little sunshine around the house more after everything they all went through. Once they had all reunited, Grampa Humberto clued Rox on Alice being forced to lockdown and barricade the entire brownstone for close to 6 hours.

Roxanne grabbed her bag and bounded down the stairs two at a time, hoping to shoot past the kitchen without being stopped.

"Hey!"

No dice. Roxanne froze in her tracks and backpedaled sheepishly until she was in the kitchen doorframe. Grandmother studied her and pursed her lips. "Breakfast?" She asked eventually and grinned. Millie could tell a lot was on Roxanne’s mind, she knew she was still hurting, she just wished there was more she could do for her granddaughter.

Roxanne forced a smile with all teeth and said, "Um, no? I was kind of planning on getting something at school?" Was she asking or telling? Millie wondered. Roxanne pointed beyond her, to the front door, and said, "I'm going to be late, gramma."

“You know you can talk to me anytime, right?”

Ugh, “Of course gramma.”

“That my doors always open?”

“Totally.”

“And that you know that I know your silence doesn’t mean you’re ‘Okay’ but I respect you enough to know that you will tell me, in time?”

Roxanne blushed, “Always.”

"Have a good day, dear," Millie said with a smile. Roxanne smiled to herself and made a bead for the front door. The day was beautiful and Wes' family lived about a few blocks due east, a separate part of town where grime was practically nonexistent. John Gibson, Wes’ father, was on the ICG board of directors; his mother, Morticia Gibson was a well-traveled socialite whose gatherings made the news often. Roxanne loved scanning the stories about their parties if only to see what kind of fashion they were trying to pull off.

Roxanne…

She stopped dead in her tracks; the clearest one yet. I’m losing it. Post Contagion, Roxanne downloaded all she could find out about the planet Ganlomb and about the so-called “Solar Rings” (as dubbed on some sites). She had hoped that either would help explain what she had been feeling beyond trauma and PTSD. They didn’t; not enough was known about either aside from what had been written about Azonne’s predecessor during their brief visit to Izanami 6 years ago.

Before she had started walking again, Roxanne shot off a text to Wes, letting him know that she was on her way. He read it but didn't answer, which was fine. Roxanne had been planning this trip for the last few weeks when it was announced that the Captain Steel Museum was being retooled into the Saint Century Hall of Heroes. With Azonne being announced as the display of honor, Roxanne was determined to be there.

She had taken the time to convince Wes to come with her over text the last week. Roxanne felt that it would do him some good to see the person responsible for saving them, to get outside; she missed her friend. It wasn’t like she thought she needed it too, not at all.

The Gibson’s home was a waterfront highrise that lined the northeastern cliff shores of the city and overlooked the Johnson Harbor. Just a few blocks away from where Lady Steel lived, Roxanne often hoped to catch glimpses of her either leaving or perhaps just walking among the people with zero luck. The first time she met her ended up coming at what could have been the end of the world, Roxanne found that wild.

The main entrance was heavily fortified with no way to contact the occupants inside. You were already pre-cleared to be coded into the system or you were basically out of luck. Thankfully, his family liked her and she was let in easily after scanning her irises. Clean bots were hard at work with upkeep when she had walked in, she mocked waving hello at them as she passed and waited for the lift to arrive.

She checked her slate again, no answer still. She let him know she was downstairs and he finally responded with a thumbs-up emote. With a small chime, the lift doors opened and she stepped inside. Mentally, Roxanne braced herself for whatever excuse he could muster not to go.

She needed him to go with her, she couldn’t understand why but she just knew that it would fix everything. She exhaled forcefully as the lift stopped at the correct floor and the doors hissed open. It let her off directly into their apartment, and no matter how many times Roxanne walked in she was always blown away. Immediately after exiting, she was greeted by an immaculate foyer; the Gibson's tastes ran on the high-end side with all old-world art and decorations ranging from the finest china to elaborate ornate vases. Beyond that was a grand staircase that led to a second level, and under that were French double doors that lead to a lavish balcony outside that overlooked Saint Century.

Good morning Ms. Belmonte, the penthouse AI greeted her with its usual manufactured cheer. I can inform young master Gibson that you are here if you like.

However, before she could answer one way or the other, Wes appeared at the top of the staircase and said, "Don't bother." Roxanne took one look at her friend and winced internally; he looked like crap.

"Wes, you're not even dressed."

Sheepishly he placed a hand on the back of his head and rubbed it ruefully. She walked up the stairs to meet him, offering a small smile.

"My guy, how long have you been cooped up in here?"

"I like it in here," He shrugged half-heartedly.

Roxanne leaned slightly against the banister and eyed him curiously, she wondered how far to push it. "But I'm totally cutting school for this, don't you want to take advantage of this totally rare opportunity?"

He exaggeratedly blew air out of his mouth, "You cut class all the time," he replied. Silence fell between them before they both started laughing; it felt good to see him smile, she thought. Roxanne approached him and put a hand on his shoulder, she half-smiled sympathetically as she said, "C'mon, get dressed. It'll be fun, promise."

Wes sighed and threw his hands up, "Okay fine."

He led her away from the stairway and down a small corridor, at the other end was a barely visible crevice that housed the door to his room. It slid open as he approached and Roxanne winced at the state of it. Typical for most boys, it was a mess and she expected a mess because that was just Wes.

But even this was…something else.

Clothes littered the floor so much so she wasn't sure if it even existed; Schrodinger's floor, she joked to herself. His bed no longer had a top sheet and soda cans were stacked in droves on damn near every dresser, desktop, and even the closet shelf. "Jeez, Wes."

"I know," he turned red but had turned his back on her so she couldn't see.

"Don't you have clean bots to take care of this?" She asked.

Wes was busy picking out a shirt from one of the piles, not answering until he'd found one that met his standard of clean. "I disabled them in here," he replied.

"Why?" His only answer was a shrug. The state of it all broke her heart. She turned around once she noticed he had moved to look for pants to wear.

"Have you ever been there?" He asked.

She glanced behind herself slightly, "The museum? No, never."

"That's surprising."

"How so?"

"You used to talk about her a lot."

"Lady Steel? I mean--yeah, I guess I did," she said. Roxanne thought this was nice, being able to casually conversate like this again; maybe things were going to be alright. "I guess, I just never had the time, ya know? What about you?"

"My parents took me once when I was a kid," he replied. "I don't remember much of it except I'm pretty sure it had a 'Hall of Losers' there?"

Roxanne snorted slightly. "Serious?"

"Yeah, and I only remember it because of a guy named...damn, what was it?" He paused to finish hitching up a pair of jeans. "Rip Ripley. That was his name."

"Oh boy," she chuckled. "Do you remember his deal?"

"He ripped, of course." He snorted and giggled at the thought, surprising himself. Roxanne turned around and smirked; there he was.

Roxanne.

She tilted her head slightly to the right, a half measure between trying to focus on the voice and pretending it wasn't there at all. It was soft, like always; just right off the edge of consciousness, like a misfired neuron that danced across her cortex. She felt completely ridiculous. Post Contagion, Roxanne had refused any kind of counseling; she second-guessed that now.

"Rox?" His voice snapped her out of it. "You okay over there?" Wes sounded concerned but he still wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at the pile of clothes at his feet.

"Hm?" she looked up at him, he was dressed in a band tee—Vidjya Hammer, they were alright—and black jeans. "Yeah, sorry. Spaced out," she turned a shade of red.

"Psh, I know that look. I've had that look."

"Oh?" She felt herself get indignant and couldn’t understand why. “And what look is that?”

"You space out," he replied. "You just-You just see it, you know? Constantly. When I close my eyes, sometimes when I don't, I see everything that happened, everything that...that I did." Silence drifted in between them. Surprisingly, Wes spoke up first. "This is weird, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, it must be, for you." He replied. "It is for me. After-after what I," his face had contorted as his eyes started watering.

Roxanne didn't hesitate, she stepped over to Wes and held him. He started to openly weep so she hugged him tighter. He was so much taller than her that the sight was almost comical but she didn't care. She had released him when the sobbing had grown a bit quieter, placed her hands on his arms just at the elbows, and smiled at him.

"Hey," she began. "None of that was your fault. Sure, it’s weird and everything might be a little Seshed in the head for both of us right now but we just gotta work through it together. You're my best friend, dude. Nothing will change that," She smiled.

Wes nodded slightly and said, "I just keep thinking that you hate me, cuz I hate me and it makes perfect sense if you did."

"Never, man." She told him. "Come on, I really think today will help; let's get out of here."

*

Rather than grabbing the next Magtrain uptown to the museum, Wes offered to pay for a hover taxi. Pushed along thanks to micro-sonic waves broadcasted at a certain frequency into a carbon-fiber sail, hover taxis were slow-moving which was the point for tourists. The pair had to be dropped off a few blocks away from the museum as traffic had grown unbearable the closer they got. The driver offered an enthusiastic thanks when he saw the tip that Wes had left him. Roxanne and Wes weaved in and out among the people as they made the trek up the hill leading up to the museum.

The building was immaculate, the entire front had been completely done over and styled in classical roman architecture with massive gray ceramic pillars lining the entrance. A massive shallow pool filled with crystal blue water lay in a central courtyard leading up to it. An enormous statue of Captain Steel had been erected at the center of the pool; he was posed with both arms flexed up in a front double bicep pose, the muscles chiseled perfectly into the stone. His classic grin was carved expertly, while his uniform was so meticulously sculpted it appeared as if it were legitimately clothing.

In his day, Captain Steel wore a red high collar asymmetrical shoulder cape over a red canvas vest with white piping and a tight black turtleneck sweater under that. His logo, a stylized "C" and "S" broken up with a lightning bolt, was in a disk on the vest torso. It was recreated perfectly. Roxanne couldn't take her eyes off of it and even Wes was similarly awestruck.

There was a steady stream of people filing in and milling about the courtyard. Floating news cameras hovered about sending out a live stream into the Bleednet. Roxanne was disappointed she had missed the opening itself since she had hoped to spot Lady Steel. Roxanne sometimes wondered if Lady Steel would recognize her at all since she had stayed by her side until a police escort was able to get her home.

Roxanne had always appreciated that. It wasn't like she had to do it, right? Lady Steel was this big-time celebrity who existed on a completely different level yet she was genuine, asked her questions, and spoke with Roxanne as an equal. It eased the trauma, which was probably the point.

The lobby was cavernous, ornate light fixtures hung from the ceiling like glittering stalactites. At the front desk, they got their passes and Wes gave a small donation. Roxanne downloaded a museum map to her slate; the main exhibit was on the 3rd floor. They grabbed the next lift and squeezed in with about 10 other people. Roxanne sidled up next to Wes and he felt hot. After a chime from the AI, they all spilled out like pyroclastic flow.

Blown-up captures from the footage lined the walls; Action shots of Azonne mixed in with softer more candid ones taken in between. Each had a personal voiceover:

"Azonne Le before she had flown back into the Century School," and “Azonne Le pauses to catch her breath,” and more. In the center was a wax recreation of her; it was immaculate. Her skin and uniform were meticulously detailed, Roxanne gazed up at it; it felt alive.

“She’d hate this,” she whispered without realizing it.

“Huh?” Wes asked, not sure if he had heard her or not.

Roxanne recovered quickly, ”Grams would, I mean. If she came with me. I appreciate that you’re here.”

Wes shrugged, “Did I have a choice?” with nary a bit of conviction. Roxanne didn’t hear it, she was feeling overwhelmed; all the lights; all the buzz from the people; it was getting a little much.

Next to the display were the two rings, suspended in mid-air above a pedestal via a stasis field that shimmered under the bright lights.

Roxanne.

She stopped in front of the rings, the voice was louder this time, louder than it had ever been. She couldn't look away; they were beautiful. They shined within the stasis field, light reflected off their golden metallic sheen and refracted off her corneas. Alien geometric symbols were lightly etched all across each face and repeated up and down the bands.

It was so ornate that Roxanne wondered if it was Azonne’s language. She found herself wishing that she had gotten to know her, yet felt a sense of loss that she already had. To her surprise, Roxanne found herself reaching out. Upon the realization, she hesitated.

But she had to, she felt compelled to touch them; she needed to.

"Rox?" Wes had said as if he wasn't there, instead he was just on the periphery of her awareness. "What are you doing?"

What was she doing? She reached out further. No one else existed, it was simply her and those rings. Her fingertips breached the field and if an alarm sounded she couldn’t hear it. If a defense mechanism activated, she couldn't feel it. All that mattered was what was in front of her. Upon contact, a brilliant light pulsed outward. It flashed brighter as Roxanne clasped a hand around them both. Another pulse flashed out, brighter than the last. Roxanne's eyes grew wide.

Roxanne Belmonte.

The light became blinding and engulfed her.

You can shine a light in the face of great darkness.

Suddenly, she and the rings were gone.