Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Virion has no idea where he is.

He’s running between unfamiliar buildings, tall towers that he’s only seen a handful of times when he first dropped into this world, and there’s a deafening wailing in their air that Wight said were from sirens, but Virion has never heard a siren who sounded like that. He holds tight to Wight’s wrist as he runs, not even sure where he’s going, just following Kota as he scampers on ahead on all fours like an animal.

Kota skitters down an alleyway and Virion and Wight follow. Blue and red lights are right behind them, and Virion just holds onto Wight as tight as he can as they run through alleys and back streets.

“Where are we going?” he yells above the screaming sirens.

“Don’t worry about it,” Wight gasps, breathing heavily. Clearly he doesn’t run enough to have any decent endurance, and the way he keeps tripping over his feet makes Virion almost frustrated enough to want to scoop Wight up, toss him over his shoulder, and keep running. But if he did that, he thinks Wight would throw a hissy fit over it and possess him again or some shit, so he grits his teeth and yanks on Wight’s arm to keep him going.

Kota skids around a corner and Virion follows. He hears people yelling, and somewhere within the mess of words he can make out a police officer yelling “Kota Kill and the Whisperer have escaped custody with a third individual, we need heroes on the scene—” before he follows Kota down another few alleys and the voices get quieter and quieter.

Virion, in all honestly, does not want to be here.

He got possessed back in that prison—and it wasn’t like when the Greats use his body, far from it, he was still him but he just suddenly became worse, like Wight’s wisps needled their way into his mind and changed how he thought and what he wanted and just... completely morphed him into a different person for a good few hours. He doesn’t want that to happen again.

Part of him, though, does think it felt good.

He tries not to think about that.

Kota barks—fucking barks, what the hell is wrong with that guy—up ahead, and Wight tugs Virion down another alleyway, letting Kota run on ahead.

“Wait, but Kota—” Virion starts, but Wight laughs, which would be a chilling sound if he wasn’t gasping and wheezing from running so much.

“He’ll be fine!” Wight says. “Go right!”

Virion does as he’s told, because what the fuck else is he meant to do, really? He veers onto a street, pushing past a couple walking on the sidewalk, and nearly gets hit by one of those large loud machines with wheels—a car? Is that it? He hears it screech to a stop as he passes by it, and a loud honking noise pierces his eardrums as he and Wight run across the street and ducks into another alley. He hears someone scream “The Whisperer!” as they pass, but he doesn’t pause to pay them any mind and just keeps running. He’s not getting caught and going back to that prison.

The sounds of sirens get quieter the further away they get, but Virion isn’t sure how long that’ll last. He’s learned a handful of things since getting here, and he’s become much more familiar with this concept of superheroes. Someone is going to catch up to them. It’s only a matter of who and when.

Sure enough, he hears the sound of rushing water above them, and then a wave crashes down in front of them, splashing back up and soaking them through their prison jumpsuits. Virion skids to a stop, flicking his knife into his hand as a hero lands in the middle of a swirling whirlpool of water, surfing on top of it with just his feet.

Fuck. It’s the hero that tried to arrest them again earlier, but Virion doesn’t remember his name. Doesn’t really matter anyway, they just need to get away.

“Tide,” Wight whispers, gripping Virion’s hand and pulling him back. “If he’s here, there’s bound to be another. Keep an eye out.”

Virion nods, twirling his knife between his fingers. The Greats swirl in his head, some of them urging him to give himself in and hope the heroes will have mercy on him, others urging him to run, and a couple more planning out potential plans of action in his head, all of their thoughts swirling together in one big mess that he can’t make sense of. He doesn’t even know who’s saying what, so he doesn’t think calling on any of them would be a good idea right now if none of them can make up their minds. He’ll have to fight by himself.

“Whisperer!” Tide calls. “We have no need to fight! Just give yourself up now!”

Wight rolls his eyes. “Heroes think we’re fucking stupid,” he mutters to Virion.

“Seems like it,” Virion agrees. He lets go of Wight’s hand, readying himself to fight.

“Where’s your boytoy, Tide?” Wight calls out, a grin on his face. “Unlike you to be out chasing villains without your dog!”

Tide’s face morphs into an expression of anger, bright and hot, before he schools it back into something more neutral. “He’s not a dog. Just because you treat your partners like pets doesn’t mean everyone else treats theirs that way!”

“Oh, my companions are far from being pets, Tide, and I’ll thank you to respect them as such.” Wight cackles, loud and chilling. “Yours, though? I can’t believe you’ve let him off his leash! Does WATCH know you’re not supervising him at this very moment? Not very smart an idea, considering his history!”

“What are you talking about?” Virion hisses into Wight’s ear.

“Don’t worry about it, pretty boy,” Wight whispers, barely moving his lips so Tide doesn’t see them talking. “Let me handle this.”

Annoyance flares up inside Virion at the condescending dismissal, and something else churns in his stomach with it, a sort of—pride, maybe, at the compliment hidden in it. Before he can decide whether he wants to tell Wight off for it or something else, Wight shrugs Virion off his shoulder and spreads his arms, presenting himself to Tide.

“You want to take us in?” he shouts. “I’d like to see you try!”

Tide narrows his eyes. “Have it your way, then.” He raises a hand, and the water swirling around him gathers into a large pillar that arcs over their heads, ready to crash down—

Something flies out of another alley and tackles him. Tide screams as he crashes against a wall, the water slamming down on the ground, some of it harmlessly splashing Wight and Virion and soaking them further, with the rest of it dampening the dirt ground beneath their feet.

Virion looks at Tide to see what the hell could have possibly hit him. It’s a person, clinging to him like a rabid animal, and Virion sees their red hair and recognizes it as Kota, biting Tide like a chew toy while Tide shrieks and tries to shake Kota off him.

“What the fuck,” Virion mutters.

Wight barks out a laugh. “Yes! I told you he’d be fine, we’ve done this hundreds of times!”

“Yeah, well, forgive me if I don’t believe you when there are like, a dozen people running around trying to fucking arrest us!”

Wight smiles at him, something a little too wide and a little too crazed, and Virion shudders.

“Don’t possess me again,” Virion says automatically. “Please.”

Wight giggles as if he finds Virion’s fear funny. “God, you’re fascinating,” he mutters.

Before Virion can even begin to parse through what that could possibly mean, Wight grabs Virion’s hand and starts running, pulling Virion down the alleyway. He whistles like he’s calling a dog. “Kota! Come!”

Kota looks up from where he’s currently digging his teeth into Tide’s arm. He unlatches his jaw, and in one swift movement, he grabs Tide by the hair and slams his head against the wall. Tide crumples like paper, lying in a puddle of water at the edge of the alleyway.

The three of them keep running, even as Virion’s lungs begin to burn from the effort and Wight is straight up wheezing like he has asthma, but they don’t stop or even slow down, not until the sirens are far in the distance and there’s no sign of any police officers or heroes around.

Virion slows to a stop, his hand still held tightly in Wight’s. They’re in a secluded alley between two run down buildings.

“Where are we?” Virion asks.

Kota approaches one of the buildings and clambers in through a broken window. Wight lets go of Virion and climbs in after Kota. “Just somewhere to stay,” Wight says as he hops through and disappears inside.

Virion swallows. He glances back in the direction they came from, sees the faint blue and red glow of police cars against the night sky, hears the quiet wailing of sirens, and he takes a deep breath and climbs into the building after the other two.

It’s dark in there, but Virion can see just fine. It looks like an abandoned warehouse, old conveyor belts stretching across the floor, boxes and crates of nothing scattered around like all the workers left in a hurry. Virion has no idea what happened to them, but in this world of heroes and supervillains, he’s not sure he wants to know the answer.

Wight sighs as he looks around. “A bit dingy, but it’ll do for tonight.”

“So what’s the plan now?” Virion asks. “We got away from the cops. What are we doing now? Just staying on the run? Do you have a goal at all? What are we supposed to do?”

Wight turns to look at him, and the dim lighting casts shadows over his face, the teeth of his too wide smile glinting. He doesn’t even blink as he levels his gaze on Virion.

“Don’t worry your pretty head about that,” Wight says.

Virion bristles. “I will, actually. I will fucking worry about it. What do you have planned? I’m not getting dragged into something I don’t know anything about, not again. I’m not getting possessed and then dragged around the city to get fucking—fucking stromboli from some guy I don’t know and then roped into a scheme to—what even happened there? Did Kota blow up the moon? It’s a blur, I don’t even know, but I’m not doing that shit again. You tell me what’s going on.”

Wight tilts his head. His smile doesn’t waver. “It’s really not your concern, pretty boy,” he says, his voice deceptively, strangely even. “If you can just let me handle things—”

Virion doesn’t let him finish his sentence. He lunges forward and tackles Wight to the ground, making him yelp. He grabs Wight’s flailing arms, gripping both wrists in one hand and pinning them to the ground above his head, holding his knife to Wight’s throat with the other hand. Wight struggles, but his strong suit is evidently not, well, strength, because all he manages to do is helplessly writhe.

Kota snarls, approaching Virion on all fours, ready to pounce, but Wight stops struggling and holds up a finger to stop him. “Kota, down.”

Kota growls, but he stays put, every muscle tensed, waiting for the order to attack. Virion ignores him.

Wight looks up at Virion, eyes narrowed. “What is this about?”

“You tell me what the fuck is going on,” Virion snaps, “or I’ll gut you like a fucking fish right here.”

Wight glances down at the knife, then back up at Virion’s face. “Would you really?” he asks, his voice quiet, trembling, his smile gone, but there’s still that fucking look in his eyes, something that screams danger, and Virion presses the knife in hard enough to draw a small line of blood across Wight’s neck.

“Wouldn’t be my first time,” Virion says.

Wight’s face falls, almost like he’s fucking disappointed he wouldn’t be the first person Virion’s killed, the insane bastard. Virion has half a mind to cut his head off just for that alone, but he just narrows his eyes and hopes that Wight can see the full force of his glare in the dim light.

Wight sighs. “Kota? Run out and get some new clothes. We shouldn’t be running around in prison jumpsuits.”

Kota growls, staring directly at Virion. “Will...”

“Go. I’m fine.”

Kota skirts around Virion and Wight. As he passes, he snaps his teeth at Virion as if to bite him. Virion doesn’t flinch.

Kota clambers back out the window, and then he’s zipping out of the alley and back into the streets. Virion hears a car honk and swerve in the road. Half of him hopes Kota got hit. The other half of him knows that’s not likely, and even if he did, he could tank it and come out just fine.

Virion looks back down at Wight. “So? Are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to add you to my body count?”

Wight snorts. “I’m not sure that means what you think it means. But you can do that if you want.”

Virion presses the knife in further and Wight hisses. Virion’s pretty sure he’s broken skin, but there’s no sign of blood on his neck yet. Weird.

“Okay, okay,” Wight says quickly. “You want to know what my plan is?”

“Yeah. Tell me or I’m out of here.”

“Okay. Fine.” Wight sighs. “Everything I’m doing here, possessing people and making them panic, making them kill each other, is for one purpose: chaos.”

Virion furrows his brow. He wants to ask more questions, but he’s afraid Wight will stop if he presses, so he just keeps his knife still and listens.

A grin tugs at Wight’s lips. “I want to delve Prime into madness. I want to walk outside and see people breaking things and killing each other in the streets. I want people to be unbound by their expectations in society, left to run rampant and give into the worst parts of themselves.” He smiles wide again, despite the blade at his throat. “And when the entire world is bathed in blood, I want to reign it in and restore order in the way I want, and show people how much better order is than chaos. How much better my order is.”

Virion tightens his grip on his dagger. “So, you want to rule the world?”

“I want to prove myself,” Wight corrects. “If I can show that I can keep my world in order, I have a throne waiting for me in another.”

Virion furrows his brow, confused. “Another... what?”

“You wanted to know. That’s the answer.”

Virion narrows his eyes. “And why do you want me here with you? I don’t have anything to do with either of you, but you’ve been dragging me around. Why?”

Wight shrugs as best he can pinned to the ground. “You escaped with us. And Kota likes you. Do I need more reason?”

“Kota threatened to bite my head off.”

“He does that to anyone who threatens me, don’t worry about it. If I tell him you’re fine, he’ll be fine with you too. He liked you before you attacked me just now.”

Virion takes a shaky breath. He sits up, taking the knife away from Wight’s neck and letting his hands go. He clambers off of Wight, but Wight doesn’t stand up with him. He just stays laying there on the floor, and he crosses his ankles and folds his hands over his stomach like he’s just relaxing. There’s a visible line on his neck where Virion’s blade bit into the flesh, but it’s not bleeding. It’s just pink, like muscle.

“And what’s stopping me from leaving right now?” Virion asks. “You don’t need me to do all of that with you. I can just go.”

“Can you?” Wight raises a brow. “You’re not from around here, are you? You don’t know how Prime works. You don’t know the city. Do you want to get found and arrested again? You’ll need someone to help you stay hidden.” He grins, wide and crooked. “You need someone. And the heroes sure as shit aren’t going to help you.”

Virion grimaces. He hates to admit it, but Wight has a point. He needs help, and no one else will help him, least of all the heroes.

William Wight and Kota Kill, as insane as they are, are his best and only choice right now.

He sighs and puts his knife away. “How about we make a deal?”

Wight raises a brow. He scrambles upright so he can sit criss-cross on the floor, leaning forward and looking up at Virion with an excited smile. “A deal?”

“Yeah. You... You keep me safe here in... wherever this is. Prime? You keep me safe and show me the ropes or whatever, and in exchange, I’ll help you cause chaos. I’ll do whatever you want. Within reason.”

Wight smiles even wider. Virion tries not to shudder.

Wight reaches a hand up to him. “Deal.”

Virion reaches out and shakes his hand. He can’t ignore the instinctual feeling that he’s sold his soul to something horrible, something he doesn’t understand.

But he doesn’t understand much at all right now, so this is better than fucking nothing.

“Just one more thing,” he says. “Don’t possess me again.”

Wight visibly pouts. “But you were so fun when you were possessed.”

“No, don’t. I’m not doing that shit again. I’ll do whatever else you want, but not that.”

Wight heaves a sigh, but he squeezes Virion’s hand a bit tighter. “Fine.”

Virion gives him a sharp nod. “Okay. Perfect. We’re on the same page.”

Wight grins. “Seems we are.”

He hears a snarl from the window and turns, letting go of Wight’s hand. Kota’s climbing back in through the window, a backpack on his back, and... is that someone’s arm in his mouth? Is he holding someone’s fucking disembodied arm in his mouth?

He tosses the backpack to the floor, and Virion sees that attached to it are a couple of bedrolls. Kota glances at Wight, sees bloodless line of the cut on his neck, and whips around to snarl at Virion. Virion rests a hand on the knife at his hip, ready to attack if Kota strikes first.

“Kota, heel,” Wight says. “We worked something out.”

Kota stops growling immediately. He gives Virion another wary look, turning around to slink off to the corner of the room. He curls up on the floor, gnawing at the arm between his teeth.

Wight starts rummaging through the backpack. “Thank you, Kota.” He takes out a few pieces of clothing and makes his way to a tall crate. “You might want to sleep... what was your name?”

“Virion.” He’s ninety percent sure Wight already knows it, he’s just being a dick about it.

“Virion,” Wight repeats, the syllables rolling off his tongue as if he’s never tasted the name before. He gives Virion another one of those too wide smiles. “You may want to sleep now. The police will be looking for us overnight. Best to rest up before we have to run.” He turns and ducks behind the crate to change. “There’s stuff for you in there, too. Kota and I will keep watch.”

Virion glances over at Kota, chewing on flesh like a dog with a chew toy, then down at the backpack. He opens the bag and peers inside.

Inside the bag is a pair of black pants with a drawstring around the waist, a white t-shirt that has a smiley face with X’s over the eyes on the front, and a purple zip-up sweater. He glances at Kota, still hesitant, sure that he’ll attack Virion at the slightest movement, but Kota seems content with the disembodied arm between his jaws. Is he eating the flesh, or just chewing on it for fun? It’s hard to tell.

Virion takes the bag, tossing one of the bedrolls on the floor for Wight—Kota didn’t seem to grab a third, but he seems fine just laying on the floor—and he carries it behind another crate so he can change.

When he’s in his new clothes, he balls up the prison jumpsuit and tosses it in a corner. He glances out a window at the night sky. He can still hear the sirens in the distance.

He unrolls his bedroll and clambers into it, gripping his knife in his hand, and after a couple hours of listening to yelling and screaming outside, he drifts into a fitful sleep.

Chapter Text

“WAKE UP, KID!”

The blaring of an airhorn blasts directly in Jade’s ears. She bolts upright, snatching a knife from under her pillow and throwing it in the direction of her assailant.

The knife whizzes past a head of blond hair, shearing off a couple strands. It sticks in the wall amongst a cluster of other knives of various shapes and sizes.

Wavelength lowers the airhorn. The red eye lenses of his mask glint in the sunlight from her window.

“You got your first mission today,” he says, voice distorted by his stupid fucking voice filter.

She heaves a sigh, reaching under her pillow for a second knife. “Fuck you, you’re gonna make me deaf one of these days.”

“You’re fine.” Wavelength leaves her room, heavy boots clomping on the floor, and he opens the door to Xavier’s. She hears another honk of the airhorn, followed by the sound of Xavier yelling out in alarm and falling off his bed.

Wavelength stomps down the hallway. “Get the fuck up, or there’s not gonna be anything left for breakfast.”

“Do not tell me you’re making mac and cheese for breakfast again!” Jade yells out her door.

“I’m makin’ mac and cheese for breakfast again!”

Jade runs a hand down her face and groans. She glares out her bedroom door, listening to Wavelength’s boots stomp down the hallway.

She rears her arm back and throws her knife at the wall with as much strength and anger she can muster. It sticks right next to her first one.

She clambers out of bed and stretches her arms above her head, her back cracking. What does she even wear to her first official mission? Is there a dress code? She doesn’t think there is, but judging by the various ridiculous outfits most other heroes wear, she’s half convinced there might be a requirement to look like a fucking idiot when they’re out on the field. She doesn’t have much that resembles a proper hero fit, aside from her cloak and mask she was given by WATCH. It’ll be good enough for today, but surely Wavelength will kit her out with something more protective. He’s always too paranoid when they’re out doing hero shit.

She throws on some clothes, and then takes a good ten minutes to strap some knives to her legs and waist over her jeans. Usually that part of her morning routine only takes her five, but hey, first mission. She wants to be prepared.

She straightens out her clothes as best she can with all the straps and belts and trudges out of her room at the same time as Alan does. “You’re up later than usual,” she says, finishing fixing a knife to her belt.

“Tired,” he grumbles, rubbing at his eyes with one rocky hand.

“Did you and X stay up late playing Mariokart again?”

“No.” He pauses. “Maybe.”

“Tide’s gonna tell you to stop doing that if we’re supposed to be taking this ‘hero’ shit seriously.”

“Alan doesn’t want to be a hero,” Alan grumbles.

Jade pats him on the back. “Yeah, well, neither do we. But here we are.” She opens the kitchen door.

Wavelength stands at the stove, stirring cheese powder into a pot of macaroni. He glances up, his face still obscured by his mask. “Mornin’ you two.”

Jade doesn’t say anything to him. She walks past Xavier, who’s sitting at the table in his civilian attire. He looks so fucking stupid in those glasses and short sleeved button-up. She can’t resist smacking him upside the head and muttering a quiet “nerd” under her breath. He doesn’t even flinch, but he does flip her off.

“First mission today, huh?” she says, flopping into one of the chairs around the table. Alan carefully sits down in another, which creaks under his weight.

“Tide’ll give you the run down,” Wavelength says. “I just stopped by to make sure you eat before you head out.”

“If this is the extent of your cooking skills, I sure hope you don’t have kids,” Jade says.

“If I did, I’d like ‘em better than you.” He takes the pot off the burner and sets it on the table on a potholder. “Eat up.”

Jade crosses her arms, glaring at the pot of macaroni. “Why do we even have to do this?” she grumbles.

“Don’t fuckin’ ask me, ask Tide. He roped me into this hero biz just like he roped you into it. Dragged all of us out of Supermax kicking and fuckin’ screaming. If not for him and Ms. G, you’d still be behind bars.”

“But a mission? I didn’t sign up for that.”

“You don’t even know what it is yet.”

“Whatever it is, I still didn’t sign up for it,” Jade snarls. “Stopping robberies on the fly, sure, but I’m not here to get directed around the city like a fucking soldier. We’re not in the military here.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t have much of a choice,” Wavelength says. “It’s either hero work or Supermax. Take your pick.”

“Neither of those are good options,” she says.

“Well, would you prefer to be behind bars rather than walkin’ free?” Wavelength tilts his head, red lenses glinting like the eyes of a fly. “Because the shit you did before Ms. G. took pity on you and made you the Prime Defenders—the fucking three of you, breaking into that fuckin’ tech company and look for shit that wasn’t there, killing half the people in there, attacking the CEO, blowing up the fucking building—”

“There is something going on with Belltech!” Xavier bursts, his words half muffled by mac and cheese. “That CEO is fucking slimy, and you know it—”

“Of course I do,” Wavelength snaps, whipping around to face him. “I fuckin’ know it. You know it. Fucking Alan probably knows it.”

Alan looks up from the pot of macaroni, where he’s currently shoveling spoonful after spoonful into his mouth. “Hm?”

“But I’m not goin’ in to look into it because I don’t fucking care enough to put my freedom on the line over that shit. I’ve got people to take care of out here.” Wavelength points at both Jade and Xavier. “And you are not going to do shit about it, because you’re god damn heroes now, and if you get in trouble with WATCH, I get in trouble with WATCH, and I ain’t risking that. I didn’t ask to be your handler, but we’re all in this bullshit villain rehab business together, okay?” He grabs the empty Kraft Dinner box and tosses it in the garbage. “This mission is your chance to prove to WATCH that you don’t belong in a jail cell. If you wanna look into Belltech again, you’re gonna have to build up some hero cred, go to WATCH and tell ‘em there’s somethin’ fishy about it, and then they might send in a team to go take a look.”

“But who knows how many more people could get hurt by that guy before then?” Xavier says. “He could—he could be fucking killing people and we don’t know. Isn’t being a hero about stopping as many deaths as possible? We’re responsible if don’t do anything!”

“Yeah, but that’s not how WATCH fuckin’ works,” Wavelength sighs. “You’re innocent until you walk out in the street with blood on your hands and announce to the whole world that you’ve done somethin’ wrong. They don’t wanna lock up innocents, and they definitely don’t wanna kill them like you kids were planning to.”

“So we’re just supposed to let the bad people get away with it?” Jade scoffs.

“Pretty fuckin’ much.” He nods at the table. “Eat your mac. Tide’ll brief you on your mission when you’re done.”

Jade narrows her eyes at the mac and cheese. Part of her can’t help but wonder what her parents would think of her doing all this. Being a hero.

She doesn’t eat breakfast.

***

The helicopter ride is quiet. Jade glares out the window at the ocean as they fly over miles and miles of nothing but blue.

Alan stares out the other window. He seems transfixed on the horizon, as if he’s never seen anything else like the ocean before. Maybe he hasn’t. He’s not from Prime, anyway. Maybe they don’t have oceans like this on his home planet.

Jade glances at Xavier. He looks so different in his hero stuff. Wavelength kitted them all out in Kevlar—well, aside from Alan, who really doesn’t need it and couldn’t find a vest to fit him anyway, with his rocky nine-foot tall frame. Under her Kevlar, she’s wearing a fire-proof shock-resistant bodysuit, which certainly wouldn’t be her first choice for a costume, but WATCH hasn’t seen enough of her and the other Prime Defenders to put much stock into them yet for real costumes. She’s got her cloak and mask on, but that’s all she’s really got. At least Wavelength has the sense to deck her out in protective gear, even though WATCH doesn’t give a shit.

Xavier doesn’t need all that protective gear, not with his powers. Still, his usual dorky plaid button ups and glasses were a stark contrast to the headband around his eyes and the black vest covering his chest now. Without his civilian attire, he looks dangerous.

He doesn’t even need the fucking Kevlar. He can make his skin impenetrable. But Jade needs it, and the first time she muttered a complaint to herself about how it looks, he started wearing it too. In solidarity or some shit, probably. Whatever.

He’s slumped in his seat, arms crossed over his Kevlar. He’s glaring out the same window Alan is gawking out of, as if the sight of the water itself makes him mad.

Jade sighs. “You know, I don’t want to be doing this, either.”

“No shit.” Xavier glares at the ocean. “But Wavelength has a point. It’s this or Supermax.”

“Putting our lives on the line for people who wanna lock us up, yeah, sounds real nice,” Jade scoffs.

“Would you rather be in prison?”

Jade scowls, but she doesn’t argue. She’s not meant for prison, and she knows it.

Her parents pop into her head again. She shakes her head in an attempt to get those thoughts out of her brain. It doesn’t work.  

Xavier sighs, pulling her from her thoughts. “Let’s just get through this mission okay? We can be pissed about it later.” He glances around the helicopter, as if afraid they might be being watched. “We can figure out what to do about Belltech another time,” he whispers.

Jade nods. “Yeah. We’ve got time.” She clears her throat. “So, uh... run the mission by me again?”

“Weren’t you listening?”

“No.”

Xavier runs a hand down his face, heaving another loud sigh. “God, okay. We’re supposed to go into the facility on Harttawa Island, rescue a lady named Dr. Lutz, and then we get the fuck out.  We don’t grab anyone or anything else.”

“But what if there’s someone else in there who needs saving?”

“Do you wanna argue with what WATCH told Tide to tell us? Because arguing with them isn’t gonna get us anywhere. We just do what we’re fucking told.”

Jade cracks a grin despite herself. “When have we ever been good at that?”

Xavier smirks back, just the tiniest bit. He opens his mouth to say something else, but then Alan speaks up.

“X,” Alan says. He points a rocky finger at the window. “Land ahead.”

Jade turns to look. The helicopter is coming up on an island, covered in lush green foliage. It looks like a tropical paradise from this distance, but WATCH allegedly knows better. According to them, there’s much more to that island than what they can see from here. Jade has no doubt about that.  

“Alright,” Xavier says, clapping his hands once. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

“On it.” Jade grabs a parachute pack and slings it on, strapping it up over her Kevlar.

“Jade, wait, maybe we should keep going until we see the facility—”

Xavier’s words are ripped from his mouth as Jade slides open the door to the copter. “Last one down there has to clean the bathrooms at home!” she calls. She’s not even sure if they can hear her over the wind, but she looks down as they pass over the forest, and she jumps.

One thing she realizes as her breath is snatched from her lungs as she begins to plummet is that she has never used a parachute before.

Probably a terrible time to realize this, but Jade is nothing if not adaptable. Can’t be that hard.

She fumbles over the straps of her pack, and her hand finds a cord. She yanks on it hard, and her descent suddenly slows considerably, fast enough to give her whiplash. She yelps as her head snaps forward from the change in momentum.

She reaches up and rubs the back of her neck as she looks down. She probably didn’t need to pull the cord this quick. She’s still far above the island, slowly floating down like a piece of paper in the wind.

Something falls past her. She watches as Xavier plummets downward, and then his own parachute opens above the treeline.

Someone screams above her, and then Alan rockets past her, plummeting to the ground at mach speeds. His parachute sprouts above his head, but it doesn’t do nearly as much as it should to slow his fall, because he disappears beneath the treeline pretty fast, still screaming.

Eh, he’ll be fine. He’s survived way worse, and they all know it.

She gazes out at the horizon as she slowly floats down. The sun is high in the sky, beaming down on her, heat soaking through the thick material of her bodysuit. Half of her regrets letting Wavelength take so many precautions with her gear. The other half of her begrudgingly acknowledges that she might have reason to thank him for it later.

She ignores that part of her for the sake of her own ego. She has reason to believe she won’t get hurt here. At least not too badly.

She reaches the treeline and raises her arms to protect her face from sticks and branches. Her feet touch solid ground and she lowers her arms, peering around. She stands in the middle of a dense forest, thick foliage and bushes all around her. The grass goes up to her knees. She hopes her tall boots will be enough to keep any ticks off her.

“Help!” shouts Alan’s voice.

Cantrip whirls around, ready to fight, stab, defend—but it’s just Alan hanging from a tall tree that’s half bent over from his weight, the parachute caught in the branches. X is trying to pull him down, to no avail, cursing at himself as he uselessly tugs on the parachute.

“I got him.” Cantrip takes off her pack and throws it on the ground. She draws a knife as she makes her way over to Alan, spinning the blade between her fingers. She clambers up the tree, nimble as a cat, and pauses at the parachute. With a few swift movements, she slices through the ropes, and Alan falls to the ground, landing face first in the dirt.

“Thank you,” Alan mumbles. He clambers to his feet.

“Yeah, no problem.” Cantrip jumps down after him, landing on her feet. She glances around the lush forest. “This isn’t the facility.”

“Well, if someone didn’t jump out of the copter when we were over the forest, we could have stayed in there and let it carry us to where we’re supposed to be,” X grumbles, unclipping his own parachute pack and tossing it to the forest floor.

“So I jumped early, sue me. Where are we headed?”

“The facility should be north from here,” X says, glancing around the forest. “Stay close. We don’t know if they have guards out here in the forest.”

He starts walking. Cantrip falls into step on X’s right, Alan on his left. They start wandering through the forest, heading in a direction that might be north. She knows where the facility is supposed to be, and she’s pretty sure X is right on track.  

The foliage is thick, dense, bushes and tall grass sprouting out of the ground in the sparse areas where there aren’t any trees. Picking through it is difficult, and Cantrip has to draw her knives to slice through vines and leaves just to make enough space for Alan to walk through.

She glances over at Alan. He’s glancing around the forest, head on a swivel, shoulders hunched. Nervous, maybe. She can’t blame him. Since landing on Prime, he’s only been in a handful of places; Freedom City mostly, the fighting ring they met in, and Belltech, obviously. A huge forest must be a major change of pace.

Maybe he’s never seen trees before. That’s kinda sad to think about. She turns back to face the front, letting Alan examine his new surroundings in peace.

They’re not walking for long before Cantrip hears something rustling in the brush. She whirls around, knives in hand, glaring into the leaves, ready to strike, but X puts a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s probably an animal,” he says.

A bunny hops out of a bush. She relaxes, just for a moment, but then she gives it a second glance.  

It’s not a bunny. Or, rather, it’s not just a bunny. Where its fuzzy head is supposed to be is the head of a fish, floundering in the air like it’s drowning. It still has long rabbit ears sticking out of its head, but they flop uselessly as the creature flails.

“Gross!” She skitters back, bumping into Alan.

“What the fuck,” X whispers, staring at the creature, aghast. “What—what is that?”

“I don’t know!” She rears back a knife. “Stab it? Do I stab it?”

Before she can do anything, the creature scampers away, its rabbit body moving with surprising dexterity despite the horrific combination of things that it is. It dunks its head in a nearby puddle, breathing in the water through the gills on the side of its face, and then it stands up again and runs into another bush.

“What the fuck was that,” X mutters, standing on the balls of his feet like he wants to run.

“I don’t know,” Cantrip mutters. She glances around, looking for any sign of any other creatures in the forest. There doesn’t seem to be anything, and that one was harmless, but there could be more dangerous things around. Maybe landing in the middle of the forest wasn’t the best idea, but she didn’t know what else she was supposed to do. She couldn’t go right to the facility, not with—

“Is that why we’re here?” X asks. “Because there are weird fucking things like that running around? That can’t be why we’re here, right? There’s no way WATCH knows about this, right?”

Cantrip shrugs. She cautiously starts walking again, keeping her knives drawn. “I don’t know. Watch out for more of them. I’m—I’m not getting attacked by a fish rabbit.”

“Yeah, me fucking neither.” He shudders.

They keep walking. As they continue, she hears another rustling in the forest, and she looks up to see a toucan perched in a tree, clinging to the branches. Except it’s not just a toucan; it’s got a long tail like that of a horse, trailing down to the forest floor and brushing against the grass. It opens its beak and neighs. It has rows of flat teeth like a horse’s, and it bites some leaves off the tree and begins to chew on them.

“Gross,” Cantrip whispers as they pass beneath the tree.

“Alan doesn’t like this,” Alan says, voice quiet.

“Neither does Cantrip,” Cantrip agrees. She grimaces as a rat scurries over her foot with pointed cat ears. It meows as it disappears into a bush.

“This is fucked,” X mutters.

A deer comes into view, but it’s got the coat of a wolf, light grey fur trailing down its back. It darts forward and snaps up the cat-mouse in one fell swoop. The mouse’s bones crunch sickeningly in its jaws. It sees X looking and snarls at him, blood in its canine teeth.

The three of them quicken their pace. She spots what looks like a jackalope scurrying across a bunch of tree roots, scampering right past a creature that looks like a bull but the size of a small dog. It barks at the jackalope as it passes.

“There’s something wrong with this place,” she whispers, gripping her knives tight.

“Yeah, no shit,” X says as a monkey with six arms scampers into the brush. “The fuck are these things doing here? What are they?”

“Alan’s never seen things like this,” Alan mumbles, warily watching as a mouse sized dog with insect legs scurries past his feet.

“Are they science experiments?” X wonders aloud. “Who the fuck would do this?”

“I don’t know,” Cantrip says. “I really don’t like this, X. Maybe we can call Wavelength, tell him the place is fucked up and go home. How much did the heroes know about this before they sent us here? They can’t have known about these things, right? They wouldn’t send a bunch of teenagers to a mad scientist’s lair, would they? I’m not risking getting turned into a lab rat.”

“We need to finish the mission,” X insists. “Do you want WATCH to think we’re a lost cause and toss us back in Supermax? Besides, people might be getting hurt in there. Good people. If this is what they’re doing to animals, imagine what they could be doing to humans.”

Cantrip wrinkles her nose. She hates that she can’t think of anything to counter his argument, because convincing him to turn around and go home will be a lot harder if she doesn’t have a valid reason other than being freaked out by hybrid animals.

Still, she grits her teeth and trudges on through the dense forest.

Something rustles in the brush behind them. She whirls around, knife in hand, expecting to see some kind of hybrid creature like the ones they’ve already seen.

Nothing’s there. At least, not that she can see, but she gets the very distinct feeling that something’s in there, watching them.

She narrows her eyes. She takes a step towards where she thought she heard the sound.

“Cantrip, c’mon, it was probably just another—weird fucking hybrid thing, or something” X says.

“I know,” she says, but she keeps her eyes on the foliage anyway. There’s something in there, she knows it. Her heart beats a little too fast as she leans in and peers into the foliage.

There it is. A bright yellow reptilian eye, glaring out at her from between the leaves.

It could just be some kind of lizard, but it looks much too big to belong to a tiny gecko, and the way it flickers and watches her as she moves looks intelligent. Almost human-like.

The eye blinks and disappears. She whirls around and marches back to X and Alan, the adrenaline of an incoming fight making adrenaline flood her veins already.  “There’s something in there,” she says. “Someone.”

X turns to her. “Something dangerous?”

“I think so.”

X immediately starts glancing around the foliage, fists clenched and raised, ready to fight. “Okay. We’ll keep an eye out. We can keep going, we just have to be on our—”

Something darts out of the foliage and rushes at him. Cantrip draws a knife, but it’s too fast, rushing past X and clipping his shoulder. His entire body seizes upon impact, every muscle tensing like he’s been shocked, and his legs crumple as the thing—person—whatever—disappears back into the trees.

“What the fuck!” Cantrip yelps, skittering back as X collapses. “X? X, are you dead?”

He groans in response. Cantrip breathes a sigh of relief. He’s still conscious then, and can still hear her at least. Good.

She whirls around to look at the thing that hit him. There’s nothing there, just the faint rustling of leaves where they darted back into the forest.

“Alan, watch the treeline,” she says, crouching next to Xavier to check him over.

Alan nods. “Alan can do that.”

She glances over Xavier and sees no blood, no wounds, but something glinting on his arm catches her eye. She leans down to look closer.

It’s hard to tell what it is. It’s just a metal disc, stuck against his flesh. He moves and she hears a zap of electricity. He cries out as his muscles lock up from the shock, eyes rolling back in his head.

She stands back up. She’s not risking getting shocked while trying to take that off. Besides, if X is down, maybe she can contact Wavelength and tell him the mission’s a bust, but she knows deep down that one member going down to something that’s not fatal isn’t enough to call it off, especially if it’s possible for her to take the thing off without going out of commission herself.

Two out of three of them, however, might do it.

She twirls a knife in her hand. “See anything?”

Alan grunts. “Alan sees trees.”

“I mean anything moving.”

He shakes his head. Cantrip glances around, peering into the foliage for any sign of movement. She should have snitched some of Wavelength’s thermal goggles or something, all she can fucking see are trees, and the only time she sees something move is because a small lizard with a cat face and tail skitters out of the brush and scurries over her foot. It would be nice for her to be able to see where the next attack is coming from.

She hears something move up in the branches, and she turns around too late.

A person lands on her just as she whirls around. She cries out and swipes with her dagger, but the person smacks something on her arm and leaps off her too quick for her to process what he even looks like. She scrambles to her feet and winces when she feels something buzz painfully against her shoulder.

She looks down. The person planted something on her, the same kind of disc that’s stuck to X’s skin. It’s got tines in it, latched onto the fabric of her bodysuit. Every time she moves, it buzzes, and an almost cold feeling zips through her shoulder, making the muscles twitch. It doesn’t do anything more than that though, uselessly zapping at the shock-resistant fabric of her bodysuit.

Silently, begrudgingly, she both thanks and curses Wavelength in her head for the foresight, grits her teeth through the twitching in her shoulder, and turns to the rustling foliage where the person ran through.

“Alan, stay here with X,” she says, and then she runs into the trees.

She doesn’t see much of the person she’s chasing, just the faint trailing of a black scarf, but she keeps a keen eye on it as she runs. She’s already losing her breath—she’s not meant for endurance, she’s a fucking sprinter, this is not ideal—but she pushes herself to run faster, clenching her daggers tight in her fists.

The black scarf disappears and she skids to a stop, breathing heavily. The small device on her shoulder makes her arm twitch with every movement, but she can’t risk taking a moment to untangle the thing from her bodysuit.

She hears X groan from far behind her. He’s still conscious, if only barely.  

“Where are you?” she yells at the person in the trees. “Don’t be a fucking coward, fight me!”

She hears something behind her and whirls around, knives at the ready. That bright yellow reptilian eye glares out at her from between a couple of leaves, and the silhouette of a person looms behind the foliage.

As soon as he sees that she’s spotted him, he darts out of the leaves right for her, fast, and she barely has the time to raise her arms to block the blow when the person runs at her and tries to slap another one of those devices on her bare skin. It hits her wrist instead, the slight shock making her tendons twinge, her knife falling from her grip.

Acting totally on instinct, she manages to spin around and kick out at his leg as he runs past her.

The first thing she notices as he trips and goes down is his tail. It’s green, scaly, like a gecko’s, and it leads up into black cargo pants and a long green overcoat with fur around the hood, almost like a winter coat. He collapses on the ground almost comically, hitting his head on a tree root and yelping out in pain, and he turns over onto his back to look up at her.

His face is completely obscured by black fabric, wrapped around the right side of his face and covering the lower half as well, the spare fabric wrapped around his neck like a scarf and trailing out from under his hood. The only part of his face Cantrip can see is the bright green scales surrounding one bright yellow reptilian eye.

Cantrip stomps on his tail to keep him in place. He yelps again and starts squirming, scrabbling at the ground with his combat boots as if that will help him break free somehow.

X certainly can’t hear them now, but Cantrip is almost having fun at this point. “Slippery, huh?” she mutters, lightly digging the heel of her boot into his tail.

The lizard guy looks up at her with a wide eye. He narrows it, almost in a glare, as if silently asking what the fuck are you doing? She snorts and digs her boot into his tail harder.

“Don’t back out on me now,” she says, a challenge. “Give me your worst.”

He glares at her. He moves his hand, lifting it as if to show her, crossing one finger over the other. She notices too late the thin metal rings on their fingers, connected to wires that lead into his jacket.

When the rings touch, they spark, and she has just enough time to think oh, you fucker, before she hears a whirring in the trees and something hits her in the leg, hard.

She’s on the ground before she realizes she’s falling, a thin, sharp projectile embedded in her thigh, pain radiating from the impact sight. When she moves it, it feels like her entire leg is being grabbed and shaken by some unknown force that she can’t control, like something is in her veins and wriggling around in there, a cold feeling spreading through her entire nervous system.

She’s felt small shocks before, but nothing like this.

“Sorry,” she hears a voice say, so quiet she’s not sure if she imagines it or not.

The last thing she sees before her vision goes black is the lizard guy running away, disappearing into the trees like he was never there.

Chapter Text

Virion is not the first to wake.

For a moment, he thinks he is. He clambers out of his bedroll, glances out from around the crate he was sheltered behind, sees Kota twitching in his sleep on the bare floor and Wight lying in his bedroll with his eyes closed. He assumes they’re both asleep, but then Wight’s eyes shoot open and Virion freezes, one hand on the dagger at his hip.

Wight smiles at him, wide and unsettling. “Morning.”

“Morning,” Virion says, unsure of how else to respond. It’s weird, the way Wight looks at him, like he wants to study Virion under a microscope but also eat him alive. It’s unsettling, but also oddly intriguing. What makes Virion so interesting to him? He wants to know, question Wight until he talks, but he’s pretty sure that will get him nowhere.

Wight sits up in his bedroll and stretches his arms above his head with a yawn. Sunlight streams in through the few windows there are, and even in the warm light, he looks sickly pale, almost like a ghost. He clambers out of his bedroll and dusts himself off. Virion didn’t see the clothes Kota brought him last night, but he’s seeing them now, and for some reason the sight of them... puts him off.

Wight is dressed in a blood red button-up shirt, with somehow perfectly pressed slacks even though he just rolled out of bed, and a nice black vest. He slips on a pair of fancy dress shoes that were waiting beside his bedroll. The only thing missing from his outfit would be a tie, but Virion—he can’t picture Wight in a fucking tie. Sure, he certainly looks like a supervillain in this getup, but the whole thing just—something about it reeks of something else, like it’s not Wight who chose to wear it.

Which is fucking stupid. He clearly did, because he’s the one who sent Kota out for clothes and Kota seems to have already known what he likes to wear. Virion’s just being stupid, as per usual. His intuition is all off, he’s in a new place, he’s shouldn’t trust anything he thinks.

“What’s the plan now?” Virion asks.

Wight hums. “Well, we have a hideout in Rockfall. It’s where WATCH is setting up their little gaggle of young new heroes, so for a little while there I thought we might have to be careful.” He grins. “But I’m certain they had their hands pretty full yesterday afternoon before our little breakout.”

“With what?”

“I’ve told you not to worry about it.”

Virion grits his teeth. “Can I make an addendum to our deal?”

Wight cocks his head, neck bent too far, unnatural. “Like what?”

Virion almost hesitates seeing the look on Wight’s face, but he presses forward anyway. “I want you to tell me what’s going on. Don’t just—just drag me along and assume that’ll be enough for me to ‘learn’ about this world. Tell me the news, tell me gossip, tell me shit, okay? Tell me how the heroes work. I don’t just want to know things that will help me survive, I want to know details, history, society, everything. As much as you can tell me. I don’t like being left in the dark.”

Wight hums, tapping his foot and scratching his chin as though considering it. “Hmm. That’s doable, I suppose. But if you get to make an addendum, I do as well.”

Virion braces himself. “What is it?”

Wight walks over to him. Virion stays put, no matter how badly his instincts scream at him to run. Wight raises a finger and boops him on the nose.

“I get to possess you three times. Just three times, whenever I want. Does that sound fair? I tell you my plans, I keep you informed, I can give you little history lessons and teach you about things, and I get to have a little fun just a small handful of times. Is that a deal, pretty boy?”

Virion grimaces. The possibility of possession is going to hang over his head until Wight actually does it, and he gets the feeling that exactly why he wants this. He’ll use it as a threat, or use the possibility to spook him just to be a dick.

Regardless, he’s pretty sure he can’t get out of this, so he sighs and nods. “Okay. But I don’t want to stay possessed for more than ten minutes at a time.”

“An hour.”

“Half.”

“Forty-five minutes.”

“Deal.” Virion crosses his arms. “So? What’s going on? What’s the world like? What heroes are we going to have to worry about?”

“Actually, I don’t think we’ll have to worry about much,” Wight says. “Remember on all the news stations in the prison, we’d see these heroes running around in those fancy underpants they call costumes? I spotted a couple new faces in the scene and thought I would keep up with them as best I could. Kids, the new Prime Defenders, meant to take over the mantle of the Prime Force someday.” He barks out a laugh. “Horrible fucking choices, holy shit. WATCH was scheduled to send them out on their first mission yesterday.”

“And? How did that go?”

“I haven’t exactly had access to any news outlets, but they’re former vigilantes, so my guess is: not very well. They’re the only heroes stationed out in Rockfall at the moment, aside from Tide and his little boytoy, and they’ll be too busy chewing out their wards for likely fucking up what had to be a disaster of a mission. I’m actually surprised Tide showed up here in New Haven to deal with us last night at all. Figured he’d have his hands full.” He grins wider. “But if we get to Rockfall without being seen, we’re basically scot-free.”

“Okay. So how do we get to Rockfall?”

Wight gives Virion a quick once over, and Virion tries not to feel like a fly being sized up by a spider. “That’s where you come in, pretty boy. Kota and I are too recognizable, and he’s not exactly subtle either, you know?”

Neither are you, Virion wants to say, but he holds his tongue. “What do I do?”

“You need to get us a ride. Chances are they’ll recognize my face or voice, so you need to call a taxi, tell them to take us to Rockfall, and bribe them with enough money that they won’t snitch. Got it?”

Virion blinks. “A... taxi?”

Wight digs into the pocket of his slacks and brings out a strange rectangular object. “Kota had the sense to grab me a phone and some decent amounts of cash from the register of whatever poor department store he ransacked. Usually I’m good at doing this myself, but since our grand escape, my face is everywhere, and I don’t want to risk talking on the phone either. Consider this your first lesson in how Prime functions.”

He holds the object out to Virion. Virion takes it, albeit hesitantly, and flinches when it lights up. Taking up most of the flat surface of the object is a rectangle, lit up with a bright light. It says the time on it in bright white text. He almost feels like he has to squint when he looks at it.

“Put your finger on it at the bottom of the screen,” Wight says. “Then swipe up to unlock it.”

Virion does as he’s told, and the screen with the time on it moves, giving way for a display filled with little different coloured squares.

“Good.” Wight leans over his shoulder. “Now, you’re going to go to that little green square with the image of the phone on it.”

“Image of a what?”

“Just click on the green thing.”

Virion does so, feeling more nervous by the second. This device is unlike anything he’s ever seen before on Fauna. He’s seen strange picture boxes in the prison, those things Wight called TVs, but this is new. Is it like a small TV? Is there a remote control connected to it that controls it?

He’s tempted to ask, but Wight interrupts his thoughts. “Now press those numbers in the order I tell you, and then press the green button. When the person picks up, tell them you’re at the old warehouses on Inferno Avenue, and you need a ride to Rockfall with a couple of friends. Make sure it’s a flying car. Okay?”

Virion nods. Wight starts saying numbers, and Virion presses them in order. He sends Wight a hesitant glance, and then he presses the green button.

There’s a monotonous tone from the device, and after a few seconds he hears a voice from it. “Hello, New Haven Taxi Service, how can I help you?”

He looks up at Wight, who nods in encouragement.

“Uh, hi,” Virion starts, a little confused, but following orders. “I need a ride?”

“Alright, where are you, sir?”

“Near the abandoned warehouses on... Inferno Avenue. I need a ride to Rockfall with a couple of friends. Uh, in a flying car.”

“Bit of a long drive, so it will be expensive. Are you alright with that?”

Virion looks up at Wight. Responding to questions wasn’t in the script he was given.

Wight just nods. Virion gulps. “Um, yeah. That’s—fine? That’s okay.”

“Your ride will be there in about ten minutes. Thank you for choosing New Haven Taxi Service!”

“Okay.” Virion looks up at Wight, confused as to what to do next, and Wight reaches over and presses the red button on the screen. The phone beeps and the voice doesn’t speak again.

“Good job,” Wight says. “Your phone etiquette could use some work, but it’s a start.”

“Now what?”

Wight takes the phone back and turns to face Kota, still sleeping on the floor. He lets out a sharp whistle, and Kota perks up immediately, like a dog who heard its name called.

“Kota!” Wight holds out the phone. “Destroy.”

Kota skitters to his feet and scrambles over. He snatches the phone from Wight’s hand in his teeth, biting down hard enough to crack the glass screen, and then he flings it at the wall, hard. It shatters on impact, exploding into bits of metal and glass that fall to the concrete floor in a pile. Virion flinches as pieces of glass fly past him.

“What the fuck,” Virion whispers.

Wight shrugs. “Can’t trace it if there’s no phone to be traced.”

“Trace?”

“Precisely. Police can trace signals of phone calls. If they knew we took a flying taxi to Rockfall, they could look through calls and trace the locations back to wherever the call was made. If they managed to find the number of that phone, they would know both where we’re headed and who took us there. This way, it’ll be harder for them to find anything. They won’t know where we are until we’re ready for them to know.”

“Okay. So... we’ll be flying?”

“In a taxi, yes. Don’t tell me they don’t have flying cars where you’re from?”

“We don’t even have ground cars.”

Wight shakes his head. “Wow. That is sad.” He waves a hand dismissively. “Regardless, we’re taking a flying car because if we get spotted from the car or our driver snitches before we’re out of the vehicle, it’ll be harder for capes to attack us without hurting the civilian in the front seat.”

Kota’s head whips around to look at Wight. “We’re taking a flying car?” His voice is low, animalistic, and there’s a note of fear to his growl.

Wight sighs. “I know you don’t like flying vehicles, but it’ll be safer for us. Trust me, Kota.”

“I do. I just—” Kota scowls. “I don’t—”

“I know.” Wight walks over to where Kota is crouched on the floor and pats him on the head like a pet. His voice is softer than it was. “We’ll be fine. I promise.”

Kota nods once, sharp and curt. He glances at Virion and snarls when he catches him staring. Virion looks away.

Wight turns to Virion. “Get your things. Pack your jumpsuit in the backpack, and we’ll burn them when we get to our hideout. We don’t want to leave too much evidence behind.”

Virion does as he’s told, rolling up his bedroll and slinging it over his shoulder, picking up his tattered jumpsuit and shoving it in the lone backpack Kota brought them. Kota hasn’t changed out of his, still in his dirty white tanktop with the top half of the jumpsuit tied around his waist. He still has manacles around his ankles, for fucks sake, the chain between them torn in half and dragging on the ground with every step.

Wight sweeps up the shards of the broken phone and shoves it in the bag. Another thing to burn, probably. Virion grips the straps of his bedroll tight as he watches Kota pace like a caged animal.

He hears a loud whoosh outside and the rumbling of a car engine, and Wight looks up. “That’s our ride,” he says. “Go out and meet them, pretty boy. And here.” He digs around in the bag for a second and comes out with a roll of small green papers with numbers on them. “Money. Give this to the driver and tell them not to mind who’s in the car. It should be enough. And make sure the streets are empty before we come out, won’t you?”

Virion nods once and takes the money. He clambers out the window, money in one hand and bedroll in the other. The flying car descends from the sky and settles on the street, hovering just above the concrete. The driver smiles as Virion approaches the passenger door and opens it.

He doesn’t get in yet. Instead, he holds out the money. “This is yours if you don’t tell anyone about who’s in the car, okay?”

The driver’s eyes widen. She runs a hand through her short hair, staring at the money like she’s never seen that much in her life. “I... holy shit, where did you get this?” There’s a thick accent to her voice, something he can’t quite place, where her R’s roll and her consonants are harsh.

“Doesn’t matter. Just don’t tell anyone who you’re giving a ride to, okay?”

“Yeah, no problem,” she says as she takes the money. “I don’t even know who you are anyway.”

“I think you will,” Virion mutters.

He straightens and glances around the street. It’s pretty empty, but there are a couple of people smoking in an alleyway a few buildings down. Whatever, they’re not looking this way. Empty enough.

He turns to the warehouse and whistles, mimicking the sound Wight makes to call Kota. “We’re ready,” he calls.

Kota hops out of the window, scrambling on all fours, and Wight steps out not quite as gracefully, his foot catching on the ledge of the window and nearly making him trip, but he manages to right himself and regain his composure, clearing his throat and smoothing out his vest. He eliminates any chance of being laughed at for his brief bout of clumsiness by sending a chilling smile in the driver’s direction.

The driver pales. Her mouth falls open, then closes, floundering like a fish. She looks up at Virion again.

He rests a hand on his knife. “We just need to get to Rockfall. They’ll sit in the back. They won’t hurt you.”

She swallows, looking down at his knife. “Will you?” Her voice trembles.

Virion tries not to feel bad about this. He’s done far worse to people who have mattered far more. “I won’t if you don’t make me.”

She nods frantically. “Yeah, yeah. Uh, get in. Trunk’s open for your, uh, stuff. If you want.”

“I’ll keep it on me, thanks.” He slings the bedroll off his shoulder and sets it on the floor of the car. He opens the door to the backseat for Wight and Kota, not really because he’s thinking about it, just because he wants them in the car and out of the public eye as fast as possible, but Wight tilts his head and smirks.

“How chivalrous,” he says, and then he climbs into the car and sits next to Kota.

Virion resists the urge to roll his eyes. He slams the door shut a little harder than he should. He hopes the hem of Wight’s pants get stuck in it. From the quiet cursing he hears from the backseat, it sounds like it did.

Virion sits in the passenger seat. He waits for the driver to make the car move.

She looks over at him. “Uh, are you going to... to buckle up?”

He furrows his brow at her. “What? What does that mean?”

“Your seatbelt,” Wight says. “Look to your right. It, uh, buckles into the thing. Next to your hip there.”

Virion sees what he’s talking about. He grabs it and slowly pulls on it, a strip of weird material coming out of the car itself and stretching across his chest. He fumbles with the buckle, but he manages to push it in until it clicks.

“What’s that for?” he mumbles to himself.

“In case we crash,” Wight says. “But we won’t, will we?” He directs his smile in the driver’s direction again.

She shakes her head. “No, no, we won’t. I’m—I’m very good at my job.”

The car begins to rise into the air, the engine humming. Virion looks down at the street through the window, looking at the buildings as they get smaller beneath the vehicle. They rise up into the sky, and there are machines floating up here, those weird things Wight called “traffic lights” and signs and other stuff. Tiny beams of light form the illusion of lanes, just like the ones on the roads below. The driver pulls into a lane, and then they’re off, flying through the air.

“So,” she says, very hesitantly. “Uh, where exactly in Rockfall did you need to go?”

“Drop us off in the bad area of town,” Wight says. “The southwest corner.” He leans forward, seatbelt stretching to let him poke his head between the seats and smile at her. “If you take us anywhere near any police stations, if we even catch a glimpse of the Prime Defenders headquarters, we will make sure you don’t leave this car alive.”

Kota growls, low and deep, to drive the point home. She nods, her eyes wide. “Yeah, yeah, I—yeah, okay. Understood, uh, sir.”

“Sir?” Wight laughs, leaning back in his seat. “I like that. I like that a lot, actually! Have you ever considered a career as a getaway driver?”

“N-no, sir.”

“You should.” He glances out the window. “Slow down, stay at the speed limit. If we get pulled over by sky cops or some shit, you’re dead.”

“Yes sir.”

Virion keeps his eyes on the sky outside the windshield, but he can’t help but sneak glances at their driver every few seconds, just to make sure she’s not doing anything suspicious. It doesn’t look like she is, her hands kept tightly wrapped around the steering wheel.

The silence in the car is awkward and tense. Wight hums a tune, carefree and confident, resting his chin on his hand as he gazes out the window. Kota keeps glancing out his own window and shrinking away from it like he’s scared of the sky. Neither of them seem too keen on conversation right about now.

Virion clears his throat. “So,” he says, glancing at the driver. “You drive cars for a living?”

She startles, evidently surprised by his attempt at conversation. “Uh, yeah, yeah. I do. Have for a about a year.”

“Why?”

She shrugs. “I... I don’t know, it’s easy? I guess? Getting hired anywhere else was hard, you know. I, uh, I’m not from the United Federation. I’m from the Irish Unification, you know? The accent throws people off, too hard to understand because I talk fast, and anyway I’m just—I’m not a super social person. Usually, I just put on music and don’t—I don’t talk to my passengers much.”

Virion tilts his head. “You’re not from here?”

“No, I’m from another country. Getting work here is hard sometimes.”

“Why are you here?”

She shrugs. “Daughter’s here for school. We’re, uh, we’re in a protection program. Big supervillain attack just a couple years back in our home, and we had to relocate. Technically, I’m not supposed to talk about it, but—well, if nothing said in this car is meant to leave here after you’re in Rockfall, fuck it, I—I don’t care, I haven’t told anyone, so I’m telling you, I guess. Supervillains.” She takes a deep breath. “There are supervillains in my car. Fuck me.”

“I’m not from here either,” Virion says.

“Where are you from?”

“Another world. A place called Fauna. They, uh... they don’t have cars where I’m from.”

She nods slowly. “Another world, huh?” She doesn’t sound convinced.

“I’m not crazy,” he snaps automatically. He’s heard enough from the other prisoners in Supermax about how he’s a fucking nutcase. He’s tired of it.

Wight laughs from the backseat. “You have other people in your head, pretty boy.” His hand comes around Virion’s seat to he can tap Virion on the forehead. “Of course you’re not crazy.”

Virion sneers, jerking his head away from Wight’s hand. He has half a mind to bite at his finger, but he’s not sure how that would end up for him. Better to play nice as best he can. For now.

“No, no, I don’t think you’re crazy,” she says hurriedly, hands gripping the wheel tighter. “Just—I’ve never heard of other worlds existing, but—you know, we’ve got heroes who can make pocket dimensions, so it’s not out of the realm of possibility, yeah? I don’t not believe you.”

Virion relaxes a little, less defensive. “Okay. Okay, cool.” He furrows his brow. “What about that supervillain attack? What was that about?”

The driver sighs. “You know Archangel?”

Virion remembers getting threatened by Archangel in prison, punched, kicked, thrown, and very nearly stabbed on a good few occasions. “Better than you think.”

“That’s what lead to his arrest. He attacked a whole town, set fire to the place, moved onto a bunch of other small towns, just—just wiping out the population. He got taken down, but he had someone who took up the mantle after he was out. She’s still there, ravaging the whole country, and there aren’t enough heroes out in the Unification to even try subduing her, as powerful as she is, and WATCH is busy with... other things, apparently. She’s calling herself Archangel as well, so now I guess there will be two of them.” She takes a deep breath. “He got out in the same breakout that let you three out, I presume?”

“Unfortunately.” Wight sighs and shakes his head. “I could have gone without him getting out, but what can you do? Can’t pick and choose what fish you let out of the barrel if you tip it into the water.”

“Right.” She taps her fingers against the wheel, and Virion notices they’re painted black. “Um... so, you, purple boy, you’re not a face I’ve seen ‘round on the news or anything. When did—uh, when did you show up?”

“A few months ago? Showed up here, lived on the streets, stabbed a guy who attacked me, got put in prison. Here I am.”

She blinks. “Wow, really? You just got dragged into this? You didn’t mean to be part of anything, did you?”

“Pretty much. I just didn’t really have any other choice.”

“Wow. I mean, I didn’t take you for the supervillain type, but you do play the hired muscle really well.” She squints at his lithe arms. “Well, you know what I mean by muscle.”

He snorts. “I get it, thanks.”

She cracks the barest hint of a smile, and Virion lets himself relax just a little. She seems nice. He doesn’t think she’ll turn them in, but he keeps his hand near his knife just in case.

The car is silent for a little bit. The tension has lightened, but it’s still palpable. Virion swears he could cut through it with his knife if he tried.

The driver eventually glances down at the radio. “Uh, did you guys want music?”

“Put on the news,” Wight requests, leaning in between the seats again with a grin.

She does as she’s told, messing with buttons and knobs until a voice comes through the speakers.

“—capes all over the city rounding up the runaway villains, with HoloSteve and HoloGraham among the first to be apprehended by none other than our beloved Lightspeed. The Toad’s gotten his hands on Pretender, which was quite the fight to witness, let me tell you, Dave. Meanwhile, Gravedigger’s been doing his best to track down more of the D-tier villains. What do think that’s like for him, being a reformed villain? Think he’s fighting against any of his old friends here?”

“I’m sure he’s seen a few familiar faces in that crowd, Sharon,” says another voice, “but he’s doing a bang up job tracking down the stragglers. Our sources tell me he last got his hands on someone who calls himself Peelbert, and the name alone makes me wonder what the hell his powers could be.”

“No idea, but D-listers aside, all of the villains rounded up so far are being placed in temporary holding cells in the local federal prison, with precautions for their powers, of course, until they can get Supermax fixed up and ready for prisoners again, and some of the more powerful ones are being shipped off to other Supermax prisons elsewhere in the country. There are a handful of villains that people are very worried about, and I’m not talking about Whale Man here. Atlas, Flo, and Archangel are some of the biggest concerns, among others, plenty of old names with devastating powers, all of whom haven’t been seen since their escape.”

“Laying low, no doubt, playing it safe.”

“I’m sure. But among the older villains, there are also a couple of newer names that have popped up in the past couple years that have people’s hair standing on end. The Whisperer and Kota Kill were seen running from the scene and nearly got apprehended again by Tide, accompanied by a third that no one seems to recognize.”

“A third? I thought those two worked alone.”

“Things change in prison, I suppose. No one seems to know who this new addition to their little team is. Allegedly, he doesn’t even have a name in the legal system, like he just popped up out of nowhere! A few local heroes started referring to him as Voilet just to have something to call him, but others are calling him Rogue.”

“Why’s that?”

“Natural purple hair, apparently, and he looks like a rogue. You know, like from D&D. I think they should mash up the names. Violet Rogue, how’s that sound?”

“I think it sounds great. Hey, WATCH, if you wanna use that as an official villain name, it’s gonna cost you royalties!”

The other reporter laughs and Virion huffs. “That better not catch on.”

Wight chuckles from the backseat. “You are rogue-ish. I like it.”

“Well I don’t.”

The driver shrugs. “I don’t know, it’s got a nice ring to it.”

“I like her,” Wight says. “I like you, what’s your name?”

“Uh, Miranda.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to be a getaway driver?”

She reaches over and turns the volume knob. “I think they’re talking about something else. Uh, I want to hear it, sorry.”

“In other news,” one of the reporters continues, “the Prime Defenders had their first official mission yesterday. We don’t have much on the details, but from what little Tide shared with the media when questioned, it didn’t quite go to plan, did it?”

“No it did not, Sharon. An unexpected villain appeared on the scene, and not one from Supermax. Thank goodness, because if those kids ran into the likes of Atlas, I don’t think we’d have any more Prime Defenders left, would we?”

“Certainly not, Dave. Two of the Prime Defenders were injured in battle. We don’t know their condition, as Tide neglected to elaborate when asked, but it must have been serious enough, because Wavelength was too busy keeping an eye on his wards to help with the breakout last night.”

“Could be why Tide failed to catch the Whisperer and his lackeys, in my opinion. Wherever he goes, Wavelength usually follows, and if Wavelength wasn’t there as backup for once, makes sense something would have gone awry when Tide tried to make the arrest alone.”

“Maybe Wavelength and Tide are better suited to sticking around Rockfall with their trainees, huh?”

“I have full confidence in Tide, but Wavelength? The old villain, training former vigilantes to be heroes? Never rubbed me the right way, Sharon.”

“Well, here’s hoping Tide can whip them all into shape in time for those kids to take up the mantle of the new Prime Force once our beloved trio retires. That’ll be many years in the future, I’m sure, so they’ve got plenty of time. And speaking of, a real treat for our listeners today, right here in the station is Jason ‘Origami’ King, to talk about his newest upcoming movie, Origami Eight: Paper Cranes, in theatres October 2146—”

Virion reaches over and turns the knob that controls the volume. The radio fades into the background.

“You guys are making waves, huh?” Miranda says.

“Seems like it,” Virion mutters. He’s not thrilled about it. He never wanted this, but he’s neck deep in it now, and he can’t exactly claw his way out.

“I like the name they gave you,” Wight says.

“I like Rogue. Not sure about the Violet part. Too recognizable.”

Wight hums. “Point taken. But if you’re rolling with us, pretty boy, people are going to know you anyway.”

Virion sighs. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

Miranda cranes her neck to look through the windshield at the ground below. “We’re coming up on Rockfall. Southwest corner? The slums?”

“Exactly.” Wight leans back in his seat, legs crossed. “Find a secluded area. If you think of alerting anyone to our presence, we do have more money if you make the landing clean and inconspicuous.”

Miranda nods once, white-knuckle gripping the wheel. “Understood.”

She navigates through the “streets” in the air, guiding them above the city. There are other flying cars, but not quite as many as there are on the ground. Makes sense that Wight would have wanted a flying vehicle. Less people to peer in through the windows and recognize them, less people to call the cops or superheroes.

Eventually, the car slows to a stop, and then it begins to lower itself to the street. Virion looks down through the window to watch as they slowly descend.

The car stops, hovering just above the concrete. Miranda lets out a breath. “Okay. Cool. Are we done?”

Virion looks around the street. It looks pretty empty, save for a handful of people sitting in alleyways and others digging through bins of trash. Virion feels a pang of sympathy, and somewhere else in his head, he feels Strider lurch closer to the front of his consciousness, recognizing firsthand that these people are homeless, urging Virion to help somehow, or at least let him out so he can help.

Virion just grimaces and nudges him back. Not the time. Maybe—maybe another day.

Somewhere else, he feels disapproval radiating off of a presence he recognizes as Ram, and he curses at himself. Ram is always fucking listening when he doesn’t need to be, Virion’s issues aren’t his, he needs to step the fuck back—

Wight opens his car door and climbs out, and Virion shakes himself out of his stupor to follow suit. He grabs his bedroll and steps out.

Wight glances back in the backseat. “Kota?”

Kota’s head snaps up. He’s curled up on his seat, knees hugged to his chest.

“We landed,” Wight says. “Come on.”

Kota looks out his window at the solid ground. He unbuckles his seatbelt, almost hesitant, and then crawls across the seats to the open door. He steps out, setting his bare feet on the sidewalk like he can’t believe it’s there.

“Good,” Wight says, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “See? I told you we’d be fine.”

Kota nods once. He doesn’t say anything, just takes his place at Wight’s side, glaring at the car like it personally offended him.

Wight reaches into the backpack on Kota’s back and withdraws a bundle of money. “Here, for your trouble, and for being such a lovely chauffer.”

He tosses it into the car, and it lands on the passenger seat where Virion had been sitting. Miranda sighs in relief. “Thank you, thank you so much.”

“Don’t mention it.” Wight smiles wide. “Literally. Don’t.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

Virion shuts the door. He and the other two step back as Miranda’s car begins to rise into the air again. Wight hums to himself, as though considering a hard question.

He flicks his wrist, and a red wisp appears over his palm. He grins and blows it in the direction of the car.

It darts through the window of the car and hits Miranda square in the face. Virion watches as her eyes widen, her irises glowing a bright red. She whirls around to face the street, grabbing the steering wheel with her face twisted into an angry grimace, and she slams on the gas, peeling out of her parking spot and driving into the sky, nearly clipping the side of a building on her way up.

Virion whirls on Wight. “What was that for?” he demands.

Wight shrugs. “She was too nice. I want to see what she might do if she went a little apeshit.”

“She just gave us a ride!”

“And? A mother down on her luck and far from home is the perfect start to some chaos. People can blame her behaviour on a mental break. Perhaps she’ll see it that way, too, given enough time. I just want to turn on the news tonight and see something other than heroes in silly costumes on our screen. Besides, her memories will be fuzzy after that. She might not even remember we were there.”

He turns and starts walking down the sidewalk, whistling for Kota to follow. Kota does, lumbering after him. Most of the people around don’t even pay them any mind, like they’ve seen this a million times. A couple duck into empty doorways as if to hide, but other than that, no one seems to care that the Whisperer and Kota Kill are walking down their street.

Wight pauses and turns around. “You coming, pretty boy?”

Virion grits his teeth and follows, taking his place at Wight’s left side, Kota on Wight’s right. He doesn’t have any other choice.

Chapter Text

Jade’s head fucking hurts.

She groans and peels her eyes open, squinting in the bright light overhead. It feels like her brain is trying to pound out of her head, chipping at her skull with a sharp chisel. What the hell did she do?

“Kid?” says a gruff voice, and then someone’s leaning over her, bright red lenses glinting in the light. “You up?”

She half-heartedly raises a hand to smack at Wavelength’s face. “Fuck off.”

“Yeah, she’s feelin’ fine.” Wavelength leans back, and Jade squints to follow where he’s going, blinking furiously as spots dance in her vision. He’s sitting in a chair next to her bed, and right behind him stands another figure, tall, dressed in a black and cyan superhero costume, locs tied back and swept over one shoulder.

She rubs her eyes. “Hi, Tide,” she mutters.

Tide lets out a relieved sigh. “How are you feeling?” he asks. “You had us worried, Jade.”

“What happened?” she asks. “Last thing I remember is that lizard guy.”

“Lizard guy?” Wavelength scoffs. “Shit, Alan said the same thing, but I thought he was fucking with me.”

“You were shot in the leg with what looked like a very small harpoon,” Tide says. “Very good that it was small, because if it was bigger, there’s always the potential that it could have hit an important artery. At least, that’s what the doctor said as he removed it.”

“It was electrified,” Wavelength adds. “Wasn’t a major shock, but enough to knock you out.”

She grabs the covers and moves them aside, still blinking as her eyes finish adjusting. She looks down at her legs. Her left thigh is wrapped up tight in white bandages stained with blotches of red. She tries to move it and hisses through her teeth at the lingering pain that throbs through the muscle.

That asshole. The harpoon was totally fucking unnecessary.

“Where’s Xavier?” she asks. “He got hit with a thing, some kinda small device. He okay?”

“He’s resting,” Tide says. His voice is soft, gentle, and Jade wants to punch him because of it. She doesn’t need to be treated like a piece of glass, fucking thank you Tide. “He got a pretty bad shock himself, but he’s holding up better now that he’s slept. You got the worst of it. Professor Cross got you fixed up, though.”

She furrows her brow. She’s never heard the name before. “Professor who?”

“An old friend in WATCH,” Tide says, with a hesitant smile. “Not... not exactly the best medic, but not bad, all things considered. He said he’d like to take you and Xavier back to WATCH HQ to give you both a proper checkup, but, uh, he’s a little...”

“Crazy?” Wavelength offers with a snort.

“I was going to say eccentric,” Tide says, still smiling, but it looks a little strained. “We don’t want to cart you off to WATCH HQ for something so small. We can just invite him over to take a look here instead.”

“Or get a normal fucking doctor,” Wavelength mutters.

“WATCH medics are fine. Besides, most civilian doctors wouldn’t know how to treat Xavier or Alan, and keeping Cantrip’s identity a secret is very important.”

“Cross tried to take my kidney last time he treated me.”

“His species has like, seven kidneys, he didn’t know you needed both of them!”

Jade grimaces as she swings her legs over the edge of the bed. “How did we—how’d we get off the island?”

“Alan called me,” Wavelength says. “You and X were both outta commission, so he did the only thing he could think of. He got into a scuffle with that lizard guy you mentioned, but they ran away when they tried firing another harpoon at him and it couldn’t get through his skin. Kid was pretty fuckin’ scared with both of you out like that. Didn’t know where to go.”

Jade feels a pang of guilt. She didn’t even think about how Alan would fare without the both of them to guide him. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Tide says. “It’s not like it was your fault. You didn’t mean to get caught. We’ll have someone else take a look at Harttawa Island.” The smile slips off his face. “I... I didn’t know there would be an adversary that prepared patrolling the island. WATCH suggested it as a nice starter mission, a simple retrieval. They didn’t think someone that skilled and dangerous would be there, nor did they expect... those things.”

“The animals,” Wavelength mutters. “I’ve... I don’t think I’ve seen shit like that in a while.”

“You’ve seen things like those before?” Jade asks.

Wavelength shrugs. “Old villain work I used to do. Saw that kinda shit once or twice, but never got caught up in it. Only saw ‘em on a couple jobs, but it sounds like there were a lot of ‘em on this island. I don’t even know who those jobs were for, so I can’t even tell you who could be doin’ shit like that. Trust me, Tide’s already grilled me on everything I could possibly know.”

“Did you catch the lizard guy?”

“What do you think?” Wavelength scoffs.

“No, we didn’t,” Tide answers, sending Wavelength a sidelong glare. “I’ve never personally seen this villain before, so I thought they were new, but they had... well...” He glances at Wavelength again. “They had some old technology that greatly resembles some of Wavelength’s from before he joined WATCH. We’re... not entirely sure how they got it.”

“I’m gonna look into it,” Wavelength says. “I’ll be heading back to Harttawa this afternoon to scope out the place. Not to complete the mission, just to take a look, see if I can’t confront this guy and figure out what their deal is. Some better heroes are gonna retrieve Dr. Lutz when they can.”

“Is Tide going with you?”

Wavelength shakes his head. “You were passed out, so you don’t know, but there was a mass breakout at Supermax last night. Tons of villains on the streets. Tide and the rest of WATCH are workin’ overtime trying to round them up. As soon as I’m done on Harttawa, I’ll be heading out with Tide to patrol and try to round up some stragglers.”

“I let a couple get away last night,” Tide sighs to himself. “I can’t let that happen again. I will need backup if I’m going to try tracking down the Whisperer and Kota Kill again. I have reason to believe they may be in one of the cities or towns surrounding New Haven. They likely would have tried to leave the city after the breakout.”

“We can help,” Jade says, grabbing her nightstand for support as she tries to stand. “We’re supposed to be heroes, if we can’t complete our mission, we can at least—”

“Stop.” Wavelength puts a hand on her shoulder and pushes her back down so she’s sitting again. She goes down easy, her leg buckling beneath her. “You’re not goin’ anywhere like this.”

“But—”

“Wavelength is right,” Tide says. “You’re not well enough to go out like this. Give it a day or two. Perhaps we can send you out later this week to wrangle some smaller issues. Locust Man has been robbing some convenience stores lately—”

“I don’t want to deal with fucking Locust Man,” Jade snaps. “If you’re going to make me be a hero, the least you could do is let me fucking help! I don’t want to be sent out to a random island, I want to be tracking down real villains! Real bad people, who deserve what’s coming to them!”

Tide glances at Wavelength, who just barely turns his head to face him. Jade can’t see Wavelength’s face, but somehow she feels like they’re communicating without even speaking. Annoyance flares up inside her.

Wavelength stands. “I’m heading out. Tide, I’ll call you if I need backup.”

Tide nods. “Good luck.”

Wavelength leaves Jade’s room. She levels a glare at Tide.

Tide sighs and takes Wavelength’s seat, folding his hands together and resting his elbows on his knees. “I’m sorry Jade, but we can’t send you out like this,” he says softly.

“I get that, okay? I fucking get it. My leg hurts like a bitch anyway. But once I can walk without falling on my fucking ass, I can help with this breakout. I’m not asking to take down Atlas or Flo or whatever, I’m not ready to face an A-lister and I know that. But we’re not incapable. We can go after—I don’t know, Pretender or something.”

“Pretender’s been apprehended already, actually. Toad got him.”

“Someone else, then. Halo, or—what’s that fire one, Phoenix? Or—there’s that dog girl, what’s her name, Hellhound? I can—”

“Jade,” Tide says firmly, jaw set, and Jade shuts her mouth. She feels like a scolded child, and she hunches over like one to look at her sock feet. She picks at the bandages around her thigh. It’s been a long time since she’s had a parental scolding, especially from someone who means well. She almost forgot what it’s like.

Tide sighs. “I’m not saying no because I don’t think you can handle it,” he says. “I’m saying no because I get the feeling there’s some other reason you want to do this. Am I right?”

She scowls. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Jade.”

She lifts her head to look at him. His gaze is piercing, brown eyes ringed with blue near the pupil, startling and bright against the otherwise dark brown, and she lowers her gaze again.

“You don’t want to be a good hero just to be a hero. You want recognition so you can go to WATCH and propose they look into Belltech, am I right?”

She opens her mouth to say no, but the word catches in her throat. No matter how hard she tries, it’s so fucking hard to lie to Tide. She doesn’t answer.

Tide sighs and runs a hand down his face. “I get it,” he says.

“No you don’t,” she scoffs, but Tide raises a brow.

“No, really, I do. I understand what it’s like to see injustice in a place where WATCH would maybe prefer you not look for it. M—Wavelength wouldn’t be here working as a hero if I did what WATCH wanted and dragged him to Supermax.”

Jade’s eyes widen a little. “You... wait, did—did you—”

“Directly disobey WATCH in order to recruit Wavelength as a hero?” Tide shrugs. “Maybe a little. I proposed it to him first, which I technically wasn’t supposed to do, then went to Hexpert to make a case for him. It took a long time, and a lot of convincing, but she eventually gave me approval to officially recruit him. She may not lead WATCH, but they do tend to follow her word.” He shrugs. “Was it cheating the system? A little. But it worked out for the greater good. And Ms. G. likes you kids. I’m certain she’d want to help you out and put whatever concerns you have to rest.”

Jade furrows her brow as she processes what he’s saying. “So... are you saying we can cheat the system?”

“I am saying that Ms. G. is a reasonable woman who also happens to have a soft spot for you kids. If you can find something—through legal means—that can potentially convince anyone that there is something shady going on at Belltech, I’m certain she would listen and at least convince someone to look into it. If it’s coming from Ms. G., the Sovereign Five will be much more likely to listen.”

He stands. He places a hand on Jade’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “You’re smart kids,” he says. “And you’ve got a good intuition. If you believe something is wrong at Belltech, I believe you. But WATCH isn’t going to listen without some kind of lead. If you can do some research and find anything at all, I can help you present it to Ms. G. if you want. Perhaps my own credit as a hero will work out in your favour.”

Jade almost finds herself smiling a little—it’s not much, but it’s something, finally someone is listening, just a little bit—and before she can say anything else, thank him for believing in her and the others, she bites her tongue and nods instead. Not the time for sentiment, and the idea of it makes her skin crawl anyway. “Yeah, yeah. Sure.”

He smiles at her, bright and warm. “Alright! Well, you appear to be feeling a bit better. If you’re hungry, I can make some beef stroganoff—”

“No, I’m good.” She shrugs his hand off her shoulder. “Thanks though.”

He ruffles her hair, and she ducks down to get his hand off her head, but she doesn’t say anything. “Well, there should be leftovers in the fridge if you’re hungry.” The watch on his wrist beeps and he glances at it. “Ah, it seems I need to run anyway. Abstinence Boy is having trouble fighting his nemesis, Sex Man, and needs some backup.” He makes a strange face. “I never understood what either of their powers are.”

She gently kicks him in the shin with her good leg. “Go. We’ll be fine here.”

He nods once. His smile softens into something affectionate, and he pats her on the shoulder again. “I know being a hero wasn’t your original goal,” he says, “but you’ll be great ones. I know it.”

He turns and leaves her room. She hears his footsteps make their way across the base, and then she hears the elevator.

Something moves out in the hallway, and then Xavier pokes his head into the room, hair down and glasses perched on his nose. Alan peeks in too, one large hand on the doorframe.

“Hey,” Xavier says. “How you feeling?”

She shrugs. “Like shit.”

Xavier and Alan step in. Alan sits down on the beanbag chair in the corner of her room, flopping down on his ass and making the entire room shake from the impact. Xavier plops himself down on the bed. He’s not wearing one of his stupid button-ups, instead dressed in a polo shirt and khakis, which is fucking worse somehow.

“You look like a trust fund kid,” she says.

“And you look like a Hot Topic threw up on you,” he shoots back.

“You look like you’d be valedictorian and make fun of me for being dumber than you if you were in school.”

“And you look like you’d shove me into a locker.”

“I’d do that anyway.”

Xavier snorts, and a grin tugs at Jade’s lips. She leans back against her headboard, and Xavier leans against the wall beside the bed.

“Alan told me about the lizard guy,” Xavier says. “Came out of nowhere, huh?”

“Yeah. Fast as hell. Not in a super way I think, just... quick. Wasn’t expecting it.”

“Think they’re a new villain, or that they work for the guy running whatever’s happening on Harttawa, or what?”

Jade sighs. “I don’t know. Hard to tell. My guess is they work for whoever’s in charge of Harttawa. They had turrets in the trees and shit. Definitely patrolling.”

“Wavelength said it looked like some of his old tech from his villain days.”

Jade shrugs. “Maybe they fashioned it after his? Stole it somehow?”

“He stopped the villain shit years ago. They would have had to steal it before it was allegedly destroyed for being too dangerous and then kept it this whole time, and they would have had to know exactly when he’d be taking it to get destroyed and where so they could get it first.”

“They’d have to be watching him close,” Jade mutters.

“Or, like you said, they could have just made their own and fashioned it after his. Either way, they’d have to have some kind of tab on what his tech is like.”

“Deranged fanboy?”

“Could be.” Xavier heaves a sigh. “Fuck. That mission could not have gone worse.”

“It could,” Alan’s deep voice rumbles from the corner of the room. “Jade could be dead.”

Jade nods. “Yeah, fair. We’re not dead. I guess that’s what matters.”

“But that was supposed to be our first mission,” Xavier grumbles. “We were supposed to do a good job, start getting some decent hero cred so we can convince WATCH to look into Belltech.”

“Next one. We won’t fuck up the next one.”

“How do we know there’ll even be a next one? Maybe WATCH is gonna give up on us and throw us back into prison.”

“Alan doesn’t want to go back,” Alan says. “Prison bad.”

“Tide wouldn’t let that happen,” Jade says. “Look, he believes we can be good heroes. And honestly? I  don’t think we can be, and I don’t even want to be one. But Ms. G. herself put her faith in us the moment she let us out of Supermax. Tide thinks that if we want to get into Belltech, he can help us present a case to her. She’ll listen if we tell her what we think is going on.”

“Then what?” Xavier scoffs. “She brushes us aside because it’s a stupid thing to worry about?”

“No.” Jade leans forward. “Tide says she’s got a soft spot for us. If anything, she’ll at least look into Belltech a little bit so she can put our worries to rest. Besides, she’s the one who decided we deserved a chance outside of Supermax. If she brushed us aside in front of all of WATCH, what would that say? That she doesn’t believe in her own choices? That she fucked up and made a mistake? She can’t admit that in front of all the other heroes out there. She’s Hexpert for fuck’s sake, the defacto leader of the Prime Force. She can’t show weakness in front of all of WATCH like that.”

Xavier’s brow pinches. “So... what, do we just get into WATCH somehow and then tell her Belltech sucks and she immediately decides to barge in there? Is that the plan? We’ve never even been in WATCH HQ, and I don’t know if they’d let us.”

“We’re like, junior WATCH heroes, right? They’d have to let us in at least once, I’m sure. And Miss G. will listen, I know it.” She turns to Alan. “What do you think?”

Alan rests his chin on his hand and hums. “Alan likes space lady,” he says. “Would like to talk to space lady again.”

Xavier runs a hand through his hair, considering it. “Well... if you really think she’ll listen, sure. We can give it a shot.”

She beams. “Great! We just have to put together a case for ourselves.”

Xavier raises a brow. “And you said Tide wants to help?”

“Yeah. I don’t think Wavelength will, but if Tide is, he basically speaks for both of them, you know?” She flings her covers off her, letting them fall over Xavier’s head, and she stands up, grimacing at the pain in her leg. “Let’s go do some research on Belltech. If we can get our shit together and bring something to WATCH, David Bell is going to pay for what he did.”

Chapter Text

Rockfall—or at least this corner of it—is absolutely god-awful. Half the buildings are run down, people are huddled in alleyways drinking and smoking, and the pavement of the streets is bumpy and covered in holes while the pavement on other roads had been smooth.

Virion doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like how Wight walks past people like he doesn’t care about them, he doesn’t like how everyone looks sad or angry or some combination of the two, and he doesn’t like that Wight clearly expects Virion to ignore them as well.

But he does, because he doesn’t know what else to do.

“So where is your hideout?” Virion asks.

“You’ll see,” Wight says, and the vague answer makes Virion want to throw something.

“Tell me,” Virion says. “You’re not supposed to keep me in the dark.”

“I’m not,” Wight scoffs. “You will see, I promise you that. Just a few minutes’ walk.”

He continues on in silence, the heels of his shoes click-click-clicking on the sidewalk.

Virion glances out of the corner of his eye at a person smoking in an alleyway. The smell of it pulls Ram forward, craving a cigarette, and Virion shakes his head in a mildly successful attempt to keep him back. He doesn’t have any cigarettes on him anyway. Better to ignore Ram as best he can and keep walking.  

They weave through the streets, ducking through a couple of alleys. People barely pay any attention to the three of them, sending them hesitant sidelong glances, if they even pay any attention to them at all. He wants to keep pressing, keep asking where they’re going, why the people here don’t seem to care that there are two supervillains in their midst, but Wight seems determined to get to their destination first, so he just keeps his mouth shut and follows like he’s supposed to.

They’re not walking for long before they come up to an old, dingy building, rotting wood and flaking drywall making up most of the walls. It looks about two stories tall. Most of the windows are broken, but they’re covered up by blankets from the inside.

Wight approaches the door and opens it. “It’s not much,” he says as he steps in, “but this is where we were staying last before we were arrested. It doesn’t look like the cops found it, so it should be safe to stay in for now.”

Virion steps inside. It looks... not too bad, all things considered. There’s a set of stairs against the right wall leading up, and another to the left that must lead into a basement. Right in front of him is a small living area, complete with a couch and one of those light boxes—a TV—and there’s a door that might lead to a kitchen. He’s not sure what’s upstairs, but he’s willing to bet it’s a sleeping area of some sort.

“Not bad.” Virion slings his bedroll off his shoulder. “I’ve stayed in worse.”

Wight turns to look at him. “You have?”

Virion opens his mouth to answer, but he pauses. Has he? No, shit he’s—he’s thinking of Strider, he’s stayed in worse places than this, Virion always had a decently clean home with a mother and good food to come home to.

Shit, Strider’s still here, fixated on the people outside and the need to help. Virion wants to, he does, and he almost finds himself turning around to do it, reach out to some of those people and lend a hand however he can, but—fuck, he’s getting a headache.

Ram is still there too. Fucker.

“I’m—” His voice sounds gruffer, deeper, closer to Strider’s register, and he clears his throat. “I’m good.”

Wight tilts his head, curious. “I didn’t ask if you were.”

Virion nods at the stairs to the right. “You sleep up there?” he asks, hoping to change the subject. Wight already thinks he’s fucking insane just because he’s got a handful of unwanted passengers in his head. He doesn’t need to make Wight think he’s losing it. He gets the feeling showing weakness around the Whisperer and his attack dog is a bad idea.

Wight waves a hand dismissively. “Yes, you can go put your sleeping bag upstairs. I have things I need to take care of anyway.”

“Like what?”

Wight makes his way to the other set of stairs, the ones leading down. “That, pretty boy, is personal business. It has nothing to do with you, and I don’t tell Kota about it either, so it’s not breaking our deal if I don’t inform you of it.” He gives Virion a smile. “I’ll be back soon.”

With that, he disappears down the stairs into the darkness of the basement, leaving Virion alone with Kota.

Kota doesn’t seem to care. He walks over to the couch and hops onto it, curling up against the armrest like a dog. He grabs a remote from in between the couch cushions, turns on the TV, and starts flicking through channels.

Virion’s heard enough of the news for today. He walks upstairs, every step creaking below his feet.

The room upstairs is rather small. There’s a bed there, just a simple thing with a thin frame and even thinner mattress. There’s a small cot on the floor off to one side. Kota’s, no doubt. Why does he sleep on the floor? Virion resolves to ask one of them later, but he’s not sure Kota would even give him an answer.

Virion tosses his bedroll on the floor. He sits down on the bed. It creaks under his weight, and he’s half afraid he’ll break it just by sitting here.

Virion.

Virion sighs and lowers his head. “Ram,” he grumbles out loud. “What do you want?” He could talk in his head, but he feels better when he’s talking out loud, like he’s talking to someone that’s in front of him. It’s easier.

This guy’s bad news, Virion, I really don’t think—

“You think I don’t know that?” he snaps. “He’s a complete fucking lunatic, but I don’t exactly have a lot of choices here, do I?”

He almost feels bad for snapping, and a couple months ago, he never would have thought to speak to the Greats that way. He respects them. He really, really does. They were his dad’s adventuring party, they were heroes, they saved countless people and brought glory to Fauna.

But Virion’s dad killed them. In the end, they weren’t strong enough to fight off one person. They’re dead, and they’ve been living in Virion’s head for two months, and since existing with them as built-in roommates, he’s come to realize that when it comes down to it, they’re nothing special. They weren’t strong enough to stay alive, and they certainly shouldn’t have any authority over Virion himself.

Besides, they’re just as annoying as any other people. They’re not fucking special because they’ve mastered magic techniques that make them stronger and more powerful. Strider is stubborn, Chungus is stupid, Min is self-righteous, Alphonz is arrogant, Greyson is impulsive, and Ram...

I know you need someone to show you the ropes ‘round here, but we can find someone else or we can figure shit out ourselves. I got a bad fucking feeling about this kid.

Ram is the worst.

“Last I checked, this is my body, not yours,” Virion says. “I can do what I want.”

Do you really want this? Because I’ve been watchin’ y’all this whole time, and you’re right pissed about that little shit, I can tell.

“What the hell else am I supposed to do?” he says. “We’re stuck here and we know nothing about this world. I’m not getting caught and going back to that prison. Wight knows this place, he can protect us.”

Can he?

“He seems powerful. So does Kota. They’ve got the physical firepower to back me up when it comes down to the wire.”

But will they? They’re villains, kid. They got no sense of loyalty after themselves and maybe each other. Even then, I bet that Wight kid would drop the redhead in a heartbeat if it meant saving himself.

Virion grimaces, hating that he makes a good point. “Okay, maybe, but they’re the only ones who have stuck with me so far. Wight seems to think I’m interesting, if nothing else. I feel like that’s enough to keep him invested in my wellbeing for now.”

He hears Ram sigh in his head. Look, kid, I didn’t wanna bring it up, but that Wight boy gives me the same bad feeling as the Lich did.

Virion’s blood runs cold. “What do you mean?”

I don’t know, I’m—I’m not as good at that shit as Min, and she’s fuckin’ sleepin’ in here and you know she gets pissed if someone wakes her up, but I just—I know this guy is bad news. Gives me that same skin-crawly feelin’ as the Lich. I can’t explain it.

Virion looks down at his hands. He used to have some of his mom’s rings. They were confiscated from him when he got arrested, and during the breakout he only had time to retrieve his knife and his mom’s hair pin. He wishes he had his rings now so he could turn them over on his fingers, run his thumb over the ridges of the gems that were embedded in the metal. Where is his jewelry now? Melted down? Thrown out? He’s not sure.

“We already know what Wight plans on doing,” Virion mumbles. “He said he wants to throw the world into chaos. I already know that’s going to result in people dying. You’ve never had a problem with killing people in Fauna.”

That was different, kid. Those were bad people who were gonna cause more harm than good if they were left alive. This Wight kid, whatever his plan for chaos is, it’s gonna result in deaths of innocent people. The breakout—that shit was bad enough. Think of how many villains he set free. He’s probably counting on them all to wreak havoc and throw the world on its head. They’re going to kill people, Virion. Good people. Innocent people.

Virion isn’t pleased by that answer, and he knows Ram can feel it. “Yeah, but I don’t think I have much of a choice,” he says anyway. “I already made a deal with Wight, and I think if I back out and run away, he’ll find me anyway.”

Ram hums, and Virion knows he’s come to that same conclusion. Yeah, more than likely. He sounds displeased. But you could still give it a shot. You don’t have to be complicit in this, Virion. You don’t have to have innocent blood on your hands.

“Look, I’ll do my best to minimize the damage. I’ll just stick with them until I can find a way back home. And I will find one.” Eventually.

Ram huffs, frustrated, and Virion feels the annoyance in the back of his head like its his own. He is annoyed himself regardless, but for different reasons. Look, just... tread carefully, okay? I don’t trust this guy as far as I could throw him.

“You could probably throw him pretty far, actually. He’s pretty scrawny.”

Ram snorts. Yeah, well, I’m not about to try it. I just—I don’t like the way he’s talkin’ to you—

“I’ll deal with it,” Virion interrupts. “I don’t—it’s whatever, I don’t care what he calls me or how he talks to me. I can handle it. I know I’m, like, a henchman for him now, or something, but at least I’ve got something, some guidance. It’s better than running around the streets with no goal, no idea where I’m going, and no clue where I even am. This is better than being alone.”

There’s silence from in his head, and he knows what Ram wants to say: You’re never alone.

If Ram actually said it, Virion would turn around in his own mind and punch Ram in the face. Somehow.

Virion puts his head in his hands. “Let me figure this out,” he mutters. “I’m nineteen, I’m an adult, I can make my own choices.”

Virion—

“You’re not my fucking dad,” Virion snaps, “so stop acting like it.”

Anger burns from Ram’s presence, from the mention of Virion’s father and the comparison to him, but it fades quickly as Ram backs away, slipping back into Virion’s mind  until Virion can no longer feel him at all. Ram is always there, so feeling his presence almost completely disappear is strange, but it’s also welcome.

Finally, some fucking privacy.

He lifts his head and nearly jumps out of his skin. Kota’s sitting crouched at the top of the stairs, looking at him with narrowed eyes.

“Holy shit.” Virion automatically puts a hand on his knife. “When did you get here?”

Kota glances from Virion’s face to his hand on the knife. “Couple minutes ago,” he says. His voice is raspy, like he’s been gargling gravel or some shit. It’s like he’s not used to talking a lot. “Who were you talking to?”

“No one.”

Kota’s lip curls into a snarl. “If you’re hiding something—”

“No, no, it’s—you know I have people in my head, right? It was one of them. Just... getting on my nerves.”

Kota’s snarl drops, but his eyes are still narrowed, almost like he’s squinting, like he’s having trouble seeing. “Okay,” he relents. “Just checking.”

Virion lets his hand slip off his knife. He won’t need it right now. Probably. “Where’s Wight? Still downstairs?”

“Probably visiting his friend.”

Virion’s taken aback by that. “His what?” William Wight has friends? He thought Wight and Kota worked alone. There’s another person he’s on good enough terms with to contact and be friends with?

Kota shrugs. “He opens these, like, portals, kind of?” He scratches at his arm absently, brow furrowed like he’s really wracking his brain to make sense of something. “And he goes in them, and he comes out later with nicer clothes and he tells me he was visiting a friend. He does it a lot. Couldn’t do it in prison, you know, because of the collars. He’ll probably be gone for a few hours.”

Virion nods, still confused, but he’ll grill Wight on it when he comes back. Maybe threaten him again for information if it comes down to it. That seemed to work pretty okay last time, even though Wight was acting so weird about it.

Virion’s gaze flickers down to Kota’s feet, where chains still hang off the manacles around his ankles. “Hey, did you want those off?” he asks.

Kota furrows his brow and glances down. “Hm? Oh, I don’t care.”

“Are you sure? The skin around the cuffs is bleeding.”

Kota looks down and gives them a proper look. “Yeah. I know.”

“Here.” Virion stands up and walks over to Kota.

Kota growls and shrinks back, but the action seems automatic, instinctual, like he’s not really meaning to. Virion crouches next to him and holds out a hand, offering.

Kota glances at his hand, then Virion’s face, then his hand again. He shifts to sit down on his backside and hesitantly places his ankle in Virion’s hand.

Virion looks over the manacle for a lock. There’s a keyhole on the side of it, and Virion reaches up into his hair, slipping out his mom’s pin and letting his hair cascade down his shoulders. He blows it out of his face as he slips the pin into the keyhole and starts wiggling it around, listening intently for the click of the lock.

It takes a bit, but it finally clicks, and he withdraws the pin and the manacle slips off. He sets Kota’s foot down and offers his hand for the other one.

Kota watches Virion pick the locks with a strange look on his face. When the other one falls to the floor and Virion picks them both up and tosses them aside, Kota draws his legs in close and gently rubs at his bloody ankles.

“Now what?” Kota asks.

Virion blinks. “Uh, I don’t know, I can find some bandages somewhere, you guys have to have a first aid kit, right? Just gimme a second and I’ll—”

“No,” Kota says, brows furrowed. “What—what do I do?”

Virion stares at him. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“What do I have to do for this? You helped me, what—what do I do for you?”

Virion’s eyes widen a little. “I... nothing? You don’t need to do anything for me. I just... wanted to help.”

Kota stares at him, brows furrowed. He still looks helplessly confused, like he can’t possibly process that Virion just wanted to help him and doesn’t want anything in return.

“What do you mean?” Kota asks.

“I mean, you don’t need to do anything in return. I just wanted to get those off you.”

“But why?”

Clearly, he’s not going to accept “because I wanted to help” as an answer. Virion wracks his brain for something to say, some other thing that might make sense to him.

He gives Kota a once over. He looks a little worse for wear. Not that he ever look better for wear, but there are bags under his eyes, and he looks pale. Virion remembers how he woke up so quickly this morning at the call of his name, as if he’d never been asleep in the first place. Did he even sleep last night at all, or was he pretending? Why would he be doing that? Is it a habit? Instinct? Was he afraid of what could happen if all three of them were asleep at once?

Virion glances back at the bed. “Uh, how about you go have a nap? That’s what I want you to do for me. Get some rest so you can fight better later. I’ll keep watch.”

Kota hums. This seems to click in his head and make some semblance of sense, because he nods once, sharp and quick. “Okay.”

He makes his way over to the cot on the floor, on all fours like an ape. “Uh,” Virion says before Kota can lay down, “why don’t you sleep on the bed?”

Kota doesn’t give a proper answer, just shakes his head. He curls up on the thin cot, and he settles quickly, laying still.

Virion sits down on the bed and watches Kota. Last night, Kota was snoring in his “sleep,” but now he’s deathly quiet. He was still last night, as far as Virion would see, but now, within a few minutes, Kota’s twitching in his sleep like a dog chasing a rabbit in its dreams.

Does Wight make Kota sleep on the floor?

Anger flares up in Virion at the thought. He wouldn’t fucking put it past Wight to do that, not after everything he’s seen of him thus far. He’s not even that attached to Kota, he shouldn’t fucking care about this guy, but if Wight’s the reason Kota’s as fucked up as he is, Virion—Virion’s gonna throw a fucking fit.

For now, though, Wight won’t be back for a few hours apparently, and Virion is left alone, so he does what he promised Kota he would do and watches over him as he sleeps.

Chapter Text

“This is boring.”

Xavier glances up at Jade through his glasses. “You’re the one who suggested we do this.”

Jade heaves a dramatic sigh and leans against Alan. “But that doesn’t make it less boring.”

“Well, Alan can’t use computers without breaking them, so that leaves two of us to research. Have you found anything so far?”

Jade looks at her laptop screen, legs criss-cross on the floor. Her thigh aches because of the position, but she’s not gonna move it, she’s already comfortable. Aside from her leg, of course. “Nothing but rising prices of various pharmaceuticals, most of which are produced by Belltech, and he’s done five million press conferences denying that it’s even happening. Pinning it on the board of directors every time.”

Xavier huffs. “That’s all I have too.” He pushes his glasses up his nose and runs a hand through his hair. “There has to be something else, some—some thread that we’re missing.”

“How long have we been doing this?”

Xavier glances at his watch. “Three hours.”

“Can we order pizza?”

“We just ordered pizza.”

“But Alan ate most of it.”

Alan looks up at the sound of his name, one of Jade’s sketchbooks held delicately in one hand and a pencil that looks absurdly tiny in comparison to him in the other. “Hm?”

“We don’t need more pizza,” Xavier sighs, turning back to his own laptop. “Is there anything you could possibly think of that we haven’t looked into about Belltech yet?”

“Any shady business deals?”

“Nothing.”

“Uh, company labour issues? Child labour, underpaid employees, shitty working conditions?”

“Every employee is over eighteen, and not only has fixed salaries but also benefits and paid vacation days.”

“Shit, that’s better than what we get,” Jade mutters. “Environmental issues? Like, causing deforestation for cheap resources, or some shit like that?”

“David Bell actively owns charities that contribute to wildlife conservation. And no environmental controversies, I’ve checked. ”

“He’s half brothers with the Whisperer. That anything?”

“He’s publicly denounced all the Whisperer’s actions and hasn’t had any documented communication with him since before the Whisperer even became the Whisperer.”

Jade slumps against Alan’s leg, listening to the skritching of his pencil on paper. “There has to be something, right? Anything.”

“If there is, we’re not good enough at this to figure it out.” Xavier takes off his glasses and runs a hand down his face. “Either this guy is really good at hiding shit, or he’s genuinely a CEO who’s just not guilty of anything.”

“No such thing. There has to be something. Something more than just rising pharmaceutical prices that he can pin on people that aren’t him.” She hesitates. “Do you think we should just... tell Tide? About all of it? It would probably guarantee they look into Belltech, and maybe they’ll find something so... you know, so the same thing doesn’t happen again?”

Xaiver looks up. A look of uncertainty passes over his face. “I mean, we could, but... it’s up to Alan.”

He turns his gaze to Alan. Jade does the same. Alan’s frozen in his seat, gripping the pencil in his hand tight enough that Jade is surprised it doesn’t snap.

Alan shakes his head and keeps drawing. Jade sighs and turns back to her computer. That’s what she thought his answer would be. Doesn’t make it less frustrating, but she gets the reasons for it. She’s scared of what might happen to Alan if they say anything, too, so... best course of action is to keep it under wraps.

Xavier takes a deep breath and turns back to his computer. “Okay. Let’s just... keep looking.”

Frustrated, Jade opens a new tab on her browser. She’s got three open right now, one to a search of “david bell,” another to “belltech controversy,” and a third to a game of Brick Breaker she keeps playing and losing at when she gets bored. Which is more often than she’d like to admit.

Tired of scrolling through interviews with David Bell, she opens a fourth tab and types in “supermax breakout.” Might as well look at something interesting if she’s going to be stuck here at her laptop until they find anything.

The first article that pops up is an interview with Harlem Shade, something about how he’s trying to track down Atlas. Jade skims through it, but it’s just Harlem answering the interviewer with short, clipped sentences, a good chunk of them being one word answers, and she loses interest fast. She clicks back and finds another article about how the Pretender they thought The Toad caught ended up being a fake, some kind of illusion Pretender cooked up. She could have seen that coming from a mile away. Whatever.

She keeps scrolling. There are reports with blurry photos of villains, but most of them are barebones stubs of articles, and there’s nothing new to see. She clicks to her Brick Breaker tab and plays a short game.

She loses pretty fast. She’s bad at this game.

Heaving another sigh, she clicks back to her Supermax breakout tab. There’s a reporter’s interview with Ms. G., but it’s full of so much blind optimism Jade wants to throw up. Ms. G. means well, but fuck, it’s annoying to read. She scrolls past it and looks for something interesting, updates on recently captured villains maybe.

There’s a brief article with an interview with Tide. It’s not much; it’s too short, and at first, she thinks it doesn’t have anything she doesn’t already know. He lost the Whisperer and Kota Kill, and that seems to be it, but then she sees something she didn’t know before.

There’s a third travelling with Kota Kill and the Whisperer. There’s a very blurry photo, probably taken from a civilian’s phone, of the Whisperer being dragged along by a guy with purple hair and pointed ears, holding a knife in one hand.

She scrolls down to keep reading. He’s a total unknown, no legal name, no villain name either. Reporters have taken to simply calling him Rogue for the sake of convenience, although some have called him Violet. That name hasn’t seemed to have stuck, but it’s floating around, and others have combined both names into Violet Rogue. Jade personally thinks it sounds stupid. Most people seem to be sticking with just Rogue.

She doesn’t know much about the Whisperer or Kota Kill, in all honesty. She’s never thought to look into them, or any other villains, really. She prefers to throw knives at them until they go down rather than research them.

But.. if she’s not finding anything useful on Belltech, maybe it would be worth it to look into some local villains at least. That way if she runs into them out on the field, she’ll be a bit more prepared. And hey, maybe Tide will let her and the other two help bring in the Whisperer, if the other heroes won’t help.

She opens another tab and looks up the Whisperer. She gets a whole slew of articles, so much it’s a little overwhelming, and she sorts them by date, looking for the earliest.

There are a lot detailing the Whisperer’s crimes: robberies, arson, mass murders, kidnappings, and the like. Almost every headline features Kota Kill’s name alongside his. She clicks on a few and skims through them, finding pictures of burning and collapsed buildings, streets with dead or injured bodies lining the sidewalks, action shots of the Whisperer and Kota Kill fighting heroes like Lightspeed, The Toad, and Wordsmith. Even one of them fighting Bacon Man, which seems to be one of the closest the two of them got to getting arrested before they were brought into Supermax a few months ago.

In every picture of the Whisperer, he’s wearing a cape with a hood, and under the hood is a wreath of wispy red fire that completely hides his face. Under it, he wears a dapper outfit of a red button-up, a black vest, and a tie. By contrast, Kota’s face isn’t covered in any of them. His outfits vary in every picture, but most of them consist of pants torn at the knee and bloody t-shirts and tank tops.

Jade skips through pages of articles. One the third page, she finally finds one on their arrest, the headline screaming in capital letters “KOTA KILL AND WHISPERER APPREHENDED BY PRIME FORCE: WHISPERER’S IDENTITY REVEALED.”

She clicks on it and the mugshot under the headline takes her by surprise. Just by looking at him, the Whisperer is young, probably around her age. He’s got black hair that looks like it had been neatly groomed once, but now it’s sticking up in a few places, dark curls falling over his face. His forelock consists of a big white streak that falls between his eyes, which are a brown so dark they’re almost black. He’s such a pale white, Jade almost expects to see his skeleton through his skin when she leans in to look closer. He grins, too wide, unsettling, as he holds up a sign that says “THE WHISPERER” on it.

Next to his mugshot is Kota Kill’s. She’s seen his face, he doesn’t even try to hide it, but it’s jarring to see it up close to a camera. His mouth seems to be stuck in a permanent animalistic snarl, red hair grown too long and tied back in a short ponytail, eyes wild, pupils constricted, teeth chipped. He’s got a dozen scars on his face alone, and Jade knows there are probably three times as many on the rest of his body. He holds a sign that says “KOTA KILL.”

She scrolls down to the meat of the article and begins to skim through it.

Earlier this week on August 12^th, 2144, the Prime Force apprehended villains Kota Kill and the Whisperer. While Kota Kill’s identity has been known since the day he set foot on the streets of Rockfall, the Whisperer had managed to keep his own identity a secret until his arrest. Seventeen-year-old William Wisp, or as he refers to himself, William Wight, directly requested his identity be revealed to the news despite legal identity protections he is entitled to as a criminal who is a minor. Wight turns eighteen in October, where he will then be retried for his crimes as an adult.

Jade scrolls down a little bit, skipping past a couple of old pictures of the Whisperer and Kota Kill wreaking havoc in New Haven. The worst parts of the photos are censored, blurred pixels covering bits of gore and blood that are scattered across the street, Kota Kill’s entire face blurred out as he has it buried in what might be the open chest cavity of an innocent victim. She grimaces and keeps reading.

William Wisp was reported dead by his parents early in the morning on November 1^st, 2142, after discovering their son’s body at the bottom of a cliff in their hometown of Deadwood. The body was taken in for an autopsy, and both coroners assigned to perform the procedure had reported that upon taking their eyes off the body for just a moment to retrieve their tools, they had turned around and found the cadaver gone. It had never been found, despite continued persistent searches for it over the next couple of months.

William Wight first appeared in his hometown of Deadwood months after Wisp’s apparent death, sporting dangerous powers the likes of which no one had seen before. Despite contacting survivors about the sheer chaos that erupted in Deadwood following his return, not a single one has described to the news exactly what happened that day, and it is unlikely they ever will. Deadwood and all of its survivors, including Wight’s parents, have since been quarantined off from the general public.

To this day, there is no explanation for the disappearance of William Wisp’s body and the apparent resurrection of it. Upon being questioned by our journalist on the matter a few days following his arrest, Wight simply laughed, and continued to laugh harder every time the question was repeated. Upon returning to the office, our journalist handed over her notes and declined to elaborate when questioned about her interview with Wight. Most of her notes are illegible.

When remotely contacted for questioning, Wight’s parents declined to comment on their son’s illegal activities. His half-brother, David Bell, CEO of Belltech, also declined to comment. 

Jade scrolls further down. Another picture of Kota Kill appears on her screen, half blurred out, as he has what looks like a disembodied arm in his mouth, crouching on the street, surrounding by a puddle of blood. The picture is slightly blurry even without the censors, as if it were taken by someone running away.

Dakota Damascus, otherwise known as Kota Kill, was reported missing by his legal guardian Alaska Damascus on January 15^th, 2143. In a drug induced haze, she reported to authorities that she hadn’t seen her nephew in three weeks. She was swiftly admitted to a hospital for a heroine overdose, and the search for her nephew began.

Nothing regarding Damascus’ whereabouts was found until April 23^th, 2143. Kota Kill made a rather explosive first impression on the villain scene, attacking a local small hero, Stilt Man, ripping Stilt Man’s left leg off, while the Whisperer set fire to the Rockfall Town Hall, killing seven people in the ensuing blaze. Stilt Man also later perished from his injuries. Both villains disappeared shortly after, seen next in the nearby city of New Haven, and they have been operating together in the general New Connecticut area ever since.

Alaska Damascus has not been able to be contacted about her nephew’s illegal activity.

Jade drums her fingers idly on her keyboard. It’s... interesting, she supposes. Not entirely helpful; doesn’t tell her anything about their powers or how to fight them. But it could be useful in the future, if she ever finds herself up against either of them.

She finds herself apprehensive about the fact that Tide wants to fight these two and bring them in. He sounded like he planned to do it alone if Wavelength couldn’t help, and Jade can’t help but think about the worst case scenario. She scrolls back up to the picture of Kota feasting on a dead body, William Wight hovering next to him with his cape flowing behind him.

She doesn’t want that body to be Tide.

She huffs. God, what is she thinking? She’s not supposed to be researching villains and trying to figure out how to fight them better. She’s not a hero. Herself and her sister are her first priorities, Xavier and Alan her second, and hero work as a way distant third.

Leaving the Whisperer for later, she scrolls all the way to the bottom of the article and starts looking through previews of other articles by the same news station. Some of them are villain related, but most of them are just reports on vehicle accidents and people who have gone missing, more mundane news in comparison to the capes running around their planet and wreaking havoc.

She clicks on one out of curiosity, a random article, something about a missing twenty-seven year old named Tanya Lee. She barely reads it, scrolling through with little care—she should play more Brick Breaker, she can totally beat her very low high score—but something catches her eye. She scrolls up to the top of the article.

It’s a picture of the missing lady. She’s dressed in a smart business suit, a pressed pencil skirt and a matching blazer, glasses perched on her nose. Around her neck is a lanyard with what looks like a company ID. A work photo, then.

Jade leans in closer, peering at the company ID card on her lanyard.

It’s a Belltech ID tag.

Interest piqued, she reads over the article in earnest, villains forgotten. The Whisperer and his lackeys can fucking wait.

The article is from 2129, five years ago. The lady was twenty eight, had dropped out of law school to pursue an office career at Belltech after applying for an internship position. The rest of the article is just about her family, friends, and where she’d last been seen before she went missing, but Jade already feels like she’s about to vibrate out of her skin.

It could be nothing. In fact, it very likely is. There’s probably no correlation here, and she’s just being hopeful.

But it could also be something.

She opens a new tab and looks up missing people. Of fucking course some of the biggest searches that come up are for William Wisp—he was a huge focus of the true crime community for about a year if Jade remembers correctly—so she heaves a sigh and filters out every possible mention of Wisp before she enters the search again. She also specifies “missing people freedom city” so she’s not getting people from across the country, or god forbid, in Deadwood. Freedom City is where Belltech’s main head office is, so it’s the best place to look.

She opens a notepad document and types in “Tanya Lee- Belltech intern, went to law school, went missing five months after hire date” and returns to her browser. She has a hunch. She’s almost giddy.

She clicks through articles, looks at names, skims through to look at their connections. People who went missing years ago, people who went missing over just the past few months—there are so many names, and while not all of them have any surface level connection to Belltech at all, there are a good handful who do, where Belltech is mentioned alongside their names as a career or a rival company or something along those lines, and she spends who knows how much time scrolling through names, searching for mentions of Belltech in every single article she comes across.

It's probably stupid. These are probably coincidences, there are people who have gone missing from dozens of companies all over the planet and that doesn’t mean that there’s anything suspicious about them, but there are details in each of them that stand out to her to the point where she’s certain this can’t be a coincidence.

Not all of the articles yield anything substantial, but the list on her notepad grows longer the more she looks. She sits back and looks over her progress, skipping back to her browser with the articles to verify she got everything right as she reads.

Tanya Lee- Belltech intern, went to law school, went missing five months after hire date

Robert Mulligan- Belltech head of finances, directed resources towards producing more antidepressants to keep up with demand and lower costs, worked for five years, missing six months after redirecting funds

Jennifer Black- Belltech security guard, quit job after two weeks and went missing three months later

Anika Shevchuk- board of directors of rival pharmaceutical company, worked for eleven years, went missing seven months after urging own company to produce insulin for cheaper

Gabby Lange- journalist interviewing former Belltech employees about previous working conditions, went missing one year after publishing articles

Gregory Johnson- former office worker for Belltech, interviewed by Lange, missing two months after quitting and one month after interview came out

Jade looks over her list. That’s not even all the names she looked at, but it’s the ones she can see that clearly have some connection to Belltech on the surface. There are probably tons more. None of them are officially dead, but none of them have reportedly been found, even years after they’ve gone missing.

She runs a hand through her hair. Holy shit. This all has to be something. The heroes can’t ignore this, right?

“X?” she says.

He glances up from his computer. “What’s up?”

She turns her laptop around. “Look.”

He squints. “Brick Breaker? Come on, we’re supposed to be researching. Wait, why is your high score so low?”

“No, shit, wrong tab.” She clicks over to her notepad. “Look. All missing people, all with connections to Belltech.”

He leans in and skims over the list. His eyes widen. “Holy shit. Jade, how did you find this?”

“Was looking up the Whisperer, got sidetracked, got a hunch and looked into it. But isn’t that fucking wild? This many people, all with some connection to Belltech, all missing just months after they did some shit that David Bell might not approve of. Quitting, interviewing people, changing the way they work, providing competition. There’s probably more. This has to be something!”

Xavier beams, bright and wide. “Jade, oh my god! We need to bring this to Tide, this has to be something! I could kiss you!”

“If you kiss me, I will throw up.”

Shoving his laptop aside, he grabs her face and plants a kiss on her forehead anyway. She makes a fake gagging noise in the back of her throat.

“Send me that list,” he says, settling back into his seat and grabbing his laptop. “We’ve got him, we’ve so fucking got him. Jade, you’re a genius!”

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.” She sends the list to Xavier, and then she looks back at Alan. “What do you got for us, buddy?”

Alan picks up the sketchbook he’s been using and turns it around. It’s a rather crude drawing, as clumsy as his hands are, but it’s clearly recognizable as an attempted drawing of Jade killing a lizard guy.

“Next time, Jade girl will get him,” he says, smiling.

“Hell yeah I will.” She shuts her laptop and begins to stand, grimacing at the pain in her leg. “Alright. Let’s call Tide. David Bell isn’t gonna know what fucking hit him when WATCH breaks down his door.”

Chapter Text

When Wavelength starts taking his costume off, he feels like he can finally breathe again.

In the back of the WATCH issued van the Prime Defenders team has access to, he starts unbuckling straps, stripping off pieces of armor and tossing them to the floor. The windows in the back are tinted, and there’s plenty of space to change costumes. The outside of the van is inconspicuous enough to be mistaken for a normal vehicle on the road. The only thing obvious about it is the driver.

“Tide, do you have to wear all that?”

Tide turns to look at him, wearing sunglasses, a fedora, a scarf up to his chin, and a horrible fake moustache. “What do you mean?”

Wavelength disconnects some thick electrical cords from the ports on his skin, wincing a little. “That disguise shit. You don’t need to do all that, sunglasses and a scarf would be fine.”

Tide scoffs, as if he’s being ridiculous. “I’m not risking people seeing Tide dropping off a civilian! People will connect the dots, Wavelength.”

“All of this makes you look more suspicious. Take off the moustache, its blond, it doesn’t look natural on you.”

“Tide does not have a blond moustache. No one will suspect it!”

“Tide, take the fuckin’ stache off.”

Tide sighs, but he takes the fake moustache off and tosses it into the backseat.

Wavelength shucks off his army green jacket so he can remove the metal plated armor beneath. He takes a deep breath in as soon as the chestplate is off. It doesn’t restrict his breathing that much—he made sure it wouldn’t hinder his movement enough to cause a disadvantage in battle—but it still weighs heavy on his shoulders, and it’s a relief to finally take it off.

His boots are the next to go, switching out the heavy steel-covered things for some normal runners, and then he removes the armor plating over his legs. Plates of metal pile up on the floor of the car, until finally he reaches up to remove his mask.

Mark Winters takes a deep breath, the first of the day to not be inhaled through a modified gas mask. When he speaks, his voice is no longer filtered through a voice modulator, still gruff and deep but lacking the electric buzz it had before.

“Think that asshole split my lip,” he grumbles, raising one hand to his mouth. Sure enough, his fingers come away bloody. How they managed to hit him hard enough to make his mask come loose and smash against his mouth, he doesn’t know.

“Did they knock out any teeth?” Tide asks.

Mark’s tongue probes around his mouth for a moment. “Nah.”

“Then you’re fine.”

Mark snorts. “Yeah, I’ve had worse beatdowns. From you, mostly.”

Tide barks out a laugh at that as Mark looks down at the mess of metal on the floor. He starts sorting through it, folding up the larger plates and shoving them into a duffel bag in the back of the car. It’s already pretty heavy when it’s on his body, but all gathered together? He’s had to work to be able to drag that bag into the house and take it downstairs.

“How are you feeling?” Tide asks.

“Like some fucking lizard kid tried to beat my face in.”

“Well, that goes without saying.”

He turns the car down another street. They’re nearing Mark’s house.

“Do you think they were?” Tide asks. “A kid, I mean.”

Mark shrugs. He cracks open a first aid kit and grabs some gauze to press to his mouth. “Maybe. I don’t know. They definitely didn’t hit like a kid, that’s for fucking sure.”

“Did you manage to retrieve any of the technology they were using?”

“Well, I got those shock chips they planted on the kids, and after they ran off I snagged one of the turrets.” He leans down to reach into the recesses of his coat and pulls out what looks like a long tube with a clawed stand sticking out of the side, wires dangling out of one end. One of the thicker cords hanging out the back is cut.

“It is your tech?”

“I mean, I deactivated it the same way I used to with mine. Looks the same, shuts down the same—doesn’t activate the same, mine were motion activated and programmed to shoot at anything that wasn’t me. This guy either stole ‘em, reprogrammed ‘em, and hooked them up to something they had on them, or studied all my tech and managed to make a near perfect recreation.”

“Crazy fan, you think?”

“Maybe. Don’t have a lot of those out there.”

“Well, they’re part of the package.”

“Tide, I’m a D-lister, I don’t have fans. This? This is new. Only reason I have any fans, crazy or not, is because I work with you.”

“No, no, I’d say you’re B-list, at least.”

Mark scoffs. “Yeah, sure.” He turns the turret over in his hands. It’s lightweight, made for quick movement, not meant for heavy missiles. He had others for harpoons and bombs. This one had fired small darts, tranquilizers maybe, but they didn’t pierce through any of his thick armor. Rookie mistake.

Or maybe they weren’t trying to hurt him. If they’re a fan, they probably wouldn’t want him dead. They definitely went easier on him than they did on the kids, at least from what he heard.

Tide pulls into the driveway of Mark’s house. The Prius isn’t here. Ashe must still be at work then.

Tide parks. He twists around to look at Mark. “You’ll be alright?”

Mark nods. “Been through worse.”

“Good. Rest up. And don’t forget to write a report for WATCH about that villain!”

Mark shoulders the bag with his stuff. “Yeah, yeah. Go check on the brats, will ya?”

“I’ll tell them you called them that.”

“No you won’t.”

Tide smiles, and Mark has to force his own face to stay neutral by biting his lip. The one that’s currently bleeding. Ow.

Mark reaches up to the front seat and cuffs Tide round the head, not hard, but enough to knock off the fedora. “See ya tomorrow.”

“Hey!” Tide scrambles to pick up the hat again and jams it on his head. “My disguise!”

Mark laughs as he opens the back door to the van and hops out. He waves at Tide, who shoots him a half-hearted glare but waves anyway, and then Tide is pulling out of the driveway and zipping back down the streets of New Haven.

Mark walks up the steps of his house. The third step creaks under his weight, always has, but he’s never taken the time to fix it. Besides, it’s a good anti-intruder measure. Ashe and Tide always step over it, so if someone who isn’t them comes up to the door, Mark can tell.

He unlocks the door and steps into the entryway. Ashe’s jackets hang from the open closet, denim and canvas and leather, all with various homemade patches of bands and shows and video games Ashe likes. Mark’s only got a few coats in comparison. One of them has a small subtle patch with Vanessa Carlton lyrics on the inside of the elbow, hard to see. Ashe made it for him years ago, back when he was first getting into making patches, and Mark never had to heart to tell him he didn’t want anything on his jacket.

He toes off his runners and dumps his bag in the closet for now. No point moving it downstairs when he’ll need to put it all on again tomorrow.

He walks into the kitchen—seldom used for actual cooking, he really should learn more recipes, but he’s got a million and a half things going on. Right now, all he wants to do is sit down with some takeout and write a quick report on that new villain for WATCH. Well, he could do without writing the report, but better to get it done sooner rather than later.

As he’s putting in an online order for Chinese takeout, he hears the sound of the Prius driving down the street and pulling into the driveway. He hears Ashe’s heavy combat boots clomping up the stairs—skipping over the third step—and then the sound of the door opening, Ashe tossing his boots onto the shoe rack, padding down the hallway in sock feet, and then the kitchen door opens.

“Hey kid,” Mark says as Ashe walks in. “You want fortune cookies with your takeout?”

Ashe snorts as he collapses into a stool at the kitchen counter. “No, they’re gross.”

“I’m gettin’ fortune cookies.”

Ashe rolls his eyes. He digs into the pocket of his long green cardigan to pull out his phone. He never seems to take that cardigan off nowadays, even when it’s hot out. It goes down to his mid shin. How he hasn’t overheated by now is anyone’s guess.

Ashe tugs his beanie down over his forehead. His long silver hair covers the entire left side of his face. “How was work?”

“Got my ass kicked.”

Ashe’s gaze flickers up to Mark’s face. “Yeah, I can tell.”

Mark grabs a tissue from a box on the counter and holds it to his lip. It’s not bleeding as much now. He keeps it there just to make sure.

“Who was it?” Ashe asks. He only seems to half care about whatever Mark’s answer will be, scrolling through his phone and not even looking up.

“Some new villain. Henchman for whoever’s on Harttawa, probably.”

Ashe hums, disinterested. “Powers?”

“Dunno. They got this lizard thing goin’ on. A tail and a weird eye and shit. They’re fuckin’ fast too, but not in a super way, so I don’t know if I’d count that as a power.”

Ashe tugs on the hair dangling in front of his face, twirling it between his fingers. “Weird.”

Mark runs his tongue over his lip, still tasting a bit of blood, but its good enough. He tosses the tissue in the garbage. “Yeah. Looks like they stole some of my old tech, too. Old villain shit.”

Ashe furrows his brow. “How do you know they didn’t just make it based off of yours?”

“Because I’ve got a way to shut it off. Fingerprint deactivated, but the print scanner’s hidden.”

Ashe’s eye widens a little at that. “Oh. And it worked? Shutting it off?”

“Yeah. Managed to get my hands on one of the turrets, but the rest were firing so fast I couldn’t get close. Guy knocked me down and ran away before I could do anything.” Mark huffs. “Tide thinks it’s a crazed fan. That’d be a fuckin’ first for me.”

Ashe nods slowly. “You’re gonna study the tech you got from them?” He seems a bit more interested in the conversation now, looking up from his phone.

“Yeah, I’ll see what they did to it. They definitely altered it somehow.” Mark runs a hand down his face. “I gotta fuckin’ write a report on this for WATCH. With the Supermax breakout, new villains are important to keep track of.”

Ashe shrugs, looking back down at his phone. “How do you know it’s a new one? Could be an old D-lister taking a new identity. Maybe it’s someone who was in Supermax?”

Mark shakes his head. “Nah, the breakout happened after the kids went to Harttawa. No way someone could have broken out alone quick enough to get there.”

Ashe hums. He turns back to his phone.

Mark leans against the kitchen counter. “How was work at the library?”

“Hm?” Ashe glances up. “It was okay. Nothing new.”

“Really? Thought people would be on edge with the Supermax breakout.”

Ashe gives him a one-shouldered shrug. “Kinda, yeah, but most people don’t care. Trusting the heroes to take care of it, you know.”

Mark nods. He does know, all too well.

The third step creaks outside. Mark looks up just as the doorbell rings.

“That’s dinner.” He moves to grab his wallet from his pocket, but Ashe is standing up quick, scrambling for his own.

“Kid, you’re not paying,” Mark says.

“I got paid today, let me,” Ashe insists, looking up at Mark with pleading eyes—well, eye. The other one is still hidden under his hair. “That’s the whole reason I got this job, so I can help pay for stuff sometimes.”

Mark sighs. “Ashe—”

The kid darts for the door and is running down the hallway before Mark can say another word.

He hears Ashe open the door and exchange a couple words with the delivery guy, and then he hears the beep of the debit machine. Fuck. He shouldn’t be letting his fucking kid pay for shit.

He sits down in the chair Ashe had been occupying. Times like this he wonders why he didn’t stay in the villain biz. The paycheque certainly would have been better.

Ashe shoulders open the kitchen door, carrying boxes of takeout. He sets them down on the kitchen counter and takes the spot Mark was standing in, popping a box open and grabbing a fork from the utensil drawer.

“You should be saving that money for college,” Mark says as Ashe passes him the fork.

Ashe shrugs. “I’ve got savings, it’s fine.” He opens the little packet of chopsticks that came with the food and starts scooping noodles into his mouth.

Mark twirls his own food around his fork like spaghetti. He never learned how to use chopsticks, and he doesn’t really have the time to learn now. “But you shouldn’t—”

“Dad, I want to help,” Ashe says firmly, looking up at him. “The library pays well. I can afford to pay for takeout every once in a while, okay? I want to. Besides, you… you got the shit kicked out of you today. I can’t help you with that, but I can pay for dinner.”

Mark meets Ashe’s gaze. He looks back at Mark, jaw set, visible eye slightly narrowed, strong, defiant.

Fuck, he looks so much like his mother.

Mark sighs. “Fine. Just for tonight though, okay? I don’t want you spending too much.”

“Fine.” Ashe looks down at his phone as he keeps eating. The conversation is over, evidently.

They eat in silence.

Mark eats about half of his takeout. Once he decides he’s done, he closes up the box and sticks it in the fridge for later, and then he leaves the kitchen, leaving Ashe to scroll on his phone alone.

Out in the entryway, Mark unzips his bag and grabs the turret from the mess of metal armor. He carries it to the laundry room and pushes the washing machine aside, presses a button on the wall, and waits as a section of the wall opens up to a staircase leading downstairs. He presses his thumb to a small scanner on the wall, deactivating all the hidden traps in the stairwell, and he makes his way down. When he reaches the bottom, he flicks on the light switch.

The basement has been converted to a lair of sorts. There’s a work table in one corner with a half finished metal suit on its surface. A couple masks hang on the wall, old gas masks altered to look scarier and disguise his voice—old villain masks, retired to nothing but decoration, old reminders. There’s a workbench in another corner, mostly clear, and another desk with a laptop perched on its surface. A couple chairs are scattered around the room. Against the wall is a flat of Recharge Energy, a couple of cans missing from the package.

He sits down on one of the chairs and rolls over to his clear workbench, tossing the turret on its surface. He digs into his pocket and pulls out the discs that had been stuck on X and Cantrip. There are supposed to be three in total, but he only finds two in his pocket. Must have forgotten one at the base. Whatever, he can find it tomorrow, and he can work with two for now.

The first thing he does is look over everything for fingerprints. He’s pretty sure this villain is already experienced enough to know not to leave prints on their tech, and he’s proven right when dusting all the devices comes up with nothing. Still, couldn’t hurt to check. Never know when a rookie villain will slip up and make a mistake like that.

Since he’s not in danger of covering any fingerprints, he picks up one of the small discs with his bare hands, turning it over in his fingers. Its small, compact, not something he ever used. They must have made it themself. He reaches into a toolbox on the workbench and takes out a tiny screwdriver. There’s a seam around the circumference of each disc, and it doesn’t take much to stick the flat blade in and pry it open.

The wiring inside is impressive. Oddly neat for someone so new. Background in technical work maybe? He carefully maneuvers the wires around, taking a look at the circuit board, looking at what wires go where. He’ll give them props for the effort. And the creativity. They’re neat little gadgets, well made.

He sets them aside for later. He’s more interested in the turret and what alterations they made to it to make it their own.

He starts taking it apart, unscrewing things and prying off pieces he’s already very familiar with. It’s muscle memory that guides his hands, despite the gap of years between him making this thing and taking it apart. His hands remember what goes where and what disconnects from what. Disassembling it is easy, second nature.

With the turret in pieces on his table, he sets about examining it, seeing what’s been altered. They’ve definitely fucked with the wiring a little, and the circuit boards have been completely replaced, but for the most part, it’s still the same thing. He’s certain it’s been reprogrammed, but delving into that will take some time.

He hears the door to the basement open, followed by footsteps making their way down the steps. He doesn’t look up as he hears Ashe grab a can of Recharge and crack it open, then pull another chair over to the workbench and collapse in it. Ashe spins in his chair, idly sipping from his Recharge while Mark disassembles the turret.

Without looking up, Mark asks “Can you get me my Philips-head?”

Ashe reaches into the toolbox and brings out a screwdriver, holding it out to Mark. Mark mumbles a quick thanks and removes a panel on the side of the turret.

“Find anything?” Ashe asks.

“Not much.” Mark spills the turret’s guts across the table. “The wiring’s neat. They’ve done it before, or at least watched someone do it before.”

Ashe hums, scrolling through his phone again, only half listening. He offers his Recharge to Mark. Mark takes the can, downs a swig, and hands it back to Ashe.

“Won’t have much time to look at it tonight anyway,” Mark grumbles. “Still gotta write that report for WATCH.”

Ashe doesn’t even respond, to engrossed in whatever his phone is showing him to engage in conversation. Mark eventually pushes the turret aside for later and rolls over to the desk in the corner with his laptop, flipping it open and opening up a document to start writing out a report. Ashe rolls over to the flats of Recharge and grabs two cans, cracking open a new one for himself and setting the second one on Mark’s desk. Mark opens it and takes a sip before turning back to his computer.

He’s so engrossed in his work, he barely notices when Ashe goes back upstairs.

Chapter Text

Virion doesn’t know exactly how long it takes, but eventually he hears footsteps coming up the stairs. He glances at the doorway, brief, dagger in hand, and nearly jumps out of his skin.

He thinks it’s Wight standing there, but his face is wreathed in flickering red wispy flames. A cape rests around his shoulders, the collar of it shaped like a W, with two points that rest on either side of the black tie that’s been tied around his neck. The hood of the cape is up, and he reaches to tug it down, the flames disappearing, revealing Wight’s perpetually grinning face.

“It’s been hours,” Virion says, a little annoyed.

“My apologies,” Wight says in a way that might be sarcastic, might not, Virion isn’t sure. “I was preoccupied.”

“With what? Who?”

“Just a friend. Even Kota doesn’t know, so I don’t see why you should either.”

Virion grimaces, but he nods, conceding. If Wight’s longest companion doesn’t get to know, it makes sense Virion wouldn’t get to either. Besides, he’s got something a bit more important to ask him about right now.

“Hey, by the way.” Virion gestures to Kota sleeping on the floor, keeping his voice down so he doesn’t wake him. “What is this?”

Wight looks down at Kota, then back up at Virion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, why is he sleeping on the floor? I told him he can sleep on the bed, but he refused.”

Wight sighs. “Look—”

“Also, when I took those cuffs off him, he started asking what he should do for me in return, like he fucking owed me, or something. What’s up with that?”

Wight’s eyes widen a touch. “You managed to take them off?”

“Yeah!” Virion stands, grip tight on his dagger. He’s not going to start a fight here, not now, he can’t, he’s at a huge disadvantage, but... “If you’re the reason he’s like this, if you make him sleep on the floor—”

“Stop,” Wight says, holding up a hand. His smile falls. “I don’t make him do anything. If I tell him to do something, it’s his own choice to do it. There’s no punishment for disobeying, only rewards for obeying. That’s all.” He scoffs. “Come on, pretty boy, I may be a villain, but I’m not a monster.”

Virion wrinkles his nose. He doesn’t like any of that, still. Hates it, actually. Like Kota is a pet to be trained, or some shit. But... maybe that’s what Kota prefers? Wight was nice-ish to him earlier, helping him into the flying car, reassuring him when he seemed genuinely troubled about the whole thing. It’s hard to imagine him being an asshole to Kota... like, at all.

“Besides,” Wight continues, “I’ve tried to get him to sleep on the bed, but he only sleeps there if I’m in it and he’s sleeping at my feet. Otherwise, he seems to prefer the floor.” He glances back at Kota. “I’m actually rather surprised you managed to get those cuffs off him. I assumed he would find a way to do it himself if they were truly bothering him.”

Virion looks down at the manacles on the floor. His anger is... fading, but not gone. “I think he tried. His ankles are bloody.”

Wight’s gaze flickers to Kota’s feet. “Ah. I see. And he insisted he do something for you in exchange?”

Virion nods, sheathing his knife but keeping his hand on the hilt. He’s less on edge now that he knows Wight isn’t deliberately mistreating Kota, even if he still finds this whole dynamic a bit—weird. Unsavoury. “Yeah. I told him to take a nap. He looked tired.”

Wight hums. “Good idea. He didn’t sleep last night, and he likely won’t tonight.”

“So... why is he like this? Do you know?”

Wight shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine. Really, I know as much as the public does—fell off a building, nearly died, stayed in a hospital for three months and came out with superstrength and a broken mind—but I don’t know what happened in that hospital to make him this way. I don’t think I’ll ever know.”

Virion sits back down on the bed, staring at Kota’s twitching form. “What was he like when you met him?”

Wight shrugs. “Found him in an alleyway in a hospital gown that was mostly tatters, scratching at stitches on his chest and crying about wanting to get something out of him. I’ve no clue where he came from or how he got where he was.”

“Where... did you find him?”

“Somewhere in New Haven. I was... rather new to the villain scene myself, about five months of it under my belt at the time. Thought having a sidekick might be useful, so I started feeding him. Giving him things so he wouldn’t starve.” He smiles a little, as if thinking of a fond memory. “Eventually, I came out to see him, but instead of feeding him right away, I pointed at someone on the street and told him to attack. He simply did as he was told. Following that, I decided to keep him.”

Virion hesitates. “So... what, he’s just a—a pet to you? An attack dog?”

Wight’s face falls, mouth curling into a sneer, and Virion gets the sudden feeling that he just made a very large blunder with his wording. “He is not a pet,” Wight spits, as though the word tastes sour on his tongue. “He is more than that, and I’ll thank you to respect it.”

Virion gives Wight a once-over. Despite his skinny frame and weak stature, he exudes danger, like a brightly coloured poisonous frog—touch me and you die. He looks like he would rip Virion’s head off if he had the physical capability, and he might try to anyway.

Virion nods once, sharp and curt. “Alright. Not a pet. What is he to you, then?”

“He is mine,” Wight says, as if the answer should be obvious. “And I’m his. Is that not enough?”

Virion isn’t quite sure what that means, exactly, but he nods. “Okay. You’re... each other’s.” He glances at Kota. “What am I, then?”

Wight studies him, unblinking, deathly still. “I don’t know yet,” he admits. He looks Virion up and down. “You’re not mine. Not yet.”

Virion swallows. He feels almost... nervous? Something about the look in Wight’s eyes is... he’s not sure. “Do you... want me to be?”

Wight smiles, wide, excited. “Do you want to be?”

Virion hesitates. Every instinct in him screams no, and so does Ram’s presence, lingering in the back of his head, roused by the topic of discussion and getting nervous, protective. Virion shoves him back as best he can.

“I don’t know yet,” Virion echoes.

Wight chuckles lowly, his eyes flashing a bright glowing red, almost threatening. Something about it is weirdly enticing—terrifying, but the prospect of being caught up in the danger is... exciting. “I suppose we’ll have to wait and see, won’t we, pretty boy?”

A shiver runs down Virion’s spine. “Maybe.” He furrows his brow—he should change the subject, he doesn’t need to be thinking about what dangerous plan Wight has for him right now. “You’re... talking differently.”

Wight tilts his head. “What might you mean?”

“That, I mean that. You’re wording your sentences differently now. Like, more formally. Why?”

Wight’s smile appears again. “My apologies, my friend must have rubbed off on me a little. It’s been months since I’ve seen him. Habit, you know?”

Virion watches as Wight straightens his cape. “Yeah. Sure.” That’s—weird. Really weird. He’s going to have to ask about Wight’s friend at some point, grill him for details, but... later. He’s already pushed Wight for one thing. Better not to risk doing it again. “So, what now? What’s the next step of your grand plan?”

“Well, are you hungry?”

Virion shrugs. “Been snacking on the things Kota brought in the backpack.”

“Perfect. Kota will feed when we’re out this afternoon, anyway.”

“What about you?”

Wight shrugs. “Don’t need to. Not as much as I used to, at least.”

“Why?”

Wight waves a hand dismissively. “Nothing Kota knows, so you’re not privy to it. Regardless, I do actually have plans to sow some chaos, if you’re interested.”

He gives Virion a crooked smile, and Virion knows he can’t say no. At least not without breaking their deal, and then Wight might just possess him to do it anyway.

Virion nods once. “Give me the rundown.”

Wight smiles even wider somehow. He whistles, loud and sharp. “Kota!”

Kota scrambles upright, eyes wide, breathing heavily. He glances around, startled, like he’s ready to be attacked from any angle. His eyes settle on Wight and Virion and he relaxes a miniscule amount.

“I hope you had a good nap,” Wight says. “Are you hungry?”

Kota’s eyes light up. He nods frantically.

Wight puts his hood back up, and his head is wreathed in flames once again, flickering to life along his neck and spreading up to his forehead. “Then both of you should get ready. We’re about to be on the news.”

***

As Virion follows the Whisperer through the streets, he can’t help but admit that there’s something vaguely appealing about the whole supervillain thing.

Not that he wants to be out here, armed and dangerous, prepared to attack, to hurt people, but there is a sort of power that comes with following the Whisperer as he strides down the middle of the street like he owns the city, hands folded behind his back, shoulders straight. Kota walks on his right, Virion on his left.

They were both told to get ready before they left, and for Kota, that apparently consisted of putting on a bright red dog collar, like he really is a pet, something to be controlled, despite Wight’s insistence that he isn’t one. There’s no leash connected to it, but Virion wouldn’t have been surprised if Kota had procured one out of nowhere, connected it to the collar himself, and handed the other end to Wight. He’s forgone the prison jumpsuit for simple sweatpants, and his feet and hands are wrapped in athletic tape. His hair is wild and loose, framing his face in red snarls and knots.

Virion, by contrast, looks a little more put together, or at least he likes to hope he does. All he really has to work with are the clothes Kota brought him, but he managed to fashion a black mask out of the undershirt he wore under his prison jumpsuit, just something to hide half his face so he can still hopefully still go out in public after this. The purple hoodie is tied around his waist, and he’s twisted his hair into a simple updo and pinned it in place. He’s very glad the prison didn’t throw out his hair pin; it’s his mothers, and they already probably destroyed all of her rings he’d been wearing that they confiscated.

As he walks at Wight’s side, a little behind him to let Wight lead the pack, he admits there is certainly something powerful about walking alongside someone he knows is strong and smart, someone who can and will enact a scene of controlled chaos perfectly to plan, and has backup plans upon backup plans to account for every possibility. He feels... strong. Capable. No one will step forward to fuck with him, and if they do, he has full permission to fight and overpower them, just because he can.

Wight hadn’t told Virion and Kota everything about his plans, but he told them enough, and Virion will have to accept a half explanation for now. He assumes that’s the way he works with Kota, and if Virion’s on the same level as Kota, it makes sense that he would be treated much the same. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t bother him, though.

They don’t run, they just casually stroll through the streets, and every time Virion looks at someone, he can feel the fear emanating off them as they skitter away and hide or use those small light boxes—phones—to call what he assumes is the police. Virion’s not sure why Wight wants to do it this way, all out in the open and obvious, but he’s trusting the process. For now, at least.

Looking at the fear in people’s eyes, though, does add a sense of sourness to the power he feels. The Greats are heroes, and they stir inside him, disgusted with themselves that the type of people they would typically task themselves with protecting are now scared of them. Virion shares the sentiment a little bit; he wanted to be a hero, just like his father before everything went down. He was supposed to inherit the adventuring guild after his father retired, go around protecting the people of Fauna. The... adventuring guild, he could have done without, but the heroism—he could have run off, become a rogue hero on his own, without his parents overlooking his every move...

He shoves those thoughts aside. There’s no point chasing that dream, not now. His father turned out to be a traitor, and Virion isn’t even in Fauna right now. If he can’t find his way back home, there’s no point in even thinking about his father or his legacy or any wayward independent dreams of being a hero or any of it.

He will find a way home, though. He has to.

For now, he has no choice but to play the villain.

He hears the sound of those police cars in the distance, those sirens. Wight doesn’t appear worried, though. Virion tries to mirror his demeanour.

Cars begin to appear at the end of the street, and Virion hears them behind them, too, sirens wailing through the air. Wight stops, and Virion and Kota stop with him, still positioned a little bit behind him to keep him at the front of the group. Civilians are flooding out of the area, nearly trampling each other in their haste, people climbing out of their still running cars to run away from the Whisperer.

He glances behind them. Police cars have blocked off the other end of the street. It’s only a matter of time before more police officers flood in to block off alleyways, closing them in. Officers step out of their cars, carrying guns and batons.

The officers begin shouting, all of them at once, drawing weapons and pointing them at the three of them. Virion rests his hand on his knife, adrenaline already thrumming through his veins.

Small red wisps flicker to life in front of Wight. They zip out in a circle, heading right for some of the police both in front of and behind them, and Wight lets out a sharp whistle at the same time.

At the sound of it, Kota lunges for the nearest police officer, snarling like an animal. Virion darts off the other way, going for another cop that’s close by. They shoot at him in a panic, and the shot goes wide, not even anywhere close to hitting him. He tackles the officer, throwing all his body weight behind it, and the officer goes down with a frightened yell.

He plants himself on the officer’s chest, driving his knee into their sternum. He presses his knife against the hollow of their throat. They scramble for something at their belt, and he presses the knife in harder, drawing just the smallest bit of blood.

“You move, and you’re dead,” Virion hisses.

They whimper and give a quick nod, as best they can with the knife at their neck. Virion glances back at Wight to see how he’s doing.

The officers that were hit by the wisps all stand with their eyes glowing red, guns pointed at their own comrades. A couple of gunshots ring out from the group of cops behind them that Virion can’t see from this angle. Someone screams. He can’t tell if someone was shot, or if it was just to illicit fear.

Something twists in his gut—disgust. Not his, although he’s certainly not overjoyed about terrifying people like this—it’s Ram’s. Of fucking course.

He ignores it in favour of tightening the grip on his knife and trying to desperately push Ram away from the front of his head. No way he’s letting Ram out, not now, no matter how much he yells at Virion for doing this.

Wight throws his head back, and the laugh that comes out is chilling, haunting in a way he’d never thought a laugh could sound. It’s loud, unabashed, and delighted, cackling at the expense of the officers trembling as their possessed friends turn weapons on them, as Kota rips into his own captive’s throat with his teeth and starts chewing on the meat, ripping out tendons and swallowing as they choke on their own blood.

Virion was not informed that letting Kota “feed” would involve that.

Something in him starts to feel a little sick. He’s not sure if it’s himself or Ram feeling that way. He’s not sure he wants to know.

Wight spreads his arms, showing off the chaos he’s caused, like an artist displaying their work. “Tide!” he yells, his voice echoing in a way that Virion didn’t think was possible. “You want a rematch? You have five minutes to get here, or your beloved police force will begin picking each other off one by one for every minute you don’t show! You’d better bring your boytoy with you, and all the firepower you can get, because Kota’s eager to play with you again, and this time I won’t stop him!”

Chapter Text

When Jade calls Tide, she’s practically giddy. Finally, finally something they can use against that slimeball who owns Belltech. They’ve been wanting to get back at him for so long now. Sure, it’s just a theory, but if they can look into this properly with WATCH’s resources, they might finally have what they need in order to take him down.  

The phone only rings once before Tide picks up. “Cantrip? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” His voice sounds frantic, almost panicked.

“Uh, no, we’re okay.” She looks up at Xavier, who just shrugs. “You’re on speaker, by the way. We spent a little while researching Belltech, and—”

“I’m very sorry, Jade, I don’t have the time.” He sounds out of breath, breathing heavily into the receiver. “The Whisperer’s been spotted in Rockfall and all of the police on scene are either incapacitated or taken hostage.”

Jade’s eyes widen, all current thoughts of Belltech flitting from her mind. “What? Where’s Wavelength?”

“An hour away in New Haven. None of the other WATCH heroes can get on scene in time. I have to go, I’m sorry, Jade.”

“Wait—”

The line goes dead. Jade and Xavier exchange a glance.

Xavier stands up from where he was sitting on Jade’s floor with his laptop in front of him. “Gear up,” he says.

“Tide’s not gonna want us helping,” Jade says, but she’s already grabbing her Kevlar vest from her floor and strapping it on.

“There are no heroes out here in Rockfall, and Tide’s going to need backup.” Xavier whips off his glasses and starts wrestling his shirt off, walking across the hall to his own room. “Even if we can do something, save one person, then at least we’ll have done something right after fucking up our first mission.”

Jade nods sharply. She starts strapping knives to her thighs, grimacing through the pain as she tightens a sheathe over the injury in her thigh. She reaches into her nightstand and grabs some painkillers, popping a couple into her mouth and swallowing them dry. Hopefully that’ll keep the pain manageable. She’s not sitting by while Tide gets his ass kicked by the Whisperer.

She gears up in record time, throwing on her cloak that covers her hair and slipping her mask on over her lower face. As an afterthought, she slips an earpiece into her ear so she can keep in contact with the other two. Xavier and Alan are already waiting for her when she leaves her room. Xavier extends a hand and she takes it without a word, letting him support some of her weight as she limps along down the hallway to the elevator.

“What’s the plan when we get there?” Jade asks once they’re in the elevator.

Xavier jabs the button for the top floor to the warehouse. “Fuck shit up, don’t die.”

Jade scoffs. “Good plan.”

“What, you think you can do better?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of killing the Whisperer, but—”

“We don’t even know if he can die,” Xavier argues. The elevator doors open. “You know the rumours.”

“Can’t hurt to try.”

“It can, actually, he can kill all of us before we even get close. Besides, heroes aren’t supposed to kill people.” He doesn’t sound happy about it.

Jade rolls her eyes, but if she presses the issue, it’ll lead to a fight they don’t have the time for. She beelines for her motorbike near the entrance of the warehouse—oilslick black, covered in stickers she plastered on herself, the WATCH logo scratched off and painted over with the word “CANTRIP” in purple. She swings her leg over it, gritting her teeth through the pain.

“I’ll get there first,” she says. “I’m faster than you.”

“Don’t jump in until we get there,” Xavier says, shoving an earpiece into his ear. “Keep us in the loop when you get there, and don’t do anything reckless.”

“What if the situation’s drastic?” she asks. “Like, Tide’s about to die?”

He hesitates, then shrugs. “I can’t stop you.”

She nods. Not approval, but she knows if Tide’s life was on the line, he’d rush in solo too. Can’t judge her for something he wouldn’t do any differently.

She revs the bike to life, and she’s zipping out into the streets, cloak billowing behind her.

“They should be in the town square,” Xavier’s voice says through her earpiece, faint and crackly from static. “Want me to send you the location on your GPS?”

“Sure. Got any eyes on the scene through the news yet?”

“A couple. Listening to a broadcast right now, want me to hook it up so you can listen?”

“Please.”

Her earpiece crackles, and then a news reporter’s voice comes through the speaker. “—where we have my partner Dave on scene, watching the hero Tide standing off against the Whisperer. I’m telling you, Dave, this is no Locust Man type villain we’re dealing with here.”

“Sure isn’t, Sharon,” says another reporter’s voice. “The Whisperer and Kota Kill were in Supermax for a reason, and being down here seeing it, I can certainly understand why. The police barricade is broken, most of the officers having been possessed and forced to turn on their allies. The Whisperer appears to be...”

The reporter falls silent. A chilling laughter rings through her earpiece, a sound that makes her shudder.

“Tide!” shouts a voice, somewhat distant, but clear all the same. “You want a rematch? You have five minutes to get here, or your beloved police force will begin picking each other off one by one for every minute you don’t show! You’d better bring your boytoy with you, and all the firepower you can get, because Kota’s eager to play with you again, and this time I won’t stop him!”

“Did you catch that, Sharon?” the reporter asks, his voice low.

“We sure did, Dave. I’m starting to think maybe you should get out of there and come back to the studio, especially if the police barricade is broken.”

The other reporter lets out a nervous, shaky laugh. “I’m starting to think that too, Sharon. This doesn’t seem like the kind of place—uh—shit, shit, shit—”

The broadcast crackles for a good few seconds. “Dave?” Sharon says, concern in her voice.

Cantrip sighs. “I don’t wanna hear this,” she says, swerving around cars on the street.

The earpiece crackles again, and Xavier’s voice comes through. “Four casualties so far, I think. A cop Kota Kill got his hands on, two cops who were shot by their possessed allies, and it looks like Kota attacked a bystander who was too slow to get out of the crossfire.” He snorts. “Could have been that reporter.”

Jade sighs. “Journalists.”

“Hey, they’re keeping us updated.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that they’re fucking stupid.”

“I’m trying to look for more updates, but most of them are a few minutes behind. How close are you?”

“I don’t know, I think I’m almost there. I see police lights up ahead.”

“Good. Remember, don’t engage.” He pauses. “Unless you have to.”

She nods. “Got it. Catch you when you get here.”

“Stay safe. You’re the only Cantrip we’ve got.”

She doesn’t respond to that. She takes the earpiece out and shoves it in her pocket, hunches over her handlebars, and slams on the gas.

People come into view on the street far ahead of her and she slows to a stop, surveying the scene. She sees cops, pointing their guns at their allies, cop cars empty but still running behind them, blue and red lights spinning. She parks her bike in the middle of the street, a decent ways away from the circle of cop cars that hide her view of whatever’s going on in the town square.

Grimacing through the pain in her leg, she darts into a nearby alleyway and makes her way closer to the scene, hiding in the shadows. She keeps one hand on a knife at her hip as she gets closer. It doesn’t sound like anyone’s fighting, at least not yet, but if she strains her hearing, she does hear... a weird wet squelching. Eugh.

The Whisperer’s voice, however, is clear as day. She darts out of an alleyway and crouches behind a cop car, peeking past it to try seeing what’s going on.

The Whisperer paces back and forth across the street with long, even strides, hands behind his back. His long cape brushes against the ground, red wispy flames licking at his hood, hiding his face. At the other side of the street is a figure hunched over something, but it’s hard to see from this angle. She can’t see much with the cop cars and various police officers in the way.

“You know, I didn’t think you would show,” the Whisperer says as he paces, voice loud, letting it carry across the town square. “It had been so long since I put out my message, I was about to start...” He makes a finger gun and mimes shooting it at one of the cops that isn’t possessed, making a pchew sound with his mouth as he does. The cop flinches and lets out a pathetic sound.

“It’s a good thing I showed when I did, then,” comes Tide’s voice, and Jade can’t see him through the throng of cops, but she recognizes the firm determination in his voice. She’s heard it enough times when she’s gotten herself in trouble and he’s had to come and bail her out. Metaphorically, of course. Not literally. Miss G already did that once.

The Whisperer cackles. “It certainly is! Why, so many of these people are just itching to open fire on their friends! Really, it’s doing them a disservice holding them back.”

Tide’s breath catches. “Whisperer—”

“No, really!” the Whisperer interrupts, pausing in his pacing to whirl on Tide, sounding absolutely delighted. “They are! Did you know that eleven out of the fourteen officers I have possessed right now only joined the police force so they can do things like that? I can see it, you know! They’re hungry for violence, Tide! That’s what your police force is made of! Bloodthirsty, angry animals who dream of killing people but don’t have the powers to do it freely!”

“Enough!”

Cantrip sees the tip of Tide’s foot as he moves, and she cranes her neck past the cop car she’s hidden behind to see him lowering into a fighting stance, fists clenched at his sides. A nearby fire hydrant bursts, water spewing out into the street, gathering around Tide’s feet in a wave. She winces as a droplet of water skims across her face, stinging against her skin with the speed of it.

“You said you wanted a rematch, so here I am!” Tide shouts over the sound of rushing water. “Let everyone else go. This is just between you and me!”

The Whisperer hums, tilting his head. “Well, I believe I distinctly requested for you to bring more than just yourself. Where’s your boytoy?”

Tide balks. “My what?”

“You know, your partner in crime? Sorry, partner in heroism. He doesn’t do crime anymore, from what I’ve heard.”

Tide pauses. “He has a name. And Wavelength isn’t here.”

The Whisperer’s shoulders slump. “What? No other heroes? Do you really think so lowly of me that you’d think you can take us down by yourself?”

“I’m certain I can manage,” Tide calls out over the increasingly loud sound of the water around his feet.

The Whisperer lets out a laugh. “Really? Well, you did unfortunately fail one of my requests by only bringing yourself, so...” He turns towards Cantrip, making her heart skip a beat. He gives a sharp whistle. “Pretty boy!”

Someone moves from the other side of the cop car, and she ducks behind it completely, silently praying he didn’t see her. She peeks under the car and spots a figure lying on the ground, pinned down by another person she can’t quite fully see. The car hides most of them, but she catches a glimpse of a purple sweater tied around their waist and a knife held to the throat of the person they have pinned down. The purple haired guy she saw in that article, maybe? Hard to tell, but that seems likely.

Either way, it’s definitely not Kota Kill. The only weapons he uses are his teeth.

She watches as the guy shifts, lifting the knife off his victim’s neck, rearing it back, and then she hears Tide yell something over the sudden sound of rushing water. She flinches as a wave crashes into the guy and sends him flying over the car and her head. He flies into the alley behind her and lands hard, rolling across the ground with the momentum.

Cantrip stays perfectly still, back pressed to the cop car as she watches the purple guy struggle to his feet. Rogue? Was that his name? Shit, she doesn’t have anywhere to hide; if she runs out from behind the car, the Whisperer will see her, but if she stays here, Rogue will see her when he gets his bearings.

Fuck it. She draws a knife and darts towards him, grimacing under her mask as her leg flares with pain. Just as he starts pushing himself to his feet, she zips past him, striking out with her knife, cutting a line across his arm. (She would have gone for the neck, but Tide would be disappointed in her if she went for a fatal strike, and she wants to avoid a stern lecture after this.)

Rogue yells, a wordless syllable of pain, as her blade slices across his arm. She skids to a stop and whirls around to face him, drawing a second knife.

He clutches his arm, blood pouring through his fingertips. Maybe she cut deeper than she meant to. Whatever, that’s what he gets.

He narrows his eyes at her. “Wight!” he shouts, words slightly muffled by his mask. “We’ve got company!”

“Oh?” The figure of the Whisperer floats into the sky, cape trailing behind him, the flames that wreathe his head flickering in the breeze. He hovers into the sky, and then Cantrip gets a full frontal view of him, staring down at Cantrip and Rogue, hands behind his back, flames flickering bright around his head, eyes nothing more than two white shapes glowing in the fire. He tilts his head.

Water flows across the street, and a wave picks up the cop car and tosses it aside like it weighs nothing, unblocking the alleyway. Tide stands there, one arm extended. His eyes widen as they land on Cantrip.

“Cantrip!” he yells. “What are you doing here?”

Cantrip sends a glance around the street now that she can see it fully, surveying the situation. Cops stand around, held at gunpoint by their allies—possessed somehow, no doubt. On the other side of the street is a figure that she recognizes as Kota Kill, hunched over a body. He raised his head, coated in blood from his nose to his chest. There’s—something in his mouth, something red and wet, dripping with blood.

Ah. So that’s where the wet squelching sounds were coming from.

The Whisperer clasps his hands together. “Oh, you did bring backup! Look at that! Dad didn’t get a babysitter for his kids, so they’re showing up to the grown-up function! Oh, that’s precious!”

Cantrip blinks, and then the Whisperer is right in front of her, and she scrambles back, lifting her knives, ready to strike. She would have thought he teleported, but she catches a blur in her vision as he stops in front of her, an afterimage of his flames burning in her eyes.

“You’re one of the new ones,” the Whisperer muses, looming over her. “Aren’t you? One of those... Prime Defenders.”

Cantrip narrows her eyes. “What’s it to you?”

The Whisperer tilts his head, curious, like she’s some kind of interesting animal. She stands firm, refusing to wither under his bright gaze.

“An ex-convict,” the Whisperer mutters. “Sentenced to Supermax for blowing up a company office and nearly killing the CEO. Did I get that right?”

“That CEO is your brother, I hear,” Cantrip snaps. “Did you get all of this from him?” She gestures at the Whisperer, at his flowing cape and glowing red flames. “Let me guess, you’re working under him? Other way around?”

The Whisperer barks out a laugh, loud enough to nearly make her jump. “Him?” he scoffs, lifting a hand to wipe an imaginary tear from his eye. “Oh, goodness. That’s cute!” The Whisperer floats down a little lower to get in her face. She stays put, ignoring how hot the flames feel on her skin. “You think I give a single flying fuck about what he’s doing over in his little company? He could be skinning puppies alive to make fur coats and I wouldn’t give a shit! He was dead to me the moment I became the Whisperer.”

Dammit. He could be lying, sure, but he doesn’t sound like it. If he was connected to David Bell in more than just blood, digging up more dirt on that fucking CEO wouldn’t even be necessary.

“This?” The Whisperer spins in the air like he’s showing off, cape swishing. “This could never be my brother! He doesn’t have the flair.” He chuckles, low, sinister, and Cantrip tries her best not to shudder. “My mentor is much more... how do I say it... creative than him.”

Cantrip blinks. “Mentor?”

“Yes!” The Whisperer floats back, higher into the air, spreading his arms. “What, you thought I got all of this out of nowhere?”

“Enough monologuing!” Tide lowers himself into a fighting stance, water gathering at his feet. “You’ve caused enough damage, Whisperer. Time to go back behind bars, where you belong.”

The Whisperer lets his shoulders slump. “Oh, come on, Tide! It’s been so long since I’ve monologued! I deserve a good soliloquy, don’t I? Just one? Don’t you want to hear my plans?”

Tide hesitates, furrowing his brow. “You... want to tell us your plans?”

The Whisperer shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I? You can’t stop me either way.”

Tide sends a glance at Cantrip, uncertain, like he’s looking for a second opinion. Cantrip just shrugs. If he spend some time monologuing, it’ll give X and Alan more time to get here.

“What... what are your plans, then?” Tide asks, hesitant.

The flames around the Whisperer’s face flicker, and then they disappear, revealing William Wight’s smiling face, black hair hanging in his face, greasy and unkempt, a single white streak falling between his eyes. He smiles wide—too wide, unsettling. His red eyes glint in the light of the sun. He floats over to the centre of the town square, gently setting himself down on the street. His cape flutters in a breeze that only seems to effect him; Cantrip doesn’t feel any wind on her face at all.

Wight spreads his arms. “Chaos!” he shouts, voice ringing across the square. “My plan is chaos, Tide! I will sow chaos across the land of the living, leaving destruction in my wake. And when everything is done, when everyone on this God forsaken planet is reduced to little more than animals fighting each other for scraps of meat, I will reestablish order across Prime in my own vision!” He shrugs and lowers his arms, almost nonchalant. “And then I will leave.”

Tide blinks. “You’ll—what?”

“I will leave, Tide,” Wight repeats with a sigh, as though Tide is stupid. “This? This is all a test run! This is all so I can prove that I can keep my kingdom under control, and when I’m finished here, I will depart the land of the living and ascend my throne in the realm I inherited from my predecessors! This land? Prime? It means nothing to me! This is a sandbox for me to play in, and when I’ve kicked down all of your sandcastles, I’ll leave you to pick up the pieces while I take my place as a king of my own world!” Wight smiles. “That’s my plan, Tide.”

Cantrip stares at him as she  processes all of that. “Leave the land of the living? So, what, you’re going to fuck some shit up and then kill yourself?”

Tide whips around to give her a scolding look. “Cantrip!”

“What! That’s what it sounds like he’s gonna do!”

Wight doubles over laughing, a harsh cackle that sends a shiver down Cantrip’s spine. “Oh, goodness! Tide, your little ward is funny!” He shakes his head and sighs. “Oh, I like her. Shame she’s a hero. She’d do well in my company.” Wight shrugs. “But she’s not technically wrong. I don’t think anyone would consider me alive after I depart. Although, you would be hard pressed to find a way to define me as ‘alive’ right now, anyway.”

Tide opens his mouth to speak, but he doesn’t get a single word out. The pounding of large, heavy footsteps approaches rapidly, and Cantrip turns to look down the street just as Alan shoves his way past a cop car, sprinting into the town square with X clinging to his back.

“What are you doing here?” Tide yells, turning to face them as Alan slows to a stop.

“Saving your ass, apparently!” X calls. He slides off Alan’s back and hurries over to Cantrip, sending her a questioning look, silently asking if she’s okay. She just nods.

“Go home!” Tide yells at them. “I can handle this!”

“Can you?” the Whisperer taunts. “You’re sorely outnumbered even with your kids.” He hums, rocking back and forth on his feet. “Although, I suppose it wouldn’t be fair to use the police against you when you’re not bulletproof. I don’t want to make this too hard. Killing you right away wouldn’t be any fun, would it?” He chuckles. “Let’s level the playing field, why don’t we?” He turns to Kota and lets out a shrill whistle. “Kota!”

Kota looks up from his snack, blood caked all down his front, staining his white shirt. His teeth are stained a dark crimson.

The Whisperer points at X, Alan, and Cantrip. “Kill!”

Kota follows where the Whisperer is pointing. He immediately launches over the dead cop he’d been feasting on, running for the three of them on all fours, faster than Cantrip can process.

Someone shoves her out of the way, and she turns just in time to see X go down with Kota on top of him, trying to bite at his impenetrable skin. Alan lifts Kota off of X, gripping him by the shirt with one hand, but Kota wriggles out of his grip quick and lunges to bite into Alan’s rocky skin. Somehow, the kid’s teeth don’t crack as he tries to maul Alan to death, but his teeth don’t break through Alan’s skin either.

She hears another whistle and looks at the Whisperer. He’s pointing at her now, and he smiles wide as he yells “Pretty boy! Handle that one!”

Chapter Text

Virion turns to the girl. She twirls her knives in her grip and skitters away from where Kota and the other two are tussling, Kota growling like a wild animal, the two heroes trying to grab him and wrangle him into submission. They’re not doing a good job of it; Kota’s small and quick, too hard to grab, too vicious.

Virion doesn’t attack right away, and neither does she. He follows her as she backs away from others, not chasing, just matching her pace. She seems to want space for this fight, and he respects that. He doesn’t want to get in Kota’s way. He doesn’t trust him to know teammate from enemy when he’s in a bloodthirsty frenzy.

They size each other up. She looks oddly similar to him in a few ways: her black hair has purple dyed under it in a peekaboo style, a similar shade of violet to his own, and she’s got a black mask obscuring the lower half of her face. She’s even wielding a knife, although he only has one in comparison to her many, and hers are mostly simple silver throwing knives while his is a golden dagger with straight edges. The similarities shake him a little—even the rest of her outfit looks like something he would wear back home—but he steels himself and faces her head on.

He raises his knife and the wound in his arm stings. He tosses his knife to his other hand. He’s been trained to fight with both.

He strikes first. He lunges forward, as fast as he can, and she ducks to the side at the last second, letting him barrel past her. He whips around before she can attack while his back is turned, striking out with his dagger. She raises her arm to block it, the blade clanging against her metal wrist guard. He grimaces at the impact.

He skitters backwards, twirling his knife in his fingers. The girl—Cantrip, Tide called her—follows him with her eyes, her own knife clenched tight in her grip.

She strikes this time, lunging forward. She goes for his stomach and he lifts his dagger to block it, but then she lashes out with a knife in her other hand. The blade grazes his arm, drawing a thin line of blood across it. He hisses and scrambles back, raising his knife, switching to stay on the defensive.

She’s quick, he’ll give her that.

She strikes again, lunging for his midsection with a knife. He scrambles back, whipping out to hit her knife with his, hoping to disarm her, but she’s got knives strapped to her legs and hips. Even if he knocks one out of her hands, she’s got a dozen backups.

He feels something in the back of his head, lurching forward—Ram, fucking Ram, god dammit, trying to shove Virion aside in his own head to take the reins for just a moment.

“Ram!” Virion yells—he doesn’t really mean to say it out loud, but he’s caught off guard, sue him. “Stay out of this!”

Cantrip slashes at his chest, and his knife comes up without his accord. Clumsily deflecting. Ram isn’t used to fighting with knives, and he can change it into a gun, but a gun won’t fucking help here and Virion is actively trying to shove Ram back.

Kid, you’re in danger, you have to fucking go, I don’t trust that Wight kid and you need to stay safe—

“Fuck off!” Virion lashes out with his knife, slicing at her face. She ducks easily, letting his knife whizz past her head. “You’re no help!”

Kid, let me—

Virion mentally shoves him back with all his might. Cantrip takes the opportunity from his momentary distraction to lunge at him and swipe a blade across his hand. He cries out and nearly drops his knife, scrambling back out of her range.

She doesn’t follow after him, readjusting her grip on her knives, shifting her weight. She seems to be favouring her left leg. Is there something wrong with her right?

He darts for her right side. She dodges easily, jumping fully onto her left foot and turning her body so his knife whizzes past her.

He whirls around and goes for her left, hoping she’ll have no choice but to stay still to avoid putting weight on her bad leg, but she moves anyway, stepping back onto her right leg. The only hint that anything’s wrong with it is the small hiss of pain she lets out as she darts backwards.

She swings out with her leg—the one he thinks is injured—kicking him directly in the stomach. He doubles over, the wind pushing itself from his lungs in a sharp burst. He skitters back, raising his knife to defend if she decides to attack while he’s winded. She’s got the upper hand here. She’s got more weapons, she’s got body armor, and she’s quicker even with her injury.

Kid.

Not Ram this time. A different presence, quieter. Strider? Hard to tell. Sounds like him, though.

“What?” Fuck it, he’s gonna keep talking out loud. If this girl thinks he’s crazy, that’s her problem.

Look, I know you don’t want us here—

“No shit!” Cantrip darts forward and slashes at his hand while he’s distracted, nearly taking off a finger. He snatches his hand back just in time, a line of red blooming across his knuckle. “What do you want?”

I’m gonna make you a deal, kid. Let me in, let me win this fight for us, and I’m not gonna question... everything else. Okay? You make the decisions, you do what you need to with that Wight kid, and I’ll just fight some of your battles when you need me to. Okay?

Strider? comes Ram’s voice, incredulous. Really?

I’m trying to play nice for fucking once, all this pushing isn’t doing us any favours. Kid?

Virion raises his knife to block Cantrip’s as she lunges to stab him in the shoulder. He manages to catch her blade on the hilt of his own. He grips his dagger in both hands as she pushes forward, making him stumble back if he wants to avoid falling on his ass.

“Fuck it,” he says. “Deal.”

He feels Strider lunge forward, and without thinking he almost tries to fight it, but he forces himself to let his mental walls down, and Strider takes control of his body.

Virion is still there, he can still feel it, but it feels like—like someone taking his hand and guiding it for him, and he tries to relax and let it happen. It’s weird, how his body moves without his input. Strider knees the girl in the thigh, and Virion feels Strider’s cloak appear on his shoulders, the coarse fabric itchy against the nape of his neck, leather belts appearing out of nowhere and latching around his legs, complete with sheathes filled with knives. Levelling the playing field.

“Don’t kill her,” Virion manages to say out loud.

When his mouth opens again, without his input this time, his voice is deeper, gruffer. “Got it.”

Strider spins his dagger in his fingers and lunges for Cantrip, drawing a second knife in his other hand and striking at her. She deflects his blows, but she’s on the defensive now, her brow furrowed in confusion, eyes a little wide at Virion’s sudden transformation. Virion steps back in his own head, letting Strider take the lead. He’s not going away completely; no, he needs to be here to supervise, make sure everything’s going well, make sure Strider doesn’t take things too far, and he won’t, Virion’s sure, but he just—he needs to make sure.

Allowing Strider to do this was evidently the right move. Virion has fighting experience, sure, plenty of it, but Strider has more and this girl is good.

Now that she’s fighting someone who’s more on her level, she doubles down. She kicks when she can, tries to grapple Strider into a headlock when he gets too close, kicks dirt from the ground up into his eyes, throws a dagger that narrowly misses Strider’s arm and then immediately follows up by trying to stab him in the shoulder. She’s not fighting as much as she is scrapping now, fighting dirty.

Virion feels it in his body when Strider changes his own tactics to match hers. His footwork gets quicker, skittering back and forth to dodge strikes from her knives, throwing a knife to make her dodge and then used his free hand to throw a punch, kicking out at her injured leg whenever he has the chance. Her armor is good, but Strider can evidently spot weak points at Virion never picked up on or couldn’t think of how to exploit. 

He blocks a hit as she tries to slash at his face, and in one swift movement, he kicks out at her injured leg. She cries out and her leg buckles, collapsing to the ground, but she raises a knife to block as he swings down at her. Their blades clash, and before she can shake off the pain and retaliate, he lashes out and hits her across the temple with the hilt of a knife.

She grunts as his knife makes contact, nearly falling over from the impact. She tries to focus on him, but her eyes don’t quite meet his figure.

Strider puts a boot on her shoulder and pushes her down. She goes down, falling back, hitting her head on the ground. Strider keeps his boot on her shoulder, pressing down hard.

She drops a knife and reaches up to grab his ankle, trying and failing to push it off her shoulder. “Fucker,” she snaps.

“You don’t understand who you’re up against,” Strider growls. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay down.”

She narrows her eyes. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll move your fucking foot.”

“Not happening.”

She scoffs. “Alright. But you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She grips his ankle tighter, and then—

And then Strider is gone, whipped back somewhere in their head as Virion is yanked forward at the feeling of being shocked, lightning racing through his nerves, every muscle tensing. His vision goes black as he’s electrocuted, Cantrip’s grip tight on his ankle. His head hits something and pain radiates through his skull, throbbing in waves.

The shock fades, his muscles still twitching. Cantrip drops his ankle, and as his vision comes back, he realizes he’s on the ground now, staring up at the cloudy sky above the alleyway.

Cantrip leans down and grabs his shoulder, shoving him over onto his front. He grunts as his face smushes against the dirty ground.

“Nice job, Strider,” he groans into the dirt.

I didn’t think she had fucking lightning magic!

He hears someone cry out in the street. Grimacing, he turns his head to look. Kota’s been captured, finally, held fast by the guy made of rock, biting at his hard skin to no avail. Tide has Wight on the ground, pinned, hands held behind his back. All of the cops who were possessed have collapsed, and the ones who weren’t have turned and fled.

Virion shakily tries to push himself up, but Cantrip grabs his shoulder and another shock travels through him, much less intense than the first, but he’s still not recovered from the first one and his limbs give out beneath him. His head lolls forward and hits the ground, spots dancing in his vision. Cantrip’s boot lands on his back, pushing him down, keeping him pinned. She doesn’t need to, but he assumes it’s just to rub salt in the wound.

Shit.

Cantrip drops down on him, and something cold and sharp presses to the back of his neck. Her other hand keeps a tight hold on his shoulder, ready to shock him if he moves even an inch.

Tide hoists Wight to his feet, keeping his hands pinned behind his back. Wight is soaked in water, hair plastered to his forehead. Tide glares at the back of his head, keeping his grip tight on Wight’s wrists.

“You’re going to be spending a lot more time behind bars, Whisperer,” Tide says.

Wight just keeps his head down, water dripping from his hair and onto the wet street. He looks... defeated. Dejected. His shoulders shake. Is he… crying?

Then he throws his head back and cackles, loud and wild. There’s something in his eyes that Virion can see even from here, something—not right. Unstable. Virion’s blood runs cold.

Tide startles, but he doesn’t let Wight go. He glances around, on guard, trying to spot anything that might attack him out of nowhere, and then Virion spots it: a small red wisp, right behind Tide’s head, darting around to stay out of his eyesight.

Cantrip’s foot on Virion’s back shifts. “Tide!” she yells.

Tide whips around to look at her, and the wisp takes the opportunity to rocket towards him. It hits him on the side of the head, and the moment it makes contact, it vanishes into red mist, dissipating around Tide’s head, and then even that is gone, as if it had never been there.

Tide’s eyes go wide. His grip on Wight goes slack, and he wriggles out of it, stumbling forward before turning it into a light skip as he spins around, a gleeful, eager smile on his face.

Tide takes a step back. His eyes flash a bright red. “No,” he says, his voice too quiet for Virion to hear from this distance, but the movement of his lips spells it out well enough.

Wight giggles like a child, hopping on his feet, excited. “Did you really think you could take me out by splashing me with some water? Come on Tide, we’re not kids here.” He pauses. “Well, I guess Kota’s still seventeen. But! I am a fully grown adult now, Tide! You don’t need to hold back on me anymore. I’ve changed since you last saw me before prison.”

Tide takes another step back and his knees buckle beneath him. He hits the ground, his face screwing up in anguish, raising one hand to his head as if fighting off a raging headache.

Wight giggles again, hopping up to Tide and standing in front of him, folding his hands behind his back and rocking back and forth on his feet, childishly giddy. “I thought you would have figured this out by now, Tide. I planned for this! Did you think I requested you bring as much firepower as possible because I wanted to lose?” He tuts his tongue and shakes his head, leaning down to poke Tide on the nose. “I just wanted more dolls to play with. And you, my friend, will make a very interesting toy.”

Tide’s entire body trembles like a newborn deer’s. “No,” he whispers again, seemingly mostly to himself.

Wight barks out a laugh. “Wow, you certainly are holding out longer than most. Why, when I possessed Rogue, it took less than a second for him to give in. He was so fun!” He turns to look at Virion, grinning wide. “Isn't that right, pretty boy? You’re much better than these heroes. A perfect companion. Don’t you think?”

Virion can’t even muster up any words in response. He stares at Tide, the way he grimaces and shakes, fighting Wight’s inevitable hold on him. When Virion was possessed, it was so... easy. He just let himself slip into it, let himself get lost in someone else taking the reins. Sort of like when the Greats use his body, but... easier.

He—he didn’t enjoy being possessed. But... still, he can’t help the tiniest nugget of pride that wells up in his chest at Wight pointing to him as someone better. Like he’s done something right in Wight’s eyes. He tries not to visibly grin at the small words of praise. He probably doesn’t mean it. He’s just trying to get a rise out of these heroes, that’s all.

“Stop,” Tide says, his voice trembling. His eyes are squeezed shut, head lowered to the ground. The water coating the streets begins to move, gentle waves rippling through puddles, slowly making its way towards him.

The Whisperer barks out a laugh. “No, I don’t think I will! In fact, I’m quite curious as to what I can make you do once I’ve got you.” He begins pacing around Tide, cape swishing against the bloodied pavement. “I’ve given a lot of thought to it, actually. Did you know that the human body is sixty percent water? With a power like yours, have you ever thought you could control people?”

Tide shakes his head, hiding his face in his hands. The water swishes over the blood on the street, carrying it in gentle waves.

Wight hums. “Or, well, maybe you couldn’t control someone fully. We’re not one hundred percent water, after all. No way you could get to someone’s brain.” He taps against the side of Tide’s head, and Tide flinches as if he’s been struck. “Or, who knows? Maybe you can! A lot of liquids have some aspect of water in them, especially those in the human body. Could your powers extend beyond pure water? If you tried, could you control the fluid in a person’s skull? Slice their brain in half? Severe those nerves? Oh, and here’s one I’ve been thinking about for a long time.” William leans in to Tide’s face, still smiling. “What about a person’s blood?”

Virion’s heart skips, physically, painfully, and judging by the way Cantrip inhales sharply and lifts one hand to her chest, he’s not the only who felt it.

Wight chuckles. “Trying it now, hm? What are you trying to do? Deprive their brains of oxygen? Squeeze their hearts until they give out? I don’t think you’re trying hard enough. Try harder. Go on. I’m very curious to know what you could be capable of if you stopped holding yourself back.”

Tide lifts his head, just enough to glare at the Whisperer, eyes glinting red, and the Whisperer laughs again, cold and hollow. “Trying it on me now, are you? Won’t work, I’m afraid. No watery blood or bodily fluids to speak of!”

“Stop,” Tide groans, pained. The water ripples around his feet as though pulled toward him like a magnet.

Wight crouches in front of Tide, smiling. “Still trying, hm? Sorry to say that your attempts are futile, Tide. But, by all means, try it on your wards, your Prime Defenders. What will WATCH think of their precious golden boy when one of the kids he’s in charge of is on their back on the pavement, throwing up blood? Does WATCH even know you could have the ability to do this? Did they not account for that when they made a hero that has the ability to control water? Are they really that stupid?”

Tide’s trembling gets more intense, and he makes a sound like a pained dog, and then—he stops. He goes stock still, like a statue. Virion isn’t sure if he’s even breathing. Tide lifts his head, and his eyes are a bright glowing red, his face blank.

“No,” Cantrip whispers.

A couple of red lights blink to life across the street, and Cantrip inhales sharply. Virion looks up to see a red wisp hovering nearby. Across the street are a couple more, darting around the other two who are holding Kota.

“The way I see it, you heroes have three options,” Wight calls out, hands behind his back, pacing around Tide. “One, I gain full control over Kota, my new favourite toy Rogue, as well as Tide, and you all lose. Two, you let my companions go and you fight your mentor yourselves, probably win, I let him go once the fight is over, and you deal with the consequences with WATCH afterwards. Or three...” He grins wider. “I possess all of you, and we all have a great deal of fun together.” Wight turns to smile at each of the heroes in turn. “What will it be?”

All of them exchange glances. Virion can’t read their faces, especially with Cantrip’s half covered by a mask, but the moment they make their decision is clear.

Cantrip pushes off Virion’s shoulder, knocking the wind out of him, and she sprints for Tide. The other two drop Kota and follow suit. Tide retaliates, raising a wall of water to block them, sending a small wave crashing towards Cantrip. Wight darts out of the way, laughing like a madman. He rushes over to Virion, and Kota darts after him, following close on his heels.

Wight slows to a walk as he reaches the alley Virion’s lying in. He stands over him, hands folded behind his back. The sun frames him in a halo, which feels ironic to Virion in a lot of ways right now.

Wight extends a hand. “Don’t keep me waiting, pretty boy.”

Virion swallows. He can feel Ram’s disapproval radiating through him in waves, but he reaches up and takes Wight’s hand.

Wight hoists him up. Virion’s legs are still shaky from the electric shock, but he finds his balance and manages to stay on his feet, gripping Wight’s hand tight.

Wight smiles at him, and it’s—it’s different than the cold, cruel smile he had when he was taunting Tide. It’s not kind or warm, not in the slightest, but there’s something else there, some hint of... pride. Like something about Virion taking his hand when told is pleasing to him.

The heroes clash on the street, Tide’s waves crashing into the Prime Defenders, ruthless and chaotic, but Virion doesn’t pay them a second glance. He walks with Wight to the end of the street, where all of the abandoned cop cars stay idling, red and blue lights spinning. Virion steps over an unconscious police officer as he, Wight, and Kota simply walk away.

Virion doesn’t let go of Wight’s hand until they’re out of sight of the fighting.

Chapter Text

“That... could have gone worse.”

Cantrip, X, Alan, and Tide stand in front of the monitor in the Prime Defenders base. Water drips from their clothes, forming puddles on the floor. All three of the Prime Force are on screen, and Cantrip assumes they’re broadcasting directly from WATCH HQ. Ms. G. is trying to smile, but it looks more like a grimace than anything else.

“Could have gone better,” Cantrip mutters, and Tide gently nudges her arm and shakes his head. She lowers her gaze.

“You should have called Wavelength,” Harlem Shade says, voice slightly muffled by his mask. “We gave him to you for a reason.”

“He went home for the day,” Tide says, and everything about him looks apologetic, his shoulders hunched, hands folded in front of him like a scolded child. “He went out to Harttawa to investigate the villain patrolling the island, and he went home afterwards. He’s probably writing a report on it right now, and he’s an hour away in New Haven, he has his own life—”

“Being a hero is a lifestyle,” Jason King scoffs, gently tossing his head to move his long blond hair out of his face. “If he can’t fit this into his current life, maybe he shouldn’t be one.”

Ms. G. raises a hand. “Now, Origami, just because we don’t have many personal obligations doesn’t mean that other heroes don’t! Maintaining a secret identity is a very important aspect of some heroes’ lives, and we all need to respect it.”

“He doesn’t even live in Rockfall,” Jason huffs. “It takes him almost an hour to get there every day. If he’s serious about this, he should live there in Rockfall with the Prime Defenders.”

“He can’t do that,” Tide says. “He’s—he needs to be in New Haven, it’s important to him.”

“Him being out in New Haven means he will always be late to respond to threats in Rockfall,” Jason says. “You know, the place we assigned him? That also means he’s not under your supervision while he’s gone, which means he could be off doing villain work behind WATCH’s back.”

“Tide,” Harlem says, “Origami has a point. Wavelength is a security issue, for both WATCH and the city of Rockfall itself. If Wavelength is to be a hero, he needs to be there more than just eight hours a day. He’s a hero now. He needs to be on call at a moment’s notice.”

“So you want him to pack up and move his entire life here?” Cantrip snaps, unable to hold back her annoyance. “What if he’s got a family? You want him to be a deadbeat husband?”

Jason narrows his eyes. “Tide, keep your wards in line.”

“Cantrip,” Tide hisses.

Cantrip lowers her head again, but she can’t help the anger that bubbles up inside her on Wavelength’s behalf. Every time she talks to the fucking Prime Force, she’s less and less sure that she’s rather be here than sitting in a prison cell in Supermax.

Ms. G. clears her throat and plasters on a smile. “Well, I think this can be a teaching moment for all of us! Cantrip, X, Alan, I want to tell you that you did an amazing job swiftly responding to the villain threat in Rockfall, despite not officially being assigned to take care of it. That speaks to your passion for doing good and your determination to fight evil. Gold stars for all of you!”

“Alan likes stars,” Alan mutters. X gently nudges him in the side to keep him quiet.

“Tide, you responded very well to the threat, considering the less than optimal circumstances,” Ms. G. continues. “Kids, you can learn a lot from him!”

“We’re not kids,” Cantrip mumbles, hopefully not loud enough for anyone else to hear. Considering the look Tide sends her, she’s not sure she succeeded.

“When a villain asks for a specific hero do to something under threat of harming civilians,” Ms. G. continues, “it is imperative that you follow their demands as best you can without bringing danger to civilians or your teammates. Typically, heroes will be able to call for backup while following the villain’s demands, which was unable to happen due to Tide’s usual backup being elsewhere, but you kids responded so quickly! Considering the options the Whisperer gave you, I believe you made the best choice. The situation was far from ideal, but it likely would not have gone well regardless. The Whisperer is no D-list villain! Considering the situation, that went about as well as it could have!”

“Hexpert is right,” Harlem sighs. “It was the Whisperer you were up against. He is a villain better left to heroes who are more experienced. You three did what you could in the situation you were given. You never should have gone up against him. It is an... unfortunate circumstance that the Whisperer has stationed himself in the same city as your base of operations.”

Jason furrows his brow. “Another reason why having Wavelength in Rockfall full time might be a good idea. He’s an experienced cape, and he knows how villains operate. He may have the best chance of anyone of tracking down the Whisperer.”

Ms. G. smiles. “Yes! That can be Wavelength’s next assignment. Of course, he will need backup—perhaps Lightspeed? I’m sure she’d be willing to spend some time out in Rockfall for a little while.”

Tide blinks. “But—aren’t I Wavelength’s partner?”

Ms. G. and Harlem exchange a glance. Ms. G. turns back to the screen, and the strained smile on her face is gone, replaced by something almost sad. “Tide,” she says, “we saw the news. We saw exactly what happened with the Whisperer. And... we heard what he said about your powers.”

Tide stiffens. “I—he—he’s just says things, he’s not—”

“We don’t know if what he said you can do is true,” Ms. G. says, “but until we can talk to Dr. Lambert and figure that out, you are effectively under house arrest. We cannot have another incident of him gaining control over you. Not with what he could... potentially do with you.”

Tide opens his mouth to protest, then apparently thinks better of it and shuts his jaw with a click. He nods once, schooling his expression into something calm and collected.

Ms. G. claps her hands together. “Perfect! Now, Silhouette and I will be unavailable for a little while because there is a very pressing issue off-planet that we need to take care of, but Origami will remain here on Prime to be a point of contact and to help with rounding up the villains from Supermax.”

Jade jolts. “Wait, you’re going off planet? But—but what if we need to talk to you about something?”

“Origami can handle anything you would need to discuss with me. He’s very capable!” Ms. G. beams at them. “We’ll contact Wavelength and Lightspeed and get them to spend the next week or so in Rockfall. I’m very proud of you all! A+ for everyone!”

The screen goes black. The four of them stand there and stare at it in silence for a good few seconds.

Tide heaves a sigh, breaking the silence. “Well,” he says, reaching one hand up to scratch the back of his neck. “I think all of my credit with WATCH has been effectively flushed down the drain.” He turns to look down at Cantrip. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know if I can present a good case to WATCH about investigating Belltech for you.”

Her heart sinks. She reaches up to lower her hood and tug her mask down, water dripping on the floor from her black and purple hair. “But—but we found stuff, we made a case. Are you sure they won’t listen to you?”

Tide nods. “I’m quite certain. Besides, Ms. G. will be off-world, and she’s the one with a soft spot for the three of you. Origami is...” Tide sends a look up at the screen where the Prime Force had been. “Less flexible.”

“But we did research,” Xavier says, reaching up to take off his mask. “Jade found a chain of missing people related to Belltech, and there are probably more—"

“I’m sorry,” Tide sighs, running a hand down his face. “A hunch about missing people is not going to prove anything to anyone, and I can’t help you try to prove they’re connected. They won’t listen to me after this. I’m lucky I’m not getting depowered.”

With that, Tide turns and walks to the kitchen. “I’m going to go make dinner,” he says quietly.

Jade watches him disappear behind the kitchen door. She turns back to Xavier and Alan. They both stare at the screen, looking as dejected as she feels.

She heaves a great sigh. “Fuck.”

“Yeah.” Xavier runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck.”

Alan looks to the two of them. “What do we do?”

Jade glances at the kitchen door. “Well, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m gonna take a shower.”

“You’re already soaking wet,” Xavier points out as she turns and limps towards the hallway.

“A warm shower, dipshit,” she says. “Save some stroganoff for me, will ya?”

She shoves the bathroom door open and leans against the wall, water drip-drip-dripping on the tile. She shoves the door closed.

Ugh.

She starts peeling off all of her soaking wet clothes with great effort, throwing them onto the floor where they start to form puddles. She glares down at the wet Kevlar like it personally offended her—its so heavy when it’s soaking wet, she hopes she never has to fight Tide again—and then she turns to the shower and turns it on. She steps in immediately without letting it warm up first. She’s already freezing, it’s not like it’s going to do much.

With a wince and a hiss through her teeth, she sits down on the floor of the tub and starts peeling the gauze off her right leg. The puncture wound hasn’t been bleeding, but the skin around it is a dark bruised purple, and the wound itself is bright red. There’s a vague imprint of a shoe forming over it, and she knows that’ll make the bruising worse.

She gently presses down on it and flinches. Okay, don’t touch it. Bad idea.

She tosses the gauze out of the shower and just sits there, letting the warm water hit her head. Some of the water goes down the drain purple. She’s gonna have to redye her hair soon. She’d love to dye her whole head, but she needs to keep something inconspicuous. Her cloak hides her hair, sure, but her other costume—

God. What the fuck even was that fight? That Rogue guy kept talking to himself, and then the way he changed, like she was suddenly fighting an entirely different person—how did he do that? Was it some kind of superpower? Did the Whisperer possess him? She has no idea.

At least he wasn’t too hard to fight. And Alan and X took care of Kota Kill pretty well, too, as far as she’s aware, although she didn’t see much of their fight. It’s the Whisperer that’s the problem. If they could take him out, the other two would be easier to handle. Surely there has to be a way. He’s just a normal person under all of that talk, right? They could just knock him out or something, couldn’t they?

She heaves a sigh and leans her head against the shower wall. Great. Now she’s thinking like a hero. She’s straying a little too far from her roots, here.

Or maybe too close to them, actually. Considering.

The door opens and she tugs the curtain aside a little to peer out. “What?”

Xavier walks in, dressed in a t-shirt and sweats, glasses perched on his nose. “Just washing my face,” he says, taking off his glasses and hooking them on the collar of his shirt.

“What, you going to bed?”

He shrugs as he grabs one of Jade’s hair elastics off the counter and ties his auburn hair back. “Maybe. Dunno. Just tired. Eventful couple of days.”

She hums and nods as Xavier shoves a washcloth in his face. “Yeah. Sure fucking has been. How’s Alan?”

Xavier sighs. He says something, but his words are muffled by the sound of the sink, the shower, and the soapy cloth.

“What?” she yells.

Xavier lowers the washcloth to look at her. “He’s scared, Jade,” he says, raising his voice over the sound of the shower. “He doesn’t know who the fucking Whisperer is, Kota took a chunk out of his back during that fight—and do not ask me how, I don’t know what the hell that kid did—and all he knows is that out there, our mentor started fighting us instead of the bad guys. I tried to explain that Tide was possessed, but I don’t know how much of it he understood. They don’t... they don’t have shit like the Whisperer on his home planet. They don’t have anything like all of these heroes and villains where he’s from. He doesn’t know what’s going on.”

Xavier turns back to the half fogged up mirror and starts scrubbing at a splotch of blood on his cheek. Jade lets the curtain go and stares at the shower tile on the walls.

She didn’t even notice Alan was injured.

“How bad is it?” she calls over the sound of the water.

She hears the sink shut off. “Not too bad,” Xavier says. “Bled a little, but he’s never fought someone who could break off pieces of him like that. He’s gonna be scared if we have to fight Kota Kill again.”

“You can do it then, can’t you? Mister Indestructible?”

Xavier lets out a laugh, but there’s not much humour in it. “I can try, but I can’t keep my skin like that all the time. I don’t think I could overpower Kota on my own. Besides, we shouldn’t have to fight them again if the heroes have anything to say about it.”

Jade grabs the curtain and yanks it partially open so she can narrow her eyes at him. “You think I’m not going to want to go out and find them again and kick their asses?”

Xavier snorts. “Nah, I know you will. Which means I’m going with you, even though I know we’re gonna get the shit beaten out of us.”

A grin tugs at her mouth. “Good. You better, or I’ll kick your ass myself.”

“I don’t doubt you could.” He unties his hair from its elastic and shakes his hair out, letting it fall around his shoulders. “Do you think we’d have a chance at taking them down?”

She hums. “Not alone,” she mutters.

“What about Belltech? Think we have a chance with WATCH in that regard?”

“Definitely not.” The beginnings of an idea start to form in her head, but she’s interrupted when music suddenly starts blasting from somewhere, slightly muffled.

“It’s your phone,” Xavier says. “Want me to answer it?”

Jade sighs. She recognizes the ringtone. She knows who it is. “Yeah. Press answer and then do not speak.”

Xavier reaches down and grabs Jade’s cloak, fishing it out of the wet fabric. She’s lucky she had the foresight to specifically ask for waterproof pockets in her costume. She figured working under Tide would lead to getting soaked at some point.

Xavier presses the accept call button and puts the phone on the counter, picking up a hairbrush and a bottle of dry shampoo. Jade folds her arms on the edge of the tub and rests her chin on it, glaring at the phone.

“What do you want bitch, I’m in the shower,” she calls over the sound of running water.

“Damn, I didn’t know it was illegal to call your sister,” says the voice on the other end. “Fuck me then, alright, I’ll go fuck myself.”

Jade snorts. “You don’t have to call back, it’s fine, Ruby. What’s up?”

Ruby lets out a quiet laugh. “Just wanted to see how you’re doing. How’s the—the fuck is it, the transfer program? How’s the prestigious smart people school program in Rockfall?”

Jade glances up at Xavier combing dry shampoo through his hair. “Surrounded by nerds.”

“You are a nerd,” Ruby says.

“Rude.”

“You should send me more pictures and stuff. I’ve never been to Rockfall.”

“It’s really nothing to write home about. Dangerous to be in this area anyway, with the breakout.”

“Oh yeah, yeah, I heard. It’s really become a cape hotspot, even before the breakout, huh?” There’s an audible smile in Ruby’s voice when she speaks next. “Dude, I saw the news. The Prime Defenders fought the fucking Whisperer, man, did you hear?”

Jade sighs. “Yeah, yeah, I did. I heard.” Saw it too, but she’s not mentioning that. “Pretty brutal from what I know.”

“Yeah! They almost got him!”

“I mean, the Whisperer possessed Tide after all that. He probably anticipated losing, and then used that as a trump card when the heroes thought they won.”

“Yeah, but it was still cool to watch! There were helicopters filming like at least half of it. I didn’t think anyone could take down Kota Kill like that! That rock guy—what’s his name?”

“You think I know? You’re the superfan here.”

“They’re new heroes, sue me. I think it was Alan, right? Weird that he doesn’t have a better hero name.”

“I mean, he can’t exactly have a civilian identity looking like that.”

“Fair. But he was so cool! And that other guy, X—I’m already trying to put together a list of all their powersets. He’s gotta have some kind of invincibility, right? God, I wish WATCH made trading cards of them already. I need to know! He’s probably my favourite so far.”

Xavier turns to grin at Jade, smug. She puts a finger to her lips and sends him a glare.

“Cantrip is more interesting, though,” Ruby continues, oblivious. “I think she’s maybe got some kind of electricity power, because if you look at the footage of her fighting that new villain, it looks like she shocks him. Do you think maybe she’s got powers kind of like Wavelength’s?”

Jade tries to hide the annoyance in her tone, but she’s not sure if it works at all. “I don’t know, Ruby, I—I have no fucking idea.”

Ruby pauses. “Sorry,” she says, her voice a little quieter. “I know you’re not—like, a cape fan.”

Guilt settle sin Jade’s gut. “No, no, it’s cool. You can keep talking—”

“No, it’s okay, we can talk about something else. There’s just... not much going on in Freedom City. The capes are still boring as hell.”

Jade finds herself smiling. “You never were a big fan of The Toad.”

“No shit, he sucks! He’s got like—what, slightly enhanced strength and the ability to jump really high? Come on. Why he’s one of the Sovereign Five is anyone’s guess.”

“Tide would be a better candidate.”

“Right? As soon as the Elementals collapsed, he should have been nominated for the position, or whatever. I don’t know how someone joins the Sov Five. But he’d be way fucking better than The Toad.” The disdain in her voice when she says the name is audible.

Jade snorts. “Yeah, well. We’re stuck with him.”

“Well you’re not. You’re out in Rockfall and New Haven, where all the cool heroes are. I’ve got heroes like The Toad and villains like Atlas. What the hell are we gonna do if Atlas tries to come back to Freedom City?”

“It’s not all sunshine and rainbows out here either,” Jade reminds her.

“Right, yeah. Whisperer. Still.” Ruby sighs. “Anyway, how’s your engineering shit?”

“It’s fine. Kinda boring. Not gonna lie, the program leaders suck. One of them keeps making us mac and cheese for breakfast. I leave my dorm and go to the common room and there’s mac and cheese on the table every morning.”

Ruby lets out a loud snort. “What? What about the other one?”

“Beef stroganoff. For dinner. Every day.”

“Beef stroganoff?” Ruby barks out a laugh. “That’s like objectively the worst kind of pasta! Do neither of them know how to make anything else?”

“Sometimes the first one will buy us takeout.”

“I don’t think you guys are eating very balanced meals over there.”

“The amount of times I’ve cooked something so we don’t have to eat pasta is too many to count.” Jade huffs. “Anyway. My water’s getting cold. I should get out. I’ll come visit at some point, okay?”

“You don’t have to do that, it’s like a five, six hour drive just to get here, right? You should be focusing on your school, dude. It’ll... it’ll be better for you if you focus on school and do really good in this program.”

“It’ll be better for both of us,” Jade says, voice firm. “I’ve got an allowance and a trust fund for when I graduate, they’re not just going to ditch me if I fuck up. They’re investing in me here, you know? I’ve got a security net. When I graduate this program and they give me a job, I’m not just going to leave you in that foster home. You’re coming with me.”

Ruby’s silent for a moment. “Okay,” she says finally, voice soft. She clears her throat. “Go get out of the shower. You probably look like a raisin.”

“Fuck you. I’ll pick you up some Tide merch if I find any.”

“Awesome. Love you, asshole.”

“Love you too.”

Xavier hovers his hand over the hang up button. Jade nods and he presses it. Her phone beeps as it hangs up.

Xavier looks over at Jade. “You’re gonna get her out of there,” he says. “This hero thing will be good for both of you.”

Jade presses her lips into a thin line. “She can’t know. She’ll be fucking insufferable about it.”

“I know. But she’s gonna find out.”

“Not if I’m careful.”

Xavier shrugs as he sets down his hairbrush. “Keep telling yourself that.” He turns to the door. “You do look like a raisin, by the way.”

She raises her middle finger—which is in fact very wrinkly—at him. He snorts and leaves the bathroom.

She heaves a great sigh, watching as the hot water turns her skin red. He’s right, although she’d never admit it. Ruby will probably find out one way or another.

If Jade has anything to say about it, that won’t be for a very long time.

She reaches over and shuts the water off. She didn’t really clean much of anything, but whatever, she’ll wash her hair tomorrow. She clambers out of the tub, feeling like a drowned rat, and sits on the edge, wincing with every movement of her injured leg. She doesn’t think she needs to wrap it up again since it’s not bleeding, but fuck it hurts like hell.

She grabs a towel off the rack and dries herself off, then wraps it around herself. She puts her soaking wet clothes in the laundry hamper as well—not that they need to be washed now, just dried really, considering she just got a beatdown from Tide of all heroes—and she trudges across the hall to her bedroom.

She shuts her door and leans against it, hair dripping onto the carpet. The past couple days have been an absolute shitshow. The Whisperer terrorizing Rockfall, Tide getting possessed, she and Alan both getting injured, and on top of that, there’s no way they can convince WATCH to look into Belltech without Tide’s credibility.

The idea she had in the shower pops up in her head again, and she grins a little bit despite herself. Maybe she doesn’t need Tide to convince WATCH to look into Belltech for them. Maybe she just needs to be sneakier and have a little extra backup.

She throws on a t-shirt and sweats, struggling a little with her injured leg, and collapses in bed, opening up her phone to set an alarm. It’s seven-thirty, which is perfect. She’ll have a three, maybe four hour nap, grab something to eat—hopefully anything but stroganoff—and then she’ll be back on the streets at around midnight to cash in a favour.

He owes her for that stunt on Harttawa Island anyway.

Chapter Text

The stars are bright out tonight in New Haven. Not as bright as they would be in the smaller city of Rockfall, but still rather nice for a random night like tonight.

He peers down at the alleyways between buildings as he walks across the rooftop of the abandoned building he’s clambered onto. He’s lucky he told his dad he has tomorrow off from work, because otherwise he’d have to come out and do something tomorrow to make it seem like he’s out at his “job.” Staying out late to keep watch over Overlord’s territory will make him tired for tomorrow. It’s nice that he’ll get to sleep in.

He reaches the edge of a building and looks down. Nothing amiss here. He backs up a little for a running start and then sprints for the edge of the roof.

He launches off the edge and jumps across the alley to land on the next roof over, the edge of the black wrappings around his face flying in the wind, the fur-lined hood of his army green jacket threatening to fly off. He lands, his short tail twisting in the air to ensure he remains on his feet.

Patrolling is so easy. Sometimes he can hardly believe he’s getting paid for this shit.

Although, patrol isn’t the only kind of job he’s had to take. He’s certainly done worse. Much worse. Without meaning to, he thinks back to that one time early on in his employment, about five months ago, when he refused a job, directly defied Overlord...

He raises a hand to touch the scales around his left eye.

He hasn’t refused an order since.

A sound in an alleyway catches his attention. Someone knocking over a trash can, maybe. Could just be an animal, a homeless person, a drunk group of friends making their way home after a night out, but whoever they are, they’re on Overlord’s turf. It’s his job to make sure they’re not a threat.

He leaps across to another building, then another, making his way towards the sound. There’s a figure in an alleyway, and just one look tells him it’s very much not a normal homeless or drunk person.

He hops off the edge of a building and lands in a crouch on the ground in front of them, peering up at them with his one yellow eye. In front of him is a man with scraggly black hair, bandages wrapped around his face to reveal a single eye. Almost similar to his own mask, although he definitely didn’t mean to fashion his own after this guy’s. The man wears a suit—dark grey and well kept, neatly pressed and ironed.

“Pretender.” He straightens out of his crouch. “I thought The Toad got you.”

Pretender scoffs. “That? It was pretend.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Or was it?”

He sighs. Villains who rely on mind games and showmanship are so annoying. “Man, I don’t care how you escaped him, or if it even was you he caught. I know it’s been a while since you’ve been out of prison, but you’re on someone else’s turf.”

Pretender furrows his brow. He glances around at the dingy alleyway they’re both in. “What, is this your territory?” He gestures to the surrounding alleyways. “Really? Am I supposed to be scared of a fourteen year old?”

He curls his hand into a loose fist, fingers moving across the small panel on his palm. He hears the gentle whirring of turrets moving on nearby rooftops. “Actually, I’m seventeen. Almost eighteen, if you can believe it.”

Pretender’s eye flickers to the rooftops, where loaded turrets sit waiting to fire, trained on him. “So, still a kid.”

He snorts. “Sure, I guess. But no, it’s not my territory.”

Pretender narrows his eye. “Then whose is it?”

“You ever heard of Overlord?”

Recognition flashes in Pretender’s gaze before he schools it back into something neutral. “Vaguely.”

He shoves his hands in his pockets and begins to pace, feeling like a tiger in a cage, itching to lash out, get this guy out of here before he can start causing trouble. He tries to make it look casual, kicking a random can across the alley and watching it tumble through the dirt, but something in his stupid fucking hindbrain is itching to fight, to attack, and the growling rising in his chest makes it all the more apparent. Pretender doesn’t falter, just glares down at him.

“You’ve been behind bars too long,” he says. “He’s gained a lot more firepower in the years you’ve been put away. So have a lot of villains. Lots of new faces out on the street. You’re gonna have your work cut out for you to compete.”

Pretender scoffs. “I’m not worried about competition. I’m Pretender. People will be scared of me no matter what.”

He shakes his head. “Mmm, not Overlord. You don’t even know what he’s been up to, do you?”

Pretender’s eye follows him as he paces. “I don’t need to know. I’m not worried about someone pretentious enough to call himself something like Overlord.”

“If I were you, I would be.” He nods at a nearby alley that leads out into the street. “You might wanna get out of here if you know what’s good for you.”

Pretender scoffs. “Maybe I have been away too long. Kids like you are getting big heads, thinking you can order people like me around. Someone’s got to take you down a peg.”

A pair of headlights flash into existence behind Pretender and he winces as spots dance in his vision. A car that wasn’t there before, summoned from thin air, bright headlights like twin spotlights in the dark.

No one knows how exactly Pretender’s powers work, whether the vehicles and other objects he summons are really real or not—they sure feel real in any case, so he’s heard—but he doesn’t want to risk getting hit with a car that might potentially be real.

The sound of an engine revving meets his ears, and for a moment he thinks it’s the car, but then he realizes it came from behind him. He whirls around to look, afraid it might be another one of Pretender’s vehicles, and he sees a motorcycle driving down the alley towards him. It skids to a stop, and relief floods through him when he sees someone actually on the bike. They shut the engine off, the headlight blinking off and letting him get a look at the driver.

She steps off the bike. Her face is covered entirely by a featureless metal mask, her dark hair pulled back into a tight braid. She straightens her half-black half-white jacket and walks towards him, her distressed grey jeans tucked into big boots that clomp in the dirt, one black and one white.

“Hey,” she says, shoving her hands in her pockets. “Took me a while to find you. You hiding from me, asshole?”

He snorts. “I don’t think I could if I tried.”

She turns to look at Pretender. “Who’s this dickbag? He messing with you?”

“Trying to,” he says, “but I don’t think he’s going to accomplish as much as he thinks he will.”

Pretender glares at the two of them. “And who are you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she says.

“Yeah, that’s—that’s why I asked. Okay, fuck this.”

Pretender raises his hand, and the car behind him launches off the ground as if flying off a ramp. It arcs down towards the two of them, headlights burning into their retinas.

She reaches into her jacket and whips something onto the ground, a small disc shaped device. A large glowing blue V-shaped shield erupts in front of them in an instant. A horrible crash and the sound of grating metal hits his ears as the car smashes into the point of the V and slices in half, both sides of the car careening out to either side of and scraping across the ground of the alley with a deafening screech.

He raises his hand and crosses his fingers. The metal rings on his index and middle fingers spark, and the turrets all fire at once.

Pretender jumps as a dozen projectiles fire at him. One of them scratches his pant leg, another ripping through the sleeve of his jacket. One sheers a couple dark hairs off his head, just barely missing his temple.

All of them narrowly miss him. They land in the ground around his feet. Blood blooms from a few small scratches across his body through his now ripped suit.

The blue electric shield disappears. She leans down to pick up the device it sprouted from. Pretender narrows his eyes at the two of them as both halves of his car disappear into thin air.

“I hate you fucking engineer type capes,” he spits. “You have nothing. You would be nothing without your technology.”

She tucks the device into her jacket. “We’re the future, old man. People like you are old hat. Why have organic powers when anyone can have powers if they’re just smart enough?”

Pretender scoffs. “Your tinker toys could never compare to someone like Archangel.”

She crosses her arms. “Dude. I don’t think anyone, organic powers or not, could measure up to Archangel.”

“Especially now that there’s two of them,” he adds.

Pretender takes a step back, glaring daggers at the two of them. “You know, one of these days, your toys are going to backfire on you, and then you’ll be left with nothing.”

She shrugs. “Yeah, maybe, but until then...” She flicks her wrist, and a knife shoots into her grasp, the blade crackling with electricity. “You might want to steer clear,” she says, the knife falling from her grip, dangling by a chain. She whips the chain around, the blade spinning in a circle, humming with electric energy. “This isn’t your turf.”

Pretender glances between the two of them for a minute. He mutters something under his breath, and then he turns and starts walking away without another word, casting a glare over his shoulder at the two of them. He turns down another alleyway and disappears, hopefully on his way out of Overlord’s territory.

He sighs. “Thanks for the assist. I’ve been dealing with assholes like him all night.”

She turns and starts walking back to her bike, slipping her knife back into her sleeve. “Yeah, no prob. I’ve been wanting to break out the harsher tech for weeks. You have no idea how tight of a leash WATCH is keeping on me.”

“Yeah, I can imagine.” He follows after her, long coat swaying with every step. “It hasn’t been much better on my end. Big guy’s got me working my tail off.”

She snorts. “Literally?”

“At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised. The stress is killing me. You don’t know how stifling my dad is, it’s so hard to get out of the house to do this shit at random hours. My excuse of a job will only get me so far. He doesn’t even know I’m out right now, he’ll throw a fit if he finds out.”

“Sounds like my supervisors,” she scoffs. “Had to sneak out of the HQ through a fuck ton of security measures. I mean, I get why they have them, probably to discourage me from doing shit like this, but come on, put a little trust in us.”

“You are a prime example as to why WATCH can’t trust you guys.”

If she wasn’t wearing her mask, he’s sure he could see her rolling her eyes. “Yeah, whatever. Oh, I got in touch with the big guy’s contacts, by the way. Someone else is switching onto patrol for the night. Pierce is clocking in. You’re good to go.”

“Nice. Thanks, I owe you.”

She barks out a laugh. “Yeah, you sure fucking do.” She gestures down to her right leg. “For this, mostly.”

He grins under his scarf. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She cuffs him on the back of the head as they both stop at her bike. “Basilisk, you fucker, you did not need to shoot me back on Harttawa! In what way was that necessary?”

He giggles, not bothering to duck as her hand makes light contact with his head. “I had to make it look convincing somehow! If both you and the big one stayed on your feet, WATCH would know something’s up, and you weren’t going down easy.”

“You know they probably put microphones and cameras or some shit on my hero gear, they would know if I clearly fudged the mission on purpose. I had to fight back, what do you want from me?”

She swings her leg over the seat of her motorcycle, which is covered with purple decals and stickers. Upon closer look, the decals all flicker slightly—a hologram, able to be switched out to show different ones at the press of a button. She pats the seat right behind her. “Get on, asshole.”

He sits behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. He knows how she drives, and he is not risking getting thrown off this thing.

She revs the engine and starts driving through the alleys, zipping around corners, nearly crashing into walls, as if she doesn’t care what pedestrians may be lurking around for her to run into. He presses his face against her back so he doesn’t have to watch in case she does end up committing vehicular manslaughter.

They zip through the streets, and it’s only a few minutes before they begin to slow. He lifts his head and sees them slowing to a stop at an old building that looks abandoned from the outside, a couple bricks missing from the wall, the windows cracked and boarded up from the outside.

She parks the bike and hops off. He follows after her. There’s no one out on the street at this time of night, especially not in this area. There’s really no danger of being seen, but he tightens his scarf anyway and reaches up to tuck some hair back under the fabric.

She touches the wall, and a hidden scanner lights up over her fingerprint. There’s a click as the lock on the door unlatches. She shoves the door open and waltzes in.

He follows right behind her and flicks the light switch in the wall. The interior of the building is a stark contrast to the exterior, every wall and every window covered with soundproof panels. Work tables are scattered around the room, all of them covered in various gadgets, most of which are unfinished. In the corner of the room is a couch, a coffee table, and a small old TV. The couple of lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling are dim. One of them flickers a bit before settling.

He shuts the door. “So what brings you here, anyway? Aren’t you busy out there in Rockfall?”

She hops up onto a table, shoving some gizmos aside to make room. “Yeah, but my second job can’t take priority over my first one all the time, you know?” She reaches up behind her head, fumbling for a second, and then her metal mask begins to dissolve, the nanobots folding in on themselves into a small device on the back of her neck. “Fuck, it’s hard to breathe in that thing,” Jade says, taking a deep breath.

Leaning against the wall, he reaches up and starts unwinding the black fabric from his face. “Try being suffocated by a scarf all day,” he says as the fabric slips off his face, strands of silver hair falling in his eyes, one a reptilian yellow, the other a normal human purple-ish grey. “Fucking miracle I can do literally anything with this thing on.”

“Hey, you’re the one who picked that for your costume, that’s on you, Ashe.”

The rest of the scarf slips off and he tosses it to the ground, silver hair falling around his shoulders. “Fuck me, this has been a shit couple of days,” Ashe Winters mutters, running a hand down his face.

“Tell me about it.” Jade picks up a random gadget and starts fiddling with it, opening panels and tugging on wires. He doesn’t stop her. She knows how to handle all of this tech better than he ever could, even with all of his practice. “Tide is basically on house arrest after that Whisperer shit, which means he’s gonna be supervising us all the time. I don’t think I’ll be able to sneak out and do this much longer.”

“Yeah, Overlord’s frustrated with my schedule, too. Has he like, asked you to spy on WATCH at all for him or anything since you joined the PD?”

“No. I don’t think he sees WATCH as a threat, actually. I think that hubris is gonna bite him in the ass, but whatever. It’s not like I could do much to spy, anyway. Haven’t even been to WATCH HQ yet.”

Ashe starts taking off more of his costume, slipping off the glove with the panel and the rings that control his turrets. “Really? You guys are supposed to be the next Prime Force, right? Why wouldn’t they take you to WATCH, show you around?”

“I don’t know, because we used to be villains?”

He snorts. “Yeah, ‘used to be.’”

She grins. “Whatever, man.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to quit working for him? Being part of WATCH should be able to support you and your sister, shouldn’t it?”

She shrugs. “I know, it—it should. But... I don’t know if Overlord would like me calling it quits, you know? I don’t know if he’d send people after me, or something.”

“He’s done worse for less,” Ashe mutters. The scales around his eye almost feel like they sting at the mention. He flicks his tail. He doesn’t want to think about it. He tosses the last of his costume to the floor, aside from two things—his jacket, he’s too cold to go without one, and the thick leatherbound book tucked in a holster on his thigh. He never goes anywhere without it. Can’t risk leaving it anywhere, although he’s certain no one could make off with it anyway. It doesn’t like to leave his presence.

“Exactly.” Jade looks down at the little gadget in her hands. “I do actually have a favour to ask of you.”

He heaves a sigh and pushes off the wall to walk over to her, arms crossed. “You’re gonna hold the harpoon thing over my head for a while, won’t you?”

She smirks at him, one side of her mouth twitching higher than the other, lopsided. “Until you do something for me, yeah.”

He hops up onto another table, shoving some things aside. “What do you want?”

“You know we’re trying to get into Belltech and take David Bell down, right?”

“Yeah. Don’t know why, but yeah.”

She puts down the gadget and steeples her fingers, grinning like a supervillain, a dangerous glint in her eye. “X and Alan are too recognizable to break in with me again, so I can’t ask them. But you...”

Ashe nods slowly. “Ah, so you want me to put my life on the line to break into Belltech with you, all the way in Freedom City, just to try finding something that might incriminate David Bell so you can get some kind of revenge on him for something I don’t know about.”

“Exactly.”

He hums, pretending to consider it. She stares at him over her hands, eyes wide and pleading.

“A Freedom City roadtrip will probably be hard to get by my dad,” he muses, “but I think I can make it work.”

“Yes!” She hops off the table and runs over to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. “Dude, you’re the best!”

“I do owe you, I guess. Stop shaking me, man, you’re gonna give me a headache!”

She does, letting him go and backing up to sit on her table again. “If your dad says you can’t go, I can convince him.”

“You are not beating up my dad so I can go with you to break in to a shitty CEO’s company.”

“Why not? Pussy.”

“Because I genuinely think you could beat him up if you tried, and I don’t need my dad in a hospital.”

She heaves a dramatic sigh. “Whatever.”

“Hey, have you figured out a villain name yet? You’ve rebranded Cantrip to be a hero, so who’s this?” He nods at her new costume, reminiscent of her old Cantrip fit with the two-toned jacket and boots, but otherwise strikingly different, with a grey shirt underneath, the full face metal visor, and her hair being tied back to hide the purple under it.

She looks down at herself. “Not sure yet. Any ideas?”

He gives her a once over, trying to think. “I don’t know. I’m not good at the villain name thing. You came up with my name anyway, after the—” He grimaces and doesn’t finish his sentence.

“Sure was better than Circuit. Despite all the—you know, everything, I think I like Basilisk better.” She gestures to him, the tail gently swaying back and forth between his legs, the bright yellow eye he keeps hidden by his hair when he’s out of costume.

He shrugs. “It’s not bad.” He does like the name. Could do without the additions, though. He reaches up and tugs the collar of his turtleneck down so he can scratch at a small patch of scales under his collarbone. Sometimes he’s afraid they may peel right off his skin. Nearly did, back when—yeah. “Don’t change the subject, come on, gimme some name ideas for you. What do you have brainstormed?”

She sighs and flops back to lay on the table. “I don’t know, man. Maybe I should just call myself something like, absurd and vulgar. Like Bitch.”

He snorts. “WATCH wouldn’t like that.”

“Yeah, that’s the point. You don’t like Bitch? How about Cunt?”

Ashe giggles. “Dude, that’s worse!”

“What else am I supposed to do? Let the people pick a name for me? I’m not planning on becoming well known enough for that!” She sits up and half-heartedly throws something in his direction. He dodges it easily. “I don’t need a villain name, because I’m not going to end up in the news anytime soon.”

“Okay, okay. Don’t be surprised if that changes.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Ashe is jolted away from the conversation when his phone rings. He fumbles for it in his pocket and pulls it out to look at the screen. His heart skips a beat.

“Shit, it’s my dad,” he whispers. He looks up at Jade. “Be quiet.”

She mimes zipping her lips shut. Ashe walks over to the corner with the couch, takes a deep breath, and presses the answer button, holding the phone to his ear.

“Where are you?” his dad’s voice says before he can get a single word out.

Ashe glances behind him at Jade, hoping he’s too far away for her to hear and recognize his dad’s voice. “I’m—I’m just—”

“Kid, it’s fucking midnight, where the hell are you?”

“I just took a walk, okay?” Ashe says. “I realized I forgot to lock the library doors when I closed up earlier, so I thought I’d take a walk there to do it.” He swallows. The lie slips out easily, having done this dozens of times over the past seven months. “Is that okay?”

Mark sighs on the other end. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s fine. You shoulda taken the car, kid, there are fuckin’ villains crawling the city. I can’t—I’m gonna come get you.”

“No, Mark, it’s okay,” Ashe says. “I’m on my way home, I promise. I’m almost there. Why—how’d you know I was gone, anyway? I was going to be back soon.”

“I was gonna come into your room to tell you somethin’ and I saw you were gone. Get home quick, okay?”

Ashe tamps down the annoyance that flares up in him at the request. Mark is just looking out for him, of course he’d be worried if Ashe is outside and there are villains out there, he’s just trying to be a good father, Ashe doesn’t need to get mad, it’s fine—

“What were you gonna tell me?” he asks.

“I can tell you when you get home, kid—”

“If it’s so important you were going to potentially wake me up to tell me, you can tell me now.”

There’s a pause on the other end. “Fuck,” Mark mutters. “Okay. WATCH wants me to go to Rockfall to help track down the Whisperer. Round the clock, on call, no comin’ home to New Haven. They’re arranging for transportation to take me there in the morning.”

Ashe stiffens. “And you’re going?”

“I... I don’t have a choice, kid.”

“How long? How long are you going to be there?”

“Until the Whisperer’s caught, I guess.”

Ashe grimaces. His eighteenth birthday is next week. It’s not like he and Mark do anything important for Ashe’s birthdays, haven’t for years, not since—then, but they usually do something small, and it’s his eighteenth, and—fuck him, if the Whisperer is still fucking around by then and Mark is still in Rockfall...

Ashe shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Okay. Have fun, I guess.”

Mark huffs. “I won’t, trust me. They got me workin’ with Lightspeed.”

Ashe glances back to see if Jade’s listening. She’s occupied fidgeting with some of Ashe’s tech, but he knows she’s probably listening intently to his side of the conversation. “Why not your usual partner?”

“He’s on house arrest. You know what happened in Rockfall earlier?”

Ashe knows. He pays very close attention to what villains are where. Has to, to keep them out of Overlord’s turf. “No, not really. I know the Whisperer was around, but I don’t know what went down.”

“He possessed Tide. Said some shit that got WATCH’s panties in a twist, and now Tide’s on lockdown. Lucky he’s not getting depowered, or some shit.”

“Damn. Hope he’s okay.”

“He’ll be fine, he’s Tide, he’s got thick skin. Just get home, okay kid? I can—I can put on one of those slasher movies you like, make some popcorn—”

“I’m gonna go to bed,” Ashe interrupts, tightening his grip on his phone. “When I get home. I’m tired. The walk tuckered me out.”

Mark pauses. The silence across the phone stings, in a way. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

“Yeah.” There’s a quiet rumbling coming from somewhere, and it takes Ashe a minute to realize it’s coming from his own chest, a quiet growl. He clears his throat and tries to push it down. “See you when I get back.”

“Okay. Stay safe on your w—”

Ashe hangs up. He puts his phone back in his pocket and turns around.

Jade looks at him with wide, curious eyes. “What was that about?”

Ashe runs a hand through his hair. “My dad’s going on a business trip to Rockfall. Doesn’t know how long he’s gonna be gone. My fucking birthday’s in five days—four, actually, it’s midnight, I don’t—” The growl starts up again, vibrating low in his throat. “I don’t even care, we never do anything for it because I never want to, but it’s my eighteenth, and—fuck. Fuck, dude.”

Jade looks down at the gadget in her hands, turning it over in her calloused fingers. “Sorry, man.” Her voice is quiet.

“It’s whatever, he does this all the fucking time.” Ashe shoves one hand in his pocket, rests the other on the book at his thigh, tracing the runes in the leather. Sometimes, especially at times like this, he’s tempted to open it, just—speak a couple spells, get this anger out of his system, summon the giant demon hand to smash something or his demon heelies to skate around the city at mach speeds just to do something. He doesn’t, though. He keeps it shut tight, holstered on his leg. Emergencies only.

Annoyance flashes in Jade’s eyes, and Ashe feels a pang of guilt. At least he has a dad to get frustrated at. Jade doesn’t have anyone. No one but a sister she’s trying so hard to provide for.

He pushes it down. “I need to get home, he’s leaving in the morning.” A realization smacks Ashe in the face and his growling stops. “You know, he’s gonna be gone for a few days, at least. If you want that roadtrip to Freedom City, this might be the week to do it.”

Jade looks up at him, examining his face to make sure he’s not bullshitting her, and a smile tugs at her lips. “Dude, seriously?”

He can’t help but grin a little. “Fuck it, let’s do it. Tell Tide you wanna visit your sister or something, he’d have to let you. He’s too nice to keep you from doing that, right?”

Jade’s face lights up. “Holy shit, yeah, I didn’t even think about that! Dude, you’re a fucking genius!”

Ashe takes off his jacket. “Okay, I should get going home before my dad has a heart attack.” He tosses it onto the couch and picks up a long grey cardigan, slinging it on and arranging it to make sure it covers his tail. “Let me know when you can get off hero duty to go to Freedom City, yeah?”

“Will do.” She hops off the table. “You want a ride home?”

“Dude, if anyone sees a villain driving me home, they’re gonna think I’m being kidnapped.”

Jade slings off her jacket, revealing the cloak she wears as a hero underneath. She pulls up the hood and slips on a mask over her lower face. “Who said you had to be seen with a villain?”

Ashe barks out a laugh. He grabs a beanie off a nearby table and slips it on over his head, moving his hair to cover his left eye. “Alright. Take me home, Cantrip.”

Chapter Text

Virion blinks through the sun streaming in through the cracks in the boarded up windows. He rubs his eyes, fighting off sleep, and looks up.

He’s in his bedroll on the floor, placed next to Dakota’s cot. He’d gone to sleep after Kota had run out and grabbed food for the three of them, tuckered out from the fight. That Cantrip girl was good, he had to admit. Not a match for Strider under normal circumstances, but the tricks up her sleeve were sneaky.

He respected that in a way. Doesn’t mean he’s not pissed off about losing, though.

He rubs his eyes and scrambles out of his bedroll, fighting off the lingering traces of sleep. The thin blanket on Dakota’s cot lays unwrinkled, undisturbed, and the flimsy bed of Wight’s is still made.

Neither of them slept. At least not up here. Where are they?

One hand on the knife at his hip, Virion heads to the stairs, wary. The fight yesterday—it ended well overall, and he still has that deal with Wight that he’s pretty sure Wight won’t break, but he can never be too cautious when it comes to dealing with these two. Sure, he’s pretty sure he can trust them not to turn their backs on him or abandon him, but who knows in this world?

The stairs of the abandoned house creak as Virion makes his way down. He reaches the bottom and peers into the living room.

Wight sits on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table. Kota lays curled up on the cushions next to him, head resting on Wight’s lap. Wight runs his fingers through Kota’s red hair, untangling knots and snarls. The TV is on, playing a news broadcast with the volume low.

He tries not to feel too relieved to see both of them. By all accounts, he should be wishing for them to leave him behind so he doesn’t have to do all of this violent shit that Wight wants him to do, but—he can’t deny the little part of him that almost enjoys what they’ve been doing. Like the thrill of seeing blood on the pavement, the adrenaline of fighting, the power in seeing the fear in people’s eyes when they look at him. It’s... it’s completely different than what his dad would have wanted him to do. But honestly? Fuck him. His dad betrayed all oft hem, so who cares what he would have wanted? He’s going to figure out what he wants to do, and he’s starting here. With Wight.

He takes a deep breath and steps into the living room. Both of them look at him, Wight turning his head to fully smile at him, Kota peering at him out of the corner of his eyes.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Wight says.

“Morning.” Virion glances between the two of them. “Did you sleep?”

“Kota wanted to sleep out here on the chance that someone would find us. I stayed up to keep watch. I would have asked you to join us, but when I woke you, you nearly stabbed me.”

Virion nods. Must have been Strider. He was always high strung. “Sorry. That was probably one of—you know.”

Wight’s grin widens. “The voices in your head?”

“Yeah.”

“Do they have names?”

Virion opens his mouth to answer, but a feeling of distaste that isn’t his own rises in his throat, and he stops. Ram. He doesn’t want his name known, not by this guy.

“Ain’t your business,” Ram spits, and Virion shoves him back before he can say anything more.

“Yeah,” he says. “They do. But that’s theirs to talk about, not mine.”

Wight hums. “Very well.”

Virion furrows his brow. “Is that... okay?”

“You have your secrets, I have mine.” Wight shrugs. “Fine by me.”

Virion nods slowly. There’s something about the way Wight is sitting, speaking, presenting himself, his stiff posture and insistent stare, that makes Virion think there’s more he wants to talk about and is waiting to see if Virion picks up on it somehow. Like he’s testing him, or something.

Virion sits down on the coffee table, in front of the TV, blocking its screen from their view. He draws his knife and holds it loosely in his hand, turning it over in his fingers, fidgeting. “So. Yesterday.”

Wight straightens and tilts his head ever so slightly. Evidently, Virion picked up whatever was on Wight’s mind. “Yes?”

“That was... something.”

Wight’s grin widens, just a little. “Yes, it certainly was. What did you think of it?”

Virion looks down at his knife as he thinks. Yesterday... attacking people in broad daylight, walking alongside Wight and Kota, being feared, fighting, feeling the adrenaline, watching Wight overpower Tide with barely any effort...

He almost hates to admit it. It goes against all of the morals he’s been raised with, his parents preparing him to take over the guild when he grew up, the Greats teaching him how to do good, how to be a hero, defend the people who need it.

But he wants to feel that again. That adrenaline, that feeling of being feared, being powerful.

Virion takes a deep breath. It trembles a little in his chest. “It was... good.”

He feels Ram’s disapproval churn in his gut just at the notion, but Wight’s grin turns into a genuine smile, and a sort of pride rises up in Virion and tamps down Ram’s feelings. Which is—it’s fucking stupid, he shouldn’t feel proud of anything that happened back there, but—it’s nice. Having someone to guide him, someone to give him this, someone to approve of what he’s doing. Someone that isn’t his parents.

He’s never done anything like this alone before. He’s never chosen to do something like this on his own.

“Good.” Wight continues running his fingers through Kota’s hair. “Because I have something I’d like to do today.”

Virion swallows, somewhat hesitant. “Okay?”

“We’re going to have to leave Rockfall eventually. That much is obvious, with them pulling in more heroes to help deal with us. But before we do, I have one little bit of chaos I would like to cause. And it centres around you.”

Ram lingers at the back of Virion’s head, not saying anything, but there’s a caution in his presence, a slight warning, and Virion isn’t sure whether he wants to listen to it or not. “Okay. Care to explain?”

Wight lifts his hand from Kota’s head and steeples his fingers like a proper villain about to launch into a monologue. “Virion,” he says, and the way his name rolls off Wight’s tongue makes Virion shudder. He doesn’t call him by name often. It makes him want to listen.

“You showed a great level of trust in us yesterday during our little outing,” Wight says. “But the fact stands that we still don’t properly know you. We like you, but trusting you? It will take a little more than that.”

“Okay,” Virion says. “What exactly will it take?”

Virion, Ram’s voice speaks up, quiet but insistent, I don’t think you wanna earn this guys trust, I don’t think you can even trust him at all—

Virion grits his teeth and tries his best to push Ram back. His opinion doesn’t fucking matter here, this is Virion’s situation to deal with. This is Virion’s choice.  

“We’d like to test you,” Wight says. “I can possess you three times, as per our deal. I’d like to use one of them to send you out and wreak just a little bit of havoc.”

Virion hesitates, running his thumb along the edge of his blade. “What kind of havoc?”

“That isn’t necessary for you to know,” Wight says. He reaches out with one hand and takes Virion’s chin, moving his head so they’re looking at each other head on. Virion tries not to look away from his intense crimson gaze. “All you need to know, pretty boy, is that I will be in full control over you. Whatever I do with you will be entirely up to me. Whatever happens doesn’t need to be on your conscious.” He lets out a chuckle. “Unless, of course, you fight it and try to remain aware while I have you, which may be worse for you if you still have qualms about what it is we’re doing.”

Virion keeps turning his knife over in his hands. The prospect is... terrifying. Giving someone else full control over his body and consciousness, willingly, knowing full well that Wight will probably make him kill people...

“Are you going to do it anyway whether I agree to let you or not?” Virion asks.

Wight smiles wider and doesn’t answer. His other hand returns to Kota’s hair and starts combing through the red snarls. Kota lets out a sound that almost resembles a purr.

Another presence in Virion, one that he rarely feels but is familiar all the same, pops up alongside Ram. Let it be known, says a high, feminine voice, strong in its firmness, that I do not approve of this boy and what he’s having you do.

Thank you, Min, Ram says.

But, she continues, and Virion hears her yawn before finishing her sentence, a deal is a deal. And I don’t really want to know what this boy will do if Virion doesn’t agree to what he does.

Ram scoffs. Is no one else on my side here?

I am! a third voice exclaims, loud and boisterous, and Virion grimaces at the inevitable headache. God dammit, not him. Tentative truce, gunslinger?

I can work with that. Kid, me ‘n Alphonz don’t like this, if you need to fight your way out of this—

“Shut the fuck up,” Virion mutters, squeezing his eyes shut, concentrating on shoving all three of them back. “Shut up, this is my body, I’ll do what I fucking want with it.”

“Internal dilemma, pretty boy?”

Virion opens his eyes and looks directly at Wight’s bright red gaze. “Go ahead,” he says before he can think about it any longer. “Do it, just—make them shut up.”

Wight’s grin widens. Ram lurches forward at the same time Alphonz does, both intending to wrestle Virion out of control of his own body, but they butt heads as they reach for control at the same time, cursing at each other and slinking back, confused and angry.

Wight’s grip on his chin tightens. Kota scrambles off Wight’s lap and heads for the door, peering out of the boarded up windows to make sure no one’s there before he opens the door and scampers outside on his hands and feet like an animal.

Wight stands, still holding Virion’s chin in his hand, making him tilt his head up to keep looking at him. Ram lurches forward, and Alphonz is right behind him, both desperate to take Virion’s body and move it away from Wight. Ram nearly gets him, just jerking Virion’s head out of Wight’s grip for a second before Virion yanks the reins back out of his hands and trains his gaze back on Wight. He hasn’t moved his hand, keeping it open in front of Virion, like an offering.

Virion swallows and places his chin on Wight’s fingertips. Wight’s smile shrinks, turning from something wild and manic into something calmer but no less dangerous, something... intrigued. Pleased? Hard to tell. Whatever it is, it’s still intense, entirely focused on just Virion.

Wight pulls his hand up and Virion follows, standing from the coffee table, knife in hand. Alphonz lunges forward, gaining control of Virion’s hand for half a second, nearly lashing out and driving the blade into Wight’s stomach. Wight doesn’t flinch. He’s shorter than Virion, looking up at him now, but Virion still feels smaller than him. Wight’s fingers on his chin are a leash, a point to keep him connected, grounded. He almost fears that if Wight pulls away, he’ll slip away and someone else will take over in his stead.

As Wight starts walking backwards, towards the door, Virion follows, letting him lead. He’s—he doesn’t particularly like Wight, he’s arrogant and obnoxious, but he’s... powerful. There’s something so tempting about that, and after getting a taste of it yesterday... he wants more. God, does he want it.

Wight leads him outside. Ram and Alphonz keep fighting inside him, insistent that Virion turn around and run or stab his knife into Wight’s torso, and there’s a third presence—not Min, Strider maybe—trying to hold them back. It takes Virion a moment to realize he’s trembling with the effort to stay in his own head. Ram and Alphonz are strong, hard to keep back. If Virion loses focus on Wight for even a second, one of them will take over, he’s certain.

They step out onto the street. Kota scampers ahead, growling at the few civilians that wander around this side of town, driving them away. Their startled screams nearly break Virion’s concentration, but Wight grips his chin and takes his focus again.

Wight’s grin has faded into just the slightest uptick at the corner of his mouth, his eyes dark, intense. Virion doesn’t think Wight has blinked even once.

They stop in the middle of the street. Wight raises his other hand, and a red wisp appears, hovering over his palm.

“Are you ready, pretty boy?”

Virion nods, just a little, not enough to move Wight’s fingers from his chin. Wight smiles again, pleased, proud, and something in Virion’s stomach flips at the silent praise.

Wight raises the wisp to his mouth and blows. Ram tries to lunge forward, take control of Virion before it’s too late, but the wisp flies into Virion’s face.

Virion blinks at the redness in his vision, but the crimson haze doesn’t go away. It gets stronger, brighter, the entire world veiled in a blood red tint. Something churns inside Virion, much different than the Greats feel, something—intense, something strong, powerful, chaotic.

The Greats are quiet. They’re still there, but when Virion reaches out, it’s like they just... can’t move. Not of Virion’s or their own will, anyway.

Virion’s looking up at Wight. He’s on his knees. When did he get there? The pavement digs into his skin. Wight’s hand is still on his chin, keeping his head tilted up. Wight’s smiling at him. Virion has a sudden thought that he would do anything for Wight to keep looking at him like that.

“Kota and I will be wreaking our own little bits of havoc around the city,” Wight says. “But you’ll be the main event, pretty boy. I’ll be watching you. We’ll be there to make sure things don’t go south.”

His voice is soft, but it’s loud in Virion’s ears, commanding. It’s the only thing he wants to listen to for the rest of his life.

“Are you ready to cause some chaos, Virion?” Wight asks.

Virion’s head moves without his input, nodding. He would have nodded even if Wight wasn’t controlling his every move.

Wight’s smile widens. “Good.”

He moves his hand from Virion’s chin, and Virion almost whines, leaning forward, chasing it, desperate to keep the connection, and then Wight snaps his fingers in Virion’s face.

Virion is gone.

Chapter Text

Xavier yawns as he shoves the door to the kitchen open. “What are you doing?”

Jade glances back at him from where she’s standing over the stove. “Making breakfast.”

Xavier hums, rubbing his eyes. “Nice.”

“Not even gonna ask what it is?”

He slumps into a chair at the dining table. “Anything’s better than beef stroganoff.” He puts his glasses on and blinks the sleep out of his eyes. “Why are you cooking?”

Jade sighs and pokes at the French toast in her pan with a spatula. “I wanna ask Tide if I can go to Freedom City to visit Ruby this week. Maybe making breakfast will soften him up, or something.”

“Maybe you should have made beef stroganoff. He’d probably like that better.”

Jade snorts. “Maybe.”

They fall into silence as Jade keeps cooking. She stares down at the toast in the pan like the grains will have answers to her every question. She wishes it did.

The kitchen door opens and Tide walks in. He’s in his hero suit, despite that he’s barred from hero work. Jade has never seen him out of it actually, now that she thinks about it. There are bags under his eyes, and his dreads are only lightly tied back, a couple of them hanging out around his chin instead of firmly twisted back to keep it out of his face.

“Morning.” Jade flips both slices of French toast. “Hungry?”

Tide furrows his brow. “You... made breakfast today?”

“Yeah. I figured you deserved a break after all that. You should relax.”

Tide glances at Xavier, as if asking a silent question. Xavier just shrugs.

Tide lowers himself into a seat at the table. “Um, thank you, Jade. I wasn’t expecting this.”

She lifts the edge of the French toast. They both look done, so she flips both slices onto a plate and places two more on the pan in their place. They sizzle as she lays them down. She picks up the plate and turns to the table, letting the toast cook, and places the plate in front of Tide.

Tide narrows his eyes and looks at her. “Jade, I know you kids underestimate me, but I’m not stupid. I know when I’m being buttered up. What do you want?”

Jade sighs, disappointed that she was seen through so quickly, but she turns and grabs the butterdish and the syrup off the counter anyway. “Okay, fine,” she says, setting them both on the table. “I want to go to Freedom City to visit my sister.”

Tide folds his hands on the table, staring down at his plate. “That’s all?”

“Yeah.” Jade reaches into the utensil drawer and grabs a knife and fork, then walks over to the table to place them next to Tide’s plate. “I just—it’s been like a month since I’ve seen her in person, with the whole being arrested thing, and then coming to live here. I just want to see her. And I know there’s a lot going on here, but I’m not going to be a lot of help with my leg injured anyway, so... I don’t know, I was thinking I could take a day to go to Freedom City. Give me a day to heal, or something.”

Tide doesn’t say anything as he butters his French toast, listening to Jade speak. When she’s done, he’s pouring syrup over his breakfast. He sets the bottle down and stares at the syrup as it pools across his plate. He heaves a great, tired sigh.

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” he says. “You’d like to go alone?”

Hope rises in her chest, glowing bright like a sun. She tries not to let it show on her face. “If I can, yeah. I don’t really want WATCH knowing anything about my identity.”

“That’s fair. Someone will have to monitor you though, or I don’t think WATCH will approve. They may force you to have a chaperone.”

“I can turn my location on on my phone?” she suggests.

“Honestly, that would be good enough for me. WATCH, however, may have other ideas.” Tide starts cutting up his breakfast. “I’m sure we can get someone to drive you to Freedom City tomorrow, or get you permission to go alone if that’s what you want.”

Jade’s spirits lift. “Really?”

“Yes, I’m sure something can be arranged.” He gives her a soft smile. “You’ve all made great strides as heroes. I’m sure they will see that and trust you to take a short trip to visit your sister.”

She beams. “Awesome! Thanks, Tide!” She picks up her spatula. “Hey, X, catch.” She tosses the spatula at him. He yelps and nearly drops it.

“You’re on breakfast duty now,” she says, grabbing two slices of French toast and walking to the door.

“Asshole, you started breakfast, you should finish it!”

“Not my problem!”

She munches on her toast as she beelines for the hallway. She’s almost at her room when she catches sight of Alan’s bedroom door, slightly ajar. She pauses, hesitating, eager to pack up her villain costume and tech for tomorrow, but she takes a couple steps towards Alan’s door. She raises a hand to gently knock on it.

“Alan?” she says softly. “You up?”

She hears something rustling inside. “Alan not here,” comes Alan’s deep voice. “Go away.”

Jade nudges the door open and peeks her head in. It’s dark in here, but then again, it usually is. Alan once said his home planet was often dark, with short days and very long nights. Maybe he keeps it dark on purpose.

She steps in as her eyes adjust to the dark. There’s not much in here, just a small chest against the wall that holds different pairs of shorts for Alan to wear, and a bunch of large chunks of rock that were brought in in an attempt to make Alan feel more “at home.” There’s a cot on the floor, mostly a mess of blankets that have been thrown everywhere, most of them torn from the jagged edges of Alan’s body.

Alan sits in the cot, facing the wall. His head is ducked down into his knees. Jade is almost shorter than him even when he’s sitting.

She nudges the door half-shut and walks up to him. “Hey.” She holds out her uneaten piece of toast, taking a bite out of the other. “Breakfast?”

He turns his head to glance at her, his bright yellow eyes flashing, one of the only sources of light in the entire room. He gingerly reaches out and takes the offered slice of toast. Looking at him now, there is an uneven patch of rocky skin on his back, a small chunk chipped away, making one shoulder slope lower than the other. The rock under it is an orange-ish red, like clay.

She clambers onto a rock and sits down cross-legged, taking another bite of toast. “So. How... are you feeling?”

He takes a bite of toast, which basically consumes half the entire slice. “Tide fought us.”

Jade nods. “Yeah. He was possessed, though. That wasn’t really Tide, it was the Whisperer. Controlling him and shit.”

Alan doesn’t say anything, just chews on his toast. Jade sits and waits for him to speak.

“But why?” he mutters. “Alan... Alan don’t understand.”

Jade wracks her brain for a way to explain in a way he might get. “Well... you know what puppets are?”

Alan nods and puts the rest of his toast in his mouth. He shrinks down a little further into his cot.

“Okay, well... it’s like if Tide was a puppet and the Whisperer was the one moving him around. The Whisperer’s powers are... kinda weird? I think my sister knows what all he can do. But taking control of people like that is something he can do. He wasn’t physically strong enough to beat us on our own, so he stole Tide to do it.”

Alan’s brow furrows. He nods slowly. “Okay.”

“So that’s what makes the Whisperer so dangerous,” Jade says. “If you’re strong, he can use that against you. That’s what he did with Tide.”

Alan shifts a little. “But... the red boy?”

Ah. Yeah, makes sense he’d be worried about that. Jade finishes off her toast and drums her fingers on her leg, thinking.

“Kota Kill is strong,” she says finally. “Not stronger than you, definitely not, but he’s... a little crazy. He doesn’t know how to hold back. He probably hurt himself trying to hurt you.”

Alan hesitates. “He still hurt Alan.”

“Yeah, he did. But if you have to fight him again, we’ll be more careful. We shouldn’t have to, though. WATCH is sending Wavelength and another hero to take care of the Whisperer for us. They’ll take the Whisperer and his friends down, and we’ll be safe.”

Alan nods again. His shoulders relax, just a little. “Okay.”

Jade stands up and gently nudges him. “It’ll be okay. They’re gonna take care of the Whisperer, and everything will... everything will work out fine. Okay?”

She waits for a response. He doesn’t give her one, just rests his chin on his knees and stares at the wall, lost in thought.

She leaves, making sure to keep the door open just a little. In all honesty, she doesn’t even know if that helped at all. She’s not good at the whole feelingsy reassurance kinda thing. Xavier isn’t either, but at least he’s better at it than her.

She shoves the door to her own room open and shuts it behind her with a gentle click. She wants to throw something, or—or hit something, she doesn’t care. Talking with Alan just reminded her of the fucking Whisperer. This whole thing is—it’s annoying, and everything with Tide and the Whisperer has the potential to throw a major wrench into her own plans, and—

Most of all, she’s angry that she wants to fight the Whisperer.

She shouldn’t. She can’t. She’s not a hero, she can’t stand up to the likes of him, but almost more than anything, she wants to go out there, find him, get him off the streets, amake sure he can’t hurt anyone anymore. He hurt Tide, he hurt Alan, he doesn’t deserve to be out there running free and causing destruction and getting people killed—

She’s thinking like a hero.

She’s thinking like her parents.

In one swift movement, she grabs a knife off her bed and throws it at the wall with all her strength. It sticks right through one of her posters. A Prime Force poster Ruby got her. The blade sticks right in Origami’s forehead.

She leans against the door and slides down to the floor. Her leg throbs as she moves it, but she barely winces. The pain is nothing to her at this point, just a background hum.

It’s going to be fine. She’s going to go to Freedom City, she’s going to go into Belltech and get proof of what’s going on there, and then she’ll come back and bring it to WATCH or expose it to the public and then watch David Bell come crumbling down.

She’s doing this because of what David Bell did to Alan. She’s doing it for revenge. She’s not doing it to be a hero.

Jade takes her phone out of her pocket and opens up her music, putting it on nearly full volume and tossing the phone onto her bed. She needs to pack for her trip. She’s going to tell Tide that she wants to leave tomorrow, maybe even today if she can. The sooner the better.

Limping a little, she hobbles to her closet and opens it to grab a duffel bag. She shoves a couple jackets aside and finds her villain costume, the gadget for the metal visor and two-toned boots wrapped up in the black and white jacket. She grabs them and shoves them into her duffel, tucking it into the corner where she can cover it up with t-shirts. She starts shoving random shit in there, mostly just to cover up her costume—she’s not going to need this many pairs of jeans, and she knows it. She finds a random Tide shirt that Tide gifted her and shoves it in there. Ruby would like it, probably. God knows Jade will never wear it herself.

Someone knocks on her door.

She jumps, whirling around, shielding her duffel bag with her body in case someone opens the door uninvited. Her door remains closed.

“What?” she yells over the sound of her music.

The door cracks open and Xavier steps in. He shuts it behind him immediately and then leans back against the door. He crosses his arms. “Okay, why are you really going to Freedom City?”

She freezes. “What do you mean?”

He jabs his thumb behind him in the direction of the kitchen. “That display? That was bullshit. Why are you really going?”

She glances at the door, almost paranoid Tide will open it the moment she starts talking. She grabs her phone and turns up the volume of her music. “Don’t tell Tide.”

“Obviously, I won’t.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

She sighs. “I want to go back and investigate Belltech. I’m not going to do anything violent that’ll attract attention. Simple in and out mission.”

He straightens. “You’re not doing it alone, I’m—”

“You’re not coming with me,” she interrupts. “Rockfall needs heroes, and you’re better at fighting that I am. Besides, they’ll insist we have a chaperone if we both go, and that’s the last thing I want.”

Xavier makes a face. “Jade—”

“I’m not doing it alone, okay? I’ve got an old friend I’m going with. They know what they’re doing. We’ll be careful.”

Xavier pauses, thinking about it. “Okay,” he relents. “If you’re sure. But call me if anything goes wrong when you’re there, okay?”

“I will, I promise. But it’ll be fine, we’ll just go in, take a look around, and get out.”

“Who are you going with anyway? Anyone I know?”

Jade thinks back to Harttawa, when Ashe electrocuted Xavier into unconsciousness. “Uh... vaguely.”

“Hero? Villain? What’s their cape name?”

“Not important.” She grabs a random band tee off her floor and folds it, quick but neat. “It’ll be fine though, trust me.”

“You know I do. It’s whoever you’re going with—”

“Dude, seriously, it’s fine.” She puts the t-shirt in her bag, arranging it to make sure her costume is covered. “I promise. Okay?”

He hesitates, but then he nods. “Okay. Just—keep me updated, alright? If you find anything incriminating, just make sure there’s nothing about Alan. You know he doesn’t like talking about what Bell did to him.”

Jade huffs. “I know. It would make our job a lot fucking easier if he did, though.”

“He doesn’t—Jade, you know he doesn’t fully understand what Bell did to him or why. If WATCH knows Bell did some weird fucking experiments on him, they’re gonna question him about it, and he can’t take that. He’s never been hurt like that before.” He glances behind him at the door, as if afraid that someone could be listening in. “I think... I think that’s why Kota making him bleed shook him so much.”

Jade nods slowly. It’s... a delicate situation. It would be so much easier if they could just tell WATCH what happened, but they need to protect Alan. He shuts down at the mere notion of telling anyone about what happened to him at Belltech. As much as Jade would like to just to send a bunch of heroes to David Bell’s doorstep, they’re keeping their mouths shut. For Alan’s sake.

She looks down at her duffel bag, fidgeting with the strap of it. “Yeah. If WATCH knew that David Bell was evil and that he had his hands in Alan’s guts...”

“They could cut Alan open to see what Bell did to him,” Xaiver finishes quietly.

They’ve talked about this frankly more than they probably need to. Maybe it’s an illogical fear, maybe it’s unfounded, but Jade’s never trusted WATCH. Their morals aren’t as straight and narrow as they claim they are. Jade wouldn’t put it past them to have Alan cut open to see what Bell did to him, or even to see what made him so interesting to Bell in the first place.

Telling them what happened to Alan is not worth the risk.

“When do you want to go?” Xavier asks.

“Today would be preferrable, if Tide can get WATCH’s approval fast, but probably tomorrow. Won’t stay longer than a day.”

Xavier nods. “Okay. Be careful, be as safe as you can, don’t do anything stupid—”

“Like you’re one to talk.”

Xavier snorts. “Fuck you.”

She looks over at her bag, at a sliver of black fabric poking out. Part of her villain costume. She debates telling him everything—about Overlord, about Ashe, all of it, but before she can even decide whether she wants to open her mouth or not, an alarm blares through the base, making her heart leap into her throat. She scrambles to her feet, wincing at the dull pain in her leg as it blares in her eardrums.

Xavier turns around and flings Jade’s door open. “What’s going on?”

Tide’s footsteps run down the hall. “The Whisperer is out on the streets again,” he says as he appears in the doorway. “He’s not doing what he usually does. He’s possessed one of his lackies and sending them out to cause chaos in his stead.”

Jade’s blood runs cold, reaching for her phone to shut off her music. “Which one?”

“Not Kota Kill. The new one. Kota and the Whisperer are likely still out there, waiting to step in if things go wrong, or to cause more problems elsewhere. I... WATCH still wants me benched, so they want some of you on the scene.”

Xavier’s eyes widen. “What? Ms. G. said we shouldn’t have to go against the Whisperer again! He’s too dangerous!”

“We don’t have a lot of choice. Wavelength and Lightspeed both arrived this morning, but there’s no one available who can get to Rockfall fast enough to help. They will need more than Lightspeed and Wavelength if they’re going to have any chance of apprehending the Whisperer and his crew once and for all.” Tide sighs. “We just have to hope the Whisperer doesn’t plan on causing too much destruction this time, and that Lightspeed and Wavelength won’t be easy for him to possess.”

Jade and Xavier glance at each other. She can see it in his face. He’s scared.

The look is gone in an instant. He nods and brushes past Tide to go to his room. “Give me five.”

Tide lets him pass and leans back into the room to look at Jade. “Jade, you’re still healing. You shouldn’t be in this fight. I’ll call WATCH, tell them I’m sending you to Freedom City—”

“No,” she says without thinking. “Let me fight. I can help.”

“I can’t let you do that,” Tide says, and his eyes are... sympathetic, almost sad, like a puppy. “The Whisperer is too strong and you don’t have powers that can protect you.”

“Tide, let me help,” she insists. “I’m a hero for a fucking reason, I can’t just run away when—”

“You have a sister to get back to!” Tide says, and Jade jumps at his raised voice. “I am not taking you back to her in a box!”

She steps back. The look on his face... almost angry? Sad? Desperate? All three?

He’s right. She hates to say it, but he’s right. She can’t risk getting hurt, or dying, or even being possessed. She’s all Ruby has.

Besides, what the hell is she doing? She’s only doing this hero shit to stay out of prison. The less of it she has to do, the better.

She nods. “Okay. I can take my bike to Freedom City, if WATCH will allow it.”

“Do it. Either they understand, or they get mad at me for sending you without their prior permission. I’ll take the fall.”

A little nugget of guilt wells up inside her when he says that, but she swallows it down. She needs to look out for herself. Herself and Ruby. That’s all that matters.

She nods. “Okay. I’ll—I’ll be out of the city within the hour.”

“Good.”

Tide turns and leaves. Jade peeks out of her bedroom to look at Alan’s door.

It’s partially open. She can see the shape of him sitting in his cot, hunched into a ball. The bright yellow of his eyes stare out at her, wide, terrified.

She nudges her door closed. As an afterthought, she reaches into her duffel bag and takes out the small device that contains the mask of her villain costume. She sticks it to the back of her neck, a tiny metal disk that would be hard for anyone to see under her hair. It doubles as a helmet, but it is recognizable enough if anyone’s looking for it. She’ll use it if she desperately needs it, but she hopes she won’t.

She looks down at her duffel bag. They don’t need her for this. Her talents are better used elsewhere.

Chapter Text

Everything is red.

It’s the only thing Virion can see. No shapes, no shadows, no light. Just red. He’s not even sure if “seeing” is the right way to describe it. Everything is red; the crimson in his vision, the tang on his tongue, the tingling on his fingertips of everything he touches. It all just feels... red.

It didn’t feel like this last time.

Last time, there was... resistance. A push and pull. There was red, yes, but it was bright, hot, fiery, infuriating. He could feel his own body, see and hear what he did—or, what Alphonz did, he was the one in control of them for most of that. But they could all see what was going on, hear the screams, feel the warm wind on their face. This—this is different.

The Greats are still there. He can feel them, their powers swirling around him, switching in and out with each other like a well oiled machine, each of them being tugged forward and pushed back at the whims of the Whisperer. Like puppets on a string.

Wight is there too, but not... really. It’s a different presence, a spirit of chaos, being controlled by Wight, which in turn controls Virion’s body. But he can still feel Wight like fingers in his brain, in his skin, tugging on his tendons, moving him like a toy.

He likes the feeling. He wants to keep feeling it forever.

He feels something almost like hands cupping his face, like Wight is in the headspace of his brain himself, sifting through the nonsense of everything else, the logic, the fear, the idle thoughts that float through his brain on the daily, brushing it all aside with the back of his hand and reaching out to Virion. Virion leans into it like a dog to its master. Even if he could pull away, he wouldn’t.

Something else does.

Virion comes to with a pair of revolvers in his hands. It takes him a long moment to come to his senses, realize where he is, as the red in his vision lessens—not disappearing, but fading a little, enough that he can see. He’s on the streets of Rockfall, a main street where traffic would usually be going through. Around him are bodies, most of them unconscious or injured, some with bullet holes in them, others with stab wounds—from Strider, no doubt, but a few bigger ones from Alphonz’s sword. Some people on the street are screaming, and police sirens wail in the distance. No one appears to be dead, not yet, but he can’t get a good survey of the situation because his body turns around and starts walking in another direction, away from the scene of carnage, and he can’t make it stop.

Ram.

Trying to say the name does nothing. He’s not in control of his own body; it’s Ram in the front seat, and no amount of pushing is making him move out of the way.

“We’re leavin’, kid,” Ram says aloud, his stupid fucking spurs clicking on the sidewalk. “This shit is only gonna get us in trouble.”

Wight knows what he’s doing! He’s been here his whole life! Would you rather be out here alone?

“Being alone on this planet is better than hurting innocent people! We taught you better than this, kid!”

I’M NOT A KID!

Ram is silent for a moment. “Vee, no matter how old you get, you’re always gonna be our kid.”

A guttural rage washes over Virion, and for a second Ram falters, stumbling as the third presence in his head—Wight, he’s still here, Virion realizes, not gone, just quiet, observing up until now—latches onto it, turning their vision red, trying to use Virion’s anger to take control again. Virion tries to fuel it, which isn’t fucking hard. He’s not a kid, he’s almost twenty, and if the Greats stopped fucking treating him like one and let him handle his own problems, they probably never would have gotten thrown in prison in the first place—

Ram stumbles into an alleyway and leans against a building. “Kid, you’re really makin’ this hard,” he whispers.

Wight’s presence curls around them both, but he doesn’t pull them back into submission yet. His presence just kind of... sits there, watching with a vague feeling of curiosity, silent, waiting. Virion isn’t sure if Wight can even say anything to them through this... whatever it is that’s keeping him in here.

Let him handle this, Virion spits. Do you want to end up back in prison?

“It would be better than stayin’ out here and lettin’ him use you!”

He’s not using me, I agreed to this!

“I’m doin’ this to keep you out of trouble, it’s for your own good!”

What, so you’re the one using me now then? It’s only okay to take over my body when YOU think it’s good for me? How does that make you any better?

Ram falters again, and that’s all Wight needs, apparently. Their vision goes red again, and that feeling, that gentle pull of the chaos spirit inside him that Wight has a hold over, washes over him again, and Virion—

He’s not gone. Not this time. It is like before a little bit, where he can kind of feel what his body is doing, track the heavy swing of his arm as Alphonz’s sword appears in his hand and he swings it at something, and his entire brain is—cloudy, somehow, half there and half not, the Greats swirling around in his head, completely under Wight’s control, but this time Ram isn’t being controlled with them. His presence is floating in that same sort of hazy stasis that Virion is in, and Virion can feel his anger, his frustration, but it's all muted, hidden under William Wight’s control, the haze of chaos that consumes them both.

He reaches out to the vague presence of Wight, asking him to drag him under fully, take him, make everything just—go away. He wants to float in that feeling he was in before, the blissful unawareness, letting go, being guided by just—him.

Wight listens. His presence gets stronger, louder, until it’s all he can feel, all he can see, and then Virion slips away again.

Chapter Text

The entire city is in chaos.

There are cop cars lining the sidewalks, many of them turned over, lights spinning, sirens blaring out of tune as if something was knocked out of alignment. It looks almost like Kota Kill has rampaged through here, but there are clear gashes in cars from what might be a broadsword, bullet holes from a gun, burst hydrants almost like Tide came through. It’s pure chaos out here.

More than anything, she wants to go find Xavier and Alan, give them some backup, throw all she’s got at the Whisperer and take him in. Instead, she grits her teeth and grips the handlebars of her bike and keeps driving.

She’s not a hero. She can’t be. Being a hero will only get her killed, and Ruby needs her.

She fumbles with her earbud case and shoves one of them in her ear, waiting for it to connect as she weaves in an out of traffic. She takes out her phone and taps on Ashe’s contact. She waits as it rings, and then Ashe’s voice is in her ear.

“What’s up?” he says.

“I’m heading to New Haven.” She has to raise her voice to be heard over the wind. “We’re going to Freedom City from there. Are you ready to go?”

“What? I—yeah, I guess. Why are you coming here? What’s—”

“The Whisperer’s attacking the city again, he’s possessed one of his—his pets or whatever and sending him out to cause chaos, I need to get out of the city—”

“Aren’t you gonna fight him?”

Jade grits her teeth. “I would, but—I have someone to take care of out here, she needs me, I can’t—I’m not gonna risk dying. I’m not a real hero Ashe, you know this.”

There’s silence on the other end, and Jade thinks maybe she’s lost signal or something, but then he speaks. “Yeah, okay. I’ll—I’ll pack up. We can take my dad’s Prius, he never uses it anyway. We’ll meet up at my workshop.”

“Got it. Is there anywhere—”

Jade’s phone rings with another incoming call. She curses and glances down at the screen.

It’s Ruby.

“Someone’s calling me,” she says. “Just—get ready, I’ll be there in less than an hour.”

“Be caref—”

She hangs up. She takes a deep breath and picks up Ruby’s call.

“Hey asshole,” Ruby says.

“Hey.” A car honks at Jade as she merges into another lane. She shoves her phone in her pocket and flips them off. “What, uh, what’s up?”

“I’m coming to Rockfall to visit sometime soon!” Ruby says, and the smile in her voice is audible even through the shitty audio quality of Jade’s earbud. “I finally managed to convince the foster to drive me down for a day. Is there a day sometime this week you’re not in class, or—”

“No!” Jade yelps. “I—I mean, I’m... actually, I was—I was gonna surprise you, but—I’m coming to Freedom City to visit you today. You shouldn’t come to Rockfall, it’s... too long a trip for you, and it’s dangerous with the Whisperer on the streets.”

Ruby gasps. “Dude, what? Seriously? That’s awesome! Really?”

“Yeah, I, uh, I asked if I could, and I’m—I’m on my way. Just... driving right now, I’m going to a friend’s place who’s going to drive us down there.”

“Awesome! Also, you shouldn’t be calling while driving, you know it’s not safe—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m just—” She veers around a car and takes a sharp turn down another street, one that’s a lot less busy, barely any cars on the streets. “Sorry, I’m, uh, in some heavy traffic, and there’s some stuff going on in the city, just—gimme like—”

She turns down another street and her eyes widen. There’s a figure up ahead, a silhouette outlined in a red glow, cape flowing behind them. The shapes of bodies litter the ground all around them.

She slams on the breaks and jerks the bike to the side, frantically trying to stop, turn around, go down a different street. The back of the bike clips a lamppost and it spins. She cries out as she’s thrown off, the world thrown upside down as she goes tumbling across the street.

She stills and lets out a groan. Fuck, that hurt. Slowly, she lifts her head and glances around for her phone. She spots it laying nearby on the pavement, screen cracked. The call is still open, but her earbud is gone. Broken, likely, because she can hear Ruby’s voice from the phone itself, panicked, calling out Jade’s name.

She hears her bike skidding across the pavement, and then it stops a little ways away. She peels herself off the pavement, wincing as her leg aches. Fuck, she’s still in her civvies, her hero costume tucked away in her bag with her villain outfit. She’s not even wearing a helmet, for fuck’s sake. She should have put it on, she just didn’t think.

She reaches up to touch her face. Ow. Roadburn. Nothing else hurts too much, so that seems to be the worst of it. Lucky. Most bike accidents aren’t this forgiving. She glances around, searching for the figure she recognized, and freezes.

She spots the caped figure in the street—the Whisperer. Her heart leaps into her throat as he slowly turns around to face her.

He’s wearing most of his typical getup, the tie and vest and the cloak, but without the fire that usually wreathes his face. She’s seen his face once already yesterday, but she wasn’t close enough to get a good look. She gives him one glace and decides that looking him in the eye is worse than seeing the fiery featureless mask he usually wears.

He looks a lot like his mugshot. His hair is greasy and unkempt, a stark contrast to the neatly pressed dress shirt he wears. His eyes are dark, but they flash red as soon as they land on her. He smiles, too wide, unnatural, and her blood runs cold just at the sight of it.

She’s got knives on her. She could fight back, but he might recognize her. That’s the last thing she wants.

He walks towards her, slow, deliberate, as if purposely giving her time to run away. She scrambles back, then pauses when she hears Ruby yell through her phone again.

The Whisperer looks down at it. He turns and starts walking towards it instead, and she freezes, unsure if she should rush forward and snatch it up before he can hear Ruby, or if she should run away. Bolting would be the smartest option, but the thought that the Whisperer could talk to Ruby, threaten her somehow, sticks in her mind for a second too long, making her hesitate.

She decides too late. He picks it up, still smiling, holding it lightly in his palm. Jade can hear Ruby yelling from the speaker from here, calling out her name. The Whisperer taps a button, turning on speakerphone, making Ruby’s voice louder, and then he clears his throat.

“Hello,” he says, his voice calm, even, smooth.

Ruby’s voice pauses. “Hello?” She sounds worried, hesitant. “Where—where’s my sister? Who...” She takes a shaky breath as the realization sets in. “You... you’re... wh—where is she?” Her voice is quiet now, shaking with fear. She’s recognized his voice—of course, she probably knows the voices of every cape on Prime.

The Whisperer looks down at Jade, his black dead fish eyes looking her over, like she’s a bug under a microscope. “Oh, she’s right here. Had a nasty fall on that bike of hers.” He shakes his head and tuts like a disappointed mother. “How clumsy of her! Not even wearing a helmet.”

“You—you—she’s—you can’t—”

Jade swallows, finally finding her voice again. “Ruby!” she calls. “I’m fine, don’t—don’t worry about me!”

“Jade!” Ruby calls, her words thick with tears. “Jade, run! Please, please, you—”

“Whoops!” The Whisperer drops her phone and steps on it. The screen cracks further under his heel and goes completely black. The line goes dead with one last pitiful attempt at relaying Ruby’s voice, calling out for her sister before it pitifully glitches and putters out.

“Oh, what a shame,” he mutters, looking down at the glass embedded in his sole. “Now I’ll have to pick all of that out.”

“I thought—” Jade swallows again. Why does her tongue feel like it doesn’t want to work with her? “I thought you—you were just—your—Rogue, your pet or whatever—”

“Pet?” The Whisperer’s face screws up into a scowl, and she decides she hates the sight of him angry much more than she hates that weird unnatural smile. His scowl looks uncanny, like it’s not something he’s familiar with, like he has to force his face to take that shape. “He is not a pet, thank you. Neither of them are. I would ask you to respect that, but you won’t live long enough to try.”

He steps over her broken phone, glaring down at her as he moves closer, and she scrambles back. Her shoulder brushes the lamppost her bike clipped and she grips it, trying to use it to help her to her feet, but a pang travels through her leg and she slides back down to the ground with a grimace. She looks up at him as he approaches, heart pounding in her chest. He reaches down towards her, and she’s not sure what he plans to do, strangle her, possess her, whatever, but she’s not letting that happen.

In two swift movements, she smacks the back of her neck, her mask sprouting from the device stuck there, tiny nanobots weaving metal together as they skitter across her face like a swarm of spiders, and with her other hand, she flicks a knife out of her sleeve and blindly swipes at his hand as the mask finishes covering her face.

Blood splatters across her face just as the mask finishes forming. She skitters back, clambering to her feet, forcing herself to move through the pain in her leg. Her mask configures itself in less than a second, the eye lenses activating, and she gets a good look at the Whisperer on his level.

He looks almost frozen, his left hand outstretched to where Jade had been. Something drips from his finger, and for a second Jade thinks it’s blood, but it’s... black. Pitch black, like ink. His ring finger is covered in it, or what’s left of his ring finger. Part of it, down to the first knuckle, is gone, laying on the pavement. Half the tip of his middle finger is gone as well, and the very tip of his pinky is bleeding. The black blood stops dripping after a few seconds, like his body doesn’t have much of it to spare.

He looks down at the part of his finger that fell on the pavement, then at his hand. He looks up at her.

A smile inches across his face again, wide, delighted. He chuckles and brings his hand back towards himself, curling his fingers in, protecting the injuries. “Oh, look at you,” he mutters. “Who are you supposed to be? I don’t recall you in Supermax.”

“Was never in it.” The filter in her mask warps her voice, giving it a robotic quality, similar to Wavelength’s. She lets her knife fall from her hand, dangling from a chain in her sleeve. The blade crackles with electric energy. She spins it on the chain, ready to attack.

He tilts his head. “You managed to avoid WATCH? Impressive. Do you have a name?”

“Not one you need to know.”

He grins even wider. “Should I just call you... Jade then?”

She swings out with her blade, letting the chain slide through her grip to give it some leeway, aiming for his face. The blade nicks across his cheekbone, the electricity making him jolt. A line of black blood appears on his cheek. He shudders from the brief shock.

“You don’t get that privilege,” she snaps.

He raises his left hand to touch his cheek. The black liquid smears across his pale white skin like oil. “Fine,” he mutters. “Should I give you one? Just a little nickname, something to call you? For fun?”

“If you do, you’ll lose more than part of a finger.”

He barks out a laugh. “Oh, you’re fun! Say, are you perhaps looking for a job? A villain to work for?”

“I’m not joining your fucking cult,” she spits. “Go back to Deadwood, Wisp.”

His smile falls in an instant. His lip curls in what might be disgust, and there’s a flash of something else in his eyes—fear, maybe? She can’t tell.

He raises his left hand, and her heart skips a beat when a flickering red wisp appears above his bloody palm. “I think we’re done here,” he whispers. “I don’t want you dead. No, no, not yet. You’ll certainly be fun to play with in the future. Where were you headed? New Haven?”

She reels her knife in and spins it again. “You—”

“Goodbye, Jade.”

The red wisp darts towards her, and in a moment of panic, she tries to duck, dodge it, but it follows, and she gasps as it touches her forehead and dissipates.

A redness overtakes her vision, and something roils inside her, something akin to anger, but—different. Something bright, hot, chaotic. She fights against it, but even as she tries, she knows it’s no use. It’s a battle of will she’s not strong enough to win.

She looks him in the eye as the redness overtakes her, and it registers, then, just as she can feel herself slipping away, that the look on his face when she mentioned Deadwood hadn’t been fear.

It had been guilt.

Chapter Text

Virion comes to feeling like he’s been put through a fucking meat grinder.

He groans, squeezing his eyes shut before he can see anything and putting his head in his hands. He’s on the ground, the pavement rough on his knees.

“Pretty boy.”

He lowers his hands and looks up. Wight stands in front of him, looking down, his cape flowing behind him. He’s got a cut across his cheek. When he extends a hand to help Virion up, he startles when he sees that part of his ring finger is gone, cut off to the first knuckle. His pinky and middle fingers are injured too, his middle sliced off through the nail, the very tip of his pinky covered in congealed black blood.

Virion opens his mouth to speak, but his words catch in his mouth. He reaches up and hesitantly takes Wight’s hand, grimacing at the feeling of tacky black blood dried on his skin. Doesn’t this hurt? What... what happened? Who did this to him?

Wight hauls him to his feet, grunting a little at the weight. Virion stumbles as he finds his footing, Wight’s uninjured hand lands on his shoulder to steady him. He glances around. The street is littered with bodies, many of them bloodied, limp, dead. Some are still alive, groaning in pain. Many have bite marks taken out of them—Kota’s doing, surely. Virion hopes it’s only from Kota. If—if he—

Wight gives him a wide smile. It’s chilling, but it doesn’t seem as unsettling as it typically does. He’s getting used to Wight’s creepy smiling. It’s not like he likes it, but it’s almost become... familiar. The sight of it reminds him of the chaos that was just spinning through his mind, the crazed rage he gave himself in to.

“It’s time to go,” Wight says.

Virion watches over Wight’s shoulder as Kota rips into a body with his teeth. Sirens wail through the city. Smoke rises from somewhere, helicopters flying over and spraying water down on whatever’s caught on fire.

Virion looks down at himself, taking stock of his state. He’s... soaked in blood, head to toe. There’s a tang of it on his tongue. He—he doesn’t feel anything between his teeth, no sinew or gristle, so he doesn’t think he was made to eat... anyone. Probably. Just some blood got in mouth. Would be hard to avoid that, with how much of it is on him.

He can feel the Greats in his head. Min isn’t present—she sleeps a lot, he’s found, her magic takes a lot out of her. Grayson is awake, silent, stoic, observing. Strider is always hard to feel, quiet and stealthy. He can’t tell if he’s there right now. Chungus is asleep too, not a surprise. Alphonz is there, absolutely radiating disapproval, furious at whatever Wight made him do. And there’s Ram, of course, pissed right the fuck off, angry at Virion specifically, for letting Wight do this.

Whatever. This isn’t his body. He didn’t want to be here any more than Virion did, but it’s not his choice, it’s Virion’s.

“What... time is it?” he asks. His voice is a little hoarse.

Wight holds up his other hand, where a watch sits ticking away on his wrist. “Eleven fifty-six a.m. Not a minute past forty five minutes after I took control of you.”

Virion squints at the watch face. He doesn’t know what time it was when Wight took control of him, but... for all his secrets, Wight hasn’t lied to him yet, not outright. It makes sense. It... it tracks. He woke up late, later than Wight and Kota, at least, and then almost immediately got... taken by the chin, pulled outside, and—

His face feels warm. It shouldn’t. His stomach roils with disgust—not his, Ram’s, of course he’s here, fucking—meddling and shit, the asshole. The thought of it, for Virion, feels... good. He doesn’t know what Wight did with him while he was possessed—he has some good guesses, but he doesn’t need to know. He doesn’t quite trust Wight, not really, there’s too much he doesn’t know, too much he has yet to learn, but this is... it’s good, to have someone to follow, to put himself in someone else’s palms and let them guide him in this strange environment. Whatever Wight made him do, he doesn’t have to bear any guilt over it. It wasn’t him, it was Wight.

He puts a hand on his knife sheathe and lets out a breath when he feels the hilt. Good. He—he can’t lose that. “We’re... leaving? Do we need a car again?”

Wight smiles wider. “No, actually. My good friend taught me a little something when I visited him yesterday. We’ll be taking a shortcut.”

Virion furrows his brow, confused. “Wh—what do you—where are we going?”

Instead of answering immediately, Wight turns and whistles. “Kota!”

Kota looks up from his meal, blood coating him all down his front. He lopes over to Wight like an ape, on his bare feet and knuckles. Wight turns back to Virion, smiling. Despite being taller than him, Virion feels small.

“Anywhere but here.” He’s still holding Virion’s hand. The tacky feeling of his black blood on Virion’s skin is... unsettling. Gross.

Wight’s eyes begin to glow, just a little. Virion almost steps back, but Wight’s grip on his hand is tight, so he just—stays, right here, holding him, getting black blood all over his palm. Some of it is dry, flaking off.

In the ground in front of them, a red circle draws itself in the pavement, bright and glowing, like the red flickering flames that envelop him when he’s fighting. The pavement within the circle vanishes, revealing a black void.

Kota looks at the portal, skitters back like he’s afraid of it. He looks up at Wight, hesitant. Virion does the same, silently asking for clarification, for some kind of explanation for what this is.

Wight tugs on Virion’s hand. “We’ll be safe,” he says, and the smile on his face is less creepy, a touch more genuine, reassuring, like he’s talking to a spooked dog. “I promise.”

Well. Wight hasn’t gone back on any of his words yet. He doesn’t have a reason not to trust him when he says that.

Wight walks to the portal, and Virion follows. Kota is right on their heels.

Without further ado, Wight steps off the edge of the pavement and falls. Head spinning from being possessed so long, Virion tips forward and falls in with him without hesitation.

Chapter Text

The air in Jade’s lungs leaves her in a sharp burst as she lands heavily on pavement. She gasps, eyes shooting open, and finds that she’s looking through the visor of her villain mask. She glances around, frantic. The streets are familiar, sort of, but not Rockfall. The street names aren’t right.

She’s not in Rockfall. This—this is New Haven.

She scrambles to roll up her sleeve and look at her watch. It’s... noon. She left the base a little past eleven. Shit. Shit, did—did the Whisperer have control of her for a full hour? No, wait—less, probably, considering she was driving for a bit, so... fifty minutes, tops. Maybe a bit less.

She pushes herself to her feet. She can hear sirens somewhere in the city. She glances down at herself, taking stock.

She’s in part of her villain getup, just the jacket over her band tee, her hair twisted into a bun to hide the purple in it, and of course the metal visor over her face. There’s blood on her hands, wet and tacky. Fuck.

She looks around the street. She’s on the sidewalk. Her bike is parked nearby, a bit dented but definitely still driveable. The street is... mostly empty, just a bunch of abandoned buildings, a couple people loitering here and there, but no one really pays her any mind, like villains being around this area is typical. Maybe it is; it looks kind of close to the workshop Overlord gave to Ashe. It’s certainly somewhere in Overlord’s territory.

She turns around and jumps, skittering back. There’s a dead rat on the ground, ripped open, its tiny entrails strewn about across the sidewalk. Written on the pavement in its blood, bright red and fresh, are words.

Thanks for playing with me :)

She shudders. Whisperer. He made her do this, just to—to fuck with her. God, the dead rat is so gross. She’s more grossed out by the fact that it’s a rat than she would be if it was a human. Who knows what fucking diseases random city rats have?

She slings her duffel bag off her shoulder—thank god it’s still here and the Whisperer didn’t make her throw it to the streets or anything—and unzips it, frantic. Shit, she doesn’t have any towels, she didn’t think she’d need any, and she’s not wiping it on the Tide shirt she brought for Ruby.

Unfortunately, she doesn’t have any handwipes in her small pouch of bathroom supplies, but she finds a pad at least. She rips it open to wipe her hands off. The little bottle of sanitizer hanging from her keychain is still intact, so she squirts some on her palms, rubbing them together with a grimace. God, fuck that guy. With nowhere to put it, she carelessly tosses the pad in the alley next to her. She’d hate to be the person who finds that and the bloody message on the street next to it. Probably paints a gross picture.

She beelines for her bike and starts it up. At least the Whisperer didn’t crash it. If he did, she’d have some fucking words for him.

She starts driving through the sparse streets, trying to get a lay of where exactly she is. Her heart pounds in her chest, terrified, unsure of how she got here, what she did under Wight’s influence, who saw her... He could have revealed her identity if he wanted. Maybe he did and it just hasn’t caught up with her yet. Fuck.

A familiar street name pops out at her and she turns. Ashe’s workshop is nearby. Hopefully he’ll be there waiting for her.

She zips through streets full of old apartment buildings, run down shady convenience stores, and houses so old it’s more than likely that ninety percent of their drywall is covered in mold. She’s very familiar with the less fortunate parts of the city—has patrolled them on Overlord’s behalf multiple times, threatened and beat the shit out of people in alleyways. Part of her is paranoid that the Whisperer knew she works with Overlord and put her here on purpose, but—there’s no way he could know that. It’s a coincidence, it has to be.

Doesn’t make her feel any less paranoid.

She zips down an alley, not caring of who if anyone sees her, and stops a little ways away from Ashe’s workshop. She stumbles down the alley and approaches the door, presses her thumb to the scanner, and shoves the door open.

The lights are already on inside, and there’s Ashe at one of the worktables, staring at his phone. He’s in his civvies, his beanie tugged over his hair to hide half his face, a long cardigan hiding his tail. His head snaps up as soon as Jade walks in.

“What the hell did you do?” he asks, his eye wide.

She slams the door. “What do you mean?”

Ashe turns his phone screen so she can see. There’s a post from a news station, a blurry picture of—of her, in the same clothes she’s wearing now, her black and white jacket on over her jeans and t-shirt, running from a street littered with bodies—unconscious or dead, she’s not sure, but the headline “NEW VILLAIN IN ROCKFALL MAKES WAVES, TWO CASUALTIES REPORTED” doesn’t bode well.

“What were you doing?” Ashe asks again. “I thought you didn’t want to be on the news, what—what’s your plan, were you doing something for Overlord, were—”

“No!” She smacks the back of her neck, her visor deconstructing, folding itself back into the device on her neck. “Fuck, it was the Whisperer! I ran into him, he possessed me, I didn’t—I didn’t want this! Fuck!”

She picks up a random thing off a worktable and throws it—a wrench. It hits the opposite wall with a loud clang that makes Ashe jump.

The workshop falls silent, the sound of metal echoing until it fades into nothing. Jade lets out a heavy, harsh breath, leaning back against the door.

“What else does it say?” she asks, annoyed.

Ashe scrambles to turn his phone around to look. “Uh, two casualties, villain was spotted heading to New Haven, two of the Prime Defenders were on her tail before losing her around the edge of Rockfall, people on the outskirts are being warned to keep an eye out for her—”

“Name.” She runs a hand down her face. “What’s—what’s the name. That they’re giving me. What is it.”

Ashe scrolls for a minute, muttering to himself. “Uh... no one’s really decided on anything yet, it looks like. One reporter’s called you Monochrome, someone else is calling you Domino—oh there’s an update.” He scrolls more, taps a few links. “Upon studying your crime scene, it looks like you carved a word into one of the bodies.”

She sighs and sinks to the ground, back pressed firmly to the door. “What is it?”

“You carved ‘GREYSCALE’ into someone’s leg.” Ashe lowers his phone. “Looks like the Whisperer picked a name for you.”

She lowers her head to rest on her knees. Greyscale. Could be worse. Better than Monochrome. Definitely better than Domino. She doesn’t want people thinking she named herself after a fucking pizza chain.  

“Whatever.” She lifts her head. “What the fuck ever. As long as no one recognizes Greyscale as Cantrip, that’s—that’s all that fucking matters.”

Ashe furrows his brow. “Are—are you sure you want to go to Freedom City after this? This is—kind of a lot—”

“Yeah.” She pushes herself to her feet, ignoring the pain in her right leg. “I—I have to, I need to let my sister know I’m alive, and I can’t fucking call her, he broke my phone.”

Ashe holds out his own phone. “Wanna use mine?”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks.”

He tosses her his phone. She just barely manages to catch it, fumbling with it. She stares at the keypad, wracking her brain. Their numbers have always changed a lot—usually just using the landlines of whatever foster home they’re in, rarely having cell phones of their own. Jade was lucky to get one paid for by WATCH. She’ll have to ask them for a new one.

She taps in what she thinks is the number and holds the phone up to her ear. It rings once, twice, and then picks up. She expects the gruff voice of their foster father to come through, but instead it’s Ruby’s—thick with emotion, sniffling. “Hello?”

“Hey.”

She hears Ruby gasp on the other end. “Holy shit, Jade! What the fuck happened, you—you just—”

“I lived, I lived,” she says with a heavy sigh. “Managed to run away, and the Whisperer apparently didn’t think I was interesting enough to follow. I’m calling from a friend’s phone.”

“Are you okay?” She sniffles right into the receiver. Guilt settles like a stone in Jade’s gut, making her sister worry like this, being in such a dangerous career, letting this shit happen to her. But it’s not like she had much of a choice in the first place.

“Yeah, I’m okay. No injuries, just... a little shell shocked.” She feels—gross. Violated, almost, like she can still feel the Whisperer’s fingers in her skull. She’s never been mind controlled before, despite the amount of capes she’s run into with controlling powers similar to it. This is a first, and hopefully a last.

“Thank fuck,” Ruby breathes. She chokes out a brief sob, then takes a deep breath, trying to compose herself. “Are... are you still coming here? I wanna see you.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there tomorrow. Just a day trip, it’ll be a short visit, but yeah, I’ll... I’ll be there.”

“Good. Okay, okay. Awesome. I... call me when you’re on the way, okay? I’m going to a convention later today with Connell and his friends, and I was gonna go tomorrow for a bit if you want to stick around and come too. But—but if you don’t and you want to go somewhere else or stay at the fosters’, we can—”

“I’ll decide when I get there,” Jade sighs. “Sorry, I’m just... tired. I’ll let you know when I’m there, okay? Love you.”

“Yeah, yeah, for sure. Love you too.”

Jade hangs up. She tosses Ashe his phone again. “Let’s just—let’s go to Freedom City,” she says. “Get a hotel, we can break into Belltech tonight, and then... I’ll go visit my sister tomorrow or some shit. We’ll be back here tomorrow night. You think your dad will know you’re gone?”

“I got into my phone’s location and set it to keep me moving between my house and the library when I’m out of New Haven. He won’t know a thing.”

She nods slowly. This—none of this is ideal. This actually fucking sucks. She didn’t intend for this identity to be out here doing public villain shit. She wonders if Overlord will have anything to say about it.

She reaches back and touches the device on her neck, making sure it’s stuck firmly to the skin, just in case she needs it later. “Alright. Let’s—let’s go. I don’t have room on my bike for luggage, but—”

“We’re taking my Pruis,” Ashe says. “I’m not sitting on a bike for five hours, especially not with you driving.”

She wants to argue—leaving her bike here unattended could be dangerous, someone could steal it, find the switch on it that takes down the hologram that hides her decals and realize it belongs to Cantrip, but—fuck, she’s not arguing. Her entire body feels like it’s been wrung out like a wet dish cloth. She wouldn’t mind sitting in the passenger seat of a car and napping while Ashe drives.

She nods slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Lead the way, Winters.”

Chapter Text

David Bell is a busy man, and he would be the first to tell you so. He is not a man who has time for calling family, taking walks, or enjoying downtime. He has a company to run, and he runs it with an iron fist, he likes to think.

He is one of the last to leave the company building every day. He’s there on weekends, he’s there on holidays—can’t exactly visit his parents, not with them being in Deadwood. Sure, he could easily get screened and deemed mentally stable enough to visit the quarantine zone, and he would of course be escorted by armed police in case something happened within town limits, but he simply doesn’t have the time. And he certainly can’t visit his brother. Wouldn’t want to even if he could, really.

None of it is really worth any of the trouble it would cost. For he is, in fact, a busy man, and he has a company to run.

He strides through one of the many office spaces in the building, past cubicles of employees who are doing paperwork, taking calls, sending emails, filing information. Many of the cubicles are empty—it’s just after four-thirty p.m., and these are people who simply chose to stay late to get things done, get a little ahead on some projects. Eight to four are typical work hours around here; he’s found that employees like going home a touch earlier rather than working the typical nine to five, and it’s nice to have the upper floors of the building empty by evening.

If it were the morning, he would be tailed by no less than three people, giving him his schedule for the day, handing him documents that need to be signed, asking if they can rearrange his schedule to fit in just one more little appointment, asking him for opinions on upcoming projects, trying their best to detail everything in their daily roster that needs his attention in the few seconds of time he has for everyone who needs him. Many CEOs, he’s aware, tend to sit back and rest on their laurels while their companies simply haemorrhage money into their accounts. David Bell, however, likes to think of himself as very hands on.

At this time, though, the daytime employees are packing up, putting important documents away, shutting down their computers, and he simply smiles at them, waves, tells them to have a good night, and he’ll see them tomorrow. The typical employees aren’t allowed in the building after five. That much overtime for daytime employees is not permitted, unless in very specific circumstances. They’ve done their time; they can go home to their families, and not worry about anything that goes on in this building until the morning.

He reaches the elevator and presses the down button. The doors open. Someone else is already inside—a young person, an intern who was hired last week. The tag on his lanyard simply reads “Jesse - Intern.”

His eyes widen as David walks in. David presses the button for the ground floor. “Going down?”

The intern splutters and nods. David tucks his hands in his pockets, casual, open, welcoming. “So, how have you been enjoying your first week? Not too much to handle, I hope.”

The intern stutters, clumsy. Annoying. David maintains his smile. “I, uh, it’s—it’s been good, uh, sir.”

“Please, Mr. Bell is fine.” He gives him a smile, bright, kind, and patient. “There’s certainly a lot to learn on the job. I hope you’re taking to it well?”

The intern smiles back, shaky. “Uh, yeah, yeah, I am.”

“Well, if you ever need help, there are plenty of supervisors who can lend you a hand, and if there’s ever a major problem, don’t be afraid to take it directly to me, alright? My highest priority is that you and everyone else in the building are comfortable and happy on the clock.”

He nods, his smile less nervous now, at ease. “Yes sir—Mr. Bell. I’ll—I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, I’ve been really enjoying it here so far.”

“I’m glad to hear.” The elevator doors open. “Go on home. I’ll be a little bit yet, got some important work to get done.”

The intern nods, beaming. “Sure! See you tomorrow, Mr. Bell!”

He hurries through the lobby to the door. David lets his smile drop the moment the kid’s back is to him. He turns on his heel and strides to a nearby door, a plain simple one that looks like the entrance to a broom closet. He opens it and steps inside.

Beyond the door is a stairwell. He makes his way down, straightening his tie, running a hand over his hair to ensure every strand is in place. At the bottom of the stairwell is a door with a fingerprint scanner hidden cleverly in the wall. He presses his hand to it and the lock clicks open.

He opens the door and emerges in a dimly lit hallway. Doors line the walls on either side. He shuts the stairwell door firmly behind him, listens to make sure the lock clicks. He strides down the hall, shoes clicking on the spotless floor. There are windows in each of the doors. He barely glances into each of them. He knows what’s going on behind each of these doors. No need to check most of them yet—he’ll observe their progress once he’s taken care of his priority.

He approaches one of the doors. There’s a file on the door with a name—a label. He doesn’t look at it. He knows who’s behind it. He presses his thumb to the scanner next to the door and nudges it open.

The room beyond the door is bright white, a stark contrast to the darkly painted hall. Two security guards stand to either side of the door. In the centre of the room is a table, a single figure laying flat on it, strapped down, and hunched over it are a handful of surgeons, gloves bloody, masks over their faces.

David strolls in, slow, walking around the table to the head of it. “Ms. Lange? How are you feeling?”

Past the shoulder of a surgeon, he can see that the person on the table has her chest cut open, ribs splayed open like wings.  He reaches the head. There’s a breathing mask over her face, a tube down her throat. Her eyes are wide open. She makes a breathless sound that rattles in her lungs as the surgeon cuts a small piece of tissue out of her.

“Those articles you published last year were very enlightening,” he says despite her lack of an answer, folding his hands behind his back, looking down at her. “I’ll have to do a better job of tracking down my less than favourable former employees. I should have found ways to quiet them before you got to them, but to your credit, you have been hard to track down. So... kudos to you, I guess.”

Her gaze doesn’t leave his face. Every one of her muscles is relaxed but her eyes—a sedative, immobilizing the body, but not the mind.

One of the surgeons reaches to a cart of medical supplies and grabs a needle and a vial. They slowly fill the needle with liquid, something dark blue and nearly opaque.

David turns to one of the surgeons. “What’s this one?”

“Serum 36-75,” they respond. “Enhanced regeneration mixed with strength.”

David hums. “Did any of the others take?”

“No, unfortunately.”

David narrows his eyes at her. “Double her dose.”

The surgeon falters. “That... has high risk of overdosing and killing her—”

“If it won’t take, we have no more use for her anyway.”

The surgeon exchanges a glance with another one. David watches as they fill the syringe more, almost entirely full. One of them holds back a flap of skin while the one with the needle poises it over her open cavity.

Her eyes go wide as the needle is plunged into somewhere in her insides. The surgeon slowly pushes the plunger down, injecting the liquid into her bloodstream. She makes a sound, something that chokes in her throat. Her eyes roll back. Blood comes up from the tube in her throat.

He steps back and watches as she thrashes, blood vessels popping in her skin, riddling it with red spots. She coughs, blood spurting up into her breathing mask. Her entire body begins to tremble.

The door swings open. He whips his head around to look. A security guard stands there with a device in their hand, the screen lit up.

“What is it?” David asks.

The guard clears their throat. “It’s, uh... your business partner, Mr. Bell.”

Surprise runs through him. He doesn’t let it show. He walks over to the guard and takes the device. “Thank you.”

The guard steps back to stand with the others. David holds the communication device up to his ear. “Hello.”

“Hello, Mr. Bell,” says a man’s voice—completely average, a little rough around the edges, a casual tone to his words. Despite this, every word feels like it’s worming itself into David’s brain, settling into his neurons—fascinating, entrancing.

He shakes it off as best he can. This man’s power is hard to resist even over the phone. Hence why he refuses to meet with him in person—can’t risk tripping over his words and making a fool of himself in front of anyone who matters, and unfortunately, this man matters very much. “Tobias Blackwood. May I ask why you’re calling?”

“Just checking in. Have you had any successes with the formulas so far?”

David suppresses a grimace. “Not yet. But we have been trying, believe me.”

“Ah, yeah. I expected as much.” There’s a note of disappointment in his tone, and David finds himself almost scrambling for something to say that would please him, rectify his failures, but he pushes it down. Still, his stomach ties itself into knots at the mere notion that Tobias could be upset with him. “They are pretty new formulas. You’re the first to get their hands on them, really, they haven’t even been tested. But you’re a capable man, I trust you’ll get somewhere with them eventually.”

A childish pride wells up in his chest at the tiniest bit of approval, Tobias’ words nestling in his brain like a fucking parasite. He grits his teeth, pushing down the unwanted fascination. “I’m certain we will, I believe we just need to tweak the doses and—”

Something crashes behind him. He whirls around, annoyed at the interruption. The subject on the table is on the ground now, her restraints broken, the leather ripped like paper. She’s hunched over one of the surgeons on the floor, her guts spilling from her open cavity, splayed all over the floor and the surgeon’s scrubs. Her breathing tube is clutched in one hand, ripped out of her throat, blood coating the plastic. Her arms shake like a fawn’s legs as she props herself up over the doctor, her face shoved in the crook between their shoulder and throat, her teeth digging into their neck. The surgeon screams as her teeth pierce the fabric of their scrubs, and then their voice dies out and turns to a pathetic blubbering as blood pours from their neck. She rips it out like a feral animal, swallowing down a chunk of meat. The other doctors stand by, watching in horror.

Her innards begin to move, wriggling back towards her body like worms, nestling back in her open cavity. Her ribs crack as they close over her chest, pushing her lungs back into place, the muscle tissue knitting itself back together over her guts. The shaking in her limbs subsides.

She lifts herself off the thrashing bleeding body of her surgeon and looks up at David, her eyes wide. Blood coats her all down her chin and chest.

David raises the device to his ear again. “I believe we may have just had a success.”

There’s pride in Tobias’ voice when he speaks. “Excellent. Overlord will be pleased.”

Tobias hangs up.

David tucks the device in his pocket. He walks over to the subject on the floor, covered in her own blood. She tries to skitter back, but she’s still weak. She doesn’t get far, her hands slipping on the blood. She goes down, her back hitting the floor, knocking the wind from her lungs. She stares up at him, beginning to tremble again, scared.

“Study her DNA,” he says to the remaining surgeons. “Figure out why it took and see if we can apply it to other subjects. Start conditioning her. I don’t want her able to speak or communicate in any way, and I don’t want anyone to be able to recognize her if and when she leaves this building.” He waves at the bleeding surgeon. “See if you can patch that one up. If you can’t, put them out of their misery.”

The other surgeons shakily begin to do as he says, dragging the injured doctor to the side to begin working on them, another covering the girl with a sheet, hesitantly, as if afraid she might lash out and bite them too. Judging by the feral look in her eyes, that fear is not unfounded.

He hears someone gasp behind him. He whirls around.

The intern from earlier stands there—the one from the elevator. His eyes are wide with horror, staring down at the bloody scene on the floor. “Wh—what—what—”

“How did he get in here?” David snaps, whirling to the guard who recently came in.

The guard tenses. “Uh, I—I thought I closed the door, I—”

“Well, grab him!”

The intern scrambles back, but the guards are faster. They grab him, holding his arms behind his back, even as he kicks and begins to yell, tears welling up in his eyes. David reaches for one of the medical carts and grabs a serum he’s very familiar with, along with a needle. He strides over to the kid, swiftly sticking the needle in the bottle, filling the syringe about halfway.

“M—Mr. Bell!” the kid yells. “Wh—what are you—what—what is—”

David grabs the kid by the jaw with one hand, moving his head to the side. “Stop struggling.”

Annoyingly, the kid doesn’t listen and keeps thrashing, trying to break his head free from David’s grip. David pushes the needle into his neck and pushes the plunger down, a dark liquid seeping into his veins.

The kid’s eyes go unfocused, the fight draining out of him in a second. His eyes fall shut and he goes limp in the guards’ arms.

David withdraws the needle. “Put him in his car. Monitor him. When he wakes up, someone tell him he tripped and hit his head, passed out in his car before he could drive home. Give him the day off tomorrow, but follow him and keep an eye on him. If he remembers anything, bring him back here.” He turns to face the guard that accidentally let him in. “And you. Pay more attention next time, or it’ll be you on the table next.”

The guard’s eyes widen. They swallow and nod once, sharp.

David sets the needle back down on the cart. Someone else will dispose of it. “Clean up in here. Make plans to up the security down here. Evidently, fingerprint scanners are not enough.”

He strides out of the room, leaving his subordinates to their work.

He walks down the hallway, passing more and more doors. He glances in some of the windows, just to check up on some of the other tests. None of the serums look like they’ve taken, but they had a success today. It bodes well, he thinks.

He reaches a door at the end. Instead of a print scanner, next to it is a keypad for a password. He punches in the letters and the door lock clicks. He nudges it open and flicks on the lights.

Behind the door is a simple office, very similar to his office upstairs. There are a few key differences—the lack of windows, first of all. The small liquor cabinet against the wall, the coffee machine, the mini-fridge next to the desk, and the locked filing cabinet against the wall. He opens the fridge and reaches in, nudges past the old bottles of apple juice for a simple can of Recharge. He cracks it open and takes a sip. He’s a much bigger fan of coffee—hates the taste of these god awful energy drinks—but they do in a pinch when he doesn’t have the time to brew a pot, especially when he’ll be staying late.

He sits down at his desk amongst the many documents and files. His laptop sits amongst them, along with a handful of other things—pen holders full of writing utensils, an empty coffee mug, a family photo from when he was younger. His brother is in that picture, hair longer, nervous smile on his face, arm wrapped around a beaming David. It’s an old photo. Years and years and years ago, before... before William changed everything.

He rips his gaze away from the smiling faces in the photo and looks down at his files. He’s got so much work to do, he can’t get distracted. He—he’ll need to organize his important documents, write up a report on that subject to send to Tobias to forward to Overlord—oh, right, and he has to process payroll, he can’t forget that. He can’t afford to waste time pondering the past, he has work to do.

He opens his laptop and taps in the password. Many important files and apps greet him on his home screen. Payroll should be first—most important thing is making sure his employees are paid on time. The moment he has unhappy employees, that’s when people start looking into Belltech.

He pauses when he hears something out in the hall—shouting, crashing, chaos. Ugh. They’re probably trying to wrangle that subject. Not his problem, really, but the noise is annoying. He takes another sip of his energy drink and opens up a few programs. Payroll takes priority, the report can wait. He glances at the photo on his desk, the smiling faces, the excitement over their new family.

The entire hallway beyond his door suddenly goes silent, as if someone just pressed the mute button on a TV. He furrows his brow. He slowly stands, pushing his chair back, hands on his desk. Something doesn’t feel right.

The lights flicker. He shuts his laptop, hesitant. It could just be something up with the power, but the sudden silence outside his door makes him think it might be someone else, an intruder, someone breaking in—

The lights go out. The red emergency lights flick on immediately, bathing the room in a dim crimson. He begins to walk around his desk to the door, but then he hears the beeping of the keypad and freezes. Surely, no one would know the password, he hasn’t told anyone, none of them are familiar with his family—

The keypad beeps. The lock clicks. The doorknob turns, and then the door slowly pushes itself open. He reaches for a drawer in his desk, feels around for the gun he has for emergencies. Always loaded, safety off. Shit, where is it?

The door opens fully. Standing there is a security guard—the same one who accidentally left the door open to let that intern in. He’s not sure if it’s just the lighting—no, it’s definitely not the lighting. Their eyes are bright red, glowing.

They step in and stand next to the doorway, followed by a second guard, who stations themself on the other side of it, stepping aside to reveal a third figure—much shorter, scrawny, bogged down by a large cape, carefully arranged over a red dress shirt with a black vest and tie. Where their head should be is a wreath of bright red flames, lighting up the room more than the emergency lights even could, their eyes two flickering white flames within the crimson.

William spreads his arms. “Brother!” he says, and the smile is audible in his voice as he steps into the office.

David fumbles for the gun in his desk. “Whisperer,” he says. His heart pounds, but he tries his hardest not to show his fear. “Why are you here?”

William scoffs. “What, I can’t visit my brother? I’ve been away for so long, David, aren’t you glad to see me?” The flames part, gathering along the edge of his hood instead, revealing his face—pale as a ghost, dark eyebags, a smile that unsettles David even more than the notion of Tobias Blackwood’s words getting in his skull.

“Not particularly.” His fingers close around the gun, finally. “How did you get in? I thought you were in Rockfall.”

“Oh, that city gets so boring!” William steps forward, closer to the desk. “Thought I would take a little trip here. As for how I got in, well, your security isn’t exactly top notch. Fingerprint scanners? Those are easy to dust and replicate, come on. And your password—it’s just ‘Janet’.” He chuckles, low, unsettling. “I knew you still had a soft spot for dear old Mom.”

David tenses. “Where are your pets? You’re never usually seen without them.”

William’s expression sours immediately. One of the guards unholsters their gun. David’s heart skips a beat when they point it at him.

“Pets,” William spits. “Is that what everyone thinks they are? Pets?”

David swallows, trying not to show any hint of the fear sending adrenaline running through his veins. “I don’t know what else you would call them.”

“They are mine,” William snaps. “And I am theirs. They are not pets. Call them that again, and you’ll wake up one morning having spewed all your secrets of your experiments to the world, and you don’t want that, do you David?”

He hesitates, unsure if he should even speak in the wake of that threat. He elects to keeps his mouth shut.

William smiles again. “Didn’t think so.” He begins to pace around the room, examining the liquor cabinet, poking at bottles of champagne like he’s never seen them before. “As for why I’m here in Belltech, I just paid a visit to a good friend of mine, and he suggested I swing by your place while I’m at it, see if you had any fun toys I could wreak some chaos with. Alas, it appears your only one thus far has a rather strong will. I couldn’t take control of her, and believe me, I tried!” He grins, too wide. “Good luck wearing her down. I think you’ll really have your hands full with her. Or...” He takes a bottle of whiskey, examines it, casual, reading the label. “I could just let her go. Let her run around the streets, reveal your secrets.”

David swallows. “Would you?”

William shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe if I was bored enough.” He puts the whiskey back and leans down to the mini fridge. “I do have some fun toys already, but I could always use more.” He opens the fridge door and pauses. “Oh?” He reaches in and grabs a bottle of apple juice.

“Janet made me keep some around,” David blurts before William can say another word. “Years ago. Just in case you ever wanted to come visit. I just—never threw it out. Didn’t have the time.”

William straightens, staring down at the apple juice in his hands. He’s silent for a moment, his face unreadable. David slowly pulls the gun out of his desk, hoping William won’t hear him flick the safety off—

There’s a click. Another gun. He glances back at the guard. They’ve cocked their own gun, pointing it directly at David’s head.

“Drop it.”

He glances back at William. He’s looking right at David, head tilted to an unnatural degree, smile wide but stiff with a barely hidden fury that makes David want to curl up and hide under his desk.

William stares at him, unblinking. “Drop. It.”

David drops the gun. It clatters on the floor.

William’s smile widens further, stretching his cheeks in a way that looks painful. He begins to laugh, kicking the fridge door shut, apple juice still in his hands.

“Your password is our mother’s name,” William says, chuckling. “You have apple juice in your fridge for me, saying you kept it here years ago and never threw it out, but the expiration date is a year from now. You bought this recently. And—” He laughs a little harder. His gaze is slightly unfocused. “And then! And then you—you take out a gun, with the intent to shoot me, and—and kill me!” He laughs harder, high pitched, doubling over like he’s just heard the funniest joke in his life. His eyes are still wide open, staring at seemingly nothing, bright red, glowing.

“Wil—” He bites his tongue before he can finish the name. He almost—almost—called William something else, but he doesn’t even know where the association came from, not really, not now. He doesn’t even look like that anymore, the way he used to before he cut his hair and changed, that—that name is dead, for better or for worse.

William snaps his head around to look at him, eyes suddenly clear, focused dead on him. “What?” He rushes closer to David’s desk, making him jump, putting his hands on the edge, apple juice still held in one of them, leaning over the desk, getting in David’s face. “What is it? What were you going to say? My name? Were you going to say my name, David? Go on, spit it out.”

David grimaces. “William,” he says, and he hasn’t said the name in so long, felt the syllables in his mouth. It feels foreign, unfamiliar. Tastes sour on his tongue.

William giggles—fucking giggles, like a kid—and shakes his head. “No, no, no, David. You were going to say something else, weren’t you? You were going to call me something else. What was it, David? Say it.”

He clamps his jaw shut. He won’t say it—William is not who he used to be. It would be useless to try and rehash this, after so many years.

William leans forward further, making David step back. “Say it!” he giggles, drumming his hands on the surface of the desk. “Say it, David! I know you want to, I know exactly what you want to say, you’ve never held your tongue before! Say my name, David! Fucking say it!”

“William!” he spits, like the name is a curse—might as fucking well be, considering all it’s done to their family, all William has done under that name.

William stares at him, still giggling, eyes wide, bright red. “You...” He cuts himself off with another giggle. “You never saw me as the Whisperer,” he says, his voice quiet, eerily so. “You never did.”

If this were a movie, David thinks, that sentence might imply something kind about the way David perceives the person in front of him—not seeing him as the Whisperer, as the villain he is, but as his brother, family. That, unfortunately—for David, probably, considering he may suffer from this association—is not the case. He does not see William as a brother—had once, a half-brother, a little distant, but still, it had been there. No longer.  

“You think...” William chuckles again, lowering his head, gaze unfocusing again, staring at the grains of wood in the desk. “You think... that me becoming William is—” He giggles, high pitched, sounding almost manic. “Being William is what turned me into the Whisperer.” He looks back up at David, his smile wide, stiff, hiding an incredulous disbelief, and a touch of anger behind it, a fury. “That’s it, isn’t it?

David says nothing. He—he doesn’t know what to say, in the wake of William connecting these dots. He could be killed if he says another god damn word.

William leans forward more, getting in David’s face as best he can, being so much shorter. “You think.. You think—in your silly little mind, that... that William fucking Wisp is the reason you don’t have a half-sister anymore? That he took poor little innocent Wilhelmina Wisp out back behind the shed, told her to look up at the stars, and then shot her twice in the back of the head? That when I cut my hair, William Wisp took his scissors to Wilhelmina’s gut, disemboweled her like livestock, and started walking around wearing her skin?” His smile widens, looking almost painful. “That’s what you think?”

He says nothing. He denies it himself,  refuses to think about it most of the time, but—there’s a fucking photo of it on his damn desk, no matter how often he turns the picture frame facedown so he doesn’t have to look at it.

William lowers his head again, resting it on the surface of the desk, greasy hair pressed to David’s important documents, giggling like a madman. The bottle of apple juice is still clenched in his fist.

William raises his head. Tears from laughing stream down his cheeks. He looks at David, smile straining at the edges, as if he wants to scowl but can’t figure out how to make any other facial expression.

“I thought,” William says, “once, really, that something decent came out of Deadwood. I thought! I thought it was you!” He laughs again, a short burst, eyes wide like it’s taken him by surprise. “I thought—truly, I did! That—that you were the only thing that wasn’t fucked up that came out of that town. But this!” He straightens, spreading his arms, gesturing to the charts on the walls, the documents, his entire office. “And this!” He grabs the photo off the desk—David and Wilhelmina, arms around each other, smiling, Mom behind them, beaming, Mr. Wisp next to her—and holds it up. “This! You think—you still fucking think that William Wisp wasn’t the same person as your sister, but—he was! He always fucking was, David! William Wisp didn’t kill Wilhelmina, she became him! You want to know who killed your sibling, who took that away from you?” He barks out another laugh. “It was me! It was William Wight! The Whisperer! I took your brother out back and shot him like a rabid dog, David! Wilhelmina, William, whatever you want to call him, was just another innocent life taken on my path to reaching my true potential!”

William turns and throws the photo. David jumps as it hits the wall, the glass of the frame shattering. The Whisperer turns back to him, grinning maniacally, crazed, dangerous.

He raises a hand. A flickering red wisp appears over his palm. Before David can say anything, do anything, the Whisperer flicks the wisp towards him.

It hits David right on the forehead. A feeling, unfamiliar and strong, floods through him, an anger, a chaos, trying to grip him, take control of him like a puppet. He pushes back against it—he can’t be controlled by the Whisperer, his reputation, his company, his progress, everything would be in jeopardy—

He collapses in his desk chair, hands gripping the armrests. He begins to tremble, pushing, fighting against the presence that’s trying to take over. He glares up at the Whisperer, the face that was once familiar but is now that of a stranger.

“You know,” the Whisperer says, his voice deathly quiet, “I think I’ll help myself to a quick tour around your little facility. I’m looking for a few specific documents I’ve been told you may have somewhere in your collection.” He chuckles as David’s eyes widen. “Don’t worry, the news won’t know about your little experiments. Not today, anyway.”

The two security guards leave through the door. The Whisperer follows, walking backwards, unsettlingly bright gaze fixed on David’s face.

“Goodbye, brother,” the Whisperer says. And then, in a higher pitched voice, feigning their mother’s southern accent, he says “Bless your heart, David.”

David’s vision goes red.

Chapter Text

Freedom City is very different from Rockfall, Virion has found.

Wight’s portal spit them out in the middle of an alleyway, dumping all three of them unceremoniously in the dirt. Wight had said, very briefly, that he had something to take care of—a visit to his friend first, then a little bit of independent chaos to sow, just on his own, a little solo mission that he’d fill the other two in on when he was finished. Virion had, admittedly, been a little pressed about him not telling them now, but he let it go, banking on the promise that Wight would tell them later.

“I’ll keep an eye on you,” he’d said, summoning a wisp and flicking it at Virion. Virion had flinched when it connected, but it simply seeped into his head, not possessing him like he just had, just staying there, lingering, keeping a passive watch on him. “Look around a bit, find something to eat and a place to rest, if you’d like. I would say try not to end up on the news, but...” He looked Virion up and down, the state of his bloody clothes. “Somehow I feel that would be a tall order.”

He winked, stepped through another portal, and then he was gone, leaving Kota and Virion with barely so much as a goodbye.

Virion stands in the alleyway, Kota next to him, watching Wight’s portal close. His breath heaves in his chest, legs shaky, weak and spent. The Greats stir in his mind, some of them asleep, exhausted from Wight using them, and a few others are awake, just barely paying attention. Ram is there. Awake, like he always is. He only sleeps when Virion does, like he’s taken it upon himself to supervise him, chaperone him through his every waking moment. He’s quiet now though, which is a godsend. Finally, some silence for once.

He turns to look at Kota, hoping for... well, some sort of guidance here. Kota’s been doing this longer than he has, surely he might know what to do. “What do we do?”

Kota just stares back, looking just as lost as Virion feels. “Dunno.”

“Does... he usually leave you alone after causing this kind of chaos?”

He shrugs. “If he needs to.”

“So. What do you do when he does?”

Another shrug. “Stay put. Bite anyone who comes close. Run if I have to.”

Jeez, trying to talk to Kota is like pulling teeth. “Okay, and when does he come back?”

“Couple hours. Less. Depends.”

“On what?”

“Dunno.”

Virion takes a deep breath. “Okay.” This is fine. He has basic instructions from Wight: look around, find someplace to change or eat if possible, don’t do anything to warrant too much attention if he can help it. Easy enough. Staying out of the news and avoiding attention might be hard, considering the state of both him and Kota, but he’ll do his best.

He glances around at the alley they’re in. There’s nothing particularly interesting at either exit, just streets with pedestrians and cars bustling around. They shouldn’t get seen, not yet. Stepping out there wouldn’t be a good idea. They need to find some place to hide out, or some way to disguise themselves.

He picks a direction and starts walking. “Let’s go.”

Kota huffs like a displeased dog. “Why?”

“Because Wight told us to find a place to rest.” That’ll be difficult, but he has to try. Wight said he was going to keep an eye on them. He can see them, meaning he can tell if they don’t do what he told them to. If they stay put, he might be displeased with them, and for some reason, the thought of displeasing Wight makes Virion feel bad.

Ram bristles internally at the thought. Virion mentally kicks him. Ram kicks him back, and Virion’s glad he can’t feel Ram’s spurs in his mind.

Kota makes a face, staring at Virion, considering. A look passes over his eyes, some kind of understanding, but it’s gone in a second and he starts loping after Virion. They don’t have the pack of stuff Kota stole yesterday—there wasn’t really anything left in there anyway, Wight burned their prison jumpsuits and all the food in it was eaten already. They should probably find something to eat, at the very least.

Virion peeks into the few windows of the buildings they pass in the alley. Not a lot going on—most of what he can see seems to be back rooms for stores, people handling large boxes and supplies. It’s a much larger scale than anything Virion’s seen before, but he knows what a back room of a store looks like; he used to work at the general store back home before he got fired. He idly wonders how the old shopkeep is doing nowadays. He hopes they’re not dead.

He turns down another alleyway. They shouldn’t step onto the street yet. He spots a few people out there dressed in strange outfits, brightly coloured costumes that almost look like hero outfits, but he tries not to pay them any mind. He has instructions, he’s going to follow them.

He glances at Kota from the corner of his eye. This is the second time they’ve been properly alone without Wight. He’s... curious about him. Sue him.

“So...” Virion says. “How did you end up with Wight?”

Kota grunts, noncommittal and disinterested, as they walk. He doesn’t seem particularly inclined to conversation. Frustrating, since Virion isn’t exactly an expert at it either. He’s more of a listener. Not used to doing the heavy lifting when talking to people.

“He said he found you in an alley,” Virion says, hoping that it’ll goad him into saying something. “How did you end up there?”

Kota’s expression changes, scowling. “I don’t... know.”

Virion blinks, falters in his walking. “You don’t know?”

Kota shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he mutters. He reaches up and scratches at his chest, nails digging into the fabric like he’s trying to pry something out of his chest.

Wight had said that when he found Kota, he was wandering around in a tattered hospital gown, crying about wanting to get something out of him. He doesn’t know enough about Prime to even hazard a guess at how Kota could have gotten in that situation, what had happened to him, least of all whatever had been put in him. Is that a thing someone could do here? Cut someone open and put something inside them? To do that at home and have the person actually survive, a lot of magic would have to be involved. Do they have magic here on Prime? They must. Virion’s not sure how else he would explain Wight’s powers, Tide’s hydrokinesis, the flying cars, any of it. It’s just got to be a different kind of magic.

Is there a way to figure out what exactly happened to Kota? Investigate, look into his past, learn how he ended up like this? There must be, but... Wight’s probably tried, anyway. He doesn’t seem like the kind to leave stones unturned. Still, there has to be a way. Some memories Kota has that are just locked away somehow, waiting to be uncovered.

Ram grumbles internally, incomprehensible, still tired from Wight using all of them, but Virion gets the message; he shouldn’t care about prying into anyone’s past or personal lives here. They’re supposed to be getting home, and that’s the only thing that matters. Virion mentally kicks him again. As long as he’s here, if he gets the chance, what’s the harm in looking into it?

“What about you?” Kota asks, face softening just a little, turning more curious than miffed. “How did you get here?”

Anger flares up in Virion’s chest at the memory. The way he’d followed The Greats into that underground chamber his father led them to, staying far behind so they wouldn’t notice, and then watching, helpless, frozen in fear, as his father and the Lich, the fucking Lich in the middle of it all, killing The Greats together. His mom had found him, run away from the fighting just long enough to pull Virion away, lead him down a tunnel he’d never seen before, open a swirling portal, kiss him on the forehead, and push him through. Before he even processed what had happened, Virion had fallen onto the streets of Prime with six unwanted ghosts in his head.

His mom isn’t one of them. He’s been taking that as a sign she’s alive. Surely, surely if she’d died with the rest, her spirit would have come through and gotten stuck in his head with the rest, right? Surely if she’d died even after he went through the portal, she would be in his head like The Greats. She has to be alive after all that. If he considers any other possibility, he’ll—he’s not sure.

“My mom sent me here,” he says plainly. It’s not a lie, just... not all of it. “Home was too dangerous, so I’m here now.”

Kota snorts. “She thought Prime would be safer?”

He’s pretty sure she didn’t know anything about how dangerous Prime is before she sent him here. Interdimensional portals take a lot to open, tons of power and time and effort. She’d been preparing the portal for months, honing the magic needed in order to open it for even a few seconds, with the intent to usher refugees into another world in case the Lich made the city of Flora too dangerous for anyone to live. In the end, she’d only managed to get Virion through.

He wonders if she’s making another one, trying to find him, or trying to get more people through. She must be. She has to be. Since Virion’s father turned traitor, his mother must be holding things down in Flora, keeping the people alive and fighting. Their family—The Greats included—may not have been leaders of the city, but they’re heavily respected and widely known. How is she handling doing all that alone?

He just shrugs. “She didn’t know. Nothing I can do about it anyway. I’m stuck here with no way home.” Maybe he wouldn’t be stuck here if he’d been allowed to learn magic, like his mom. His dad had always said he didn’t need to as long as he was strong and knew how to fight, and everyone could do magic anyway, there would be no need for big fancy spells like the ones The Greats knew and practiced.

Maybe he thought Virion would always be safe as long as his parents were alive to take care of him. Maybe he secretly disapproved of The Greats’ use of magic for some reason and that was part of the reason he turned against them. Maybe he just thought it was silly and dismissed any possibility of Virion wanting to learn it, foolishly assuming he’d be better off without it. No matter the reason, Virion’s lack of magical prowess has left him stranded here with no way back home.

Kota grunts, brow furrowed as though ruminating on what Virion just told him. Their conversation seems to be over. Not like Virion has much else to say anyway. He’s too angry, thinking about what his father did, how everything happened, the fact that he was powerless to stop any of it.

They near the end of the alley and pause. Virion holds out a hand, silently telling Kota to stay put, and inches closer to the edge of the alley himself. There’s still so many people in weird costumes out on the sidewalks. Why is that? They all seem to be headed in the same direction.

Hesitantly, Virion steps closer to the opening of the alley. There are so many pedestrians, some of whom cast him a mostly disinterested glance before moving on with their day. He and Kota are both covered in blood, Virion soaked practically head to toe, Kota covered all down his front. Why aren’t people losing their minds just at the sight of them? Surely this warrants some concern, right? Maybe people in this city just mind their business more often than those in Rockfall, or maybe...

All those people in costumes. Maybe the pedestrians think the blood is just that—part of a costume.

Virion motions for Kota to come closer. He hears his footsteps padding on the dirt and stop next to him. “What?”

“I think we should be safe if we go out there,” Virion says.

Kota looks at him like he’s stupid. “We’re covered in blood. My face is on the news.”

Virion tries not to get annoyed at his tone. It’s the longest string of words Kota’s said to him yet, so it’s... progress at least, on some front. “See all those people in costumes? I think people don’t know it’s real blood. They’re not scared or anything.”

Kota glares out at the pedestrians. None of them really pay much attention to him, but a few do cast him judgmental glances when they see him glowering at them, but no one starts screaming or running or panicking or anything.

“Okay, so?” He turns to Virion. “What do we do then? Just go out there?”

Virion hesitates. That doesn’t seem like a smart idea, not even when people seem to assume they’re not actually Kota Kill and... whatever the fuck they’re calling Virion. Rogue or whatever.

Well. Either way, they have a first order of business—find some clothes that aren’t bloody, and find a way to clean off what’s on their skin. Should be easier with all these people running around in costumes. If he only knew why they were all wearing costumes, that would make this so much easier, but—

“Sick costume, dude!”

He jumps and whirls around, drawing his knife in a flash. Kota begins to growl, turning to face whoever spoke.

Tide stands behind them. No, not Tide—they almost look like him at first glance, but there are very glaring key differences. Their skin is half a shade lighter, their hair in bright blue braids instead of dreadlocks. Their costume is just a flat printed design on a skintight suit, whereas Tide’s has actual body armor built into it over his vitals. The colours of the costume are slightly off, a darker cyan than Tide’s is. However, they’ve done some blue water-themed makeup and put on some blue jewelry to go with the outfit, as if to make up for the lack of quality. Something Tide would probably never wear on the battlefield, but it does make the whole outfit look a bit more cohesive. They’ve got a crossbody bag over it all, covered in pins and buttons Virion can’t quite see or make sense of from here. They smile at the two of them, and it falters when they stay silent.

“Are... you two headed to the con?” they ask, brow furrowed.

Virion swallows. He—should play along. Better to pretend he knows exactly what’s going on than to ask questions.

“Yeah, yeah. The, uh. The con.” He glances at Kota, who just looks back at him, looking as confused as he feels. “Do you, uh, know the way? We got... lost.”

The Tide lookalike lets out a laugh. “Oh, yeah, no problem! You guys from out of town?”

Virion shrugs. “You could say that.”

“Yeah, I was just taking this alley because it’s a shortcut through Oak Street. Convention’s at the community centre this year. Almost got cancelled because of the Supermax breakout, but I think if it did, the city would have an army of angry nerds on their asses.” They snort and roll their eyes. “Cape fans can be nuts, man. And I say that as someone who knows a lot of cape fans.”

They start walking out into the street among the pedestrians, and Virion hesitates before following. Most people just give them sidelong glances but say nothing. Thank goodness. “Yeah, those... fans. Crazy.” He’s so bad at this. He doesn’t know what he’s fucking doing. “Nice... costume.”

They beam. “Thanks! I know the main bit of it is kinda lame. It was a last minute Halloween costume from Spirit Halloween, but I figure I might as well get some more use out it. My friends are the bigger cape fans, I never really gave much of a crap, but it’s kind of fun to dress up sometimes. I always liked Tide. Basic favourite, I know, but he’s just so cool.”

Virion remembers the day they broke out, Kota pouncing on Tide and him screaming like a child as Kota bit into his arm. “Yeah, cool.”

“You guys, though, you guys are killing it!” They give Virion and Kota each a once over as they expertly weave through other pedestrians. “I mean, I’ve always kind of found a problem with people dressing up as villains like Kota, it just feels like—kinda morally weird? You know? I mean, not that I’m saying you guys shouldn’t dress as them, everyone can do whatever they want, and like—if you survived a Whisperer attack and this is your way of coping, I’m not gonna tell you not to—sorry, I—god, I’m so awkward. I’m so sorry. I’ve got a friend who dresses as Archangel for all of these cons, it’s fine, I don’t care. But the detail—man! I like the collar, it’s a nice touch.”

Kota raises a hand to touch his red collar. “...Thanks.”

“Haven’t seen any other Violet Rogue cosplayers yet. The blood is...” They tilt their head. “Kind of a lot. Why choose to cover Rogue in blood and not Kota?”

Virion opens his mouth and shuts it, grasping for something to say. God, what can he say? He’s terrible at this. He’s so so terrible at this.

They furrow their brow when he doesn’t answer. “You... have a specific reason for it? Or... just for fun?”

Oh, hon, you’re screwing this here.

Virion jumps at Min’s voice in his head. She’s barely spoken for the past few days. What does she want?

Let me step in, Virion. I’ll get us through this, don’t worry. I know how to work a social blunder.

He hesitates. He hasn’t let Min control his body since they arrived in Prime. He doesn’t know what she’ll do, how she’ll act, if she’ll try to run away from Wight and Kota somehow. But—he’s fucking bad at this. He’s bad at infiltration, at social situations in general. Fuck. Fuck it.

Don’t worry Vee. He can hear the smirk in her voice even in his head. It’s still your body. I’m working in your best interest, I can promise you that.

He steps back and feels Min take the reins. He hovers over her shoulder, aware, staying close in case he needs to step in again. He’s not letting any one of them have unsupervised access to his body.

He feels his mouth smile, wide and charming. “Ah, sorry! I’ve got a bit of a headache. The fumes from the fake blood, you get it.”

The Tide fan smiles gain, reassured. “Oh, yeah, I noticed it does smell metallic. How’d you get it to smell so real?”

Min reaches up and takes the pin out of Virion’s hair, redoing his updo into something a little more secure. “Lots of trial and error, hon. The amount of headaches I got from trying to mix so many different scents to get the blood smell just right—you don’t want to know.”

The Tide fan laughs, and Virion relaxes a bit. Letting Min take over was the right choice. She’s good at this kind of thing.

“So, what’s your name?” Min asks. Virion looks over the pins and buttons on their bag now that they’re walking side by side. Ones with illustrations of brightly coloured people—more heroes? Fictional characters? Hard to tell. There’s a few with stripes of different colours, and one that says “THEY/THEM” in big green letters.

“Oh, I’m Blade,” they say. “They/them, thanks. What about you?”

“V—” Min falters for a second. “—in. Vin. Cent. Vyncent.” He can feel her nervousness at the blunder. He hopes Blade takes it. “Sh—he/him.”

“Oh, I love that! Cool name.”

Min relaxes. “Likewise.”

Blade flips their braids over their shoulder. “Thanks, I picked it myself.” They glance back at Kota. “What about you?”

Kota blinks. “...Kota.”

“Ah, don’t wanna break character? I get it, I get it. Some cosplayers are like that. Uh, pronouns?”

Kota blinks. “What’s that?”

“He’s okay with being called he,” Min interjects with a smile.

“Cool, cool.” They turn back to Min. “So, do you guys have a Whisperer? Or is this just a two-person costume?”

“Yes, we do. He’s at the... convention. We just thought we would catch up with him there.”

Their face lights up. “Ooh, I’m excited to see his costume! If it’s anything like yours, I’m sure it’ll be awesome!”

Great, now they need a Whisperer when they get wherever they’re going. Thanks Min.

Min just scoffs mentally at him. She’s got something planned for that, apparently, or at least a way to bullshit out of it. Whatever, fine, he’ll trust her with this. She’s doing it better than he ever could.

“It’s just down this street!” Blade quickens their pace a little as they turn down another street. Min and Kota hurry to keep up. Kota sends Virion a look, silently asking why are we following this guy? Virion just shrugs with the smidgeon of control he still has. If they can get in a building to potentially get new clothes and some food, a place where everyone is wearing costumes and they won’t be looked at weirdly for being covered in blood, that seems like their best bet, but he can’t exactly relay that to him with a civilian here.

A large building comes into view, a couple stories tall, multiple doorways with streams of people going in and out, each one manned by people who look similarly dressed to police officers. Guards of a sort, clearly. Shit, do they need to pay some kind of admittance fee? Virion doesn’t have any Prime currency.

Blade leads them closer to one of the doors. “So, where’s your Whisperer meeting you?”

“Ah, you know, he said he’d be around. We’ll find him.”

“Awesome! You guys have to find me and my friends later, I really want to show them your costumes.” They skip on ahead, calling out behind them. “We’ll be at the artist booths for most of the day! If you see a girl in Wavelength armor, you’ve found us!”

Min waves at them with a polite smile as they run off. The smile drops as soon as Blade is gone, and Min turns to look at Kota. “Okay, we get in if we can, we get clothes, food, we clean up, and then we leave. Do you know how these things work?”

Kota furrows his brow. “You’re not Virion.”

Min stiffens. “Observant, are you?”

Kota wrinkles his nose. “You’re one of his voices. Bring him back.”

Min hesitates. Virion?

He steps forward, taking the reins from her. Refreshing to be willingly passing the control of his body around for once instead of having to fight for it. He runs a hand down his face and takes a deep breath. He can feel Min still there, sitting back, ready to step in if he needs her again.

“Hey,” he says. “I... we should do what she said. Go in, get what we need, get out, find somewhere to stay. Okay?” It’s... as good a plan as any, without Wight here to direct them. It’s weird, being set loose to do what he wants when Wight has been leading him nonstop these past couple days. Is this some sort of test of Wight’s? Virion wouldn’t put it past him.

Kota furrows his brow, but he nods. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out some paper rectangles—currency. “Here. Had some leftover. For admission.”

Virion relaxes. He takes the money, careful not to get dried blood on it. He walks up to the door, feeling like he’s about to jump out of his skin.

The guard at the door holds up a hand as they approach. Virion stops, trying so hard not to draw his knife automatically and ready himself for a fight.

“You have a pass?” the guard asks.

“Um...” He holds out the money, unsure of what else to say.

The guard hums. “You want a couple day passes?”

Virion nods. The guard takes the money, rifles through a pack on his hip and takes out a few coins, dropping them into Virion’s palm, then he rifles through a second pack and takes out two strips of paper. He wraps one around Virion’s wrist, where it sticks to itself to make a bracelet, and then he does the same with Kota.

He nods at the two of them, giving them a wide smile. “Enjoy the convention. And cool costumes!”

Virion and Kota duck in through the doorway. He lets out a breath. Okay. They’re in... a building. Where hopefully there will be food, at least, if not clothes. Certainly there will be washrooms where they can clean up.

He glances around for a clock, just to check the time. It’s getting into the afternoon. Wight didn’t say how long he’d be gone.

Well, until he comes to find them, they’ll just wing it. They’ll be fine until then, surely.