Valentine's Day

Alec Merceau/ Regent

June 16th, 2011

I wake up too damn early. Even with my alarm off, even though I stayed up well into the night, my body wakes up at 9am sharp. My muscles protest, each one feeling like a bag of sand and begging me to fall back to the crappy bed below me.

I give in immediately, feeling the momentary relief slowly peter out as I lay there, my mind just on the precipice of sleep but the dreams unwilling to take me. I roll onto my back, trying to find that sweet spot again but slowly, my mouth gets too dry and my body’s demands to use the restroom are too great to ignore.

I get up out of bed with a groan, I know I shouldn’t be annoyed, this pattern made itself apparent the first morning I got up here. The bed creaks as I get up, the old, probably water filled wooden supports threaten me with each moment, telling me they’re about to explode every time I flop on the bed and get off it.

I’d give it a longer rest if I could but it doesn’t matter if I stay up till six in the morning, every day, I got to wake up at nine am. Every single fucking day.

I know it’s just crankiness that’s getting me so pissed off, I know rationally I shouldn’t be annoyed. After all, if someone spent four months building a sleep schedule around people, it makes sense that the stupid cycle would hold up, even when I’m not around them.

I know it’ll get better eventually, maybe tomorrow I’ll head to bed six and wake up a whole twelve hours later. Maybe.

But for now, this shit is getting to me, six days in a row now, all of them operating on fumes.

I stomp to the shithole of a bathroom and try to rub the sleep out of my eyes. I know I’ll be fine. Around twelve or so I’ll have finally breached the threshold, the exhaustion will still be there but I’ll be used to it enough to operate.

I leave the bathroom and sigh, I’m so fucking tired.

I’d like to say this week hasn’t been bad, all things considered. I’d like to say spending six days without even a text has been good for my health. I’d like to say that I’m starting to get better.

But even though I’m really good at it, I hate lying, even to myself.

I go to rub at my eyes again and sigh once more, feeling the moisture on the back of my hand. More goddamn tears, every single fucking day, more fucking tears. I swear to god, my face barely gets dry before a fresh wave comes in. I groan and rub my eyes even more, trying to wring out the stupid pathetic things like water in a towel.

I know it won’t work, I know I’m good to look like a complete fucking idiot most of the day. THe only saving grace is that they just fall now, no annoying or loud gasps to come with it, no sniffles to make my stupid shoulders shake.

Pulling my hands away reveals my little shitbox hole in the wall, the despair of it highlighted by the tasteful dim light I couldn’t block out. I haven’t really furnished it yet, to be honest, I don’t know if I should bother. It’ll be like putting lipstick on a pig.

The only real additions to it is that the desk and dresser are full of clothes and shit and beside the tv is a console I bought the day I moved in. Well, all my clothes are recently bought too now that I think about it.

I’m not ready to get my shit from the tower yet, I could’ve gotten the console I had and the clothes I’d gradually been stealing from the others but I can’t do that yet. I was gonna do it today but as my phone reminded me when I finally decided to turn in, today’s a really bad day to go back to the tower.

I reach for the thing and power it on, only pausing for a second at my lock screen before typing in my password. There it is, the same notification I didn’t bother to dismiss before crashing.

Taylor’s Bday today the message reads, ghost of Alec’s past adding try to get her something nice dumbass, don’t just let it come and go like last year.

I wipe at my eyes again, more stupid fucking tears trying to make their way down before I stop them. I shouldn’t have let Taylor’s birthday just… fucking happen last year. No cakes, no party, hell, I don’t even think there were any gifts.

It’s a far cry from what they got me for my birthday, or well, what passed as my birthday. Even tired as hell and my eyes misting over, I still laugh at the memory, at Lisa’s outrage when I confessed I wasn’t quite sure when my birthday even was.

I knew the year I was born and because my dad’s a fucking asshole, I also knew, in painful detail that I was probably conceived some time in early to mid February. The chuckle turns into an actual cackle when I recall it in full, the way Lisa put her hands on my shoulders and declared that I would be sixteen on Halloween night.

It was such a stupid thing, the party, the drinks, all of it trying to be spooky and not. I remember barely fitting into the Clockblocker costume. It was a great party and honestly, I was hoping that I’d be able to throw something equally extravagant in return.

But Taylor wouldn’t want that, or more accurately, she wouldn’t want anything from me. I know that now, as much as it sucks, I know for a fact that nothing would sour her birthday more than if I showed up to the tower, be it to collect my shit or god forbid curse her with a gift.

It… it hurts to think about that. That she’d probably sneer down her nose at me, that Atlas would probably shove me out or a window if I was lucky. It… my chest constricts and the next breath makes my shoulders shake and son of a bitch, I’m crying again!

I let my phone fall to the bed as I scrub at my eyes, tempted to just rip the fucking things out when my goddamn phone rings.

Someone better have a damn good reason to be calling this early. I swear to god, if it’s Alexi needing another fucking pep talk I will go down there myself and make him eat a gun. I reach for my phone as the last pitiful sounds choke out of my throat. My misty eyes barely get an intelligible view of the blurred screen but I nearly drop the phone when I read out the caller ID.

It’s Lisa.

Lisa, her green eyes half rolled and smug smile turning into an exasperated but fond grin. I don’t remember taking the photo but I can’t not look at it, her and her perfect green eyes, her and the stupid name I’ve put in my phone.

‘(You are tearing me apart) Lisa’ with a stupid purple heart right beside her name, I remember thinking it was funny when I put it in what feels like a lifetime ago now.

I clear my throat as best I can, trying to get the sleep and the rasp out of it before I accept the call and bring the phone up to my ear.

“Hel—”

“There’s a car out front, get dressed, get to the tower, it’s an emergency.” And then, just as quickly as she called, I’m left with a silent hang up. Her words make me gulp, she wants me to go to the tower, the same tower with her and Rachel and Brian and Taylor and—

No, I can’t think about that shit right now.

Whatever the fuck’s going on, it has to be bigger than them, bigger than me. Otherwise, they wouldn’t stoop to calling me. I nod to myself, a little comforted that all they need is my power when I start walking to the door.

I stop cold and stare at my reflection, at the ugly thing in the mirror hanging of the exit..

I… really don’t look good.

My eyes are bloodshot, my skin is clammy, and my hair is dam near reflective with the grease coming off it. Have I really not been taking care of myself? Fuck, I remember buying shampoo and conditioner but have I actually fucking showered?

No, no, I can’t— they can’t see me like this.

I turn around, heading back for the bathroom when there’s a honk from outside. My steps falter only for a second, I know they’re gonna blame me regardless of the time I take but I can’t look this bad, I just can’t.

I grab for the bottle of shampoo and turn the sink on full blast, trying to ignore the slight greenish brown tint to the water before I dunk my head under the spray. The water is cold like ice, all the other motel residents have probably used up all the heat.

My fingers sting under the coldness, getting tangled in my curls and yanking strands away when they get caught. I get a lather going with the shampoo and I’ve barely gotten the suds out when the driver honks again.

I try to flip my head out of the sink and yelp when the back of my head collides with the faucet.

It stings like hell and I put both hands up to rub at the quickly forming lump as I stare at myself. The mirror in here doesn’t offer a better reflection than the one I just witnessed but at least my hair’s cleanish now. I know I probably still smell like shit but the last thing I want is Grue busting down the door to yell at me.

I leave the room in a pair of loose fitting sweatpants and nothing else, my undried hair leaving enough water that it flows down my front and back as I look over the railing. True to her word, Lisa did send a car for me, along with one very angry looking thug.

He looks up at me with a scowl and I nod, turning and rushing for the stairs. I know I’ve already held us up a lot. The stone staircase feels like sandpaper against my bare feet, the grit painful without my shoes.

The man opens the back door for me and I jump in without a thought. There’s a duffle waiting for me and I unzip it right as my driver gets back in his seat.

Changing in a car is already hassle enough, and even with my lack of clothing going in, it’s still a pain in the ass to get my costume on. The black pants and slacks are given but thankfully, someone packed a pair of underwear and socks too.

I don’t care if the driver gets a free peepshow when I get my sweats off, I can’t be much to look at like this. 

It takes me the whole ride to get my costume in place but thankfully, I’m just about done tightening the straps of my mask when the car comes to a halt.

Even exhausted, my thoughts still ring with the same deja vu they always do, a part of me wondering just how powerful a team of villains has to be for no one to give a shit that we actually just use the front door in broad daylight.

The revolving door spins as I go through it and I try not to freeze as four sets of eyes turn to look at me. Taylor has Atlas chittering beside her, the enormous bug turning his enormous horn to look at me. Rachel’s three dogs are already grown and though they were lying down when I came in, they stand at attention and stare at me with wary eyes. All of them are in their costumes and I can’t help but feel like I’m coming up short when Lisa wrinkles her nose at me.

I wish I could say her disgust, their disgust is just because of my personality but I know better. I must look like shit and smell twice as bad compared to them.

Without a word, I try to give them as wide a berth as possible as I head for the elevators. I might not know exactly why I’m here but I don’t need to. They need Regent, they need his thralls, and unfortunately, I have to show up in person to put on the mask.

Right as I try to hit the button for Ubermensch’s floor, Brian and Lisa pile into the metal box with me. The doors close and both of them press themselves against the wall opposite me, my shoulders feel like they’re made of stone as I look away.

I hate this, hate that I can feel their eyes examining me, hate how bad I must look and smell, I— fuck, can’t they just look away? Pretend I’m not here? They got so damn good at doing that and now they won’t stop noticing me. I know goddamnit, I know I’m gross and a wreck and my hair must look like a drowned rat and—

I take as deep a breath as I can without letting it become audible. I’m gonna be fine, I’ll do whatever the fuck they need me to do, I’ll put Ubermensch and Shatterbird back in the toybox when I’m done, and I’ll probably drown myself in rosé when I get back to home sweet shit box.

I’ll be fine, I’ll be okay, I just have to get through this and—

“It’s your sister.”

My eyes snap open, the breath drawn out of my lungs like a rock is crushing my chest. The world gets fuzzy, the sights, the sounds, the everything loses focus and I slowly turn to face Brian as I speak.

Or, at least I try to. The words won’t form, my tongue is a log in my mouth and the best I can manage is an inquisitive hum and the tilt of my head.

“Butcher XV” Brian repeats, actually spelling out the roman numeral. “Cherish, she got out somehow.”

That rock on my chest sinks inside of me, becoming a pit, no, not just a pit but a black hole, a suffocating nothingness that swallows up everything except the incessant buzzing in my ears. That can’t be fucking right, Cherie got shoved into a fucking box at the end of the pier, something Bonesaw did ramped up her powers, kept them on and at full blast constantly.

The locals even drew chalk lines, big fat white lines that told everyone: ‘if you step into this circle, you’re not leaving.’

Everyone hoped she’d eventually croak, that without food or water, she would’ve had to bite it at some point. Hell, I hoped for that. Cherie and I… I won’t say any of our siblings were ever close in the traditional sitcom way but I know my older sister and I were close for whatever fuck passes at the Vasils.

I don’t know why she blew a fuse after I left, I don’t know what made her decide to sign me up for the fucking Nine but it couldn’t have been worth letting her suffer down there. 

The floors ding as we rise up and I gulp. Cherie isn’t dead, whatever fucked up prison Mannequin built for her kept her fed and hydrated enough that she just kept on ticking, kept on making people kill themselves if they got too close.

The shit he put her in was built to last, even a year after his death, the fucker's tech kept her imprisoned.

I turn my head back to the buttons and I try to act like I always do, I can't let Lisa read me right now, can't let her figure out where my mind turns to. 

Last June, only a few weeks after the Nine ran off, I went to the pier with half a dozen Nazis. They were rank and file morons, the ones who double dipped as members for the Pure and Fenrir's Chosen. People no one would mind disappearing.

I had them line up and sent each into Cherie's prison, the newly dubbed suicide pier. Only a few of them made it to her little box half hidden under the sand, most were so overwhelmed with sorrow that I couldn’t make them surface for air.

It didn’t work obviously and when Cherie inherited the mantle of Boston’s number one psycho and still couldn’t get out, I silently let any thoughts of talking to her again die. How the fuck did she manage it? Lisa said she had no control over her powers, by all rights she should—

“It doesn’t matter how she got out,” The Thinker tells me, reading my mind, “All that matters is she did and there’s dozens of bodies attesting to that. One of them being Browbeat.”

Fuck, damnit Cherie, Wards are a no go for fuck—

“He’s fine,” Lisa tells me, “His biokinesis kept him alive.”

“But it didn’t stop him from twisting his head around like an owl.” Brian adds. “And that’s why we need Ubermensch, Cherish shouldn’t be able to fuck with him and we’ll need you to keep her restrained.”

“So that’s why you called me?” I ask for clarification, closing my eyes as I look for the Brutish Nazi’s nervous system. I almost have a read on it when Brian snorts, the sound hollow but derisive.

“What else would we need you for?”

My eyes snap open along with my thrall’s, something sliding down my cheeks as my next breath falters. That… fuck, I shouldn’t be surprised, that shit about sticks and stones used to be true but in the past four months I’ve found words can be more hurtful than a gunshot.

I don’t know why his bluntness stings, I knew going in that was why they called me, I’ve known for months that my usefullness was the only thing even giving me a spot on the team but… fuck, before that shit was all implicit. Having him actually say that, telling me to my face that I had no other reason to be here… it’s different.

I close my eyes shut and have Ubermensch crack his neck, his bindings just as secure as ever as I look at the guard. He’s wearing PRT trooper gear minus the branding, in their place is rows upon rows of meaningless glyphs, runes, and symbology. Most of it doesn’t mean shit except the four on his knuckles and the three on his shoulder and helmet.

I have Ubermensch scan the symbols in his periphery, never getting his eyes to lock one dead on before he clears his throat.

“The password today is omega-lambda-bravo-Xanathos- XLE-421.”

The guard stiffens at my thrall before nodding, heading to the large button beside the door and hitting it with the precise amount of force needed. Ubermensch falls to the floor before rising, his muscles are stiff but marginally less so than mine.

I have him crack all his knuckles and joints before the guard returns, holding a stack of clothes for my thrall. I thank him and the anger simmering in Ubermensch’s guts doesn’t feel quite as satisfying as it used to.

He dresses and if my teammates say anything else, I don’t hear it before the doors to this floor open. Brian steps in front of me, some macho part of him always needing to lead the charge before I have Ubermensch walk through the doors opposite of us.

I watch through the Brute’s eyes as Grue leaps back, darkness falling off of him and loosely gathering into a pointed smog before Lisa screams.

“He’s under control!” Lisa shouts, one hand on Brian’s shoulder and trying to calm him down. Brian doesn’t hear her at first and I step away from the buttons and into the elevator’s corner, if that fucking dark touches me, we’ll all be screwed.

Grue is shaking, the bits of him that aren’t swathed in darkness are shaking and it’s only when Lisa places her other hand on Brian’s chest that the man finally calms down, taking gasping breaths as the dark around him dissipates.

He’s hyperventilating inside his helmet and Lisa’s hands wander to either side of his neck, her bare fingers pressing under Brian’s helmet as she whispers to him.

“It’s okay,” she soothes, “He’s under control, he can’t hurt me again, alright? You don’t have to protect me, I’m okay, you're okay.”

Her words work for Brian but they make me flinch. I don’t know how the fuck I forgot about it but I remember that Tattletale was on the top of Ubermensch’s hit list when he came to the bay. His beloved Norn told him that with her death, the Undersiders would lose our coordination, that we’d be too scattered to stop a second coming, a new vassal Empire with the Norn as the leader.

Thankfully, her visions never came to life. Grue watched Tattletale 24/7, protecting her tirelessly and even managing to keep Ubermensch away when he found her bunker. The two of them haven’t really talked about that time, about the twoish weeks where none of us knew where they were or if she was okay between the nightly calls.

I’m such a fucking idiot, I might not have remembered that but I’d bet money Brian and Lisa think about it whenever they have to look at my thrall. I gulp and Brian finally leans off the wall before the empty pits of his helmet stare right into me.

“It’s gonna be fine,” Lisa says, her hands leaving Brian’s neck. “Anyone would freak out if someone didn’t warn us the mass murderer was coming to us.”

I run a hand through my wet hair, feeling my fingers slide through the slick black curls as I try to organize my thoughts. I just wanted this to be done quicker, I was just trying to be efficient, I didn’t— fuck, I shouldn’t give an excuse.

“I’m—”

“What the fuck is your problem?” Brian asks, shouting; stomping over to me and looming. I try to shrink away from him but feel the cold steel of the elevator press against my back as I turn my head to the side, trying not to meet his gaze. “You think you can just get away with this shit, pushing out buttons like this?!”

“I—”

He cuts me off as his gloved right hand grabs at my chin, the thumb and index finger harshly digging into the skin under my mask as he forces my head to look up.

“Fucking look at me when I ask you a question!”

“I’m sorry,” I answer, voice breathless as my knees buckle, nearly forcing me to the floor before I catch myself in an awkward squat. “I just thought I—”

“That’s the fucking problem Regent,” Brian growls, stepping back just enough to snap for Ubermensch. “You shouldn’t think, there shouldn’t be a thought in your head we haven’t put there.”

His words feel like a knife in my throat but before I can dislodge it, Lisa speaks up again, her arms crossing after she hits another button. The doors quickly close just after Ubermensch steps in after her.

“This is an organization Alec, there're rules you need to abide by, same as everyone else.” She scoffs and flips her hair as she looks away from me, like she can’t stand looking at me for a second longer. “Same shit if Chariot or Vex got out of line, there’s a chain of command here and things won’t work if anyone breaks it. That includes you.”

I… nod.

Brian turns away from me and I pull myself up on the bar welded to the wall, my breath coming faster and faster even when I try to steady it. Brian just… he just put his hands on me. He… fuck, he’s never done that before.

I mean, I guess if there was ever a time to do it, now would be okay. I mean, I’m the dumbass here, the one who brought the mass murderer out of his cage to meet us halfway, completely unannounced. It makes perfect sense actually, it fits the pattern too, I’m the one who fucked up her, it’s my fault he grabbed me, I’m the one who made him do it.

The logic soothes me and I’m just able to catch my breath as the doors ding open, this time in the sub basement, with Shatterbird locked behind a steel door. We all leave the elevator and this time, I don’t get Shatterbird to move, instead I force her to lie perfectly still on her bed until Brian gets the door open.

I sigh, even when she’s perfectly still, there’s days when I slip into her body that it feels more comfortable than my own. I don’t know why, her nerves are just like anyone else’s, meshes of light and heat, a spiderweb of sensation but… some days, my own body feels different, like someone stuck me in a rack, my limbs too long and broad, my chest too cramped and my hips crushed.

On those days, hopping into someone else can feel like a blessing, like I can finally go back to normal. It isn’t always like that, some days I feel like throwing up when I’m driving her around, some days Ubermensch makes me feel limitless, I don’t know what the fuck it is, all I know is that today, it feels good to not be myself.

Brian pushes the door open as quickly as anyone can force half a foot of steel backwards and the empty skull locks eyes with my thrall for barely a moment before he turns back to the elevator. snapping his fingers for her, for me, like I’m a dog.

The little box is cramped but thankfully, we don’t spend too much time in it before we’re back at the lobby, the other two still waiting.

Lisa walks up to them as she speaks.

“Okay, the city doesn’t know about this, and we’re gonna keep it that way, most of the dead are homeless so there’s no one to report anything back to the media. That said, we are keeping this as quiet as possible.”

“Is that why it’s just us?” Rachel asks, snapping for her hounds to follow as we all near the exit. I try to ignore that she gets to ask questions but I’m not allowed.

“Two reasons,” Lisa says, lifting her index finger first, “One like you said, the less people involved the less of a chance of this leaking. Two, Cherish has a very potent Master ability, it only works in the short term but she can make people do a lot in that time. We bring anyone else along and we’re more liable to fight ourselves than her.”

“Vex might not need a reason,” Brian says… jealousy thick in his voice. I would swear his helmet turns to me  for the barest second before his eyes look dead ahead. “She worked for the last psycho, if this one wants to start up the Teeth again—”

“She won’t make it that far,” Taylor cuts him off, her stride confident as we exit the building. “We’ll have knocked out this fight and then maybe…” the insect Master turns to face me, the dull lens of her eyes burning through me, “Maybe Regent gets another spoke in his crown.”

Her words make me reach up unconsciously, thankful she can’t see my expression as my fingers poke against the spike next to Shatterbird’s. She… she can’t be serious.

She doesn’t turn around though, even when the other’s hop aboard their mounts. Atlas chitters behind her, his beady eyes locked on mine as his mandibles click together. I… what the fuck?

“You want me to Master her?” I ask, unable to keep the incredulity out of my voice. “You want me to Master my own fucking sister?”

“Yes,” Taylor says, her voice as monotone as mine used to get as she tilts her head, the enormous beetle behind her showing her frustration as he shakes. “We don’t have a permanent solution otherwise, we—”

“We’ll discuss it later!” Brian barks, his legs kicking at Sirius like an old cowboy.  The dog immediately bounds down the sidewalk, Grue’s power coming off of him like an old train engine as Taylor steps up on her pet monster.

The four of them ride away and there’s a tiny part of me that remembers when they’d let me ride with them, that they’d always put me in front, that I’d get to feel them holding me the whole ride. That part of me is so minor, it might not even be there as Shatterbird let’s out a little hum, the shitload of broken glass we’ve hidden in the surrounding building and nearby sewers rises up and swirls around me.

The maelstrom of glass is satisfying to sense through, each shard bouncing off each other like tiny little punches, each one of them soothing the heat in my chest like a bucket of water on a forest fire.

My knuckles clench hard enough that they pop but even as Shatterbird makes the three of us a platform to ride on, the fire inside of me doesn’t stop my stupid fucking tears, if anything the stupid things just fall quicker as I drop to my knees.

Maybe this isn't so bad, after all, it'll be nice to talk to Cherie again.

The three of us sail through the air and I try to keep a sob back as best I can, but the stupid fucking thing slides up my goddamn throat anyway. The broken sound makes my mind stumble and for the briefest instant, Shatterbird regains control of her mouth.

I'm about to take it back when she speaks, voice just as haughty as when she tried to kill me. 

"You know," she says, her accent a hodgepodge of different languages but unmistakably refined. "You deserve this, honestly, you deserve worse."

I want to close her mouth, I want to make her bite off her fucking tongue but I can't even get myself up to my feet.

"Everything you've done, not just to me but to everyone you've ever met, all of them are now less for having known you. And you deserve everything they do, every word that feels like a knife, every dismissal like a gunshot, all those pathetic and banal attempts to woo them, to be let in by them, all of it is still not even a fraction of what should come your way."

Up here, the summer wind feels bitingly cold, the water still in my hair feels like it's about to freeze the tips of my ears off

“I’m surprised it took this long honestly, having to do your bidding this past year has been a greater trial for me than anything I faced in the Nine, getting your drinks,your mail, saving your hide more times than I wish to count, if it weren’t for Clockblocker, I would’ve defiled the Endbringer truce just to see you dead.”

The scars on my hand itch like hell at her words, the little pinpricks feel like thumbtacks made of fire as they crawl up my arm and side, trailing up the highways of scar tissue.

“But I’m actually rather happy I didn’t, what I would’ve done would’ve been too quick for a gutless worm like you.” She actually laughs as we start to near the pier, the ocean salt not quite able to hide the rusty scent of blood. “It’s better this way, watching the wool slowly fall from their eyes, watching all your attempts to please them turn into hate. But still… it’s too good for you. I met so many horrid people in my career, many I had to share living quarters with and I’ve not met one person as vile and repulsive as you, and I hope you understand that if it weren’t for me, weren’t for the dumb fucking luck that got me under your thrall, those ‘friends’ of yours would’ve had you gutted a long time ago.”

“I know,” I say with my, hers, and Ubermensch’s mouth, all three of us speaking in concert as the silicakinetic slowly lowers us to the pier. The others are already here, with Grue stepping off his mount at the same time Taylor gets off hers.

The sight I see would make most flinch, true to her word, Lisa’s description is accurate. 

Dozens of homeless lay in front of us, some have long claw marks ripped out of them, likely made by Butcher VII or whichever one could shapeshift.

Others look like what happens when you squish a spider, all of their joints bunched up and locked in, the pain of the first Butcher’s gaze.

There’s one or two that look like they’ve been dead for weeks, maggots burrowing in the viscera. But those are the same age as the others, the only difference being that Butcher… fuck, I wanna say III? Whichever one tried to rip people’s balls off for Lustrum, that Fester chick.

There’s dozens of them here and there shouldn’t be.

The day Cherie got put in her box, the local homeless started offing themselves like it was going out of style. Her radius might’ve been clearly marked but no one should’ve chanced it like this, people should be a few blocks down at least, not right at her fucking door.

“Okay,” Lisa says, head on a swivel. “You all know what she can do, I need everyone to stay in constant contact, her power has a quick buildup but we should—”

BOOOM

She’s cut off by the explosion in front of us, the rickety dock barely able to withstand the explosion as it ushers in the fifteenth Butcher, my sister, Cherie Vasil.

My eyes take a second to adjust to the brightness of her entrance but when they do, I feel bile try to rise up my throat. I haven’t seen my older sister for a year and some change now but seeing her in this moment makes me wish she’d have stayed in her prison.

I suppose it shouldn’t be a surprise she looks worse than me, but when you try to compare us, I might as well be an award winning model. Her hair is fried, the once luscious black curls and waves now just a frizzy mess, the saltwater having torn out the red streaks that used to frame her face.

Her clothes are shriveled and ragged, like clothes you find buried under mud, dry in some places but so wet others they’ll sooner disintegrate than dry. They barely hold onto her, mostly just hanging in strips that offer her little cover.

It’s not like she needs it, the tattoos Mannequin gave her are still just as vibrant and disgusting as they’ve always been. I don’t have that much pity for anyone that willingly signs up for the Nine, not even if we share blood… but fuck, no one deserves this shit.

The tattoos are too real, done in such a fashion that they don’t look like they blend into the skin, more like optical illusions that randomly lay on and under the flesh. A cockroach looks like it’s climbing out from under her breast, vomit clings to her neck, dry and crusted, fucking dog shit is on one wrist, there’s not an inch below the neck that hasn’t been defiled into some disgusting tapestry. 

But that shit, all that disgusting, monstrous body art pales when I look at her eyes. Her dull, listless blue eyes. They’re the same color as mine, so pale they might as well be silver in spots, some might say they’re closer to white than blue but even though every Vasil has that same shade, all of our eyes are distinct. 

Romeo’s are electric and bright, the heat of his power always keeping them at a low simmer. His twin, Juliette has eyes still as the dead, cold like the frost covering a headstone. Nicholas’s eyes are always jumpy, with a bit of a sunken edge to them. Valentina’s are coy, always turned up a little and faintly amused.

All of our eyes are the same and not, but that variation doesn’t account for what I’m looking at.

Cherie’s eyes were the closest to mine, the oily smarm and smug satisfaction just barely rising up to the surface, the only difference between our gazes was that hers were just a bit more alive than mine, like comparing one stage of cancer to another.

They were the ones that changed the most, the one pair of eyes in our whole family that the untrained could pick apart, the only child of Heartbreaker that didn’t have an ironclad poker face. They’d light up whenever she learned a new chord for her guitar, they’d burn hot whenever me or Samuel snapped the strings, they’d mellow with the tune of a lazy song. They’re supposed to be alive but as they slowly pivot to look at me, I’ve never seen something more dead.

They aren’t— she’s not there.

That thing in front of me, that amalgam of fifteen minds crammed into a single body that might as well be a corpse, it isn’t my sister, it isn’t Cherie Vasil.

And that thing standing there, using her face like a mask… it isn’t attacking us. The others all go into a fighting stance, Lisa reaching for her pistol, Rachel’s arms half raised, ready to sic her dogs on The Teeth’s immortal Vanguard. Brian’s shadow falls to the floor like dry ice out of a cooler and though I can’t see Taylor’s army, I know all the chittering around us can’t just be coming from Atlas.

But their posture isn’t needed. On reflex, I get my thralls to get into their own positions but my own arms are slow to move up, confusion warring with my limbs.

We’re well inside her range, Cherie doesn’t even really need line of sight like dear old dad, but it certainly helps. From here, the others should be at least a bit twitchy but there’s nothing in their forms to suggest that.

After a beat, with our side confused by her inaction, Lisa lowers her pistol the barest inch before clearing her throat.

“What do you—”

She’s cut off by a sharp clap, a slow and sarcastic sound that echoes three times before the tip of a shadow walks in from behind an old ticket booth, the tiny hut probably a remnant of when the ferry used to stop here.

That one clap captures Cherie’s attention, her eyes brimming with hope, admiration, and… devotion. My own eyes widen as I take in hers, my stomach seizing and spasming like it’s being tased from the inside. I swallow a lump in my throat, something so big it feels like it might be half my head in size.

The tip of the shadow becomes the head of a man as it claps again, Cherie dropping to her knees. Another clap has her head bowed like a monk and one final clap makes her bring her arms in around her, her hands clutching at her sides like the… like the love inside might make her heart burst outwards.

I shake my head before he can crest past the building, a million prayers to a million different gods and every single one of them begging for my intuition to be wrong, begging that the tips of the dress shoes I spy aren’t the same brand he always wears.

But all those gods prove themselves to be dead as he makes the last few steps, the worst Master mankind has ever known walks to his daughter as if there weren’t seven parahumans staring him down.

I can’t say I blame him, he’s one of the oldest parahumans alive, one of the few that have managed to have their powers for over twenty years now. He’s beaten the odds time and time again, he was there when the Nine were led by King and he was there when all the Endbringers arrived.

And yet, despite all the shit he’s lived through, he doesn’t have a scar to show for it. Even wearing that stupid button up with the top three undone, I know even without his ‘costume’ of black slacks and a white button up, his skin is completely unblemished. That said, seeing him now, all I can think about is how close our ensembles are.

He’s just as lanky as he’s always been but even with so many grays in his long hair and perfectly sculpted beard, his body doesn’t look all that aged. PHO debated for years whether or not he was in his late thirties or early forties but they’re both wrong. The man in front of us is nearly fifty but with so many nutritionists and personal trainers brainwashed, his muscles give him the physique of a thirty year old kickboxer.

My breath is sucked down my throat like a hail of knives, my chest becoming a ball maybe the size of my fist, the world going black around the edges as he steps closer to Cherie.

I want to stop him, I want to make Ubermensch march over there and… and push him back at least, I want him to leave, I want Shatterbird to push him into the bay and get the rest of us out of here, I want to run, I want to hide, I want… to do anything.

But it’s like my feet have been glued to the docks, a paralysis climbing up my legs and spreading out through my power into the two capes on either side of me.

I can’t do anything but gulp as my father tucks his hair behind his ear, his eyes shut as tight as possible as he lifts Cherie’s chin with his other hand.

The latest link in the world's worst chain looks up to him, her eyes welling up like a priest seeing the Vatican.

"Why don't you run along now," he orders her, his voice still deep and silky, the baritone barely lifted by a French lilt. "I think you're making them nervous—" Cherie's eyes widen with hopelessness but instantly my father's other hand rises up to pet her scalp, "don't worry, you don't have to go far, just listen for me, you can do that can't you ma petite fille?"

Cherie nods vigorously, the bottom of her chin only stopping its bounce when he pushes his other hand down, the force of it ruffling her stringy dead hair.

"Then go, I won't be long."

There's the sound of a balloon popping and instantly, my sister vanishes, the air whooshing to fill the vacuum she left behind before a much louder explosion happens somewhere behind us.

With that done, he turns to look at us completely, his arms out wide and one ankle hooked around the other as he languidly bows in greeting.

"Does this work?" He shouts, still a pretty good distance from us as he leans back up, one hand rising and index finger pointed to his closed eyes. "I need to see to use my power but if this doesn't work for you I have a perfectly good blindfold in my back pocket."

"What are you doing here?!" Brian bellows, the words building in on themselves until it sounds like the sky itself is asking the questions.

The monster in front of us leans up completely, his hooked foot tapping the wooden slats of the dock in a tune I vaguely recall before he quirks his lips to the side, amusement tinging his features.

"I really thought introductions would be unnecessary," he replies "but fine, I can work with this."

He brings one fist up to clear his throat, the Adam's apple bobbing as he does some stupid voice exercise. When he finally replies, his voice is booming with showmanship.

"I am Heartbreaker, Nikos Vasil, a parahuman, a Master to be precise, I'm a dreamer, a lover, but most of all, I'm a father. And that's precisely why I'm here," he points to us, not quite at me and probably closer to Taylor's side of our formation than my one but I know what he means, everyone must. "I'm just here to collect some wayward children."

My chest shrinks again, the world gets darker, and all I can hear in my ears is my own heartbeat. Thankfully, I've got two more sets to listen through as Father keeps talking.

"I'd like to thank you for the hospitality you've provided for my children, Cherie's accommodations were exactly what she deserved, albeit it was a bit of a challenge to get her out. Thankfully, your city has no shortage of vagrants ready to be given direction."

He gestures to the bodies surrounding him with a sweeping motion before bringing that hand up to pinch at his brow.

"Of course, she didn't even thank me for fishing her out but I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. So many of my children are ungrateful for what I provide them." He laughs and tilts his face up to the sky, shaking it fondly. “But the world has a funny way of returning that rudeness, she might’ve had some ability to resist me but there are fourteen other minds in there that don’t.”

We’ve been quiet since he arrived, his mere presence soaking up any ability to speak. There’s a little kernel of camaraderie in my chest, a small errant bit of me that’s thankful the others are just as terrified as I am. But then, far quicker than I could ever hope to, Taylor takes the reins of the conversation, her steps measured and confident as she walks to Nikos Vasil, her posture just as unafraid as when Mannequin came after her.

“So what?” she asks, voice not quite in her robo-Skitter monotone but too many shades empty to be normal. “You’re just going to take Cherish out of the city? Take away one of our biggest problems just like that?”

Even with his eyes closed, my Father somehow still gives the impression of rolling his eyes before speaking.

“Contrary to the propaganda I feed to your media and school curriculums, I’m not some hedonistic moron that barely scrapes by with winning the power lottery.” His answer is lofty, said with the kind of refinement of a king. “I’ve lived as long as I have because, not to understate it, I’m much smarter than people care to give me credit for.”

Before anyone can comment on what he said, before anyone can even think about what he just implied, my father laughs, the chuckle loud and sharp.

“And for your information, I rather like your city. I can always use a buffer state between my home and the dregs further south, I swear, the Mathers clan has ‘offered’ me so many positions with their little cult that they’re starting to get uppity that I keep refusing to bow to their god.”

“That’s a hollow attempt to get us to lower our guard,” Lisa speaks up, the components of her pistol clacking together metallically as she shakily points it back up. “Telling us that you also hate the cultists doesn’t make you any better.”

My father isn’t bothered by the callout, nor the unmistakable sound of a pistol pointing at him. He just let his smile widen as he tilts his ear towards her, his grin opening as he replies.

“Ah, I take it you’re the Thinker.” His posture straightens and with a twist of his wrist he brushes her away, “Every group has one, always a know it all…” his smile turns downright oily as he continues, voice low and oozing a sinister kind of appeal. “Usually rather pretty.”

“Don’t even think about it!” I yell back, my own voice raw and harsh enough that I taste blood in the back of my throat. “Don’t even fucking turn your head to look at her you fucking monster!”

My blood feels like it’s on fire, molten and making my heart pump in my ears as I clench my fists, the fire inside me loudly roaring over the sickening pit, the tiniest part of me that screams in regret, screaming that we just yelled at him, we just called him a monster.

Dad turns his head to face me, his smile flickering in place to something darker, something promising retribution before he snorts.

“Ah… I take it she’s yours then?” His words douse the heat in me like a pot lid on a grease fire, the warmth of it quickly giving way to a greasy and lurid feeling, something that tries to push bile up my throat.

My eyes dart to Lisa and that greasy feeling laps in on itself, doubling over into nausea as my head feels foggy. She’s staring at me with wild and wide eyes, her green pupils darting all over me as her power hopefully feeds her the truth, that I would never do that, I would never claim her in the way he claims women, I—

My father snaps his fingers and points in Lisa’s direction, the grin on his face doesn’t get any wider but it feels like it doubles in amusement all the same.

“Let me guess, you favor blondes, just like your old man.” His comparison makes me want to throw up but I swallow my crappy midnight dinner and turn back to face him, that oily feeling in my chest sparking back up into heat when he speaks up again, this time letting his smile drop a little. “Speaking of Jean-Paul, I’m not just here for Cherie you know.”

My eyes widen under my mask, even knowing that was what he implied earlier, there’s a pretty damn big difference between implying and stating his plans. Implying gives way for deniability, implying let’s people pretend they don’t notice the obvious, but stating it, forcing it into the forefront, that’s not something that can just be ignored.

My father puts one hand in his pocket as he continues, voice far like when he spoke of Cherie’s ‘shortcomings.’

“He needs to come home I’m afraid, I let him play in this city for long enough and it’s cost me quite a lot,” his voice gets harder and even though he was off earlier, his head turns to face me fully as he lifts up one hand, his index, middle, and ring finger raised. “Romeo, Samuel, Chastity, that’s three more of your siblings emboldened by your defiance Jean-Paul, three less defenders for our family, three more that need to be tracked down, just like I did you.”

“You’re going to take him away?” Rachel asks and I flinch, not only because of the lack of concern in her voice but also because she just spoke out of turn. I gulp, my father has killed so many for just that reason and every fucking ball or gala or whatever he wanted to call his yearly fuck fest had at least one guy that would do that, one guy that Nikos would make him do anything he so desired, up to and including hanging himself from the chandelier.

“I’m afraid so,” Heartbreaker says, “What do you want for him?”

Fuck.

Fuck, he just asked for a price and for a man like him, there is no number or favor that is too high. Anything most could think of is plausible and with how bad shit has gotten between us, I feel the pit in my chest gain mass, becoming a rock solid enough that I think it’ll rip through my chest at any moment.

They already hate me, even without dad using that fucking name to remind them of all the shit I’ve done, they hate me. This is a good thing for them, a chance to get rid of two stones with one bird, all they have to do is name the price and— and—- and I’ll—

My head gets dizzy and my breaths feel faint when Taylor finally speaks.

“No deal.”

Her voice is as venomous as her swarm, the overbrimming hate for the man in front of her far eclipsing anything else. The feeling she has for my father is so full of itself that her swarm, even chittering and droning like a million angry beehives, is unable to take away the hate lacing her voice.

Instantly, the darkness that creeped in the edges of my vision disappear and my footing feels a hundred percent more stable as I look to the silk clad Master, a thousand or so bugs slipping out between the armored panels of her costume and Atlas stepping closer to her, probably to use a shield before she attacks.

Her stoicism makes the rock disappear entirely, my whole body feeling a thousand times lighter as I take in a deep breath. Relief flows through me like water down a mountain, cool and cleansing as I chastise myself. Of course things haven’t been great between us lately but that doesn’t mean they’re just going to throw me to the wolves.

Maybe I’ve been putting too much stock in their dislike of me, I mean, dislike works great but that’s not hate. Hate is something else, hate is—

“His power’s too valuable,” Taylor continues, dashing my thoughts, “He can permanently take over the actions of any of our enemies, he’s already a power house of exponential proportions and the fear he brings has already deterred many.”

Oh… that makes more sense. The rock forms again, just as heavy as before but this time making me even fainter, my whole body feeling further away than it ever has before. But despite the looseness in my mind, despite the overwhelming greasy feeling coating that rock inside me, I nod at Taylor.

She doesn’t value me as a friend, none of them do but that’s… that’s fine, that’s okay, I knew that already. I learned months ago that was all I was to them, a power, a tool to be used and set aside when unneeded, I know that and though it doesn’t feel any easier to know now then when I first learned it, it’s fine.

Because it means I still have a place here, I still—

My father laughs, his cackle low and booming as he claps his hands together again, completely unphased by the bugs he has to be hearing.

“I’m not going to throw you pennies for him, I know that he’s made himself essential to your operations going forward. And that’s why I’m willing to pay for him now, one hundred million dollars to be bequeathed to the Undersiders the very moment Jean-Paul, Cherie, and myself are safely out of the city limits.”

It takes Taylor way too long to answer him but the steadily growing boulder behind my ribs shrinks the tiniest bit when she echoes herself.

“I said no deal,” she says, taking her role as leader like when the Nine came, speaking for all of us. “Money won’t replace Ubermensch and Shatterbird, both of them are too valuable to lose with him.”

My father takes the rejection way too well, merely bringing one hand up to rub at his perfectly maintained beard before pointing his index finger out, like an idea’s just struck him.

“That is quite the conundrum, perhaps I could sell you Jean-Paul’s services? Maybe offer you some of his time on loooaannn— no, that would just be a hassle wouldn’t it?”

This… sucks. My eyes dart between him and my teammates, feeling that rock inside of me somehow twist itself into knots as I try to suck in breaths as quietly as I can. This shouldn’t be fucking happening, the way they’re just standing here, the way Lisa is lowering her pistol, they’re… they’re actually willing to negotiate!

This is terrible, this is terrible, this is terrible, this is— no, I need to calm down. This is fine, he just said it, there’s no clean way to remove me, nothing anyone can do to take me out of here. Sure, I might be ugly to be around but whether they hate me or not, they can’t get rid of me, they—

“I’ve got it!” My father says, actually bringing the flat of his palm to slam against his forehead. “So you won’t sell me Jean-Paul because he’s too valuable, his thralls send a message even when they aren’t doing your bidding and the physical services they provide speak well enough on their own?”

It’s a rhetorical summary but my father still waits for a beat before continuing.

“Well then, why don’t I just sway them to your side?”

“Sway them?” Taylor asks, actually entertaining the idea.

“Yes, it’s quite simple really, you—” he points at us, “bring your thrall over here—” that same hand swivels to point behind himself before he turns completely. “And I’ll turn them to your side, complete and utter loyalty, you could torture them till death and they’d never breath a word against you.”

I gulp, both because of the option he’s provided and the adrenaline that flows like water through my two thralls, both of their hearts beating loud and cacophonous in their ears. I can’t blame them for their fear, what I do is one thing, taking away their agency for most hours of the day and imprisoning them in the other half but what my father is talking about makes my hijacking look like a meager bribe.

Lisa scoffs, her pistol rising again and a part of me begs to send a jolt into her trigger finger, to put a nine millimeter into his head and be done with it.

“Are we just supposed to take you at your word?” she asks, her voice laden with haughty incredulity. “We didn’t get to ruling this city by buying into things obviously too good to be true.”

I try not to let that sting, that getting rid of me, getting rid of the necessity of me would be too good to be true but it barely has a chance to stab at me before Nikos replies, his voice laden with a kind of board detachment as he sighs, just a touch annoyed.

“I haven’t lived as long as I have to think my good looks and charm will out bluff a Thinker. Besides, it’s a very simple plan, one I’ve done more times than I care to count. I think you’d be surprised how many times I’ve carried out something like this and maybe more so for whom I did it for. A few warlords here, a government or two there. Where do you think Jean-Paul learned his act?” my father’s hand rises up to the collar of his shirt, flipping back what the wind did to it as he finishes. “If you make yourself essential enough, people will have a damn hard time getting rid of you.”

His words make me feel sick, like I’ve just gone toe to toe with Assault and felt his kick bruise my stomach, like when Behemoth turned his one eye to look at me, when Taylor asked me to leave my home. It’s a feeling I can’t really describe, a feeling I doubt even a normal person could describe.

What dad’s offering… I’ve seen it before, once when I was eight. Him and a few men went into our backyard, between the topiaries and statues, a few men spoke in a language I probably still can’t remember and brought in a fourth on a dolly.

With barely half a minute of staring, the fourth man went from foaming at the mouth mad to perfectly docile, perfectly willing to follow the orders of his new Masters. It’s… a perfect fucking solution.

My blood turns to ice in my veins, my heart feels like it's made of stone when I realize the others haven’t spoken up for me yet. I turn my head to face them as the silence stretches, the quiet long enough that my father speaks up from his place on the pier.

“Are you still there?” he asks rhetorically, like he wouldn’t have heard them walk away.

“We need a moment,” Taylor tells him before turning back, her bugs serving as her eyes as she gestures for us all to follow. It’s only when I take a step towards them, when Rachel clears the distance between us to push me back that I realize it wasn’t for all of us. The brutish girl stares me down, her upper lip curling to bare her teeth before Lisa puts a hand on her shoulder, pulling her away and turning back to the other two as she whispers to Rachel.

I recognize the dismissal for what it is and try not to feel Nikos breath on my neck when he speaks up, his voice flippant.

“It seems like a very simple choice to me but I’ll wait.”

My eyes turn back to him, he’s got his hands behind his back, the fingers loosely laced as he stands up on his tiptoes for a moment before rocking back on his heels. He’s… just standing there, just idly rolling his neck as if he were still in Montreal, as if he was still in that fucking house.

I could… I could just kill him, here and now. It’s a possibility, with his back turned, he’d never see the glass coming, not before it was stuck inside him. Ubermensch’s steps might be thunderous but his Trump resistance should let him last long enough to pop his head like a berry.

I could do it and with my thrall’s powers it would be easy but… I can’t. It’s possible, and I bet for a lot of people it might be easy but I can’t do it. And not because of some bullshit like ‘he’s my father’ or ‘we’re family’ or anything like that, I physically can’t.

My head turns to SHatterbird and I try to order her to do it, I try but it just won’t fucking happen, it’s the difference between yelling at a limb to move and actually lifting your arm. I just can’t do it, no matter how hard I try.

The other four keep whispering to each other and all I can think about is how bad things have gotten. THey weren’t always like this, I know they weren’t but… a year ago, if Heartbreaker came here, would they have accepted his offer then?

I try to hold on to what Brian told me when Coil first talked about my father, when I had to come clean about who he was. I told him— I told them, that worst comes to worst, I would just leave and take the shitstorm with me.

And I would’ve done it too. Back then it wouldv’e sucked, I’d known the Undersiders for a year and some change, I’d stuck with them during Lung and Bakuda and the fucking Empire, I decided to stay with them during three fucking witch hunts instead of just taking my leave. Sure, I said it was because of Coil but that’s bullshit. I could’ve left and even with Coil trying to come for me, I would’ve been fine, compared to dad I would've ran circles around that clown.

But I stayed and it was only when Cherie came knocking that I realized I should go. It was going to suck, I didn’t want it to happen going in but through it all, I started to really consider the four behind me to be my friends.

But then Brian told me there was another option, that Heartbreaker could come to town and just maybe, instead of running and getting myself to bear it all, we could stick together. I remember looking up at him and feeling all the witty responses die a fast death.

It sounded so… stupid then, noble but definitely stupid. I mean, dad might be a deadbeat when it comes to the whole parenting thing but he’s also Heartbreaker.

That’s nothing to make promises for, the same way people don’t make promises to jump into ovens together. But I could hear it, the earnesty in his voice, the earnestness I heard in the other’s echoes. They were really going to do it then, they—

“Okay,” Taylor says, her and the others all walking back to me and the thralls. Taylor spares a glance at me and I know instantly what she’s going to ask, the girl that joined us to be a hero, the girl that wouldn’t let go of my hand for days after New Delhi,  the only one of them who cried when I left the tower, is about to ask me to go somewhere far worse. “Regent, Shatterbird goes first.”

Her order hangs in the air for a moment and all I can do is shake my head.

“No…” I answer, my voice barely above a whisper as I shake my head again, “No, no, no, no, I can’t do that Bugaboo, I can’t—” her head turns to face me so quickly her hair whips against her shoulders, the amber lenses doing nothing to hide the glare underneath. I take a step back and put my hands up, “No, please I can’t do it, please—”

“Regent,” Taylor cuts me off, the other three turning to look at me. “Make Shatterbird walk up there, now.”

Her tone is arctic, brokering no argument and yet I open my mouth anyway, my fingers curling as an unnatural chill takes the air. 

“C’mon guys—” I gulp again, the rock in my chest slowly trying to find its way up as I lock eyes with the others, all of them staring at me imperiously, like I’m some stain that needs to be scrubbed away this instant. “There’s other options here, there’s so many other opti—”

“The city needs that money,” Taylor cuts me off again, her voice just as cold but now with the last of her emotions fading from it. I look away from her, knowing damn well that when she shoves her feelings into the swarm she’s impossible to read. The others much easier and it’s really only Lisa I can look at, her domino mask offering me the most to read.

What I find there isn’t good. Her eyes are venomous like a snake’s, her lips thinning almost flat as she tries to hide her anger.

“We need that money,” Taylor repeats, taking my attention again as she gestures out to the pier, to the boat graveyard and the destroyed oil rig out in the distance. “We’re going nowhere fast with what we’re doing now and if we want Brockton Bay to survive, we—”

“Fuck Brockton Bay!” I shout back, taking another step back when Taylor’s head slowly tilts, the bugs around us droning and flying about in noisy, high pitched angles. I swallow and shake my head, that stupid goddamn fire inside of me has taken the reigns for long enough, I can’t let it fuck things up for me anymore. “Sorry, fuck, I’m sorry but we have other options, there are other ways to fix this city, there’s already so many businesses trying to start up and—”

“That could take decades,” Taylor cuts me off and I know this time will be the last, “That’s time we can’t waste, this is an opportunity that we can’t let go by.”

“What about me?!” I ask, both of my hands lifting up and pointing at my chest, “What about my life, huh? What about me, are you seriously saying I have a fucking value?! A number you can just look at and say is a fair trade?!”

For the first time since she stepped over here, Taylor’s resolve actually cracks, her bugs quieting as she takes a step back, some puzzle piece inside of her clicking into place, that little bit of her consciousness that says how wrong she’s acting. I feel an oily sheen wrapping around my brain as I gulp again, swallowing an icy and heavy slime. I hate this, but she’s my in, the only way I’m—-

“Shut up,” Lisa says, taking over before my mouth can open. “Not another word,” she brings a hand up to settle on Taylor’s shoulder and uses it to push herself along, her green eyes locked on me like crosshairs.

Her expression takes me off guard, the way her lips are turned down, the way her eyes narrow, her whole face is wrapped in more hate than when she stared down Jack Slash. She’s the second closest to me, her slight frame half hiding behind Grue as she crosses her arms, sneering as her mouth twitches up slightly.

“I know what you’re doing,” she says, her voice dropping into what she uses when she faces down our enemies. “I know what you want, the only thing you’ve ever wanted.”

My perfect poker face shatters and I gulp, trying to keep my eyes steady but failing as my head shakes the tiniest bit and my throat bobs.

“I don’t want anything,” I tell them, my own voice a far cry from the usual monotone I’m able to give. “I just… I just want to stay, please, that’s all I want, that’s—”

“No it isn’t,” Lisa says, her lips puckering in disgust. “And that’s why you’re not staying, I won’t live in the same city as you for even a day longer.” her words feel like arrows, each syllable stinging me like a volley and that’s not even her worst. “I won’t let you try to force us together.”

The breath I suck in feels like a knife sliding down the back of my throat, my stomach drops, and my legs feel so damn weak. I just barely manage to remain upright and before anyone else can say anything, I try to take hold of the conversation one more time.

“What— what the hell do you mean by that Lis’?” The nickname doesn’t calm her down in the slightest but before I can rectify my mistake, she scoffs.

“Did you think you were being slick?” she asks me, her voice condescending. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice, the way you looked at us, the way you talked to us, the way you’d be just close enough that we’d brush by you? All of it was so… pathetic, so fucking transparent it’s amazing it took me so long to figure out.”

I shake my head as Brian turns his back to Lisa’s, speaking over his shoulder.

“Just spit it out, what the fuck do you mean he was ‘trying to force us together?’”

Before I can answer— before I can deny it, Lisa bulldozes over me, my own voice suddenly too soft and stuttery to come out.

“Alec here, wanted to be Heartbreaker Junior, he wanted to have his own little harem here in the bay, starting with us.”

Her words don’t even have a moment to rest before Taylor retches, bending over and holding one hand up to her mask as I close my eyes and turn my head down. That slime inside of me doubles and doubles again, getting so big that it feels like it’s about to burst out of my chest when I look up.

My eyes threaten to spill more tears and I don’t have the energy to stop them this time, they fall down my face and spill off my chin to trail down my neck. The world feels like it’s about to fall apart but I can’t bring myself to care. Nothing matters, not anymore, not when they hate me this much.