Heaven.
As I race from the ones I care about most, I'm not sure who I am or what I'm pretending to be. All I know is my best friend—the one I swore I'd protect—will die. And I let it happen.
What am I supposed to do? Follow my heart? Turn back and stop Gats from doing the deed? Bull. I'm supposed to think of others. If Angelos were dead, so many people would be out of danger. Besides, this is what he wants. He asked me to kill him for a reason, and that isn't a request people make lightly.
"Get a grip," I tell myself. I ignore the pain in my chest and skid into a dark hall after the runaway crooks. Lights flick, and I thump down a set of steps. The heavy air presses against my skin, the stink of rot and mold thick in my nose.
I'm the city's guardian. I signed up for tough decisions, but not this. I never wanted Angelos to die. I choke on the knot in my throat, forcing myself to breathe. Heroes don't neglect their duties, and they certainly don't cry.
My prey slips behind a door. I should stop, think, plan, but I don't want to. Instead, I blindly follow, eyes burning from the black.
WHAM! The door slams shut. I shudder, grabbing my belt. Four villains. One me. They could've taken me in the hall...but...
Oh. Oh, shit! They baited me into a trap and I never put two and freaking two together! What am I? A superhero or a Disney Princess?
I spin, the swish of lasso snapping me out of my haze. Cord cracks around my shoulders, the constricting steel so tight it crushes the armor beneath. I flex, but the rope doesn't break. No time to think...
I raise my foot for a kick when another loop snares my ankles. God, oh, God. I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself to keep calm. "You mind?" How could I be so stupid? It's one of the oldest tricks in the book!
Whump. The second rope jerks, jolting my feet out from under me. I try to right myself in time, but nope, I land flat on my back. It's times like these I wonder if I'm equipped for this superhero garbage. I try not to overthink it, since I know the answer will inevitably be a no.
"So this is the girl who pushed around your organization?" a female voice asks, her words dripping with so much sass I'm half convinced she's Angel.
Angel. My chest tightens. "I'm right here," I say, snatching a fistful of the lasso at my feet. A loop of metal slips over my wrist and my cool evaporates. "What are you? Crazy? Let me go!"
Before this Angelos ordeal, I've never been captured. There have been attempts, sure, but they've never succeeded. For the record, being tossed around like a cursed damsel-in-distress sucks. I'm a hero, damn it! Not a plot device!
"Just a second," says the woman.
"Aren't you taking this a little too far?"
"Someone turn on a light!"
Click!
The blast of white burns my eyes. The villain band crowds around me, and I'm half-tempted to shrink back. Instead, I glare. Behind them sit stacks of boxes and walls so green they remind me of decaying zombie.
A woman grins at me, her eyepatch shimmering under the artificial glow of environment-killing bulbs. Her red armor reminds me of my suit, and chills crawl up my skin at the sight if it.
She raises my cuffed wrist, dragging me across the room despite my kicking and thrashing. If my heart beat any faster my chest would explode. I glare at the floor, the group's eyes burning holes in my costume. Unless I can find a way to escape...
What do I have other than boxes to work with? The villain knocks away a few of the things from a wall, revealing two parallel rings hooked high on the painted brick. "What are―"
She clamps the opposite cuff to a ring. Now it makes sense. My heart whirs faster, and I force myself to sound cool and Galaxy-like. "What is this place? Your personal torture pen?"
Poison snorts, and Fallout gives the quietest of laughs. The other guy looks at the ceiling. "Well, in the dark ages we used to torture superheroes for information," Nameless Guy says. "After a time, that became mundane, so we put the place to better use."
"A storeroom, huh?" How efficient.
They nod, in sync-like. My heart flutters, and I decide I'd rather be anywhere but here. The woman wastes no time undoing her lassos, studying me as if I'm an instruction manual to an Ikea couch.
I strain against the cuff, but my strength just isn't there. My stomach twists, and I reach up to grab at my restraints with my free hand. Vague thoughts of Gats kissing me and Angelos flipping out clamor for attention, but I grind my heels into the floor and ignore them.
"Look, I don't have time for your games," I say, skin sparking with heat. Who the hell do they think they are? The woman rolls her eyes, spinning away from me. Her ponytail swings with her steps, and I extend my arm to snatch it. No capes? How about no exposed hair in easy reach of prisoners?
"I am sick of Snare and it's incompetence," she says, ignoring me as she steps towards Fallout. He glares behind his aviators, raking a hand through his hair.
"And Syndicate is any better?" he asks. "I hear you have superhero trouble in the east."
The other guy, the neutral leader, laughs, stepping between the feuding two."Surely you can still stay friendly—"
"From real superheroes!" The woman says, ignoring the guy. Right. Like I'd be stuck here if I weren't a 'real superhero.' I choke out a giggle and the villain rolls her eye. "Poison, if you care so much about this girl, why don't you unmask her?"
I stop laughing. Unmask me? I prepare an illusion, a simple shadow over my face, but I can't find the concentration. The Galaxy illusion is my second skin, one I sort of 'shift' into. To create a new illusion with my skill level, I'll need complete concentration. And frankly, that won't happen.
Poison squeaks. "Me?"
The neutral frowns. "Unmask her? You know what type of dishonor that is, Owl."
"Do you think," the woman says, "I care?"
I clench my fists. The mask makes Galaxy, well, Galaxy. It's the division between Heaven Brooks and the invincible superhero she pretends to be. I won't lose it.
Fallout stiffens. "Owl..."
Poison edges toward me, his shaking hand outstretched. I lower myself, tugging as far from the wall as my 'restraint' allows. Well, if he touches my costume he'll earn himself a face full of bruises.
The villain snatches my visor. I hurl my feet into his chest, slamming him back. My heart pounds, and I grin behind my mask. Poison yelps and I swipe my fingers across my visor, the smooth plastic a welcome texture against my skin. "Please don't touch the art." I force my strength into my wrist, hoping for the blessed crack of cuffs. Nothing. How weak am I? This sucks!
The woman huffs, stomping towards me. "Listen, Fallout. This is why your organization is so weak. You're soft, even your heir is—"
"—I'm not soft!" Poison says through gritted teeth. I smirk at his labored breathing. Superstrong or not, I pack a punch. "Just, an unmasking sounds a little cruel, don't you think?"
Cruel! If I weren't so grateful, I'd laugh.
"But you're a villain," the woman says, sounding out the words as if she's talking to a third grader. I strain forward, re-fishing my arm to snatch her ponytail.
She steps out of my reach, and the neutral laughs. The floppy-haired villain frowns, his expression one I can only describe as 'cryptic.'
"Yeah," Poison shrugs, "but that seems unnecessary."
Owl sighs, spinning towards me. I raise my leg for a kick, but she slams her body against mine so hard my broken armor finally gives. The pieces crack, shattering like a mirror compact. They lodge all over my body like pins on a map. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming.
Pain is mental. It's a message. The white, blistering hot, the pressure, it's all just my nerves shouting 'mayday!' at my brain. I ball my fists, chest about to burst. The villain snatches my free wrist and slams it into the wall so hard the brick cracks.
I choke back another shriek, the bones in my hands buckling and snapping with a sick series of crunches. Stars and spirals crash over my eyes as the woman twists my throbbing arm in front of me. I'm a rapid healer. I'm built to be smashed, broken, and torn apart, but it's still a pretty miserable experience.
I pant, lungs swelling. The eye-patched villain spiders her fingers up my visor, her foot slammed over mine to keep me from kicking. I prepare an illusion, but it doesn't seem to come through. Damn it! How am I supposed to concentrate?
"Please," I say through gritted teeth, the closest I'll ever come to a beg.
An amused expression passes over the woman's face. The neutral turns his back and Fallout does the same. I study the villain's jacket, imaging the wings folded beneath. I have to calm down...to think. But my thought drifts of Angelos. I hope Gats made it quick. I hope Angel didn't suffer.
God, I can't focus! Poison stares as if rooted to his spot. I struggle forward, hurting so much the pain doesn't even seem to have an identifiable source. How am I supposed to escape now?
The woman grins, flipping the face shield up. "Miss..."I say, trying really, really, hard not to cry. She digs her fingers into the underneath of my chin, ripping my helmet off. An explosion of heat spirals into my face, and I press myself against the wall, sick with humiliation. I've never felt so exposed before. Curls flop in front of my eyes and Poison gives a terrified squeak. I feel awful. It's like I'm only a little girl playing dress, and in all honesty, I'd rather be naked.
The woman tears the jaw guard free, dropping it to the ground. I look away and try to ignore Poison's gaping. If I weren't so banged up I'd beat the shocked look off his face.
"Heaven?"
What the—damn! The illusion didn't help any, that's for sure. And how does he know who I am? I'm not Bruce Wayne!
The woman lets go of my arm and I stare at the swelling skin. It's numb. The click of shattered bones as they rearrange twists my gut, and I try to forget how useless the limb is. Fallout doesn't turn. "You know her?"
Poison nods dumbly. "Academy. She's one of those mean outcasts."
"Hey!" I yank at the cuff, fingers hanging limp and uncurled. "Are you done? You unmasked me, happy?"
"The Academy," Fallout says, "so she's—"
"A child!" the woman finishes. God, I hate it when people interrupt like that. "You've been outwitted by a thirteen-year-old!"
"Sixteen-year-old!" Poison and I shout. I study him. He could be anyone, but his horrified expression tells me we're enemies. That narrows it down to, oh, I don't know, seventy percent of the school. The pain is almost numbing. I want more than anything to curl in bed with my cats and wait for my healing to kick in. Sadly, I'm here. Cuffed to a wall. Splintered with broken metal. Unmasked.
"Look, Fallout. This is what I've come to talk to you about. These teens."
The neutral hesitates, his eyes shifting towards the walls. "I'll leave you to talk about this. I...I better evacuate this place for a bit. Where there's a superhero, there could be police. We don't know."
Right. I open my mouth to say something, but it hurts. Well, "Silence is a friend who will never betray," Confucius says.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Fallout growls, ignoring the dark haired man. The neutral slips out the door, and I'd sell my soul just to follow him. Poison watches me, and I don't even try to read him.
"I mean that Syndicate rejects the project," Owl says coolly. Fallout beams.
"Lucifer? If you won't take him, Snare will gladly—"
"I intend to exterminate it. You saw it's reaction when that other project died."
Exterminate? It? Project? She talks about Angelos as if he's a roach! He didn't choose to go crazy, it's some weird power side-effect. If they hadn't messed with him, he'd be fine!
Fallout stiffens. "He's my son. I can't let you kill him." I stare at the villain, picturing my friend. They look...so similar.
My thoughts flash to Gats with a sword to Angel's throat. My heart aches for the both of my friends, and I grind my teeth. If Angel die so others don't, that's a good thing, right? It shouldn't feel so wrong.
I'm supposed to be a sociopath, dammit! I'm supposed to be logical Mr. Spock for the sake of others. Still, I can't bring myself to think like that, and it's maddening.
"You share twenty-three chromosomes with him," Owl says. "I do too, but I don't parade around calling myself its mother."
I choke. Her? His mother? I guess that would explain the 'custody' battle between Snare and Syndicate and when I stare, I can sort of see it. They're both tall, black-haired, and Angel seems to have a sort of year-round tan. It can't be, though. I mean, what type of mother plans to kill her son? Yeah, she's a supervillain, but that doesn't even sound human.
Fallout lowers his shades, exposing his iPhone-charger-black eyes. "You don't feel—"
"Nothing. Look Fallout, you already have a son. You raised that boy. As for this Lucifer, you haven't seen him since infancy. He's uncontrollable, and if he ever stabilized you know his alliance is with the superhero, not you."
Fallout stiffens. "I could teach him."
"He'll destroy your organization. The men you've hired, are you willing to put them in harm's way?"
The man glares, back broomstick-straight. "He'll learn."
"And are you willing to 'teach' him? You seem too attached to your fatherhood delusion to put him through any sort of torture. He's a weapon, James, not your child."
James? Sometimes it slips my mind these people have first names. The villain slides his hands through his hair. "A power like his shouldn't be wasted."
"He'll use that power to destroy us both if we leave him alive."
My chest tightens. Angel'll be dead soon anyway. It doesn't matter.
Fallout turns his head. "I'll help Jacob with his evacuation. Poison?"
The teen looks at his father, scratching the back of his neck with an uncomfortable 'hmph.'
"Stay here. I don't want you hurting that girl, but I don't want her escaping either. Understood?"
"Uh-huh."
"I'm right here!" I say, ignoring the pain between my ribs. "And Angel's already dead! Gats killed him!"
The woman's eyes narrow. "Gats? Is that what you call the cat-fuse that faked his death?"
Oh. Oh, crap. I shouldn't have said that. I shrug, ignoring the blistering pain that accompanies the gesture. Fallout stalks out the door, shoulders sagging.
"You played along," the woman says, glaring into my eyes. I shrug again, the only way to keep my crumbling composure. "You shouldn't have done that."
I bite the inside of my lip and decided to keep my mouth shut. Poison walks over, picking up my helmet. I give him my nastiest death-glare, trying not to think about him touching my costume. "Careful with that! It's a gift!"
"Hey, Owl." He hands the woman the armor piece. "You think you can recreate Galaxy's illusion?"
She runs her fingers over the carbon-fiber, studying me one last time. "Of course."
Recreate my illusion? What? I strain forward. I'm strong enough to bridal carry Angelos, but I can't break a lousy pair of handcuffs! It's enough to drive me batty.
Poison leans down, flicking a chip of purple armor from my sides. "Watch this."
"Does it look like I have any other choice?" I ask, and he laughs. It makes me want to throw up. Citizens respect me and criminals fear me. They don't brush me off with a chuckle.
The woman grins, her armor glowing purple. Purple! What? Poison cups a hand over my eyes, and as I yank my face away, a burst of white burns the world around me. "You said, 'watch this!' I'm not watching anything but your stupid hand!"
He slips his fingers away, and my heart drops into my stomach. I don't breathe. Oh, no. No, no, no. This is bad.
"What do you think?" asks 'Galaxy', her purple eyes flashing. I choke. She's me. From the shining armor to the glinting visor. I've never looked myself in the face before and I'm not a fan of the experience.
I blink. "What? What is this?"
"She's like the Mystique of pro villains," Poison says, "she can sort of shift into you and copy your illusion."
Between the pain in my head and crushed hand, the shock of it all doesn't add up to much. It's like my emotions short-circuited, and all I feel is a sort of ache. "You won't fool Gats," I say, so weak it hurts.
The woman places a hand on her hip, slipping her fingers across her 'visor.' I try to make my glare even meaner. That is my move. She just stole my move. If my hand were in any working condition I'd punch her. "Right," she says, "you can just kiss that liar goodbye."