Melody's heart fluttered as she and Mr. Glady strolled arm-in-arm down the quiet street. The Winslow Valentine's dance had just ended, and they were both still riding high on the festive atmosphere. Melody couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so... normal. So happy.

  "I still can't believe Jimmy thought he could sneak that flask in," Glady chuckled, shaking his head. "As if we wouldn't notice him stumbling around like a newborn colt after one sip."

  Melody laughed, the sound light and carefree. "Oh please, I caught at least three other kids trying the same trick. Though I have to admit, Jimmy's 'water bottle' disguise was pretty creative."

  "Creative, sure. But effective? Not so much," Glady grinned. "I thought Principal Blackwell was going to have an aneurysm when he started serenading her."

  "Hey, you have to admire his commitment to the bit," Melody teased. "I mean, how many verses of 'My Heart Will Go On' did he get through before security dragged him away?"

  "Too many," Glady groaned dramatically. "I'm pretty sure I'll be hearing Celine Dion in my nightmares for weeks."

  They continued down the sidewalk, trading stories and laughing about the night's events. Melody found herself marveling at how easy it was to talk to Glady. There was none of the tension or posturing she was used to in the Empire. With him, she could just... be.

  A notification chimed, and Glady pulled out his phone with an apologetic smile. As he read the message, his face fell slightly.

  "Everything okay?" Melody asked, concern coloring her voice.

  Glady sighed, pocketing the device. "Yeah, just... disappointing news. My buddy just texted to say he can't make it to Wrestlemania next week. Something came up with work."

  Melody's eyes widened. "Wait, you have tickets to Wrestlemania? How? I thought it was completely sold out!"

  Now it was Glady's turn to look surprised. "You're into wrestling?"

  Melody felt her cheeks heat up slightly. "I mean... yeah. Is that weird? Because I'm a, you know, real fighter?"

  Glady shook his head quickly. "No, no! I just... wouldn't have pegged you for a fan, I guess. Most people I know think it's just fake fighting and overblown drama."

  Melody snorted. "Please. Anyone who says that clearly doesn't understand the art of it all. Sure, the outcomes might be predetermined, but the athleticism and skill involved are very real." She paused, a fond smile playing on her lips. "Besides, I appreciate the showmanship of it all. Winning a match is obviously the most important thing, of course, but the best fighters know that you have to work the crowd to get top billing."

  Glady nodded, looking impressed. "Exactly! It's like... athletic theater. The moves are impressive on their own, but it's the storytelling that really draws you in."

  "Absolutely," Melody agreed enthusiastically. "The feuds, the alliances, the betrayals – it's like a soap opera with body slams."

  They walked in companionable silence for a moment before Glady asked, "So, who's your favorite wrestler?"

  Melody's eyes lit up. "Oh, that's easy. Roman Reigns, hands down. The way he commands the ring, his presence... he's just electric to watch."

  Glady's jaw dropped in mock horror. "Roman Reigns? Are you kidding me? The guy's way overpushed! Now, Seth Rollins – that's a real star. The man's got it all: in-ring ability, mic skills, charisma for days."

  "Rollins?" Melody scoffed playfully. "Please. The guy's good, I'll give you that, but he's no 'Head of the Table.' Roman's got that larger-than-life quality that defines a true main eventer."

  "Larger-than-life, sure, if by that you mean his ego," Glady fired back with a grin. "Rollins is the total package. Did you see his match against Cody Rhodes at Hell in a Cell? The man wrestled with a torn pec and still put on a clinic!"

  Their friendly debate continued as they made their way down the street, each passionately defending their favorite while good-naturedly ribbing the other's choice. Before they knew it, they had arrived at Melody's apartment building.

  "Well, this is me," Melody said, a hint of reluctance in her voice. She didn't want the night to end.

  Glady nodded, suddenly looking a bit nervous. "Right, of course. I, uh... I had a really great time tonight, Melody."

  "Me too," she replied softly, her heart racing.

  They stood there for a moment, the air between them charged with possibility. Then, slowly, Glady leaned in. Melody's breath caught in her throat as his lips met hers in a gentle, sweet kiss.

  It was over too soon, leaving Melody feeling warm and slightly dazed. Glady stepped back, a shy smile on his face.

  "Goodnight, Melody," he said. "I'll see you at school on Monday?"

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. With a final wave, Glady turned and began walking back down the street. Melody watched him go, her fingers unconsciously touching her lips where his had been moments before.

  As soon as he was out of sight, Melody fumbled for her keys and rushed inside. Her hands were shaking slightly as she pulled out her phone, quickly typing out a message.

  To: Karen

  OMG. You will not BELIEVE the night I just had. Call me ASAP!!!

  Melody paced her small living room, waiting for Karen to respond. She knew her friend was probably eagerly awaiting all the details of her date with Glady. The thought made her smile – it was nice having someone to share these moments with, someone who understood the complexities of her life in a way most people couldn't.

  Her phone buzzed, and Melody answered before the first ring had even finished.

  "Spill. Everything. Now." Karen's excited voice came through the speaker.

  Melody laughed, flopping onto her couch. "Okay, okay! Where do I even start?"

  "The beginning, duh! How did he look? What did you wear? I need all the gossip!"

  For the next hour, Melody regaled Karen with every detail of the evening. She described the decorations at the dance, the drama with the students, and of course, her walk home with Glady. When she got to the kiss, Karen's squeal of delight was so loud Melody had to hold the phone away from her ear.

  "I can't believe it!" Karen gushed. "I mean, I can, because you two are absolutely perfect together, but still! Your first kiss!"

  Melody felt her cheeks flush. "It wasn't my first kiss ever," she protested weakly.

  "No, but it was your first kiss that actually mattered," Karen pointed out. "Come on, you can't tell me this doesn't feel different from those meatheads you used to hang around with in the fighting circuit."

  Melody had to admit Karen had a point. What she felt for Glady was... softer, somehow. Warmer. It made her feel like maybe there was more to life than just fighting and survival.

  "So, when are you seeing him again?" Karen pressed eagerly.

  "Monday at school, I guess," Melody replied. "Though... he did mention having an extra ticket to Wrestlemania next week. His friend had to cancel."

  Karen gasped. "Melody! That's perfect! You have to go with him!"

  "I don't know," Melody hedged. "Wouldn't that be too forward? I mean, we just had our first real date tonight."

  "Are you kidding me? The man kissed you! I think you're well past worrying about being 'too forward,'" Karen insisted. "Besides, you said yourself that you're both huge wrestling fans. It's the perfect second date!"

  Melody bit her lip, considering. "You really think so?"

  "Absolutely," Karen said firmly. "Trust me, if you don't snatch up that ticket, some other wrestling-loving hussy will."

  Melody laughed. "Alright, alright. I'll text him tomorrow and see if the offer's still open."

  "Good," Karen said, satisfaction clear in her voice. "Now, tell me more about this kiss. Was there tongue? Did he—"

  "Karen!" Melody exclaimed, laughing despite her embarrassment. "A lady doesn't kiss and tell."

  "Since when are you a lady?" Karen teased. "Come on, I need details! How else am I supposed to live vicariously through you?"

  As Melody continued to chat with her friend, she felt a warmth spreading through her chest. For the first time in a long time, she felt... hopeful. Like maybe there was a future for her beyond the violence and hatred of the Empire. A future where she could just be Melody, not Cricket the cape or some nameless pit fighter.

  It was a nice feeling, she decided. One she could definitely get used to.

  The next morning, Melody woke up feeling refreshed and oddly optimistic. The events of the previous night played through her mind like a highlight reel, bringing a smile to her face. She stretched languidly, enjoying the rare luxury of sleeping in on a Saturday.

  As she padded to the kitchen to make coffee, her eyes fell on her phone. The urge to text Glady was strong, but she hesitated. Would it seem too eager? Should she wait for him to make the first move?

  "Get it together, Mel," she muttered to herself. "You're not some lovesick teenager."

  Still, she found herself picking up the device, thumb hovering over Glady's name in her contacts. Taking a deep breath, she started typing.

  To: Mr. G

  Hey, I had a great time last night. Thanks again for walking me home.

  She hit send before she could second-guess herself, then set the phone down and busied herself with making breakfast. She was halfway through a bowl of cereal when her phone chimed.

  From: Mr. G

  I had a great time too! Thanks for making chaperoning actually fun for once.

  Melody grinned, warmth blooming in her chest. She was about to reply when another message came through.

  From: Mr. G

  So... I was thinking. That extra Wrestlemania ticket is still up for grabs if you're interested. No pressure, of course! But given our mutual love of wrestling, I thought you might enjoy it.

  Melody's heart raced. This was her chance! She took a moment to compose herself before replying.

  To: Mr. G

  Are you kidding? I'd love to go! As long as you're prepared for me to cheer for Roman the whole time.

  His response was almost immediate.

  From: Mr. G

  Haha, I think I can manage. Though I reserve the right to boo when appropriate! It's a date then?

  Melody's breath caught. A date. An actual, proper date, not just chaperoning a school dance.

  To: Mr. G

  Definitely a date. Can't wait!

  As she set her phone down, Melody couldn't keep the smile off her face. For once, everything in her life seemed to be falling into place. She had a job she enjoyed (even if it was technically villainy), friends who cared about her, and now... maybe something more with Glady.

  Of course, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered that it couldn't last. That eventually, her past would catch up with her. That Glady would never accept who she really was if he knew the truth.

  But for now, Melody chose to ignore that voice. She deserved this happiness, didn't she? After everything she'd been through, all the fights and scars and pain... didn't she deserve a chance at something normal?

  With renewed energy, Melody finished her breakfast and headed to the bathroom to get ready for the day. She had plans to meet up with Othala later for some shopping – maybe she'd even pick up a new outfit for Wrestlemania.

  As she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, Melody paused. Her hand unconsciously went to her throat, fingers tracing the familiar ridges of scar tissue there. For a moment, she saw herself as others must see her: damaged, dangerous, a reminder of violence barely contained.

  But then she thought of how Glady looked at her. How he saw past the scars, how he made her feel... beautiful. Normal. Human.

  With a small smile, Melody dropped her hand and began getting ready. Whatever the future held, she was determined to enjoy this moment of happiness for as long as it lasted.

  After all, she had a date to look forward to.

  Krieg paced in his office, his brow furrowed in thought. The Empire was changing, evolving into something new. While he understood Kaiser's vision, he couldn't help but feel uneasy about the split. The creation of the Deer Lodge felt like a step away from their core principles, a softening of their stance. He needed allies he could trust, people who shared his ideals.

  A knock at the door interrupted his musings. "Come in," he called out.

  Victor entered, his posture relaxed but his eyes alert. "You wanted to see me, James?"

  Krieg nodded, gesturing for Victor to take a seat. "Yes, I wanted to discuss your role in the coming changes."

  Victor sat down, raising an eyebrow. "Oh? And what did you have in mind?"

  Krieg leaned forward, his voice earnest. "I want you to be one of my lieutenants on the Empire side. We need strong, capable people to maintain our presence and influence."

  Victor was silent for a moment, his expression thoughtful. When he spoke, his words were careful. "I appreciate the offer, James. But I've been giving it some thought, and I'm actually leaning towards joining the Deer Lodge."

  Krieg blinked, taken aback. "You? But you've never been shy about your views. The Deer Lodge will require a certain... discretion."

  Victor shrugged. "I don't need Stepford's help to keep my mouth shut at the right time. I know how to play the game."

  "Then why?" Krieg pressed. "You've been a valuable asset to the Empire. Why change now?"

  Victor sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's not just about me. Karen... she's been talking about kids lately. Starting a family. It's got me thinking about my priorities in life."

  Krieg nodded slowly, understanding dawning. "I see. But you know, many of us have raised families within the Empire. I've been raising three children myself, and plenty in our cohort grew up in it."

  "True," Victor conceded. "But how many of them have actually joined? Your oldest is what, nineteen now? And he's not part of the Empire, is he?"

  Krieg's jaw tightened slightly. It was a sore point, one he tried not to dwell on. "That's his choice. He knows the door is always open."

  Victor leaned forward, his voice gentle but firm. "James, we both know it's more complicated than that. Look at our friends, the ones we've lost over the years. Some to prison, some to rival gangs, some to... worse fates. Can you blame me for wanting something different for my future children?"

  Krieg was silent for a long moment, memories of fallen comrades flashing through his mind. Finally, he sighed heavily. "I understand, Victor. I may not agree, but I understand."

  Victor stood, placing a hand on Krieg's shoulder. "For what it's worth, I think you'll do well leading the Empire side. You've always been dedicated to the cause."

  Krieg nodded, managing a small smile. "Thank you. And... good luck with the Deer Lodge. I hope you find what you're looking for."

  With a final nod, Victor left the office, leaving Krieg alone with his thoughts.

  The silence stretched on as Krieg paced, his mind racing. He needed someone he could trust in the Deer Lodge, someone to keep an eye on things. Someone young enough to blend in, but loyal to the cause.

  His eyes fell on a framed photo on his desk, showing a group of younger Empire members at a gathering. In the corner, a blonde girl with a mischievous grin caught his attention.

  Krieg reached for his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he found the name he was looking for. He hit dial and waited.

  After a few rings, a youthful voice answered. "Uncle James? What's up?"

  "Tammi," Krieg said, his voice warm. "I need to talk to you about something important. It's about the changes coming to the Empire."

  There was a pause on the other end. "Okay... what about them?"

  Krieg took a deep breath. "I want you to join the Deer Lodge."

  "What?" Tammi's voice was incredulous. "No way! Uncle James, you know how I feel about Stepford. I don't trust her or her tech."

  "I know, I know," Krieg said soothingly. "That's exactly why I need you there. I need someone I can trust keeping an eye on things."

  Tammi was quiet for a moment, considering. "I don't know... it seems risky. And boring. All those stuffy old men in suits?"

  Krieg chuckled. "It won't all be boring. You'll have more freedom to move around the city, for one thing. And there might be some perks..."

  "Perks?" Tammi's interest was piqued. "Like what?"

  "Well," Krieg said casually, "I could increase your allowance. Say... double what you're getting now?"

  There was a longer pause this time. When Tammi spoke again, there was a hint of calculation in her voice. "Triple."

  Krieg blinked. "Triple?"

  "Triple," Tammi confirmed. "If you want me to play nice with Stepford and all those Deer Lodge people, it's gonna cost you."

  Krieg couldn't help but smile. The girl drove a hard bargain. "Alright, triple it is. But I expect regular reports, understand?"

  "Deal," Tammi said, sounding pleased with herself. "When do I start?"

  "Soon," Krieg replied. "I'll let you know the details once everything's finalized. For now, just keep this between us, okay?"

  "Sure thing, Uncle James. Was there anything else?"

  Krieg hesitated, then said, "Just... be careful, Tammi. Keep your wits about you. And if you ever feel uncomfortable or threatened, you come to me immediately. Understood?"

  Tammi's voice softened slightly. "I will. Thanks, Uncle James."

  After they said their goodbyes, Krieg set the phone down and leaned back in his chair. It wasn't a perfect solution, but it was something. He'd have eyes and ears in the Deer Lodge, someone he could trust to report any suspicious activity.

  Still, as he looked out the window at the Brockton Bay skyline, Krieg couldn't shake the feeling that everything was changing too fast. The Empire had been a constant in his life for so long, a pillar of strength and purpose. Now it was evolving into something new, something unfamiliar.

  He thought of Alfred and Karen, of their dreams of a family. Of his own children, growing up and making choices he didn't always understand or agree with. Of Tammi, so young and full of potential, now thrust into a role that could shape her future in ways none of them could predict.

  The sun was setting over the bay, casting long shadows across the city. Krieg watched as the lights began to flicker on, a constellation of human activity spread out before him. Somewhere out there, the future of the Empire – of Brockton Bay itself – was taking shape.

  Whatever came next, Krieg knew one thing for certain: he would do everything in his power to ensure that the ideals he believed in, the cause he had dedicated his life to, would endure.

  With a determined set to his jaw, Krieg turned away from the window and back to his desk. There was work to be done, plans to be made. The Empire might be changing, but its spirit – the spirit of strength, of pride, of order – would live on.

  And he would make damn sure of it.

  Mush trudged through the dimly lit hallway, his shoulders slumped with exhaustion. The past few weeks had taken their toll, both physically and mentally. He approached a nondescript door, pausing to take a deep breath before pushing it open.

  Inside, the room was stark and clinical, a far cry from the usual Merchant hideouts. Squealer lay on a makeshift hospital bed, her face pale and drawn. Various tubes and wires connected her to monitoring equipment, the steady beep of machines filling the air.

  Scapegoat followed Mush into the room, his eyes widening as he took in Squealer's condition. The young Ward's face twisted in a grimace, a mixture of sympathy and revulsion.

  "Jesus," Scapegoat muttered. "What happened to her?"

  Mush ran a hand over his face, his voice weary. "Lung. The fight... it didn't go as smoothly as the news made it seem."

  Scapegoat nodded, his expression grim. He approached Squealer's bedside, carefully examining her injuries. After a few moments, he turned back to Mush.

  "This is... extensive," he said. "Who's going to take on the burden?"

  Mush jerked his head towards the door. "Got a volunteer waiting outside. One of our junkies. He's willing to take it all on in exchange for clearing his debt and a steady supply."

  Scapegoat frowned. "You sure about this? It's not going to be pretty."

  "We don't have much choice," Mush replied. "Squealer's too valuable to lose, and we need her back on her feet yesterday."

  With a resigned sigh, Scapegoat nodded. "Alright. Bring him in."

  Mush stepped out of the room, returning moments later with a gaunt, twitchy man. The junkie's eyes darted around nervously, but there was a determined set to his jaw.

  "You understand what's going to happen?" Scapegoat asked him.

  The man nodded jerkily. "Yeah, yeah. I take her pain, get my fix. Simple."

  Scapegoat looked like he wanted to argue, but instead, he just shook his head. "Okay. Let's get this over with."

  The Ward positioned himself between Squealer and the junkie. He placed one hand on Squealer's arm and the other on the volunteer's shoulder. Taking a deep breath, Scapegoat closed his eyes and activated his power.

  The effect was immediate and unsettling. Squealer's battered body began to heal, cuts closing and bruns fading. At the same time, identical injuries blossomed on Scapegoat's skin. The Ward gritted his teeth, his face contorting in pain.

  After a few agonizing minutes, Scapegoat removed his hand from Squealer and placed it on the junkie. The process repeated itself, the injuries transferring from Scapegoat to the volunteer. The man's eyes widened in shock and pain, a strangled cry escaping his lips as he collapsed to the ground.

  When it was over, Squealer lay peacefully on the bed, her body whole and unmarred. Scapegoat stumbled back, looking drained but uninjured. The junkie curled into a fetal position on the floor, whimpering softly.

  Mush quickly moved to the man's side, producing a syringe filled with a murky liquid. He administered the drug, and within moments, the junkie's pained expression relaxed into a blissful stupor.

  Scapegoat watched the scene with a mixture of disgust and resignation. He reached into his bag and pulled out a thick book.

  "I'll need to stick around for six hours to make sure the process is permanent," he said, settling into a chair. "Don't let either of them leave within 150 feet of me during that time."

  Mush nodded, relief evident on his face. "Thanks, kid. We won't forget this."

  As Scapegoat began to read, Squealer stirred on the bed. Her eyes fluttered open, confusion clouding her features.

  "Wha... what happened?" she mumbled, trying to sit up.

  Mush was at her side in an instant, gently easing her back down. "Easy there, Sherrel. You've been out for a while."

  Squealer blinked, her mind clearing. "The fight... Lung... my babies!" She tried to get up again, panic in her voice. "I need to check on my vehicles!"

  "They're fine," Mush assured her, though his tone lacked conviction. "Just rest for now. We've got to wait here for a bit longer, then I'll take you to the garage myself."

  Squealer seemed ready to argue, but exhaustion won out. She settled back into the bed, her eyes darting between Mush, Scapegoat, and the unconscious junkie on the floor.

  "How long was I out?" she asked.

  Mush hesitated. "A few weeks. But don't worry, we've been keeping things together."

  Squealer's eyes narrowed. "A few weeks? What's happened? Have you been maintaining my tech?"

  "We've done our best," Mush said evasively. "Let's talk about it later, okay? You need to rest."

  Squealer didn't look satisfied, but she didn't press the issue. Instead, she closed her eyes, drifting into an uneasy sleep.

  The next six hours passed slowly. Mush paced the room, occasionally checking on Squealer and the junkie. Scapegoat remained engrossed in his book, only looking up when Mush brought him water or a snack.

  Finally, Scapegoat closed his book and stood up. "That should do it. The transfer is permanent now."

  Mush nodded, relief evident on his face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick envelope. "Your payment, as agreed. Plus a bonus for your discretion."

  Scapegoat took the envelope, his expression unreadable. "Just... be careful, alright? This kind of thing... it's not sustainable."

  "We'll manage," Mush replied curtly. "You just worry about keeping your mouth shut."

  The young Ward looked like he wanted to say more, but thought better of it. With a final glance at Squealer and the junkie, he left the room.

  Squealer's eyes widened as Mush's words sank in. She sat up abruptly, ignoring the lingering ache in her muscles.

  "What do you mean the combiner's gone?" she demanded, her voice hoarse from disuse.

  Mush sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. "It was completely scrapped in the fight with Lung. We barely managed to salvage anything from it."

  Squealer swung her legs over the side of the bed, her movements unsteady but determined. "Take me to the garage. Now."

  "Sherrel, you should rest—"

  "Fuck that," she snapped. "I need to see what's left."

  Mush knew better than to argue. He helped her to her feet, supporting her as they made their way out of the makeshift infirmary and through the winding corridors of the Merchant hideout.

  As they entered the cavernous garage, Squealer's breath caught in her throat. Where there had once been a bustling workshop filled with half-finished projects and scavenged parts, now stood only two vehicles: the Think Tank and the Bookmobile.

  "This... this is it?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

  Mush nodded grimly. "The only things we have left. We've been trying to keep them operational, but..."

  Squealer stumbled forward, her hands running over the Think Tank's hull. Even from a distance, she could see the shoddy patch jobs and mismatched components.

  "Who's been working on them?" she asked, her tone dangerous.

  Mush hesitated before answering. "Trainwreck tried at first, but his tech was too incompatible. So we... we hired Leet to do some work."

  Squealer whirled around, her eyes blazing with fury. "You let that hack touch my babies?!"

  "We didn't have a choice!" Mush protested. "We needed them operational, and you were out of commission."

  Squealer turned back to the vehicles, her anger giving way to despair as she took in the full extent of the damage and modifications.

  "This is going to take forever to fix," she muttered, more to herself than to Mush.

  "How long?" Mush asked, tension evident in his voice.

  Squealer ran her hands through her greasy hair, her mind already racing with calculations and repair estimates. "To get everything back to 100%? At least a couple of weeks, maybe more."

  Mush's face fell. "We don't have that kind of time, Sherrel. The Empire, Coil, and the Protectorate have been gunning for us hard since we took down Lung."

  Squealer's head snapped up. "What? How bad is it?"

  "Bad," Mush admitted. "Burnout nearly got nabbed a week ago. Trainwreck's laid up doing repairs after Assault worked him over pretty good."

  Squealer cursed under her breath. She hobbled over to a nearby workbench, rifling through the scattered tools and components.

  "I'll work as fast as I can," she said, her voice tight with determination. "But I can't promise miracles. Leet's work is... unpredictable. I need to make sure I don't trigger any of his bullshit failsafes."

  Mush nodded, relief evident on his face. "Do what you can. We've managed to hold them off so far, but without your tech..."

  "Yeah, yeah, I get it," Squealer muttered. She paused, looking around the garage. "Where's Skidmark? I figured he'd be here gloating about taking down Lung."

  Mush's expression darkened. "Adam's been... difficult. The victory went to his head. He's been strutting around calling himself the 'Dragonslayer' and acting like he's king of the fucking bay."

  Squealer snorted. "Sounds like him. But where is he?"

  "Out," Mush said tersely. "Probably picking fights we can't afford right now."

  Squealer shook her head, turning back to the Think Tank. "Alright, well, I need to get to work. You handle Skidmark, I'll focus on getting our edge back."

  Mush nodded, relief evident on his face. "Thanks, Sherrel. We're counting on you."

  As Mush left the garage, Squealer began a more thorough inspection of the Think Tank. Her fingers traced the new welds and unfamiliar components, her frown deepening with each discovery.

  "What the fuck did you do to my baby, Leet?" she muttered, pulling open an access panel.

  Inside, a mess of wires and circuitry greeted her. Some of it was familiar, but much of it was pure Leet—overcomplicated and prone to failure. Squealer gritted her teeth, fighting back the urge to rip it all out and start from scratch.

  "Okay, okay, think," she said to herself. "One step at a time."

  She grabbed a nearby tablet, booting up her diagnostic software. As she began running tests on the Think Tank's systems, her mind raced with possibilities and potential improvements.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Hours passed as Squealer lost herself in the work. The familiar rhythm of tinkering soothed her frayed nerves, even as the extent of the damage and modifications became clear.

  She was elbow-deep in the Think Tank's engine compartment when the garage door creaked open. Squealer tensed, reaching for a nearby wrench before recognizing the heavy footsteps.

  "Trainwreck," she called out, not bothering to extract herself from the engine. "Bout time you showed up."

  The cyborg tinker lumbered into view, his mechanical body moving with a noticeable limp. "Heard you were back on your feet. Figured you'd be down here."

  Squealer grunted, finally pulling herself out of the engine compartment. She wiped her hands on a greasy rag, eyeing Trainwreck's battered form.

  "Mush said Assault did a number on you," she said.

  Trainwreck's metallic face twisted in what might have been a grimace. "Bastard's faster than he looks. Caught me off guard."

  Squealer nodded, turning back to the Think Tank. "Well, don't just stand there. I could use an extra pair of hands. Especially ones that aren't complete shit at tinkering."

  Trainwreck chuckled, the sound a strange mix of organic and mechanical. "Missed you too, Squealer."

  They worked in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. As the hours ticked by, the Think Tank slowly began to resemble its former glory. Squealer's modifications stripped away Leet's unnecessary additions, streamlining the systems and improving efficiency.

  It was nearing dawn when Squealer finally stepped back, wiping sweat from her brow. "Alright, I think that'll do for now. We can take it for a test run later today."

  Trainwreck nodded, his own repairs completed. "What about the Bookmobile?"

  Squealer glanced at the other vehicle, her expression thoughtful. "That one's going to need more work. Leet really did a number on the sensor array."

  "Want me to get started on it?" Trainwreck offered.

  Squealer shook her head. "Nah, get some rest. I'll handle it. Just need a quick power nap first."

  As if on cue, the garage door swung open once more. Mush entered, his eyes widening as he took in the progress they'd made.

  "Holy shit," he muttered. "You two have been busy."

  Squealer smirked, a hint of her old confidence returning. "Told you I'd work fast. Think Tank's almost ready for a test run. Bookmobile needs more work, but we'll get there."

  Mush nodded, relief evident on his face. "Good, that's... that's really good. We could use some good news."

  Squealer's smirk faded, noting the tension in Mush's posture. "What's wrong?"

  Mush sighed, running a hand over his face. "Skidmark's stirring up shit again. He's talking about hitting one of Coil's bases, says he's got intel on where it is."

  Squealer and Trainwreck exchanged worried glances. "That's suicide," Trainwreck growled. "We're not ready for that kind of fight."

  "I know," Mush said, his voice tight with frustration. "But he's not listening to reason. Says we need to 'capitalize on our momentum' or some bullshit."

  Squealer cursed under her breath. "Where is he now?"

  "Passed out in his room," Mush replied. "But he'll be up soon, looking to make moves."

  Squealer nodded, her mind racing. "Alright, here's what we're going to do. I'll finish up the Think Tank, make sure it's combat-ready. Trainwreck, you focus on the Bookmobile. We need its sensor capabilities if we're going up against Coil."

  "And me?" Mush asked.

  "Keep Skidmark distracted," Squealer said. "Feed his ego, whatever you need to do. Just buy us some time to get everything operational."

  Mush nodded, though he didn't look happy about it. "How long do you need?"

  Squealer glanced at the Bookmobile, mentally cataloging the work that needed to be done. "Two days. Maybe three if we hit any snags."

  "I'll do my best," Mush promised. "But you know how Adam gets when he's got an idea in his head."

  Squealer's expression hardened. "Yeah, well, remind him that his 'ideas' don't mean shit without my tech to back them up."

  As Mush left to deal with Skidmark, Squealer turned back to the Think Tank. She knew she should rest, but the urgency of their situation gnawed at her.

  "Fuck it," she muttered, grabbing her tools. "Sleep is for the weak."

  She dove back into her work, determined to have the Think Tank ready for action by nightfall. As she tinkered, her mind raced with possibilities and potential improvements.

  The Merchants had taken a beating in her absence, but Squealer was determined to turn things around. With her tech back in play, they'd remind everyone why the Merchants were a force to be reckoned with.

  As the sun rose over Brockton Bay, casting long shadows across the cluttered garage, Squealer allowed herself a small smile. They weren't out of the woods yet, but for the first time since waking up, she felt a glimmer of hope.

  Let the Empire, Coil, and the Protectorate come. With her babies back in action, the Merchants would be ready for them.

  Taylor stepped back from the pod containing Night, her brow furrowed in concentration. The clear enclosure allowed the trio of Empire members to keep a constant watch on the cape, preventing her monstrous transformation. Beside Night's pod, her husband Fog lay in a similar state, though his containment didn't require the same level of vigilance.

  "Alright," Taylor said, wiping her hands on her apron. "That should do it. Now, would someone mind explaining what the hell is up with these two? I've never seen anything quite like this before."

  Purity sighed, her luminous form dimming slightly as she considered her words. "Night and Fog... they're products of Gesellschaft's 'cape farm.' The organization's methods of creating and conditioning parahumans are... thorough, to say the least."

  "Thorough?" Crusader scoffed. "That's putting it mildly. Those two give me the creeps."

  Purity shot him a warning glare, but Crusader seemed determined to speak his mind.

  "No, seriously," he continued. "Have you seen the way Dorothy cooks? She makes enough food for ten people, even when it's just her and Geoff. And don't get me started on him. The guy just sits there, staring at the newspaper without actually reading it. It's like they're playing at being some stereotypical American couple, but they don't quite understand how it works."

  Taylor frowned, her eyes darting between the pods and the Empire members. "Is that why you've brought them to me? You want me to undo whatever Gesellschaft did to them?"

  Purity nodded, her expression a mix of hope and concern. "We're trusting you to help them, Taylor. Their conditioning... it's not right. They deserve a chance at something more genuine."

  "Hold on," Justin interjected, his voice laced with skepticism. "Are we sure that brainwashing on top of brainwashing is really the best solution here? I mean, who's to say we won't just make things worse?"

  Taylor's eyes narrowed as she turned to face Crusader. "I'm not like those hacks who tortured them in the first place," she snapped. "I'm here to help, not further damage them. And if you don't watch your mouth, Justin, you might find yourself getting a session in the pod yourself. Your comments about 'cutting the detritus of society' at the inaugural Deer Lodge dinner were completely unacceptable."

  Justin grumbled, crossing his arms defensively. "Fine, I'll be more careful with my words. But come on, it wasn't that bad. And it's the truth, anyway," he added under his breath.

  Ignoring Crusader's muttering, Taylor turned her attention back to Purity. "What about you, Kayden? Have you given any more thought to joining the Deer Lodge?"

  Purity hesitated, her glow flickering slightly. "I'm... considering it," she admitted. "What you and Theo are doing, it's good. You've been good for each other, too."

  As if summoned by the mention of his name, Theo entered the lab, a bright smile on his face. "Taylor, you're amazing! The progress you've made with Night and Fog is incredible."

  Taylor blushed, ducking her head slightly. "I'm just following through on your vision, Theo. You're the one with the drive to make all this happen."

  Purity watched the exchange with a pleased expression, while Justin rolled his eyes dramatically.

  "Well," Purity said, breaking the moment, "we should probably head to the cafeteria while Taylor finishes up here. Theo, do you have Aster?"

  Theo nodded, gesturing to the baby carrier strapped to his chest. "Right here, safe and sound."

  As the others filed out, Taylor turned her attention back to the pods, making final adjustments and monitoring the progress of Night and Fog's treatment. The hours ticked by as she worked, her mind racing with possibilities and potential improvements to her technology.

  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Taylor stepped back from the pods. Night and Fog's treatment was complete. She sent a quick message to the others, and soon, the lab was once again filled with the Empire members.

  "Alright," Taylor said, her voice tinged with a mix of excitement and apprehension. "Let's see how they do."

  She carefully opened Night's pod first, keeping a close eye on the woman as she slowly regained consciousness. Night blinked rapidly, shaking off the disorientation from her time in stasis. To the casual observer, she might have seemed unchanged, but Taylor noticed subtle differences in her posture and the way her eyes darted around the room.

  Fog's awakening was similarly anticlimactic, at least on the surface. He sat up slowly, his gaze immediately seeking out his wife. The couple exchanged a look that seemed... softer, somehow, than their usual interactions.

  "How do you feel?" Taylor asked, addressing both of them.

  Night tilted her head slightly, considering the question. "I feel... clear," she said, her voice lacking some of its usual robotic quality. "Like I've woken up from a very long dream."

  Fog nodded in agreement. "There's a sense of... possibility," he added. "As if we have options we didn't before."

  Crusader snorted. "Well, they certainly sound the same. Are we sure anything actually changed?"

  Taylor shot him a withering glare. "Give it time," she said. "These things don't happen overnight."

  As the group left the lab, Taylor couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. She knew there was still work to be done, but this felt like a significant step forward.

  The next day, Purity arrived at Medhall to drop off Aster for Night and Fog to babysit while she spoke with a client for her job. As she entered the room, she stopped short, her eyes widening in surprise.

  Dorothy, usually dressed in the most conservative and unremarkable of outfits, was wearing a pair of bright red, patent leather stilettos that looked like they belonged on a runway rather than in a Medhall office. Beside her, Geoff sported a tie covered in a garish pattern of neon flamingos.

  "Good morning, Kayden," Dorothy said, her voice warm but no longer eerily perfect. "How are you today?"

  Purity blinked, still thrown by the unexpected fashion choices. "I'm... fine," she managed. "How are you two doing?"

  Geoff smiled, absently adjusting his outlandish tie. "We're doing well. Looking forward to spending time with little Aster."

  As Purity handed over the baby and her supplies, she couldn't help but notice other small changes. The couple moved more naturally, their interactions lacking the scripted quality they'd always had before. It was subtle, but to someone who knew them as well as Purity did, the difference was striking.

  Over the next week, Purity found herself increasingly amazed by the transformation in Night and Fog. Each day, Dorothy sported a new pair of extravagant shoes – everything from towering platforms covered in glitter to delicate, hand-painted kitten heels. Geoff, not to be outdone, had apparently developed a passion for novelty ties, each one more outrageous than the last.

  Despite these sartorial adventures, the rest of their attire remained as demure and conservative as ever. It was as if they were testing the waters of self-expression, one accessory at a time.

  More importantly, Purity noticed a change in their behavior and speech. While still unfailingly polite and proper, Night and Fog now engaged in actual conversations. They offered opinions, asked questions, and even occasionally disagreed with each other – all things that would have been unthinkable before Taylor's intervention.

  One afternoon, Purity arrived to pick up Aster and found Dorothy in the middle of organizing her rapidly growing shoe collection.

  "Kayden!" Dorothy exclaimed, holding up a pair of leopard-print wedges. "What do you think of these? I saw them in a shop window yesterday and simply couldn't resist."

  Purity smiled, still adjusting to this new, more animated version of Night. "They're... certainly eye-catching," she said diplomatically. "You've developed quite the collection."

  Dorothy nodded, her eyes shining with genuine enthusiasm. "I never realized how fascinating shoes could be. The variety of styles, the craftsmanship involved – it's really quite remarkable."

  As they chatted, Geoff entered the room, Aster balanced on his hip. Today's tie featured a repeating pattern of cartoon dinosaurs wearing sunglasses.

  "How was she today?" Purity asked, taking Aster from Geoff.

  "An absolute delight," Geoff replied, his voice warm. "We read several books together. I think she particularly enjoyed 'The Very Hungry Caterpillar.'"

  Purity raised an eyebrow. "You read to her? That's new."

  Geoff nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Yes, well, I've been doing some research on child development. It seems that reading aloud is incredibly beneficial, even for infants."

  As Purity left with Aster, she couldn't help but marvel at the changes in Night and Fog. They were still recognizably themselves, but it was as if a veil had been lifted, allowing their true personalities to shine through.

  Later that week, Purity found herself discussing the situation with Theo and Crusader.

  "I have to admit," Purity said, "I'm impressed with what Taylor's managed to do. Night and Fog seem so much more... alive now."

  Theo nodded, a proud smile on his face. "Taylor's amazing. She really understands how to help people become their best selves."

  Crusader, however, looked less convinced. "Sure, they're a little different now, but let's be real – they're still boring as hell. Just because Dorothy's got a shoe fetish and Geoff's discovered novelty ties doesn't make them interesting people."

  Purity frowned at Justin's dismissive tone. "That's not fair. They're making choices for themselves, expressing individual preferences. That's huge progress for them."

  "Exactly," Theo added. "They're not just following a script anymore. They're developing genuine interests and engaging with the world around them. It might seem small to you, Justin, but for Night and Fog, this is a major step forward."

  Crusader shrugged, clearly unconvinced. "If you say so. I still think they're creepy, just in a different way now."

  Purity sighed, deciding to change the subject. "Anyway, have you given any more thought to what we discussed earlier, Theo? About expanding the Deer Lodge's community outreach programs?"

  As Theo launched into an enthusiastic explanation of his latest ideas, Purity found her thoughts drifting back to Night and Fog. She wondered what other changes might be in store for the couple – and for all of them – as they continued down this path of transformation.

  For now, though, she was content to see the small but significant progress they'd made. It gave her hope that maybe, just maybe, people really could change for the better.

  Lisa sat hunched over her laptop in the Undersiders' loft, her brow furrowed in concentration as she sifted through the information she'd gathered. The room was quiet except for the soft tapping of her fingers on the keyboard and the occasional rustle of papers.

  The door swung open, and Brian strode in, followed closely by Alec. Both looked expectantly at Lisa, who barely glanced up from her work.

  "So," Brian said, crossing his arms, "what have you found out?"

  Lisa held up a finger, signaling for them to wait as she finished typing something. Finally, she leaned back in her chair and stretched, her joints popping audibly.

  "Alright," she said, a hint of excitement in her voice. "I've got some interesting info on our Miss Stepford."

  Alec flopped onto the couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table. "Do tell. I'm on the edge of my seat here."

  Lisa rolled her eyes at his sarcasm but launched into her explanation. "So, here's the deal with Miss Stepford's brainwashing. It's... not what we expected."

  Brian raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

  "Well, for starters, it's surprisingly subtle," Lisa said, gesturing to the notes spread out before her. "Compared to most masters we've encountered or heard about, her control is actually pretty weak."

  "Weak?" Brian echoed, sounding skeptical. "From what we've seen, she's got half of Winslow under her thumb."

  Lisa nodded. "True, but here's the thing – her method doesn't work by completely overriding a person's will. Instead, it... reinforces natural paths, so to speak."

  Alec leaned forward slightly, his usual bored expression replaced by a hint of curiosity. "What does that mean, exactly?"

  "It means," Lisa explained, warming to her subject, "that her brainwashing works with existing tendencies and desires. It doesn't create new personalities out of thin air. Instead, it amplifies certain traits and suppresses others."

  Brian frowned. "So, it's more like... nudging people in a certain direction?"

  "Exactly," Lisa said, snapping her fingers. "And because of that, it's actually more effective in some ways. People don't feel like they're being controlled, because in a sense, they're still making their own choices. They're just... strongly encouraged to make certain choices over others."

  Alec whistled low. "That's pretty fucked up. Clever, but fucked up."

  Lisa continued, "The really interesting part is how it interacts with different personalities. For some people, the effects are barely noticeable. For others, it can lead to significant changes in behavior."

  Brian's expression darkened. "Like Sophia."

  "Yeah," Lisa said, her tone softening slightly. "From what I've observed, Sophia is probably the most heavily conditioned person I've encountered so far. But here's the good news – I'm pretty sure I could break her out of it completely with a little pushing."

  Brian's eyes widened. "Really? How?"

  Lisa grinned. "By exploiting the weaknesses in the conditioning. See, because it works with existing traits, there are always contradictions and inconsistencies. If you know how to spot them and apply pressure in the right places, the whole thing can unravel."

  "That's... actually pretty reassuring," Brian said, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.

  Alec snorted. "Speak for yourself. I think I preferred it when we thought she was just an all-powerful mind controller. This subtle shit is way creepier."

  Lisa rolled her eyes. "Of course you'd say that. But seriously, understanding how it works is crucial. It means we can potentially counter it, or at least recognize when someone's been affected."

  As she spoke, the door banged open, and Rachel stomped in, her face set in its usual scowl. "I'm going out," she announced gruffly.

  Lisa, still engrossed in her explanation, barely glanced up. "Sure, whatever."

  Brian, however, fixed Rachel with a hard look. "Don't cause any trouble, alright? We don't need heat right now."

  Rachel grunted. "Just doing some scouting. Nothing big."

  As Rachel left, slamming the door behind her, Lisa's mind was already racing ahead. "You know," she mused, "I think this new Deer Lodge thing is connected to all this. And I bet the boss is going to be very interested in what we've found out."

  Brian nodded slowly. "Makes sense. If Miss Stepford is involved with the Empire, and now there's this new 'civic organization' popping up..."

  "Exactly," Lisa said. "It's all part of a bigger picture. We just need to figure out how the pieces fit together."

  Alec opened his mouth, presumably to make another sarcastic comment, when a sound cut through the air. It started low, then grew in volume and urgency.

  Brian's eyes widened. "Is that...?"

  "Endbringer sirens," Lisa confirmed, her face paling.

  For a moment, panic gripped the room. Then Alec, in an uncharacteristically level voice, said, "Wait. That's not the local attack pattern."

  Lisa was already furiously typing on her laptop. "You're right," she said, her eyes scanning the screen. "It's not here. It's... Canberra. The Simurgh is heading to Canberra."

  A collective sigh of relief went through the room, followed immediately by a wave of guilt. They weren't in danger, but thousands of others soon would be.

  "Shit," Brian muttered, running a hand over his face. "What do we do now?"

  Lisa bit her lip, thinking. "We keep gathering information. This might actually give us an opportunity – with everyone distracted by the Endbringer attack, we might be able to dig deeper into what's going on here in Brockton Bay."

  Brian frowned, considering Lisa's suggestion. "I don't know," he said slowly. "Gathering information while everyone's focused on the Endbringer attack seems like it's skirting pretty close to breaking the Truce."

  Lisa shook her head. "I'm not talking about trying to infiltrate Medhall again or anything like that. Just passive observation, seeing what we can pick up without directly interfering. No aggressive moves."

  She paused, her expression growing pensive. "Actually, you might be right that we should play it safe for now. Rachel's out there, and with tensions running high because of the Simurgh attack..."

  Brian's eyes widened as he realized the potential implications. If Rachel inadvertently caused trouble while everyone was on high alert due to the Endbringer situation, it could escalate quickly. He pulled out his phone, ready to call her back, when the sound of the door opening made him pause.

  Rachel stepped back into the loft, her expression surly as usual. "What's with the racket?" she growled, jerking her thumb toward the wailing sirens.

  "Simurgh attack in Canberra," Lisa explained, her tone grave. "Which means we should probably keep a low profile for now, just to be safe."

  Rachel grunted, seemingly unconcerned. "Whatever. I was just gonna do some scouting around the Trainyard anyway."

  Lisa exchanged a look with Brian, both of them recognizing the potential risks in that area with the Empire's increased presence. "Maybe hold off on that for a bit?" Lisa suggested carefully. "Things are going to be tense with the Endbringer situation. We don't want to accidentally start anything."

  For a moment, Rachel looked like she might argue, her eyes narrowing dangerously. But then, to their surprise, she simply shrugged and stalked over to the couch, flopping down heavily.

  "Fine," she grumbled. "Not like I can't wait a day or two."

  Brian let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, relieved that Rachel had agreed to stand down for the time being. He knew better than to push his luck, though, and simply nodded in acknowledgment.

  As the sirens continued to wail in the distance, a somber silence fell over the loft. They all knew the gravity of an Endbringer attack, even if it wasn't happening in their own city. For now, all they could do was wait and hope that the heroes and villains alike would be able to drive back the Simurgh's latest assault.

  Assault jogged up to the helipad on the Rig, where the other Protectorate members were already gathered. The air was thick with tension, everyone knowing what was at stake. As he approached, Battery turned to him, her brow furrowed.

  "Where's Armsmaster?" she asked, glancing around as if expecting their leader to materialize at any moment.

  Assault shook his head. "He's not coming this time."

  A ripple of surprise went through the group. Miss Militia stepped forward, her weapon shifting restlessly at her side. "Is everything okay?" she asked, concern evident in her voice.

  Assault hesitated, weighing his words carefully. "Armsy filled me in on some of what he's working on," he said finally. "And I've got to say, I agree with him. We don't want him anywhere near the Simurgh right now."

  The implications of that statement hung heavy in the air. Before anyone could press further, the adults of New Wave arrived, Panacea in tow. Lady Photon nodded grimly to the assembled heroes as they touched down.

  "We're ready," she said simply.

  Laserdream hovered nearby, her face set in determination. "I want to go too," she insisted.

  Lady Photon turned to her daughter, her expression softening for just a moment. "Absolutely not," she said firmly. "You're staying here. We need someone to keep an eye on things in Brockton Bay."

  Laserdream looked like she wanted to argue, but a sharp look from her mother silenced any further protests.

  The tense atmosphere was suddenly shattered by the arrival of an unexpected figure. Lung, his muscular form barely contained by a new costume bearing the Protectorate emblem, landed on the helipad with a heavy thud.

  Shocked gasps and murmurs rippled through the assembled heroes. New Wave looked particularly stunned, with Brandish's hands clenching into fists at her sides.

  Lung surveyed the group with a surly expression, but there was no hostility in his stance. He simply nodded once, acknowledging their presence.

  "What the hell is this?" Manpower growled, taking a step forward.

  Miss Militia held up a hand, her voice calm but firm. "Lung is a probationary member of the Protectorate now. We can discuss the details later, but for now, we need to focus on the task at hand."

  A nearby PRT tech called out, "Five minutes until Strider teleports in for pickup!"

  As if on cue, another tech pointed out over the water. "We've got incoming! Looks like... a steel sheet?"

  All eyes turned to see the massive piece of metal soaring towards them, figures visible standing atop it.

  "Rune," Assault muttered. "Probably bringing some Empire capes. My money's on Hookwolf, maybe Othala and Victor."

  As the steel platform drew closer, however, it became clear that their initial assessment was far off the mark. Nearly the full contingent of Empire Eighty-Eight capes stood atop the makeshift transport, and at least half of them were sporting new costumes.

  The platform touched down on the helipad, and Victor – looking decidedly different in his new attire – stepped forward.

  "Allow me to introduce ourselves," he said smoothly. "I go by Ace now. And we have some other changes as well."

  He gestured to each cape in turn. "Nightingale," he said, indicating Othala. "Bombardier," pointing to Storm Tiger. "Scribe," nodding towards Rune. "And Sparrow," finishing with Cricket.

  Hookwolf, Kaiser, and the Valkyrie twins remained in their familiar costumes, standing slightly apart from the rebranded group.

  Victor – or rather, Ace – continued. "Krieg and Alabaster have remained behind to ensure no one takes advantage of the truce in our absence."

  As the heroes struggled to process this unexpected development, two more figures stepped forward from the group. Miss Stepford, her costume a picture of 1950s domesticity, and a young man in a sharp suit who introduced himself as Chairman.

  "We're not joining the fight directly," Miss Stepford explained, her voice pleasant but firm. "But we've brought some tech that we hope might be able to counter the Simurgh's influence, or at least extend the time a person can remain in her scream."

  The Protectorate members exchanged uneasy glances, clearly unsure how to respond to this sudden show of... cooperation? From their longtime adversaries.

  Lady Photon's voice cut through the tension. "A new coat of paint won't change anything," she said sharply, her eyes narrowed at the Empire capes.

  Ace turned to her, his expression neutral. "Judge us on our actions going forward," he replied calmly. Then, with a slight smirk, he gestured towards Lung. "After all, it seems we're not the only ones embracing change today."

  Before the situation could escalate further, there was a loud crack and a flash of light. Strider had arrived.

  "We're out of time for debate," Miss Militia announced, taking charge of the situation. "Everyone who's going, get ready for transport. We can sort out the rest when we return."

  As the capes began to gather around Strider, Assault caught sight of a figure watching from a doorway near the helipad. Armsmaster stood there, his posture rigid, clearly struggling with the decision to stay behind.

  Next to him stood Theresa, and to Assault's surprise, an identical woman – must be the Tess he'd heard mentioned. Both were speaking to Armsmaster in low, urgent tones.

  "It's too risky," Theresa was saying. "You know that."

  Her twin nodded in agreement. "The potential consequences far outweigh any benefit you might provide."

  Armsmaster's fists clenched at his sides. "I hope you're right," he said, his voice barely audible over the commotion of the departing group. "And that your big sister will be understanding."

  Assault had no time to ponder the cryptic exchange. Strider's voice rang out, "Everyone ready? Here we go!"