I stand before a murderer; a man wreathed in an ominous halo of yellow streetlights and dripping more blood than a human can live without. Not a villain, but rather the greatest hero of all time, and he just killed a man in cold blood right before my eyes. Endless red slowly falls from shining golden wings, and the cold hard eyes of an untouchable titan look down on me. As a hero I should bring him in, capture him and take him to court so that the law could punish him for his sins. But it’s just me, and I know that even at my best I am so far below this man’s level.
“Charlie,” Rowan's soft, concerned voice whispers in my ear. She’s closer than she was before. I was watching Jonathan so closely I didn't even notice her move.
“Are you okay? Say something,” She pleads.
“He killed him…” I murmur, “Just like that. And you…” I turn to Rowan’s concerned gaze, “You’re a villain. I can’t trust either of you.” I slowly, cautiously take a few steps back. Distance is near meaningless against someone with range and speed like Jonathan, but I just don’t feel safe. Not with these two so close.
“You’re embarrassing yourself,” Jonathan speaks harshly, sounding irritated, “Calm down. Let’s all just head back to the Headquarters and we can settle this like professionals.” For obvious reasons, that fails to settle my nerves. I take another step back.
“Oh, give her a break, would you?” Rowan hisses at him, “She just watched a man die and she wasn’t so far off herself a minute ago. Besides, we should be taking her to a hospital, not your stupid fan club. In case you haven’t noticed, she’s wounded.” Her attitude is, in a word, shocking. As far as I could tell, she’s barely stronger than me, not somebody of a caliber to be so unafraid in front of Jonathan of all people.
“A hospital will take too long. Here,” Jonathan pulls out a small drinking flask from inside his vest, “Two sips of this, no more.” He tosses it my way, and I catch it out of instinct. I just stare at it for a moment, unsure of my next move. There’s no obvious reason for him to poison me, if he wanted me dead it wouldn’t be hard to just skewer me with his feathers. Maybe he wants to conceal the fact it was him? That does make sense, in a way.
Before I can react, Rowan takes the initiative. I flinch as she approaches, but she just grabs the flask from my hand, then uncorks it and glances inside. After a moment, she seems satisfied, then suddenly grabs me by the back of the head and forces the bottle into my mouth. Something inside splashes out and I swallow some of it before I can stop myself. The taste is mostly salt and iron, almost like drinking blood. That thought alone makes me want to vomit until something stops me.
A change comes across my body, aches settling out and energy flowing in. The pain in my arm, which was starting to become unbearable as my adrenaline from earlier faded, suddenly, almost inexplicably, begins to disappear. It’s replaced by an uncomfortable warmth and the oh so familiar feeling of flesh knitting itself back together. I’m healing.
I snatch the flask back from Rowan and immediately take a second sip, choking back the horrible taste but eager for more. I wipe away some of whatever is in there off my chin, and suddenly realize I did it with my left arm, despite my wounds. Not only that but holy hells does it look amazing. Instead of a ruined mess of charred, mangled flesh, all I see now is what almost looks like little more than a nasty sunburn: just an angry red splotch on the surface of my skin.
“That’s enough of that,” Jonathan chastises as Rowan softly takes the flask back from my hands. I didn’t even realize I was clutching it so tightly. “Too much and you’ll be lucky if the worst you get is an upset stomach. Are you starting to feel a bit more rational now?”
To my unending surprise, I am. I hadn’t realized before how much the combination of exhaustion, pain, and blood loss was affecting me, but I already feel lighter and of a much clearer head. Whatever that stuff was, it worked magic on me. Must be some kind of ability at play. That might explain the vague warning of potential consequences.
With my newfound clarity, I suddenly realize that, given the scenario, both Jonathan and Rowan pose very little threat to me. Rowan still seems to be sticking by our earlier truce, or perhaps just behaving herself in front of such a powerful hero, while Jonathan would have had no reason to waste what is likely a rare and valuable healing tool on me if he intended to kill me.
“Charlie?” Rowan prompts, causing me to realize I hadn’t said anything for a while.
“Yeah, I…I’m feeling better now,” I turn and lock eyes with Jonathan, “Which I guess means it’s now your turn to start explaining what the fuck I just witnessed.”
“All in due time,” He replies, unabashed, “First, I would like to move this discussion somewhere more… private. I already suggested the BCCSI Headquarters?” The Bowl, he means, the implied question obvious.
“Fine,” I assent, “but the moment we get there, no more excuses. You will explain yourself, no matter who you are.”
“As much as is necessary,” He precisely replies.
I guess that’s the best I’m going to get.
—
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Rowan asks, whispering to me as the three of us enter Jonathan’s office at the Bowl. It’s the third time she’s asked that now - even though Jonathan offered to fly us here I decided to run, and she’s been worried I overexerted myself.
“Yes,” I reply, showing her my arm to demonstrate, “See? All healed.”
“Enough flirting, you two,” Jonathan interrupts, “It’s time we dealt with business.” Choosing to ignore how he phrased that, I stride as confidently as I can manage to the center of the room and plop myself down in one of the two chairs conveniently set up near his desk for visitors. Rowan takes the other.
The room is rather lavishly decorated, considering Jonathan couldn't possibly spend more than a few hours per year actually inside it. Even when he is in town - which isn’t often considering just how many ‘towns’ this man is actually responsible for protecting - he’s known to spend most of his time on the streets, actually working. It’s a massive, tastefully modern room, with a floor-to-ceiling window just behind the desk that, due to the Bowl’s dome shape, is noticeably curved. I notice that even as Jonathan sits at his desk, he refuses to fold his wings away, or even just shed a few feathers temporarily for ease of movement. In fact, the room seems to be perfectly sized for just that purpose. As he faces us, he sits ramrod straight, his hands interlaced and lain calmly on the desk in front of him. Elbows off the table, of course.
“You killed that villain,” I begin, “Why?”
“Larry Barowski,” He calmly asserts, “Age 19, responsible for the murders of over a hundred separate individuals, including three heroes, eleven members of a boy scout troop, and even his own parents. Not a villain, technically, but rest assured that he deserved what he got.”
“Nobody deserves to die,” I argue, “The death penalty was abolished with the founding of the USC for that very reason, and what do you mean by ‘not a villain?’ If he truly did all the things you said, then he must’ve been registered as one by now.”
“He means he was a damned,” Rowan interjects, “marked for death, as it was. Not a villain by legal definition. And, common misconception, but the death penalty wasn’t actually abolished. Isn’t that right, Mr. Alston?” My gaze flashes back and forth between the two of them. Rowan’s expression is of dangerous irritation, while Jonathan has formed a complete mask, hiding his thoughts entirely. The two look like they’re having a silent battle, neither willing to back down in the face of the other.
“You overstep your bounds, villain,” Jonathan replies to her, “This is neither the time nor the place to be throwing such a tantrum.”
“I want to know what she meant by that,” I tell him, matter-of-factly. I don’t know why yet, but Rowan seems to be on my side for this one. I swear I almost see Jonathan twitch at my voice, but he masters himself before I can tell whether or not I imagined it.
“She means,” He says in a barely restrained tone, “that under current USC law, certain exceptionally dangerous individuals can be marked for immediate execution under Article 1, Section 7 of the Superhuman Accords. Trials for such are kept under wraps, as are the executions themselves, so most people mistakenly believe that such punishments are no longer in use.”
“Which is intentional,” Rowan provides, “because our friendly neighborhood shadow government doesn’t want people thinking they aren’t the good guys anymore. Extrajudicial killings tend to be frowned upon.”
“That is enough, Ms. Ward,” Jonathan tells her, his voice so cold that I actually shiver. Holy hells, this man knows her last name? Do they know each other? It would certainly explain her confidence, and why she knows so much about all this.
“What does she mean by that?” I question Jonathan. He sighs, audibly, his first real display of emotion since we started.
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“Our methods of handling damned are kept quiet so as not to alarm the general populace. Not, as she so brazenly implies, because we are worried about mere appearances,” I can tell he’s getting rather frustrated, but I honestly don’t feel like caring. If he’s trying to keep secrets from me, then he deserves what he’s got coming.
“Why is that kept quiet, when fights between heroes and villains are allowed to be publicly televised? Is one somehow more ‘alarming’ than the other?” I continue to barrage him with questions, sensing an opportunity. I know it’s reckless, but at this point I’m in way too deep, and he is still answering my questions, if nothing else.
“Villain fights are not as…lethal,” He replies, “And I don’t mean simply for the damned themselves. The individuals tasked with such executions, reapers, die often. We want people to be assured that they are safe, that heroes will never lose the fight against those that would threaten our society.”
“In other words, the fights are staged,” Rowan's voice causes me to nearly jump out of my seat, “Villains capable of killing heroes are quickly registered as damned and eliminated, leaving those we see everyday on the television as little more than a distraction. It’s all a play, Charlie, and he’s the one who wrote the fucking script.”
“Rowan Ward!” Jonathan slams his hand onto the desk, causing me to snap my gaze back to him, stunned by the sudden outburst. His wings flare outwards, filling the entire room in a brazen display of power, and his expression seethes with rage, “You are here solely by the grace of the Upper Council, and if you reveal one more state secret I will have you on the damned list by morning!” He’s standing now, hands firmly down onto the table, face fuming, his emotionless mask entirely gone. I hesitate, cautiously waiting for him to do something else, to scream again, or attack, or just something. Instead, after a moment of heavy breaths, it’s Rowan who speaks.
“You know better,” She tells him, “than to think Rhea won’t take offense to that.” I expect Jonathan to scream again, or maybe just kill her in the spot for the implied threat, but instead he simply straightens his tie, sits back in the chair, and replaces his perfect mask.
“And you know better,” He replies, “than to expect that her favor will grant you immunity to our rules. It does not.”
“No,” Rowan agrees, “but neither can you just silence me with a reaper in the night like an unruly citizen. I will not be treated as such.”
The two sit there, sizing each other up in total silence for what feels like an eternity. Both have switched to expressionless stares, and neither seems close to breaking. Rowan is almost like an entirely different person. The way she sits there, confident in the face of this giant of a man, makes her appear for a moment to be almost as untouchable as he.
Then something shifts in the air and Jonathan leans back into his seat with a sigh, once more breaking his perfect posture. Rowan relaxes as well, and all at once that overwhelming side of her fades. Things are still silent, but calmer, until I notice a strange detail in that last remark.
“You… silence people?” I ask, honestly afraid to know the truth. I’d come to believe that I may be able to reveal the truth to the world, given time, but if he’s willing to kill me to stop that, then I don’t stand a chance.
“Some secrets must be kept, Charlie,” Jonathan replies.
“That wasn’t an answer,” I press, beginning to get the hang of the overly precise, careful speech that he’s been using to hide the truth.
“Charlie… no, Frontrunner. You are a promising young hero and an asset to the BCCSI,” He begins cautiously.
“But…” I provide, sensing the oncoming change in tone.
“But I’ve killed those before."
A weight settles over the room, and my hair begins to stand on end. I’ve almost never had Superhuman warn me like this in the past, and certainly not from two different people in one day, but there is no mistake. As I sit there, in this extravagant room, the most powerful man in the country is considering murdering me. And if he decided to, there isn’t a single thing I could possibly do to stop him. I swallow my fear, and look him dead in the eyes. He stares back.
Then he looks away, his gaze falling to his desk where he reaches into a drawer and pulls out a small folder. He flips it open and begins to read, no longer even glancing in my direction. The message is clear: I’m not a threat. I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding and wait for the inevitable dismissal.
“I won’t be answering any more questions today,” Jonathan informs us, “I will remind you that everything we discussed today is never to leave this room. You will both be monitored for some time and required to perform regular check-ins to ensure you are abiding by that rule. Please close the door on your way out.”
At last, it’s over. Rowan and I stand, and, with a subtle feeling that I shouldn't be turning my back to this man, the two of us leave the room. Despite him never looking up, I swear I feel like I’m being watched the whole way out. It’s a relief when Rowan finally closes the door behind us. I press my back against a wall and just lean there for a moment, taking deep breaths to settle my nerves.
“You’re taking this better than I expected,” Rowan tells me, as the two of us stand there in the dark. I study her for a moment, taking in the sight of this young woman of whom I’ve seen so many different aspects in one night.
“I’m trying not to think about it,” I respond, flashing a tired smile, “I’ll process it all later, when I’m rested.”
“Yeah, that’s… probably for the best,” She agrees. We sit there in awkward silence for a few more moments, neither of us really knowing what to say. She seems so normal, compared to when I first met the villain Hot Pink. I could almost see her being an ordinary person now.
“I have a question for you,” I say, “If you don’t mind me asking. It might be a little personal though.”
“Go ahead,” Rowan tells me, “I’ll answer if I can.”
“Why did you decide to become a villain?” It’s a hard question that I ask, and one that’s definitely more than just a little personal, but I have to ask it. I think if I know, maybe I might be able to think of her as more than just the villain I met her as. Maybe.
“You really want to know?” Rowan asks. I nod softly, and she sighs, as though preparing herself to answer.
“I became a villain to survive,” She looks at me with deep blue eyes and I nod at her, beckoning her to continue. I don’t want to interrupt.
“That may seem strange, but consider what you just learned. Villains aren’t taken seriously here, not until they go too far. It really doesn’t mean being evil, not necessarily. If I try hard not to kill anyone, dress all in pink and go by a pun name so people don’t take me seriously, maybe even loudly monologue one day about my tragic yet relatable backstory, then I’ll be safe. What you have to understand is that I told you the truth, when I said I’m not from the USC. Importantly, that means I’m not a citizen. Without a citizen number I can’t get a job, take a loan on a house, or hell, even get basic medical care. Being a villain… it's kinda the only job I’m allowed to have.” She stops, for a moment, looking down at her hands. I feel strangely uncomfortable watching her, like it’s a private moment. But then she speaks again and I listen.
“Before you ask, yes, it has to be the USC. It’s not just that it’s traditionally considered the safest place on earth - though it is, if less than people know. There are other places a strong SAU like me could go, normally. Asia’s a hellhole, even if you have power, but there are better options. South America is ruled by a handful of feudalist realms where as a superhuman I could earn a status akin to a landed knight. Northern Africa is a nonstarter, but there’s a city at the Cape of Good Hope that’s pretty normal if you ignore the cult. Nobody’s left Australia alive since the Upheaval, but there are islands in the Pacific that have gone largely unchanged. Even Europe isn’t as bad as they say, so long as you hide your powers and don’t go out at night. I had to travel through there to get here, so I know.” She looks back up at me, checking to see if I’m still paying attention. She almost looks frail, in this moment, yet another new side to this woman.
“Except that all doesn’t apply to me,” Rowan explains, “because as stable as some of those places are, only the USC is truly safe. I have people looking for me, Charlie. Dangerous people. They won’t stop until they find me, and they aren’t afraid of any regional powers. The USC boasts the highest number of powerful individuals in the entire world and the near impassable cloudwall protecting it besides. I had to go through it, and I guarantee not many people are capable of such a feat. It’s the only place they’ll never be able to reach me, the only county where I’m safe. That’s why I had to become a villain. My life here is the closest I’ll ever get to peace.” With that, she’s finished, and she looks away. She’s barely too slow for me to miss the redness of her cheeks.
“Okay,” I tell her after a moment. She whirls back on me, surprised.
“Okay what?” She asks, confusion evident on her face.
“Your question, earlier this afternoon. I never answered you,” I respond, searching her eyes and seeing realization dawn.
“You mean…” She begins.
“I mean we should be nemeses. It’s not the worst way for us to stay in contact, and if this hero/villain thing is all fake anyways, it’s not like we’ll actually be enemies. Besides, I doubt you’d have asked if it wouldn't benefit you,” I explain, feeling more confident in this plan by the second.
“I mean, I wasn’t being entirely serious before,” She says with a weak chuckle, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve, “but yeah, it does help me. I need a good punching bag that I won’t accidentally kill or anything so I can maintain appearances. You’d be perfect.” I smile at her and she grins back, finally returning to her old self. I feel a little better too.
“Then it’s settled,” I assert, “We can start as soon as I no longer feel like hibernating for the winter. Seriously, I think I’m coming down from that potion Jonathan gave me.”
“Better get home then. If you die I can’t kick your ass,” Rowan smirks, then turns serious for a moment, “And Charlie?”
“Yeah?” I prompt.
“Thanks for trusting me,” She tells me. I watch her for a moment, and summon a look as sincere as I can manage.
“You helped me out today. A lot. I believe that’s what counts,” I inform her sincerely. I definitely mean it. She stood up for me back there with Jonathan, and let’s not forget she probably saved my life earlier today too with that damned, as I now know they’re called.
“You’re right, I did,” She brags, her smile returning, “...princess.”
“Dammit!” I call to her, “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t call me that.” But she’s already turned her back, skipping down the curved hallway laughing as she goes. In a moment, I no longer see her, and the sounds fade away.
I’m left alone in the Bowl, nothing left to do now but head home. My day has been a weird one, and a long one as well, but at last it seems to be over.
“I think I’ll take a cab tonight,” I tell the empty hall.
Blessedly, it says nothing back.
