Luis stood awkwardly amongst the other gathered men, clutching at his arms as the frigid air bristled against his lightly-clothed skin. His breath dissipated inches from his nose, the vapor white and voluminous. His sandy blonde hair was tied back with a rubber band at the base of his neck. Gregor had insisted appearances were extremely important for this meeting, though Luis would’ve rather starved than cut his hair. Long hair suited him, and he was a sucker for appearances.

The door to the freezer he and the others had been left standing at attention in for the last hour pulled inward, and the guard standing before it immediately stepped back, his posture straightening out. A well-dressed man entered the small white room, closely flanked by several other guards. Glare from the fluorescent lights overhead reflected on his rose gold sunglasses. Clad in a sleek blue suit and Henley tee beneath it, he paced in front of Luis and the others like a predator surveying potential prey.

Pompous prick, Luis couldn’t help but grit his teeth. Leaving me to freeze my ass off in this fridge for an hour — better stay close to those guards, rich boy.

The man smiled thinly. “Gentlemen! Welcome! We’re extremely excited to have you each attending our recruitment drive today. Sorry for the lack of snacks and refreshments.” He turned towards Luis wearing a mischievous grin. “We ran out yesterday. For esteemed men with amazing gifts such as yourself, you have my humblest apologies.”

Luis kept his eyes forward as the stranger approached. Judging by the amount of guards trailing him, Luis had a sense he was rather high up in the organization.

“My name,” the man said, his voice lilting and mockingly carefree, “is Roman. You’ve each passed a short initiation that brought you here. For that, you have my most sincere congratulations.” The assembled men beside Luis were audibly relieved. The guards, he noticed, remained stoic and focused. An uneasy feeling began to fester in Luis’ gut, but he kept any of it from reaching his expression.

Ah, Luis thought, Now I remember him. The Quartino job.

He’d seen the man several months before during an elitist Quartino mixer in Cincinnati. The guests had been stuck-up and snooty, but the party had served as an amazingly useful cover. Quartino was one of the premier organized theft firms, specializing in burglary, fraud, and embezzlement. Quartino’s top dog Darren Lich apparently maintained quite a trove of handy information on contacts and dead drop locations in a little black book kept in his desk drawer. Middle left, according to the maid. There’d been several close calls, but he’d eventually been able to worm his way into the office, snapped pictures of each page for later referencing, and slipped out after replacing the strand of hair Darren had kept over the lock. Seems like Darren was as afraid of others getting into his things as Luis used to be, he noted.

Luis was pretty sure Roman wouldn’t recognize him; the man had been extremely intoxicated at the party, after all. Roman was all smiles and congratulatory gestures as he approached one of the men about two spots down the line on Luis’s left; a stockier man with short-cropped brown hair and a short beard. He laid a hand on his shoulder. “Artie Dorn?”

The man nodded furtively. “Yes, sir.”

“Perfect!” Roman cheered. Faster than Luis could track, a gun emerged from Roman’s coat pocket into his hand and fired, aimed squarely at the man’s chest. Everyone in line flinched, including Luis’ whose ears rung painfully as the reverb slammed across the enclosed room’s walls. He looked straight ahead. If he didn’t look, it wasn’t happening. 

Roman nodded towards Artie’s moaning form. “Miguel.”

One of the guards disappeared behind Luis, followed immediately by the gut-retching sound of something heavy being dragged over the ground and out of the room. Roman holstered the weapon back into his jacket and pushed his gleaming glasses up past his hairline. “Bulletproof vest. Smart! Still, I’ve got ears everywhere, and treachery is always a known quantity to me before it even becomes aware of itself. Remember, utmost loyalty. No less.” He looked over at the rest of the assembled group with sickening indifference.

“Welcome to the Alter division of the Broker Dogs.”

 

* * *

 

Harpy collapsed onto the couch from Miracle Maiden’s hands. She’d insisted on carrying him back until his bandaged foot stopped bleeding.

Great. Just one more way I’m fucking helpless.

Miracle Maiden looked down at him expectantly.

“What?” He scowled up at her.

“Well,” she began, “you slept for something like eighteen hours before proceeding to run out of the apartment in a blind panic, where you almost got assaulted by those punks. Not to mention the whole Aphotic thing. I was wondering if you were hungry?”

Harpy stared at her unblinkingly. “Excuse me?”

Unceremoniously plopping onto the couch next to Harpy, Miracle Maiden leaned over the right arm of the couch and began to dig into a small fabric pouch sewed into its body. She straightened out and smiled, holding several takeout menus in her hands. Harpy sat up, taking them from her.

“These are some of my favorite places. Chen’s Centennial is really good if you’re into crab rangoon or vegetable fried rice.” She excitedly pointed at one of the more colorful menus. “Art’s Patio has really good sliders, too. But their fries are to die for! They put this top-notch seasoning on them? It’s sweet and savory, just — so delicious.”

Harpy leafed through the paper menus in his hands, growing increasingly confused. “You said favorite. Do you have more of these?”

She grabbed at another stack of four or five menus. “Yeah, these places are alright, but not spectacularly good.”

Christ, she’s a slob. The idealistic woman of tomorrow veneer further crumbles.

Harpy looked between the dozen or so menus and the woman with the unconcerned smile, growing disbelief evident on his face. “How —” He stifled a rough, squeaking cough. “How often do you eat out?”

She looked suddenly sheepish. “Um… most nights?”

“And you eat here?” he did his best to raise his voice and gestured towards the apartment windows.

She crossed her arms and leaned back. “Well, yeah. I like what I like.” Harpy ran his fingers along the bridge of his nose, hoping to relieve the tension headache he could feel forming.

“Just… stop…” he sighed. His throat felt like it was on fire, and he could feel his rage boiling over. “Pen? Paper?”

Miracle Maiden blinked a few times before nodding and jumping up to run to her kitchen before returning with an opened piece of mail, spam by the looks of it, and a pen. Rolling his eyes harder than he had previously thought possible, Harpy grabbed the pen and began to write.

“We need to address the elephant in the room.”

Miracle Maiden frowned. “What do you mean?”

Barely disguising his rising frustration, he continued. “Why am I still here? Why haven’t you taken me to jail, or kicked me out?”

“Oh.” Her posture lowered somewhat. “I mean, I already told you why. I didn’t feel right about giving you over to the cops, not when your alter form changed like this. We have no idea why or how or if it’s even permanent.”

“How long are you planning on keeping me here?”

“I… hadn’t really thought about that. I guess I was more concerned for you than anything else.”

Harpy began writing again, underlining his words for emphasis. “This is what I’m talking about. We can’t do this.” He gestured between their positions on the couch. “I’m a bad guy. You’re a good guy. You know the rules.”

Her hands slapped against her thighs. “Of course I know, Harpy! This isn’t about a relationship or Vegas or anything else. I’m just worried about you.”

Liar.

“Worried about me? Did it ever occur to you why I was taking a loud, idiotic bank job after Vegas? You know that’s not my style.”

She reeled back ever so slightly. “I did think it was strange, but like you said, you’re a bad guy. Isn’t stealing kind of what you do?”

“Fuck off,” Harpy spat, letting the pen and paper fall to the floor as he stood. Heroes didn’t give a shit about anything more than an ideal they were chasing after, one that left room for nothing more than black and white. They’d proved it enough times for Harpy to accept it as the simple fact it was.

“Harpy!” Miracle Maiden was up and after him immediately. “Listen to me!”

Following the glint of light catching his eye from the room in which he awoke, Harpy stormed towards it, stomping through the red twilight glow now spilling through the window onto the floor. His foot ached, but he ignored it. She reached out, gently grasping him by the shoulder.

“Leave me alone!” Harpy swung his small frame on a dime and rammed his leg into her stomach. Her frame shuddered, but she wore no indication of pain on her face. She dropped her hands to the side and stepped back.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have —” She forced herself to take a breath. “Sorry. Obviously I insulted you just now, and I shouldn't have. And making light of all this and our history… It wasn’t a smart idea. You have a whole new body and —” Her eyes rolled down Harpy’s torso. “New plumbing, apparently. How are you feeling?”

She’s readjusting her approach. Looking for a new angle. Don’t let her in.

Harpy first looked down at his body, then transitioned dejectedly to the floor boards. He couldn’t trust her. Other people were only good for trysts. For physicality. But anything more and they inevitably disappointed. Trust was a lie told to help people feel better about living with others. If you gave them an inch, they’d take a mile.

So why did he quietly, desperately, want to?

Harpy picked at his knuckles. “It’s… it’s weird. Feels off.” His voice was smaller, only barely audible. “I don’t like it.”

Miracle Maiden lowered herself a few inches, closer to his eye level. “I’m sure you have, but have you tried changing back to your default form yet?”

The sharp tip of one of his teeth glanced against Harpy’s tongue. “Didn’t work.” An errant thought wandered through his mind. “Clellium?” he asked, hopeful that she might be in possession of the anti-alter substance.

She shook her head slowly. “No. Never needed it, and never wanted it in the house. Sort of felt like having a gun aimed at your bedside pillow.” 

“Oh,” Harpy groaned.

Miracle Maiden looked him over again, allowing an uncomfortable silence to pervert the air.

“Why’d you let them go even one second without a fist or knee in the gut like you did me? I could feel it — you’re still stronger than average. Especially for this build.”

Harpy looked down at his hands, unsure. “I… don’t know. I felt… I felt…”

“Afraid,” she finished. “I saw it in your eyes when I was getting the glass out of your foot.”

Harpy looked up at her. “How could you—?”

A gentle grimace rippled through her features. “It’s a look I’ve seen a lot.” A quiet rumble emanated from Harpy’s midsection, something Miracle Maiden seemed to pick up on.

“We should really get food, our stomachs are warming up for a duet, I think. Let’s keep it simple. What kind of food do you want?”

“Thai,” Harpy answered without hesitation. He frowned, surprised by his frankness.

Miracle Maiden’s eyes lit up. “Perfect! There’s a Thai place on the next block over. They don’t do delivery, though, and I’m not sure I feel comfortable leaving you alone for the moment.” She smiled weakly, prompting Harpy to suspect a ‘but’ was coming. “Would you mind coming with me? I will say I have a hard time talking to folks in any non-super situations, but I can promise that you won’t have to say a word to anyone. Plus, we can get you some pants at the thrift store on the way.”

“What about my suit?” he asked. It had cost a lot of money and time designing that suit. He didn’t want to lose it.

She pointed towards the kitchen. “It’s on the counter, but you lost at least a half foot in height and a good deal of weight. Not sure if it’ll still fit. We can handle that later, though, once you’re dressed.”

Harpy thought for a moment. He hated the idea of leaving the relative safety and seclusion of the apartment, but he found that he valued the proposition of food and pants more, if only slightly. Grudgingly, he agreed.

“Fine.”

They left soon after, Harpy now sporting a pair of slightly too big flip-flops with the hoodie zipped up higher, lying across his chest. He stayed close to Miracle Maiden as they passed through the lobby, opting to keep his head down as they passed out onto the main street. She pulled her hood up so it loosely hung from the back of her collected braids. The pockets of the hoodie appeared to be deep enough to comfortably fit her wallet into a zipped pocket.

She led Harpy into a small thrift store named “Thrifty Shades of Gray,” and directed him over to the women’s section. A section that, Harpy noted, seemed definitively larger than the rest of the store. 

“Why this section?” he said.

“Because it’s either these or the kids section; I’d say you’re decidedly petite now.”

Miracle Maiden quickly picked out a pair of heathered black workout sweatpants, with each of the legs collected at an elastic bottom. Harpy sighed deeply; after holding the pants up to Harpy to ensure they’d fit, she handed them to him to try on. The fabric wasn’t terrible, but he was certain it’d feel scratchy and uncomfortable against his skin.

He stepped into a fitting room after she’d given him a grey long-sleeved shirt, a black sports bra (which he scarcely felt he needed, though she was insistent upon) and a pair of red slip-on sneakers in his size. He stared at the figure in the mirror, the girl staring back vacantly.

That’s… me.

He picked at a strand of his blonde hair, tucking it behind his ear. Before, such a move had felt benign. Mundane. But now his eyes classified it differently. Demure. Proper. 

No, it’s not.

Harpy had read about transgender people in the past — they tended to go hand-in-hand with inverses. But he’d never wanted to be a girl. Never stared at women on the street longingly. His normal alter form had been very physically a man his entire adult life, and alter forms didn’t change. Not this much.

“Harpy?” Miracle Maiden’s voice carried softly through the door. “You doing okay?”

Setting his teeth together, Harpy worked to begin pulling the pants on. He smiled, vindicated that, yes, the pants were as scratchy as he expected them to be. After pulling the drawstrings tight, he tied them into a knot to keep the waistline above his hips. He moved to put the shirt on before remembering the bra. An unexpectedly deep grumble passed his lips as he tugged the elastic garment over his head and let it settle beneath his chest. He did have to admit, this felt better. He stepped out, holding the previous shirt in his hands but still sporting the large red hoodie over his shirt, unzipped.

“That looks good!” Miracle Maiden smiled. “How does it feel?”

“Better than flashing my ass to the world.”

“That’s the spirit!” Harpy and Miracle Maiden made their way up to the register and paid for the clothes with the help of a bewildered cashier. After swiping a peculiarly colored card on the card reader, she quickly stuffed it back into her wallet. Before Harpy could say anything, the cashier interrupted.

“Are — are you Miracle Maiden?” she whispered in a low, revered tone.

Miracle Maiden looked suddenly nervous and glanced around to confirm nobody else had heard the young woman.

“Y-yeah,” she weakly replied, a forced smile plastered on her face.

“Would you mind if I got a picture with you?” The girl fished her phone from her pocket, holding it expectantly.

“Ah... sure,” Miracle Maiden quickly breathed. The girl held the phone up but was immediately dissatisfied. Miracle Maiden gently lifted the phone from her hands and raised it for a better angle. Harpy studied her face intently. While initially expecting the same triumphant personality she always projected during their fights, there was something off about her personability.

She’s a fucking nervous wreck. Congrats. Your nemesis is an antisocial shut-in.

Harpy shook his head while Miracle Maiden handed the phone back to the girl.

“Rock on!” she shouted as they left the store. They continued toward where Harpy suspected the Thai restaurant was located. He gave Miracle Maiden an odd look.

“What?” she said.

Harpy shifted his hands inside of the fleece jacket. “You’re not exactly what I expected.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I’m sorry?”

Harpy took a deep breath, his throat already hurting. “Figured back in Vegas… that you were just feelin’ the moment. But this is the real you?”

She opened her mouth, and closed it as they entered the Thai place. “Yeah,” she replied quietly as they stepped up. She looked up at the menu, nodding for a moment before looking down at Harpy. “What do you want?”

“Pad Prik.” Miracle Maiden raised an eyebrow. Resisting the fiery urge to add ‘now’ to his answer, he scowled. “Please.” With a nod, Miracle Maiden turned towards the man at the register and placed their order. Her candor with the man was… off. Like there was a subtle sense of agitation beneath every response she gave.

She really wasn’t a people person. Ironic, considering her status as one of the most accomplished heroes in the world.

They waited at a nearby table while their food was prepared. Harpy had shifted his focus; she again paid with that same card. It was very similar to a bank card, but there was something… off about it. Its coloring was odd and it was slightly thicker, and Harpy couldn’t help but wonder what kinds of funds it was drawing from.

“What’s the card?” he asked, nervously drawing his hood up as a group of girls passed behind him.

“Oh,” Miracle Maiden blinked. “This?” She pulled the card from her wallet and showed it to Harpy. The background resembled an American flag, and her full name, “Savannah Skyler”, was printed on the front. “That’s how I get my license payments. It’s enough to buy lots of food, clothes, toiletries, and a few uh…” She laughed uncomfortably. “Alternative living arrangements.”

Harpy leaned to the side, his closed fist against his cheek. “Who actually funds you?”

She looked thoughtful for a moment before answering. “Usually depends on the specifics, but at this point it’s generally a combination of the federal government if I’m abroad or dealing with something huge, or the state government if it’s something small scale, like more on an individual level. The latter is pretty rare these days, though.”

“Do you get any… say in the amount?”

“Oh, gosh!” She leaned back, her face suddenly scarlet. “I’d never negotiate saving lives! They had to convince me to pay me in the first place!”

Bullshit. What does she take us for, an idiot?

A thin frown began to form along Harpy’s lips. “So… 401k, tax returns…?”

“Well, sure! My lawyer Melissa generally handles all of that, though. She stopped sending me the specifics a few years ago.”

“Savannah Skylar?” the cashier called out. Cutting the conversation short, the two rose from their table and accepted the order. Unfortunately, another group seemed to overhear the cashier as they too rushed up to the duo, phones and glib enthusiasm in hand.

“Sorry, but did he say Savannah Skylar? Are you Miracle Maiden?”

After an additional ten minutes of Miracle Maiden taking selfies and pictures with the girls, the two finally began to embark back towards the apartment. Harpy found himself frustrated. On one hand, a raging, bucking compulsion deep within him screamed not to trust her, not to let a single word of hospitality land. But the other half was too flabbergasted by her apparent ignorance of her financial situation to listen. If he had to hazard a hunch, and he was sure he was more right than wrong, he would bet someone along this line was taking advantage of her. And why wouldn’t they? She was constantly flying around the world, saving people from Paris to New York and back. She had no idea what her rates should be for such a service, so who knew what she was actually being paid versus what she was seeing on that card?

His reverie was short lived; Miracle Maiden was rapidly tapping on his shoulder just as they turned the corner to her apartment.

“Hey, Harpy. I forgot my card at the restaurant. Come with me to get it?”

A groan brushed past his lips. “I’ll wait here. No running away.” She looked unsure, but nodded. As he stood there, watching her jog back towards the restaurant, his eyes drifted lower towards her backside. Tall as she was, her body had no shortage of curves. Feeling his pulse quickening, Harpy shook his head and steeled himself. Vegas was a one-time thing. They couldn’t do it again, or else it’d be something more. As much as he held a distaste for her interruptions in his line of work, he wouldn’t sully her name that way. Professional courtesy, after all.

He turned, fully intending on seizing the newfound opening to make his way back towards the apartment for his gear when several vehicles caught his eye. SUV-types. All black with tinted windows and silver trim lining the wheel wells. Nothing exceptional to the average person, but Harpy recognized the rims on the cars. Distinctive, angular. Not stock. And each one was parked in front of Miracle Maiden’s building.

The Broker Dogs were here. Why were the Broker Dogs here?

Harpy instinctively took a step back. Fifty yards away was fifty yards too close. Especially now.

His shoulder collided with a tall, burly form as he turned back.

“Hey, we gotta —” was all he could wheeze out before locking eyes with a face he wished he could forget.

“Oh, excuse me, miss,” the man said, his eastern European timbre ringing in Harpy’s ears.

What the fuck is Miguel doing here.

What the fuck is Miguel doing here.

Harpy tilted his head downward, keeping his teeth out of sight. “Sorry!” He attempted to hurry past the enormous man.

“Oh, one moment!” Miguel called after him. Harpy froze in place, utter terror replacing any other thought in his mind. Miguel was one of Roman’s enforcers, if not the enforcer. He specialized in getting points across. Harpy’s right shin ached, as if remembering their last interaction. If he was here… if he was here, Harpy was already as good as dead. He’d had one chance, and he’d blown it.

Miguel rose from the cracked sidewalk and glided toward Harpy. Always the effortless amalgamation of fluid grace and deeply restrained but clear as day white-hot acrimony. He handed a card out to Harpy.

“You dropped this, Miss… Skylar.” In his hand he held a debit card, the very same Miracle Maiden had used to pay for Harpy’s clothes and food, and the same Harpy had swiped from the table only minutes ago, fully set on using to purchase a ticket out of town. His eyes skimmed over the debit card as he handed it back to Harpy.

Crap! It must’ve fallen out of my pocket when he bumped me!

He gave Harpy a once-over, clearly confused.

“T-thank you!” Harpy did his best to beam, cursing himself silently. “I was missing this!”

“It is… not a problem. Have a nice day, Miss Skylar,” Miguel nodded, his eyes remaining focused on Harpy for far longer than he felt comfortable with. Harpy nodded and retreated back down the sidewalk, slipping around the corner before bumping again into another figure.

“Harpy!” Miracle Maiden exclaimed, “I thought you ran off.” She stopped talking, her brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

Pointing around the corner, he latched onto her as sweat poured down his forehead. “Bad guys. Around your apartment.” Reading Harpy’s panicked expression, she glanced around the corner, taking care to keep herself low-key.

“Huh. They don’t look so tough.”

“Vegas,” Harpy sputtered. He had to get her to understand, and fast. Miguel clearly knew something was up, and it wouldn’t be long before more of them did, too. His throat was screaming he wasn’t sure how much longer his throat could last. “It’s Vegas.” Her eyes widened.

“You mean — that’s still happening? It seemed like you cleared everything up with them.”

He desperately shook his head. “No. We need to go.”

She took one last glance around the corner. “Okay.” She scooped Harpy off his feet and bounded into the nearby alleyway. “Hold tight.” Vertigo slammed into Harpy like a train as Miracle Maiden bolted into the day’s waning sky, their dinner forgotten about, spilled on the cold alley pavement where they’d dropped it.