Adam Steele awoke in the morning and gingerly got out of bed. He had to do most things gingerly these days. Not bothering to shower even though residual fears of body odor sometimes demanded he did, he dressed and did his best to tidy his hair. Regular combs were useless these days, but he found his hair generally kept itself neat, or at least untangled.

Making his way downstairs, he found that his parents had already left for work. It was just as well; despite having dropped out of school as a result of his accident, Adam had a busy day today. After a quick breakfast of cereal—he still needed to eat, though not quite as often—he texted his teammate, Lucas, for a portal to the STRIX headquarters. He would have preferred to take a bus and not inconvenience his friend, but unfortunately that was no longer possible.

A few moments later he received a text back reading nothing more than k and the laws of space broke before his eyes as a slice of outdoors, giving a nice view of a barbed wire fence and a collection of buildings in the distance, suddenly appeared on the kitchen wall. The edges of these portals were particularly fascinating to Adam. There was no border or seam between the two. It was just a hole in his wall that led miles away. He stepped through and looked back to the even stranger sight of his kitchen appearing in the trunk of a tree. It remained like that for a moment before it collapsed on itself and was just a tree again. Lucas usually preferred to create his portals against walls and flat surfaces. He claimed that they were safe, and that there was no risk of slicing someone in half, but Adam couldn’t help but notice that he seemed to be very cautious when he wasn’t summoning them in immediate sight. 

He was only a few meters from the base’s gates, visible now that he was through the portal. He greeted the guard and began the arduous task of making his way through the various security checkpoints and registration desks to STRIX’s robotics division. STRIX stood for Supernatural Transportation, Regulation, Investigation, and Indexing. It drove Adam crazy that the X stood for “Indexing.” He was of the firm opinion that they should either find a word which started with X or embrace the fact that they were really STRII.

STRIX had been an enormous help after his accident. It had happened several months ago, when he was driving home late from a party. He had gotten into an accident with a transport vehicle of some kind. Supposedly it was carrying some kind of experimental medical tech, but his insurance company, the police, and STRIX all refused to give any more details than that. It wasn’t clear what it was, or who had designed whatever was in that truck, but when he woke up he was nearly a foot taller and made entirely out of an unknown metal.

He had had to give up football, of course, since he was deemed to have an unfair advantage. Later, he had had to give up school entirely when it turned out the school couldn't provide a reasonable accommodation for him when it was discovered that he was causing damage to the building simply by walking around. For a time it seemed that the accident had never ended, that his body was still bouncing along the road, thrown from the crash, and all he could do was wait for the next blow.

But STRIX had been there to help. They had reinforced his parents’ house, allowing him to safely return to his second floor room. They had provided a tutor, letting him finish high school and ensuring he had the option to attend college. They introduced him to others like him, with bodies that required them to constantly be careful or risk hurting someone. They even studied him and helped him learn how to manage his new body, as well as making sure his body wasn’t going to unexpectedly fail.

All they had asked in return was that he become a licensed superhero. For most teenagers, that would be a dream come true, but Adam had never had a particular interest in the subject. He didn’t follow any of the blogs or watch the news reports. He doubted that he could even name all the members of Nova Legion. Super powers in general were neat, he supposed, but there were plenty with such abilities who worked in the medical field, or as artists, or performers, and none of them received the same level of public obsession as superheroes. So it seemed odd to him that superheroes should get so much focus in the media. Still, becoming one was a way to help people, so even if it wasn’t the direction he expected his life to take, he was happy to accept the offer. It was as if the inertia of his body from the crash had carried him into this new role.

He took the name Prometheus. He had originally planned on Theseus, but several friends and family members had told him that no one would pick up on the reference to the Ship of Theseus, and while they also generally agreed that a reference to the subtitle of Frankenstein was just as esoteric, the consensus was that Prometheus was a much cooler-sounding name.

The first time he visited the robotics division, he had hoped to see examples of STRIX’s robotics projects. Half-assembled parts, with cables spilling out lined up on work tables, attended to by lab coat-wearing scientists, scorch-mark covered shooting ranges where mechanical goliaths blasted piles of shipping crates, things along those lines. But if there were places like that here, Adam never got to see them. Everything was restricted and he was always carefully instructed about where he was and wasn’t permitted to go. He only ever saw two rooms in the sprawling building.

The first was the lobby, where the receptionist explained that his doctor was currently delayed and asked him to sit. For the next hour he waited in that soulless white room, with nothing to look at but a plant he was pretty sure was fake. Finally, he was allowed to go to the second room. This one resembled a clinic’s exam room, albeit with a slightly sinister element. There was the usual computer and chair, some other mysterious-looking equipment with strange prodding instruments attached to a machine by a tangle of cables, and a brutal stainless steel exam table which looked like it belonged in a mad scientist’s lab. He sat down on the table and waited for a few minutes more before Cameron Hunt finally entered. She was a scientist of some sort. A roboticist or something. But it was impossible to think of her as anything but a physician.

“Hello, Adam,” she said. “Sorry for the delay. How are you feeling today?”

“Bored, mostly,” he replied. “From all the waiting.”

She gave an amused smile. “Well, I won’t keep you waiting any longer.” She paused to select one of the instruments from the machine and began running it over Adam’s chest and arms, occasionally pausing to glance at a small display on the machine’s trunk. “Have you noted any more changes in your body?”

That was always the first question. “Not since the accident. Still huge and metal.”

“Mmm-hmm. And any change in how well you can control it?”

“What do you mean?”

Dr. Hunt set down the instrument and placed her hand around his wrist, guiding his arm until it was outstretched before him, then guiding it up, down, and in various other directions. “I mean that you seem to have a normal human range of movement most of the time.”

Adam gave her a confused look. “What other kind of movement would I have?”

“As you’ve demonstrated in the past, you can stretch your arms and legs, and even change the shape of your arms and hands.”

“You’re talking about my powers.”

Dr. Hunt gave a chuckle. “When you’ve studied as many superhumans as I have, you learn that the distinction between ‘using your powers’ and ‘moving your body’ is blurry at best.”

It made sense, he realized. He no longer had bones, so there was no reason his elbow should act like a hinge joint or his shoulder like a ball-and-socket joint. He always actively thought about it when he stretched his arms, but there was no reason it should be any less natural and automatic. “I guess I never thought of it that way.”

“And it’s only your arms and legs you can shapeshift?” Dr. Hunt continued. She had released his arm and picked up the instrument again, running it over his legs. “Not your neck? Your chest? Your head?”

“Well, if I shapeshifted my head, couldn’t it mess up my brain?”

Dr. Hunt paused to give him an incredulous look. “Adam, you don’t have a brain anymore.”

Adam stared at Dr. Hunt as he tried to understand what she was saying.

Dr. Hunt continued to stare back, looking right into his eyes. “You were told, right? That the nanites replaced every cell in your body?

“Yeah.” Of course that meant brain cells, too, but didn’t that just mean that they were made of metal now?

“To put it simply, your mind is spread across that network of nanites. It’s not centralized within your head.”

There was no real reason that this should bother him, Adam realized. It didn’t change anything. He still experienced the world the way he always had. He had long come to terms with the philosophical question of whether or not he was the same person he had been before the accident. But regardless, he felt a sinking feeling in his stomach at this news. Wait, his stomach?

“But I still have some internal organs, don’t I?” he asked. “I mean, I eat.”

Dr. Hunt selected another tool, which resembled an ophthalmoscope—Adam was proud of himself for knowing the name for that tool doctors shined in peoples’ eyes—and pointed it at one of Adam’s eyes. “It’s true that the nanites show some degree of specialization. But I suspect that they’re programmed to do so primarily so as not to overwhelm you with unfamiliar experiences. You’re used to seeing through eyes and consuming food through a mouth, so the nanites recreated those specialized cells in the appropriate areas. But you don’t experience your brain itself in the same way.”

“But they made me taller and stronger and metal. I’m not used to that.”

Dr. Hunt continued to his other eye. “They made improvements. Most likely what they were designed to do. These eyes fascinated me every time I examine them. Clearly that same unknown metal, yet they look so delicate. And there is no lens. They must not operate like organic eyes at all.”

Adam frowned, troubled to learn that another part of himself didn’t work as he imagined. “Speaking of, do you know anything more about who designed them?”

Dr. Hunt lowered her tool and shook her head. “I’m afraid not. Most likely someone in STRIX knows, but that information is classified, and working through the red tape is proving difficult.”

An unsatisfyingly vague response, as usual. Was she even looking for answers?

“However, we may be able to learn some more if I could examine a sample.”

“A sample of…me? But if I’m all brain…”

“It’s unlikely to cause you any damage. These nanites are designed to improve you, not create weaknesses.”

How could she be sure? Not for the first time, Adam wondered whether Dr. Hunt knew more than she claimed. But he would only get answers if he played along.

“Okay, fine.”

She fed one of his hairs into a test tube, then used a small electric saw to cut it. As he watched her place a stopper in the tube, he realized that this was the first time he’d seen any part of his body separated from the rest since the accident.

The conversation drifted to more mundane matters until Dr. Hunt concluded her exam.

As she wrote down some final notes, she spoke up once more. “By the way, the director of the department would like to speak with you. I’ll escort you to her office.”

That was unexpected. He’d spoken to a number of scientists, the trio of representatives who had convinced him to register, countless guards, a few other superheroes, even the occasional authority with a title like ”lieutenant” or “captain,” but never a department head.

Dr. Hunt led him deeper into the building, through another checkpoint, and up an elevator to the third floor. Here, the stark, sterile environment was replaced with warm colors and a carpeted office. Dr. Hunt exchanged some words with a receptionist, then ushered Adam into another office.

This one was similar to the previous, but with a large desk which screamed “important” and a wide window looking across the facility. It wasn’t an impressive view, all enclosed hangars and nondescript buildings, but it was a view. Decorations were sparse, but mostly took the form of a collection of medieval weapons hanging on the walls. Adam took particular note of a silver tiara sitting on a bookshelf. An unusual decoration. There was a framed photo next to it of three women standing in front of a stone building.

The room’s occupant looked at first like an ordinary woman with some strange facial jewelry, but Adam quickly realized that what looked at first like jewelry was some kind of cybernetic enhancement, a rough piece of metal which extended from the side of her forehead to her temple and even to her eye, connected to each with delicate spider legs of metal. Her skin, too, he shortly realized, was synthetic. It was unnaturally smooth and seemed stiff like a mannequin’s until she spoke and revealed that it was as fluid as flesh.

“Adam Steele. Thank you for coming. Please, have a seat.”

Chairs were a risky venture, so he usually preferred to stand, but he could see that the ones in this office had been reinforced. It seemed he wasn’t her only heavy visitor. Still, he felt some relief when he sat and found the chair didn’t shift beneath him. 

“Uh…yeah. Glad I could…” He wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence.

The director smiled. “My name is Miriam Korris. I’ve been reading Dr. Hunt’s reports about you. And following your exploits in the news. You’ve impressed me.”

Adam felt a flash of embarrassment. A pair of recent incidents—one where he’d protected the mayor from an assassin with a rocket launcher and one where he’d prevented a giant robot from destroying a public library—had greatly elevated him in the eyes of the media, and the interview requests and news reports were beginning to make him uncomfortable, especially when so few mentioned his teammates.

“It’s nothing really that impressive,” he replied. “I mean, it wouldn’t be hard for anyone if they were like this.”

The director gave him an appraising look. “Perhaps. But I think there’s more to you than what the nanites gave you. You have courage, and the drive to make a better world. Maybe it hasn’t been tested yet, but I think it’s there. And, besides, if throwing yourself in front of a rocket launcher isn’t a test of courage, it could be that nothing I’d require from you would be, either.”

Adam blinked. “Miss? Er, Captain...doctor...I don’t know what I’m supposed to call you.”

“Director Korris will do. Or just Director, if you prefer.”

“Right. Director. What was that about requiring things from me?”

The director leaned forward, clasping her hands together. Adam thought he heard the whistle of servos. “Ah, yes, I’ve gotten ahead of myself. I would like to offer you a position among my ranks.”

Adam was beginning to feel as if he’d lost the thread of this conversation. “You have ranks?”

Director Korris gave him another smile. “STRIX is a military organization, after all. My division is more than just a research lab. In addition to scientists like Dr. Hunt, we contribute to STRIX’s fighting forces.”

That explanation did little to clear things up. “But I’m already with STRIX, aren’t I? I mean, I’m registered with you.”

Understanding blossomed on the director’s face. “Ah, I see where your confusion is. Yes, STRIX cooperates with licensed superheroes and teams such as Nova Legion, Heaven, and your own team, the Outcasts. However, STRIX also directly employs a number of superhumans. By working for me, you’d be directly under my command where I can deploy you wherever you’re most needed. Instead of wandering around, waiting for crime to appear before you.”

“Well, we do more than just patrol—” Adam cut himself off as the director held up a finger.

“Of course. I don’t mean to diminish the work that you or other superheroes do. But...how much do you know about the history of superhumans?”

Adam shrugged. “Not much. I never paid attention to that stuff before, and when I became a hero I figured current stuff was the most important, so I sort of just tried to memorize STRIX’s most wanted files.”

“A reasonable choice,” the director conceded. “Superhumans have always existed. However, historically they were small in number. Mostly secretive orders of magic-users and the occasional metahuman mutation. In the last century, however, changing technology has caused their numbers to explode. Experiments, lab accidents, newly-discovered chemicals and forms of energy have more than doubled the superhuman population. And then you have magic-users making themselves more public, aliens developing interest in our rapidly-changing planet and…” the director sighed. “Groups like Nova Legion have done well to keep the world from descending into chaos or being destroyed outright, but the situation simply isn’t sustainable. My goal is to find a way to make it sustainable. To prevent things like Timekeeper, or the Eye Between the Cracks, or Dr. Tlön from ever threatening the world. Because if someone doesn’t, then, eventually, one of them is going to succeed.”

Was the world really under threat that often? Adam supposed he always heard about superheroes “saving the world,” but he’d always imagined that was an exaggeration. Humanity had existed a long time without superhumans destroying it, but the last century was only a fraction of that time. If things had really changed that much, then maybe the world could go at any time.

But wasn’t thinking like that dangerous in and of itself? Maybe the world was in crisis, but even if he joined Director Korris, would he really be helping to make it, as she put it, “sustainable”? And with such a broad crisis and such a vague goal, how could either of them ever be sure even if they found success? To accept her words now meant dedicating his entire life to a goal he might not even be capable of helping her achieve. Of course, it would be foolish to ignore such a dire warning, but it was better to research the issue on his own and find a way he could be sure he could help before committing himself to any action.

“I can’t just up and leave my team like that,” he said. “They’re my friends. And I’m doing good work with them.”

The director nodded. “I thought you might say that. But you’re likely to find more offers like mine at your doorstep soon. I’m sure you’ve got the attention of more than just me. If you should decide to part with your team, I hope you’ll consider the scope of what you would be able to achieve with me.”

With me. Adam noted. Not with STRIX. He wasn’t sure whether that was good or bad.

“Yeah, of course. And, for what it’s worth, I hope you succeed at...whatever you need to do to make the world safe.”

They bid each other goodbye and he made his way back to the elevator and out of the building. As soon as he was outside, he checked his phone. He was running late for a visit with his friend, Kara. And he’d missed a text from Lucas.

Meetup later. Breakthrough on the search for Ifrit.

 

---

 

That evening, Shudder and Quetzal met up as planned. They were out of costume, of course, though Shudder kept her backpack on-hand and the various pieces of Quetzal’s armor decorated the back of her beat up van, occasionally clanking together as the self-made engineer drove them to the meeting point.

The pair was surprised to discover that it was in one of Fairfield’s nicer parks and not far from either roads or walking paths. If the Yamosians were trying to keep a low profile, then why not choose a less public location?

The answer came quickly when three figures appeared from the trees nearby. There was no doubt that they were the Yamosians. They were human-shaped, but their blue, rubbery-looking skin instantly marked them. For a moment Shudder thought they had dreadlocks, but she quickly realized that their heads were covered in masses of thin tentacles in place of hair. They looked young, and two appeared to be men and the third a woman, but Shudder knew she couldn’t trust her assumptions about either of those facts. They wore simple black clothes, which could pass for ordinary Earthly material, and each had a rectangular device on their belt. Shudder was a little disappointed that she didn’t get to see their ship, but that disappointment did little to temper her excitement.

The female-looking one gave them a friendly wave. “Hey, are you the welcoming committee?”

As she got closer, Shudder was struck by her mischievous eyes, warm smile, and muscular arms. She was gorgeous.

“That’s us,” Quetzal replied. “I take it you’re the Yamosians?”

“That’s us,” the Yamosian repeated. “I’m Theras Dorne.”

She didn’t introduce the other two. Were Shudder and Quetzal expected to ask their names? Or were they underlings and it was customary not to introduce them?

Quetzal seemed to be much more at ease than Shudder felt. “I’m Quetzal, and this is Shudder. Guess we’re supposed to show you around?”

“Guess so,” Theras replied.

The group fell into an uncomfortable silence.

Quetzal rubbed her neck. “Not really sure what we’re supposed to show you.”

“We should probably tell them about the crosswalks,” Shudder suggested.

“You’re really hung up on those,” Quetzal said with a chuckle. “They’ll figure them out. How about this, what kind of place would you like us to show you?”

Theras considered the question for a moment. “Since I suppose your employers have asked us not to hunt our quarry just yet, why don’t you take us somewhere fun?”

“Fun, huh?” Quetzal asked. “What do you think, Shudder?”

“I don’t go out a lot for fun,” Shudder admitted. “There’s only one place I can think of.”

Quetzal grinned. “I was thinking the same thing. Serpent’s Lair, it is. Wait, can you three drink alcohol?”

“Alcohol’s good,” Theras replied. “But we’ll test whatever we drink just in case any of the ingredients is dangerous.”

“There’ll be other people around, too,” Shudder noted. “Do you need disguises so word doesn’t get around about you?”

Theras shook her head. “We’re just a group of Yamosian visitors. There’s nothing suspicious about that. Even if our target finds out, they won’t think we’re here for them.”

The group piled into Quetzal’s van, the Yamosians pausing to examine the pieces of her armor, and set off on the twenty minute journey downtown. Serpent’s Lair was hidden in an alleyway, through an unmarked door in a building which was surrounded on all sides, making it completely invisible from the street. It was impressive how well it was hidden in the crowded downtown, but its location was widely known within the costumed criminal world. It was the most widely accepted neutral ground in Fairfield. Everyone knew not to start violence at Serpent’s Lair, even if one encountered a hated enemy. Shudder had even run into Whisper here in the past, and the two had exchanged nothing more than tense nods.

It was a huge, two-story club complete with a dance floor. Its dim lights obscured most of its features, except for the bar where its mysterious proprietor, Euryale, could almost always be found, illuminated by the only bright lights in the club. Rumors claimed that they were one of the Gorgons of ancient mythology. They certainly had the snakes for hair, but anyone could look at their face without turning into stone.

There was a bit of a shuffle ordering drinks. The Yamosians were completely uninterested in Shudder’s Shirley Temple and scoffed at the low alcohol content in Quetzal’s beer. Eventually Euryale suggested whiskey and, after testing it with a device which resembled a meat thermometer, they seemed satisfied with the choice. Once their drinks were in hand, the group made their way to the second floor, a lounge full of plush couches and chairs, away from the loud dance music of the lower level. Here, they were fortunate enough to find a group of empty seats despite the rapidly-growing evening crowd.

Quetzal took a sip, then glanced at the Yamosians over the rim of her glass. “So I have to ask. Who are you hunting?” she asked as she lowered her beer.

Shudder looked at the Yamosians with anticipation, excited to hear their story.

Theras was leaning back in her chair, legs crossed and an arm draped over the back. “We were hired by the Tok’zar Empire. For the last several years they’ve been at war with the Nanzaran Empire, see, but the two are working on a peace treaty. The thing is, part of the treaty was that a prince of Nanzara would marry a prince of Tok’zar. I guess that’s normal for monarchies? Who knows. But right before the wedding the Nanzaran prince disappears and now everyone’s in a scramble to get them back because the Nanzarans want to save face and the Tok’zar want the leverage that recovering the prince will give them in negotiations.”

Shudder tried to follow the story, but found herself confused by the political intricacies of these planets she’d never heard of. Why should it matter who recovered the prince? “So royal drama, basically.”

Theras nodded. “Tok’zar spies learned that the Nanzarans had tracked their prince to Earth. Specifically this city. Not a bad move on the prince’s part, since if either empire sets foot here, it’ll throw the whole cease fire into question. Because of the metahuman thing, you know. So Tok’zar hired us.”

Quetzal raised a hand. “Question. What do you mean ‘metahuman thing?’”

Theras gave her a confused look. “You don’t know about this? I don’t really know the science, but human DNA has some strange quality that causes you to occasionally develop unpredictable abilities.”

“Metahuman mutation,” Shudder said. “We know about that, of course, but what does that have to do with the treaty?”

“It makes you dangerous, at least in the eyes of governments. No one knows what a human might be capable of because your abilities vary so broadly. You might be completely harmless or you might be a walking mass extinction event. So interstellar law limits the ways in which other species interact with Earth. We’re not to give you access to advanced technology, especially interstellar travel, we’re not to take any humans into space, and we’re not to visit at all if we can avoid it. Makes Earth a tempting retreat for criminals and runaways. An army of Tok’zar showing up would allow Nanzara to claim that they were recruiting humans as weapons, which would turn a dozen neutral alliances against them.”

“So they hired you,” Shudder concluded.

“But I don’t understand the fuss over mutation,” Quetzal said. “They’re rare. And powerful ones are even rarer.”

“I’m not even sure how many I could name,” Shudder added. “There’s Grem, Stray. Probably a couple of members of Nova Legion, too. Like Hypersonic.”

Quetzal shook her head. “Nah, he’s a legacy, remember? Must have gotten his powers in some other way. But don’t forget you.”

“Actually, Doc tested my DNA back when I was working for her. I don’t have any of the genes associated with metahuman mutation. So I must have gotten my power in some other way. Probably a quirk of how my brain developed combined with early experiences or something.”

“Well, that’s the problem, right there,” Theras said. “Even if you aren’t predisposed to developing powers naturally, you might develop them in some other way. Humans get exposed to a combination of chemicals or the wrong kind of radiation or a burst of magic, and instead of getting killed like most people would, you develop superpowers.”

“Huh, so you see a connection between people who mutate on their own and those who become superhumans in other ways?” Quetzal asked.

Not only that, but it seemed they saw ties between any method of gaining superpowers, Shudder noted. Regardless of the source it was a uniquely or nearly-uniquely human experience.

“Anyway, what are your powers?” Theras asked. She seemed to be directing her question at Quetzal.

“Shudder here is a psychic,” Quetzal explained. “Don’t worry, though. She stays out of people’s heads when she isn’t fighting them. But I don’t have any powers.”

Theras exchanged a confused look with her lieutenants. “Perhaps I misunderstood what Arachne told us. I thought that superpowered criminals had a separate culture from ordinary criminals.”

Shudder shook her head. “It’s a little more complicated than that. Most criminals aren’t supervillains. If we’re talking a one-off holdup for some quick cash or a murder committed in a moment of passion then there’s no reason to wear a costume.”

“There’s also gangs,” Quetzal added. “They’re just usually people in need of support and protection. And joining a gang is usually safer than becoming a supervillain’s minion.”

“Right,” Shudder agreed. “And minions exist, too, but they usually think of themselves as being in a temporary arrangement. They wouldn’t describe themselves as ‘career criminals’ even if it’s technically accurate sometimes. But sometimes you get a person whose dad is in serious debt to Arachne or whose sister needs money for cancer treatment.”

“Or who's pissed off at the world.”

“Or who’s pissed off at the world and knows that crime is going to be part of their life for the foreseeable future. And maybe this person also has a small superpower or a talent for engineering or they’re just really good at some sport. That’s when they might put on a costume and come up with a codename. That sends a signal to the world. It gets you the support of the supervillain community and helps you find jobs. And it even gets the cops off your back because now it’s the responsibility of the significantly less murder-prone superhero community to stop you.”

“It’s a tough needle to thread, though. You need to make yourself too big for the cops to handle, but stay small enough to avoid the notice of the major superhero teams. That was my mistake at first. Blew up too many cop cars and ended up with both Nova Legion and STRIX on my back.”

Shudder had heard this story before. Desperate to stay hidden, Quetzal had gone to Arachne for help. Arachne had promised that they could help her stay hidden from Nova Legion while ensuring her family didn’t find out about her crimes. Quetzal had agreed and, somehow, Arachne had come through. Nova Legion was soon distracted by an even larger crisis and Quetzal was quickly forgotten.

“But you still fight superhumans?” Theras asked, incredulous. “Just using that clunky equipment from the van?”

“Clunky’s a little much, but yeah. Shudder’s just as impressive, though. She’s out there with an intimidating visage and a baton.”

“You fight superhumans...with a stick?” Theras asked.

“Technically, I guess. Mostly I end up running away with whatever I’ve stolen,” Shudder admitted.

“Anyway, I’ve gotten us distracted. Tell us more about this prince,” Quetzal said.

“There’s not much more to tell,” Theras said. “They’re not going to be easy to find. They’re a shapeshifter, so they could look like anything. In their natural form, Nanzarans have blue skin, but lighter than ours, three eyes, and a pair of antennae. But it’s not like they’ll be walking around like that.”

Shudder and Quetzal looked at each other, both thinking the same thing.

“What’s this prince’s name?” Shudder asked.

“Sila Filvus.”

Shudder and Quetzal both began laughing.

“You’re kidding, right?” Quetzal asked. “Sila Filvus isn’t disguising themself or even using a fake name. They’re a publicly known superhero.”

The three Yamosians suddenly sat up straight, staring at Quetzal.

“They’re a member of a team called the Outcasts,” Shudder added.

The Yamosians exchanged some words in their language before Theras addressed their hosts again with a grin on her face. “They must be pretty foolish if they aren’t even bothering to hide. That or they vastly overestimated their ability to cover their tracks. But we might be trading one problem for another if they’re protected by superhumans. This could even be a trap. Can you tell us about this team?”

Shudder mentally sorted through what she knew about the team’s members. “Their leader is Lucas Delacroix. Kind of unusual in that he doesn’t use a codename or costume. I don’t really know much about his personality, but his power is magic. I’ve only ever seen him make portals with it, though.”

“But he’s smart with them,” Quetzal added. “He’ll turn your attacks against you.”

“There’s Synapse. She’s kind of the opposite of Lucas. Full mask and secret identity. She’s supposedly psionic, but her powers look magic to me.”

Quetzal nodded. “You’d be more of an authority there than me. She usually just makes glowing purple baseball bats, so maybe she’s uncreative or maybe she’s holding herself back.”

“Then there’s Stray,” Shudder continued. “I’ve met him a couple of times. He used to be one of us until recently.”

“Not really a supervillain,” Quetzal objected. “He lives up in Old Town and he’s all about protecting his neighborhood. He’ll fight anyone who causes trouble there, hero or villain.”

“Yeah, but he had that whole thing with those property developers. Not sure how he managed to get licensed as a hero after that. STRIX must see something valuable in him.”

“And they must have offered him something big to get him to sign up. He’s a good guy, though. He won’t have you arrested. Worst he’ll do is give you a thrashing and send you on your way.”

“What are his powers?” Theras prompted, trying to get the conversation back on track.

“I’m...not sure,” Quetzal admitted.

“Well, he has those ears, so I guess something cat related?” Shudder suggested. “Agility?”

“Hairballs, maybe?”

“Chasing a mouse around the room and then running into a wall?”

The pair shared a giggle.

“Anyway, then there’s Sila, of course,” Shudder continued.

“Nanzaran shapeshifting and Filvus’ royal plasma, I assume,” Theras said.

Shudder nodded. “And finally Prometheus. He’s the one I’d least want to fight.”

“Easily,” Quetzal agreed. “The rising star of the Outcasts. Everyone says he’s meant for big things.”

“He’s made out of metal and has some sort of stretching ability,” Shudder explained. “Lucas or Sila could take you down faster, or more unexpectedly, but Prometheus is the only one most of us small fry have basically no chance of beating.”

Theras seemed satisfied with these descriptions. “Do you know where they can be found?”

Technically, finding Lucas or Prometheus would be easy, since both had publicly known identities, but Shudder shook her head. “Not easily.”

“Actually, I might have a way,” Quetzal said, taking out her phone.

Shudder frowned. She wasn’t thinking of looking up one of their addresses, was she? Targeting an out-of-costume superhero was a very good way to bring down the wrath of STRIX. Instead, however, when Quetzal held up her phone it appeared to be on a social media page.

Staking out a stolen goods trade at the trainyard read the post. Accompanying it was a picture of Stray and Lucas. Lucas was covering his face and Stray appeared to be attempting to wrest Lucas’ hands away to reveal it.

“Synapse is notoriously online,” Quetzal said.

“Strange choice for a masker,” Shudder replied.

Quetzal shrugged. “She seems to take some effort to hide her identity at least. Images are only ever on the job. Never any consistent location or any place that looks like it might be her house.”

“The prince is at this trainyard?” Theras asked.

“Looks like it,” Quetzal replied. “They’re a close-knit group. Rarely work without the full team.”

Theras grinned and set down her empty glass. “Then want to help us capture them?”

“You don’t want to wait for backup? Or Arachne’s support?” Quetzal asked.

“A second ago you were talking about how dangerous superhumans are supposed to be,” Shudder added.

“It’s five on five. Besides, if you two can fight them with sticks and clubs…” Theras unhooked the rectangular device from her pants and held it up for Shudder and Quetzal to see. “...Then I’m sure these will give us more than enough advantage.”

Quetzal gave her a doubtful look. “That’s not going to kill anyone, is it?”

“Oh no, this is strictly a stunner. Can’t risk hurting the darling prince, can we?”

“Alright, I’m in. Been a while since I last brawled.”

“I’ll come, too,” Shudder said. “Why do you call them prince, by the way? If they’re nonbinary, I mean.”

Theras considered this for a moment. “Most standard interstellar ships come with language developing programs which are downloaded into our brains through implants. But the information is sometimes incomplete. Or lacking in context. Nanzarans are, indeed, nonbinary, but the program claims that masculine titles are generally considered more gender neutral.”

Shudder frowned.

“That’s sort of true,” Quetzal explained. “But you should probably ask Sila what they prefer. After you, you know, kidnap them.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Theras replied. “Wouldn’t want to be rude. Shall we go, then?”

Shudder drank the last of her Shirley Temple and stood to follow the others. She felt excited. Giddy, even. Was it Quetzal’s cheeriness rubbing off on her or the delight of learning about aliens? Or was it her rapidly-growing crush on Theras Dorne? Either way, she was happier than she had been in a long time. She had even made a joke!