Virgil gazed steadily at Fii's scowling face. Her brows were furrowed, and her eyes were narrowed—signs of defiance. Typical. She lacked a killer's instincts, refusing to cross that boundary. Which was fine—he had a solution.

"Before you say anything, I've been in your shoes," Virgil asserted. "Trust me when I say this: Killing a person changes you."

Fii averted her eyes. Quinn shifted awkwardly in the corner. Virgil ignored him.

"Those Adrenomancers aren't ordinary criminals—they're Salvatore's elite enforcers. You're lucky they didn't use hostages or civilians as shields," Virgil lectured, crossing his arms. "Next time, they won't hold back. Surviving will be the least of your problems."

Fii stubbornly kept her gaze averted. Virgil inwardly sighed. Teenagers. He'd have to drill his words in harder.

"Listen, kid. You're a Metahuman—whether you accept it or not. If you want to protect the slums, you're gonna have to evolve." Virgil softened his tone. "Don't deny yourself a weapon—it'll cost lives. Innocent lives."

Fii remained silent, staring sullenly at the bedsheets. Virgil had expected this—he pressed on. "Killing may stain your soul, but the consequences of inaction will haunt you forever."

Silence.

Virgil glanced at Quinn, who wore a conflicted expression. Looked like the boy understood the stakes.

"Think on it." Virgil made for the exit. "Rest. You'll have a bigger problem on your hands." He gestured at the window. "Soon."

---

Quinn watched Virgil stride out of the examination room. The vigilante was intimidating—his presence dominated the space, and his intensity was palpable. Quinn didn't envy Fii. Getting lectured by Backfire must have been daunting.

He focused his attention onto Fii, whose scowl had transformed into a crestfallen expression. Yikes. Virgil sure had a way with words.

"Hey." Quinn approached gently. "Need anything? Water? Synthie?"

Fii shook her head and stared blankly ahead. Quinn sat down gingerly beside her.

"Just...leave me alone."

Ouch. Guess Quinn was unwanted company. He stood up quietly and headed for the door.

"Sorry," Fii mumbled.

Quinn paused.

"Don't be." He flashed her a reassuring smile. "I'm not mad. Get some rest, okay? Don't sweat Virgil's lectures. He means well."

"Do you think I should have killed them?"

Quinn froze. Um...this was a tricky topic. He didn't want to offend her—especially in her vulnerable state. On the other hand, honesty was the best policy.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Fii. But...I think Virgil was right," Quinn stated carefully. "If you asked anyone else what they would have done in your shoes, most would have answered killing. Hell—even I would."

Fii's expression crumpled. Uh-oh. Was he supposed to mention himself? Quinn continued hesitantly. "Look. What I'm trying to say is—you're different. There's only a handful of people in the slums who'd choose not to kill. Most would stab an Adrenomancer in the neck first and ask questions later."

Fii buried her face into the pillow. Quinn winced. Oh shit. Was she crying? He didn't mean to hurt her feelings. Maybe he should've shut up. Quinn wrung his hands helplessly—what was he supposed to do?

"You okay?" Quinn probed cautiously. Fii didn't respond. He inched closer, hovering uncertainly near the edge of the bed. "Do...do you need a hug?"

Fii peeked out from under the pillow. Quinn tensed—was she angry? Sad? Both? She didn't give any visual cues.

"You...think I'm different?" Fii asked tentatively.

"Yeah. You're a nice person. Helping people is a value—not a weakness. At least, that's what Rao said. I'm sure you've met other people like you." Quinn offered hopefully.

"Most people...would've stolen from Rao," Fii murmured. "Instead, I delivered messages and ran errands. And he actually pays me a wage."

"See? Different." Quinn encouraged. Fii peered out fully—thank goodness. Progress. He smiled encouragingly. "Not a bad trait to have, either. Nice people are rare in the slums."

"You're nice. You fix things and help people too. But you said you would have killed the Adrenomancers."

Quinn rubbed the back of his neck and laughed weakly. Oops. Didn't mean to expose his hypocrisy. "Uh...to be fair—they attacked the Rust Market. Even gangs know better than to do that."

Fii frowned.

Uh-oh. Wrong argument. Quinn scrambled. "Look. I'm not saying killing is right—just...well...sometimes the slums demands tough choices. Life-and-death stuff. I know you know that. Virgil's right about the consequences. You saw what happened today. That's bound to happen again."

Fii didn't respond. Quinn forged ahead. "I get Virgil's lecture. Honestly. He has a point—Salvatore's Adrenomancers will come back. You won't always win unscathed." Quinn gestured to Fii's numerous visible bandages. "Clearly."

Fii winced.

Quinn's stomach churned—he hated pressuring her. The topic was a sensitive subject—best to offer advice and leave. He concluded his piece. "Like Virgil said—rest. Think about it, okay? You'll figure out what's right. If you ever need an ear, I'm always around. Or Kenzo. Or Edith." Quinn hesitated. "...or Virgil, I suppose."

"Okay." Fii burrowed deeper into her sheets. Message received.

"Okay." Quinn turned to leave. He stepped over the threshold, preparing to descend the staircase and leave Fii in peace.

"Quinn?"

Quinn halted. Fii spoke. Turnaround was a success. "Yes?" he prodded gently.

"Thanks."

Quinn cracked a relieved smile. "Anytime. Feel better soon." He exited the examination room and ventured downstairs. Mission accomplished. Fii would bounce back—she always did.

---

Fii buried herself deeper underneath the covers, pondering Virgil's lecture. His warning weighed heavily—next time, the Adrenomancers wouldn't go easy.

Hostages. Civilians. Collateral damage. Virgil had spelled everything out. Fii understood. The slums demanded tough choices—but could she bring herself to kill someone? Sure—she could defend herself. Beat up a few punks until they know better. She could justify all that.

Kill? That was different. Completely different.

Quinn said he'd kill the Adrenomancers—hell, practically everyone would. Virgil certainly wouldn't hesitate. Edith probably wouldn't blink twice either. Everyone advised Fii to follow their example. Kill and move on.

Would Kenzo advocate the same?

She doubted. Kenzo would sing about the importance of art and culture—not violence. He even used a sword that didn't cut—the perfect weapon for pacifism. Music, poetry, dance—these were Kenzo's style. Not murder.

Fii's thoughts drifted towards the Rust Market.

What if those Adrenomancers happened to attack closer to Rao's store? What if Rao had been caught in the crossfire?

She shuddered at the thought. Even imagining it left an uncomfortable twist in her gut.

No. She'd hate herself if Rao got hurt—or worse. And if he died...?

Her fists tightened. She didn't like the emotions brewing—dark and bitter. If Rao died because she couldn't—or wouldn't—kill, then...

Fii's train of thought petered out. She exhaled—her emotional rollercoaster exhausted her even further. Best to rest and recover her strength. Whatever Virgil warned about—she'd tackle them eventually. Fii's eyes slowly closed as fatigue sapped her awareness. Right now—sleep. Then fight. Later.

---

Edith had a headache. Between the recent influx of patients from the Rust Market attack and Fii's Adrenomancer encounter—everything was stressful. At least Fii hadn't sustained any life-threatening injuries. Virgil's report didn't ease Edith's concerns. The Adrenomancers would return—soon. Salvatore would not take their failures lightly.

She massaged her temples and strode over towards her medicine cabinet. Edith retrieved a packet of generic painkillers and dry-swallowed a tablet.

Ah. Sweet relief.

Edith sipped her bottle of water and slumped into her chair. She idly rotated her office swivel—too drained to accomplish actual work. She'd let Sheri handle patient visits for now—Edith desperately craved a respite.

A knock on the door interrupted Edith's impromptu chair-spinning session. Seriously? Privacy. Edith could not catch a damn break. "Come in," she barked irritably.

Quinn poked his head timidly through the doorway. Edith restrained a groan—she wasn't in the mood to entertain visitors. Hopefully Quinn had a valid reason—otherwise, Edith would boot him out instantly. No mercy. Not today.

"Hi," Quinn greeted. He entered fully and leaned his lanky frame sheepishly against the doorframe. "Um. How are you?"

Edith stifled her sharp retort. Quinn was a genuinely nice kid. Annoyingly quirky, but nice. No reason to chase him out—yet. Edith tempered her annoyance. Quinn was a visitor. She was obligated to be civil.

"I've...been better," Edith responded drily. "What is it?"

"I wanted to talk about Fii," Quinn blurted.

Of course. Edith should've predicted this. From what she's gathered, Quinn acted as the girl's emotional support puppy—following her around like an affectionate stray. Annoying—but oddly endearing. Edith grudgingly respected the guy.

"I'll check up on her soon. For now, she just needs to rest. Physically and emotionally," Edith reassured. Quinn's apprehension persisted. Hm. Either he suspected something else or... "Why the long face?"

Quinn's shoulders drooped. "Virgil talked to her. Said something about killing and consequences. I talked to her afterwards—she...didn't take it well."

"Figures." Edith sighed.

Virgil possessed no bedside manners. His methods were effective—but brutal. Empathy was a foreign concept. The man operated based purely on results and outcomes. Efficiency—nothing less and nothing more.

Edith sympathized—Virgil's teachings stemmed from personal experience. Fii benefited significantly from Virgil's rigorous guidance—that couldn't be denied. Still—his blunt mannerisms could prove detrimental to Fii's morale. Edith made a mental note to speak with the vigilante later—clearly, the message had caused Fii distress. Quinn's arrival merely reinforced her suspicions.

"Look," Edith consoled. "Sooner or later, Fii will have to confront her decision. There are no jails or prisons out here, right? No authorities except for the ones carrying the only good guns—and Metahuman cohorts. She's going to learn—one way or another."

Quinn deflated. Clearly, the advice wasn't satisfactory. Edith inwardly sighed. Why her? She was a geneticist—not a counselor. Perhaps Quinn was expecting an optimistic speech. Something motivational. Edith's specialty didn't entail sugar-coated half-truths.

"But...shouldn't she figure things out without the pressure?" Quinn argued. "Virgil's putting her under a lot of stress. I get his points, but...maybe a gentler approach would be better."

"You'd rather Fii learns the hard way instead? Would you rather get killed because she held back, and then cause her to freak out and snap?" Edith challenged.

Quinn's mouth promptly clamped shut.

"I...guess not. Sorry. Didn't think of it that way," he conceded. "Look. I get it. I'm with Virgil on this. Fii needs to change—she has to. But...can't Virgil slow down a bit? Be a little more supportive?"

"Have you considered that Virgil's being a dick for a good reason?"

"Huh?" Quinn blinked owlishly. Edith resisted the temptation to roll her eyes.

"Look. Virgil trained Fii—right? Why does he bother sticking around, mentoring a stranger, spending his precious time teaching her?" Edith rhetorically questioned.

Quinn didn't provide an answer—smart kid. He had a brain. Unlike Fii. The girl was a poster child of optimism. Believing in a greater good—naive, but not entirely unfounded. Optimism was ideal—but unrealistic. Edith preferred realists. People like Virgil—hardened cynics who dealt with harsh realities.

Edith internally scoffed—how could Fii and Quinn expect her to offer warm, fuzzy advice? She honestly tried her best—really—but offering encouragement and sympathy was a moot effort. She was an outcast—scorned by society and ostracized due to her controversial studies. She could scarcely tolerate humanity—let alone act sympathetic.

Yet here she was, playing the part of a doctor. Ironic.

"Virgil doesn't mentor Fii out of the kindness of his heart. He does it because he acknowledges her potential," Edith exposited. "And unfortunately—potential doesn't guarantee success. Potential isn't enough. Virgil wants her ready. And for that, he expects her to adapt." Edith scrutinized Quinn's facial expressions. "Does that explain his actions?"

Quinn processed the provided reasoning. Eventually, his shoulders relaxed. Edith permitted herself an invisible smirk.

"Thanks. Now—anything else? I'm busy," Edith lied. Quinn's visit drained her remaining patience—she was in no mood for small talk. Hopefully he'd take the social cue and scram.

"Nope. That's all," Quinn assured. "I'll go now. Thanks for the explanation."

"Sure," Edith acknowledged. Quinn nodded and departed. Good—finally.

Edith resumed her therapeutic spinning. Relief. Mental clarity. Calm. Chair. Swivel. Chair. Swivel. Spin. Repeat. Perfect.

She indulged in her mini activity, savoring the tranquil silence. Finally—alone. Peace and—

Helix's electronic voice interrupted her peaceful moment.

"Dr. Weiss."

Edith restrained the urge to throttle Helix's server—why, why, WHY?! Personal space! Did her clinic's AI not comprehend the meaning—

"Adrenomancer activity detected," Helix notified.

Edith's rage derailed instantaneously—her internal rant replaced with a single priority.

"Contact Virgil. NOW." Edith bolted upright and snatched her portable scanner.

This was her chance to get valuable data. She just had to convince Virgil to keep one of them alive.