I was the shadowed creation that haunted monsters.

  I was the thin blade that separated the threads connecting mortals to this plane. Death incarnate.

  I was also potentially slightly insane.

  Neither here nor there at present. Since my active mind couldn’t decide on what my opponents looked like, I blanked them out. They became gray shapes, collections of anatomical parts and places for me to strike out at. And I wasted no time at all in doing just that. Fated purpose.

  Metal ball through the chest of the closest as the figure poured down the staircase toward me. A clawed hand lashed out from the next and I blocked it with the screwdriver, driving the tool through their palm. I kicked out their knee and then hit them upside the jaw with the barrel of my arm as I reloaded.

  High Explosive shot to the clamoring horde, hungry for my fevered vengeance. Another leg ruined. I stepped forward and kicked out at their face with my foot. Hefty crunch. Reflex powered through a handful of steel spheres, bursting organs and breaking bones. My feet running through the reddening water, I ducked and avoided swings. Blocked one with the side of my gun and turned it around on them.

  Overcharge crackled and hummed as I sideloaded a Quake shot. The mass of figures, confused—yet undeterred—took the powerful blast without any chance of defense. The whole chamber shook and echoed with the reverberating pulses of a magical earthquake. With my prey stunned and off-balance, I approached.

  The man with no clear name but an obvious purpose.

  I entered the fray, unaffected by my own disorientating blast. A dervish of killing blows delivered to the tune of a racking shotgun. The one man massacre. I kicked out at a hand reaching for me from the floor. Followed up with a stomp to their head, my empowered leg bursting their skull like a rotten fruit. I grabbed the scruff of an opponent, bringing him in close as I struck him in the face with the flat of my gun-arm with a satisfying thunk.

  This is what they created. Thunk.

  A freight train unbeholden to the concept of tracks. Thunk. By the time they tried to reach for the breaks, it was already too late. Thunk.

  I wouldn’t just bite the hand that feeds…thunk…but tear it from the arms of those who sought to control me and burn it to ashes.

  My arm raised again for another strike, but a firm hand gripped at my shoulder.

  “That’s enough.”

  The switch was flipped back in the opposite direction. I was back in the chamber in the sewers, frozen in place with confusion. My left hand slowly opened, allowing the mutated creature to sink from my grasp. Whatever thick globs of gore that had once been its head slipped from the end of my gun-arm, splashing in the shallow water.

  My breathing came in haggard rasps. Corpses littered the floor around me. All the anger and mania circled around me like a whirlpool, escaping my mind like someone had hit flush. I was overheating, and cold again. At some point I had flooded myself with stims, and they complained, empty.

  [What did you do to me?]

  I turned my head slowly, every muscle in my body burning.

  It was Belle, with her hand on me. Concern and stress on her face. Behind her were the rest of the Natural Disasters. I knew these people. The gears of my current existence spun back up and Gunquake took the reins. Each of them had a similar look to the shielder, Roxy perhaps the most worried. She also had the body of the villain draped over her shoulder.

  Even with my brain going awol, I could piece things together. Roy was still standing with one of the cables in his hands, the electrifying gloves smoking slightly. Half of the grating previously protecting the mad doctor had been peeled back like wrapping paper after the Captain had overloaded the defenses. The rest of us had dealt with the monsters while our temporary leader clocked the asshole on the head.

  “Something like a spell reflect,” Belle replied. “New, and I wasn’t sure it could work like that.”

  She had turned my aura against me, pacifying and calming me by flipping it to flood my own body with the magic. Enough to snap me out of my crazed spate of violence.

  [I appreciate it.]

  “You were also saying a lot of weird shit,” Roxy added. “We’ll deal with that later, but we have to get out of here and tie up the League bullshit.”

  At this stage, I wasn’t sure I could even move from this position. Everything ached, and I was about to hit the downward slope of stim withdrawal and adrenaline evaporating from my already struggling body. Even the memories of what I had just seen and done were wavering and moved away from my grasp like shy jellyfish.

  “This isn’t ideal, but Clara gave me an emergency option for this.” Belle released her hand from me to dig around in a pouch. “All this babysitting, I will have to start calling you ‘little bro’.”

  I had no response to that. In fact, autopilot was shifting me from the comfortable seat behind the controls. Feeling like tenderized meat, I stood in silence as she withdrew the blood-soaked glove from my left hand. She held a black strap with a flat metal box at the end. It had a needle on one flat side, which I assumed would be going into my skin.

  “It will keep your subconscious going, so you’ll act normally for a short while… but you won’t remember any of it. Like being blackout drunk, without any of the good parts.”

  For some reason, it seemed the solution to not being myself was to not be myself even harder. Roxy stepped over to place her free hand on my shoulder as Belle wrapped the device around my wrist. They were talking to me but my ears couldn't…

  I blinked away the warm haze as the super pushed a boot onto my foot. Billowing smoke surrounded us at the exit of the Meteor. With a nod, she stood, and I followed her. The rest of the Natural Disasters were here amongst the dense gray fog. My body knew exactly what to do, the instructions probably given to me already. I let it happen.

  As a group of five, villain once again over Roxy’s shoulder, we stepped out of the cloud in tandem. Crowds of civilians stood behind metal barriers and the police held them back. Lights flashed as reporters took pictures and shouted to get our attention.

  The blonde woman who had spoken to me at the graveyard appeared and exchanged some words with us as we handed over the villain. I couldn’t remember her name or position at this stage, but I kept up appearances with a nod and my own polite words, apparently.

  With the smoke clearing, we stood around and waved to the onlookers. This was all the League really wanted from us tonight. Pictures of the victorious. Headlines and gossip. The Natural Disasters were a real thing for Goldarch. So was I, although I felt anything but real.

  Not to wear out our welcome too much, we gave our last goodbyes to the crowd and headed to the back of the Meteor to head home.

  “Roxy!”

  We stopped by the open flap and turned to see a man run over. Probably a superhero, given that he hadn’t been stopped from approaching us. The suit with way too much flare to it was the other giveaway. Short black hair and a pencil mustache. Etched gold around flared sleeves and the high collar of his cloaked three piece suit. Shit-eating grin that was a contrast to the storm that had clouded Roxy’s face. With her arms crossed, I…

  My muscles tensed up, hand forming a fist.

  Belle stepped in front of me, green eyes and pink hair clouding my vision. “Do not kick that man in the balls.”

  Shame. Real fucking shame. I was currently blessed with the ability to kick his balls straight off of his body. He was right there.

  Although she had a point. It wouldn’t be the best look for our official reveal. He had inadvertently introduced himself into my circle, and I could be patient. I would kick those balls, and every day that they remained unkicked was a blessing I afforded him.

  [Thanks, big sis.]

  She rolled her eyes, but smiled. With a gesture, she convinced me to get into the vehicle. Roxy definitely didn’t need me to fight her battles, and that fact was hammered home as she entered the vehicle just a few seconds after the rest of us. I leaned back in my chair and sighed. Opening up my STAR, it seemed I had missed a lot of messages from Clara.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  I skipped them for now.

  //Dubs: Can you drive us home?

  //Clara: Of course, Gunquake.

  //Clara: I’m glad to see you’re back with us.

  //Clara: But that means you’ll actually pass out very shortly.

  The Meteor hummed into life. I was about to tell the techie a lie—that I was fine—but the rhythmic purr of vehicle was calming. Like the purr of a kitten. I closed my eyes and exhaled deeply.

  By the time I opened them again, a bright light was hanging over my face, blinding me. I was horizontal. Uncomfortable and confused.

  “Please stay still, Gunquake.” Clara hovered over me, blocking the light. “Your mask is currently off.”

  [Did something happen?]

  “No. You’re home now. I’m just cleaning you out.”

  I could see now that she was wearing a mask. Thick gloves on her hands and a tired look in her eyes.

  [Oh. I… didn’t say anything embarrassing while I was blacked out?]

  “As much as I’d like to wind you up about it, no. Far from it, really.” She moved out of view to grab one of the cleaning tools again. “Compared to your episode in the sewers, you were a model hero, Gunquake. Even suggested we go and put the tunnel hatch back on.”

  [Did we do that?]

  “We went over there, but there were police at the ready who blocked us. Apparently, one of the vagrants there tipped over the fire barrel and started fights, blocking off the entrance to the tunnel.”

  I grunted. It was uncomfortable to know that I had been acting without control or memory of what I did. Given that I made it through the mission relatively unscathed, I shouldn’t complain. My mind slowly worked its way over to the mental breakdown I’d endured.

  The trouble with that sort of thing was that there was no guarantee any of the hallucination had a glimmer of fact to it. It was like a bad dream, edging close enough to reality to strike a very real fear in my heart… but it was off. Incomplete and dramatic.

  If there was one thing I did trust from that event, it was that Bishop was one of the ten. Even thinking his name now gave me an itch. I couldn’t stomach whether it was a bad or good feeling about him, but there was a connection.

  [How are the others?]

  “In their own homes, scrubbing themselves clean. Your odor neutralizer wore off on the way here, reminding the rest of the team of how bad sewer missions are. Imagine my joy, Gunquake.”

  [Thank you for doing this.]

  “I’m a responsible adult, Gunquake. Maintaining you is part of our relationship.”

  Other than making me sound like I was a puppy that needed taking care of, I agreed with her take. She was my sidekick, personal medic, and technician. It would be negligent to allow me to fall into disrepair. Or stink.

  I tried to wiggle my toes, against doctor’s orders, but found that I could not.

  Clara appeared over me again, my foot in her hand. She wiggled the disembodied tech. “Is this concerning at all, Gunquake?”

  [I’m more concerned with if the mission went fine in the eyes of the League.]

  “All things told, it was successful on all fronts. No doubt they will find something to pull you up on in the debriefing, just to put you in your place. That’s nothing you cannot handle, Gunquake.” She placed my foot down and picked up something that looked suspiciously like a toothbrush.

  [Then I guess the elephant in the room is… that was Roxy’s ex, correct?]

  “No comment.” Clara vanished from my eyeline again and started scrubbing at another part of me not currently attached. “As much as I would have loved to see some ball-kicking, Gunquake - this is something you’ll have to talk to Rockslide about personally.”

  Not half because a full power kick would either kill him or send his sack to a different district code. I would have to be mature. It was likely I was also a responsible adult, and could be cordial with other heroes that I didn’t really get along with.

  For now.

  I was, of course, officially a hero now. Did I feel any different from the day before? Not really. I had snapped and turned ultra-violent at the drop of a hat. But… it felt different. It wasn’t the cycle repeating, but the dying throes of who I used to be. I was moving on, and whatever remained of Bard had acted out like a child having a tantrum. The truth would work its way out eventually, but I wasn’t going to chase it. I favored this peace and comfort I had built up.

  Everything was adding resilience for that day when shit would really hit the fan.

  Belle, for example, had reversed my aura so that my own emotions were calmed. In a way, that sounded like how my meditative state worked. A focus on the self. I assumed that it had only been a temporary switch, as I was feeling rather grumpy at being stuck in place.

  I wiggled my thumb in rebellion at Clara’s rules.

  But nothing really changed as a result of this. After a few minutes of listening to her quietly scrubbing filth from me, I fell back asleep.

  It must have been a much needed rest, as I dreamed - a rare thing for me. Rarer still was that it wasn’t even shadows and hints of my past… nor foreboding for the future. Instead, I was having a meeting with the League, where Director Kingston was telling me I had to do safer missions as I had needed so much recovery from this basic one. I couldn’t even focus on the fact he was instructing me to take Warlock as my new sidekick, because I was nervous about being unable to find my boots anywhere.

  A dream so normal it felt alien to me, my brow already furrowed when I woke up. The overhead lights were dim now, and while the ceiling wasn’t too informative about my current state - I didn’t need sight to know who was here.

  [I missed you.]

  A hand ran through my hair before Roxy stepped into view. The ambient temperature of the room was a little higher than normal, which could only mean the super had been sitting here a while, stewing away.

  “The post-mission bath just wasn’t the same without you,” she said, smiling. “Clara said you can move now when you’re awake.”

  [Oh, thank fuck.]

  I pushed myself up, muscles still achy and my cyborg body solely in my shorts once more. All put back together again. I rubbed at my head, thankful that I could breathe easy and not smell like rotten shit.

  [So… I said some things while I was blacked out? Either time.]

  “Quit it.” She rolled her eyes and held her arm out to help me off the bed. “We both know what question you actually want to ask first.”

  [Uhh… I don’t know what you mean.]

  The super narrowed her eyes. “Sure, we’ll just pretend then, and move on.”

  I nodded, actually more eager to find the comfort of the actual house rather than hang around in our take-Dubs-apart room. There were plenty of things I needed answers to, but not before I got into some comfortable clothes.

  Roxy continued to glare at me as she watched me leave the bed and stumble stiffly toward the door. Eventually, she saw that I wasn’t bluffing and followed along. I stepped out into the dark of night, the dim garden lights giving an illuminated path to the doorway.

  [I guess we missed out on the team party.]

  “Yeah. Delayed until after the debriefing tomorrow. Turns out sewer stink is a terrible mood setter.”

  I took a couple of steps through the soft grass leading to the house and paused. A tiny predator stalked me through the shadows. I froze in position, ready to act. Roxy stopped behind me and crossed her arms.

  Now. It was time.

  I turned to spot Warlock trotting up to me and kneeled down to address him. He vocalized a greeting as I stroked his head. It looked as though he had been playing in the grass for a while, given how dirty his paws were. He purred as I continued to pet him, and I knew that no matter my performance in the city, I’d still be a hero to at least someone.

  “Let’s grab you a fresh can, babe. It’s a good evening for relaxing on the couch.”

  No more than five minutes later, we were doing just that. Both of us in matching joggers and tank tops, with a blanket over us as we sat on the couch. Warlock was asleep on my lap, splayed out like he had no cares in the world. Something was on the television, but neither of us were really watching it. This was just… bliss.

  [Thank you for taking the lead today when I was out of action.]

  “Of course. The best teams do have a pecking order when it comes to control… which is like four of them.” She rolled her eyes. “There’s always the chance of capture or being put out of action. There was a team a few years back… their leader got mind controlled, and the others tore themselves apart trying to decide what to do.”

  [Figuratively?]

  “Yeah. Even if we weren’t together, I’d still have your back in those circumstances. The ability to hold a group together is almost a superpower in itself, which is why the jerkoffs at the League had me in charge.” Roxy paused and tilted her head. “At least until I fucked it up, I suppose.”

  She meant by growing jaded and distant with her role as a hero, rather than being usurped by me after killing Red Dust. It hadn’t taken long for the other three to fall back in line once they saw she was serious about being a hero again, so I had no doubt she had been effective long before I had shown up.

  “That reminds me,” she continued. “Got you a laptop for checking your socials and other bullshit.”

  [Oh. I can’t just look at that through my STAR?]

  “Fuck no. Trust me, Dubs. The last thing you want is the opinions of every half-brain and miserable troll constantly poisoning your mind. Heroes that do that don’t last long, as it eventually gets to them. Doing anything for validation or attention when you have superpowers is a recipe for the League to shitcan you.”

  [Hmm. I see your point. Perhaps I will check before bed, then. Have you looked at yours?]

  The super nodded. “While I was bathing. Quite a lot of positive ones, people seem to like the new look. I ignored the ones making comments about my figure for a change. Even the ones about my leg scars didn’t bother me… and I’ll begrudgingly give the League props for taking the risk of me not looking picture perfect.”

  [Will I be able to see the location of my own detractors?]

  “No.” She gave my hand a squeeze beneath the blanket. “And speaking of that, thanks for not starting anything with our unwanted guest earlier.”

  [You can thank Belle for holding me back.]

  The truth was, I didn’t really have the wits or motor function to really attempt anything as stupid as everyone was thinking. Belle had just distracted me from getting any terrible ideas.

  [You don’t need to tell me his name or what kind of super he is. The only thing I’m wondering is why he was there.]

  She leaned forward to look me in the eyes, trying to get a good read on how truthful my statement was. Both of us knew that if I had the information, I would be working out a counter to whatever his power was. It wasn’t that he was my enemy or anything, and I had enough Sanguine stakes to settle any argument… but I didn’t want to do anything that made Roxy’s life more difficult.

  Something she apparently came to the same conclusion on, as she sighed and reclined back on the couch. “Trying to ride our coattails, no doubt. Muddying our rebrand reveal by turning up and attempting to stir drama with me. Make headlines. I brushed him off and left. Despite making it out of our breakup as the media darling, he hasn't had the same amount of limelight since.”

  I could almost feel the sour feeling radiate from her body. After dragging her through the mud when they broke up, he wanted to insert himself into the picture once more. Profit off of our successes via being the biggest shit in the room. It stunk, but Roxy had handled it with maturity. Not wanting to get into it in the public eye again, she surely must have wanted to kick him in the balls twice as much as I had.

  The fact that he was now encroaching on this pocket of happiness I had bled for, just for attention, ground down at the patience I had tried to build for this ghost of her past.

  In my mental checklist, where I had crossed off kick balls to write remain cordial, I scratched out this plan to write my revised correction.

  Enemy, it said.