She Thought It Was Love (pt. 2/3)

...okay so if you've been around for a little you know how this goes. I get super invested in a story and it grows and grows and grows. I don't want to post so much all at once because editing takes a while so I thought I'd split it up into just oooone more part!

Part 3 will be up Saturday and Madame Science will be moved to Sunday for ease :) Thanks for reading!

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There is an edge to the way Sophia and her siblings love. Antonia tells them it’s normal, that most people feel this way, deep, deep down, and she must be right because she’s the only one who can know for sure. She seems to so rarely inhabit her own skin, instead borrowing the thoughts and feelings of others, that she has to know, right?

But there is a part of Sophia that recognizes the curl of unease in Antonia’s eyes when she says it. She is being honest, in a way, but not truthful. She is trying to protect them from the reality that they are not like other people.

The first time Sophia falls in love,  she is sixteen. She is alone. Her siblings are hardly ever allowed to call her, their caseworkers citing “codependency” and “optimal integration” as reasons. There is a mean and hungry voice inside of Sophia that wants to hurt her caseworker despite all the kindness she has been shown. What is codependent about taking care of her siblings? Keeping them together? Making sure they know she will always be there for them, no matter what their new families, the other kids, the government say?

There is another girl at the home who is angry like her. Old like her (though who knew 16 was past her prime?). Unadoptable. Unsaveable. Undesirable.

Tabitha is hard in a way that Sophia yearns to be. Tabitha doesn’t care when their foster family locks the refrigerator door. Tabitha doesn’t seem to listen when their foster mother lists their grades like personality flaws, justification for more chores, less allowance. Tabitha stares at their caseworker with steel in her eyes as if to say Is this the best you can do?

Tabitha is honest with Sophia even when it would have been kinder to lie.

“What are you talking about?” Tabitha asks, hanging her head over the side of the bunk bed. Sophia is scribbling in her diary, planning for a future where she can get her siblings back. Tabitha’s mane of black curls dangle just out of reach. “They won’t ever give them back.”

“They will,” Sophia says. Her hands clench white around her pencil. “I’m going to get a house. I’ll have money. Then they can’t say no. I’m their sister--”

“And how are you getting money?” Tabitha asks. She doesn’t mean to be cruel, Sophia can tell, but her incredulity cuts just the same. “They give us a thousand dollars when we age out. That’s not enough for a security deposit and first month’s rent on any apartment. Maybe you can go to a semester of community college or two, but you’ll have to do it homeless.”

“I--” A feeling of desperation and anger and foolishness is rising up in her. She respects Tabitha, wants to be like Tabitha, but she doesn’t like that she can’t think of any reason why what Tabitha is saying isn’t true. “I wasn’t planning on going to college. I’m going to work.”

“Girl.” Tabitha flips off the top bunk, landing on near silent feet. She’s all gangly limbs and lean muscles. Her nightshirt has holes in it. Most of their clothes have holes in them. “It’s good to dream. You have to in this place. But I’m telling you--think of something else. If you want to make it in life, you gotta get what you can, not kill yourself aiming for something you can’t.”

Tabitha is always saying things like that. Big statements that Sophia doesn’t get until the other girl explains. Sophia doesn’t want to hear it, but Tabitha is who she wants to be. She stares silently at her five year plan as Tabitha talks.

There’s no way the state allows an 18 year old to have custody of three minors. No matter the amount of money she manages to rustle up, no matter her prospects or benefactors. Maybe they’ll give her Dominic, only two years younger than her, but there’s a good chance that Sven and Antonia are going to be adopted soon, if not already.

“Family is family,” Tabitha ends. Sometime in her lecture she’s wound up in Sophia’s bed, one arm thrown over Sophia’s shoulders. “That’s not going to change. But blood doesn’t always win out for kids like us.”

“Then--” Sophia swallows hard, trying to fight back another wave of tears, “--then I--” She goes silent for a long moment. Her future plans which had seemed so sharp and clear are muddied now, broken in her mind and in her heart. She swipes at her eyes and speaks the only truth she knows. “I won’t give up. I love them.”

“Family is family,” Tabitha repeats. Her own mother is still alive, but not fit for custody. Tabitha wants to live with her anyway. Tabitha understands love even when it hurts. “You’ll be together again, I promise. Just not right away.”

It’s the first time in two years that anyone has promised Sophia anything. She turns on the bed so she can grab Tabitha’s hand between both of hers. “You promise?”

Tabitha smiles. “Promise.” 

And Sophia falls in love, completely and irrevocably with the girl who tells her mean truths but still has enough kindness to promise a better future. 

She’s young. They both are, but it seems like she’s decades younger than Tabitha. There is a weariness in the taller girl’s eyes when they go to school, to the park, to therapy. A distrust so deep that Sophia hadn’t even realized it was there until it disappeared between them.

Sophia learns. She learns to guard her feelings from those in power over her. She learns to say please and thank you when people take away her belongings, her self-respect, her autonomy. The only person who sees her, who knows her, is Tabitha. Sophia guards the other girl as jealously as her true thoughts. It’s a young, possessive love. It’s a heavy, controlling love.

Tabitha won’t be controlled.

“Sophia,” Tabitha says after school one day. There’s a strange look in her eye, one that Sophia hasn’t had a chance to learn. “Did you tell Calvin to stay away from me?”

Sophia freezes guiltily. She’s not stupid--she knows these feelings aren’t right. She’s in therapy and though the therapist doesn’t know everything, she knows enough to give Sophia a warning. You can’t control people, Sophia. They have a choice. “I--I did.”

“I’m not yours,” Tabitha says. She doesn’t blink at the concession. She already knew. “Who I talk to isn’t your business.”

Sophia bites her lip. She knows. Calvin had been looking at Tabitha in a way she didn’t like at all so she just--She cornered him and she told him to stay away and he called her crazy. She’s not crazy. She just-- “I want you to be safe.”

“Calvin isn’t going to hurt me,” Tabitha snorts. “I’d like to see him try.”

The confidence is one of the things Sophia loves about Tabitha. Oh, she knows there’s a level of performance in it, but it’s still strength. Tabitha is strong and doesn’t need Sophia to protect her, doesn’t want Sophia to protect her, but…

“I had a dream last night,” Sophia says. She twists her fingers together. “I don’t really remember it, but he...he hurt you, Tabitha. He took you away from me.”

Tabitha is silent. Finally, she pulls out a chair at the kitchen table, across from where Sophia is pretending to do homework. She waits until Sophia meets her eye. “I’m not a thing, Sophia. You don’t get to make that decision for me.”

Tabitha tells the truth. Even when the truth hurts.

So when Calvin starts selling to Tabitha two months later, Sophia knows already that she’s not enough to stop Tabitha from getting high. She begs and pleads and, yes, she tries too hard to keep them apart. But she Knows that Tabitha needs to want to get better first. It’s Tabitha’s decision, not Sophia’s.

It doesn’t stop her from trying. But as good as it is between them, it’s one of the few good things Tabitha has in her life. Her mother isn’t getting better and the other girl feels alone. She feels alone and betrayed by a system that she knew wouldn’t give her a chance but hoped for anyway. 

Tabitha is so much more than what she is to Sophia. It is the hardest thing Sophia has ever done the day she walks away. She loves Tabitha, she loves her, but she won’t give up on her siblings. She won’t.

So Sophia accepts a scholarship she hardly feels she deserves. She begs Tabitha to come with her (“I’ll sneak you in, they won’t know there’s another person in the dorm--”) but Tabitha only smiles. She’s lost weight since she moved in with Calvin, but her clothes are nicer. Her nails are painted and, on good days, there’s hardly any sorrow in her eyes. (“Give it a rest, Sophia. Get that education. I’ll be okay.) 

Sophia Knows the first time Tabitha OD’s. She feels it like a skipped heartbeat and it’s the first time she realizes that Tabitha loves her. She spends a week crying in her dorm as Tabitha refuses to take her calls, refuses to return her panicked texts.

Losing Tabitha teaches her that love is not everything. It’s not everything unless you let it be and Tabitha couldn’t let it. Maybe neither could Sophia. She loses Tabitha like the tides, in ebbs and flows.

When Tabitha dies (a story that is not hers to tell), Sophia’s already grieved the last of her first love away. She doesn’t feel Tabitha’s heart stutter and stop. She only Knows three things all at once.

Tabitha wasn’t alone when she passed.

She wasn’t afraid.

And the only reason Sophia wasn’t by her side when Tabitha died was because she was lucky and Tabitha wasn’t.

--------------------------------

Antonia and Sven go to get the guns while Dominic sets about figuring who exactly is trying to kill Sophia’s boyfriend. Dominic’s power is even hazier than her own and if he’s got any closer to solving exactly what it is, he hasn’t shared. He has plenty of other talents to compensate for lack of an overt power though.

For example, his information network.

“Lillian Cross,” Dominic purrs into the phone. His face is cold, blank, totally opposite the warmth in his voice. “I need some information.”

Sophia’s pretty sure Lillian Cross is supposed to be a model, not an information broker. She tunes out the conversation and rips open the package in her hand. Cheap, scratchy masks fall out into her lap. Party City isn’t the first place she’d thought of when deciding what to bring to the rescue, but both Dominic and Sven seemed sure it was a must. The quick checkout, lack of cameras, and bored cashier told her why.

They wouldn’t be remembered there.

Sophia picks up one of the black masks. They’re designed to cover the nose and most of the cheek and forehead. The material isn’t comfortable but it is flexible enough to keep on for long periods of time.

Dominic finishes his phone call just as Antonia and Sven get back. Both of them toss large, bulging duffel bags into the backseat. Antonia slides in next to Sophia, eyeing the back of their youngest brother’s head.

“So, uh,” Antonia says, “do you want to tell us why the nice arms dealer called you son, Sven?”

“He’s like a mentor to me,” Sven signs. He’s kept one pistol in his hand and he unloads it, sets it on his lap, and continues, “It’s not a big deal.”

“Why is your mentor an arms dealer?” Antonia asks. Her eyes narrow. “You’re not still seeing that mobster, are--”

“Not a mobster,” Sven says. His hands still. He starts to sign something else, stops, and shoves it away. “And no.”

“Then why--”

“Interrogate Sven later,” Dominic interrupts. He fishes his sunglasses out of the center console. “I’ve got three potential locations for a superhero base. Did you get anything else from your vision, Sophia? What the place looks like? Maybe a local team’s there and we can deduce which one it is from them.”

“Maybe,” Sophia says. She sets the masks down between her and Antonia. “But I doubt it. I don’t think Foresight would risk the local team.”

“Foresight?” Dominic stares at her. With his sunglasses on, it’s hard to tell exactly what he’s thinking. Antonia’s staring at him, wide-eyed. Dominic ignores her. “You didn’t say Foresight would be there.”

Sophia watches him. “We left too quickly.” She looks over at Antonia who shakes her head slightly. He won’t take kindly to being pushed. “Is it gonna be a problem, Dom?”

Dominic twists back to the road and starts the car. “Not for you,” Dominic says lightly. He smiles like he does for the press. Quick and sharp and mean. “It makes it easier though. I know where he’d go.”

Antonia looks completely lost. “How do you know where the head of the League will go?” Then she senses something from him that makes her jaw drop. “Do you--are you seeing him?”

“Not anymore,” Dominic says. He eases the car back into traffic. “It’s complicated and I really would prefer not to talk about it, Antonia, thank you.”

Sven isn’t ready to drop it. “Bro, I think we should talk about you being romantically involved with the guy who founded--” he signs that three times in a row “--the League.”

“Sure,” Dominic agrees easily. He hangs a right and Sophia realizes they’re headed out of downtown and towards the waterfront, a good hour away. “Right after we talk about your mafia boss.”

Sven throws up his hands. “I hate you.”

“Hate me later,” Dominic snaps back. He meets Sophia’s eyes in the rear view mirror. “You got something to say about it, big sister?” The threat in his voice tells her she better not.

Sophia shrugs. “I’m dating a superhero who faked his own death. I don’t have a lot of stones to throw.”

A bit of the tension seeps out of Dominic’s shoulders. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Sophia pauses. It’s weird to find anything funny when Marlo’s in danger, but she can’t help it. “Though the age difference is a little…ow!”

Dominic straightens the wheel. “Shut the fuck up.”

“There’s no reason to crash the car over an observation,” Sophia says.

Sven’s whole body shakes with laughter.

“Am I the only one not dating?” Antonia sounds absolutely scandalized. “How is that even possible?”

--------------------------------------------

It’s Dominic who pieces their little family back together. Oh, Dominic will say Sophia did it with her constant letters and calls and reassurances. Sven will say it’s because of him, the famous Olympian whose only goal was to buy a house large enough for his siblings to come home to. Their story was picked up by news outlets because of him, many networks offering to fund a public reunion. Four siblings, separated by tragedy! One a tech mogul! One an Olympic gold medalist! 

They don’t really go into her profession. Stock trading isn’t necessarily an ethical line of work for someone with her powers, nor is it glamorous. And they don’t touch on Antonia’s career at all.

Largely, of course, because she was still missing at the time.

That’s why Dominic is the one who brought them together. He was the one who found Antonia, five years after she disappeared from her foster home without a note of goodbye.

Their actual reunion goes like this:

Dominic is still young. His information network is small and his funds aren’t as limitless as they one day will be. His software takes up eighty percent of his life as he fights to get his company into Fortune 500, and the other twenty percent is divided equally between eating, sleeping, and finding Antonia.

“She’s not dead,” he tells Sophia and Sven over a video call. They’ve met each other once or twice over the past year. It’s not the same knowing Antonia still isn’t there. “She’s not.”

“I Know,” Sophia says. She’s tired after a long day at the office. She can’t wait to get out of her suit. “We would know if she was.”

“No,” Dominic says. There’s something in his voice that makes Sophia look up and pay attention. His face is drawn from too long without sleep, but his eyes are alive. “No, she’s not dead because I found her in New York.”

Sven stops doing bicep curls. The heavy weight falls to the ground with a punishing crack! He signs, “Get me a ticket, Dominic. I’ll be at the airport in an hour.”

“Make it 30 minutes,” Dominic says. There’s true hysteria in his voice, disbelief and joy and hope all mixed into one. “Sophia, I’ll be at your house in ten.”

Sophia doesn’t remember the trip. There are flashes of her brothers’ faces and of the sky when they take off, the tumble of taxis and streets and people, all accompanied by the pounding of her own heart. She wonders if Antonia remembers them. She wonders if she didn’t contact them because she meant not to. Sven remembered them but he was always an unusually aware child and--

And then they’re standing in front a peeling, green door. They look absolutely insane. Sophia’s in a rumpled suit and Dominic is in a smoking jacket (why?) and Sven is wearing the basketball shorts he worked out in. Sophia doesn’t hesitate like her brothers; she knocks on the door.

A scruffy young man covered in paint answers the door. He’s a little younger than Sven and has a lean, hungry look to him that Sophia recognizes from foster care. His eyes cut across them and his lip curls. “Wrong address.”

“It’s not,” Dominic says. He hasn’t shaved in at least a day and the extra shadow makes him look a good decade older than this kid. His eyes burn. “We’re here to see Antonia.”

The man stiffens. His eyes dart to Sophia’s suit, Sven’s thunderous expression and away. He looks...afraid. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

Sven lets out an irritated puff of air. He's done with this. He bowls the kid over, pushing into the shitty loft space. There are canvasses and fabrics everywhere but no sign of Antonia. He clatters paintbrushes together, like he used to when they were kids.

Dominic and Sophia follow him before the man can recover. Sophia is drinking in the space. According to Dominic’s sources, Antonia ran away from her foster home with a musician and then met a designer and then--

The man tackles Dominic from behind, sending them both to the ground. “Antonia, run!” He grunts and growls as Dominic gets his bearings. “Your sick bastard of a friend won’t ever touch her again--”

Dominic shoves the kid into the ground. He’s easily twenty pounds heavier than the emaciated man. “Friend? Who? What are you--” But then his breath catches in his chest, eyes fixed on a point behind Sophia.

Sophia turns. The loft takes up half the apartment, most of it obstructed by draped fabrics. But there, at the opening above the ladder, stands a young woman who has her sister’s face.

“Purple hair,” Sophia says dumbly.

“Oh my god,” Antonia says. She’s draped in aged lace and there’s a sewing kit in one hand. It drops from her hand and she doesn’t seem to notice as pins spray across the floor, dropping down the ladder like rain. She presses her hands to her lips. “Oh my god.”

Sven is the first to move. He’s across the room in two strides. He opens his arms up to her, like a man praying. He gestures for her to come down.

Antonia throws herself off the loft with a breathless cry, crashing into Sven with her full weight. He stumbles backwards. As light as she is, he isn’t prepared for her to leap, he expected her to climb down--

Sophia is the next to reach them. She wraps her arms around her brother and sister. She’s crying and it seems impossible that she’s breathing around her sobs. Her fingers fist in the soft lace of Antonia’s gown as Sven sinks to his knees, face buried in Antonia’s shoulders. There is warmth underneath the fabric, her sister, my god, her sister--

And then Dominic is beside her and their combined arm span shields both Antonia and Sven from view. They’re all crying like they did the day they were told they would be separated. Dominic is hissing apologies and promises to do better, to be better, to be faster--

“You didn’t forget me,” Antonia whimpers over and over again. “You didn’t forget me.”

“Of course not,” Sophia says through her tears. “We could never--you are--you are us.” Because they’re all one and separate, of the same flesh and blood and life and she can’t believe they were apart for so long--

“Uh,” the man says awkwardly from above them.When Sophia looks, he’s rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. “I’m guessing they’re not friends of Dylan?”

“God no,” Antonia says from deep inside the mass hug. “No, no,  they’re not.”

Who the fuck is Dylan, Sophia wants to ask, that terrible hungry bite inside of her craving violence already on the man who, from what she gathers, Antonia is afraid of.

Antonia hisses. “Sophia, it’s--it’s not okay, but I--don’t go after him, not yet, stay here--”

“If he’s a threat,” Sophia says into Sven’s hair and then blinks. Pulls back. “How did you know I was going to…?”

Which is how they find Antonia and learn about her power all in one day.

-----------------------------

Sophia did end up finding Dylan after that. All of her siblings know she did, know what she did, and, as a consequence know that she’s grown a little different than them. There’s hunger inside of all of them, but they aren’t--

They all learned their lessons differently, their lives forever splitting that day in the kitchen. Their lessons grew and twisted as they were separated, placed, and homed, educated and hurt.

Dominic learned, If you have money, they can’t touch you. If you have power, they can’t stop you.

Sven learned, Your love can be used against you. Choose your purpose wisely.

Antonia learned, Love can’t be forgotten. If you know them deep enough and remember long enough, they’ll always be with you.

And Sophia?

She will protect what she is allowed to keep. 

No matter the cost.

(Which might be why her siblings won’t let her go alone.)

-----------------------------------

“Yeah,” Dominic says, “they’re screwed.”

The four of them are standing on the roof across from the safe house. Or, rather, “safe” house. The house is by the edge of the industrial district of the waterfront. It’s windows are boarded, the shiplap exterior chipping, the roof hardly able to stay up under the weight of brine from the ocean. It’s isolated and looks empty. It should’ve been a good place for Marlo to hole up and wait for Foresight and his team’s plans to eliminate the villain threatening him.

There are four armored trucks parked in front of it, doors hanging open and very conspicuously empty.

“I can sense sixteen people,” Antonia says. She’s still wearing Dominic’s spare clothes which, when paired with the mask, makes her look like Zorro. To emphasize the look, she’s tied a black sweater around her neck. The outfit would be complete if she was holding a sword and not a semi-automatic. “Four are showing the right emotions to be very captured heroes.”

Sven looks up from where he’s laying out their arsenal. Whoever his contact is, they clearly like him a lot. He signs, “Right emotions?”

“Righteous anger,” Antonia says. “Righteous indignation. Righteousness in general.” Her nose wrinkles. “One of the bad guys is kind of into bondage.”

“Hmm,” Sophia says. “I didn’t really want to know that.” She can’t seem to stand still. Marlo is in the building right there and though she knows he faked his death there’s a part of her that won’t believe it until she sees him. It’s not a guarantee she sees him alive at all. “What do you have on the bad guys, Dominic?”

“Villain called Crusher,” Dominic says. “Super strength, impenetrable skin. He’s got a partner called Destroyer who probably planned all this. Very little intel on him, but I’ve heard his name in gambling circles.”

The names spark a memory. Sophia frowns. “Destroyer...wasn’t he the guy whose underground dog fights got broken up?”

Dominic hums and looks at her out of the corner of his eye. He’s wearing a black sweater she doesn’t remember him having before. “Broken up by Gigadark during a routine sweep of the city. Destroyer was sentenced to eight years. Broke out last year with Crusher’s help.”

“Killing heroes seems like overkill for dogfights,” Antonia says. She helps Dominic strap a knife to his boot. “Practice pulling it a couple times. It’s useless if you get caught up on your pant leg.” When Sven raises an eyebrow at her, she scowls. “You’re the one who made me go to all those lessons.”

Sven had been rather insistent on it, actually. He didn’t want her to ever feel like she had to go into hiding because of a stalker ever again. He stands and surveys the weapons on the ground. “We need to draw them out. Pick them off so there’s less inside the building.”

“Is that best?” Sophia asks. She’s not like Sven. He’s seen real gun fights and knows he knows best, but… “What if they decide to kill the heroes?”

“They won’t,” Dominic says. He hesitates. “Probably. Destroyer and Crusher don’t have the funds to hire mercenaries like this. Nor do they care about Ey--I mean Foresight. I think there’s a third villain at play here, one who wants the head of the League.”

Antonia stares at him. “Dom, do you know Foresight’s real name?”

“We’ll need a distraction,” Dominic says, ignoring Antonia. He looks at Sophia. “What do you think will work best?”

Sven holds up his hands. In one is a grenade. In the other is a firework.

Sophia’s stomach turns. Explosives are the real deal--the real deal where people could get hurt. She doesn’t want the building to come down on Marlo, not when she’s so close to finally seeing him for the first time.

Dominic isn’t asking about her feelings.

Sophia closes her eyes. She thinks about the trucks and the house. She thinks about the overcast skies and the eerie silence that permeates the abandoned row of houses. She thinks about Foresight and his team of heroes, all of who are here to try and help Marlo--

“Oh boy,” Anotnia says. She presses the heel of her hand to her forehead. “Foresight just realized we’re here.” She looks right at Dominic. “He is not happy.”

Dominic grins at her without humor and too many teeth. “Good.” He plucks the grenade out of Sven’s hand. Though he’s not as trained as Antonia or Sven, he’s not harmless. He raises his eyebrows at Sophia. “Good?”

Sophia’s lips purse. After a moment’s consideration, she grabs the firework. She accepts the matches Sven hands her and lights it. “Good.”

Together, they throw.

-------------------------

Marlo thrashes against the ropes binding him to a chair. He doesn’t understand what went wrong. He doesn’t understand how it could have gone wrong, not with everything he sacrificed for this plan.

He meets Foresight’s eyes. The head of the League has quite a few more binds on him. His hands are tied to a hook hanging from the ceiling and his legs are tied together from ankle to knee. There’s blood peeking through his pristine, white uniform, but he doesn’t look like he’s in pain. He looks furious, eyes white as he desperately tries to find them a way out.

If Marlo could talk, he would tell Foresight that he’s already tried to summon a storm. He knows it kind of worked--outside is overcast--but not enough. Whatever they’d drugged them with is enough to dampen powers.

Yellow Plague, an S-class villain who’s never worked with Crusher or Destroyer before, watches them struggle, humor glinting in his poisonous yellow eyes. Marlo glares at the hand still resting on Phantasma, Foresight’s right-hand woman. She’s panting and sweating, whatever Yellow Plague’s infected her with taking a toll on her body.

To her right, crumpled on the floor, is Earthquake. He managed to get off one ground tremor, nearly opening the floor underneath Crusher and Destroyer’s feet when they’d first ambushed them, before Yellow Plague arrived. Earthquake hadn’t been prepared for the Supervillain’s infectious powers. He hadn’t defended himself when Yellow Plague, looking like an innocent old man, had simply tapped him on the shoulder.

By the time Earthquake turned, he’d been covered in pustules. When Destroyer hit him with the mystery syringe? He hadn’t had a chance.

Marlo just hopes he’s alive.

“I only want one piece of information,” Yellow Plague tells Foresight. It’s the first time he’s spoken since the fight. To Marlo, it seemed like he’d been enjoying torturing Phantasma with fevers and chills too much to remember his purpose. At last he pulls his hand away from her. “Give it to me and I’ll let one of you go.”

Phantasma gasps and slumps in her chair. Like Marlo, she’s tied, but not with rope. Her powers let her phase through objects--every object except for silver. The silver chains around her chest tell Marlo that they’ve got a leak somewhere at headquarters. The villains were prepared.

“Not Gigadark,” Crusher growls. He’s standing in the doorway, Destroyer bobbing and weaving behind him, trying to look in. Crusher takes up quite a bit of room. “He’s ours.”

Yellow Plague closes his eyes for a long moment. His jowls quiver with irritation. “I know.” He twists away from Phantasma and slinks over to Foresight. “Tell me. You know what I want. Just a location. That’s all I need.”

Foresight’s head jerks, lips pressing shut. His white eyes, pupils completely gone, slide away from Yellow Plague and to the wall. His entire body is radiating fury unlike Marlo has ever felt before. “You,” he tells Yellow Plague, “would do well to release me now.”

Yellow Plague laughs. “Sure you can choose yourself to be saved. A bit selfish for a hero, but what do I know?” Then any trace of laughter is gone. “Tell me where it is.”

Foresight glares.

Marlo’s mind races. He doesn’t know what Yellow Plague is talking about, but he’s not surprised by that. Foresight knows a lot of important locations. Government bunkers, artefacts, Super prisons--it could be anything. He glances over at Crusher. Could he trick Crusher into untying him? It would be tough fighting Crusher hand to hand, the villain having super strength, but it was better than the chance than he had now.

Marlo feels his resolve harden. He didn’t lie to her, break her heart, and leave her to fail here. “Hey, Crusher, why don’t you and I--”

An explosion rocks the building. 

---------------------------------------

“Go.”

Sophia sprints after Sven, clambering down the stairs towards the ground floor, heart in her throat. Dominic had thrown the grenade awfully close to the house. What if shrapnel hit Marlo?

“He’s fine,” Antonia hisses from behind her. She shoves between Sophia’s shoulder blades. “Go. We need to be in position when--”

The firework whines and then booms high above them. A smaller series of cracks rent the air and Dominic laughs.

They make the street just as the first of the mercenaries storm out of the house. Sven reaches back blindly, grabs Sophia by the collar, and throws her behind the ruined wreck of an abandoned car. He twists and sprays the doorway before leaping after her.

His expression is thunderous. “When I say go, go! When I say--”

“She’s fine,” Antonia snarls. There’s the report of a rifle as Dominic makes his first snipe. “Three down, not enough, Sven--”

Sven rises up on his knees. Gunfire slams around them, bits of asphalt and cement exploding into the air. Sven doesn’t even seem bothered. He fires and if it weren’t for the earpiece pressed deep into her ears, Sophia would be deaf.

She’s got a pistol and that’s it. She’s not trained for any other weaponry.

She Knows and presses her earpiece until she can hear Dominic's breathing. “Two coming out the back entrance, they’ve got a sight on you.”

Dominic’s voice crackles over their comm link. “Got ‘em.” The rifle barks, once, twice.

“Five down,” Antonia says. She drops as low as she can and aims her Glock carefully under the car. She fires three times. One hits an encroaching mercenary’s foot. The next hits him in the hip. The last hits him in the head. “Six.”

“Seven,” Dominic says and shoots. Glass breaks and a man in the upper attic of the safe house falls out of the window and onto the porch.

Sophia stares at the dead man. She knows it’s going to tear Antonia up later when she remembers this, when she remembers how his emotions snapped out of existence, and her heart breaks. Her sister is willing to do this for her. For her life and her love. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Antonia says. Her voice is a little shaky but her hands are sure as she helps Sophia up. “There’s five left. Three are Supers.”

And then Sophia Knows so she says, “Crusher, Destroyer, and Yellow Plague.” She swears. “Yellow Plague can infect us, I don’t know if we’re Super enough to survive--”

Domini drops down from the trellis he’d scaled down. His face is grim. “That’s where I come in. Guess I should tell you guys about how I met Foresight.” His lip quirks. “And how I found out my power.”

That’s big news. Sophia’s always been sure that Dominic’s had one, though she suspected resistance to poison not something that could combat Yellow Plague but there’s not time.

“Not now,” Sven signs, thinking along the same lines as her. He pauses. “Though I really want to know. We need to get inside.”

“Wow,” Dominic says. He accepts the smaller hand gun from Sven. “I can’t believe I’m finally ready to talk about Foresight and how I helped save like sixteen people from biological warfare and you don’t want to--”

Sven scowls. “Go.”

Dominic mutters under his breath and bursts out from behind their cover and into the street.

------------------------

“You were followed,” Yellow Plague hisses. He’s at the window, peering through the cracks in the boards. “You incompetents.”

Destroyer pushes around Crusher. He’s a slight man with the look of someone who’s been chewing tobacco for longer than he’s been eating solid food. His limp, greasy hair hangs in his eyes. “Don’t blame this on us. We’re in a League safehouse, idiot. For all we know this is a routine sweep.” He throws a dirty look at Marlo.

Crusher misinterprets the look. He stalks forward, cracking his knuckles. “Let’s just kill him now, Destroyer, we’ve gone alone with Plague’s idea long enough--”

Yellow Plague spins away from the window. “Fool!” He spits at Crusher and misses. The spittle hisses as it rots the wooden floor. “We’ll need hostages, whatever hero out there won’t have any reason to listen if they’re dead.”

Marlo’s ropes are almost loose. Heroes? That can’t be, Foresight promised him that only the people in this room (and the mole, part of his mind whispers) know that he’s still alive. Still, he’s not going to let the opportunity go to waste.

Foresight laughs. It’s not the friendly, warm laugh that Marlo’s used to. Nor is it the polite, stilted laugh Foresight had during the senate trials last year. No, it’s distinctly unhappy laughter, tinged with a sort of bitterness Marlo didn’t know the sterling hero could feel.

“Trust me,” Foresight says, “they’re not willing to negotiate. My suggestion? Run now. Before they see you.”

“We’ve got ten of the best mercenaries money can buy,” Destroyer snarls. “Tell your men to back down and we won’t have them ripped apart--”

There’s another burst of gunfire and the short report of a rifle.

“The League does not condone the use of guns,” Phantasma wheezes from the table. Her red, spectral eyes are fever bright. Whatever illness Yellow Plague gave her isn’t out of her system yet. “They’re not ours.”

“But you know who they are,” Yellow Plague says. He throws an irritated hand at Crusher and Destroyer. “Go. Back those useless minions up and bring me our guests' heads.”

Destroyer and Crusher glance at each other. “But--”

Yellow Plague looks possessed with rage. “GO!”

Crusher scowls. “Leave Gigadark to us. Or else.” He waits a moment, staring Yellow Plague in the eye with more courage than Marlo though he had. Then he grabs Destroyer by the arm and lumbers into the hall. He slams the door so hard behind them that the door frame cracks.

“Gunfire won’t work on Crusher,” Yellow Plague tells Foresight. “And even if your rescuers make it here, they won’t save you.” He reaches up and grabs Foresight by the throat, aged hands like claws around his neck. His face is twisted. “I’ll kill them, Foresight, I’ll give them every disease I have.” Black begins to creep along the exposed line of Foresight’s jaw. “They’ll die choking on blood--”

“Well,” a man says, opening the door, “you are certainly welcome to try.” One of the last mercenaries, the one who’d been standing guard at the door, slumps to the ground at his feet.

Yellow Plague releases Foresight, a snarl already on his lips. “You dare try to--” He stops, bushy brows snapping down over his eyes. “Dominic Henning?” 

“Why even bother with the mask?” Dominic asks the room at large. He brings up a gun. “Whatever.”

He fires.