FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The streets of Halcyon City were as they’d always been on this ordinary day; busy, choked with traffic, flanked by sidewalks crammed with people from all walks of life. A true melting pot of cultures and ideas, and a financial powerhouse for the eastern United States. But as history showed time and time again, success bred excess, and excess painted targets on the institutions most commonly associated with wealth.

Sirens blared, piercing the din of traffic and chatter. The red and blue strobe of police cars and SWAT trucks competed against the afternoon sun. Citizens gathered at the quickly-established perimeter, smart phone cameras at the ready. Exhausted lawmen attempted to push back every wannabe internet journalist who tried to cross the line.

From a squad car emerged a tall human, red-brown hair combed back messily like he’d just scrambled up from a nap, white button shirt wrinkled and tie slightly crooked. He groaned into a plastic coffee cup and pulled a passing officer aside. “Give me the sit-rep.”

“Golden Rogue and a dozen armed gunmen, Chief.” came the reply. The officer, young and green as grass, holstered his sidearm. He continued between glances stolen at the enormous building beyond the line of police vehicles, its massive front facade bearing the title: Halcyon City Bank. “At least ten hostages, according to a worker who managed to sneak out.”

The old city bank, once the financial center of this veritable metropolis, was more form than function in the modern age. The decentralization of cash from client-facing brick and mortar locations had made these once-juicy targets far less appealing to would-be robbers, but there was still enough on-site for a tantalizing criminal retirement fund.

The familiar buzz of helicopter rotors buzzed through the air like a saw blade, and the groggy police chief groaned. “Great, and the media’s right on time. Get on the horn with Sky Eye and tell them the vultures need to clear our goddamn airspace.”

Without pause, he strode toward the line of interceptors and armored trucks, where officers had rifles propped up and aimed at the entrance. “Any eyes inside?”

“No sir.” a gruff SWAT officer spoke up without taking his eye off his scope. “Spray paint on the windows. Cheeky bastards.”

“Points of entry?”

“All covered. Waiting on negotiation team.”

“Piss on that. I’ve got my own negotiator on the way.” The chief’s eyes flicked skyward. The news chopper had backed off, and the city’s own Sky Eye helicopter was just arriving in the air above. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the afternoon sun, absentmindedly glancing at his watch in so doing. “The hell’s taking her so long?”

Seconds ticked by. Then minutes. Some of the officers began to exchange glances, and a faint murmur emerged among them.

“Chief? Should we move in?” One earnest young officer turned from the scene, rifle still aimed at the bank doors.

“Wait for it.”

Another minute passed. Someone started to speak up again, but a brilliant flash in the sky silenced their question. Descending upon the scene was a petite figure, fur white as snow, short violet hair under a black top hat and framed by two bright white rabbit ears. A black cloak glimmering with what appeared to be starlight draped across her shoulders and flowed in the faint wind passing between the buildings. Two brilliant wings of pure blue light framed her back, and she held a golden staff in her right hand. The girl threw off her cloak in a flourish, revealing a navy blue leotard, and twirled around to face the officers just as she touched asphalt.

“At ease, brave men and women of HCPD! Alice Cadabra is on the job!” The bunny flashed a grin, twirled her staff, and bowed her head with a tip of her hat when the line of citizens erupted into cheer and applause. Her brilliant magical wings dispersed as she stepped into the line of lawmen, adding commentary as she went. “Good form, officer. Excellent to see you. Congrats on the promotion!”

A cleared throat turned her gaze.

“Right.” Alice dropped the media-friendly diplomacy and bee-lined her way to the situation commander, himself. “Chief Sanderson.”

“Ms. Cadabra.” the chief nodded in the bank’s direction. “We’ve got one of yours in there.”

A twinge of dread crawled through the rabbit’s stomach. “Don’t tell me.”

“I’m afraid it’s Golden Rogue.” The delivery came with all the excitement he’d shown since he’d arrived on-scene.

She took a breath and held it. Of course it was. How many times this month, now? “Okay! Okay. Keep your men on standby in case his little goon squad gets shooty. I’ll handle him.” Alice double-tapped her staff on the ground, the golden focus taking on a faint azure glow. “How many gunmen?”

“Ten, minimum.”

“Doable. League?”

“Didn’t bother calling them, but they watch the news. If they know it’s Rogue, you probably have time.”

“All the same, I’d prefer to wrap this up quick.” Alice strode past the police line as civilians cheered and sang her praise. Someone begged for an autograph, another for a date, and someone tried to one-up that by professing their undying love for the bunny heroine. She waved all the same, flashed a confident smile to the crowd—and the cameras—before making her way to the bank’s front entrance. Cheers faded into nervous chatter as she thrust out her staff, channeled a burst of mana forward, and threw wide the doors with a mere modicum of effort.

Inside, the scene couldn’t be closer to a typical hostage situation if these wannabe heisters tried; tellers hogtied on the floor, broken glass everywhere—for fun, she assumed, because none of those decorative vases under glass were worth a damn thing. Carpets were kicked up, bullet holes dotted the walls. No blood. Must have been posturing. The threat: a gaggle of hockey-masked goons with bog-standard semi-automatic rifles. Honestly, she should have been insulted, but boredom felt better in the moment.

Annoyingly, the ringleader was nowhere to be seen, leaving his under-equipped goons to face her, rifles aimed her way. She sighed. “Making me clean up the rabble before he makes his entrance.” Still, the cameras were rolling. The people needed their show. Summoning all her theatrical flair, Alice announced herself with the brandishing of her staff, azure magical motes gathering in the air around her. “Poor, misguided fools! Today is not your day! Alice Cadabra is here to—”

The hail of gunfire might have scared off a less competent hero, but Alice kept her cool. The faint blue wall between her and the .556 rounds turning into lead pancakes shimmered and rang with an almost musical resonance with each impact. Each shot choked the room with smoke reeking of gunpowder, and she wrinkled her nose unconsciously.

This (mostly) unprovoked firing line carried on until the bad guys realized their shots weren’t connecting. Or they’d just emptied their guns. Were they using STANDARD MAGS?! Cheap bastards!

“Um, RUDE?” the bunny scolded. “As I was SAYING: Alice Cadabra is here to deliver unto you a fist full of JUSTICE!”

The goon squad frantically scrambled to reload. One even put his mag in backwards before realizing he had to turn it around. God, they were so green. She honestly considered giving them the moment to figure things out, but she really didn’t want this to be her whole afternoon. So...

“Fall before the magical hand of LIBERTY!” A twirl of her staff summoned a hail of bright blue fists, each one sailing through the air and properly socking the gunmen in the jaws, guts, and noses. Some spun on their heels from the impact. Others even took momentary flight. Punch after magical punch clocked the robbers right where it’d hurt but, crucially, wouldn’t leave any lasting harm. Last thing she needed was some thug advocacy group crawling down her throat over “excessive force”. Excessive—she’d show those sanctimonious pricks “excessive”…

The gunners slumped to the floor, groaning in pain and crawling for cover. The same magical hands that’d delivered her righteous beatdown took hold of each man, dragged them away from their discarded rifles, and deposited them in a pile near the bank entrance. “You can either wait there until I’m done or go turn yourselves in now. I don’t care which.”

“Fuck… you…” one of the goons managed to slur. He reached for his waist, and Alice caught the glint of gunmetal early. A magical hand plucked the weapon from the man’s waist and unceremoniously tossed it into the pile of guns.

“Anyone else got an extra toy?” She couldn’t help the dryness in her tone now. The time for humoring them was over. A moment crossed between them, and several robbers just casually tossed their pistols away. At least they knew when they were beaten. “Good. You have minimal survival instincts. Do not walk into that firing line with a gun in your pants, please.”

Not one of them chose further resistance. Even dumb goons knew when they were beaten, which was more than she could say for the guy who’d hired them. She huffed a sigh through her nose. “Honestly, just like him to give me prep work before his big entrance.”

She might as well have spoken the devil’s name. Alice’s ear twitched; the sound of clapping met her ears just as she left the pummeled goons by the door. That crawling sense of dread tickled her guts in that horrible manner again.

“Bravo, Alice! Bravo!” Youthful praise half-muffled under a cloth mask reached her before he revealed himself. Out from behind the bank counter stepped Golden Rogue, a man clad in a form-fitting black body suit with vertical gold stripes, rolled-up sleeves, and a… belt, for some reason? What was it even holding up? He didn’t have any gadgets hanging off it today! She never bothered to ask. White gloves covered his hands, and a mask of pure white with a gold trim around where it covered his eyes capped off his outfit. One hand brushed his wild half-shave hair dramatically, and she didn’t have to see his grin to hear it in his voice. “Quick and efficient as always! I expect nothing less from my nemesis.”

Everything about that bristled the deepest, most exhausted frustration in her soul. She couldn’t hide it, either. Lips pursed, eyes widened and rolled. She puffed audibly through her nose. This FUCKING GUY.

...But the cameras were still rolling. And this was the main event.

“Golden Rogue!” God, it was a good thing she’d been a performer all her life. She pointed her staff threateningly, grinning a little too wide for it to be genuine. “I should have figured!” Which she did, of course. Actually, she’d been told. Ugh. “Bold of you to challenge me alone!”

“Hah! Confidence befitting the greatest hero of our time!” the man stepped forward, arms outspread. “But unlike you, my luck never runs out! And today is the day we settle our score once and for all!”

Funny, she’d thought that day had been two weeks ago. And then another week prior to that. Alice forced a confident chuckle. “So you say. Let your guns do the talking!”

Across the span of a moment, magical fists filled the air, and Golden Rogue’s hands found his waist holsters and drew two pistols. Gunfire erupted as arcane hands were thrown, bullets crashing into Alice’s spells and shattering the energy holding them together. Kinetic force collided with the supernatural in a spectacular display of showmanship on both ends. The more spells Alice slung, the more Rogue blasted from the air, deftly dodging those he didn’t yet have a bullet for.

To his credit, Golden Rogue was the polar opposite of his poor, unfortunate hired thugs. He kept calm under pressure. His moves weren’t just effective—they were flashy. Pistols whipped from side to side, striking targets dead-on without looking. He spun and dodged and weaved like he was filming the next Matrix movie, and he made it look effortless. Was he annoying? Yes. Skilled? Absolutely.

When enough bullets had flown, Rogue cartwheeled away from a magical punch (seriously, if he wasn’t being positively extra about anything, he’d cease to exist) and slammed two new mags into his guns before emerging again to blast more of Alice’s attacks from the air.

“Your spellbook’s reached its last page, rabbit!”

“And your… uh…” Alice groaned. Enough was enough, already. “Goddammit, do we REALLY have to do this every other week?!”

“We’ll be doing this dance ‘til the end of time, baby!” Golden Rogue cackled in his confident way. “Come on, arch-nemesis! Hit me with all you’ve got! Or are you running out of steam?”

Oh she was running out of something. Alice kept arcane fists flying to keep his bullets busy, but the passing of another moment in this cinematic clusterfuck was all her frayed nerves could tolerate. Another spell wove to life, taking the form of a long rope of blue light. She swept her staff in an arc and caught Rogue’s legs with the arcane lasso, then tugged firmly, the resulting pull knocking the man clean off his feet.

“Alright, that’s enough!” she groaned, one hand on her forehead. “God, I am so tired. Drop the guns, put your hands up, and let’s finish this charade a little early this time.”

Rogue grunted and tried shooting the magical rope—it didn’t work this time. She’d put way more mana into this one. He laughed all the same. “You think I can’t fight on the ground? Don’t underestimate me!”

“Man… come on.” Alice sighed. She couldn’t even feign tension anymore. “Please? Just this week?”

Several seconds hung pregnant in the air. A painting—shot to all but splinters—fell off the wall and broke against the floor. Golden Rogue stared, uncharacteristically silent. Alice could have taken this for compliance, had he not leaned his head forward, almost comically so from his position on the floor. “Are you… Are you not taking me seriously?”

“I have humored you bi-weekly for… literal months, Rogue. Nearly a year, in fact.” The bunny rubbed her forehead to soothe the headache now firmly creeping in. “I need a break from this.”

“But… I’m your arch-nemesis!” Rogue struggled against the lasso now wrapping itself around him like a snake. He kept one arm out of the magical restraint’s hold and pointed an accusing finger at Alice. “You can’t just… decide we’re done!”

The bunny didn’t bother to respond. Months of performing the same tired act in the same tired way had finally weighed her down. Fuck the cameras at this point; they’d gotten their show. The officers outside could come pick up the gunmen, and she’d summon up just enough performative flair to triumphantly carry Rogue outside before carting him off to jail, just like the people wanted. But she was so done with the fight for today.

Rogue glared at her through his mask. “Hey! Listen to me!”

The next series of moments seemed to crawl by. A momentary lapse in focus allowed Rogue’s insistent wiggling to break the bind holding him. Alice’s eyes shot to her staff—of course her spell would fizzle now, of all times! Too late, she noticed Rogue grabbing one of his pistols from the ground, taking aim, and pulling the trigger. The shot ripped through the air, sliced through an eternal millisecond, and caught the left side of her waist. Magical fibers in her leotard strained and tore against the impact, lessening the potential gunshot wound into a firm bullet-shaped punch against her fur.

Alice reeled, not just from the physicality of the injury, but the sheer audacity. Time caught up, but she couldn’t help but stare at him for another long, bewildered moment. Ears rung, muted only against the pumping of blood as her heart rate soared.

Something in her snapped. “What the FUCK, Johnny?!” A magical fist half Rogue’s size descended upon the man and slammed him into the floor, knocking the wind from his lungs and the gun from his hand. “You SHOT me!”

Rogue raised a hand, but another fist drove it back to the floor. Arcane hands bound his arms and legs, and a flurry of fists rained down on his stomach, face, and chest. It went on for… a while. Not as brutally as she wanted to in the moment, but enough that when she finally stopped seeing red, she had to quickly dismiss her conjured weapons and lean over her “nemesis” to make sure he was breathing.

“Fuck me.” Alice groaned as she put a hand on his chest. Still alive. At least she hadn’t broken her one rule today. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“You weren’t gonna take me seriously…” Golden Rogue—Johnny—mumbled, his face bruised, grin intact in spite of the beating he’d just endured. “This? This is more like it. Like when we first started…”

That was why he shot her? So she’d beat his ass harder than she had over the last weeks? God, this fucking guy. Alice could only glare at him for a long while. Try as she might, that moment of boiling anger couldn’t bubble back to the surface. His defeated grin invoked a whole other mix of feelings she couldn’t pin down right now. The superpowered stare-down broke only when her phone buzzed, and she half-heartedly pawed it from her pocket to check. Chief Sanderson checking in. She typed out a quick text: Clear. Show’s over. Send them in.

“Guess our playtime’s over, huh?” Rogue breathed a slow, satisfied sigh. “That’s alright. I’ll be back. Stronger than ever, ready to face you in battle again.”

Alice sucked down a breath. Her hand pressed into Johnny’s chest, traced the outline of his pectoral muscles. No broken bones that she could feel, and he wasn’t moaning in pain every time she touched him. Her hand meandered over his ribs, his abs, his waist. Not once did that telltale “oh god don’t touch that” sound manifest. At least she hadn’t damaged him. Good thing, too. “We’re not done yet.”

“Oh?” Rogue’s tone rose in pitch. Immediately excited again. “Wanna fight some more?”

She hesitated. Fingers traced his abs again, and she bit her lower lip. “No.”

Voices entered the bank from behind them. Officers moved in and cleared the building, then started rounding up the gunmen and securing the discarded weapons. Others untied the hostages and guided them outside. One lone news camera even managed to get in among the chaos, and a middle-aged blonde reporter shoved a microphone in Alice’s face before she even realized she was on camera again.

“Alice Cadabra!” the older human woman beamed. “Savior of our fair city, or at least its financial institutions! Looks like Golden Rogue still wasn’t enough to take you down! Do you have anything to say to the people watching at home?”

Every single knot in her stomach tightened, but she forced the fatigue from her face. Alice stood, making sure to keep a magical hand pressed down on Johnny to keep him from scrambling away. She faced the camera, put on her best triumphant smile, and declared, “I might have magical powers, but the real heroes are the good people of Halcyon City, who face danger and mundanity in equal parts every day of their lives to make sure the lights stay on, the trains still run, and every table has a fresh meal! Rest assured, the real tough bad guys are not your problem!” She punctuated this by dropping a foot on Johnny’s arm—a little harder than she normally would. He groaned, but she ignored it. Served him right for fucking shooting her.

One of the emergency workers, a fox woman, eyed Alice’s torn leotard as she passed. “Ms. Cadabra, are you hurt? We can look at you at the hospital.”

“Not to worry.” the bunny casually waved off the concern. “Just a bruise. I’d hang up my staff if I ever let this one properly injure me.” Another firm stomp landed on Johnny’s arm, and he whined beneath her. Once again, she pretended she didn’t hear. “Speaking of which, I need to cart this nuisance downtown. Wouldn’t want his supernatural luck loosening his cuffs in the back of a squad car.”

At the very least, Rogue had a built-in Get Out of Media Circuses Free card. She truly could not trust the police to bring him in. The number of times he’d slipped the leash mid-transport was almost comical. Of course, that meant she had to capture him again. And to do that, she had to indulge him again. And for that to happen, he had to make a scene again. And… fuck, she needed some aspirin.

The magical hand pinning Johnny to the ground lifted him up, and Alice strode through the bank, keeping her “superhero stride” as she called it—long, purposeful steps, posture wide enough to be showy but not “big tough man” meme energy. Now if only she could keep that new bruise on her waist from aching, that’d be great.

The camera inside followed her all the way out, and she emerged into a cacophony of cheers.

“A-LICE! A-LICE! A-LICE!”

She rose her arm in a big, long wave, smiled triumphantly, and magically hoisted her captured criminal for all to see.

“Fear not, citizens! Alice Cadabra is always on the job!”

Another clamorous cheer rose up from the crowd, among whom were now several news reporters and the previously hogtied bank tellers. This part… sang. Even through the theater, the performance, the frustration, this scene always lit a flame in her. The grin she wore now couldn’t be anything but genuine, despite what it took to get here. The people loved her, and she loved them. And when someone more threatening than Golden Rogue came calling (it never took long), she could even nix the frustration entirely. These were her people, and she’d always be there to defend them.

“And I’m always here to be a challenge!” Golden Rogue quipped, turning the audience’s cheers into jeers instantaneously—boos and taunts, even a “FUCK YOU GOLDEN ROGUE!” He cackled and bowed in his compromised position in spite of their obvious distaste.

Alice forced a chuckle. “Oh you’re a CHALLENGE alright! But not enough for me!”

On cue, the boos turned to applause once more. Yeah, they were easy to please, but it warmed her heart all the same. She even forgot how annoyed she was at Johnny for a split second.

“Alright, friends! This show’s over, so please disperse in an orderly fashion!” Alice announced. She waved her staff, and two brilliant wings of azure light sprouted at her back, flaring brilliantly as she rose up into the air. Her cloak, discarded earlier, swooped over from the hood of a police car and casually wrapped around her shoulders. “And remember: Stay in school, say no to drugs, and look both ways before crossing the street!”

A quick flick of her staff pulled the still-restrained Golden Rogue into her orbit, and she took to the sky, dragging him along with her. The roar of the crowd faded under the wind in her ears, and she took off over the skyscrapers toward the edge of the city, Johnny sighing quietly beside her.

“Off to jail, huh?” he asked almost casually. They’d really done this song and dance way too many times.

“Oooh no. Not yet. You’re gonna make this worth my while, fuckass.” Alice growled. She eyed the prison—the “Grand Slam” as it’d come to be called—a super-max fortress at the city limits specifically for containing superpowered individuals. Then her eyes zeroed in on the forest separating it from the city. Yep, their usual spot would do.

Alice’s arcane wings pulled inward and allowed her to drift down past the canopy and into a clearing. She came to a stop, momentum softened by her wings, quickly dispelled as she landed and set Johnny on the grass. The rabbit threw her cloak aside, straddled the defeated villain, and yanked off his mask. “Do you know what I was doing before the chief called me over?”

“Uhh.” Rogue stared, blinking soft brown eyes and squinting from the sun. “No. What were you—”

“Nothing! I was doing nothing!” Alice snarled, shoving his shoulders and leaning over him, their faces dangerously close. “Which is exactly what a superhero needs sometimes! Do you have any inkling of an idea of how little time off I get?!”

The flustered human tried to respond, but he got Alice’s tongue in his mouth for his troubles. She kissed him hard, growling into his mouth, brows knitted as her eyes slipped shut. For a while they lay there, her lips sealed around his, hands groping his abs and chest. Soft moans passed between what little space their lips allowed.

Johnny, his boldness returning, reached for her bare thigh and squeezed, but had his hand slapped away. Alice pulled back from the kiss and growled, “No.”

“C-Come on, Alice—”

“You touch when I say you can touch. The shit you pulled today—fucking shooting me.” the bunny glared into his eyes, her head slowly shaking, disbelief still coloring her tone. “You’ve never… I didn’t think you would!”

“You weren’t gonna fight me properly!” Johnny whined, hand twitching in her fingers’ grasp. “I had to!”

“Do you not understand how crazy that sounds? Ugh, idiot!” She silenced him with a kiss once more, and she pawed at his outfit, seeking buttons or a zipper or… “Nnnghhh where the fuck—”

Johnny slurred between a kiss, “In the back.”

“How do you even…”

“My roommate.”

She just… gawped at him for a second. “Your roommate. They know you’re a villain?”

“He’s a villain, too.”

Of FUCKING course. “You don’t have a single grounding presence in your life, do you?”

“Nope!”

Yep, that tracked. Alice abandoned her position on his lap, yanked him up by the shoulders (with conjured hands, of course), and located the zipper. “This is really inconvenient. Why did you change it?”

Johnny flashed a cheeky grin. “Because you found it too easily last time.”

“Fuck you.”

“I feel like you’re about to.”

“Alright, dickhead!” The zipper came down, as did the top half of Johnny’s suit. Alice conjured a spell through her staff, her cheeks flushed. “Y-You’re not gonna be so talkative in a minute.”

Poor, dumb Rogue probably should have known what was coming, considering their track record. If he did, he sure didn’t make any attempt to shield himself. The swirling azure magic coalesced into a maelstrom of glowing colors, shining in the air between them. Immediately, Johnny’s posture slumped, his eyes widened, transfixed upon the soft glow. Alice’s threats rang true; suddenly he wasn’t making quips. All he could do was stare, his gaze turning blissfully vacant.

“Good boy.” Alice half-cooed, half-growled. “You’re gonna make up for the time you stole from me.”

Slipping out of her leotard was a well-practiced motion. She left it in a pile on the grass, then turned to the bottom half of Rogue’s suit. Naturally, it was just as much of a pain to get off, but her magic hands did most of the work. And he wasn’t wearing much underneath; just a jockstrap (ew) and a cup (hey, he learned from last time). Those came off as well. Johnny was, predictably, already at half-mast. Something about hypnotic conditioning, Pavlovian responses… Fuck it, she wasn’t in the mood for the psychology. But it did explain why he dropped so damn easily after so many sessions.

A furred hand gripped that cock—not particularly impressive for a human, but decent enough. She was a petite girl, after all. Didn’t need a monster to get off. “You better sink nice and deep for me, Johnny.” The spell swirled above them, pulsing with colored patterns and glowing brightly. Johnny’s eyes remained absolutely glued to it, his mouth hanging ajar as moans slipped out from his lungs.

“Fuck, you’re so dumb.” Alice huffed, one hand cupping her small, perky breast. Her breaths grew less steady, catching whenever she tugged at her stiff pink nipple, and she watched Johnny quickly grow rock-hard.

“Duhhhmb…” the entranced Rogue mumbled back to her between absent moans, his hips bucking weakly into her hand.

“Yeah, that’s right.” She grinned in spite of herself. Her left hand abandoned her tit and dipped between her legs, fingers pressing her labia delicately. Even this light touch drew a quivering gasp to her lips, and she bit her tongue to keep herself quiet. Her right hand kept pumping Johnny’s shaft, working him over physically while the spell kept him docile. “Idiot.”

Alice didn’t waste time. She climbed back onto his waist, steadied her hands on his chest, and lowered herself down… down…

“Hhh… fuck…” She yelped when Johnny’s hips thrust upward, impaling her briskly! “That wasn’t a command, asshole!”

“Ssssoorrrryyyy…”

He sure had a lot to apologize for today! Alice conjured two spectral hands to physically restrain Johnny’s hips before another utterance spurred him into motion. She took a solid moment to regain her composure. Average dick or no, too fast was too fast! Thus steadied, the rabbit slowly rocked forward and back, breaths steadying and deepening, eyelids fluttering. “Deep trance.” she breathed the words, eyes locked upon Johnny’s as she rode him. “Not a thought in your head. Dull and drained. Empty and useful. Calm. Docile. Good boy.”

They could have been a faint breeze through the clearing, their fucking was so quiet, so measured. A finger shoved in Johnny’s mouth kept him from mewling like a frat boy, and Alice had a lot of practice under her belt. She huffed through her nose, arched and rocked against him, luxuriating in the fullness he gave her every time she rolled back on his waist.

“You can touch now.” she murmured, and Johnny’s hands lazily gravitated toward her breasts. At least some people appreciated petite girls in this damn city. She pressed into his touch and finally let her eyes stay closed. This was her moment. Her space. Her reward. She could enjoy it without a second thought.

Their gentle chorus grew an octave louder. She pulled her finger from his mouth and let her hands rest on his chest. Little murmurs kept Johnny on pace, stopped him from rutting her like a wild beast, and generally kept his dumb commentary shut off. They’d tried sex without hypnosis a couple times; he really couldn’t resist making jokes or talking about being ‘defeated in sexual combat’. Fucking dumbass. The thought made her chuckle now, despite how annoying it’d been in the moment. Her moans rose higher, her whole body tingling as she neared her peak.

“Not much longer.” she assured him, one hand finding his hair and combing through that messy half-shave with trembling fingers. “You’re being so good. Mmnh, don’t give up yet…”

An easy command to give, though she was hitting that edge herself. She moved faster, bouncing on his waist, breasts jiggling against Johnny’s groping hands. Her spell began to fizzle—not enough mental bandwidth to cum and cast! “Hah… ahhh… G-Go ahead..!”

Warmth flooded her tunnel, and she clenched around it. Their moans rose through the canopy, echoed off bark and grass. Bodies went rigid as climax rippled through their nerves, tying them together in one glorious moment where all the earlier irritation ceased to exist. Alice’s toes curled, her nails dug into Johnny’s chest, and she held her breath to trap it all in. Just another second of that ecstatic release, just another instant of this pleasure…

Hips rolled. Arms quaked. Finally, she collapsed upon him, releasing that held breath and ducking her head under his chin. Relief and regret flooded her in equal parts, but she stuffed the latter down just to milk one more ounce of enjoyment from this repeated mistake. Arms circled his waist, and she huffed, mewled, and whispered all manner of “good boy” nothings into his ear. This was not where she’d wanted to spend her day… but the blissful buzz vibrating every cell in her body didn’t let her parse that thought right now.

Johnny’s long, satisfied groan as he stretched his limbs brought her back to the moment. He lay his hands on her back and combed fingers through her fur, and she couldn’t quite bring herself to chase him off yet. His breaths steadied, and he shifted just a little beneath her. Silence hung between them while they held each other, her unwilling to let this turn from indulgence to awkward re-dressing, him far too dense to realize why she fucked him to begin with.

“Alright.” Johnny finally broke the silence, and she felt that damn grin in that single word. “I’ll talk first this time.”

“Must you?” the rabbit sighed. “Johnny… we can’t keep doing this.”

“Why not? You’re the one who initiates.”

“Not this—I mean, yes, this, but… goddammit.” Alice forced herself up and tried to ignore the feeling of… unsheathing. She stood, wobbled, and took wide steps to her hat, discarded on the grass in the moment. She held the flat-topped accessory in one hand, then stuffed the other inside. Her whole arm disappeared into the depths of that seemingly bottomless hat, before she found purchase on something. Out from her hat came a box of wet wipes. “I mean, really? Every two weeks? Sometimes even sooner? You do realize I have real work to do, right?”

Golden Rogue—neither golden nor roguish in his undressed state—sat up cross-legged and stared, indignant, while Alice cleaned herself up. “How am I not real work? I’m your arch-nemesis!”

There wasn’t enough energy in the universe to push back. Not when she’d had this argument so damn many times. She discarded her spent wipes in a pile for later disposal, then tossed the package Johnny’s way. “Get cleaned up. Can’t have you arriving at the Slam reeking of sex.”

“Again—your fault!” But he did the oft-excluded-from-porn-videos deed all the same. This time he managed not to stare at her while she slipped back into her leotard. Maybe his two brain cells had rubbed together just enough to generate a modicum of shame.

“And spray yourself down with this.” A can of deodorant clocked him on the head, and he groaned. She couldn’t stop the smirk that found its way to one corner of her mouth. Served him right. “Does ‘Golden Rogue’ have a preferred fragrance?”

Johnny snorted, even as he rubbed his head with one hand and gave himself a body spray bath with the other. “Injustice with a side of villainy.”

“So standard Axe body spray. Who knew villainy smelled like a Macy’s?”

“Har har.” He glared at her, that stupid grin finally having dissolved. “You gonna take me to prison or not?”

“Put your goddamn clothes back on, and I will. And put the zipper back in the front next time, asshole.”

Processing took fifteen minutes. Golden Rogue was a bi-weekly resident at the Grand Slam—or “Halcyon City Supernatural Internment Facility”, if one was filling out paperwork. The frustrating irony, of course, being that even this place designed to keep supervillains contained couldn’t hold him for long. Luck, as it turned out, wasn’t an easy thing to quantify or control. Forget about properly containing someone who’d apparently earned the universe’s approval to do whatever the hell he wanted. Alice would have probably just dumped him off at the local jail if policy allowed—and if she hadn’t felt like fucking him that day. It’d hold him just as well, and the trip would be shorter.

The Slam was unimpressive once you got past the imposing size of its concrete walls and perimeter of guard towers, razor wire, and security turrets. Intake was a sterile white-gray room with an airlock system, followed by a quick walk to a desk protected by bullet-proof glass. Hand-off was as quick as a signature on a single sheet of paper. These guys knew heroes didn’t have time for bureaucracy.

Johnny bid Alice his usual farewell; professions of intended vengeance, a promise to return even stronger, and an insistence that no cell could hold him. All true, unfortunately for her, the police, and whoever got caught in his next big scene. Alice didn’t even acknowledge it. She took to the sky once she’d scribbled her signature on the release paper. Why the hell did they even bother filing this guy at this point? This wasn’t some shoplifter they could build a bigger case against when his stolen goods hit grand theft level—he literally could not be contained.

God… Responding to him was a mistake every time. When had she let this thing run away with her free time? She couldn’t think of a single incident.

She absently rubbed the spot on her waist where her leotard had stopped a very real gunshot wound from becoming a kidney transplant. Bruised, but not punctured. She’d have to fix her outfit, though, and she was sure she’d used up the last of her enchanted thread after her last scrape with a half-way competent villain. A purposeful slash across her chest, as she recalled. Honestly, if these villains wanted to see tits, they could just go to a strip club.

Enchanting thread would take time. Time she really didn’t want to spend. Luckily, she knew someone who’d have plenty on-hand. Time to pay mom and dad a visit.

The flight to her childhood home took her to south central Meridian, into a little town called Elmwood Park. Far away from the hustle and bustle, this quiet suburban hideaway sat nestled at the edge of Halcyon City’s outskirts. The city itself stood as a bright and shining set piece for every sunrise, with the League HQ just poking up from the center of the skyline. The sight a young Alice woke up to every morning, whimsical and starry-eyed at the prospect of joining their ranks. If only they could have lived up to the hype.

Spotting a particular house from the air was a learned technique; something people didn’t tend to think about when they said “I wish I could fly”. GPS software in every modern phone probably made that less of an issue now, but her parents had insisted she learn to fly by memory. It’d sure done her plenty of good; the faint outline of mom and dad’s house stuck out like a sore thumb to her trained eyes, even through the late afternoon haze.

Descending quickly to avoid any curious eyes, she crossed the property line, where she felt the house’s magical wards wash over her senses. A simple glamour much like the one that obscured her secret identity; for the home, the magic projected, “No superheroes fly around our yard.” For her face, “This is Alice Cadabra, and no one else.” Elegant and effective. Just like her parents to come up with a solution to let their daughter come and go in plain sight, costume and all. Mundane onlookers would simply… forget what they’d seen and go about their lives.

Ethically, it was slightly terrifying. Memory manipulation magic walked a tight line between “okay” and “untenable”. But keeping her family’s secrets safe harmed no one. She could live with the deception.

Alice dispelled the glamour over her face and passed the mailbox labeled, “The Cadburys”, and strode up to the white-bricked house with the dark gray roof. The lawn was well-kept as always, and mom’s flowerbeds had stayed in bloom all summer long. She dug through her hat for her house key, unlocked the front door, and stepped inside. Warmth and gentle spices immediately embraced her senses, and she shut the door behind her. The entrance opened into a short hallway with the kitchen doorway on the left and the living room straight ahead. Two pairs of shoes sat beside the door.

“Hey mom, dad.” Alice casually announced herself as she hung her hat and cloak on a hook by the door. “I’m home.”

“Alicia?” Her mother’s familiar voice called from the kitchen. “I’m just finishing dinner! Good timing!”

Some things never changed, and they certainly never stopped bringing her right back to her early childhood comforts. Though Anna Cadbury had aged, her voice echoing from the kitchen carried the same gentle tone she’d always known. The living room TV hummed with a quiet ambiance, and the sight of her father—seen from behind—sprawled lazily on the couch took her mind back to mornings before school. Alice—Alicia—smiled before she even knew why.

“Hey, little bun!” her dad called out, peeking over the back of the couch. “Saw you on TV! You really let that Rogue guy have it today.”

“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” Her mother finally came out of the kitchen, white fur patched with black splotches kept soft and glossy. She dressed casually, a long t-shirt covering pajama pants, and her black hair hung messily around her shoulders. “I know you told them you were fine, but you got shot!”

Alicia offered a shrug. She fingered the fresh hole in her leotard and made a face. “Supersuit took the hit for me. But uh… it’s gonna need a stitch.”

“Oh, I can do that for you!” her mom chirped as she bounced back into the kitchen. “After dinner.”

“I can do it, mom. No worries. I’m just out of thread.” She took a deep breath of the heavenly aroma wafting from the kitchen, and she peeked into the cute little space. Not a huge kitchen by any means; appliances from the mid 2010s, a gas oven and stove, modest refrigerator, and enough counter space for an enthusiastic chef to not lose her mind. “Do I smell… cabbage rolls?”

Her mom grinned. “You picked a good night to come home, dear.”

Hell yeah, she did. Man, after today, she could annihilate some cabbage rolls. “Do you need any help?”

“Oh, I’ve got this covered. Go on, sit with your father. He needs some company.”

Typical mom, Lady Commander of the Kitchen. Alicia didn’t argue. She wandered back toward the living room, but paused to stop by the refrigerator and its tapestry held up by magnets. Old crayon drawings, school awards, pictures of her in her very first supersuit… A time capsule revisited every time someone went for a glass of milk.

Some of them weren’t even that old. Little sketches she’d done in high school. “Did you really keep these?” she murmured, fingers tracing just the edge of the page.

“I found them while we were moving some things a few weeks ago.” Mrs. Cadbury chuckled. “Couldn’t bring myself to throw them away. Besides, they’re cute!”

Alicia scoffed, but there was no malice to it. The last thing she needed was to get all sentimental. She made her way to the couch and plopped down beside her dad, who leaned over to one-arm hug around her shoulders. The same motion, practiced over decades, made her feel safe no matter how old she got. “Hey old man. Whatcha watchin’?”

Jason Cadbury, a taller example of a rabbit with some chub around his edges, nodded at the TV. “Ah, just the evening news. They keep talking about your battle every hour or so. You doing alright?”

What a question to answer after what she’d dealt with. “Yeah! Today was just… not what I expected.”

“You looked real pissed. This is the worst that asshole’s ever been, isn’t it?”

Alicia breathed out the stress of the day. Somehow it didn’t seem so bad as she sank into the familiar hollows worn into the couch by time and heavy bodies. And her dad, though a touch more gray than she remembered, was still the brilliant brown-furred protector of the house she remembered. Always on top of ensuring no one messed with his little girl. “Yeah, he definitely crossed a line. But I made sure he knew it.”

“That’s my little bun.” he laughed quietly. ‘Little bun’… She’d had to scold him a couple times for yelling that to her at her public appearance as Alice. What a horrible way that would have been to expose her identity!

The house resumed its subtle ambiance. A fire burned in the hearth, mostly for atmosphere, but the aging Cadburys preferred to keep things toasty. No questions rose about her injury or her trip to the Grand Slam (thank god—she didn’t need to be reminded of what happened between arrest and hand-over). Her life as a superhero was so public that her parents were almost always in the loop. The silence did something more than fretting or fawning could; grounded her in familiarity. This was home. This was safe.

It was also nostalgia. Memory. A bittersweet reminder of the unceasing passage of time.

It was a strange thing sometimes, seeing furniture sit where it always had for decades, wearing hollows into the carpet, only to realize something else had long since been thrown away and replaced. Simple things; the coffee table (her dad had tripped and landed on it—nearly broke his back!), the landline phone (gone entirely, thanks to mobile phones), some potted plants that hadn’t survived the years.

Strange and familiar in equal parts, in a way that tugged the heart strings in so many directions at once.

Dinner arrived before long. They sat at the table, cut into fresh cabbage rolls stuffed with meat and vegetables, and chatted about this and that. Mr. Cadbury kept rubbing his leg and, when pressed, gently waved off the concern. “Doctor thinks sciatica. No big deal.”

Alicia gently huffed. “Do I have to sneak you over to Pulse so he can fix you?”

“And step foot in the League of Disasters HQ? I’d rather go to a Brooklyn back-alley ‘doctor without borders’.”

“Jason.” her mother quietly scolded. “The League isn’t all bad. Aloysius might not run it anymore, but he’s still there holding things together as best as he can.”

Her father sighed. “Man, Justicar… Worst decision he’s ever made, stepping down. I get he’s tired, but I thought that man was unstoppable! I still have my action figures somewhere.”

“Pre-equipment upgrade, or post?” Alicia quipped with a smile.

“Pre, obviously! We didn’t have vibro-blades and tech-crossbows when I was a kid.” He sipped at his beer and savored it before swallowing. “You can’t beat the classics, bun. Well, alright, maybe you can, specifically. Some of the heroes of our time were a little weird.”

Anna cackled. “Oh god, remember Hang Ten? The surfer? Kicked up tsunamis out of nowhere and tossed bad guys around with spectral sharks?”

“Shit, yeah, exactly!”

“He had a son, too. Same damn powers. Calls himself Wipeout.”

Alicia snorted a laugh. The west-coast heroes were definitely a different flavor. And speaking of flavor… “I haven’t had cabbage rolls in so long. Thanks, mom.”

Mrs. Cadbury’s smile cut through the haze of stress that still hung over her. Man, she’d really needed this visit. “You know you’re always welcome here, dear. Moving out doesn’t mean disappearing.”

Alicia stared down at her plate and pursed her lips. She hadn’t disappeared… had she? Sure, it’d been a month or two since her last visit. Or maybe three? She couldn’t even remember.

“You alright?” her mom asked. “You look really tired.”

And then some, as it so happened. But she couldn’t bother them with all this hero stuff. Not after all they’d done for her. All the ways they’d helped her get here. Alicia put on a smile and shook her head. “I’m alright. Didn’t expect to have to work today.”

“You can say no, you know.” Mr. Cadbury insisted as he forked another cabbage roll onto his plate. “There’s how many heroes in the city now? You don’t gotta handle Goldilocks every single time.”

She scoffed. If only that was true. “He specifically does this so I’ll respond. Better to just get it out of the way. ‘Sides, the city slides me a check for every bad guy I throw in the Slam. Though I’m pretty sure they’re gonna knock his rank down if this keeps up.”

The bunny heroine took another roll and quietly realized: Her mom had made way more than she and dad could have eaten on their own. Just how often did they cook extra on the off chance that she came home?

Best not to dwell on it, she figured.

“Oh, right!” Her mother perked up with a smile. “Speaking of theatrics, we’re putting on a show in a few weeks. There’s always a slot open for you if you want to come perform, for old time’s sake.”

“I mean, obviously.” Alicia beamed right back to her. That was a smile she didn’t have to force. Her parents didn’t put their magical talents to waste, despite not being in the superhero business. “The Spectacular Cadburys” was a show that always turned heads; a mix of practical stage effects, showmanship, and just a touch of real magic to sell the effects and keep the crowd asking how it was done. They’d traveled a lot over the years, performing with circus troupes, between acrobatic shows, and even in solo acts in the city. Summer weekends were almost never spent at home, and Alice’s role in the magic show had more than prepared her for the crowd-pleasing portion of her heroics. In a way, she had that early experience wowing spectators to thank for many of her talents now.

Time, however, did as it was wont, and the middle-aged Cadburys eventually slowed down their touring schedule. They’d all but retired now, occasionally putting on shows at an old friend’s request just for some extra spending money. Maybe if Alice hadn’t been a hero, she’d have been a performer full-time.

Maybe they wouldn’t have had to retire so early if they had her help all the time. A sobering thought that she forced aside.

They polished off most of those delectable cabbage rolls, and her mom packed them away as leftovers. She offered them to Alicia, but she gently turned them down; microwaving an old favorite alone in her apartment felt unnecessarily sad for some reason. Mr. Cadbury went to clean up the kitchen—it’d always been a “you cook, I clean” arrangement in this house. He switched on the clock radio by the sink and tuned in to an old classic rock station to vibe while he cleaned. Mrs. Cadbury went to tidy up the living room shortly after convincing Alicia to spend the night. The old recliner looked as comfy as ever, and would be a great spot to stretch out.

Alicia went to her old bedroom, now a storage place for odds and ends, and took in the sight from the doorway. Her old bed had long since been removed, and no toys littered the floor, but the imprint would always flash across her mind’s eye when she looked inside. Plushies floating in the air, suspended by her growing magic, pages from coloring books taped to the walls. Eventually replaced by faerie lights along the ceiling, band posters, a computer…

All things swept away by time. Memories near and far, all equally out of reach. Flashes of the sounds of dad cooking breakfast while she played. Bits of conversations between mom and grandma while she chatted online with friends. High school drama, so important in the moment, ridiculous in hindsight. Precious, all the same.

She pulled her grandmother’s old sewing kit from the closet. Opening the ancient wicker basket revealed not only a sturdy sewing needle and knitting supplies, but also old photographs. Black and white shots of her grandparents, Helena and Jim Cadbury—better known to the world as Razzle-Dazzle and Thunderfist. Grandma, beautiful in her youth. Grandpa, anvil-tough. Both bereft of costume or ceremony, looking like a comfortably normal couple sitting on the porch of a house surrounded by deep woods.

Another photo: Her mother as a child being lifted by her grandma’s magic. Another, far more recent: Alicia toddling across the floor, barely a year old. Her first steps, perhaps.

“Time sure does fly.” Her mother’s voice gently broke the silence. She stopped and knelt beside her daughter and smiled. “Sure you don’t want me to fix that hole for you?”

“No, it’s alright.” Alicia held a breath. “Time flies” was an understatement. She flipped through the photos in her hands and tried to swallow a dull ache in her throat. “I’ll just throw on some pajamas and fix it tonight.”

A moment took its time between them. Anna put a hand on Alicia’s knee. “You sure you’re okay?”

That lump swelled just a little. What was this? Stress? She sure had done a lot of fighting recently. But this was more than that. She gently replaced the photos and shut the basket. “Today was… a lot. I guess.”

“It sure was.”

Alicia shook her head. She looked up at Anna, saw the gray hairs, the subtle reshaping of facial contours, and quietly realized how much time had stolen from her already. Maybe she’d always known. Maybe that’s why coming home had become harder after two years of living on her own. Now people like Golden Rogue sought to take even more of that precious time from her.

Time she could have spent here, with her parents. Performing in more shows. Helping them keep the house tidy. Or just… eating dinner at home sometimes.

She could have said anything in the moment.

“I can’t believe he shot me.”

“I’m tired of this.”

“I wish he’d find someone else to bother.”

But it wouldn’t matter. Words weren’t enough to describe the sudden, aching awareness of the way time slipped away, no matter how many photographs tried to capture each fleeting moment. Golden Rogue could cease to exist the moment she walked through that door. What had caught her up didn’t come from the outside. It was here. It was always here, every time she visited.

The words came unbidden. “I think I… just really needed to see you today.”

Her mother took her into her arms, and just like that she was a little girl again. She held tight, let her tears spill, and quietly cried. Too many fights. Too many Golden Rogues lately. Too many memories in one place, no matter how fond.

“You’re okay, dear.” Mrs. Cadbury hushed her.

No stopping it now. She might as well let it all loose. “I’m sorry. I don’t visit as often as I should.”

“You’re a superhero, Alicia. You’re busy! We understand.”

It didn’t matter, nor did she have a rebuttal. Yes, she was busy… and then, on quiet days, sometimes all she wanted to do was bedrot. How many hours did she waste away, when she could have spent them here? Few people were ever “too busy” to spend a few hours with their parents.

“I miss grandma and grandpa.” the bunny mumbled through her tears.

“You can call them whenever you like.”

“I know. Just… it’s different. They’re older. It’s not like before.” Alicia sniffled. An ugly sound for someone finally unconcerned with pomp or ceremony.

Her mother combed her hair gently with careful fingers. “Time has a way of changing things, honey bun. I know it’s shocking when you’re young. It hurts sometimes.”

No one ever told her how it would hurt, though. Maybe no one could have. Or maybe the words just wouldn’t be enough. How do you tell someone so young, so bright and full of life, that everything they ever loved, all they found gentle familiarity in and took for granted, would one day fade? It all felt so needlessly cruel, words and truth alike.

“You were always watching them on TV.” Anna said after a while, still gently swaying in place, Alicia in her arms. “Soon as you were old enough to sit upright on your own, you were glued to the news reels, the TV specials, the fight footage your father and I recorded. You really, really wanted to be like grandma.”

Alicia dabbed her eyes with her thumb and index finger. She smiled through the tears. Vague as they were, those memories still survived the years. Staring up at the glow of the new flat-screen—a big deal at the time. Apparently her dad had insisted on it. Probably the most modern thing in their house at the time. That smile faded, however, as a thought rose reluctantly to her lips:

“Are you… happy with how things turned out?”

Anna pulled back just enough to look her daughter in the eyes. “How do you mean?”

“I mean… I don’t know.” She held her breath like it could stall the feelings threatening to spill over. “Do you ever regret not following grandma and grandpa’s lead? I guess…” Her voice broke just a tiny bit. “Do you regret not being a hero?”

“Oh, Alicia.” Her mom wiped renewed tears from her cheek. “Not once. Not for one day, one hour, or one second.”

“I didn’t stop you from achieving your dream?”

“Honey… Where is this all coming from?”

Alicia took a breath. She had to steady herself. “I’ve always wondered.” She leaned into her mother’s embrace. “I see pictures of grandma and grandpa. And I watched you and dad cast magic all my life, like it was nothing. I’m sure you thought about it… Being like grandma. Taking dad as your partner and being a new heroic couple or something.”

Her mom’s hug tightened just a touch. She didn’t say anything at first, but there was no sign of any wistful nostalgia in her stare. When she finally spoke again, she did so with a smile. “The moment I held you in my arms, I knew that world wasn’t for me. And your father knew it, too. We… talked about the possibility when we met, yes.” She shrugged, like that fact didn’t matter at all. “But we were two young, talented mages, and my parents were part of the League. Of course we talked about it. That doesn’t mean it was ever a certainty, or even realistic.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Shh. No buts.” Mrs. Cadbury smiled. “Growing up with hero parents is… not easy, honey bun. They’re always skipping dinners, running late, forgetting little things. Sometimes big things. They missed my birthday once.”

Alicia couldn’t help but loose a single, incredulous laugh. “Seriously?”

“I was ten. I cried for two days.” Anna giggled in spite of the terribleness of it all. “I didn’t want that for you. We didn’t want that. When we decided to have a child, we knew far in advance that we wouldn’t follow that path.”

A quiet fell over the storm in Alicia’s heart. That… was certainly not regret. No longing for a life unlived, a dream deferred. And, crucially, it lifted some of the weight from her own neglected responsibilities. At least she’d never missed anyone’s birthday.

Slowly, her breathing settled, and her sinuses cleared. Still, she held her mother, clung to something real and grounded and ageless despite the gray hairs. Not because she might go away, but because she didn’t do it enough these days.

“We picked you, Alicia.” Mrs. Cadbury said as she kissed her cheek. “The whole world could have burned, and I’d have been happy if our little house and our little family was okay. And that’s the whole, honest truth.”

She couldn’t do anything but nod. Some things were just universally constant, like gravity. Her mother’s word was one such constant. The past might be forever out of reach, but the present still carried its physical echoes. And her mom rang loud and clear, holding her tight and shielding her from the harshness of reality, if only for a moment.

She breathed, held it, and blew out what remained of that doubt. It’d have to be enough. Eventually, it would be. “Thank you, mom.”

“I’ll get you some pajama pants.” Anna murmured as she finally let the younger bunny go. “And you let me know if you need help with that leotard. Your father and I will probably head upstairs soon, but we’ll be awake for a bit.”

Alicia hugged her mom again for good measure. It didn’t solve her most immediate problem, but it felt good to finally get all this off her chest. “I’m glad I came over today.”

“We are, too, dear. And please, do so more often! I know you’re grown and out on your own, to say nothing of the incredible things you do out there.” Mrs. Cadbury smiled in her usual flawless way. “But you can always come home. No matter what, there will always be a place for you here.”

Fuck, she was going to cry all over again if this didn’t stop. They said their goodnights, and Alicia locked back in as Alice for her task. Pajama pants and oversized t-shirt: Acquired. Sewing necessities: In hand. Leotard: Ready for fixing.

Night settled, and a gentle storm rolled in. Rain pattered against glass and stone. Wood crackled as the fireplace gently glowed. The world outside had gone still after sunset, and her grandma’s old rocking chair had been the most comfortable place to flop into. Alice sat, right leg crossed over the left, the old basket of thread, yarn, and magical filaments on the floor beside her. Her leotard lay across her lap, fingers meticulously guiding an enchanted needle through the arcane-imbued fabric. In one side of a hole, past the offending injury, and out the other side.

In this space, her mother’s comfort hollowed out. She scoffed at the tear in her outfit. It still didn’t feel real. Johnny actually shot her today. Emerald eyes narrowed as she silently fumed. Golden Rogue. More like Gold-Plated Asshole.

“Motherfucker.” she hissed, letting her head flop back against the chair’s pillowy upholstery. “Of course he shot you, dumbass. He’s your ‘arch-nemesis’.”

It wasn’t the wound that ached—her leotard had sacrificed its integrity to ensure that. Even the bruise didn’t hurt that much. No, the real injury cut deeper than flesh and organs. She’d been gentle with him. Always avoided giving him the same beatdowns she gave other superpowered bad guys. This game—and it was a fucking game to him—had rules they’d established. He broke that rule today. And, to be fair, she’d let him have it in response. Oh, he was going to feel that ass-kicking in the morning.

“Yeah, and then you fucked him right after.” The words tasted vile, but she couldn’t deny it. Alice took a breath, held on for dear life, and exhaled the obvious: “Fuck, this is so toxic…”

The real crux of it all. The fact she’d come home and lost herself in nostalgia to avoid confronting. This was… really not good. For either of them.

The ceiling became magnetic to her eyes. Fingers played idly with the needle caught between them. She forgot the bullet hole, forgot the brush with a shot kidney, forgot the passage of minutes. It’d all begun so innocently; this new weirdo of a villain robbing banks and lingering at the scene specifically so a hero would come and fight him.

Rogue had been lucky—hilariously fitting, given his brand of superpower. It hadn’t been Hotshot or Railgun who’d come to clean up the first couple incidents. Justicar had been in town for the first two. He was a proper gentleman by comparison—no welts from steel ballbearings flying at near-Mach speed, no third degree burns. Just enough force to detain, sufficient spectacle to entertain.

The third time Rogue came around to be a menace, Justicar had been occupied. That time, Alice responded.

She hadn’t held back. She hadn’t known, then. He monologued at her just like so many other villains did, and she delivered her spiel back at him. They postured and boasted, made a proper show for the crowd and cameras. One ass-beating later, and the goddamn Golden Rogue laughed even as he doubled over in pain. “You’re PERFECT!”

On that day, a one-sided arch-rivalry was born. And from that day forward, this gold-plated prick would never so much as jaywalk unless he was certain Alice Cadabra would arrive on-scene to deliver a proper superhero beatdown. She’d initially clocked him for a masochist. Some adrenaline junkie or a proper “hurt me, Mommy” pain freak.

She might have even preferred that. At least sex pests were easy to file away. Johnny wasn’t any of that. He was a goddamn superhero enthusiast. He loved the old stories, historic and imagined. Videos of the old League, clips of Justicar punching kaijus, comic books, action figures, body pillows… He lived for that stuff. Hell, he could have probably gotten along with her dad if he wasn’t a maniac. And at the center of his obsession was his mantra: Every good hero needs an arch-nemesis. And Alice had exactly none of those until he came along.

She realized then how ridiculously harmless this guy was, and always would be. He wasn’t in it for the money, the harm caused, or even the magical ass-whooping. It was all theater. Like a kid wearing a cape, except this grown-ass man was facing down real heroes who might “accidentally” send him to the burn ward. Supernatural luck or no, Rogue still got caught every single time, and receiving a comically-large arcane boot to the face was still preferable to needing skin grafts.

...Maybe she should stop with the boot thing, if she didn’t want the “harder Mommy” crowd to actually manifest…

In spite of his impressive gun-slinging skills and above-average technical know-how, Johnny was almost comically easy to subdue. Alice approached him as a mild annoyance; someone to be smacked down, given his superhero speech, and carted off to jail. What she hadn’t anticipated was how his luck would pan out post-defeat. Something always managed to get him out of prison. Inadmissible evidence, cameras malfunctioning, eyewitnesses misidentifying the culprit. And on the miraculous occasion that he actually saw the inside of a cell, someone would look the other way just long enough for him to waltz out like he’d just made bail.

His graduation from normal people jail to the Grand Slam had done nothing to curtail this string of escapes. Sure, nobody misidentified him at this point, but that didn’t stop everything from conveniently going his way in some other inconceivable manner. Of all the infuriating superpowers, this had to be the worst she’d encountered.

Hell, maybe his luck was what compelled her to lay him down in the grass after every other encounter. Maybe it wasn’t just her being a horny idiot with a hypnosis spell, and she wasn’t actually responsible for just how goddamn cute this asshole was. It’d certainly give her a better excuse for her own behavior. Something about the way he absolutely folded, even before the hypnotic colors lulled away his resistance…

That fawning look he gave her when she pushed him down by his shoulders…

The moment before she crushed his lips with hers...

Damn. Maybe she was the sex pest.

“Ugh.” The sound escaped her throat just to fill the quiet air. She zeroed back in on her leotard. God, when had she made this aesthetic choice? Right… Grandma’s costume. Purple instead of blue. All thighs and bare shoulders and cleavage. Not exactly shocking for the 60s, when mod fashion had started to emerge in the US, but certainly trend-setting. She let herself grin. “And she was a real heart-breaker in her youth. Must run in the family.”

Her finger pushed through the hole in her self-styled supersuit. The real sting was that Johnny hadn’t actually wanted to hurt her. This wasn’t about shooting Alice—it was about escalation. It was exactly because she’d begun to pull her punches, beat his ass a little less, casually restrain rather than theatrically punish, that things had gotten to this point. Somehow she’d forgotten the entire reason why he put on these shows for her to begin with, and now the precedent had been set. An ante once upped didn’t go down easily… and she’d given him the beating he so craved in response.

Fuck.

“Well what the hell am I supposed to do?” she groaned into the ether. “Resign myself to casting fist on this guy until something finally puts an end to this? Give me a sign, universe!”

Fingers stitched with seething precision. Golden Rogue…

Golden Fucking Asshole…

Johnny…

Stupid fucking hot Johnny…

She’d even considered really letting him have it with a hypnosis spell—really blanking him out and getting nice and deep into his head, to try and pull at the threads of this obsession. Maybe convince him to take a vacation, at least! But that was a line one didn’t uncross. Once you got into proper, permanent mind-control, every unswirled mind started to look a little too willful.

And with her luck, this idiot’s dumb superpower would undo it in an hour. Ugh.

She pulled threads tight, channeled mana into the stitches, and watched as everything tightened into a nylon-strong bond. Imbued threads melded together like there had never been a hole to begin with, and she gave it a good stretch to test it. Not a single misaligned stitch. A pretty awesome patch job, if she said so herself. Mom would be proud.

Still, it was just a leotard. Not exactly the most protective thing, but it really sold the stage magician look, and it breathed really well in the summer. Actually, it was getting close to autumn, and her cold-weather supersuit needed some adjustments. It was so damn tight around her arms and legs. She’d spent more time stretching before work than ever through all of last winter, just to get some more give out of the fabric. Not her finest work.

“Should just ask mom to help me this year.” she mumbled. “Pride cometh before the fall. And mine was sorely tested by that damn thing.”

So flexibility was the name of the game. She could just make the fabric thinner, but that’d defeat the entire purpose of it being for cold weather. These fibers were like air when stretched thin. Felt like wearing nothing at all. On top of that, their protective quality dipped hard with a smaller thread count, but still limited her movement. Barely worth the adjustment.

The real problem was the areas around the shoulders and hips. Nowhere near enough stretch. The entire reason she didn’t have sleeves or leggings during the summer. A space between hip and thigh might be alright. “Like thigh highs… Cute. And practical. Pair it with some boots... We’ll call that a ‘maybe’.”

As for the arms… Maybe some long gloves? A detached sleeve sort of thing? She wrinkled her nose. “The internet gooners are already weird enough about armpits. They’d be all over that.”

What a perplexing fixation. Were tits and ass not enough for people now, that armpits were considered lewd? And here she thought the world was making progress with desexualizing people’s bodies. At least she spent only a minimal amount of time online. She could imagine the fan art.

...Fuck, did she have fan art? She was almost tempted to look. Tempted and terrified.

She shelved the cold-weather suit ideas for now. It was the furthest thing from her thoughts—a passing distraction from the real mess. How the hell was she going to get Johnny to calm down? Being a superhero was one thing. She expected it to be a busy job! But this bi-weekly show they had going was costing her far too much time.

Then, of course, there was this thing with him shooting her. That could not happen again. Because what came next? Actual hospitalization? And what if he broke out some new gadget, or a grenade, or some other instrument of death that he managed to get his hands on? Johnny hadn’t ever ended another person’s life, and she was sure he’d never do it on purpose… but…

Alice leaned back and draped one arm over her face. The sound of her dad snoring upstairs momentarily cut through the rain before his slumber soothed his breathing again. Some things never changed: The ambiance of her childhood home, the crackling of a warm fire, the certainty of pancakes in the morning. Yeah, spending the night had been the right idea.

Best to stow her frustrations as best as she could and get some shut-eye. The old recliner propped up her feet at the pull of a lever, and she set her leotard and sewing needle on the table beside her. The smell of wood smoke and the gentle weight of grandma’s old blanket would be comfy bedmates. Alice shut her eyes, held her breath, and quietly wished for a quiet rest of the month. God, she needed it.

Traffic and bustle consumed the streets of Halcyon City as always. Everyone, every which way, had somewhere to be, and the roads remained choked with cars, buses, and taxis as they typically did. For those bound to gravity’s whim, it was just another day. For Alice Cadabra, an afterthought once she left the ground.

The afternoon sun cut through late summer haze and beamed down upon her back as she flew over the city. It’d been a slow day so far. No major villain attacks or high-profile crimes. No Golden Rogue sightings. Just another day on patrol. Some days were just like this; the wind in her hair, traffic noise muted, sunlight shining on skyscrapers. She could even get some proper fresh air, free of petroleum emissions and all, if she went high enough.

Below, one of the city’s maglev trains glided along its rail, snaking its way between buildings. One of the major improvements made over the last several decades in an effort to replace the aging subway system. For the moment it was limited to Meridian-only travel, but talks with the surrounding states had turned toward a larger network. It was about damn time the US was onboard with this stuff.

Not that she needed public transit with wings like hers! The skyline loomed ahead. Nestled at its center stood a four-story structure, champagne-tinted titanium walls gleaming in the sunlight. At the top sat the League’s emblem, the winged shield; a symbol that wouldn’t look misplaced on a soldier’s dress uniform. From this distance, she could just make out two black dots at the top. Gun turrets.

Right. Justicar had mentioned a recent software update. Hopefully they’d ironed out the bugs before switching those back on. She’d find out real quick if not! Alice beat her magical wings and pushed forward, taking a moment to wave at a penthouse gathering jumping up and down and frantically waving their arms in greeting. Ah, the little things.

The details of League HQ came into focus the closer she got. Solid metal walls, a perimeter fence with an open gate, those mean-looking rotary machine-gun turrets. The third floor balcony window shutters were open, but the reflective glass prevented any snooping. She could just walk in through the lobby, but there were always civilians walking about inside, gawking at old costume pieces and watching videos about the League’s history. She didn’t want to cause a scene, nor was answering questions about her association with the League (or lack thereof) on the menu today.

Alice circled above and watched the turrets track her, gimbals whispering as they adjusted. Anyone else might have found this intimidating, but the subject recognition software had every hero employed by (or friendly to) the League stored in their database. God help every hero with flight if that ever suddenly failed. She waited for the buzz on her phone, then checked the incoming text: “Cleared for entry.”

Good enough! Alice watched a section of rooftop slide open, and she let herself gently land on the platform it revealed. The floor beneath her descended into the structure and the roof closed up again. The elevator tube in which she waited moved down two floors, after which a metal door opened up in front of her. A computer-generated voice spoke from a panel in the wall. “Third floor: Class 1 common area. Welcome, Alice Cadabra. Please limit your visit to areas listed on your virtual visitor pass.”

She rolled her eyes. League loved its classifications. Nothing like a little dick-swinging to set yourself above the common hero. She stepped out into the hall, then made a left. A short walk brought her into a warm room with wide windows looking out into the city. Several plush couches and armchairs sat tastefully arranged around a circular table, with a large TV on one end of the room. The tips of two fuzzy ears rose just over the top of one of these couches, and they flicked at the sound of her motion.

“Hold up, Carrot Cakes.” came a voice from between the ears. Light and almost boyish, with a heavy Meridian accent. The person on the other side of the couch fiddled with something on his head, then turned, hopped up, and knelt on the cushions to look at her. A fennec with a bright red mask around his deep blue eyes, and a big tuft of brown hair nestled between his ears. He wore an expression of idle distaste. “Just maskin’ up. Don’t need you pokin’ around my secret identity any.”

“Like I don’t have better things to do than follow you around, Hotshot.” Alice smirked, a gesture utterly devoid of humor. “Glad to see the turret IFF’s still functioning. And hey, nice new greeting system. How much taxpayer money did that cost?”

“Enough. The League’s the center of heroism in this city. Gotta look the part, right?” The fox stretched and rolled onto his side, obscuring him from Alice’s view. “Al’s around somewhere. Probably. Whatever.”

Al. Aloysius. “Justicar” to the world that still needed that name. Alice didn’t stick around for small talk with Hotshot. The schadenfreude of bickering was a short-lived glee, and she wouldn’t give him the pleasure either way. She stepped through another door at the far end of the room, into a small dining area. Not exactly a Michelin star restaurant, but far quieter than the cafeteria in the lower levels. Warm yellow walls, clean floor, a quaint little kitchenette with a range, oven, fridge, coffee maker. Just enough for the League’s top-hitters to fix something for the road or survive a long shift.

Only one person sat here; a lean but toned hyena in a black hoodie, purple mask over his eyes. Those eyes-only masks really were in right now. He hunched over his phone, brows furrowed. When he didn’t look up, Alice called out, “Hey Railgun.”

“Eyy, Cadabra.” He didn’t quite look up yet. Fingers danced over his screen, and he grumbled a little at something Alice couldn’t see. “Sorry, game.”

“Quiet day?”

“Man, don’t jinx it.”

She grinned. “Right, that’s a swear word in our line of work. Al around?”

“Oh, yeah, he’s uh…” Railgun waved a hand around as if trying to swat game fog from his attention span. “Uhhhh, shit. Computer room.”

“Am I allowed in there?”

“Computers are all password protected. If your phone doesn’t yell at you, you’re fine.” The hyena finally looked up at her and offered a half-smirk. “Boss give you any shit?”

Alice snorted. “The usual sass.”

“Give him any back?”

“Second verse, same as the first.”

“That’s my favorite bunny.”

They shared a quick chuckle, and Alice proceeded to the back of the dining nook, where a door opened back into the hallway. She’d been to the computer room before, but all this fancy new database-guided access had her questioning if she’d trip an alarm just by wandering in the wrong direction. Thankfully, nothing blared in her ear, nor did her phone shout in offense.

She stopped at the computer room and tapped the panel to open the sliding metal door (seriously—did every room need one of those? They were so expensive!) It slipped open with a quiet hiss, and she padded inside. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead (an obvious cost cut to afford their fancy security system). Three desks sat unoccupied, but one at the far back sat a tall rat clad in a sweater and long pants. Strong build, brown fur with tan countershading, and dark hair between two rounded ears. His body exuded the strength of youth, but his countenance spoke a different language. He sat hunched forward, head resting on one hand, the computer mouse in the other.

Alice quietly announced herself. “Al?”

Aloysius—Justicar—perked up and smiled at the sight of her. “Alice! Ah, there you are.” His accent oozed “British”, and he did nothing to disguise that fact. He rose, rubbed his tired eyes, and moved in to hug her, which Alice happily reciprocated. “Are you well? The system didn’t stall you, did it?”

“Nope, it’s all good.” The bunny couldn’t help but dig a little. “Did it… give anyone else trouble?”

“Ahh…” Justicar hesitated, then leaned in to whisper. “We had a… friendly fire incident with the turrets. Bit messy.”

She stifled a snicker. Of fucking course it’d failed at least once. “Shit. Was Pulse on-site at least?”

“Mercifully.” Al hurried back to his computer, locked the screen with practiced efficiency, then ushered Alice back to the hall. “Come, come. We can talk in the reading room. I’ll get some tea going.”

The trip down the hall felt a little more tense, now knowing the turrets had nearly killed someone. But nothing beeped, and no guns popped out of the floor to exterminate the “intruder”. Man, she hated this place even more now.

The reading room itself was actually quite cozy—clearly one of Justicar’s requests. Hotshot sure didn’t strike her as the bookish type. Dark paint job, wooden bookshelves, a couple soft recliners. All it needed was a little fireplace and it’d be perfect. As it was, it had… a hotplate. And a tea kettle. He was so damn British.

Justicar retrieved two cups, set them on a small table between the chairs, and fussed with the hotplate for a moment. “Bloody thing. I can’t ever tell if it’s working or not—there’s no light, no…” He carefully tapped the heating element a couple times, then nodded. “Right, it’s on.”

Alice’s giggle bubbled up before she could stop it. “Problems with technology, old man?”

“I’ll have you know, I’ve finally mastered my smartphone.” the rat answered with a smug grin. “Please, sit. I’ll handle the tea.”

Alice mulled over which chair to take, then finally plopped down in the one with its back to the door. She didn’t really want to stare at the security panel—with its damn camera. She leaned back and absently checked her phone. Still no security alerts. Maybe she wouldn’t get blasted out of the sky when she left. “How are things in the League, aside from IFF woes?”

“Reasonably well.” Justicar spoke up as he ducked his head into a cupboard, voice muffled by odds and ends and cabinet doors. “Recruitment’s up. Satisfaction is… eh.” He pointedly chose not to linger on that. “You still like chamomile, right?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Sugar and cream.”

“Breaking my heart, Alice. You don’t drink herbal tea with cream.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry, whose taste buds are we speaking for?”

“The unrefined person in the room, clearly.” Justicar sighed, then closed the cupboard, tea boxes in hand, grin writ across his expression. “But as you say, it’s your choice. I will only silently judge.”

“You can start any time you want.” She grinned right back and poked her tongue out for good measure. “Or do I have to recommend we heat the water in the microwave to really get your goat?”

Justicar scowled and gagged theatrically. “You bloody Americans. Was it not enough to throw it in the Boston Harbor? Why not just spit in mine and be done with it?”

Alice cackled, and Justicar shook his head, but smiled all the same. He settled into his seat, boxes of tea set beside the hotplate—chamomile for Alice and Earl Grey for him. “So… How fares the world of Alice Cadabra?” the rat asked warmly, tea insults promptly forgotten. “Are you eating well? Getting enough sleep?”

“About as much as always.” Alice shrugged. She leaned forward a little to stare at the bags under her friend’s eyes. “You, on the other hand, look exhausted. They got you on an all-nighter?”

“I was just finishing some paperwork.” Justicar gently waved off her concern. “New villain dossiers, battle reports, grievance notices. We can’t exactly hire outside help for these things. Someone has to take up the mantle.”

Alice quietly bristled. “No one else volunteers to do this stuff?”

“Well, Railgun has his civilian job, so he’s stretched thin on the best of days. Amalga can’t be trusted with a computer, bless her. Hotshot is… Hotshot.” Al shot a quick, wry grin her way. “Pulse helps me when he can. But he has medical records and other things to keep him busy.”

Typical. The bunny exhaled a long, dissatisfied groan as she slumped back in her chair. “Tell Hotshot he needs to help you. Or I’m gonna put itching powder in his suit.”

“I’d prefer if you two kept it civil.” Justicar leaned forward to check the kettle, then sat straight again, neatly folding his hands on his lap. “It makes things awkward for me when you squabble.”

“Tell him that.”

“I tell you both. Frequently.” He sighed, just a short puff of irritation. “I know he is abrasive. Believe me, I know. But when I turned the League over to him, I turned over all the authority I had on him as well. He clams up out of respect. Please show the same courtesy. If not for him, then for me.”

Alice pouted before she could chase off the impulse, arms crossed and cheeks puffed. Damn, why did she feel like her dad just yelled at her? “Fine, I’ll behave. For a bit.”

Justicar let the moment simmer, and his expression softened. “That is all I can ask.” He took up the kettle, water now steadily bubbling, and poured both cups. Tea bags went in for steeping. “Speaking of squabbles, I saw the broadcast with Golden Rogue. Quite the show.”

There it was. Alice sucked in a long breath and stared at the tea on the table. “That’s selling it short.”

“Indeed.” Justicar’s response came cautiously, almost invitationally.

She knew him enough to take the offered opening. “It’s gotten worse. He’s brought guns to our fights from day one, but he only ever used them to shoot at my spells. He’s never actually shot me—just vaguely near me. You know, to provoke.”

The mild ache in her hip reminded her of the escalation, and she rubbed it unconsciously. Justicar pursed his lips as he listened, eyes ever-thoughtful. When he said nothing, Alice loosened the floodgates just an inch. “I don’t think he’s a bad person, Al. He’s obviously not right in the head. At minimum, he’s missing something gratifying in his life, and I guarantee he had a fucked up childhood.”

“What do those livestreamers call it when someone gets way too attached to them? Para…?”

“Parasocial!” Alice practically launched herself to the edge of her seat. “That’s exactly it! The guy is obsessed with me! Not even me as a person—hell, not even me as a hero! He’s obsessed with the fight with me. I wonder if he even sees me as a living woman.”

Well, he knew she was a woman, at any rate. She’d proven that to him. Several times. Ugh.

Justicar lifted his tea from the table, blew across the top of the cup, and took a cautious sip. He mulled over her words as he stared into the steam rising from his cup. “Neither of us are psychologists, mind you, but I’ve wondered what motivates him, myself. Surely a man with his talents could be an asset rather than an adversary.”

“I’ve tried to tell him that.” Alice sighed. She took up her drink as well, improving it (or tainting, point of view depending) with three sugar cubes and a healthy pour of cream. “I’ve tried scolding. I’ve tried beating him harder. I’ve tried being softer. More tactful. Focused on restraint rather than injury. I’ve tried just flat-out asking nicely!” She rubbed her temple gently. “I think the only thing I haven’t tried is begging, and I haven’t quite sank to that level yet.”

“How about disengaging?” Justicar asked plainly.

The bunny hesitated. She took a gulp of tea and swirled it around her mouth, a vain attempt to wash this distasteful discussion from her tongue. But she still had to swallow it. Take it right back in. “I don’t… know what he’d do. He takes hostages. They’re never hurt, but that could change for all I know. If I don’t show up, their blood is on my hands.”

“Alice, listen to what you’re saying.” Al leaned forward, eyes stern but also quite concerned. “You are just as much a hostage as those bank tellers were. Except you haven’t stopped being one since that man entered your life. You need to negotiate better terms, or he is going to continue to rule your evenings bi-weekly.”

Alice tensed her jaw. She held her cup a little harder than she’d have liked. Not because she was angry—not at Justicar, anyway. “It’s not… exactly like that.”

“It’s my read of the situation. Unless there’s something you’ve left out.”

God, how could she even begin to explain? She sure couldn’t tell her family’s oldest friend that she balanced the ledger by dragging Rogue off to the woods and fucking his brains out. But hearing this dynamic called a “hostage situation” didn’t seem entirely fair—for her or for Johnny. Fuck, why did she even care?!

“It just… seems a little severe.” she finally said, hiding her face behind her cup.

Justicar’s long, unbroken stare could have made a mountain feel microscopic. Even at his gentlest, the weight of centuries lay behind those calm eyes, and she was sure he could see right through her deceit. “It is severe. Because this dynamic is clearly making you miserable.” His expression softened. He raised his tea to his lips, drank long and slow, then set it back on the table. “And it hurts to watch. I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable, Alice. I just wish there was a clean resolution for all this.”

The bunny exhaled heavily. Pressure immediately seemed to release, and she leaned her head against the back of her chair. “You don’t think I do? But these things are never that simple.”

“No.” he confessed with a little tilt of his head. “I suppose they’re not.”

Alice shifted uncomfortably. Here was this ancient, kindly man who’d been practically family to her all her life, and she was downplaying his very real assessment because she couldn’t come to terms with how many times she’d pushed Johnny down in that damn grass. She went to speak up, to apologize, but Justicar held up a hand and spoke first.

“But,” the rat’s expression trended toward a smile, “I think I can help. If you’ll let me.”

Her tummy fluttered nervously. Any outside interference was bound to complicate things. But… “Hearing you out won’t hurt.”

“Excellent. Because what I’m proposing is quite simple.” That smile manifested, and he leaned forward. “You let the League handle Golden Rogue for a little while.”

“Oh, no.” Alice crossed her hand in an X in front of her. “First of all, I couldn’t ask—”

“You’re not. I’m offering.”

“A-And we have no idea what he’ll do if—”

Justicar’s smile remained resolute. “We are more than capable of protecting civilians and detaining one particularly dedicated showman.”

“But—!”

“Alice.” the rat reached for her hand and took it in both of his. He met her gaze, suddenly quite serious. “Please. For god’s sake, don’t make me beg. Just temporarily. While you find a moment to bloody exhale.”

Christ… a few weeks without Johnny crashing through her downtime would be heavenly. But this just screamed wrongness. He’d always been her ‘thing’, her responsibility. Everyone knew that when Golden Rogue announced himself, Alice Cadabra would always be on the scene. People would say things. They’d wonder worse things. What would it do to her credibility? More importantly, what would it do to Johnny, and how would he react?

What would the League do to him..?

“Not Hotshot.” Alice pleaded after a long, slow breath.

“Goodness, no. He has neither the tact nor the patience.”

“And… people need to know I’m not giving up.”

Justicar smiled. “My solution works with both those concerns. I was thinking we’d send Amalga to deal with Rogue.”

“Amalga… Really.” Her brows furrowed thoughtfully. The League’s own alien slime creature. A walking, talking ball of pudgy goop who gave out free hugs whenever she wasn’t restraining villains in her amorphous body. “You think she’d be okay?”

“Certainly! We could frame it as expanding her repertoire.” Al flashed a grin. “A ‘deployment of therapeutic assets on the mentally unwell’. We could even say you agreed to it personally. Because you would have. See? We don’t even have to lie.”

It sure clicked together cleanly. A little too cleanly, in fact. Where was the catch? Try as she might, she couldn’t think of anything significant, other than the obvious: “Rogue’s gonna hate this.”

“We aren’t concerned with his feelings.” Justicar reclined again, finally looking more at ease. He must have sensed her concession on the horizon. “Just that he doesn’t harm anyone. And maybe he’ll have fun fighting Amalga. You never know.”

“And she’ll be alright? I know she’s tough, but still.”

“People ram trucks into her and she waddles away with glee. She’ll be fine.”

Alice tangled one hand in her hair. Was this really okay? Could it finally just be okay to step back? “If he hurts her… If he deploys some gadget, some solvent, some new toy that actually hurts Amalga, I go right back in. Alright?” She watched Justicar. He stared expectantly, but said nothing. Rat bastard already knew what she wanted to say, but he wanted her to say it first. She sighed and rolled her eyes. He really could be smug sometimes. “Agree to that… and I’ll accept this deal.”

Her friend leaned forward and extended a hand. Wordless and with a smile. Her own hand shook a little. Just a while. Just a little while of peace. God, yes, she needed this. Alice took his hand and squeezed it firmly. The world felt lighter already.

“Thank you.” Justicar’s tone deepened. He really was as relieved as her about this resolution. “You won’t regret this.”

“I know. I just worry.” Alice huffed. She pursed her lips and fidgeted awkwardly in her chair. “Besides, I’m the one who should be grateful. You guys tackle way more contracts than I do. The heavy-hitters, most of all.”

The ancient yet eternally youthful rat simply shrugged, drained the rest of his tea, and clasped his hands together. “You may reject the League for its growing pains, but there are genuine advantages to our numbers. We can delegate. Amalga won’t mind the change. Her temperament shares her body’s amorphous nature.”

Alice couldn’t help but grin. “A genuine alien working for the League. I’m surprised the feds haven’t—”

The wall panel blared a harsh, buzzing tone, and Hotshot’s voice rang through the room. “Hey, Al, you might wanna come out here! Bring Cadabra!”

Great. Peace never lasted long in this city. Without a word, the pair hurried back into the common room. Hotshot and Railgun had already assembled, standing in the middle of the room, eyes glued to the TV. A news reporter narrated the scene of a crab-like machine the size of a house emerging from the bay. It slowly scuttled onto a beach full of panicking civilians, its smooth, dark gray hull shedding gallons of seawater. The cameras turned toward a long bridge over the bay.

“Is that the Verrazzano...?” Railgun idly asked, and Hotshot nodded quietly and turned the TV up.

The reporter on-scene, frantically waving at the machine crawling onto the shore, shouted at the camera. “What we are seeing here is consistent with the machine attacks that have occurred over the last decade with increasing frequency! And it—”

A loud metallic groan cut him off. Panels on the lower back of the crab bot opened, and a dozen vaguely bee-shaped flying drones emerged. They zipped through the air and descended upon the news crew, who fled in panic, camera discarded on the sand.

“It’s a fuckin’ harvester.” Hotshot spat the words, and in seconds he was across the room, headed for the lift. “Al, get a message out on all channels: Mobilize the League!” He paused at the door and stared in Alice’s direction. “Come with us.”

She didn’t have much of a choice if she wanted to be helpful. Railgun joined them on the lift, and Hotshot sent it down to the next floor, aptly titled “Equipment Level”. The elevator opened immediately to a room lined with all sorts of gadgets, firearms, ammunition, the works. Against the wall, in tall metal displays, sat the supersuits of the League’s top members: Hotshot’s a bright white with red accents and blue on the legs and chest, with an orange core. Very flame-like. Justicar’s a modernized set of knight armor, complete with a fancy-looking metal shield and a deadly vibrating longsword. Railgun’s all shades of black and purple in a geometric pattern best described as “tech-core”. Pulse—the team’s doctor—had an almost pure white full-body suit with blue accents and a blue heart motif on the chest. The only one missing a suit was Amalga, whose whole body might as well be one.

Hotshot hurried to a rack, pulled a radio earpiece from it, and tossed it Alice’s way. She caught it with a telekinesis spell and turned it over in her hand. “Trusting me on comms this time?”

“Helps that you were here already.” the fennec quipped and promptly started shedding his clothes. He stripped down to his underwear—skimpy red boxer-briefs. Damn, if he wasn’t such a jerk sometimes, he might actually be cute. Thus undressed, he slipped one leg into his suit, then the other, then an arm. “I want that back when we’re done here. No snoopin’.”

“I know your ego can’t conceive of the idea of someone being uninterested in you,” Alice grumbled as she fitted the radio on her ear, “but I really don’t care what the League is up to at any given time.”

“Whatever.” Hotshot zipped up his suit—his was in the front, because that made sense. Fuckin’ Johnny and his fuckin’ back zipper. The fennec tapped his ear. “You readin’ me?”

“Loud and clear.” Alice’s own ear flicked, both at the sound of his voice from the radio and the elevator doors opening. Justicar emerged and began suiting up as well.

“Good. Hey, come on!” The fennec waltzed by and smacked Railgun on the ass, and got a swat to the ear for his trouble. “Time’s a-wastin’, ladies! Let’s go, let’s go!”

“Man, shut your tiny ass up.” Railgun snickered while he zipped up his suit.

Justicar, whose ass remained unslapped, attached his armored plates to what could only be described as a modern gambeson. The armor itself whirred as mechanized clasps clicked into place to secure it, and he fastened his sword’s sheath at his waist. “Where is Amalga?”

“She’ll make it.” Hotshot slapped a wall panel, and a section of the exterior wall swiftly lowered into a ramp. Sunlight blinded the heroes momentarily while their eyes adjusted. Even from here, they spotted other heroes ascending from the courtyard to assemble for battle.

“Alice, if you could kindly give our resident clunker a lift?”

Clunker? Surely he couldn’t mean…

She and Justicar exchanged a glance; him apologetic and uncharacteristically sheepish, her simply shrugging. “We can’t all be flight-capable.”

“Yeah, his jetpack’s in the shop.” Hotshot quipped. He walked out onto the ramp, and the others joined him. “Let’s roll out!”

Flight powers blazed to life. Hotshot’s body erupted with a roaring flame; Railgun’s suit hummed as electromagnetic energy surged through him; Alice conjured her bright blue wings and cast a levitation spell on Justicar. The four blasted into the sky and turned toward the sight of the attack, soaring over the city as onlookers cheered from below.

A soft male voice rang out over comms as the group rose to mid-skyscraper altitude: “Need me afield, boss?”

“No.” Hotshot answered. “Stay ready for injuries. We got Cadabra today for medevac.”

“Hi, Pulse!” Alice couldn’t help but key in, ignoring Hotshot’s annoyed eye-roll.

“Oh shit, hey Alice. Good luck out there.”

Another voice, warbling and cheerful and distinctly female, bubbled through. “Boss-fox! I saw news! Running over now!”

“How far out?” Hotshot scanned the buildings ahead with his eyes. The emergence site wasn’t too far, and the heroes already spotted smoke rising up from the bay.

“Almost there!”

Bubbly, friendly, unerringly happy… Amalga, for sure. The one who’d be babysitting Johnny for a while. If anyone had to do it, she was the League’s safest option.

Hotshot spoke into the radio again, “I want Class 3s on civilian crowd control. Get everyone clear of the combat zone, and maintain a defensive perimeter. Class 2s, you’ll work with the police and fire rescue to get people outta harm’s way.”

Voices rose up to clarify:

“Where’s our perimeter?”

“Area of operation?”

“Uh—that means shoot if I see robots, right?”

The fennec groaned. “What do I gotta babysit you guys? You’re heroes, for chrissakes! Figure it out!”

Real inspirational. Alice suppressed her eye-roll. The scene below depicted a sci-fi horror scene that demanded her attention; the house-sized crab machine had emerged at Fort Wadsworth Beach and begun its advance toward the bridge. Smaller copies of it were scuttling ahead, both on the beach and up into the nearby neighborhood. They tore at anything concrete and metal, chewed trees into pulp, and menaced the locals now running for their lives. Bee drones assailed law enforcement with pointed stingers and electrical attacks.

The heroes crossed the Narrows and Hotshot directed them to a clear spot on the street just off the beach. The four of them landed hard, kicking up a plume of sand and broken concrete. Mechanical harvesters turned, focused their eye-stalk cameras the heroes’ way, and raised their pincers threateningly. Just as the League plus Alice put up their arms for a fight, something colorful and bulbous leapt from a rooftop, smashed onto one of the crab bots, and practically flattened it, metal screeching and electronics frying under the impact. The squishy thing bounced immediately to Hotshot’s side, reforming into a short, pudgy slime creature; all nude, gooey curves with a red to bright orange and yellow gradient, and two antennae atop her head. A thick tail swayed and dripped behind her. Amalga’s entire form seemed to perpetually drip and ooze, her molten yellow hair cascading down to her shoulders.

She grinned, bright wine-red eyes wide as she surveyed the scene. “So many bots to break! Ready boss-fox?”

“Good timin’, Amalga.” Hotshot shared her smirk. He addressed the team, “First objective, get these little guys outta the neighborhood. Break ‘em, restrain ‘em, don’t care how. We start here and circle ‘round until the neighborhood’s clear.”

“And the bridge?” Justicar inquired, sword drawn and humming dangerously as he switched on the deadly vibration.

“We’ll worry about that when we can. Lives first, infrastructure second.” Hotshot nodded in Alice’s direction. “You get up there and start pullin’ people outta that traffic. If the harvester gets to the bridge, those people are fucked.”

Alice nodded. She gave Justicar a quick glance, and he shot a quick half-smile her way. This might have been Hotshot’s way to keep the cameras on the League, but it really was the best application of her skills right now. “I’ll circle back for the fight when the bridge is clear.”

Railgun grinned, a set of metal ballbearings orbiting him and crackling with electromagnetic energy. “Not if we kill it first! Better be quick, bun!”

Hotshot’s fists blazed with flame, and he rose up into the air. “League of Heroes! And… Alice Cadabra…” He pointed ahead at the biggest group of mini-harvesters now advancing upon them. “Take ‘em apart!”

Heroes sprung into action. Hotshot started with a strafing run over the bulk of enemy forces, raining down a storm of fire that melted optical instruments, welded metallic claws together, and turned asphalt into sticky tar. Railgun launched metallic spheres that may as well have been cannon balls, shattering metal armor and sending crab and bee bots crumpling. Amalga, despite being the very definition of squishy, dove into the fray and delivered thunderous punches upon the enemy, enlarging and solidifying her fists a split second before impact and smashing bots into the pavement. And Justicar, the eternal legendary hero, charged ahead, sword and shield in hand. Pincers clawed at his armor, bounced off his shield, and went flying with cut after clean, razor-sharp cut of his blade, the vibrating edge slicing through metal like it was cheese.

Sirens wailed on the bridge as the local police battled the encroaching mini-harvesters. Alice soared into action, leaving the town to the League. She made her way down the beach and passed the bridge struts, where more robots had emerged from the bay and now climbed up the bridge’s pier. Mechanical legs dug into the steel, denting, straining.

“Hotshot, there’s a lot more of them!” she called over comms while summoning her staff. She stopped in the air and cast magical bolts at the machines climbing the pier. Metal hulls burst and electronics popped, and several dislodged and plummeted back into the water below. An endless army climbed up to replace them.

“Do what you can, Carrot Cake! We got backup on the way!”

Yeah, if they knew where to go. They hadn’t sounded very clear before. She did, however, see the faint profiles of other heroes fighting across the incursion zone, blasting smaller machines and swooping over the larger one, powers of all flavors flaring across the battlefield.

“Fuck this.” Alice tapped her radio. “Hey, if anyone’s desperate for something to do, clear these guys off the bridge while I get people to safety!”

Several voices rose in affirmation. Whether her backup would actually arrive was anyone’s guess, but she couldn’t stem that tide on her own. Evacuation was the only choice. She flew to the deck and scanned the scene once. Several mini-harvesters had already made it up, busily tearing into cars—some still occupied by screaming civilians. She sprung into action, conjuring arcane hands to forcibly rip a crab-bot away from a sedan and toss it over the edge. That same hand pried the car door off, allowing the man to exit his vehicle.

That was just one. Only a few hundred to go, if she was lucky! Alice went from car to car, dislodging and destroying bot after bot, magical bolts and fists flying, arcane wings carrying her through the air as she swooped back and forth across the bridge. Every time she killed a bot, another crawled up onto the deck.

The sound of machine guns turned her head, and she watched one of the mini-harvesters turn to Swiss cheese. She spun around to see a giant of a man in sleek metal armor, a jetpack holding him aloft, twin miniguns spinning on his outstretched arms. “Warpath!” She grinned. Finally, some help. “Keep them busy! I’ll round up the civilians!”

Warpath, a man of few words on a good day, did what he did best: shot things to pieces. Mechanical monsters practically melted under sustained gunfire. Even the electrocuting bee drones buzzing around the battlefield dissolved into shrapnel once they wound up in his reticles. Alice breathed while she could. She had far fewer to pick off, but there was still the problem of getting these people to safety. The west end of the bridge was barely being held by law enforcement, and the east was too far for everyone to run, even without all the cars in the way.

The solution came into view like a shining beacon: A bright, obnoxiously-lit party bus. Not the most elegant rescue vehicle, but it’d do in a pinch! Alice continued to fly over the bridge, dislodging trapped drivers and blasting crab drones while directing civilians toward the bus. Magical bolts crackled through the air in blue streaks and burst crab heads like light bulbs. Warpath chewed through thousands of rounds of ammo to disassemble as many machines as possible. A quick glance beachside tied a knot in Alice’s gut; the main harvester was getting closer. Any efforts to restrain it had barely slowed its advance.

“Get on the bus! Quick!” Alice waved people along, watched as they scrambled from both ends of the bridge. More crab bots emerged farther east, where another hero had apparently shown up. The profile was faint, but distinct: Dark red kimono, katana, nine fiery fox tails… Chihana, if she recalled correctly. That blade possessed the same vibrating property as Justicar’s, so it was more than capable of dicing these machines apart. And dice, it did; Chihana was a robot blender, whirling from foe to foe and leaving scrap in her wake. At least both ends of the bridge were covered now!

The party bus filled in short order, panicking citizens squeezed together like sardines. Alice descended to the deck and focused her mana, even as the damn bus’s flashing lights and pumping bass hammered in her ears. Of course no one had thought to turn off the music before they fled. Her staff glowed as she poured mana into a levitation spell, groaning from the effort, her breath hitching. The bus creaked, its frame lifted, then left the ground entirely. People inside screamed and held on for dear life as she slowly, carefully guided it past the support cables. They cleared the deck, and the bus hung in the air over the Narrows. She could feel everyone clench, and she couldn’t deny the turmoil of her own innards.

The beach opposite to the incursion was largely clear of machines, so they flew in that direction. Mana coursed through her body and staff, wrapped around the bus, defying gravity. From this vantage, she spied Hotshot diving down into a mass of machines and blowing them apart with the fiery impact. An asshole he might be, but one couldn’t deny his efficacy as a fighter.

Something caught her ear, and she dodged out of the way just as one of those obnoxious bee drones zipped by, its sharp stinger pointing the way! She winced as her mana shifted, tilting the bus this way and that—god, she hoped everyone was holding on tight—and launched a bolt after her attacker. The spell clipped the drone’s wing, sending it careening into the bay.

If only it’d just been the one. A squadron emerged from the fray on the beach and buzzed her, one stinger cutting a grazing gash into her shoulder. The bus lurched forward, its magical bindings shimmering dangerously, and Alice clenched her teeth hard. Her mind’s eye flared with azure light as she pulled from the ley lines to reinforce her spell. Her head throbbed, but she held the bus aloft, then spun and whipped her staff in an arc, a razor-thin beam of mana slicing the air and bisecting two of the drones. The others came to bear, and Alice braced herself to take another sting, only to watch a hail of gunfire pepper the remaining bee bots.

Good old Warpath gave her a nod, and she answered with a weary one of her own. It was time to get this loud hunk of metal down to earth.

An eternity later, she set down the bus, blasted a couple stray mini-harvesters to scrap, and ushered the people inside to the police line just outside town. They thanked her gratuitously as they fled, and she took to the air once more. Already, she found the next vessel for transport; a city transit bus. Far less gaudy. No bass thudding in her ears. Now if she could have half a minute to replenish her mana, that might just calm her pounding headache.

Railgun spoke up over comms. “We’re cleanin’ up here, Hotshot!”

“Great!” the fennec called back. “Amalga?”

“Not many bad guys left!”

“Justicar?”

“Moving in to support Amalga.” Al, true to his nature, sounded like he’d merely gone for a morning jog. “What’s the situation on the beach?”

Alice felt it appropriate to interject, given her perspective. “Worse by the minute. We need to take that thing down before it gets its claws on the bridge!”

Hotshot swore under his breath, barely audible on comms. “I’m on my way. Buzz-Kill, get yer zappy ass over here and clean this up for me! I’m needed on the beach!”

She spied him soaring into the air a heartbeat later. Hopefully the other hero he’d summoned would show up in time. At the very least, she prayed there weren’t any civilians still in the area. Hotshot stormed the beach in a spectacular fashion, flying straight into the harvester and delivering a fiery punch to its face. It reeled, let loose a metallic groan that could have been a sign of pain, then swung a giant claw in the fox’s direction. Hotshot rose into the air to dodge, then went in for another hit, once again staggering the bot. His punches didn’t seem to be dealing much damage, but he had it distracted for now. It’d have to do!

Alice refocused on saving civilians. More people piled onto the bus (most of them had gotten the picture by now), and she packed it full before once again lifting it into the air. Wind shear rocked her and the bus, nearly crashing the overstuffed vehicle into a support cable. She caught it at the last second, then forced it past the high-tension cables, only to nearly lose the spell’s grip in her haste. Alice’s mind twisted in knots in an effort to dredge up mana faster, faster, faster..!

The bus tipped forward, went nearly vertical… then held. She exhaled, eyes wide and wild. Fuck, as it turned out, buses were heavy! She guided it to the shore and dropped it just a few feet higher than intended; these people were already rattled. A little more wouldn’t hurt. At least she hadn’t gotten buzzed by bee drones again.

When she returned to the bridge, she saw that Railgun had joined the fray on the beach. Justicar was charging in from town, and Amalga bounced at his side. The real fight was starting, and as she flew from one end of the bridge to the next, she realized it was time for her to join it, too. Two more civilians were left, and they were already climbing onto Warpath’s back for a swift retreat. Chihana had built an impressive pile of robot rubble on her end of the bridge as well. Alice breathed easier, turned her attention to the harvester, and grit her teeth.

Go time.

She soared in, watched for Hotshot’s advance, and chose to circle around for her chance rather than go for a follow-up strike. She wasn’t League. They rarely fought together. Misaligned strikes would only cramp both their styles. Instead, she waited for him to rain fire upon the metallic monster, then blasted its hull with magical bolts. Its armor plates began to loosen, and she pried at them with arcane hands. Metal bent and whined against the effort, but they wouldn’t come free.

Worse, the harvester kept scuttling toward the bridge. Soon its claws would be in reach, and with the damage the smaller ones had caused to the pier, it wouldn’t take much to bring the whole thing down.

“Any bright ideas?” Hotshot asked vaguely, moving back to join his team.

“The armor’s weakening.” Alice offered, staff pointed toward the red-hot panels on the harvester’s face. “Keep up the heat, and I think I can pry them away! Hopefully the insides are as vulnerable as the others’ were.”

“Works for me! Railgun, can you slow this fucker down?”

The hyena stretched a hand out, and his suit buzzed with electromagnetism… but he groaned and shook his head. “Whoever’s buildin’ these things made them non-magnetic. I can’t grab it.”

“Then you’re on support duty. Cadabra!” Hotshot turned his head in her direction. “I’ll keep the heat up, and you pull that thing’s face loose enough for us to get some shots inside!” He spun to the others. “Justicar, Amalga—keep those claws busy! I need sustained fire, and I can’t take a pincher to the face!” Finally, to the group’s magnetic hyena: “And Railgun, watch for drones! Those bee things come back, I need you to shoot ‘em outta the air!”

Without another word, they sprung into action. Alice took position in the air and focused her mana. She’d spent so damn much carrying buses, and now she’d need even more. Patience was key here. Hotshot got right in the harvester’s face and became a fox-shaped inferno, pouring white-hot flame right onto the crab’s ugly mug. Before it could swing at him, Justicar leapt in and deflected the blow with his shield, and Amalga bounced her way up to constrict and gum up the other. The monster flailed, howled with mechanical anger, and its back panels opened to release more of those horrible bee drones. They circled around for a strike, but near-supersonic ballbearings swatted them from the sky.

The armored plates around the harvester’s face glowed. Hotshot angled himself away from the center and shot Alice a look. She responded in kind, blasting the target with a ferocious volley of magical bolts. Arrows of azure light pelted the mechanical crab’s face, and Alice kept the pressure on until the cracks she’d seen earlier widened, splintered, and practically yawned open. Once more, she conjured her mage hands, shoved their fingers into the gaps, and pulled. Metal stretched, screeched, and bent, and the crab’s face plate bloomed like the world’s ugliest flower.

“Let ‘em have it!” Hotshot howled, and magical lances, fiery blasts, and metal orbs were flung into the exposed electronics. The harvester, clearly well aware of its vulnerability, swung wide, knocking Hotshot from the air and onto the sand, and Justicar sidestepped a potentially back-breaking stomp. Alice charged a massive burst of magic, but a claw rose at the last second to absorb the hit.

Hotshot stood, dizzy but awake, and reignited angrily. Alice hung in the air, practically drained of mana by now. Justicar had repositioned to avoid being stomped to death, and Railgun was retrieving his ammo. They almost had the damn thing! It just needed to stop flailing!

Then, in a flash, Amalga dislodged herself from the monster’s claw, launched herself toward its face, and squeezed her squishy body into the gaps. Everything paused. Heroes stared, expectant and horrified for their friend. Moments later, electrical shorts arced across the harvester’s body, and it stumbled. Everyone cleared out to give the big bastard some space for its death throes, and the horrible mechanical monstrosity slammed face-first into the beach, sand boiling into molten glass from the residual heat of its open face plate.

“Amalga?!” Hotshot called frantically over the radio. “Come on, get outta there!”

Moments crawled past. Silence filled the air, save for the gentle crashing of waves and the din of activity in the town behind them. All eyes were on the machine, fear rising into the League fighters’ expressions. Until…

Something oozed out the back of the harvester. A puddle of red-orange goo slid out through one of its drone ports and slowly formed into round, familiar shape. Contrary to her earlier nudity, Amalga had reformed with a cozy black hoodie, long sweat pants, and her characteristic bright smile. She looked between the heroes staring at her, tilted her head, and let out a curious, “Awa?”

The heroes’ own cheers were immediately drowned out by the crowd that had formed by the edge of the beach. Halcyon City citizens cried out in joy at the sight of their victory, even as Hotshot bounded forward to hug his squishy friend.

“You crazy goop, don’t be so reckless! You’re tough, but you ain’t indestructible!”

Amalga only giggled and squeezed him into her pudge. “Boss-fox worries too much! Amalga will never fall!”

Alice looked over the scene, the crowd, the League. The destruction on the bridge was bad enough. It surely looked worse inland. But they’d done it. Once again, these invading machines had been stopped in their tracks. She held up her staff, Justicar raised his sword, and Railgun set his trademark orbs in a calm orbit around him as he crossed his arms. Amalga and Hotshot stepped into the frame, the former bouncing joyfully, the latter raising a fist.

“Let that be a lesson to any villain, big or small, who messes with our city!” the fox grinned into the quickly-emerging cameras. “Its heroes don’t take it sittin’ down! Least of all the League!”

The crowd erupted once again, cheers and name-calls of every single hero present. Ambulances rolled through the streets just past the beach, and the scene quickly became about disaster response. A radio roll call went out; several heroes spoke up about injuries, and some expressed needing extraction. By the time the radio went quiet, every hero who’d shown up had been accounted for. No deaths… but a lot of bruises, broken bones, and work for the League’s doctors. Pulse had a hell of a night ahead of him.

Many heroes, though somewhat battered and all quite exhausted, stayed to assist the cleanup well past sundown. It was almost ten o’clock by the time the League and Alice returned to League HQ, laughing and passing around recollections.

“I seriously thought you were a goner, Amalga.” Hotshot said as he flopped across a couch. “You sure you’re alright?”

The blobby girl gave him an affirming chirp. “I’m fine! It was hot in there, but nothing I haven’t handled!”

“Oh, speakin’ of the big moment.” Railgun, leaning against a wall, pulled his phone from his pocket and started scrolling. A grin practically whipped across his face. “Yep, it’s trending all over the net! The whole world saw that shit!”

Excitement buzzed around the room. Alice and Justicar sat quietly; her mana was absolutely spent, and she was sure even her rat friend had limits. Seeing him in action up close again had been a welcome reminder of his endless presence in her life, though. Like a childhood memory relived.

“I’m glad I was here.” she quietly admitted, “That was… a good fight.”

“It was.” Justicar smiled. “The bridge will be closed for a while, I wager, but we avoided catastrophic loss. Minimal injuries, and total defeat of the enemy. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Ehhhhhh.” Hotshot dragged out the sound and wobbled his hand from side to side. He might have continued that thought, but several irate pairs of eyes landed upon him, and he clearly felt it. The fennec huffed, sat up, and gave Alice a grin. “Alright, alright. I’ll admit… you came in clutch out there, Cadabra. Not bad.”

Hey, progress was progress. She smirked right back. “Not so bad yourself.”

Their little celebration went on. Beers were passed around. For just a moment, Alice felt like a part of something bigger. It couldn’t last, and she knew it, but little victories like these were meant to be shared. The mysterious machines would be back; their incursions had only increased in frequency and intensity over the last ten years, and one destroyed harvester wouldn’t set them back for long. Wherever they came from, who or whatever was controlling them, only one thing was certain: The heroes of Halcyon City would send them back in pieces every single time.

For now, though? It was time to relax. More drinks came out. Actually, a bunch of drinks came out. Who knew the League had such a booze stash? Probably not the best thing for a bunch of superpowered emergency responders to have on-hand, but it wasn’t like anyone could stop them. What was the city going to do? Write these literal saviors a citation?

Policy aside, someone clearly should have been keeping track of how much everyone had been drinking. Alice’s head buzzed, and Railgun swayed in place a little. Justicar, predictably, abstained from any chemical distractions, and Amalga seemed entirely unaffected.

Hotshot, however, was deep in the sauce. His snickering drew everyone’s attention—he had his eyes on his phone, and those little snerks soon turned to full-on laughter. “Hey, Carrot Cakes! Look who’s trendin’ on SuperPits!”

“What?” Alice leapt from her chair and stared at the phone now pressed outward. Oh god, it was exactly as bad as it sounded. Weird, terminally-online gooners… salivating over possibly the most unflattering parts of any woman. And here were photos of Alice, mid-battle or raising her staff in victory, with comments spanning the entire spectrum of online debauchery. She bristled, her already booze-flushed cheeks burning a bright shade of red. “Oh what the HELL?! There’s an entire website for this shit?!”

Railgun smirked from his corner. “I’m more interested in why you know about it, boss man.”

“Oh shut up, it’s a Twitter page.” Hotshot defended between cackles. “Man, you really do pull in the freaks, don’tcha Alice!”

Justicar half-rose from his seat to interject, but Alice cut him off. “Oh shut the FUCK up, Hotshot! Like you don’t get weirdos thirsting over you!”

“Yeah, but they like my ass!” the fennec giggled, wiping tears from his eyes. Reactions in the room started to shift from shared humor to mild discomfort. Hotshot, notably, did not clock it. “Well you ain’t got no tits, so I guess they’re lookin’ in the same area.”

Justicar fully stood this time. Amalga’s gaze darted frantically between the pair. Railgun loosed a quiet “bruh” in his corner. Finally, Hotshot saw through the tipsy haze and realized no one else was laughing. His ears pinned down a touch, and he glanced up at Alice. “Oh, uh…”

But it was too late. She leapt upon him, one hand on the collar of his supersuit, the other pulling harshly at his cheek fur. “Fuck you! Maybe you won’t have an ass by the time I’m done with you!” Yeah, maybe she was a little drunk too. But she didn’t care. Vibes officially ruined.

Justicar pulled at her waist, but she swatted him away. The regal rat fussed ineffectively, perhaps not trusting his own strength to disarm a situation between friends like this. Hotshot groaned and flailed his arms at Alice’s face, but couldn’t quite connect.

“Eyy, it was a joke! A JOKE! LEMME GO!” the fennec growled, turning his head and trying to bite Alice’s harshly-tugging hand.

“Alice, please!” Justicar once again went to dislodge her, and was brushed off a second time. “This isn’t… It’s not worth it!”

Railgun shook his head. He stepped closer and hung over the back of the couch. “You done it now, boss man. Don’t ever call a girl flat.”

“Whose side are you guys on?!” Hotshot whined. He managed to get Alice’s hand off his cheek, but it reared back into a fist. The fennec flinched. The room held its breath…

And then they were absolutely swallowed by a bulbous mass of red-orange goo. Alice and Hotshot struggled and squirmed as Amalga’s mass separated them, pulling them into two opposite sides of her stretched-out body. The gooey alien’s head formed at the top of this oblong mass of slime, and she yelled above the noise, “NO FIGHTING! We’re friends! FRIENDS!”

A moment hung heavily over the room. Justicar’s posture straightened. Railgun exhaled and walked around to collapse into a chair. Hotshot and Alice looked anywhere except at each other. Only the sound of a metal door hissing open broke the silence, and a tall blonde human walked into the room. He wore a tank top and pajama pants, and had a towel thrown over his shoulder. He stared at the scene, green eyes going from body to body, expression increasingly perplexed. The man spoke up softly, “Oh, hey Alice. Almost didn’t see you in… there.” His eyes lingered on Amalga.

The bunny took a breath. God, did she really almost punch Hotshot? Over a joke? “Hi, Pulse.” She couldn’t hide the exhaustion in her tone. “How um… How’s the medbay?”

“Steady now. Worst injuries are dealt with.” His brow furrowed lightly. “What’d I miss?”

Hotshot breathed out a response. “Nothin’. It’s alright.”

Pulse took another moment to stare. His eyes lingered on Hotshot the entire time. Finally, he shrugged and turned toward the kitchen. “If you say so. I’ll be around.”

The kitchen door slid closed. Another long silence reigned. Alice caught Hotshot looking at her, but he immediately turned away when she met his gaze. Had she scared him, or was this just guilt creeping in? She didn’t know him to ever regret his actions, but… well, she didn’t really know him at all.

“Perhaps we should… disperse.” Justicar offered. He knelt by Amalga on Alice’s side and smiled at the friendly goo. “You can release this one. I think we’re alright.” His gaze shot to Alice. “Aren’t we?”

Alice sighed. “Yeah. We’re alright.” She chanced another look at Hotshot. His gaze was glued to the floor.

Amalga let out a little warbling sound. Slime receded from around Alice, and she was gently deposited on her feet. The rest of that slime curled around Hotshot, who only mumbled faintly in response. “I’ll take care of boss-fox.” Amalga said gently, all smiles in spite of everything. “Please cheer up Alice! Sometimes friends fight. But they stay friends!”

Friends… Yeah, not likely. Save the world together, sure. But friends?

She smiled as best she could and reached out to give a squishy rustle to Amalga’s head. “Sure. Hey, great job tonight. You’re awesome.”

The gooey alien let out a cheerful “Awa!” and resumed snuggling Hotshot. Railgun took a breath, stood, and made for the door from which Pulse had emerged. “I’m gonna hit the showers. Thanks for your help tonight, Alice.”

“Yeah. Good fighting with you, Railgun.” The praise all felt hollow, though she knew they both meant it. Shit, maybe she’d feel better when she sobered up.

Justicar walked her to the lift and rode it to the roof with her. They stood under the cloudless sky, staring up at the full moon above. Once again, Halcyon city slept, and did so peacefully. Because of her. Because of the League. In spite of Hotshot’s slights and her violent reaction, they’d done a good thing today. And they’d even celebrated together. Hopefully that’d still feel true tomorrow.

“I’m sorry about him.” Al sighed, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I should have objected to drinks, but… you know. Didn’t want to ruin the moment.”

“It’s not your fault.” the bunny said with a shrug. “I didn’t help by jumping on him.”

“You’re tired. You’ve been dealing with a lot.” A pause. Justicar wrestled with something in his head, then quietly conceded, “So has Hotshot. So have we all.”

Alice took the hand from her shoulder and held onto it. She squeezed gently, laced her fingers with her friend’s, and faced him. “Speaking of… Any progress on your immortality research?”

“I’m afraid not. No promising leads in quite a while.” Justicar tried to play it off with a shrug, but there was no heart in it. “I suppose I’ve become numb to the disappointment.”

Still nothing. He’d been searching for literal centuries for a way to shut it off, and still. Just… nothing. Alice took his other hand, and they stood there for a time, looking at each other. He’d been ever-present in her life, protecting her, mentoring her. The thought of him ever ceasing to be haunted her in these moments, but she couldn’t bring herself to beg him to give it up. However horrible mortality was, the weight of centuries must have been worse.

“I’m sorry.” she finally said. “Mom and dad didn’t have anything in their books?”

“Nothing I haven’t read.” Justicar breathed a soft puff of a sigh. “But I will keep searching. If this… condition came of this world, then surely the answer lies somewhere on Earth. And I have plenty of time to find it.”

There was a touch of humor there, but it landed with a fizzle. A joke he’d told a million times. One that’d stopped being funny long before the hundredth telling.

“Well,” Alice offered, “Maybe grandma has something mom and dad don’t? She always collected some weird books. More than the standard Arcane Council stuff.”

For some reason, Justicar tensed. He didn’t answer immediately, and he extracted his hands from Alice’s grasp. “I… would not want to burden Helena or James in their retirement.”

“It’d be no bother, I’m sure. I’ll bet they miss you.”

“Yes… but…”

Alice’s stomach twisted uncomfortably when he trailed off. She’d never seen him like this. “Do you not… want to see them? Did something happen?”

Aloysius hesitated again, and the silence gnawed at Alice’s nerves. Had they fought? Was there some unspoken-of disagreement between his grandparents and Justicar? Mom and dad never even hinted at any conflict between them, and only ever spoke of him with glowing praise. He finally spoke, eyes cast aside, hands nervously fidgeting together. “I have not seen them in nearly twenty years. For someone who never grows old, seeing my friends—my long-time allies—in a state of advanced aging would be… difficult.”

Oh…

Alice felt that familiar lump in her throat, but she swallowed it. He sure didn’t need her to cry right now! “Al…”

“I want to. I do. I just…” He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.

Alice shook her head. “I get it. I mean, I don’t. But, I’m trying.” She offered a little smile, and was happy to see him mirror it back. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Maybe it was overstepping, but she had to try. “They’re going on vacation in a few weeks. I could stop by before they go, ask them if they have any books for you. I’m sure they’d understand how you feel.”

Justicar digested that with a slow, guilty stare down with the floor. He sought Alice’s hands again, and she gave them happily. The rat knight spoke up, tone laced with a forced confidence. “No. I will go.”

“You sure? I mean, I know they’ll be happy, but I worry for you.”

“I have to.” Justicar’s voice shook, and he took a moment to correct it. A cleared throat. A deep breath. “Eighteen years. If I wait again, I… might never get the chance.”

For a moment, Alice almost understood the depth of that melancholy. She thought back to her old bedroom, the photos of her grandparents, how the unstoppable flow of time seemed so cruel in the moment. A drop in the bucket compared to Justicar’s pain… but it was the same bucket.

“Let’s plan on it, then.” she smiled gently. “I’ll see what day works best. We’ll go together. I’ll be with you all the way.”

He stared down at her, almost like he was seeing her with new eyes. After a second, he chuckled, a breathy laugh that came with a little pat atop her hat. “I must look pathetic. I’m supposed to protect you. Not the other way around.”

“We protect each other… Big Al.” The bunny grinned and pressed herself into him with a hug. His strong arms curled around her waist and lifted her, and she squeaked out a laugh.

Justicar smiled wide. “I am so proud of you, Little Star. Look at you… Exactly as I knew you’d turn out, and yet somehow even better.”

“Hey, hey.” Alice laughed, her cheeks flushed. “Come on. Don’t flatter me.”

They shared a laugh and said their goodnights. Justicar took the lift back down, and Alice ascended into the crisp night air. Somehow, even after the little scrap with Hotshot, she felt a little lighter. The city was safe, the heroes lived to fight another day, and she’d even given Justicar a little step forward. Maybe not a path, but certainly a step.

The buzzing of her phone gnawed at her attention and brought a nuisance back to the surface. Fuck, she really needed to get ahead of this social media nonsense. Or at least bite back at it. Fucking gooners…

The (slightly drunken) flight back to her apartment took no time at all, but she’d been out for a while. Her microwave clock showed nearly eleven thirty. Just like her family home, her whole apartment building was warded with a simple mental nudge: “Alice Cadabra does not live here.”

Funny thing about magic—the more complex it got, the higher the rate of failure. Especially with mental magic. Terran minds were as dumb as they were complex, and either side of that extreme could accidentally trip over the wording of an improper ward. And so the old saying held true: Keep it simple, stupid.

Alice changed out of her costume, dispelled her personal glamour, and pulled on some pajama pants and a tank top. She really needed a shower, but this stupid Twitter thing had all her attention right now. She sat at her desk, booted up her computer, and pulled up a browser. She hesitated at the “Create Account” button and chewed her lower lip. League heroes all had city-appointed social media handlers to post their best moments, push their best quotes to the front of people’s awareness, and manage any faux-pas and missteps.

She wasn’t League. The closest thing she’d ever had to a Twitter presence was “Alice Cadabra (Unofficial) – Best of the Bunny”, a fan account that did largely the same thing.

And… SuperPits. Apparently.

God, did she really want to expose more of herself to this? Taking control of something meant immersing herself in it, and this was a tide long set in motion by the turn of the millennium. She sighed, rubbed her forehead, and clicked the button. She filled out her info—account name, password, short bio. An option caught her eye: “Public Figures”. Oh, so this was how the League had checkmarks next to their accounts.

And there were so many options. Celebrity, politician, business or CEO…

Ah. Superhero. How convenient. She clicked that option. “Upload Official Superhero ID…” she narrated the instruction aloud. Was this shit encrypted properly to handle this sort of information? The League trusted it, so it must have been alright. And Railgun had told her how to set up a VPN a while back, so she should be in the clear.

Some quick phone camera snapshots did the trick. In seconds, her city-issued hero ID was approved, and her profile auto-populated a bunch of her info. Damn, AI really was some crazy stuff.

Now, of course, came the ultimate question: What the hell was she going to post? She sure didn’t want for attention; people cheered for her even when she stopped at 7-11 for a Slurpee in costume. So many selfies that day.

Selfie… right. A picture. That’d be a good first post.

She went through her computer’s picture folder. All selfies with fans and pictures she’d taken from above the city. Some compromising shots she’d taken of herself in her bedroom, supersuit pulled aside… Fuck, she thought she’d deleted those. Stupid horny bunny brain made some real dumb decisions sometimes. She’d, uh… do that later. Yeah. Totally.

For now, a nice, clean selfie would do. One atop Meridian Tower, the tallest building in the city, hanging off its metal spire and winking into the camera. The authorities didn’t particularly like that heroes did these things, but there was no law against it. The vibe had always been, “Be careful, don’t hurt yourself, and don’t break anything.”

Ah, she should probably say something, too. Just a selfie would come off as vain. Or maybe people wouldn’t take it too seriously. She had no idea.

“Hello Twitter.” she narrated her keystrokes aloud. “About time I hopped on here. View looks great from up above, but even better from a safe street below. Hope you’re all doing… great!”

How sterile. But sterile was safe, and these were waters she hadn’t yet tested. Once more, she hesitated, this time over the Post button. No turning back now…

Click.

Her post popped up, and she held her breath. Several seconds passed.

Nothing.

Nothing.

More nothing.

She exhaled a laugh. Why had she been so nervous? It’s not like there’d be a flood of—

Oh. There it was.

“Jesus!” Alice leaned forward in her chair as her notifications lit up. Ten, then fifty, then… okay that was a lot of goddamn alerts. “This is the power of algorithms. Holy shit.”

Her post’s like counter flared with higher and higher numbers. And the comments…

“HOLY SHIT ALICE ON TWITTER!”

“Cutest bunny with the cutest selfies!”

“Anyone else wanna fuck her at the top of the tower?”

She groaned. There it was! Shit, did she have to reply to all of these? Did… she have to reply to any of them? Alice watched comments pop up, gawked at her rapidly-inflating follower count. Immediately, she realized how people got addicted to this stuff. Bigger numbers, bigger dopamine hit.

“You saved my baby! Thank you Alice!” Aww, that one touched her heart.

“She could have MY babies, if you know what I mean! >:3” Ugh, that one touched… something.

Alice forced herself away from the selfie post and started typing another. “Whoa, hey, look at you all! I feel so loved! I’ll try to post here when I can remember, but I’m an old-fashioned kinda bun!”

That post soon drowned in responses, just as the first had. Who knew so many people were glued to this site at any given time? Comments spanned the swiftly established gamut between “adoring fan” and “thirsty creeper”. And honestly? She couldn’t hate any of it, in spite of her distaste for the online creepshots that had brought her here.

SPEAKING OF… One particular new follower caught her eye: SuperPits.

“You motherfuckers.” Alice groaned. “Why armpits?! Why?! I have at least three other attractive parts—WHY THE FUCK ARMPITS?!”

She clenched her jaw and reluctantly clicked on that absolutely cursed page. It did not disappoint. There she was, at the top of the page due to tonight’s very public machine attack. She even clicked on one, in spite of her better judgment screaming at her to leave it. The comments were… exactly as expected.

“I wanna lick.”

“So soft.”

“Dick goes here.”

She sucked down a breath and let it out slow. “This planet could burn tomorrow and I suddenly would not care.”

Enough was enough. Being inflammatory in the comments might only make things worse, but it might make her feel better. She started to type up the most wildly profanity-laden thing she’d ever put into the public consciousness, explaining in no uncertain terms that these people had a fixation bordering on mental illness, and that objectifying her was… fine—she was a public figure and an attractive woman, after all—but they could have chosen something more flattering! And she nearly sent it, too… until she spotted a notification in her message inbox.

Weird. She was sure she’d only allowed messages from verified profiles. Was another hero trying to talk to her? Or some politician? Celebrity? She opened the messenger, discarding her rant comment in so doing. She wouldn’t miss it. Particularly when she saw who’d sent her the message:

“Hey, about time you got on here, arch-nemesis!”

Golden Rogue… Official.

“What…” Alice stared, dumbstruck. Golden Fucking Rogue… on Twitter. She clicked his profile. Posts ranting about his plans. Publicly. Online. Selfies at bank robberies. Posing with other villains who looked absolutely humiliated to be included with him. Reposted recipes for no-bake brownies “so he wouldn’t forget them later”…

She didn’t respond online. No, she needed to hear him explain this bullshit. She grabbed her personal phone, smashed his contact number (giving hers out had been a calculated risk), and listened to it ring with increasing incredulous rage.

An all too familiar voice answered. “Oh, hey Alice, what’s—”

“HOW are you on Twitter?!” she blurted, staring at the screen in front of her. “Do—these posts are from three hours ago! Do you just not care that people know you’ve escaped from jail?!”

“I mean, it’s not like they ever hold me for long.” Johnny’s infuriatingly casual tone was not helping. “I think I’m just noise to them by now.”

Alice slammed a fist on her desk. “That’s not the POINT, asshole! HOW does a villain maintain a Twitter profile? You’d think you’d be banned immediately!”

“Dude.” Johnny laughed. “Al Quaeda has a Twitter account.”

Silence tightened the knot steadily forming between them over the airwaves. This world could not have gotten any dumber than it had in the last half-hour. It was all she could do to ask: “WHAT?!”

Sure enough, the rabbit hole Johnny soon led her down confirmed it: Major terrorist organizations, dictators from various countries, hate groups… So many profiles posting and endorsing the most vile things imaginable. Unthinkable atrocities not only excused but celebrated. Acts of violence openly encouraged. Threats of war, bombings, the whole goddamn works.

“Why? Literally why?” Alice shook her head. “What purpose is there in giving these horrible people a platform?”

Johnny’s response came between gulps of some snack he was clearly enjoying, considering the delighted sounds he made with each bite. “Mmm… well, the way they see it—and I kinda agree—these terrorist fuckasses and all the North Koreas of the world… They’re gonna spew their shit no matter what, right?”

“Right…”

“So, instead of kicking them off every visible platform and forcing them underground, where no one can call them out, they keep ‘em here. You know. Above… ground.” There was a shrug implied in his pause, followed by another bit of food shoveled into his mouth, which he spoke around. “Toxic ideologies thrive in darkness, Alice. When you bring ‘em to light, they burn under scrutiny. And the internet’s real fuckin’ good at scrutiny.”

Alice stared at her phone for a long moment. It was a real good thing this guy couldn’t see her face right now. He’d never let her live it down. “You can be real insightful when you aren’t being a dumbass.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot.” Zero shame, zero offense taken. Classic Johnny.

“But doesn’t… keeping these things public encourage bad actors to join them?”

“Oh, yeah.” he said around another mouthful. “But people get radicalized across national lines because their own countries are failing them. No one wakes up one day and decides to be a terrorist. It’s a long string of decisions made under the thumb of a failed system.” A pause, then a quiet gulp. He was clearly enjoying his snack. “Or maybe not. I dunno, I’m just a supervillain.”

Christ, speaking of that. “Johnny, where even are you right now?”

“I can’t tell you that! You’d come and arrest me.”

“Well it clearly doesn’t stick, so why do you care?”

“Obviously,” he defended, matter-of-factly, “I spend some time behind bars! It’s inconvenient!”

Alice scoffed. “Inconv—NOW he understands what ‘inconvenient’ is. Hilarious.”

Johnny either didn’t get it or didn’t care. He took a long moment to savor another bite of his snack with a long, drawn out, “Mmmmm!” before continuing, “Hey, I didn’t ask for this power, alright? What am I supposed to do when the guard forgets his key in the lock, turns his back, gets on his phone with his wife, AND wanders down the hall? Am I really supposed to just stay in jail? It’d be more of a crime to not take that chance!”

“It LITERALLY WOULD NOT!” Alice glared down at her phone. “You’re making excuses because you’ve never experienced a single meaningful consequence in your entire fucking life!”

“Hey, that’s not true! My powers didn’t manifest until I was sixteen.” Rogue paused to eat some more. He pivoted with infuriating ease. “Hey, now that you’re on Twitter, you should check out this no-bake brownie recipe.”

Alice sighed. “Johnny…”

“Not the one I reposted. I did some alterations. Little chocolate syrup in the mix. You gotta eat it with a fork, though, because it’s no-bake.”

“Johnny…”

“You know how, like, boxed brownies are when you take ‘em out just a couple minutes early? It’s like that but a thousand times better—”

“JOHNNY!” Alice abused her desk once more. “Listen to me! I didn’t call to talk about brownies!” The prevailing silence made her painfully aware of her tone, and she took a breath to soften up. “I… guess I didn’t really call to talk about social media either.”

The villain on the other end paused. Even he understood when things turned serious sometimes. “Well… why did you call, then?”

Fuck. She’d spent all her energy getting here. Hell, she’d wrestled with the idea of even telling him to begin with. But it’d be safer for everyone involved… and maybe a little less cruel on her part, even though she really didn’t owe him this. Alice took a breath, held it for a moment, then quietly admitted, “I’m taking a break from… all this.”

“From… what?” Johnny didn’t hesitate. That casual cadence still floated through his tone, but there was a caution to it now. “From being a superhero?”

“From you.” She finally got the words out. “From… this whole thing we’ve been doing.”

The silence might as well have been a scream. She squeezed her eyes shut and her hands shook. Why was this so fucking hard? What did this dumb asshole do to deserve this much care?

“Oh…” His response could have been a breath.

“Listen.” Alice kept her voice level. She’d smiled for cameras and crowds before, even when she hadn’t meant it. This was just another performance. Just another thing she needed to do. At least, she told herself that. “It’s just been… a lot. It wasn’t so bad at first. Every month, or every two. I could handle that. But now? Every couple weeks, on top of all the other stuff I have to handle? I’m losing sleep, Johnny.” She couldn’t disguise the exhaustion now. She tangled her fingers in her hair and leaned on the desk. “I spend my days off dreading that call from the chief, because I know. I always know. And I need to not deal with this for a while.”

Silence filled the line, but the telltale faint crackling of background sounds filtered by noise cancellation still made it across. What she wouldn’t have given to be able to watch his expression, get some sort of feedback right now. And yet she was grateful all the same for not having to see it.

“Johnny?”

“Yeah, I… I’m still here.” The theatrical Golden Rogue was, for once, unreadable by voice alone.

“This isn’t forever.”

“I got that.” He sighed heavily. “I uh… I guess I’m just confused.”

Alice allowed herself to bristle, but didn’t let it slip into her voice. “What… part of this is confusing to you? I think I’ve been abundantly clear.”

“I—I don’t know, Alice. You just always look so happy when we fight! Now I’m learning you hate this?” Johnny’s frustrations spilled in easily, in stark contrast. “I’m getting mixed messages here.”

“Oh… Oh, Johnny.” All at once, it made sense. She pinched her nose and tried so hard not to swear aloud. Of course he’d thought that. “No, no, god, I’m sorry. Johnny, that’s all…” She had to choose her words very carefully here. “It’s for the cameras. For the people!” Not ‘just an act’, not ‘all pretend’. Because it wasn’t. And he had to hear it just right.

“The world is scary.” she continued, leaning back in her chair and staring at the ceiling. “There have never been this many heroes and villains in the world. People are terrified! Their lives get upturned every other weekend, and it’s… a lot!” Hell, she could relate, unfortunately. “When I stand in front of the cameras, the crowds, and smile and hoist up a defeated villain… When I posture and pose and monologue back at someone who’s being theatrical, I do it because I know these people are watching! That’s part of being a hero not many people talk about.”

She thought back to the cheering crowds. The people she ran into on the streets while in costume. The normal people going about their daily lives like the sky wasn’t falling, even though it literally did sometimes. And she let the strength they gave her push the words out. “They need that, Johnny. I have to give it to them, because it gives them hope.”

“Yeah, well…” Rogue’s tone crossed a mix of desperation and frustration. “Maybe I need it too.”

In swept the death of a narrative, and it took with it her every word. Alice nearly let the phone drop from her fingers, and her mouth hung ajar. “Oh.” There hadn’t been malice. There hadn’t been schadenfreude. Not a single moment of this had been intentionally annoying on his part. “Wow…”

Not a single smile, a single villainous grin, had been ironic.

No punches pulled in mockery.

No escalation uncalculated, despite any missteps.

He’d meant every damn bit of it… because he thought she’d liked it. And because he needed it just as much as those smiling, cheering crowds.

Fuck.

“What?” Rogue finally asked, drowning in the silence, his tone once again deadpan.

“I… I’m sorry.” Alice exhaled. She stared at the ceiling, but she might as well have been looking right through the stucco pattern into space. “I don’t… really have an answer for that.”

And how could she? Nothing about this made their pattern any more sustainable. There was only clarity. Cold, bitter clarity. She hadn’t just hurt a villain’s feelings. She’d hurt a fan’s.

Another agonizing moment passed. Something bitter rose up into her throat, and she didn’t fight it. Fuck, now she was crying over this asshole. This simple, lonely asshole.

“I um… It’s alright.” Johnny’s quiet voice dispelled the silence. He cleared his throat and spoke up. “I mean, I get it.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, well… No one’s ever really gotten me before.” He let out a single, humorless laugh. “Why start now?”

“Oh, don’t twist the knife, fuckface.” She wanted to say it, but couldn’t bring herself.

Johnny sighed heavily, and the sound of a box spring mattress squeaking came over the phone. “Funny thing about luck powers. They only work when they want to. You’re right; I’ve lived pretty consequence-free since they popped up. Nothing stuck. And it felt like… justice. You know? Growing up with an abusive dad and an absent mom, thinking the whole world had it out for you, and suddenly getting to give it the middle finger, no strings attached? That shit rocked.”

“Johnny… I…” Alice took a moment to steady her voice. “I had my suspicions, but… I’m sorry.”

Golden Rogue let out a drawn out ‘eeeh’. “I’m not here to guilt trip you. My powers let me do a lotta criminal shit, but they don’t ever seem to do a thing for my social graces. And when you’re sixteen and the law suddenly can’t touch you, you do NOT end up a normal adult.” He paused, and the mattress creaked again. “I just thought I’d found a kindred spirit. Someone who loves the game as much as I do. Guess I read you wrong. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to do any of this, Johnny.” Alice said gently, reaching for a hope she once thought beyond him. “You can change. You can stop this villain stuff and just—”

“Nah.” The dismissal might have set her off, had tonight not been so… well, this. “Even if I wanted to go legit, what kinda deal would I get? A suspended sentence, at best. ‘Go help the heroes or we cart you off to jail’. Know what that sounds like to me? A leash. And I’m no dog.”

She didn’t have an answer for that. Not one that wasn’t “deal with the consequences of your actions”, anyway, and she knew better than to even bother. One way or another, the show would go on. At least they were on the same page now. “I can’t endorse your behavior. You know that.”

“You on camera now?”

“No. I wouldn’t televise something so personal.”

He chuckled dryly. “Well since no one’s watching, you can point me at someplace less offensive to rob.”

Alice rolled her eyes. “It’s the principle, asshat. I won’t sell my integrity because you showed me some vulnerability.”

“Damn, so close.” At least he seemed to be feeling better. “So, since you’re on break, who’s gonna come clean up old Golden Rogue’s messes, huh? Please don’t tell me it’s Hotshot.”

She almost said the name. Almost casually told him what to expect. But something else came to mind, and she smiled. “Oh, what? Did you think I’d willingly give up my allies’ battle plan… to my arch-nemesis?”

“Huh?” Johnny’s sudden incredulity made her giggle, but she kept it quiet.

“I mean, really! You thought you could play and win in a game of emotions against Alice Cadabra!” She smirked. “Have you forgotten with whom you are dealing?”

There was a pause… and then a soft, quiet breath. She could practically feel the elation light up Johnny’s face even before he spoke. “WELL! Alice Cadabra! Far be it from me to neglect another angle of attack! I thought maybe you’d let your guard down, but I expect nothing more from my arch-nemesis!” He laughed triumphantly, and the mattress beneath him creaked with motion. “Tell whoever it is, Golden Rogue takes on all comers!”

They paused… and then laughed. They laughed their dumb, geeky asses off. Finally, there was clarity. The irony showed itself for what it was. They’d stepped onto the same page… and it was funny! It was dumb, ridiculous, over the top! And yet somehow, it was just as honest as always. They laughed for a long time, Alice dabbing at her eyes, relief swirling with the stupidity of their game, and she smiled genuinely into her phone for the first time tonight.

“Be nice to whoever it is, alright?” she asked, sincerity returning to her tone. “No explosives!”

“Is that a hint?” Johnny teased, his grin apparent in his voice.

“Nope! Just be nice.” Alice put as much sternness into her words as she could muster. “Or I’ll take an even longer break.”

Rogue grumbled. “Alright, alright, fine! I’ll be nice. You know, as nice as I can when we literally come to blows.”

“Good.” Alice breathed a heavy sigh. She couldn’t dissuade him from villainy, but maybe she could keep him from ever being a major problem. Sometimes heroism was about controlling the fire instead of putting it out. She checked the time and winced. Almost one in the morning already. “Look, I really need to go to bed.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Johnny hesitated, before adding a quiet, “Thanks, Alice.”

“For what?”

“I dunno, for… not treating me like a freak.” He groaned lowly. “Or worse, or a non-factor. Justicar shows up to these things, he grabs me by the scruff and throws me into the back of a squad car. He doesn’t have the patience for theatrics. But you? You make it a show! You make me a real, honest villain. Even if you could just slam me through a wall straight into a cage or something. I guess… that means something to me.”

Well, if that wasn’t the strangest gratitude she’d ever received. But something about his unfailing earnestness made it endearing all the same. Maybe it was a mistake to offer anything resembling encouragement, but he’d earned a little softness this time. “You aren’t a freak. And you’re allowed to take up space, Johnny. Goodnight.”

The shower would have to wait until morning. Fuck it, she didn’t have anyone to share her bed with. She could stink a bit for one night. Alice crawled into bed, wrapped herself in the covers, and set a late alarm. Knowing Halcyon City, there’d be an early rise villain anyway. But for now, sleep was all that concerned her. And for once, she felt less certain of an interruption. That was certainly something.

Somewhere across the sea, in a forest choked by low branches and undergrowth, a hunter stalked its prey. A bee-shaped drone, all dark chrome and pointed edges, slowly buzzed between the trees. Its antenna sensors flicked this way and that, mechanical voice box warbling as it pulsed data into the invisible network that linked its kind. Others floated amid branches and undergrowth, probing, cataloging, analyzing…

Something shifted. Insectoid eyes flashed red as the brush tensed, and the drone reacted too late. A spear of gnarled roots erupted from the earth and impaled the machine, digging into the gaps between metal plates and ripping apart its electrical innards until it buzzed its last.

The others scattered as a figure emerged from the trees. Deer-like, feminine, cloaked in wild flowers and vines, untamed brown hair framing a pair of antlers. She ran her fingers over the roots lodged in the drone, scowled at the mechanical invader before her, and loosed a low growl.

“Where is your master…”

The forest stirred to life. All around her, the sound of metal tearing under stress became a symphony of nature’s vengeance. She had a lot of work to do… and bigger prey to hunt.