In the movies, villains from different groups only ever meet in one of two places. Assuming they’re not fighting one another anyway. Then it’s usually in some seedy back alley or the corporate offices of whoever’s funding the movie. They have to give the hero a reason to intervene after all.

  Anyway, ‘peaceful’ meetings are either in a slightly less abandoned back-alley, often a derelict part of our ever-expanding city, or at a villain pub and, honestly, even after being sent to look for one, I never really believed the latter existed before right now. Still don’t, really. Given the two people guarding this place likely just tried to kill me.

  The sound of a throat being cleared pulls my attention back to the moment. My hand staying wrapped around a revolver as I try to find the eyes of the guard who’s voice I haven’t yet gotten to hear. The frowning man not making any move to get up from the no-longer-a-rocking chair he’s seated in. If he even can.

  Everything below his neck is hidden by a thick robe of slick black material that makes it hard to guess at anything beyond his gender. The top half of his face covered by a bulky metal dome that sticks out almost half a foot from the base of his nose. The weight seemingly supported by a single strut attached to the back of his neck. The grey metal creating a slight bulge in the cloak before it disappears under the black folds. Probably connected to something hidden beneath it.

  “Icy, this is pub business now. Fuck off.”

  “Ah, clean up time then? Do let me know if there’s another chance to make a few easy creds, stub.”

  The accented voice pulls my attention over to where the focus of most of my anger and caution is now hopping off the railing. Lazily waving their glass towards the helmeted man while sashaying towards a set of double doors. The blinding light which is even now making me squint to see even that much of them spilling out of the opening. They don’t even give me a second look before turning their back on me.

  I clench my teeth hard enough to feel them stick as I resist the urge to shout after the retreating figure. The only slightly weaker urge to rush up the steps and tackle them, or shoot them in the back, also seeming remarkably tempting. Whatever compunctions I’d had over killing the psycho not feeling quite as important when faced with the person who egged it on to eat me.

  Still, I know when I’m outmatched. My stinging ribs a good reminder of the results of rash action as I edge backwards down the driveway. Keeping my anger under control by planning out a route to the next bus stop and who I might go to about selling this place’s location. Whatever the fuck kind of trap this is, I need to leave here with something more than I came with.

  “Girl, you know where you are?” The rough voice has my eyes snapping away from the lithe villain’s, Icy’sapparently, waist. Wide hips making me suddenly doubt my initial guess of their gender. Eyes now landing instead on the robed man who’s made no move to shift from his chair as he continues to frown down at me from his spot against the wall.

  I don’t stop backing up as the doors into the house swing closed with a snort of laughter. Finally cutting off the harsh light from inside and casting the spot I’m standing in back into the same darkness that covers the rest of the street. It’s only been a few seconds since I first saw the light cast by the house, but the dark I’d walked through to get here seems so much deeper than before.

  Deeper, and louder. An odd mechanical rumble picking up from all around me and bringing my slow retreat to a stop as a shiver works its way down my back. The same ancestral instinct as before working that shiver up into a full-blown premonition of yet another incoming problem.

  The rumble rises as I look around in confusion. My night vision ruined by the light and so making it hard to see anything through the rain. Not willing to wait for my eyes, I try to place what the noise reminds me of while weighing if I should just turn and run now or take a shot at dome-head before I go. It gets loud enough to match the sound of the storm and constant rain before I place it. The blood draining from my face when I realise just what it is that I’m hearing.

  “You’d better get up here quick girl. They can see you from the street.”

  I’m halfway up the stairs before dome-head has finished talking. Rushing back up the driveway just as a sound like a tortured bull comes from not that far behind me. It’s only four stairs to get up to the porch, but, thanks to my panic and soaked shoes, I don’t make it to the third. The sudden absence of the rains constant weight working alongside my own failings to have me slip at the halfway mark. Saved from landing on my face, and more importantly ribs, only by a lucky grab of the pillar beside me.

  Another, more distorted, roar provides more than enough encouragement to keep moving though, and I throw myself up the last two steps. Staggering onto the white painted wood as I throw my arms out for balance and spin around with my revolver pointed shakily behind me.

  My chest burns as I suck down air, back straightening and eyes continuing to widen as the first patch of shifting black becomes a dozen. Then more. Eyes flitting across the cul-de-sac and adjoining houses where the now unmistakable forms of people are staggering closer in fits and starts. Bulky arms and spindly legs, waists snatched to sticks or blown up thicker than tree trunks. I struggle to make sense of what I’m seeing until the first person steps up to the base of the house’s driveway and just barely into the light cast from its windows.

  ‘No. Not a person. Not anymore.’

  The psycho is a hulking mass of marbled skin. The once smooth surface pulled near to bursting over rolling folds of muscle so large that the thing has trouble walking without falling over. Legs thicker than my chest tottering back and forth as the synth-muscles of the former man twitch uncontrollably. Gold chromed ports dot his skin at intervals, with spikes of similar make running along sites where the muscle is thickest.

  Likely an attempt to keep the constantly spasming flesh in place when whatever subdermal mesh that should have done so failed. The majority of the spikes are placed across his abs, at least a hundred tiny needles glinting gold with the light. Holding in place the perfect shape of an adonis’ chest. The skin not taut or stretch marked like elsewhere but instead showing the perfect smoothness of blushed marble that must have once covered the entirety of his form. Beneath it are the ragged scraps of black toga-shorts, the once-fine looking material barely covering down to mid-thigh on the otherwise naked form.

  Thankfully, for the sake of my stomach, his head is covered with a metal helmet that leaves only a slit for his mouth. The bare chrome, scratched and chipped by hard use and lack of care, a harsh contrast to the sagging tautness of his body. From here, I can just barely make out a bulge on the buckets side where a skull-clamp could be hidden as well as a collar around his neck. My ears surely just imagining the jingle of a star shaped name tag as it bounces against his chest.

  I stagger away from the pillar I’d been gripping. Bile rising hot in my throat as my back impacts the locked doors behind me. Terror briefly overtaking reason as I turn to pound on the faux-wood with a wordless scream to be let in. The material not giving more than an inch even under the full strength of my blows. Faux-wood leaving plastic splinters in my knuckles as some part of my mind notes how it must be a cover for something hardier underneath. The hinges too, must be hydraulic or something similar to so easily resist my enhanced strength.

  Thoughts of the logistics of this nightmare I’m caught in somehow help to calm me down. A little anyway. Hand still shaking like mad as I snatch the revolver back off the floor where I’d dropped it. Almost losing my balance again as my breath gets faster and shorter each second. Hands shaking as I struggle to keep my aim steady on the now lightly grimacing man still outside with me. Thoughts on how to get to the next bus station seeming very far away now that the route is blocked by, what must now be, near three dozen psychos twitching and roaring with murderous rage not even fifty metres away. One or two I’m confident I can get past but this many would be a problem for even a strong Supe.

  “What the fuck is this?”

  “A chance to leave.”

  I can’t help but laugh at the seriousness of his tone. Almost dropping the gun before I use my other hand to steady my shaking wrist. The wash of pain the aborted snort sends through me turning the laugh into more of a hiss and having me lean my weight up against the likely locked door. My legs are shaking too hard to be trusted to hold me up by themselves anyway.

  “Leave? Out through that?!”

  “They are under my direction. I’m the doorman here. That’s why Samantha stopped her fruit picking when I saw you get off the bus. I didn’t want you to run into her at all but Icy came out looking for entertainment and I didn’t have much choice.” He bites out the words with a frown I barely notice past the reveal that he’d seen me get off the bus. Seen me before I put my mask on.

  ‘Fuck! I knew I should’ve gotten off earlier and walked!’

  Or perhaps not. Walking through an entire neighbourhood that’s apparently playing host to enough psychos to have a Concordant STARS team scrambled sounds almost as bad as my current situation. The realisation that, even in the best case, I’m still going to have to do exactly that to get out of here does nothing to help my ongoing attempts to calm down.

  “You meet every new villain with a psycho ambush after pissing on the Founder’s guarantee?” I all but hiss at the man still looking more annoyed at Icy’s interruption of his plans than the revolver pointed, mostly, at his head. His eyeless scowl leaving me wondering if he can even hear me over the psycho’s doing their best impression of a Corpo choir who’ve just found out Christmas bonuses have been cancelled.

  He doesn’t answer for long enough that I consider repeating myself. Almost laughing again when I realise how the roars are already starting to become a background noise that my brain is learning to ignore. An unintentional glance back at the towering pillar of spasming muscle wipes the grin from my face before it can send more than a chuckle through my ribs. The pain at least focuses me enough that I’m able to will some firmness into my legs and stand up more fully. Still leaning on the door for support, and for some hope of escape, as I watch the doorman release a great sigh before finally replying.

  “No, just the ones who look to still be in school. And, right now, no one else knows you’re a villain. I logged you in our system as a likely hero. Possibly not even a supe. That’s why Icy was interested. But, you can leave and no one, not me not Icy and certainly not the guy you’re here to meet, will remember you.”

  I blink in confusion, gun almost lowering before my eyes narrow and I swallow down my nerves to finally get a steady grip on the weapon. Drawing in the first breath in a while that actually feels like it’s touching the sides of my lungs. I can’t think of many good reasons why some random guy would do what he’s claiming. Especially not when he’s seen my face and has every reason to want to keep me isolated. Either this is the neutral ground I’d been told about, and he’s looking to scare me off to blackmail later, or it’s something much worse.

  I lick my lips as I force myself to look back out at the assorted psycho’s. Trying to spot if any of them are showing signs of having Powers. I’d never heard of a supe-psycho but I also didn’t really think psychos existed until a few minutes ago. I stop the search pretty quickly with a disgusted grimace. The statuesque man who’s closest has a waterfall of drool coming from out of the slit on his bucket of a helmet.

  Vultures wouldn’t care about me anyway given my lack of ‘ware but traffickers would always be on the lookout for new supes with few contacts. Alive or dead, a supes body is worth a lot to the right people. I swallow down my fears over being shipped off to some lab and dissected, Icy’s words about cleanup not helping, and force my voice to remain steady when I speak. Reminding myself again that I can’t afford to leave here with nothing. Contacts, info or money. With Jason gone, I can’t risk another robbery.

  “Did that fence set me up? Is this even a villain pub? Do they even exist?”

  “This place is exactly what you were told it is but-”

  “Then! …why?”

  I flick the gun out to encompass the grotesque forms around us and the still locked door I’m leaning most of my weight against. Anger and terror taking a backseat to confusion as I watch the doorman’s face for some hint of what’s going on. Thoughts on if he’s lying to me seeming unlikely given how easily he could’ve already ended this if he wanted too.

  His reply is a look I’ve seen too many times before; pity.

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  “All your referrer gave us was a description and even from that I could tell you don’t have what’s needed to survive this world. Getting a look at you didn’t change anything. Go home, girl. Take off the mask and find a safer way to get what you want out of this life.”

  His tired tone has me clenching my teeth hard enough I start worrying about my jaw. The angry shout, and possible bullet, that I want to reply with stalled solely by the resigned cast of his face and the reminder that he’s the only thing holding back the psycho’s just a stone’s throw away. Instead, I grip the gun more firmly as I push down the argument I can feel welling up. I don’t need to explain anything to some random busybody who thinks they’re doing me a favour.

  “Fuck you. Open the door.”

  “You go through those doors and people will remember you, girl. It won’t matter how well you try to keep to yourself or how quickly you plan to get out, you go through there you’ll never leave this world. A mask doesn’t change anything. Not really.”

  “Open, the fucking, door.”

  We stand in silence a moment. My hands going numb and bloodless from how tightly they’re wrapped around the revolver. His jaw set in a way that tells me nothing short of a bullet will shift it. I’m not sure how close I am to testing that when he finally sighs. Slumping back in his chair in the first sign that he’s actually got something beneath the robe’s slick folds.

  “If you’re going to shoot me, girl. Then you’ll need to cock the hammer first.”

  I freeze, the tension that had been in the process of bleeding away now holding me taut. Neck stuck in place as I go cross eyed from trying to look at the gun without giving away that I’m doing so. Slightly cracked grip, dull silver metal and a short barrel. It just looks like a gun.

  ‘What part is a hammer?’

  The sound of another deep sigh draws my attention back to the doorman. His head now leaned back as he stares up at the eave above us. Still showing not a single care as, with a twitch of his head, the rumbling calls of the psycho’s come to a stop. My eyes pulled away from him as I watch the small army start to scrape and totter back off into the darkness around us. Their warped forms swallowed disturbingly rapidly by the storm and the quickly lowering night.

  “Ah, well. No one can say I didn’t at least try and stop this.”

  He must have done something else inside his helmet because, with those auspicious words, the doors unlock and send me tumbling through the suddenly no longer solid obstacle.

  I’m three paces into the room, and struggling not to lose my balance again, before realising that it’s empty. Catching myself near the centre of a surprisingly small space painted a truly awful shade of red. The floor and walls all of one colour and having only a single piece of furniture to break up the monotony. I barely glance at the plain steel of the bar at the room’s far side before a low droning buzz has me looking up with a flinch.

  The brightness of a ceiling absolutely covered in fluorescent lights overpowers my scratched goggles anti-glare yet again. Leaving me blinking spots from my eyes as I cover them with a hiss. Spinning around with gun raised when I hear the doors clicking shut behind me.

  ‘Locked in.’

  The knowledge that my path out is closed isn’t enough to stop my trembling legs from swaying with relief. Even after what the doorman claimed, I’d still been more than half expecting to find a turret waiting for me as soon as I got in here. I slide a hand under my goggles to rub away the black spots as I blindly stagger over to the nearest wall. Leaning up against it as I wonder just when exactly I’d decided I was suddenly safe. It was probably somewhere around the time I lost any care for cameras that might be watching me and just after the adrenaline that’s kept me going since the psycho’s attack had started abandoning me.

  The chill of the cold concrete that makes up the wall feels as if it should burn after the wet heat of outside. The sensation focusing my jittery thoughts and helping me to catch the sob before it can do more than give me a full body shiver. Turning the choking weight trying to fill my throat into merely a sniffle that I suck back down with a long breath.

  ‘Again. I almost died, again.’

  I always knew being a villain would be dangerous. Whether from Corps, hero’s, other villains or just bad luck, small timers like me only tend to last so long. I’d just thought I could get what I needed before my own luck ran out. Maybe learn enough, or buy enough of the good ‘ware, that I don’t need to rely on luck at all. Yet, it hasn’t even been two days and twice now someone has tried to kill me. I don’t quite manage to hold in a shiver at the memory of Pinball’s finger skating a bare inch above my head. At least this time my survival wasn’t down to simple luck.

  ‘No, it was from fucking pity!’

  I feel my lips peeling back in a silent snarl as the self-directed anger helps me to breathe slower. Resisting the urge to take off my snow goggles so I can rub my eyes more forcefully. Blinking rapidly instead to help force out the last of the tears and the dizziness as my vision clears.

  On a second look at the paintwork, I can see that the red is not uniform. Some patches along the wall beside me notably darker than the paint around them. The splash nearest me starting at around chest height before it flows down the wall and onto the floor. I narrow my eyes as I examine it, paying more attention to the insistent itch at the back of my head after seeing what ignoring it earlier almost got me.

  ‘That’s not paint.’

  I flinch away from the blood splatter, eyes wide as I properly take in the room filled with what must be stains from dozens of terrible wounds. The sort not even Supes get to walk away from.

  Heart rate only rising as I stumble away and glance rapidly around at the many, many more splashes of darker red all across the room. My grip tightening on the apparently useless revolver as I feel my thoughts starting to devolve into panic once more. The click of a door opening has me catch myself just short of hyperventilating. A disconnected sense of déjà vu filling me as I point the weapon at the heavily muscled man who’s just walked through a door I’d missed behind the bar. His scarred face looking equally as unbothered as the man’s outside as he steps up to the counter to lean his hairy arms across it.

  “Welcome to the Moose’s Heart. I… understand there’s someone here who’s expecting you?”

  His low voice drawls across the room before reaching my ears. The tenor sounding more appropriate for a meeting room than the killing floor we stand in. Tall and burly, with bulging arms left on display by the rolled-up sleeves of his dress shirt and suspenders. He slumps his back as he leans forward to place his hands in easy view. My eyes drawn to the two fingers of bare chrome on his left and only flicking up to his face halfway through my reply.

  “Yes, I uh-”

  My words stutter out as meet his eyes. I hadn’t really noticed it before through the panic I’m still only now pushing back down but, his face is bare. The shock and worry of what it might mean for him not to care about that stripping away whatever strength I’d been trying to force back into my voice.

  “It’s your… first time at a villain pub?” He gestures to his uncovered head while sweeping his hands across the bare metal to prop himself up with his elbows. His looming height reduced to almost eye level. A height where I can better notice how his smile pulls up the left side of his cheeks more than the right. An old scar running diagonally across his face and neck that puckers one side. The line only half hidden by a short goatee of brown hair.

  I remember to nod after finding my throat still too thick to be trusted with speech. My eyes getting distracted by following the shift of his massive arms and letting the gun waver where I’ve got it pointed, mostly, at his chest. The muscles bulging beneath his skin either the result of incredible dedication or some of the best bio-ware I’ve ever seen.

  “The staff aren’t Supes. Not here, at least. Don’t worry though we’re all vetted and the private rooms are just that anyway. Though, of course, those are only for members.”

  I just nod again. Feeling increasingly ridiculous about the gun I have pointed at him but still unwilling to lower it while in a room literally painted with blood. Somehow though, the man’s open smile has me feeling even stupider about not being sure how to reply. My head wanting to worry more about if the barman can hear my still racing heart than if I’ll ever walk out of this room.

  His friendly demeanour doing an annoyingly good job at making me calm down even when I’m still standing in what is almost certainly a slaughterhouse. Still, as curious as I might have normally been on seeing a bit of urban myth made real, right now all I want to do is get what I came here for. Then put as much distance between me, and this whole neighbourhood as I can.

  “Yes, I’m here to meet someone. They know I’m here?”

  “They do now. I understand you’re here anonymously. It’s… not an issue but if you do want to give a placeholder name to the staff for convenience’s sake then please, feel free to do so. I’d like to give my apologies as well for our doorman’s lacking greeting. We were expecting someone in a red jacket.” He finishes with a little chuckle that only succeeds in having me grit my teeth. Thoughts of complaining about the ‘greeting’ I’d gotten only held back by the reminder that the doorman has seen me without a mask. Even if he’d all but promised to keep his mouth shut, I can’t take the risk of him going back on that if I try to raise a fuss.

  “Right. Thanks. So, can I…?” I cringe inwardly at the question. Whether about to ask if I can go up to meet this still unnamed contact or something else, I don’t know. That I asked at all feels bad enough given where I am. Worse, my hands are paused where I’d been gesturing towards the door that the man just came from. Anger replaced with embarrassment when I realise that I’ve stopped covering him with the gun without even thinking about it. After a moment of silence that lasts entirely too long, I let out a sigh of my own before Pocketing the thing and stepping away from the still locked door. If these people wanted to kill or capture me, they’d have done it by now.

  ‘Thank goodness I decided not to be a streamer.’

  “Ah… no. Only our members have access to the full facilities. You can stay out here as a guest for now and I’ll escort you up to a private room when the member you’re here to meet is ready for you.”

  The answer has me gritting my teeth despite my best attempt to keep the annoyance from my face. Eyes shifting from the barman’s professionally apologetic expression to look around for weapons hidden in the walls. From looking at the blood stains around the room, I can tell they were created by something coming from above but the lights covering every inch of the ceiling are still too harsh for me to do anything but glance up at the awful buzzing things.

  I look away with a wince from doing even that, chewing my lip as I pull off my coat and think over what to do next. The sodden thing’s weight and wetness suddenly unbearable in the pubs dry chill. The cold sweat still coating my skin isn’t much better but at least I can breathe now. I stuff the mac into one of the remaining Pockets of my jacket while wrestling down my initial decision to just lean against the blood-soaked wall and wait.

  It would be easy. It would be safe, probably. It would let me get out of here with nothing but what I came for, and it would do nothing to stop this from happening again.

  ‘The fence, the bouncer outside, this waiting game in a god damned abattoir… I need more contacts.’

  “Alright. How do I become a member?”

  The barman’s grin makes me immediately regret the words. His subtle smile of professional apology pulled up into a salesman’s wide grin. Or a shark’s. The sudden similarity to someone else that I know almost has me tell him to forget it. The sense that I’ve just been played however, is still not quite enough to overcome my reinforced determination to stop this from happening again.

  Not that he gives me the chance to interrupt him as he launches into a routine so smooth it must have been rehearsed. The still nameless man shifting to the side where he leans on the bar and sweeps a hand out to the wall behind him. A light in the ceiling flashing in many colours before it projects row upon row of faces and names on to the wall he points at.

  “It’s quite simple actually. These… are all Supes who’ve agreed to guarantee our neutrality. It’s rather common for establishments such as ours. Joining will get you a number of perks. Most obvious being access to the rest of the bar. Plus, it lets you hire our private rooms along with a few other things that I can tell you more about if you’re interested.”

  As he talks, I examine the wall of masked or monstrous faces with a growing sense of awe. The curiosity I’d never quite found due to the bullshit outside coming right back as I take in the connections this place has. Most of the names are local and small time but there’s a few I’d only ever expected to see in news headlines.

  ‘King Von, Araios Aerus, Saurian, Last Dawn, Icy Bomb-’

  ‘His name’s Icy Bomb?’

  The barman isn’t looking at me to notice whatever part of my surprised expression must be slipping past the mask. The man’s muscled arms leaving the counter for the first time as he leans below it to pull out a bulky tablet with a stylus attached by a chain. I glance between it and the wall of shifting faces as he offers it to me. Still hesitating at the thought of tying myself further into this side of the world when I still don’t fully understand it. Or plan on sticking around this area for much longer.

  “What does ‘guarantee our neutrality’ actually mean?”

  “Well, it’s the whole reason that we can be here and offer everyone in the supe community a place to meet in costume without any fear of being ambushed or spied upon. The man outside is just to screen new people… and keep the guard dogs in check.”

  I hold in a grimace at the reminder of the psychos and the asshole holding their leash. Confirmation that he really is the one directing them, not controlling from what I saw, not making me feel any better about my upcoming walk to the second closest bus stop. The barman doesn’t notice as he goes on talking after a brief pause to tap at something on the tablet’s screen. The light projected onto the wall behind him shifting to show a different collection of symbols. These the names of Corps, known Masterminds, gang leaders, municipal councils and even nations from across the Three-Worlds.

  “The main defence any neutral ground like ours has is its reputation. We’re a gathering point and the services we provide for our members are worth the cost of hunting down a few… reckless Supes every once in a while. Most notably, we off access to contracts and connections from across the multiverse. Everywhere has a need for more Supes. You’d get those services too of course. If you joined.”

  He looks back to me with that same subtly off-putting smile. The expression meant to be inviting but not working on someone who’s seen it done better too many times before. I ignore his outstretched hand for now. Stepping up to lean on the bar itself as I take in the new names and the opportunities they represent. The sound of the stylus scratching on its screen comes just before the left side of the wall is turned back into a slowly shifting list of the names and masks of their already existing members.

  Some of them have the sort of Powers that I, along with everyone else really, had always dreamed of getting. The type that makes their appearance a local news item no matter what they’re doing. Others have organisations under them, gangs or semi-legitimate businesses operating at the limit of the law, and likely beyond given their leaders.

  The connections the pub can offer are also tempting, a glimpse into the sort of mercenary work I’ve never really considered before now. I’d been planning my villainous ventures to be independent as that way I can choose the jobs and keep all the reward. Also, not tying myself to anyone else’s loyalties.

  It means I need fewer jobs to get to my goal but with slightly higher risk given the lack of support. However, given that the risk might not be as low as I’d thought, and the next step of my plan after selling this stuff is to hire other Supes, it seems like an obvious choice. I still hesitate at the look on the barman’s face as I pull my eyes from the ACME symbol. He must have picked up on my discomfort before as the worst of his smile’s shark-like edges have been smoothed out. Still not enough to convince me this isn’t going to be a mistake but it’s not like I’ve got many other choices.

  “Alright. If there’s no other responsibilities for signing up?”

  “No, I think we’ve covered everything. Just leave us a way to contact you and, if something… happens at the ‘Heart, we’ll let you know. We’ll take a picture now and you can update us with a supe name at your leisure.”

  I take the offered tablet with only a slight tremble in my hands, taking the time to steady myself before writing out a disposable mailing address that I’d set up previously. The worry that I might suddenly start writing my own name doesn’t leave until I’ve handed the pad back and, with a handful more taps from the barman, see my masked face projected onto the wall.

  “Well, thank you for joining us and apologies again about how you were greeted. I’ll make sure it’s dealt with. If you want to head through the door just behind me here, you’ll be at the real bar. Please enjoy yourself. I’ll come get you when your meeting’s ready. It shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.” His voice knocks me from my wonderings, the dismissal clear in the way he steps back and waits for me to go first.

  I try not to think too hard about what the doorman said about being remembered as I walk around the bar’s side to approach the half-hidden door. Cringing only a little at the squelch of my shoes and wishing that I’d had the money to buy myself a new jacket. My hands unable to rest comfortably in the pockets of the stretched, torn and now water soaked one that I’m wearing.

  I give up after a few moments spent fidgeting. Letting my arms dangle at my side even as my fingers itch to dive into my Pocket and wrap around something reassuringly dangerous. Stopped only by the concern that doing so would let people too easily clock who I am.

  Though not having any reputation to speak of might be the cause of some of my problems, it’s helping me out in this case. I hadn’t planned it but it’s turning out to actually be a good thing that my first, and so far only, bit of villainy was done two circles away. It’s pretty unlikely anyone not already looking for me is going to have heard of Pocket or the bounty over any information about me. Still, even if the lack of my Power’s reassurance is hard to go without, there’s no reason to tempt fate.

  I have more than enough problems to worry about already.

  There are not many things in Throne worse than an army of psychos controlled by someone who probably dislikes you. But a room full of villains who’ve just been betting on whether you’d get eaten by a psycho is definitely one of them. I pause a moment before the red painted slab of a door. Ignoring the barman waiting behind me as I take a steadying breath and, summoning up all my memories of the most nonchalant of villains, push open the door.

  please let me know. I need a break from this one for a while so any edits will likely be done later but having fresh eyes look at it would be very useful.

  thank you.